#white elite rich elite whatever

[gwyoi]

I just saw someone describe people who cared about the will smith chris rock slap as a “social justice warrior” 1. Who uses that term 2. 100% of self described sjws were pro will smith whay the hell are you talking about??? 😭

[wow-its-me]

At the beginning of Dot and Bubble : “Oh it’s classic Black Mirror anti phone shit”

In the middle of Dot and Bubble : “Oh I really don’t like this Lindy girl, but their probably setting it up so she’ll realize the bubble is bad or whatever,,,, wait why is EVERYONE white??”

At the end of Dot and Bubble *screaming and crying* “OHH IT WAS A COMMENTARY ON HOW RACISM AND CLASSISM IS EXACERBATED THROUGH INTERNET SPACES WHERE PEOPLE ONLY SOCIALIZE WITH OTHER RICH WHITE ELITES…. I KNEW I HATED LINDY”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: have a great friday, dudes.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Maris Street. You rarely go that way. It’s near the core of the town, closer to the west end where green hedges and white picket fences cordon off the suburban elite from the commoners like you. It suits him, doesn’t it? You assume this is what he’s used to. 

The venom roils in your gut as you approach Oxford Drive. You stop before the sleek grey exterior. The black trims and large golden moniker in all caps add to the extravagant effect. Flowers boxes stand outside the windows that glow amber with rich ambience from within. The nicest place you ever went was the Korean Barbecue your dorm mate dragged you to; this is well beyond that. 

You take a breath and look down at yourself. You’re still wearing the black jeans and plain tee you sport for your job. Former job. Your beat-up sneakers perfectly match your thrifted aesthetic and the purse strap twisted around your hand and wrist frays as if to assure everyone that you don’t belong. 

You go to the front door and pull it open. You step inside to the low drone of stringy music and the subtle clink of glasses amid the low murmur of voices. You chew your lip as you approach the tall round desk where the hostess stands over the open reservation book, like some mystical keeper of scrolls. How very Skyrim of her. 

She gives you a look, one you expect. You sniff and cross your arms, the strap of your purse further straining your circulation. You exhale and peek over at the dining room. 

“Hi, I um...” your cheeks pinch as you find it difficult to speak. “I’m meeting someone.” 

“You are?" Her skepticism drips from her voice, “are you certain they’re... here?” 

“Yeah. I don’t know if he made a reservation or whatever. Obviously, I’m not a regular,” you snipe back. You’re too exasperated to hold back. You don’t need her judging you too. “Older, beard, uh, tall... Andy Barber. Is he in the book?” 

She flutters her pretty lashes and looks down. You watch her. She’s a few years older than you. Tall, balayaged hair, slender, perfectly bowed lips. What about her? Or someone like her? Why wouldn’t he want that instead? Why is he bothering you? 

“Barber,” she nods, “yes, he’s here.” 

She seems surprised by that. She steps out from behind the desk and tells you to follow. You obey. You have to. This is all just pulling teeth. He has you toothless already. 

You keep your head down as you trail behind her. You only look up as you sense a figure on the other side of her. Andy stands as you approach and you nearly choke. You want so bad to just turn around and run away. 

A line deepens in his forehead and disappears. He smiles as the hostess waves you forward. He comes around to pull out the other chair before you can. You retract your arm and barely withhold your frustration. Can’t he understand you want nothing from him? 

You sit stiff and fix your bag in your lap, slowly unwinding the strap from your wrist. The hostess promises a server will be with you soon and struts away. You stare at the table cloth and as Andy sits, darkening the edge of your vision, you turn to glare at the far wall. 

You feel even more demeaned sitting there in your jeans in tea among the crystal and tall-stemmed lilies. The tinkle of the soft woodwind music makes your head buzz yet the smell of the food teases your empty stomach. Your eyes drift to a group of older women, laughing over wine, a symbol of what you’ll never be. Happy. Free. 

“Thanks for meeting me. I guess you’ve never been here before,” Andy begins. 

You shake your head and flick your eyes to the ceiling. You grit down on his words. Why is he acting like this is normal? 

“Nice place, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” you snap and look at him directly, nearly growling in his face, “very nice. Upscale. Well above me.” 

You cross your arms and sit back, your purse strap still loosely clinging to your wrist. His chest rises and he exhales through his nose. He leans forward and his cheek ticks. 

“I brought you here for dinner, so we could talk, get to know each other--” 

“That’s not what I’m here for,” you insist, almost teary-eyed from your rage. You don’t like being angry. You’ve never been very good at and more times, you end up blubbering. “Kara, my friend--” 

He tilts his chin up and sets his gaze firmly on you, “we’ll get to that.” 

“No, now,” you hiss. 

He huffs through his nose. He looks around, silently chewing his agitation. He sits up and replaces that manufactured smile as a server approaches. 

“Good evening, can I get you started with drinks?” He asks, his dark shirt finely pressed and buttoned to the very top. 

“No thank--” you begin. 

“We’ll take a bottle of cabernet,” Andy interjects, “for the table. Oh, and could we get some fresh bread. This has been sitting out.” 

The server acquiesces and takes the basket as Andy hands over the wine menu. You barely keep from rolling your eyes. You’re not here to eat and drink and be merry. Kara is quite possibly behind bars. 

You glare at him and wait. The server leaves as you keep your arms folded, fingers clamped tightly. He looks at you as if there’s nothing wrong. As if this is all normal. 

“I want to know what’s going to happen to Kara. You said you can help--” 

“I can,” he says casually, “so let’s have a nice dinner and then I’ll do just that.” 

“But she’s--” 

“They’ll have her in holding, question her, then they’ll have to figure out charges, yada, yada,” he explains, “don’t worry, I’ll give them a call after, tell them my client is invoking her right to an attorney.” 

Your chest thumps and your ears ring. He’s so confident. He already knows you can’t say no. Not to him or this dinner. You have to sit there and celebrate his victory that came with your defeat. It’s not right. It’s... it’s... deranged. 

“Why?” You croak. 

“Why?” He shakes his head. 

“Why are you doing this? Why me? Why not someone... someone you can relate to? Someone your age?” 

“Why you? You’re perfect, sweetheart. Perfect for me,” he coos, “come on, we get along. We did. I know I messed things up but it can’t change that we had fun. We did, didn’t we?” 

You swallow and shrug. Those nights you stayed up and mined or raced or whatever, they were fun, they were nights you look forward to. But every single one was a lie. 

“Sure, but... what if I’d lied to you? What if I wasn’t me? What if I was some guy in a basement--” 

“You weren’t.” 

“But what if--” 

“I know you weren’t.” 

“How could you know--” 

“I just did. You’re so genuine, so... kind, that can’t be fake,” he insists. 

You sink down, slumping your shoulders, and look away. What can you do? You’re exactly where you never wanted to be. With less options. With none. 

“What do you want from me?” Your dry mouth crackles around your words. 

He’s quiet as the server returns. He sits back and you lift your chin as you watch the server uncork the bottle. He pours the wine and Andy asks for a few more minutes with the menu. Again, you have no appetite. 

When you’re alone again, Andy takes a breath and shifts in his chair. He brings his hands together, pinching his left ring finger as if he’s missing something. He quickly pulls his hands apart. 

“You. That’s all I want,” he breathes. 

You stare at him. You don’t understand. Maybe it’s because you don’t want to. If you keep denying it, it might not be the very idea that makes your skin crawl. 

He reaches for his glass of wine and holds it out. You stare at it, then look him in the face. You can’t wipe the horror from your face. 

“Cheers to us, sweetheart,” he says, “me and you.” 

You shake your head as he waits. Slowly you take the glass before you and raise it. He clinks the crystal between you. 

“It’s the first day of the rest of our lives,” he declares, “we can both build the home we always wanted. Together.” 

🎮

Andy pays the bill as you wallow in futility. This is it. Your life is over. All because of one mistake. All because you trusted the wrong person. 

He stands first and you follow. He grabs the to-go box of the food you barely touched. You’re in such a fog, you can barely think. He gestures you towards the door as he nudges you with the box. You hug your purse to your stomach and walk between the tables. 

The cool night air wakes you up. As you come to the sidewalk, you stop. You turn back to him and wet your mouth, a hint of wine on your tongue. 

“Call. Right now,” your voice shakes. 

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” He inclines his head as if he doesn’t understand. 

