#it’s basically like a critique but you give it to yourself

[mars-ipan]

hey unwarranted art tip:

study your own art, the way you would someone else’s. look at what you like about it. look at what you don’t like about it.

look at your sketches. look at your lines. look at your colors. all parts of your process. maybe you wanna try x new thing next time? imagine how that would look.

not only does it let you know what you want to do more practice with, it also gives you inspo for your next pieces, and improves your self esteem because you Have To give yourself a compliment :)

#like: #i’ve been real happy with my posework lately #and i’ve gotten a lot better at drawing fabric and wrinkles! #it makes things look a lot more dynamic and i can stretch things more which is fun #i also like how my hands are improving at a good pace #but i should also work on things like simplifying hair less and understanding muscle definition #maybe do a few foot/leg studies too #sidenote i’m doing a good job avoiding same face syndrome! my designs for characters all look very different :) #i should learn more nose shapes so i can add even more variety #^ shit like this. all real thoughts abt my art btw. this is so good for you #it’s basically like a critique but you give it to yourself #HERE’S THE THING THOUGH: you gotta be objective. no putting yourself down #treat it like someone else’s. be nice #like for example. i’m currently looking at a hand i spent a very long time figuring out #when i look at it i remember my struggle. it took a long time to get it looking good #but DAMN it looks so good now!!!! those shapes and the foreshortening!!! lovely :) #it’s easy to pick out the flaws in your art. look for good things too. if you’re quick to think of flaws try to find just as many positives #it’s important to know what you like so you can keep doing it #and also remember your progress. if 13yo me saw the sketch i’m staring at rn she’d lost her shit like ‘omg WE DID THIS ????’ #anyways. i loveee looking at my art i gain so much from it #even if i don’t like the end product i gotta look at my art i musr

[teasteeper]

18+ minors dni, f!reader, smut

kissing practice with your best friend mingi 💭 his big hands awkwardly resting on your waist so lightly you can barely feel it, awkwardly hunching over you to bring his lips to yours. they’re already red and wet from the amount of times his tongue smooths over them.

you let him do all the work so you can judge him fairly, but mostly to see him so clearly nervous, taking a big deep breath in before squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his mouth to yours. it’s uncomfortable but so cute, his glasses squeezed between your faces and his nose pressing into your cheek, the tips of his fingers digging harder into your skin as he tastes your sweet lip gloss. you can feel his face get warm, fluttering your eyes open just enough to see his cheeks flushing pink with his brows knit together. when you smile into the kiss he pulls away, staring down at you with wide eyes and puffy lips, “why are you laughing?”

“im not” you smile, “it was cute”

mingi would insist you stay and practice with him for hours, until you’re both worked up and hot, sitting in his lap as you work your mouths lazily against each other. you forget all about critiquing him, heat pooling in your tummy at how greedy he is, basically drooling into your mouth as his tongue pushes against yours and runs across your teeth. even though you’re supposed to be 'practicing', neither of you feel the need to unpack how you grind softly against the bulge in his sweats, fingers playing in his hair as you clean up the drool at the corners of his lips with your tongue. he gets so soft and malleable under you, bucking his hips up lazily to bump his clothed cock against you, slumped against the back of the couch as you trail small kisses down his chin to suck bruises onto his neck.

soon he needs help with more than just kissing, inviting you over every weekend so he can play with you all night. he’s so focused as he undresses you, getting on his knees to push your shirt up your tummy as you stand in his room. he has you in his room whenever he gets the chance, obsessed with how soft and pretty you look as you lay on his bed, giving yourself up to him without hesitation after weeks of your arrangement.

his eyes are wide as he looks up at you from between your thighs, watching your cheeks flush and your gaze gloss over as he fucks his tongue into you, his nose nudging against your clit. he chokes back his own moans so he can hear yours, his leaking cock straining against the mattress under him as you whine. he goes so slow, building up your orgasm for hours as he savors your sweet slick, letting it drip down his chin and smear over his flushed cheeks.. can't help himself from pressing his lips to your shaky thighs as you cum, jaw slack in awe as your hole flutters, lips puffy and sticky with slick.

'you look so pretty when you cum,' he would say, but opts for "was that good?"

"really good" you whisper, closing your knees together, "the girl you're practicing for is really lucky"

his lips turn up in a half hearted smile as his long fingers brush through his damp hair, trying and failing to look away as you stand on shaky legs and reach for your clothes. what he can't say is how there is no girl he's practicing for, so ruined for anyone who isn't you as he lays awake in his sheets that still smell like you, choking his cock with his fist with his teeth sunk into his bottom lip, reveling in how lucky he is to have you as his pretty little toy. he's never not thinking of all the things he wants to do to you, wondering how he can convince you that he needs to practice getting his cock sucked.

#mingi #song mingi #ateez #atz #mingi smut #song mingi smut #mingi x you #mingi x reader #song mingi x reader #song mingi x you #ateez smut #atz smut #ateez hard thoughts #ateez hard hours #atz hard thoughts #atz hard hours #mine

[shockedemojiatsv]

▪︎■☆ Новое Mолоко 🐮🥛 ☆■▪︎

(Translation: New Milk)

☆ 🔞!!NOT SAFE FOR WORK!!🔞

☆ male! subtop! Francis Mosses / male! dombottom! Reader

☆ overstimulation if ya squint a lil, milking, breeding, dumbification, passing out, belly bulge (If your not into this, look away!! 👻👻)

☆ implied Russian speaking Francis (translated from google translate and research for needed accuracy, however, any form of critique or correction definetely is allowed!)

☆ short (I think???)

☆ author has played Not My Neighbor

°○☆nsfw under the cut☆○°

You and Francis had a thing. And, fuck, for a minimum wage worker who barely gets any kind of rest at all, he's fucking good at what he does. He's a big fan of milking. Not his job, no, he could rant about how shitty it can be despite not wanting to get a new one (A/N: so real) but he's a fan of milking. Just the other kind of milking.

The first tim you two had sex, he was pretty sheepish about it, yeah. He didn't know if you prefered topping or bottoming so he settled for a handjob. You did the same as well. Until you both got used to each other and realized that he was pretty flexible. He'd do whatever you'd want to do, whatever you had in store, as long as if it wasn't too much for either of you. He loves fucking but he surely isn't a sex devient. Somewhere in the middle. Pliant to whatever you to had planned. But recently, he may or may not have discovered a new kink. Somethig that made his legs flex and his stamina increase and the gooey, warm, and fuzzy gears in his head grind back to life to keep on going. The last time you two had sex, there was now no condom, and he was pounding you into the bed that you swore Isaack would definetely send a formally written complain, persuasive enough for the both of you to not have such intense, hot, steamy sex for the next few months, (He's a reporter after all, have to respect the man informing the people, and he definetely has a way with words).

Humming, groaning, a little against your neck. You swore it was like a kitten, as if he was purring in a way. You pulled his hair as per usual and with a louder grunt his dark brown eyes roll up just a slight and flutter, closing shut as he fills you to the brim with his warm baby batter. Shaking, sweating, and biting his lip when he just keeps on cumming until theres nothing more to give. Or is there?

What he didn't expect, was when you suddenly whispered in the midst of him balls deep inside you,

"Thats it... good boy, you fuckin slut... Cum in me, keep milkin' yourself f'me"

Ah shit, he swore something inside of him just snapped loose. With the way he shivered violently, and as your hand loosened on his sweaty brown hair he moves again. Oh how odd, after a few rounds, the last one being penetration, he's always so tired, opting to give you a handjob or finger you if you didnt get a taste of your climax but shit. If this wasn't hot then what was?!

When you had basically degraded him to milk his balls dry you didn't mean literally, but fuck. This was so appealing, that your little milk boy had his quirks.

You look down at yourself seeing the bulge appearing on your abdoment everytime he thrusts in and god does it make you feel dizzy. Your hard dick, leaking as well just begging to cum while Francis gasps and shudders a little more, oh he looks so dumb. Trying to do as he's told. To keep milking himself. Milking himself for you. Just for motherfucking you. It keeps fuzzy sparks inside of his brain that has him smiling and drooling against your chest.

"Awe, what an adorable little cow you are... Milking your-...yourself for me... Giving me every ounce of that sweet sweet milk of yours, hmm? You wanna give me your milk Francis? You wanna fucking cum in me again?"

He feels so lightheaded that he smiles dumbly at the idea and nods as if his head is too heavy, full of warm cream. Muttering several words in russian mixed in with english as he nods slowly, trembling as his cock, still hard and moving perfectly against every spot inside of you.

"Please please please К-Куколка please... fuck fuckk- let me cum... inside... inside... cum inside please please milk me- oh... П-Пожалуйста... З-...Золотце... Пожалуйста..."

The pathetic, brown haired man sobs. Pawing at your sides like an injured little puppy. Begging so prettily, who could deny those eyes of his? all teary and tired. Small blobs of salty water dripping down his eyebags which were now disappearing, thanks to yourself for keeping his sleep schedule normal again after years of nap malnutrition.