“The police. Call. You said you would help Kara,” you insist. 

His brow arches and he nods. He holds out the container and you take it stiffly, letting your purse dangle from your shoulder. He pulls out his phone as he stares at you. Finally, he looks down and scrolls. He clears his throat before he puts it to his ear. 

“Hi, yes, this is Andy Barber, I’m an attorney for a woman in your custody. Yes, I do.” You listen to the piecemeal conversation, “name is Kara Orascio. Yes, she won’t be talking to the police any longer. That’s correct.” He pauses and listens intently, “I’m out of town but I can be there tomorrow. Sure.” 

He hangs up as his eyes cling to you still.  

“So, looks like we need to pack,” he says. 

“What?” You utter. 

“Don’t you want to see your friend?” He challenges. 

“Well, yes, but I thought you--” 

“I’m not coming back here again. So, you’re coming. We’ll deal with your friend’s charges then we’ll go home.” 

You blink, “home?” 

“Sure, sweetheart, I got it all ready for you,” he turns down the sidewalk and takes your hand. 

You have the urge to rip your hand out of his. You want to tell him not to touch you. You want to scream and run away. You don’t because you want to save Kara more. 

“I meant what I said before. I can get you into school down there,” he guides you along, “you’ll like it. It's close to Boston. Place called Nelson. You ever been to Massachusetts?” 

“Hm, no, didn’t travel much.” 

“That’s okay. We can do some of that too. Still got lots of summer left. We could go somewhere sunny,” he drawls, “you know, it gets gloomy in the fall so we may as well enjoy it while we can.” 

“Sure,” you murmur. 

Your feet are heavy, your head too, every part of you just wants to give up. Haven’t you? Isn’t that what this is? You surrender.  

“You okay, sweetheart?” He stops and lets go of you, fishing around in his pocket. 

“I’m...” your vision narrows in; just like the moment you first met him. As Andy. As the real him. As the twisted man you just sold your soul to. “...tired.” 

“Aw, yeah, well, it’s been a long few days. For both of us. You wanna come back to my hotel. The bed’s really cozy and the tub is deep. You could relax for the night before we gotta get on the road,” he offers. 

You shake your head, “n-no,” you stutter. The last thing you want to do is be alone behind closed doors with him. “You said... pack. I should... do that.” 

“Ah, I did. Alright, I’ll take you to your grandma’s. I’ll have to come early so we can get to your friend.” 

“Right,” you agree coarsely. 

“Trust me. I know how to handle cops,” he chuckles and pulls out his keys, unlocking the car right beside you. He opens the door and steps back, “I’ll call ahead. Get us a room as there too. I guess you’re going to want to catch up with your friend while we’re there. Might be a while before you see her again.” 

You wince and look at him. A while. You look around at the street lights. You’re not unhappy. Leaving this place doesn’t matter to you but leaving Kara, possibly forever, that’s a knife in the chest. But forever is easier if you know she’s okay. If you know she doesn’t pay for your stupidity. 

You nod and get in the car. You can’t speak. If you even try, you’ll bawl. The end is there, you feel it closing you in with the car door. 

[k4marina]

simon“ghost”riley x fem!reader

warnings: none, spelling/grammer possibly

—

“you should wear a suit more often, you look nice.”

your freshly manicured hand held the wine glass up to your lips. the expensive red wine had a rich scent. the bartender had something about it being made in the 1920s, but you didn’t pay much attention and focused on how your lieutenant looked tonight.

simon wore a nicely fitted three piece suit. it was black with thin white stripes coming down vertically. he wore a off white, almost light blue dress shirt and a black tie.

he had forgone his signature mask seeing that it didn’t fit the mood for tonight. his clean shaven face and sharp jawline was on display for everyone. a few women had already tried to flirt with him when he had gone up to the bar.

he reminded you of those models in those magazines you got sent in the mail. except, simon looked way better than them.

he eyes mirrored yours, swirling with mischief. “don’t start what you can’t finish, love.” he adjusted his posture, leaning back in his seat and spreading his legs open.

fucking prick.

“whatever do you mean?” you feigned ignorance, batting your lashes at him with doe eyes. if he was going to make you squirm then why couldn’t you do the same to him?

he let out something that sounds like a mix of a grunt and a growl. simons eyes raked over you. you wore a black dress with off the shoulder puff sleeves with a sweetheart neckline. the dress reached floor length, hugging your curves in the right places. your hair was styled nicely to show off your neck and the diamond necklace that dipped low into the valley of your breast.

“my eyes are up here.”

his brown eyes flickered to yours, amused at your confidence. “what? is it wrong for me to look at something i like?”

heat creeped up your neck and to your ears. what a fucking flirt. god, he was so smug which didn’t help make him any less attractive.

“i never said it was wrong to look, just..” your eyes trailed along the ballroom filled with wealthy elites and tycoons all enjoying themselves and the luxuries of their lives. “maybe not in the middle of a packed ballroom.”

his lips pulled back to a smirk. he lifts his glass up to his lips, keeping eye contact and took a sip of his bourbon.

“you suggesting somewhere more private?”

you shrugged, “i’m not opposed to the idea of that.” he leaned over, forearms on the table, mirroring your stance. your faces were just a few inches away. you could smell the bourbon and his cologne on him.

“so what do you say?”

“i say you two need to pipe down.”

you rolled your eyes, “is that so gaz?”

“for the love of christ, stop flirtin’ your gonna make me gag.” your earpiece slightly vibrated as he spoke.

“hello to you too, soap.” you and simon sat back down in your original positions.

“don’t “hello” me while you two eye-fuck each other from across the table-“

“that’s enough, mctavish.” simon grunted.

another voice piped up, “you muppets better start paying attention. you’re on a mission — not a date.”

—

[upsidedownwithsteve]

MY NAME IS WHATEVER YOU DECIDE | A WORK IN PROGRESS

Sure enough, you turned the corner to hole eight to see a group of young men talking and laughing around their own golf cart. You saw some familiar faces, all known for being young, handsome and rich. 

Billy Hargrove of Hargrove’s Vintage Motors. Crude, sharp witted, too flirtatious, he was the next in line to take over his father’s company and fortune, selling refurbished vehicles for prices that made your eyes water. 

Jonathan Byers was there too, a young mogul who was up and coming in the art world. Once a critic, his photography had shot to fame after some black and white nudes of his then girlfriend were ‘leaked’ to the paper he once worked for. His family paid it all off as some sort of art nouveau exhibition, a look into scandal and sex in 30mm film. He lost his girlfriend but landed a gallery in the downtown neighbourhood of San Francisco. 

Eddie Munson, someone you actually knew from high school. A decent guy, there because he worked for it, illegally, sure - but didn’t they all? One way or another? Selling weed and who knows what else to the majority of the population of Hawkins made for a popular man, but Eddie brought in bank when he started selling to the elite, the rich kids of Hawkins High who preferred powder at their parties. He got into The Lake House with cold, hard cash instead of his family name and he stayed in the background of it, usually.

[n33dlew0rk]

Bad Boy Boogie

I’m thinking about how in The Dirt they depicted Vince Neil as someone who was not into the alternative scene as much as Nikki Sixx and Tommy Lee were.

And I'm thinking about Steve being recruited in some glam rock band in a similar way after he’s been scraping the barrel for a few years because his poor excuse of a father kicked him out and cut him off for being queer:

He’s working dive bars, strip clubs, lame pool parties, whatever gets some food, smokes and the occasional joint on his table. He liked to sing when he was younger, but it was never something he thought would be one of his main income sources in his twenties. So it's like you know whatever, as long as it keeps him alive and kicking.

He’s not very social these days, too busy surviving the late 80’s. But someone from high school still remembers him from his King Steve days, knows what happened because of the typical small town talks + sees him kind of around the scene sometimes, between Indianapolis and Chicago, hears him sing lame slow ballads and chart stuff.

So after some laughs (he does not take the thing seriously at first) and some uncertainty (money is not guaranteed ofc), he gets recruited and slowly starts to fully embody this glam rock sexy kind of androgynous and ambiguously sensual charismatic frontman role.

They do good. Like really good. Papers talk about them, mothers pray clutching their pearls, kids go nuts. Their gigs are sweat, fishnets, smeared make-up, tall boots, short skirts, tight pants.

---

Now cut to Eddie and Corroded Coffin, still a small town band, still dreaming big. But someone in their extended friend circle, probably someone a little bit less socially awkward than them, knows someone in Indi, who knows someone in Chicago, who finally hooks them up to open for a bigger band on a small state tour. Only it's Steve's band.

Eddie is fuming.

Not only did a fucking jock got to get bigger in music faster than him, he also did it in a genre that was not popular among metalheads. Even Metallica had feuds with Mötley Crüe, after all. You know that thin veil of elitism that makes metalheads a real pain in the ass despite how intensely GAY most of Judas Priest’s lyrics are.

By the way, back to Eddie.

Fuming.

He doesn't wanna go. Pleads the guys to please have some integrity, for fuck’s sake. Tries to convince the owners of The Hideout to make them play more nights.

But when money is thrown into it, like actual money, money like a month’s worth of day jobs, he can’t really say no to the proposition.

So they go.

Eddie refuses to even listen to the other band's demos, determined to spend the entire tour playing his own set and then getting blackout drunk in the back of the van for the remainder of the night.

He manages to do just that for the first two nights, until he gets cut off from the free alcohol because the bar owner is a sad greedy bastard.

And since spending a whole evening sober inside a van is not nearly as fun as he thought, he goes back inside, searching for his bandmates, barely managing to move through waves of sweaty half naked people and groupies.

A disappointed growl leaves his throat as the lights go down while he’s still in the middle of the pit. Scorned and absolutely annoyed to the core, he turns towards the stage, fully prepared to boo his way to the side of the room.

So you can imagine how totally and utterly shocked he is when Steve fucking Harrington appears: red cowboy boots under the tightest leather pants ever created by humankind, held together by flimsy flimsy strings on the sides. A brutally ripped white tank top (more like a sad reminder of it) under a goddamned leather harness with spikes and chains, all of this on top of his hairy, toned (is that glitter??) chest. Black make-up beautifully ruined under his rich brown eyes, a shadow of red lipstick on his lips. A black bandana tied around his forehead like a crown over his messy mullet (still rich in volume, that’s a magic trick the king still brings along for the journey).

Eddie feels like a lost greek sailor hearing the sirens for the first time.

Mouth: dry.

Hands: sweaty.

Jeans: dangerously tight.

The place feels like a fucking furnace and he cannot, for the love of all things unholy, tear his gaze away from Steve’s body, his face, the way he cups the microphone, how he grinds on the mic stand, how he falls onto his knees during guitar solos panting in front of his guitarist.

Lastly, I'm thinking about when the show is over and a phantom trace of Eddie’s rationality tries to persuade him that Steve will turn back into his jock self, preppy clothes and all, like a rock'n'roll Cinderella; but instead Steve smiles big to the crowd, tears the bandana from his head, wipes away some of the sweat from his neck and then stuffs the very same black bandana right into his right back pocket.

Gareth and Jeff literally have to drag poor Eddie out of the venue because his knees are so wobbly they stopped working indefinitely.

[respectthepetty]

Pit Babe Colors Ep. 10

I'm challenging myself with this show and seeing how good my color skills really are, so I'm doing my normal thing of watching it double-speed on mute, but now, the captions are off also. It's just colors and vibes here. Also, people stay spoiling this show for me in their reblog tags on my posts, so I know Charles and Jeffrey made a dumb plan but I have no idea what it includes beyond Jeffrey going to Big Red's.

Hand over heart, I think Sonic is really pretty, which is why I haven't fully thought he is a baddie, but I need a reason for him refusing to wear blue! North gets it together every now and then, but Sonic? Boy, quit relying on that face and follow the damn color assignment!

I'm missing something but I thought Charles and Barbara were fine yet here they are fighting, but Charles spidey sense is tingling, so something bad is gonna happen or will he have sex with Barbara like they did last week? And now the glasses are off! They better not have sex on this track.

Barbara is racing?! Dean was racing last week! Was Dean informed of this plot twist? Did Barbara get healed having sex with Charles last week?

You can take the red off the boy but you can't take the red out of the boy. You are acting so sus, Jeffrey! You had a full conversation with Charles and now you are just lurking in the background. Someone spoiled that he and Charles made a plan, but if the plan is murder, he is already failing at not being suspicious.

Another hand-over-heart moment, I have no effin' idea what happened on that race track because there was so many blues then a car went off the track, and I had no real idea who it was, but I do know JEFFREY HAS SOME EXPLAINING TO DO with his suspicious ass!

Big Red lives in the same place he has his cult meetings to show off his superpowered kids? Isn't there a rule of not having cult meetings where you spray your EIGHTY MILLION BONSAI TREES! That seems dumb and contradictory, but I'm not a mega villain so what do I know?

Red is usually an emergency room color, but the red yelling at me as Barbie feels all the bad things that happen in an emergency room is a lot. Charles isn't dead because color-coded boys in love get happy endings, but Barbie is probably feeling everything right now and it probably sucks.

"Don't be suspicious. Don't be suspicious." Jeffrey, you need to make out with Alan quickly to prove you're gay, because you canNOT do crimes, and are about to be in Kentana territory again. Whatever you and Charles planned, it was dumb and Barbie is now crying.

KENTANA! Are you in on this too?!

*Record scratch* Jeffrey went back to Big Red's with the dumb plan he and Charles cooked up involving Charles dying, yes? Yes! Kentana, as Big Red's whatever-he-is, knows of the plan, SO WHY IS HE BEING BEAT UP?! Kentana, break Kimberly out and run away to the beach together. Big Red doesn't even wear red! HE SUCKS! Leave!

Stuck between the blue and the red, I see. A choice has gotta be made, Kentucky Fried Chicken. Wings or Thighs? Legs are not an option. Legs are reserved for the elite squad of Peter, Alan, and Kimberly. You don't get legs! (WHERE IS KIMBERLY?!)

Barbie woke up in black. He has no man, but he has his powers, so either he is about to enter his rich widow era or he is going to go Kill Bill on these bitches.

Horrible take. Awful take. The WORST take, but . . . if Waymond didn't decide to be bad, he would have been the perfect person to comfort Babe and ease Barbie's pain, pero . . . he had to be a little bitch instead.

Oh, NOW you wanna follow the color assignment, Sonic. NOW?!

Well, Jeffrey picked up your mantle with his not-all-black outfit and bright ass white-wrapped flowers. This isn't a wedding, Jeffrey! IT'S A FUNERAL! Jeffrey, a note from The Sign's Dr. Chalothon - FAKE IT! Sir, that empty grave is supposed to be your roommate and partner-in-dumb-crime, yet I haven't seen one single tear from someone who just lost their buddy. You're more sus than the entire cast of Dead Friend Forever. How does Barbara not suspect your ass with his spidey senses?!

Damn you, Saltburn!

KIMBERLY! AND HE'S IN BLUE! *sliding down the wall and sobbing on the floor* MY BABY HAS RETURNED!

Wait! Pause! *squints* Why did Jeffrey bring Kim? And why to Alan's house? What in the Chuck E. Cheese is happening?!

Alan, Jeffrey's roommate is quote-unquote "dead" yet you are living your best life. Can you try to be sad too or are you in on this plan and this is why Kimberly is now looking beautiful on your couch?

The blue is between y'all, but just like Charles and Barbara having sex on every surface when Kimberly was being held hostage, do y'all have no shame? Making heart eyes at each other immediately after burying an empty coffin that was supposed to be Charles. Shame! At least pretend that Charles is dead! Or fill Barbie in on this dumb plan.

Vegas' Hedgehog, you pretty bitch. I hate you.

Barbie is watching the crash, and Jeffrey and Alan are playing footsie over Charles' quote-unquote "grave." But I already know I'm more upset for Barbie than he will be for himself because he'll forgive everyone for this bullshit lie in less than two minutes.

Does Barbara think Waymond killed Charles?! He might be shitty, but he is backed by the blue. He ain't guilty! Go speak to your boyfriend's roommate and his new boyfriend, Barbie!

Oh shit! I wasn't expecting you to actually go talk to them! Hold up! Is that blue on Jeffrey?! Does he actually not have anything to do with Charlie's quote-unquote "death"?

SONIC IS WEARING BLUE IN THE BACKGROUND!