After a few more moments of Francis groaning so softly against your ear, you feel yourself about to cum too, and when you order it directly, he really does come undone. Panting like a dog in heat while nails dig against his back skin. All the while he buries himself deep inside of you once again and fills you up with a second load of his fluids that it's practically drooling out of your hole. You hiss as well, shutting your eyes with a shudder as your dick spurts out a thick white rope of cum, coating Francis' stomach and your chest. Fuck.

Francis pants, collapsing on you. You gently push him to the side and just watch him catch his breath. Eyes closed, skin warm and sweaty while he's still inside you. All soft. But its not uncomfortable. At least now, you definetely know how you can abuse this new found information with your lovely boyfriend.

#🤯 writes #francis mosses #francis mosses milkman #francis mosses thats not my neighbor #thats not my neighbor #milkman #milkman thats not my neighbor #reader x milkman #milkman x reader #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x male reader #bottom francis mosses #sub francis mosses #usfw #smut #fic #fiction #tnmn #thats not my neighbor fandom #writing #writers of tumblr #romance #haha lol #doppleganger #Nacho Sama #yessss #x reader #x yn #reader #yn

[bouncybongfairy]

First off, I love your writing and I can’t get enough really. I’ve been obsessed with your atla stuff and I was wondering if you’d be down to write for Sokka. Any smut really but like something like, you’re traveling with the gaang and there’s tons of tension with him. If not no hard feelings whatsoever, just a suggestion.

Do You?

Sokka x Fem Reader Smut

Summary: There's been a lot of tension between you and Sokka for the past couple of weeks. After and heated argument, Anng send both of you to get some air. Sokka finds you in a tavern after a couple of drinks and both your feelings come to the surface.

Word Count: 1.0k+

TW: Smut

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Appa had been sick for the past couple days, meaning you guys were basically stranded until he was better. It didn’t help that you and Sokka had been going at it lately. You weren’t really sure why but everything he did drove you crazy. Anng paired the two of you up to skin the fish for tonight's dinner. The entire time he was criticizing you about how you were descaling it. Bragging about back home he could prepare a fish faster than anyone.

“Oh so since you’re the best and can do it ‘fAsTeR tHaN aNyOnE’ you can do this on your own,” you said, standing up and wiping your hands. 

“Sloppy help is better than no help,” he huffed. 

“Whatever, I'll go help Katara,” you said. 

“Wait no- okay I’ll chill with the critiques. Let me teach you,” he said, reaching his hand out. 

Without saying anything, you walked back over and sat on your knees. He sat behind you, his knees on the outside of your hips and thighs. Giving you the knife and securing your grip with his own. Holding onto the outsides of your hands as he instructed. As he talked, you could feel his breath against the back of your neck. Due to him being so close to your ear, he lowered his voice. Speaking with a soft and gentle tone, making your ears burn slightly. You began unknowingly letting yourself enjoy this. The way you could feel his chest rising and falling against your back. Liking the feeling of his body against yours and his smell engulfing your nose. 

“See,even you can do it!” he said in an extremely patronizing way. 

“Fuck off,” you said, feeling overwhelmed by how much you were enjoying his touch. Also not appreciating his poking fun at you even more. 

“Ugh you’re exhausting, even when I try being nice you push me away. Can't you see that I like -ahem- that I’m like, trying to make an effort!” he said, cheeks flushing red. 

“That’s it! I’m tired of hearing the two bickering none stop. Both of you need space from each other! Sokka you go that way, y/n you go that way. I don’t care what you do, but don’t come back until you figure out why both of you are so insufferable!” Anng yelled, slamming his glider onto the ground. 

The two of you made intense eye contact before walking away. Luckily for you, he sent you in the direction of a local market in the village. The walk gave you a lot of time to think; when he was helping you skin the fish, it felt like he had underlying feelings. Like he was purposely finding an excuse to be close to you. The tone in his voice was different, you never heard him talk like that to anyone else.​​ The way he slid his hands along your arms before grabbing your hands. It was becoming evident that the frustration and tension you’ve been feeling wasn’t caused by anger. 

You finally reached a tavern, it wasn’t much but it was cozy. Drunk men singing and goofing off with each other. A group of women gossiping with each other adjacent to a group of men playing Pai Sho. Immediately feeling out of place, you walk up to the barmaid and ask for whatever she recommended. Which ended up being some type of fermented wine. One of the young men comes up to you, trying to engage in conversation. 

“Are you new to town? I’ve been coming here for a couple years but I've never seen you,” he says, smiling while holding his drink. 

“Oh um, yeah I’m just staying in town for a couple days,” you explain, finishing off your drink and ordering another one. 

“Aww that’s a shame, I bet I could convince you to stay for a little longer,” he said, which made you giggle. 

You were now polishing off your third drink, watching the game. Enjoying the music, making conversation with the other patrons. Dancing with the group of young women from earlier. You didn’t realize Sokka was watching you from the wooden doors. Eventually the young gentlemen who you were speaking with earlier, starts to dance with you. Sokka was visibly getting more irritated, watching his hand travel down your back. Once the guy wrapped his arms around you, pressing himself against you from behind, he couldn’t control himself. Stomping over and pulling you out of the dude's grip. Your heart sank once your eyes fell onto him. Like you’d been caught doing something wrong, looking you up and down with such disappointment.

“We're leaving,” Sokka growled, grabbing you by the upper arm gently. 

“Does she want to leave with you,” the guy asked. 

“Do you?” Sokka asked, looking down at you. Feeling quite tipsy it made you nervous to speak. Like if you opened your mouth, only stupidness would come out. He was looking at you with such intensity and jealousy, you nodded your head in agreement. Leading you out of the building, into an alley behind the building. Giving you two some privacy while waiting for him to talk. 

“Are you mad?” you asked. 

“I feel like I've dropped all the hits I can. I don’t know if this is like… your way of making me just admit it but I like you. If you keep pushing me away every time I come onto you then I just won’t anymore. I can’t take it,” he said, walking over to the river bank. Letting his hair free from its pony tail out of frustration. Falling onto his knees and splashing some cool water onto his face. Seeing how disappointed he was in your actions made you feel stupid. Like you were blind to all his advances and playful teasing and it was too late to let your feelings known. However, you were drunk enough to at least give it a shot. Walking over to him and joining where he sat in the grass. 

“I think I was just nervous -hiccup- to tell you how I felt. Then because I was holding all my feelings inside, I became standoffish. I’m sorry,” you said, brushing the partially wet hair off his face before continuing, “Please don’t think I’m only saying this because I drank. Drunk thoughts are sober words… or is it sober words are drunk thoughts,” you begin making him laugh. 

“Are you gonna make me ask for a kiss?” you asked, he took your offer and smashed his lips against yours. 

Lips melting together as you straddle his lap. He sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, running his tongue over it. Moaning as you started grinding down on his dick print. The alcohol in your system was making you more ballsy, desperately grinding yourself against him. Enjoying the friction against your clit. Sokka’s mouth hung open as bucked his hips up. Gripping your hips tightly, helping work you on him. He was sitting up, back against the back wall of the tavern. You were holding his face in your hands, moaning and panting against his lips. Pressing his forehead against your chest as he started to cum. His hips spasming from underneath, you could feel his length spasm against your core, sending you into climax. Time slowed while fire was pooling in your lower abdomen and you frantically rubbed yourself against him. Letting your head fall towards, letting him support your weight while cooling down. Both of you walking hand and hand, his giving you a piggy back ride once you became too tired. 

“Great, see sometimes a little space does people good. Glad you guys worked it out,” Anng said as the two of you walked to separate tents. 

“Oh trust me, we really worked through our problems,” Sokka remarked before everyone turned in.

#atla sokka #atla sokka live action #sokka x reader #sokka x you #sokka x y/n #sokka imagine #sokka fanfic #sokka smut #netflix sokka #live action sokka smut #sokka smut imagine #sokka avatar the last airbender #sokka atla #sokka x fem reader

[thegnomelord]

for the prompt game, if it's still open, maybe 8 with Ghost? maybe with hatefucking and at the point you're both at it's basically a routine but all of the nasty words and cruel moments are really just because you're both brutes that have trouble expressing emotions properly, and all you really want is just some kind of deeper connection with each other, but with your shitty use of words, arguing and eventual growling into into his mouth as you shove him down onto the nearest flat surface is the only way for you to get that. and perhaapps at one point, one of you, reader or ghost doesn't matter, let's something softer and more caring slip through the angry facade? ofc if you already have one for 8 or you just don't like this idea you can im really sorry and you can ignore me, no pressure and I love all your writing :')) <3

Okay anon holy shit this is GOOD! You should think of writing yourself like what I'm seeing in this prompt is good shit :D Play the game HERE

Prompt: "If this is a joke it isn't funny."