Like I know shit is going down right now because Decanus sabotaged ANOTHER car *Pikachu face* but I don't think he is in on the dumb plan to "kill" Charles so . . . Kimberly wore blue this episode and Sonic is wearing blue (even though I think there is a shimmer of red there), and I'm crying in the club because this is all I wanted, and sorry to all of y'all, but the show could end right here, and I'd be happy.

Oh no. My man is crying. I am no longer happy. I am in pain. Why is he crying so hard? Was Dean his best friend? His brother? This feels personal. Jeffrey, come give our man a hug! Right now! RIGHT FUCKING NOW, JEFFREY!

Seeing Alan cry hurt way worse than anything else that happened. Charles isn't dead, so I'm just upset that Barbie has to cry and more upset that Barbara is going to be cool with whatever dumb plan Charles made without telling him, but Alan's tears were unexpected.

However, Sonic is back on his bullshit next week, so I can't stay in my feels too long.

And I get to see Peter while someone fully commits to the blue.

Oh, and we get to see the dumb-plan-that-made-Barbie-cry in more detail. *Arthur fist* Be upset at Charles for just one episode, Barbara. Just one damn episode, please. He didn't try to assault you like Waymond, but Charles has played with your emotions several times, and I just need you to knock 👏🏾 his 👏🏾 ass 👏🏾 out 👏🏾 too 👏🏾.

[cipheramnesia]

I know you talk about movies and TV shows on here a lot, so I'm not sure if you've already a secret this, but do you have any recommendations for things on canabalism? Or werewolves

The cannibalism genre is huge, and you could probably write a book on it. Obviously my favorites are The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Part 2 (the originals, none of the remakes, reboots, whatever). They're two sides of the same strange coin with underlying themes of classism and the deep rot at the core of US nationalism. Along with Night of the Living Dead around six years prior, the original TCM was one of those movies that marked a paradigm shift in horror film.

But meanwhile, there was a huge lurid explosion of cannibalsploitation movies. I don't know most of them very well. Like, I've seen Motel Hell and Blood Diner, The Hills Have Eyes movies, but they didn't do a lot for me. Once you start getting to the end of the 80s, directors seemed to start getting an inkling of the satirical or symbolic value of the cannibal, and that's where some really interesting work happens, for example Parents (1989), the absolutely iconic People Under the Stairs (1991), and a left field one from me personally - Auntie Lee's Meat Pies (1992) - which feels almost accidentally anti-capitalist / anti-authoritarian.

One thing about this period is that for the most part there was an associate of cannibalism with being rural and poor (People Under The Stairs and Parents are notable and very interesting exceptions). A degree of the horror lies in humans eating humans, but in a modern lens these old exploitation films tap into other feelings, finding an undercurrent of anger which comes from the way it's so often poor and rural people literally consuming wealthy or privileged people. The cannibals of these movies were often dirty, or old, or fat, or horny. They were loud and obnoxious and tacky - and their victims were so clean and thin and pretty and wealthy. There's no doubt a lot of the exploitation movies in that whole late sixties to early nineties period weren't exactly made with pure intentions, but many of them hit that "eat the rich" sweet spot in a way more recent movies don't.

But anyway, also starting in the 1990s was the shift towards the idea of cannibalism as something transformative - human flesh went from a staple of the poor and disenfranchised, and started to be a luxury item, or something which marked those who consumed it as special or even elite, sort of kicked off by Silence of the Lambs. However, if you want a more interesting example, Ravenous is a fun watch, and has a lot to unpack going on - both for the good and for the bad. It's one of those movies where you'll find a degree of the mythologizing also start to appropriate first nations culture and in particular a figure which isn't meant to be spoken about just in general. Prior to this, there was already a habitual use of "native people" as "savage cannibals" in the exploitative way, but this was where it swung over to the other side of the horseshoe, to stereotype any sort of pre-colonial people's have having a unique and ritualized consumption of human flesh that separated them from white, western colonizers.

Anyway, that takes us up to recent stuff, which is probably too close to see a clear pattern. People are still making the same movies as before, but some of the more interesting modern approaches where cannibalism is in the context of things like coming of age, or finding a place in the world are Raw and Bones And All. These two takes merge some of the original models of cannibalism being a trait of the underprivileged, but having elements signifying it as a unique experience which allows it to serve as a stand-in for the feeling of transition to adulthood, or being someone who is socially othered in some way. A few others which I think have some interesting takes, but maybe not enough to get into detail, are Flesh, We Are What We Are, Feed Me, and Bloody Hell. Most recently, and probably the best new cannibal movie in ages, is Lowlife, which you can find on Tubi.

Anyway, uh, quick off the cuff werewolf take is that there's not really a perfect werewolf movie which in no particular order should have a bipedal werewolf with a wolf head (not human-like) and is queer. Some movies which are a mixed bag are An American Werewolf In London (great writing, terrible wolf design), The Howling series (cool werewolf design, terrible writing), Ginger Snaps 1+2 (should be queer, isn't), Wolf Cop 1+2 (okay writing, okay design, missing the queer), and Late Phases (good writing, so-so design).

Here are the three that you should watch: Dog Soldiers has peak werewolf design, a really interesting concept, and solid writing. Probably your best bang for the buck in terms of cool werewolf fighting time. Bloodthirsty is peak queer werewolf movie writing, with very little actual wolf. It's beautiful and meditative and I love it. And of course the all time greatest werewolf movie ever: Company of Wolves. More of a dreamscape painting than movie, what it lacks in wolf design it makes up in beauty and depth of psychosexual exploration.

[loserlvrss]

𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒

✇ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 : 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃

authors note // i lowkey forgot this was sitting in my drafts :/ mb gang i’ll post more (she says)

chapter theme warnings // language, mentions of death & killing, substance abuse

word count // 2.2k

Chapter Two: From Place to Place

𝐓𝐇𝐄 shocking flash of light shined through the open curtains, illuminating it only briefly, and causing a groan to escape my lips. It was followed by the loud crack of thunder. I hadn’t been sleeping anyways, not truly knowing how to process what had happened earlier in the day. Everything was set to go perfectly so how did they seep through the cracks? And, now we had lost the only leverage we had into the location of the eight — the core of the rebellion that was on the rise. 

Despite my fears, it was naive to underestimate — I thought that I could do a better job finding information than he could. People, after all, were the most predictable of creatures. The plan would be simple really, but I never got close enough to propose the idea. I know I could be of help because, who would suspect me? Nonetheless, if I ever got close enough to my father, he would either yell or push me from the room, slamming the door in my face before a thought could even cross my mind. 

I knew that his elites — a few old-men with drooping faces — were gathered in his study, holographically. I knew they were discussing their next move, like always. 

I stayed up at night wondering what mindset the criminal had to have to do the things rumored: Kill remorselessly, and sink ships all over the continental seas. The infamous eight pirates, that the commoners would call the symbol of their hope. Their idols. Their heroes. But, the people of the capital would say wannabes. They would say lazy and incapable — only stealing because they couldn't move up in the hierarchy and coin Sector One as their home, like they’d so luckily been born into.

Reality was, nobody joined Sector One without connections. And, most of the time those connections ranged all the way back to the people who had stayed inside the dome four-hundred years ago. 

Thunder echoed again, sounding closer than it had before and shaking the metal jewelry that hung on its holder. It sat upon my unused dresser (because nobody needed a physical place to store anything anymore), but it was for the symbolism. The wooden furniture had been passed down through generations of my family. And, truthfully, it's all I had left of my mother. 

I sat up, the crisp comforter pooling at my waistline, and ran a hand loosely through my hair. I pushed the sheets aside, getting from the bed and walking over to the window. The stories-high, brightly lit buildings towered through the seeable distance. Billboards of holographically streamed TV previews and the next ground-breaking products splayed across them in light pollution. The Autoflyers whizzed dramatically fast through the rain that reflected off the neons — the in-air highway bustling with the city that never sleeps. 

You couldn’t even imagine seeing the ground from where I stayed. 

Decades ago, the only option for the expansion of the district was to go up; And, that’s what they did, tickling the edge of space with man-made metals. 

Now, only the richest of the rich, the 5% if you will, got to live on the most scenic floors of the skyscrapers that swayed with the lightest gust of wind. 

I threw the latest trend in raincoat over my clean, white-silk dress; I had thousands of them, in every style that people long for, this one having a lace section that framed my chest. I grabbed whatever pair of shoes was closest to the door, and opened it, careful of any creaks.