CW: NSFW, Sub Bot Ghost, Dom Top MReader, hatefucking, degradation, confessions, soft sex,

It always starts the same; Simon's roughly patting your shoulder and telling you to not cock it up, your equally harsh response for him to keep up with you, rough voices hiding the unsaid 'be careful's. Insults like 'dumbass', 'moron', 'dead weight' crackling over the radio when the other's pinned down by fire, the electric static and suppression fire muting the worry in your voice, the hint of care in Simon's tone.

And it always ends the same; harsh stares across the room while you debrief Price, casualty numbers turning into critiques of the other— you should have noticed the terrorist, Simon should have kept the sniper in mind — prickling barbs and venomed words turning into shoves and punches, leaving bruises on each other's skin instead of the kisses you want to lay down.

Soap loves comparing you to dogs, and that's what you are— animals; talking would kill you both so you end up expressing yourselves through teeth and claws. There's blood on your tongue as you push Simon onto the bed and he pulls you down with his teeth digging into your bottom lip, rough fingers pulling away clothes only to push into bruised flesh, drawing hisses and growls.

'I want you' Ghost wants to say, instead "Stop being a pussy," comes out, blunt nails dragging deep scratches down your back. 'I'm happy you're alive' "You fuck as bad as you fight." Simon tastes blood as he kisses you, both of you struggling to pin the other to the bed.

"Shut up." 'I missed you' you snarl and pin him on his front, trapping his massive arms behind his back so he has no support, his head pushed into the pillows and arse high in the air, your thigh parting his legs. You huff a laugh when you see his cock already hard, hanging uselessly between his thighs. "Slag, good for nothing but taking it up the ass." 'I care for you'.

'You're important to me' Simon swallows the blood and spit in his mouth, jerking in a half-hearted attempt to free himself. "'least ah have a use," he growls, chest stuttering for breath as you bear down even more weight on him. You push your fingers into his mouth to wet them and Simon bites down, loving you with his teeth first, the sting of pain binding you together.

"Yeah, as a cocksleeve." 'I'm sorry' You don't give him a warning, just pull your fingers from his mouth and push into his ass. It's only enough lube to not tear him, but the stretch hurts, burns, and Simon both loves and hates how this roughness makes his cock hard and heart flutter.

"That-hah-" Ghost pants into the sheets, eyes prickling with tears with how he tries to keep them open, body forced to submit to you as your fingers stretch him, fuck him, tenderly brushing against his prostate before pushing to the last knuckle, pain and pleasure burning up his spine. "-that's not true."

Pulling out your fingers you give him a sharp slap on his ass, "Sure is," You use what saliva you have on your hand to wet your cock, swirling the drool in your mouth before you spitting right on his hole for extra wetness, your sudden action making his spasming hole clench and relax reflexively. "Look at how you're clenching." You mount him, pushing your weight down on him until he can barely breathe, cock bobbing against his hole. "Acting like such a bitch!"

You ram in him to put emphasis on the word and Simon bites his tongue so hard it bleeds, resisting letting any noises out. He's never vocal in bed, no matter how hard you fuck him, how many bruises your hips leave on his ass or how many hickeys you lay on his throat, how often your balls slap against his, he never utters more than a low groan.

But he wants to; good god Simon wants to tell you how good you feel, how every brush of your cockhead against his prostate has him seeing stars, how much he loves feeling you pound into him, who bodies bound into one by such a primal connection. . . but he can't, his mouth clamps up when he tries and even if he manages to spit something out it just comes out as venom, earning him firm slaps on his ass and your weight bearing further down on him.

You spill into him, pinning him so hard beneath your weight he can barely breathe, only remembering to rub him into an orgasm when your balls are good and empty, cock plugging his hole full of your cum. Your hands are harsh, his panting ringing in your ears until his cock twitches and he cums onto the sheets beneath him, whole body shaking to hold his moans in.

You collapse onto him, just enough sense in your head to roll you two onto your sides so he isn't laying in his spend or suffocating beneath you. Uncomfortable silence rings in your ears as you pant, bile churning in your stomach; This is your usual, soon enough Simon will tell you to shove off, he'll get up, take a piss, and leave.

And this song and dance will repeat until one of you dies.

Even without sight you feel Simon open his mouth, vestiges of harsh words burning on his tongue. Maybe it's post-orgasmic bliss that makes you speak, "Hey," Your hands tighten around his middle, "Stay the night." You curl around him like a lover; something you know you're not.

He shuts his mouth so quickly you hear the 'click' of his teeth, whole body freezing because this is as new for him as it is for you. "If this is a joke," He growls, turns his head just enough for you to catch his glare. "It's not funny."

Your tongue burns with the usual words— 'Only joke here is you' — but you don't, instead a slow and low "I'm not kidding." escapes you, like something forbidden, something to keep secret lest you get divine punishment.

Simon's mind buffers like an old computer, too many thoughts stuffing his head that he can't understand a single one. This is too far removed from the usual, hummingbirds knocking on his skull as a warning. But his body relaxes while he's still thinking, a stagnant breath escaping his lungs. "Fine."

You think of saying something, but it's better not to. Instead you huddle closer to him, still connected in a carnal way but now it feels so much more. . . intimate. Your hands wander over his toros, a gentle exploration instead of a race for release, your fingers carding through his body hair down his happy trail and up again.

Simon's head tils back to give you access to his neck, your lips soft against his skin as you kiss the bruises you'd left, both of your bodies slowly moving to close the small space between you two, urged to share your warmth.

You shift your hips, only realizing you're hard again when Simon moans. Moans. "Sorry," You duck your head, hands gripping his hips to pull out but he stops you, a rough sound in his throat.

"No," Simon doesn't look at you though the blush across his face is easy to spot. "Keep going," Tilting his hips back into yours tears a moan from both of you. Your cum eases the slide in, his walls stretched and pliant, wetly sucking you in like a needy thing.

Another time you'd have laughed at how desperate he's acting, but the low moans and a little "Fuck, just like that," you earn by rolling your hips has your mind shutting off. You can't believe how vocal he's suddenly become, getting louder the slower and gentler you move your hips, your cock slowly pushing in and out of his hole.

You bury your head in his neck and blindly stroke his leaking cock, kissing the skin under your lips, your eyes closed shut as you thrust into him slowly, your tender and slow movements pulling moan after moan out of him. His hand winds back to cup the back of your neck, pulling you up just enough to give you an awkward kiss but it's sweet and raw and so desperate—

You don't notice he's cumming until his walls clamp down on you, Simon whispering "I love you," so soft and quiet under his breath that you don't hear him, too busy filling him up a second time, but your mind buzzes with warmth all the same.

You lay as you were, somehow so exhausted that even moving an inch is anathema to you. Both of you, it seems, if the way Simon's back is warm and pliant against your chest, his breathing slow and steady. Tomorrow you'll need to talk (or do your best substitution of it), but for tonight, you can hug him close and finally have an answer to what it would feel like to have him close without the sex, to just be with him. . .

#Gnome's Prompt Game #cod mw2 #x reader #gnome correspondence #male reader #top male reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x male reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod smut #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #trinckets of the hoard

[superectojazzmage]

Watched the Nimona movie last night. Review I guess. It was pretty damn good. Definitely would’ve probably been regarded as Blue Sky’s magnum opus if they’d gotten to release it instead of being fucked over by Disney. Very cute, very funny, very powerful in the right moments. A thing that stuck out to me is that it’s really only an adaptation in the loosest sense of the word. It takes the core premise and beats of the comic but is functionally an entirely different kind of story that does its own thing. And given that ND Stevenson was heavily involved in production, I suspect that was intentional.

The comic was much darker and more downbeat in a lot of ways, plus it was significantly longer and thus could afford to be slower paced. But more than that, it was a lot more meaty in terms of themes and scope. The whole “LGBT allegory” element was there, but it wasn’t the sole focus, the comic was a story about a lot of different things; not just an LGBT experience, but also discussion of fantasy genre tropes and clichés, criticism of other fantasy deconstructions, character study, exploring what it means to be a hero or villain, critique of the glorification of crime and cruelty in underprivileged communities, corruption in governments, peer pressure, the senseless and self-perpetuating nature of violence, the worthlessness of revenge, etc.. And above all that, it was a story about trauma and people’s responses to it, with Ballister representing people who actually deal with their problems and move on while Nimona represented people who let their mistakes and suffering and grief consume their identity, or worse, use it as an excuse to indulge their worst qualities and take out their feelings on everyone around them.

The movie, by contrast, has a much more narrow focus. The LGBT allegory is front and center and basically the entire focal point of the movie, aside from a spattering of themes about the danger of zealotry and rigid fundamentalist thinking. This gives the movie a much tighter narrative and pacing that suits its inherently shorter runtime, but also leads to a ton of changes to the story either to convey a different kind of message or just work better in a different medium. Most obviously in how Nimona is vastly more sympathetic in the movie and essentially really is the silly gremlin the comic fakes you out into thinking she is, scrapping the comic’s twist that she was a genuinely bad person who was completely serious about wanting to be a villain, caring nothing for the lives she destroyed with her behavior and idolizing Ballister because she thought he was the same as her and would thus tell her what she wanted to hear (i.e., that she was justified in killing and destroying everything around her in the name of getting even). And in the changes to the Institution’s history and nature. And all sorts of other things.

All in all, I feel if you go in comparing and contrasting the movie and the comic, arguing which changes are for the better or worse, you’ll be setting yourself up for disappointment in either direction because they’re two different beasts and it’s like comparing apples and oranges. So keep that in mind if you’re a fan of the comic watching the movie or a fan of the movie wanting to look into the comic. I think ultimately I still like the comic better, but that’s purely my personal opinion and there’s plenty that I think the movie did better.

Some other observations:

Riz Ahmed my beloved, thank you Mr. Stevenson for this perfect casting. Literally perfect for Ballister.

Acting in general was very good. You can tell this was a passion project for a lot of people, not just Stevenson.

Only two changes that are objectively bad are Ambrosius losing his awesome Van Halen hairdo and changing Ballister’s last name — Blackheart is a way cooler name than Boldheart and it’s a pointless change, one that I’d argue even hurts the narrative since it makes it too obvious that Ballister isn’t actually a bad guy.

The animation is really great with fantastic expressions, stylish movement, and wonderful aesthetics that perfectly suit the story, but there’s times where it feels a little off. But there are parts where it looks less “movie” and more “cheap mid-2000s CGI-and-Flash cartoon show from France”.

The humor can be a hit and miss, in a “going through the motions of a Hollywood animated comedy for kids” way. The movie excels when it’s either imitating the comic’s Old Internet sense of humor or going hard on the drama, but there’s bits where it seemingly slams on the brakes to do Illumination-esque Twitter humor and those bits definitely throw off the vibe.

Having an actual straight up attempted suicide in the climax was shockingly ballsy. I genuinely can’t believe they went there, but I’m glad they did because the film wouldn’t have felt nearly as raw without it.

I don’t know how they managed to make the Director even more of an asshole than in the comics, but they did.

#nimona #nimona film #nd stevenson #ballister boldheart #ballister blackheart #ambrosius goldenloin #movie review #animated movies #movies #films #comic books #dc comics #webcomic #web comics #indie comics #netflix #blue sky studios #lgbt film #lgbt fantasy

[orangechi]

If you complain about the transformers one trailer, i will block you idc

Sure, some of the jokes are corny and whatever, BUT THAT'S KINDA THE POINT . THESE GUYS ARE BASICALLY THE EQUIVALENT OF CRINGEY TEENS. THEY'RE GOING TO SAY STUPID SHIT AND BE STUPID !!!!! YOU WERE A TEEN AND STUPID ONCE, HELL YOU COULD STILL BE A TEEN N STUPID RIGHT NOW.

Not to mention, this gives us a genuine glimpse into their past, on who they were. Who they will be, what morphed them to be like this.

Sorry, they aren't KILLING EACH OTHER like GOD DAMN ANIMALS like SOME of you bayverse fans are complaining about. You can genuinely critique it, go ahead, but please don't whine n cry over it cuz ...

Who CARES !!!!!!!!!!!!! Get OVER IT . CRY !! PISS YOURSELF !!!!! 😢😢😢😢😢😢😢

#transformers one #transformers #transformer #d 16 #orion pax #elita one #bumblebee

[drdemonprince]

Just chiming in to agree that that person is not a selfish bitch. I'm also really put off by moralistic performances of emotion, and I know in my case it's because it was part of a pattern of abusive behaviour that my mother did.

Anytime you expressed to her that there was a problem with her behaviour, she seemed to genuinely believe that if she put enough effort into weeping and crying on her children's shoulders, and verbally denigrating herself for being an inherently bad an immoral person, and stressing so much that she developed physical illnesses from it, then she could follow that up by asking for forgiveness - as if it would be cruel for us to continue her suffering by denying her that forgiveness. Except that to her, "forgiveness" meant "it's all swept under the rug, I have Atoned By Suffering Guilt, so now it doesn't matter and I can keep doing it again." (I really wonder how much the religious background of her parents' generation came into the formation of this worldview.) And at the same time, she refuses to read news that's "too upsetting" and never engages with literature or media about dark themes "because there's enough of that in real life."

It might be cynical of me to read this pattern into the way people talk online about genocide. But I keep seeing parallels. My perspective is that a) if you're not regulating your emotions well enough to function, then you have less capacity to offer practical help; and b) people who are actually trying to survive genocide want unnecessary human suffering to END, so you're not aligning yourself with that hope by engaging in rumination etc that compounds suffering with not practical benefit to anyone.

But also, watching my mother's behaviour has led me to add perspective c) that a lot of people (in Christian cultures?) haven't developed enough understanding of the complexity of the world and how to relate to it, and genuinely believe that an overblown emotionally affected reaction, followed by helplessness and thereby inaction, is the only possible way for them to respond when they're confronted with upsetting information that demands action from them. Being raised to think in a black-and-white "good vs evil" dichotomy, and thinking about people as "either morally good or morally bad" rather than thinking about people as neutral and behaviours as either ethically helpful or harmful... it doesn't give them a conceptual framework to integrate upsetting information and then carry on getting things done, it's like their moral anxiety gets them stuck and that keeps the emotions escalating.

I see people discussing this pattern in the context of religious trauma, and in the context of the cultural construct of "whiteness" - the discovery of something morally bad has to be followed by an extreme emotional reaction that basically amounts to protesting your own innocence and helplessness to deny responsibility for your direct behaviours (in my mother's case) or complicity in a corrupt system (in the case of overwhelmed average people learning about genocide).

Maybe I'm rambling more than I'm analysing here, but the comparison stands out a lot to me and it's troubling to watch.

yo anon no this is gold, thank you for sharing. This is remarkably astute.

I will add the quick caveat that hyperempathic people who are debilitated by their sensitivity exist, of course, and have very real struggles and none of this is intended to denigrate them. In practice, their behavior can have the impact of silencing criticism or distracting from the issue at hand but being wired that way certainly does not doom a person to behaving in a counterproductive, manipulative manner.

This critique is more about performative over the top empathy as a tactic (conscious or not) of offloading responsibility, and as a pseudo-religious ideology that makes predominately white western cultures particularly ill-equipped to deal with the consequences of their global plundering. almost certainly by design. Most moral teachings that we encounter in the west promote this tactic and ideology, and it gets very deeply ingrained in most us if we don't devote a ton of attention to uprooting it.

thanks for this great response.

[haveyouseenthishorrormovie]

before this goes any further, I want it on the record that you all asked for this.

my first and most petty point: Midnight Mass gets basic details about Catholicism wrong, such that even I (not a Catholic) twigged them. The big one is that Catholics DON'T HAVE MIDNIGHT MASS FOR EASTER - it's a Christmas thing - but since the priest holding the mass is also a vampire, I can accept that he's going off-book. I have a harder time with them holding a PICNIC for ASH WEDNESDAY, aka THE DAY LENT STARTS, aka the day everyone starts fasting and are therefore not snacking on a potluck. It's a minor thing, and normally I wouldn't pick at it, but since this show ostensibly revolves around Catholic doctrine, it bears mentioning.

on a writing level, not one single character in this show talks like a human being. or acts like one. I couldn't give you any information about who these characters are as people, because they're not people, they're mouthpieces for Flanagan to impart his ideas to the audience. He is both deeply in love with his own writing and entirely unconvinced that his audience is smart enough to Get It, so he has his actors turn to the audience and lay it all out. Not only is this bad writing on a character level, it brings all plot and tension to a screeching halt whenever it happens. The most unintentionally hilarious instance of this has to be when Annabeth Gish comes to the sheriff to tell him that the church is being run by a vampire and her mother is aging in reverse, and his response is to start rambling about where he was on 9/11. Like. Nothing about this makes sense, and also why should we care when it has fuckall to do with the story?