I exited into the dimly lit hallway, walking down it gently. 

“We’ve got him,” I heard through the walls, my father’s voice, “he won’t get away this time.” The door to his study was only a slit, casting a sliver of light to the corridor that I stepped over quickly, pressing my back to the wall next to it. 

Another voice filled the silenced air, “Has he spoken of the rest?”

“Not yet but, he will soon. Trust, Jeong, we’ve got them right within our reach.” You could hear the sighs of relief, “It’ll be over soon.”

“We’ll have a ball.”

My eyebrows knit, how’d he know this? How could he be so confident? Was I blindly trusting a mad-man? They’d gotten through the Reapers before, who’s to say they can’t do it again? 

There was a sound of screeching wood, someone had moved a chair, probably getting to their feet. I thought of excuse upon excuse at this moment. Maybe, if I pressed my hand to the wood first, swinging it open, I could cause enough of a commotion that he’d overlook the fact that I was, once again, sneaking out. It’s not the first time I’ve been caught, but if it does happen today, it will be the last. My father had always been overprotective ever since my mother died, over a few years ago now. 

But then there was a voice that boomed through the penthouse, “And what if you don't? How much longer are we going to let these fucking pests invade the minds of our citizens? My daughter, for God’s sake, has been talking of this stupid rebellion! Fix this, Jang, otherwise we’ll elect someone who will once you're taken care of.”

The contrast in my father’s voice sent a shiver up my spine, “Is that a threat or a promise, Mr. Kim?”

Arguing broke out, excuses to save face from venomous tongues, that I used as a means to escape.

An eerie feeling crept through me, the lights off, the living room feeling all but lifelike — plastic covered furniture, and sleek countertops to match the windows that splayed from ceiling to floor. 

I knew for sure that it was a house, but not a home.

I made it to the shuttle, the door pinging green as I walked through. There were three other people on it, all staring like they’ve never seen someone of my stature before: a man wearing a white fluffy hat (that almost looked too big for his head), a white shirt and big, gray pants that clashed. Another was a woman and a smaller child, presumably hers, done-up prime and pristine, much resembling myself. Their eyes left me once I took an empty seat.

The shuttle moved from place to place, so quickly it seemed like time hadn’t been passing at all — the doors opening and closing one after another in the span of a couple minutes. It felt like time wasn’t a thing that controlled humanity anymore, but exactly the opposite. 

Another stop came up next, the woman and child getting up off their seats as I did too, the doors shooting open. We filed out orderly, and went separate ways down the asphalt sidewalk that was now stained with running rainwater.

The air smelled of arousal and alcohol, the neon signs blinding as I passed tightly knit buildings. Truth is, Sector One was only picture-perfect on the outside. The further you got to the ground, the dingier the place was. Scrap metals as makeshift storm doors, mismatched fabrics flapping against the rhythm of the winds. There was trash that blew around and ultimately got stuck against the impenetrable outside-surface. There were vendors trying to sell their top-secret products, with no ingredient labels, to the rich and naive. The people who would venture to the slums just to see what it was like to live lowly. People who had made it. But, only made it so far up the ladder to live in the shadows of the skyscrapers.

I ignored their pleas — their re-rehearsed speeches — and kept walking past the chatters, avoiding passing citizens.  

I came upon a nameless bar, hustling with fancy hats and sharp shoes. I cut to the front, bumping into the bouncer, the people waiting to enter getting irritated by my actions. I tried to step through the door frame, but not before an arm shot out and my chest rammed into it. 

"Where are you going, little lady?" The bouncer I had run into asked, gold and rotten teeth wafting a pungent smell into the air around me, "Looking for some fun?" 

“Not at all,” I leaned in, our cheeks barely brushing, “I’m looking for the mole.” He smirked, then hummed a moment, nodding slowly. His fingers came into view and he motioned for me to follow. 

Another bouncer took his place, resuming the irritated line. We went through the doors, the music booming against my eardrums, and the lights insync with the jumpable beat. There were girls, sex-workers disguised with shimmering blush-pink dresses. They were sashaying around the club on the hunt for their next tip; the men and women in awe of their artificial-beauty that the place pays for upon hire. 

I watched as the bouncer grabbed one of the bartenders’ attention, whispering something into his ear, and exchanging glances like they’d just made a deal. 

He came over, swinging a shot-glass back right before attempting a smooth journey through the people. 

“Trying to leave the good ol’ Sector One?” He leaned in far enough to hear him clearly. I nodded, and he began stumbling through neon lights and second-hand smoke. I had no choice but to follow him as he was the only person I knew would help me out; the only person my father didn’t have tied in his basement of bodies. 

He led us through the back, earning a couple curious glances from the other waiters, and out the door designated for smoke-breaks and quickies. We ended up between two buildings: an extravagant sex-shop that sold anything your heart — or body — desired, and a motel. 

“What’s a girl like you trying to leave Sector One for anyways?” 

I crossed my arms, “Just… Help me out.” 

Still, the question rang through my head and echoed off the walls of my brain. Why was I leaving the sanctuary I called home? The place people live their whole lives for, and yet, I had the crushing desire to know more; It weighed heavy on my lungs, palpated my heart. 

He held his palm face-up as a reply, and I hovered mine face-down over it. A green light flashed through our skin, signaling the payment was successful. 

He smiled in satisfaction, “So, so naive, don’t you think? What if I didn’t know? Waste Daddy’s money on a whisper, a bad guy like me? Don’t you think he’ll have his dogs here faster than you can apologize?” His mouth twisted into a smirk, “The princess of Sector One, leaving? Why? Do you have someone on the other side? Oh, how romantic! I won’t tell.” He mimed zipping his lips and throwing the key into the darkness behind his tall frame. 

“Just show me the way out, or I'll tell my father what kind of business you actually run, Yeonju. Then we’ll see who the dogs bite first.” 

“You’re bold for a girl who can’t fight.” He hmphed, “If I was you, I’d watch that pretty mouth of mine before it gets me in real trouble. Do something useful with it instead — I’ll hire you.”

I darted my eyes, nonverbally telling him to lead the way. He smiled contentedly despite his annoyance — though I was unamused — swinging around, and almost skipping away like a child who had just been given allowance money. 

I caught up to his side, avoiding the trash cans (and loose bags) that made the tight alley a maze of enough dirt and grime to stain a powder-white dress. 

Yeonju looked down at me as we began a steady-ish pace, explaining, “I’ll take you to the edge, that’s all. You know, a guy like me,” He then placed a harsh smack against his chest for emphasis, “Doesn’t leave to be amongst the filth. I live in Sector One, for fuck sake! Why would I ever leave?” His gaze dropped again, stopping us both by standing in front of me and leaning to be eye-level, his rough hands on my shoulders. “And you — the princess of it — fucking, Jang Ahin! Why would you ever have the desire to leave? You have anything you could ever want literally at your fingertips! Are you crazy?” 

I scoffed out a laugh, brushing past him though I had no idea where I was headed to. The sheltering my whole life, blinding me from every twist and turn the network had. 

He stayed back a moment, obviously watching to see if his next tangent would get a rise from me — which was said more like it was meant for himself in the first place. 

“Ah, I get it now. It’s not who… It’s rebellion. You’ve finally had enough of your good-for-nothing daddy. What’d he do, cut you off from viewing the executions?” I paused, fronting like what he said didn’t bother me, and he went on another path in retaliation, “Or! Now, this one is the best theory in my humble opinion… You do have a lover, and I bet it’s the pirate! Ooh, I even bet it’s the one that was captured. What is poor-old Ahin going to do? Betray her president — her city — and let him go?” He cooed, romanticizing the air. “Which is it, Ahin? What’s the rumor going to be this time?” 

I swung around, “What the fuck do you want, Yeonju? More fucking money? I can do that if it makes you shut up and walk faster.” 

He laughed, jogging up to me, and spewing out a reply as he passed by, “Honestly? I just wanted to see the prized-princess swear.” 

My middle finger shot into view and I huffed out, “Happy now?”

He tipped his invisible hat, doing a full three-sixty, “Fucking ecstatic!” 

all rights reserved copyright © loserlvrss 2024

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[amphitriteswife]

‘Kiss me, don’t leave me’

🔱x🦈

Disclaimer:reader is dark skinned and Amphy ofcourse. And my title got recommended to me by @miss-seanymph-pani

Genre: a pinch of Spice i think or maybe a pinch angst too?