(as regards the sheriff character: I, a white Quaker, am not the person to critique this show's handling of Islam. But I will say that Flanagan doesn't seem to have a clear idea what he wants to communicate: the overarching plot is antitheistic, in a very r/atheism sort of way ("WHAT IF THE SACRAMENT WAS VAMPIRE BLOOD" ooh wow didja cut yourself on that edge there, buddy) but Flanagan has no idea how to balance that with the precepts of any religion that isn't Christianity while also maintaining his broadly liberal bona fides, so it all sits very uneasily next to the church plot. I'm not advocating for the show to go full Christopher Hitchens, but I am saying that if Flanagan wants to posit that faith is a mass delusion and a net detriment to any community formed around it . . . he needs to either focus only on Christian characters or be willing to engage with how other religions function in society, because as is, the storyline with the sheriff and his son just peters out into nothing.)

but the thing that made me angriest - that took me from "this is so boring and pretentious and badly written" to "oh FUCK this guy and the horse he rode in on -" was the titular midnight mass. It is very overtly inspired by the Jonestown massacre, which a lot of horror media does, but what it fails to account for is that the members of the People's Temple did not voluntarily kill themselves. I know "drink the kool-aid" has entered the popular lexicon as shorthand for "blindly following a leader," but extensive testimony from Jonestown survivors - not to mention the death tape, which is available online if you really want to ruin your day - all confirms that the people who died that day were forced to drink poison at gunpoint, after years of brutal abuse from Jones and his inner circle. And even after all of that, people fought back. And not outsiders - people who had been in the Temple for years and wholeheartedly believed in the mission that had lead them to Guyana in the first place. (Christine Miller was a fucking hero and she deserves to be remembered for it.) Jonestown was not lemmings going off a cliff, and any serious take on the story would involve reckoning with that - that these people believed in a higher power and also believed that they had a right to live despite what Jones told them. But that would contradict Flanagan's point of "religion is dumb, WAKE UP SHEEPLE," so instead he borrows the iconography of a truly horrific tragedy and disrespects the victims by implicitly representing them as dumb, brainwashed cult members who eagerly toss back poison because they think sky daddy wants them to. He has so little respect for the subjects he's portraying, and the real people whose deaths he is copying for shock value, that he doesn't care about the inner lives of anyone whose beliefs might demonstrate that faith is more nuanced than his screed would have you believe.

There are good horror properties out there that are critical of religion and society - The Medium, which we posted about a few days ago, is one. The Witch is another. So is The Sudbury Devil. Hell, you could go back to the sixties with Witchfinder General. Religion - especially socially dominant religions like Christianity in the west - can and should be critiqued. But Midnight Mass is too sloppily written to be a critique of anything besides, accidentally, how far Mike Flanagan's head is shoved up his ass.

Anyway, that's why mod L doesn't like Midnight Mass. I did warn you.

#not a poll #mod L #ask the mods

[theosconfessions]

if youd like to read the stephens from the beginning you can over here:)

if youd like to read the stephens continued you can over here:)

@ohsosims

jami-marlee

marlee- jami

jami- im guessing youre here because of chloe? i called you. said she didnt want to go home so im not going to make her

marlee- shes seven. she doesnt get to make those decisions by herself and neither do you

jami- im her dad. i get some say in this. especially becasue shes basically living here,mars. its not good to MAKE her do everything

marlee- i just think its kinda funny that im standing in front of a kline lecturing me about parenting

jami- and i think its kinda funny im standing here listening to you critique my parenting choices you know being that you were married to my dad once. cant deny youre NOT GREAT at parenting choices yourself or you know. just choices.

marlee-i cant believe you just said that to me

jami- i dont mean to be an ass but if youre on my doorstep lecturing me about being a shitty parent i think its fair game

marlee- i wasnt the only one participating jami. obviously

jami- obviously yeah. BUT you low blow me im going to low blow you. we going to talk about chloe or just keep taking shots at eachother

marlee- [sighs] why doesnt she want to be home with me?

jami- i dont know . weve always been tight. im assuming when i moved out and i only seen her on weekends it kinda just..set it off. that or the parade of dudes you keep bringing home to meet them

marlee- thought we said we werent going to low blow eachother. its not a parade of dues. its one dude

jami- right . my bad. and im sorry about what i said earlier i just get.

marlee- assholey . so do i

jami- i guess thats why we stayed together for so long

marlee- guess so. and some other things

jami- innocent ears marls. listen i think the separation has been rough on her. she misses me being around all of the time. the other kids maybe not but it definitely is messing with chlo. the last thing i want is a scarlett situation

marlee- scarlett is different. she left because i was so up your ass and that was..irresponsible of me

jami- well i mean its kind of the same thing. its a small give here ,marls. lets just. see how she does

marlee-i miss her

jami- i know look. just a small give here. see if her attitude improves. her outlook improves. and we go from there

marlee- okay but ..just a trial period. to see if this makes the separation easier

jami- shes gonna be so happy marls! AHHHH

#chloes not the only one this makes happy though lol #but jami and marlee taking shots like whos the worst #like both of you are #lol like come on #marlees a little more responsible here back when it started obvi bc jami was young and naive but man #he still is #jami kline #marlee kline #the stephens continued #the sims 4 #ts4 #the sims #ts4 gameplay #simblr #sims 4 #ts4 simblr #the sims community #the sims 4 community #ts4 stories #ts4 story

[ssalballoon]

i wanna get better at art but dont know how to start ^^' whats a good way to get into studying anatomy and improving as an artist? tysm 💗 love your art soso much

more art converts 😼 yay!!

i think these asks were sent by different people but they're pretty related + a lot of my advice is the same! so i'll answer these together under the cut (it's so long oh gosh)

ok first of all i'm very flattered that people are asking me for art advice but i'm really not the most equipped person to ask TTOTT I've never been deliberately studious with my art so I feel bad offering advice when I've mostly gotten by with just drawing fanart and ocs a lot... my rate of improvement has therefore been slow, but I've still had an enjoyable learning experience so perhaps from that angle my input may help! i'll mainly refer you to external resources that have helped me

For anatomy + drawing humans:

1) I know I'm not diligent enough to sit down and study muscles, so instead I make it more enjoyable by drawing my favorite characters in a pose that targets the muscles I want to practice! (i default to drawing ppl naked because of this lol) This isn't the most efficient, but it serves as good motivation to get practice in. (honestly a lot of my general art advice has the undercurrent of becoming so obsessed with characters to drive your motivation to draw even when artblocked/ struggling with doubts!)

2) I want to refer you to Sinix's Anatomy playlist! Although Sinix focuses more on digital painting, he gives simplified anatomy breakdowns that include how muscles change shape under different movements/poses, which is crucial for natural human posing. the static anatomy diagrams from Google don't really help for that

3) What's just as important as anatomy is gestures! (especially important if you're used to drawing non-human objects I think!) Making figures look like they have flow to them will sell the "naturalness"(?) to your anatomy. If you have in person life drawing sessions accessible near you I'd recommend trying those out, or if you prefer trying it digitally there's this website!

This helps you not only get a sense of human proportions, but also natural posing! I'd limit the time taken to draw the poses from like 10 seconds to 1 minute(?) for quick gestures, and maybe 1 minute to 5mins(for now!! typically they go much longer) to study human proportions. I'd say don't spend a lot of time on them, repetition is more important!

4) I've also picked up on useful anatomy tidbits from artists online! Looking at how practiced/ professional artists stylize a body helps me focus on what the essential details are to convey a particular form (looking up "human muscles" and being hit with anatomy diagrams full of all the smallest details can be overwhelming! what do you even focus on?! so these educated simplifications really help me) Like Emilio Dekure's work! Look how simplified these figures are, and yet contain all the essential information to convey the sense of accurate form (even though it's highly exaggerated!)

(shamefully admits I've never studied from actual anatomy books so I can't recommend anything in that sense TTOTT)

For general improvement:

1) I highly recommend Sinix's Design Theory playlist and Paintover Pals! (+ his channel in general) You don't have to put them immediately into practice, but I think these are good fundamental lessons to just listen to and have them in the back of your mind to revisit another day. Plus these videos are just fun and very approachable! Design theory fundamentals are essential to creating appeal and directing a viewer's attention, and critiquing others' work/ seeing his suggestions are a good way to practice noticing areas of improvement+ solutions yourself!

2) If you prefer a more formal teaching resource, the Drawabox YouTube course covers all the basic fundamentals of drawing in short lessons. But honestly if I were starting out, this would be a little intimidating for me (and even now it still is! I haven't done all of them) But even if you don't watch them, the titles should give you an idea of the basic concepts that are valuable to pick up. I think it would be nice to keep in mind and revisit once in a while as you learn!

(One lesson I do encourage you to watch is the line control one! A confident continuous line conveys motion and flow much better compared to discontinuous frayed lines which I think is good to practice early by drawing from the wrist and shoulder)

3) As a universal piece of advice: Please please please use references! Use a reference for literally everything, observing is how we learn! You'll find that a lot of things you thought you knew what they looked like are inaccurate by memory alone. Also, trace! This is solely for your practice, tracing then freehanding has helped me grasp proportions when I was struggling! (of course don't post these online if you traced from art)

I've found that being able to compile references into easy to access boards has been very helpful in encouraging me to use references more. For PC, I think they use PureRef (free/pay what you want), and for iPad I use VizRef. VizRef is a one time purchase (which was definitely worth the $3.99 USD price imo)

4) On that note, try building up the habit to observe from media + real life and make purposeful comments about what you see! Like hey, when I bend my knee, the muscles/fat in my thighs and calves bulge outwards, I should draw that next time. Purposeful observation carries over to your overall visual library, and it's a little thing that adds up over time

5) For motivation, get into media you really enjoy, or make your own characters! The way I started art more seriously was by drawing fanart + OCs from anime that I liked ^^ For OCs it really encourages you to draw more because you're the primary creator of their art! Also you gotta see a lot of good art to make good art! Watching visually appealing media (like animation with appealing stylization/simplification) can passively help you learn just by observation.

ok wow I could go on but this is already a lot of information TTOTT my main aim for this reply is basically: don't let anything discourage you from learning to draw!! drawing is so fun and brings me a lot of joy ^^ practicing often will of course help you improve, and the way to incentivize that is by having fun with it! i hope this could help!💞

#my asks #art resources #trying to be concise n failing #i'm mainly worried that like. my art tips make me sound more skilled than my art actually is

[socialist-microwave-laser]

Hey the increase in antisemitism is horrible. I want to do everything I can to help. Just so I know the right thing to do, does "listen to Jews and give us space to mourn" include listening to Zionist? Many of them are Jews. Many of them won't say they're Zionists, that they're Just Jews, and don't know why people Just Hate Jews now, while calling even the gentlest opposition to textbook war crimes antisemitic.

Like, you say Listen to Jews, and I think, sure that sounds good. And then on Twitter there is a guy with a giant star of David on a flag as his icon, saying All Us Jews Have a Right to Defend Ourselves and our Jewishness and what he means is the right to depopulate and flatten Gaza and turn it into a gleaming modern city free of arabs. And he is doing this under literally the flag of the star of david

So as a person concerned with justice and really trying to do the right thing, do I listen to that Jew? Because those are absolutely the loudest voices in the room right now,that's the army and the government and their loudest supporters, and most of the times I hear people say the word "antisemitism" what they mean is "not patronizing corporations that materially support genocide", and when they say "attack on Jews as bad as the Holocaust" they often mean "resistance to Israeli occupation of stolen land"

sorry i'm answering this four days late, tumblr mobile is awful about telling you when you have new asks lmfao

honestly the answer here is yes. you do listen to zionists. you actually should listen to jews who identify as zionists VERY closely for a few different reasons

zionism is a word that has very different meanings within and without jewish spaces. this is something i've talked about a lot on my blog, but basically, many jews use this to describe a feeling of connection to eretz israel, the land of the people israel, and doesn't inherently have anything to do with the israeli government. you should be able to find posts where i talk about this at this link [x]

you say so yourself that many people will say one thing and mean another, and that's definitely true, but the problem is that you won't know who's doing that without listening to them. many jews saying those exact things are very explicitly against the israeli government

along a similar vein, it's important to listen to why a jew says something is antisemitic. like yeah there are some people who equate any critique of medinas israel (the state of israel) as antisemitism, but there are also people who very rightfully have called out popular anti-zionist talking points as antisemitic and were then dismissed as zionist (even if this person very explicitly states that they are not a zionist). for example, when susan sarandon got fired, as people put it, "for attending a pro-palestinian rally." it was actually because she said the "people that are afraid of being jewish at this time... are getting a taste of what it feels like to be a muslim in [the united states]" [x] that statement is horrifically antisemitic because it 1) suggests that the rise in antisemitism (a 541% increase from last year as of last week [x]) is justified and 2) suggests that antisemitism is somehow a new thing in the us that jews are just now beginning to experience. in this instance it would be very important to listen to someone explain WHY they felt what she said was antisemitic, bc at first blush it just sounds like one of those cases of equating support for palestinian liberation with antisemitism

honestly i feel this is most important, which is why i put it last. to quote rami elhanan: “how will you get respect if you don’t give respect? once you are able to listen to the pain of the other, you can expect the other to listen to your pain." in that same talk, bassam aramin said “don’t claim that you own the truth always. people’s stories are their truth. you need to listen, respect, then the other side will listen to you and your pain." this was a lesson i learned because i'm a queer anarchist in kentucky; it was only when i listened to the people around me that i supposedly disagree such that i learned we agree on almost everything, and that was when we began yo see each other's humanity. another quote from aramin: "we didn’t meet as friends, no, we meet as enemies. but now we are family. and we had to start by talking to each other." the recording of the talk i attended hasn't been made public yet, but i posted a bunch of quotes from it here [x]

#jumblr #anarchist #tsiyyonus definition #asks #anonymous

[ginger-snap-talkin-nonsense]

The sheer volume of antisemitism ALONE found in y’all’s “critiques” of Steven Universe is unavoidable. It is genuinely insane once you look through all of it. I remember how you defended Adam Sandler’s movies on the basis that much of the hate for them was overblown due to antisemitism, and it freaks me out how you just so obviously don’t give a shit about any of that when it comes to a Jewish creator (who’s a bisexual woman this time) that you personally hate. The extreme hypocrisy here is just unbelievable, it truly fucking is. You can have criticisms of SU NOT deeply rooted in antisemitic caricatures, ‘jokes’, and bigotry. But that’s definitely not the case when it comes to you, Mikaila, or Lily for that matter. I’m just focusing on your own obvious bigotry influencing your hatred of SU because it’s you I’m sending this ask to.

For fuck’s sake you’ve basically banned yourself from ever watching ANYTHING made by LGBTQ+ creators in general, like Nimona as well. Which DEFINITELY would play a major role in somebody hating Steven Universe. Bigotry influencing media tastes in one of the most blindingly obvious things that can happen to ANYBODY, and you’re the biggest moron around if you think it can’t happen to you. (If the fact that very obvious bigotries have influenced your relentless hatred against MOST diverse art made by marginalized creators didn’t make that fucking obvious enough to you yet)

You know I'm starting to think-and this may sound crazy what I'm bout to say-that you don't actually know what I have said about Steven Universe and have just taken word second hand that I talk about it more than I actually do

Might be off my rocker though that's just a theory

[samstclair]

Kendall Roy’s Princess

Kendall Roy X Reader

Anonymous Request -

"Sam Saint Clair! Yes! Hello! Listen, I'll be quick and easy about this - Reader x Kendall Roy. That's it. Alright? Maybe she works at Waystar? Who knows. Create a lil power dynamic with it? Rags to riches? I don't know you do you like always! I know it's not completely morally right given it's the workplace but since when is Succession focused on morals?!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Of all the possible careers in the world, with literally every single possible line of work, there was one you never thought you'd step into - and that one was corporate...

Corporate.

Like ew honestly. The word might as well carry radiation, because every time you heard it in passing it was as if you were a victim in the Chernobyl disaster and old radioactive wounds had just been split open again to fill you with a pretty bad fear and dread. Like who the fuck wants to work in a cubicle? Be real for a second.

But nonetheless, here you were - Waystar Royco in the Big Apple, New York City. Some say it's the biggest apple of them all. You personally felt that honey crisp apples were bigger than the average apple, but, New York was just no ordinary apple - it was a city. And a big, busy city at that.

You really thought about that saying, "don't knock it 'til you try it!" and how based the person who ever came up with that was. There was something so sophisticated when you put on those black heels, that white buttoned up shirt and little slutty plaid (or gingham, whichever you prefer!) skirt. You've never seen the show Mad Men but imagined that was the vibe.

"I'm just a woman in the workplace", you'd recite to yourself as you dressed up in the morning, hyping your self-esteem UP. "Just a woman doing some serious business."

You also had no fucking idea as to what that 'business' was, and in all seriousness you weren't really sure what Waystar was all about. You would Google it at work, but something in your eye receptors or whatever blocked your brain from processing the information. Needless to say, you're a bimbo.

As you fixed your hair into a messy bun, but not too messy because that's not work appropriate, you reminisced on your little rags to riches story. You were just a girl who dropped out of theater school for reasons not important. Some say you were expelled but honestly tomayto tomahto. Everyone will always have their own opinions.

It wasn't all that hard, now that you were knee-deep into the company. It had first seemed overwhelming and intimidating, but honestly, it was really just running around and giving people papers, coffee, other mumbo jumbo like that. What you learned pretty quickly, was that if you walked fast and made it look like you had something on your mind, then no one would bother you because you looked busy. Your leg muscles went CRAZY so there was no need for some stair master bullshit.

You were just an ordinary assistant, mainly for the Logan Roy himself. There was a sense of importance and untouchability with every step your heels took in that fat building, you were literally Logan's number one bitch, (that's what he liked to call you in confidence!). And no one could tell you shit and that's that. You were basically hands off and free from any critique by your peers, even if you sucked donkey ass at your job.

Honestly the only reason he hired you because he liked how kinda oblivious (and a bit dumb) you were, since you never really pestered him with questions about what he was doing and you just do what you're told. "You're not annoying as fuck like my goddamned kids," he'd say. He thought you always stayed in your own lane because you were being respectful and minded your own business, but in actuality it was because you had no fucking clue what they were talking about the great majority of the time. If they weren't speaking in weird riddles and metaphors and similes, they were talking something about numbers. And math wasn't your forte. You literally just found out that "pi" actually meant 3.14 and wasn't actually slang for pumpkin/apple pie.