Pairing: Poseidon x Amphitrite reader.

Setting: Academia Au

Tag list: @miss-seanymph-pani @monstertreden @tinyy-tea-cup @vilereign @nicasdreamer

Characters: Poseidon, Amphitrite Reader and some mentions of oceanus.

Language: English

Summary: You were sent to an elite school made for rich young adults. This was all thanks to your father overprotectiveness as he thought that sending you here would intervene with you marrying Poseidon. Unfortunately the man he wanted to protect you from had hust started his career as a teacher on this elite school

｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡

You were walking in the halls of the academia. Despite it being elite, it had many members. Most of them were royals or had parents who held a lot of power. The academia specialized in helping students with finding what kind of job they wanted, for example if they wanted to to a different thing from what they studied in high school. Yet no one payed attention to the lessons. Why? Because most of them would simply take over jobs from their parents. That’s why the school had hired a new teacher in hopes that the students would behave since the former teacher quit.

You were stopped in front of the door of the classroom you were supposed to be in 6 minutes ago. You internally debated since now that you were late you could just skip it anyway. But, the principal of the school was a family friend of your father, and he would surely snitch you. Besides you didn’t even have a good reason to be late…and you even went off campus…so that would surely get you into trouble with your father. You sighed and sipped on a coffee you bought of campus. You decided that you’ll rather take that detention than to see ‘Mr.snitch’. You opened the door and were greeted with a quiet class. That was weird, very weird. Everyone was always chaotic and did whatever they pleased, they got away with it soo since they just usually bribed the teacher. You looked a bit confused and wanted to ask, that was when a cold monotone voice asked ‘You look lost.’ A man with blonde hair and blue half lidded eyes asked you, he wore a dark blue velvet suit and it looked great on him…but you didn’t recognize him. His back was turned to the class as he wrote on the white board, from his accent you immediately knew he was Greek….That mean he was new since most teachers were Atlantean. And lucky for you, you were known to challenge the newbies. ‘I think you’re the lost one, Mr...?’ You looked him up and down. This was going to be a though one. But you’ll manage it. You were sure of it. ‘That’s professor for you, Miss Amphitrite.’ You smiled at him response. You were known to have charming yet unreadable smile with dimples, something you inherited from your father. Poseidon’s eyes were still focused on the board before he put the cap on the whiteboard marker before he turned to you, his eyes still cold and extended his hand. You looked at him with one raised eyebrow, confused by his gesture. ‘Your drink.’ Poseidon said, noticing your violations of the rules no one kept to. Just this time you decided to behave and hand over your drink. ‘Careful, that one was a wait time of 13 minutes’ You said to him as you walked past him to your seat. Poseidon ignored your remark and placed the drink on his desk. He gave you a look before he got back to his boring lecture.

Your eyes watched his moves. He was confident and well reserved. Which would make him harder to crack, but you were no loser. You knew the moment he confiscated your drink that you’ll break him even more. You paid no attention to his lecture and instead pulled out your phone and did whatever you wanted. You opened your group chat, it was filled with lots of other’s who each were in their own lecture at the moment. Some of them were chatting about how they actually skipped theirs, while others talked about meeting after school off campus. You were typing something about maybe going to the convenience store. That was until the phone was snatched out of your hands. You looked up to Poseidon reading the messages on your phone. He even went as far to scroll up. You leaned back in your seat and waited for him to speak, which bothered Poseidon. How could you still be so care free about all of this? It infuriated him. ‘You can say goodbye about going to the convenience store, as well as this phone.’ This raised your attention, he was confiscating your phone. Something that had never happend before. You laughed at him in response. ‘You think this is funny?’ Poseidon asked you. He put the phone in his pocket and placed his hands on your desk. His eyes were narrowed and it was clear he was holding his tongue…which only made you laugh more. In his eyes you were just a privileged brat who had no respect for others. Your phone proved his statement, it was the newest in the collection and the case had an expensive brand on it too. ‘Be careful with that, professor. It costs more than your life.’ You joked to him. Even now with your phone in his hands you were still not even showing the fraction of respect. Poseidon clenched his jaw. He wanted to break your phone if it meant you’d showed the least of respect..but he had to remain calm. ‘If you have a problem with the way i handle things, you know where the door is.’ Poseidon said. He was expecting you to behave now and not disrupt his class unfortunately for him you were known to never listen. So you rose from your seat and walked towards the door, you grabbed the door clink and turned to him ‘I’m back after class.’ And with that you left the class. Poseidon looked at the door with his usual cold eyes, yet he was stunned. His eyes not leaving the door. He turned back to the white board with gritted teeth.

✰ ✰ ✰

You returned to the classroom after school had ended, you stepped into the classroom and was greeted with Poseidon sitting on by his desk. ‘After class, you said. You missed the next 4 periods you were supposed to follow.’ Poseidon said pinching the bridge of his nose. You acknowledged what he said, but you didn’t care for it at all. He noticed this which just infuriated him even more. How could you be so foolish?! He was at his limit with you and he has only been teaching you for one day, hell one period since you missed the rest. ‘You care for an Americano?’ You asked him holding the drink extended to him. ‘What did you put in it?’ Poseidon asked you suspiciously. He did not trust you at all. ‘Nothing, if you open the lid its a real pain to put it back on, so even if i wanted to, i can’t.’ You told him as you put the drink on his desk, you got him a Americano yes, but that didn’t explain why you missed 4 periods. ‘What were you doing off campus.’ Poseidon asked you as he signaled you so sit down in the front row, which you of course refused to do and instead sat on his desk. ‘I got my nails done and grabbed a drink…then i saw a store with some expensive clothes so of course i had to buy that-’ Poseidon interrupted you with a sigh. ‘Young lady, you do not miss 4 periods, especially without a good reason.’ Poseidon told you as he stood up. He stood in front of you, his hands on either side of the desk with you in the middle. He was kind of invading your personal space but you let it slide. ‘What do i have to do to make you behave respectful and not as an entitled brat.’ Poseidon spat at you, he was angry, very angry. But anger doesn’t get far with you, you laughed at him in response and tugged his tie which made him come even closer to you. ‘What are you willing to do?..’ You asked him, the same charming smile, your dark skin close to his pale skin, your eyes were seductive yet mysterious. Everything about you was so…beautiful and perfect. His breath was caught in his throat as he stared at you, you noticed the way he looked at you, he wants you. He was falling for your bait. You smiled and got even closer to him. He wanted to kiss you so bad, but he can’t. You’re a brat and you don’t deserve it…is what he thought. Yet he couldn’t help but feel the opposite. You gave him a smile before your hands reached for your button up shirt. Poseidon saw this and choked on air ‘D-don’t-’ He was a but too late as you had already unbuttoned the button. Your dark skinned breast were heard to miss. His eyes drifted even lower which made him let out a raspy and shocked grunt. He could see the darker skin of your nipples. He can’t take his eyes of it. It was so beautiful, so perfect. His mouth went dry as he felt you press your breast push on his chest. You were being too seductive, it was getting too much to bear. Way too much. His mouth was dry as he looked down at your breast.

‘My eyes are up here.’ You teased him. Poseidon tore his eyes off your cleavage and looked you in the eyes. He took a step back and turned his head to the side before he cleared his throat. ‘I think you should leave…’ he said, not daring to look at you. You got off of his desk and gave him a kiss on the cheek, this made his eyes widen even more as he refused to be anywhere near you. You only laughed at him which made him frown but he didn’t say anything. You walked to the door and spoke. ‘You should wear corsets, they will make your tiny waist even more visible.’ You winked back at him before heading out the door. Leaving a frozen and embarrassed Poseidon in his class room.