No one knew how you got the job or what qualifications you even had, but it didn't matter. No, it was all just between you and Lowgie Bear <3 (that was you liked to call him in confidence and was also the name for his contact on your phone). Even if you were on your work laptop playing games like Papa's Pizzeria, no one would even dare to ask if you were actually working. You were so focused on those games it looked as though you were popping some fun big numbers on Excel.

That morning when you got to the office, you did your usual - said hello to the people at front desk, hoped inside the elevator, listened to the click and clack of your heels, got to your office, prepared some coffee, and while that was brewing you signed into your computer and printed out the daily report. While that printed, you lit up your TJ Maxx candle, played some ambient mukbang ASMR on full blast (you're low-key deaf) and looked out the window into that concrete jungle Alicia Keys called New York. You always got to work bright and early, and that was mainly because you lived in an extra mailroom on the last floor in the basement. Logan said it was because he always wanted to keep you close.

It was a beautiful, clear morning, free of any suspicious airplanes. One of your favorite things to do was recite to yourself "I built this." Even though you didn't have literally one thing to do with the construction and knew nothing about scaffolding, it was a good affirmation that helped give you the confidence for the day. You felt like a mother holding her coffee watching her children rip those gifts to shreds like gross little rabid gremlins.

You loved having your new office. It originally belonged to Roman, Logan's son, who you swore was the youngest of all his children but that was actually Shiv. Despite birth records, you still didn't believe he wasn't the youngest. It arguably caused some premature strife between you and Roman when you acquired his office, but you didn't really care. Even after you insulted him the first time you met him, saying he "looked like that Home Alone kid",  from that moment forward he had such a distaste and hatred for you, finding the comment extremely offensive. But like I said you didn't really care tbh. It was the truth and you wanted nothing to do with him, something Logan was also keen on. He always protected you. He was ride or die <3 Some might stay he was a stan <3

A knock came at your door. You whipped around in your rolling chair to see your girl - Gerri.

"Good morning, Gerri!" you said.

She smiled. She was so mother. "Y/N, remember - you can't light candles. It's a fire hazard." She smirked at your forgetfulness. She reminded you of a cute Littlest Pet Shop mouse.

You blew it out. "Yeah, I know, it just always stinks of an office in here. So what if a little a Vanilla Bean causes a little fire? A little fire never hurt anyone."

"I guess, Y/N. Until it does."

"Until it does what?"

"Never mind. Listen, Logan's in a meeting right now. Give him about a quarter to nine before you bring him his daily report or whatever."

"Sure," you said. Like what was previously said, math was not your forte. You only thought a quarter was for two things - a genre of coin and the quarter pounder, which was what you ordered when you resorted to McDonalds when Burger King wasn't available. Since when is a quarter involved in time?

"What are those daily reports about, anyway? I've always wondered," Gerri asked curiously before closing the door.

"Oh, Gerri, I would tell you. But Logan said he'll knock me off the side of a cruise ship like those women if I spilled."

Gerri didn't seem that content about what you said, giving what you know was a fake smile, and closed the door behind her as she left to the meeting. As you struggled to find out what a quarter meant, it just so happened you saw through the glass a tall ass man child limp by your room.

You got up and ran to the door. "Greg!" you called in a harsh whisper, but wasn't successful as a whisper since you saw everyone's head clocked towards you from their desks. "Greg!"

He turned and lit up when he saw you, literally like the child he is. He limped to your door. "Y/N, hey, good morning. What's up?"

"Why are you limping?" you asked, confused as to why he was limping.

"Oh, well, uh," he hesitated and looked around. "Tom and I were sitting at this like, ATN meeting, like across from each other? We started playing - well, are you familiar with the game 'footsies'? Well, we were getting pretty, I guess, into it? I mean, Tom a little more-so than me? And he I guess started to get upset because I was winning? But I'm not completely sure how to win footsies? So he got a little carried away, I guess? He started hitting me quite violently with his foot, like no longer in the playful manner? Anyway, my leg's all bruised -"

"- Greg I have a question. What's a quarter to nine mean?"

He thought for a moment. He needed to lean down a bit for your short ass to hear the whisper. "A quarter? You mean like the coin? Or the burger -"

"No dumbass bitch, a quarter to nine."

"Ohhhh," he said, "sorry, my, or - our separation, like our distance in height prevented me from hearing like, the rest of your sentence. I believe a quarter to nine is, if my knowledge doesn't precede me, eight forty-five."

"Okay great thanks!" you closed the door behind him soon after. You liked Greg, but was sure not to be around him for too long, as anywhere Greg was, so was Tom. And Tom was not your favorite to be around when you were sober. Greg was like a cub and Tom was the mama bear. Wherever there's a cub, the mama was always near. Cocaine bear proved that. #ripRayLiotta

Once that quarter to eight came, you grabbed Logan's favorite cup of coffee, (it was a mug that read "I'm Grumpy Without My Coffee" with Grumpy Cat's face on it #ripGrumpyCat) and the daily report that was freshly printed. You began to walk down the hall towards his office. He had his blinds down, so upon entering you literally didn't expect every fucking person and their mother to be there.

You barged in, "Lowgie Bear! I have you daily repor -" and you were shell shocked. Logan was sat at his desk, hands together like a villain, surrounded by literally everyone. Gerri, Frank, Karl, Stewy, Hugo, Karolina, Roman, Shiv, Greg (and next to him mama bear Tom) and - Kendall.

Kendall. Ken. Kenny.

What was there to say? You froze staring at his fine Mickey Mouse personified face.

You and Kendall - well, you two had history. Actually, it was barely history but there was some pretext. Basically, ever since the first time you met, there was tension. And the good tension, not that Roman type of tension...................................................................

You remembered where you were the day before you met Kendall - the day before you met any of the Roys - boxes in your arms filled with all your stuff from your dorm, standing on some New York street, something like a corner and third, lost like a rat who was kicked out from his borough. All you had to eat that day was a hot dog from the floor that you wrestled a rat for to get. You stood there embarrassingly as cars flew by you, splashing puddles of water all over your Juicy tracksuit. You hated being helpless on the street - the last time that happened a taxi screeecccchheeeddddd on the side of the corner. You didn't want that to happen again.

Then, you felt your phone buzz against your fat butt. You put one of the boxes down, but it actually slipped and some of your shit fell down the sewer drain.

"Motherfucker!" you yelled, ready to cry. Things were definitely not going your way. "What's a girl to fucking do?! Who the fuck is this?"

You reached to your pocket and pulled out your iPhone 4s. It was a number you didn't recognize, but you weren't about to just hang up. No, you were going to see who the fuck decided to give you a little ring and caused your fake Puka shell necklace, Medellín snow globe, pink Barbie Benadryl pills, and extra large tampons to fall into the sewers. Tampons were expensive in today's economy, after all that inflation business or whatever.

"What, bitch?" you snapped.

"Y/N! Hey, it's Willa!"

"Oh my God, Willa, girl, hey!" you smiled, your voice flipping into your true friendly self. Thank god it was her, because being a Karen wasn't your style. That lifestyle was for the Karen's. "Where've you been?"

"Y/N, what a couple of months it's been, you won't believe. I'm calling from my boyfriend's phone, I lost mine."

"Your boyfriend?" you thought, "oh yeah, Zachary, right?"

"No, Connor, actually. Listen, I wanna hang out with you! Connor's going to be out of town for a couple days, you know, work and stuff, but his family is having this little getty at his dad's house. Come with me!"

"Willa I would so love to! When is it?"

"Tomorrow night. I can pick you up at your dorm!"

"Actually Willa," you said, "that can't happen. I got kicked out. Long story. I'm actually homeless as we speak."

"Oh, really? Look it's okay, I can get you a hotel room until you find a place to stay. I would let you stay at me and Connor's, but he gets paranoid someone's gonna take his Napoleonic memorabilia."

"Yeah totally that makes sense. Thanks a bunch!"

Willa, being your girl, got you that hotel room. And that shit was nice as fuck like Scarface when Tony Montana was in that bathtub smoking that cigar. It made you so happy to know your girl Willa got her sugar daddy. You both met in a theater production you were forced to go to for school, but the experience was a lot less boring when you met her. From that day on, you two were destined to be just a couple of girlies. She was like a breath of fresh shy white girl that you couldn't find anywhere else.

You were sitting in the bathtub that resembles Tony Montana's and had accidentally knocked out the fuck out when your phone rang. Thank god it woke you up cause you were about three more minutes before you were completely submerged and could've drowned :/ . You jumped up and scrambled for your phone on the bathroom counter, suds of soap all over your head that blocked your vision. It was Willa.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Y/N, you ready? I'm downstairs in the car."

"Uh, yeah I am! Just give me like five, girlie!" you hung up, catapulted your phone across the room, jumped out of the scorching hot tub butt ass naked and ran for your dress that laid out on the bed. You dried yourself of all the suds with the towel before catapulting that out too.