~Time skip~

Poseidon had his back to the students, the class was a little loud but he didn’t seem to mind, his mind was somewhere else…that was until the door to his classroom cracked again. He stopped writing and turned his head to the door, a little irritated to see who interrupted his lesson. Upon seeing you in the door way he let out a sigh of frustration. ‘Young lady, we talked about this. Now Go to your seat.’ Poseidon said as he turned back to the board. The class seemed to regain it’s chaotic nature as you sat down. Nobody paid attention to the things poseidon wrote on the board. Many of the students tried to mess with him, that included making comments on his appearance. Yet none of them got to him. Poseidon paid no attention to them and remained with his back to the class. ‘You have a nice waist.’ Poseidon froze upon hearing the comment Poseidon thought back to the little commotion the two of you had. He didn’t know why, but that comment pissed him off. He didn’t care who it was, he was way too angry to care anyway. ‘Get out.’ Poseidon said sternly to you. This confused you. You hadn’t said one word to him at all. ‘That wasn’t m- I. Said. Get. Out.’ You were interrupted by his stern voice. This was ridiculous. You hadn’t done anything besides being late. But it was better than going to the principals office, thats for sure…so for once you actually listened to him. When you rose from your seat and walked to the door poseidon spoke up again. ‘After class i expect you to be here. And not a moment later.’ Poseidon said, referring to yesterday when you were 4 periods later. You smiled at him again and grabbed the doorknob, twisting it and stepping out but just before that…there was a little smirk plastered onto his face. You narrowed your eyes but still stepped outside the classroom, choosing to ignore it for now.

After class you were standing outside the classroom, the halls were filled with students who were going to their dorm or hanging off campus, some of them even greeted you and gave you their best wishes since you had to he alone with Poseidon in his classroom. After everyone in your class had left you stepped into the classroom. Poseidon was sitting by his desk. His eyes locked onto yours. You waled closer to him and leaned against his desk. ‘So…what do you want?’ You asked him, slightly smirking at him. Poseidon stood up from his desk and and trapped you in between his arms, both of them by each of your sides. His face quite close to yours. his eyes half lidded and lips slightly parted. There was a certain look in his eyes as he stared at your big glossy lips for a few moments. ‘You gonna apologize or what?’ You asked him as you stared into his eyes. He scoffed, though his smirk remained. ‘Apologize for what?’ He asked you, still invading your personal space. Poseidon softly brushed his lips against yours. He closed his eyes, his hands grazing the wood of the desk until they reached your hips. Poseidon pressed his forehead against yours his lips parting even more before he spoke in a barely audible whisper. ‘I’m failing you and getting you expelled…only then could you become fully mine.’ His hands had reached your back by the time he was done speaking. His lips were millimeters away from yours. You could feel his breath on your face. He was totally crazy about you. And this made you smirk. You gently pushed him to let him sit in his seat. Poseidon still held onto your hips and looked up at you, his eyes filled with different emotions all at once. His breathing got heavy as you leaned into him. What was he feeling? Love? Passion? Desire? Anticipation? He couldn’t pin point it but he didn’t mind. His mind was way too focused on you and your lips. You leaned in even more while Poseidon brought one hand to your cheek. He looked at you as if you were his only purpose in life, as if you were the reason why he even put up with this school at all. He couldn’t help but desire you in a way he never felt towards anyone. Not even past lovers…His lips got closer to you, way closer than before….And thats when you pulled away. His eyes snapped open, his eyes held a confused expression, perhaps even a pained one. He was so stunned that he couldn’t say anything for a few moments. He watched you as you pulled back with a smirk and walked towards the door. You were smirking as if you had won. ‘Kiss me, don’t leave me…’ Poseidon said in a soft voice. His eyes never leaving your figure who now stood at the door way. ‘A kiss from me will costs you a lot.’ You replies with a flirty voice. Poseidon’s parted lips closed and he clenched his jaw. ‘Fine…you win’ Poseidon said, yet his voice didn’t sound angry at all…it was more in a lovable way. He watched you walk out of his classroom in silence with only the fast beating of his heart being audible. He didn’t care that you pushed him away. Because he the moment you decided you pulled away him was the moment he knew he would be yours instead…

[lucas-grey]

Let's talk about motives and the battle of good versus evil in Hitman!

Hitman is not Disney and there is no black and white here. The battle of good versus evil is not so easy to define. Is there even such a thing as "the good"? And who are the bad guys?

Let's start with Grey.

The war that Grey is waging against Providence is, on the one hand, a fight against the elite. A war against capitalism and external control. Grey wants to tear down the walls of the ivory towers on which the rich and powerful who control world affairs in the backgrounds sit. He doesn't like the fact that a small group of people have so much power.

On the other hand, this war is also personal. Grey has experienced first-hand what it means to be defencelessly at the mercy of this power, to be created, exploited and abused by it.

So is Grey the good guy in the story?

It's not that simple. Grey is a murderer. He has killed people for money, for his own gain and we know that he does not shy away from torture. He teamed up with other murderers and terrorists who were no less brutal. Did he have any other choice? Of course he did. He could have tried therapy 😅 Instead, he does whatever it needs to do his revolution. And if he has to walk over dead bodies to do so, then so be it. His motives may be noble, but his methods are certainly not.

So is Providence the evil in the story?

Well, you can at least say that their intentions are less noble than Grey's. The members of Providence, especially the Constant, lust for power. In other words, exactly the opposite of what Grey wants. Providence lives in a decadence of inviolability. They control entire political systems and hold the strings in their hands simply because they are rich and powerful. Whether individual members of Providence are bad people per se remains to be seen. The system itself certainly is.

To summarise, there is no such thing as good and evil in Hitman. Even 47 and Diana, who are more or less dragged into this war between Grey and Providence, literally have their skeletons in the closet.

In this world, no one is noble, no one rides in shining armour on a white steed, no one wears a superhero suit with a billowing cape. And if they do, their equipment is still covered in blood.

[contes-de-rheio]

Monolith Do Not Exist

Let’s be honest, this sentence is one of the very few that sounds so much better in French, but I’m not here to discuss translation and adaptation issues.

What bugs me the most when I read worldbuilding posts is the impression everything is a monolith. Like you read the description of a country (sometimes a continent), and they have one architecture style, one type of traditional clothes, one religion and one language, even though communication is stuck in Middle Ages.  

Then I look at France, my home country, and, even today, you can see many differences from one place to another. Just look at architecture. In the North many buildings are built with red bricks, giving them a very distinct color. In Normandy,  Slates are used for rooftops and traditional building are one floor high (very low!), while on the coastline of this region you can see very distinctive English influences. Then Paris has this typical style called Haussmanian (6-7 floors, slate rooftop, white stone).

And the same goes on for everything else: religion (50% Christians, 40% atheists, 5% Islam), each region has its traditional clothes (though you’ll only see them in special events now), and as for languages, though French is the official language and most dialects are poorly treated by the elites and the government, some are still very much alive (Brezhoneg, Euskera, Chtimi come to mind).

So, if your world has more than one religion, consider there will be some minorities of other religions present in that country, even if your State has an official, aka State religion (France was Catholic for a long time). Immigration (forced or not) will bring new faiths in a country, trade too. Note, some minor faiths may be persecuted or discriminated against (consider the history of Jewish people).

Architecture was built with whatever materials were available in the area, because transport of heavy stones was too costly. Only the king and very rich people could afford to import other materials (in France, marble came from the southern mountain ranges, the Pyrenees and the Alps).

Traditional clothes would be made in the main materials of the area (from plants or animals), and you should also consider if people can or can’t dye them. Many traditional clothes in France have mainly black and white, with some touch of other colors... which might also be because most of these clothes were worn for mass, when people tried to look their best, but still modest in a way. Let’s note, certain dye were only available in some places (Florence had a famous blue), or legally restrained to specific social status (in Korea, gold and silver could only be worn by the royal family, bright colors were for the upper class, and the rest of the population was reduced to gray, white, brown and pale green).

Language should have variations (huge and small) unless you have modern communication or a schooling system where all children are taught a common language (it can still be their secondary language, btw). And while modern countries generally have one (sometime more) administrative language, it should be noted it hasn’t always been the case.

I don’t really have a conclusion, except please consider adding some variation in your worldbuilding, especially if you’re aiming for realism. By this, I don’t mean make detailed notes of every variation of every little thing, but even having a mention in passing can help a reader’s immersion in your story.

[andreablog2]

The sweetest people I have met are very gothy but it’s fascinating to me how goth fashion and alternative fashion in general in tandem w some broader music culture is this multi generational multi million dollar industry that’s not an escape from consumerism nor even that transgressive. Goth stuff also inadvertently promotes Christianity by elaborating on satanic aesthetics. I really don’t get it and there’s like trend cycles within the goth sub culture and this childish you can’t sit w us attitude amongst the goth elite or whatever. I think it’s sad bc I can see how it’s an easy subculture to get wrapped up in and I’m using goth as a blanket term but in general the whole subculture industry and social hierarchy is wild to me especially bc the people at the top are all like rich white people who don’t view it as a true like distinction of anything….but you still have like fully developed adults who think they have some kind of class consciousness but view non subculture people as untrustworthy or something it’s truly wild

[postoctobrist]

Hey Alice I found an article about you :) https://theface.com/culture/all-eat-the-rich-satire-looks-the-same-now-anti-capitalism-critique-film-tv-glass-onion-menu-white-lotus-triangle-of-sadness

Linking it here to save you copying and pasting.

I think this is not a good piece of media criticism, because it’s trying to balance a much more involved critique on top of one Chris Morris line that doesn’t support it very well. Morris isn’t wrong that a lot of satire or whatever else becomes a way for elites to laugh at themselves, but there are a few different things going on here, the most salient of which is this:

Capitalism is very good at subsuming critiques into itself, even more so when you’re trying to make entertainment. It gets tamed on some level just by being made.

The second thing is about satire specifically - as Morris well knows, there’s a long tradition of performing some exotic display for the court that is intended to ridicule it. He doesn’t like that because he doesn’t think it works, but the article doesn’t grasp that and the result is like asking, ‘well, satire is fine, but what I’d really like is a video of you beheading an oil executive with a katana, so when are you going to do that?’

Which leads to my third point, which is that it’s important to have a sense of perspective about these things. There is not a satire that can be written that can overthrow capitalism, only the people can do that, and that happens according to a materialist and dialectical process of class struggle. By asking, ‘when will the podcasts make the rich uncomfortable?’ you are reducing yourself to the status of a consumer of media. It’s such an irony, because the article really just ends up taking the view of the people whose comfort it’s ostensibly opposed to - asking which of the jesters are your friends. If there’s any real value in satire politically it lies in making you uncomfortable instead of them.

As to how all this applies to what I do, I think it depends. If it’s a roundabout way of calling me a rich podcast cunt, then fair enough, although I can guarantee I’m not as rich as you think. Other than that, we haven’t started liking James Bond on Kill James Bond or feting property developers on Well There’s Your Problem, which narrows it down to Trashfuture. I think I’m aggregate Trashfuture is ‘leftist’ in a squishier and more nebulous way than I am, because it’s five different people. But if it seems cozy I think that’s often because Britain is so incestuous a country that when we try to get the people on who know about some aspect of tech or media, oftentimes (and not for lack of trying) this is who there is. It’s a valid critique, but I think this is just what a tech/politics/comedy podcast sounds like.

[terrence-silver]

How do you think Terry celebrates 4th of July? Privately with Beloved or does he throw a huge party?

---

I tend to see Terry Silver as someone who is incredibly patriotic.

His share of personal gripes, baggages, traumas and feelings of jadedness after the Vietnam war aside which we can only speculate on (and I'm sure he has plenty of those too, but that is another subject altogether) he comes off as someone who could be nationalistic to the point of underlining bigotry and downright exceptionalism, once one knows him. Really knows him. Ugly, but true. John 'It is a free country' Kreese affirmably is, for example. And I don't think the snake-apple fell far from the snake-tree in John's and Terry's case. They're likeminded individuals, ultimately. So, of course the 4th of July gets celebrated. Do you even have to ask?

Man's just about as big, glitzy and bombastic as the holiday itself.

Especially in the 70's and 80's, where the political landscape was entirely different.

Nixon and Reagan were in office, after all.

He's undoubtedly at some thematic fundraiser, holding an inspirational speech on how important introducing American youth to the wonders of martial arts is all while generously (oh, so generously) donating training gear and equipment to the underprivileged and beaming when he receives a thunderous applause as the fireworks go off above head. America's the world, after all. Or perhaps, he's at a celebratory ribbon cutting ceremony opening some facility, tactically choosing the 4th of July as the meaningful date to do it, purely to associate himself and all his endeavors with an inherently homegrown holiday, making himself and everything attached to himself as American as can be. Symbols are important. He gets that. He knows how to play public perceptions perfectly. Sure, maybe he hosts a color coded private party for his rich associates where the dress code is either red, either white or blue. Pick one. Tuxes obligatory. He's extravagant about it, he's exuberant about it, he's excessive and he's pretty proud about it too. Yes.

Things change drastically as the new millennia rolls around. In the 2010's

The 20's.

I speak frequently how Terry Silver changes as social norms change.

That he changes depending of what is the new acceptable 'it thing' and as times and generations move along, he moves along with them, like a chameleon, shedding skin, changing faces. Literally the thing he is best at. What was the norm thirty or forty years ago no longer is to the degree it would've been in his past and he switches masks accordingly, adapting to the new way of things to fly under the radar, and perhaps Terry, as an old man, seemingly wouldn't really celebrate the 4th of July. Not openly. It becomes a covert, private thing along with all his actual opinions and worldviews and quite literally his whole past as well.

He's not only an exceptionalist now, he's an isolationist too.

Especially when he maintains a seemingly more Liberal upper crust elite around himself as token company when we're reintroduced to him, because this time around, they're the new acceptable and the new good and he surrounds himself with them as background decoration because they serve a purpose or possibly helping everyone forget that he was that guy who ran Dynatox. You know? That company polluting developing countries for major global profit? Not very egalitarian or mindful of Terrence. Not only does he never mention (hide?) he served in the military, for example (Because I doubt any of them would be tremendously approving it. Emile might burst in and jokingly call him a war criminal.) but a great many of them might see celebrating the 4th of July as tacky. Nationalistic. Backwards. So, whatever Terry does becomes fiercely intimate in his later life in general, even though he might seem like the most open, friendly, rehabilitated person in the world on the surface level. I feel he is still patriotic, but things become tucked away. For his eyes only. Intimate.

4th rolls around and he might crack open some special vintage for himself.

Something priceless he's been saving for actual decades.

Toasting to what he might see as 'the good old days'.

[blueiight]

opera scene anon back for a minute. i think the only way to read lestat's actions as genuine is to see him purely as a vampire and not a whilte man+vampire. and yet we know lestat enjoys his place in human society. accompanying louis to his business meetings as his rich husband that's financing all these "hobbies". getting the best seats at the opera and bringing his valet. we see him with a gaggle of PTA mums in ep 7 and so we know he was also plugged into whatever society that was and they know him well enough to be having sex with him. so taking louis to the opera is not just a treat or romantic gesture it's also something that is primarily lestat's thing. yes louis enjoys opera but that's mainly lestat's thing. now if lestat were the kind of person that actually cared about his partner he would never take him to somewhere where he'd experience racism because he knows this grates at louis. especially not when he was so raw before. but lestat is first and foremost selfish. his needs come first. there's an opera in town that he's seen severally before but he just has to go louis' inital discomfort be damned. by the time they sit down louis is fuming and you see lestat notice and steals a glance. so what does he do he tells him how he's afraid of being alone and that they have to stick together because there's so few of them anyway. and louis eats that shit up and is no longer angry. crisis averted lestat can enjoy his opera.

next up the thing with the tenor. louis is displeased and lestat is not having it so he screams at him and the seduction etc. so like you said both me and disagreeing anon are not wrong. lestat as dutiful husband but also abusive husband.

interesting points! i think lestat finds new orleans so quaint precisely bc so much of the white elites here cosplay french white and/or are directly descended from french white from his mortal life lol. its a reminder of where he came from & he loves fucking around w the ppl in it. how much of his enjoyment is ‘genuine’ & how much of it is him sadistically playing with his food, who knows. cuz lestat did hate his mortal life & seek to escape from it. lestat do think of this as a genuinely kind gesture to his lover tho, in that he can share something he loves with louis. also outside of louis’s own curated spaces of power & within the black community there rly is no place where lestat take louis out on a date where louis wouldnt experience racism in that time and place. this is rly the only time in the show lestat could even pretend to take louis out somewhere w/o it drawing suspicion. louis’s business partners r all powerful white men, who in fact look down upon him& see him as a black man “going outside of his place”& i think lestat being the proprietor of the fair play salloon is indicative of that further societal repression louis experiences. louis cannot fully actualize his own business interests without a white sponsor/proxy. i love the whole vampire and white man thought cuz he is both, just as louis is both a black man& a vampire.