"We'll just have to go braless and pantiless. No bras, no panties! No bras, no panties!" you repeated in an effort to justify the lack of bras and panties. You then threw your dress over you, shoved your heels on, and picked up your hair in a clip. "No bras, no panties!"

Just as you were out for the door, you saw yourself in the mirror and wanted to throw up - the anxiety had built in you and you felt your butt clench. You needed to shit but there was literally no time for this.

"Move, bitch!" you yelled at a guest as you bolted down the hallway towards the elevator, slamming them against the wall. Guests must've thought you planted a bomb or something in your room with how manic you looked and how fast your legs were taking you.

"STOMP! STOMP! SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT!", your feet said as you ran. It was the best thing you knew how to do.

Water was still dripping down your leg, and once you got outside the cold New York wind intensified the coolness of it so much so that it was basically stinging. It stung. You jumped over all five steps and landed on the ground, banging your hand on the tinted window.

"Let me in! Let me in! LET ME INNNNNNN!!!!!!" you yelled. The window rolled down, revealing your girl, Willa.

"Jesus Christ, Y/N, what's wrong? Hop in!"

You jumped through the window feet first despite the door being opened moments prior.

You two were in the backseat, now off to the gala! "This is a nice car," you said. "Presidential type. Like, JFK would've loved this."

"JFK?"

"John Fitzgerald Kennedy? Like, it's so secretive. He would've liked it because it could've prevented his death, you know. No one can see inside."

Willa's stares lingered on you for several moments before she finally said something. You couldn't talk much after because you were too winded.

"Y/N, are you okay?"

You turned away from the window and looked to her. You tried to smile, but you were too tired too. It looked like a part of your face was melting. "Yeah girl I'm fine. You look great! Why do you ask?"

"Just, cause, uh," she looked you up and down, "you're dripping wet."

"Yeah it was raining."

"Raining? But it's been clear all day -"

"In the room. I mean my hotel room," you chuckled, "it was raining in my hotel room."

She was definitely confused.

"You know, leaks and all," you finished. You thought it best to move on. "Do you have any makeup on you? I thought I should go all natural, you know, no makeup. But now I'm regretting my decision."

"Yeah, I think I have mascara," she opened her purse and pulled it out, giving it to you.

"Better than Sex, oh my god that's like vintage. Like 2016 vintage," you said and used your phone as a reflection to put it on. Some bumps in the road caused the wand to jam into your eye causing it to go red but nonetheless your lashes were coated. You gave it back. You checked how you now looked in the reflection of the car - but it just seemed you had pink eyes in both eyes. Uh oh.

"That's all I have, Y/N, I'm sorry," Willa said, still shuffling through her ludicrously capacious bag.

"No, it's okay. Sometimes mascara is all you need! But sometimes it's not. How come you invited me? Not that I wouldn't have wanted to come, but like, what happened with Connor?"

"Oh you know, he's on this campaign tour thing and all that. I just didn't want to go alone," she chuckled, embarrassed.

"Sounds fun," you said. "Who's this family?"

"The Roys. They're a bit crazy."

You laughed. "What do you mean, crazy? I've seen crazy, heck - you've seen crazy. We were literally in theater together. I bet they aren't even that bad."

"No, they're pretty bad. They can all be pretty mean. And judgey. They're like, blood related but not actually a family, you know? So, like, don't engage with them too much. They don't like when you look in their eyes for too long. So where'd you get your dress? It's so pretty."

"Goodwill," you said confidently. "Isn't it pretty? It makes my ass look fat bro."

You shifted over to show her, struggling as you were still wet and inadvertently created a slip and slide on the leather seats.

She agreed it was fat. "Wow, that's from Goodwill? I wouldn't have thought."

You sat back down. "Of course, what, you think I was gonna buy a dress? I'm broke, remember."

"Well, wait, didn't you have that money from Colombia?"

"Well who says I bought it," you said, biting your tongue with a smile, "also don't bring up Colombia."

You two had finally made it to Logan's penthouse and pulled up outside. You both stepped out and entered, going into the elevator.

"Willa, this is like, rich rich," you whispered.

"I told you," she whispered back.

Once inside the penthouse, you knew you had to unlock your inner theater girl - not the annoying one, but the ACTING one. You had to unlock the Y/N self that belonged here - with the upper echelon of society. This was your debut.

You quickly lost Willa. One minute she was with you in the mess of all these people, and the next moment she was gone. But you couldn't let it throw you off - sometimes in theater, you know since it's live, mistakes happen! The show must go on!

You grabbed a glass of champagne off the tray of a waiter and stood up straighter. You sipped, and despite it tasting like expired sparkling water, you sipped and sipped. You then downed three others - that liquid courage had now been activated and in full effect.

"Man this tastes like dick," you thought. Rich people really did have shitty taste.

The air smelled of expensive cologne and perfume, you wondered if their noses built a tolerance to how strong it was because it was extremely overwhelming and frankly nauseating. Maybe all the coke they do blocks sensory receptors? Who knows, but Jesus Christ it was as if there was an oil spill that actually smelled good but not too good when it's all mixed together. So yeah basically an oil spill in the water but there's no Dawn to save it.

You felt your tummy rumble.

Mama's getting hungry...mama needs to eat so the monster doesn't come out....

But it didn't take long for you to realize that it wasn't cause you were hungry. After all, you more than helped yourself to the snack bar, basically chilling there for like fifteen minutes fucking up everything they had to offer. Rich people didn't seem to like eating, because all the food was barely touched. How ungrateful. The last thing you had to eat was that hot dog you had to roundhouse kick that rat to the ground.

No, it was that very familiar feeling - the feeling when your bowels are incontrollable and on fire. Your body tensed and your heart began to race - you needed to shit. But when didn't you?

You darted (and farted) in every direction, looking for a door that appeared to resemble a bathroom. You felt that anxiety amp up as you failed to find one. You then began to walk around, essentially crop-dusting, still searching but keeping the composure of your rich socialite character you were playing tonight. Never mind the beads of sweat that ran down your face and the shortness of your breath that resembled an asthma attack.

"Y/N! There you are, I thought I lost you!" you turned and saw your girl, Willa. "I was looking for you, I even went to the food bar looking for you -"

"Willa where the fuck is the bathroom in this bitch? I'm hurting," you ordered. "I'm hurting bad."

"Oh, it's literally right behind you. Go in, I'll wait out here. I wanna introduce you to some people -"

You turned to find a door and pushed that shit open, revealing a beautiful porcelain toilet. You entered and shut the door behind you before Willa could even finish.

You hit that toilet and everything, and I mean everything, came out. You desecrated that once beautiful porcelain toilet. The formation was solid, meaning you were healthy! You smiled, you loved solid ones. It made you feel so healthy. Anyway you looked around the bathroom for any refreshers or sprays - you didn't wanna exactly leave your scent in here. But honestly you weren't scared if you did, their colognes and perfumes could overpower it.

Once you finished, you wiped front to back cause you're not a degenerate and flushed, then flushed again to rid any remaining skid marks to cover any evidence. After all, girl's don't shit. You washed your hands on the beautiful porcelain sink and took yourself in in the mirror - you always  looked and felt renewed after emptying yourself. Who needs coke when you have your natural bodily processes?

You noticed some q-tips that were scattered around, snapped in two, and some pieces of magazines ripped all over the floor. You looked below to the trash bin, and saw all sorts of broken decor, more q-tips and magazine pieces stuffed inside. There was also a broken hairdryer and smears of black on the cabinets. It appeared a lot of violence had went down.

"They must've had a crazy number two," you thought. You laughed to yourself, "Oh, how I've been there."

Once you washed up and after taking some grainy selfies on your iPhone 4s, you went back outside and saw your girl Willa waiting.

"Relieved?"

"Oh, girl, always. It's like spiritual meditation, you know," you said. "Anyway, Willa, you told me this was a getty - but this is like an actual party." You couldn't help but feel yourself smirk at all the possibilities - the champagne was hitting. Willa seemed to read you like a book.

"Y/N, no, I know what you're thinking. Yeah it's more of a party than a getty, but it's not a party party. You can't get 'faded' or 'off da juice' or whatever you like to say. Just don't embarrass me, please. These people are not fans of plus ones," Willa explained, sure to make sure that you got the vibe. You did and assured her. After all, getting fucked up wasn't a part of your character in tonight's script!

"It's okay, Willa, I won't. I thought these rich people would have good alcohol, but after having some to calm the nerves, you know, it's really not that good. Honestly I think I shit most of it out. Liquidated, you know?" you bit your tongue like a mom, but you didn't realize when you did since it was ingrained in who you were, "See? I'm fitting in just fine with these business people!"

Willa began to introduce to you to a bunch of the people there, but you honestly started to get overwhelmed. There was no differentiating between them, they were all old white people and you forgot their names the moment after Willa said them, so you just opted to referring to everyone as "girlie". Some didn't like it but some people don't like seeing a woman succeed.

"Hey, Willa, I'm gonna take a break. It's just a lot of people to take in right now, you know? It's a lot at once," you said. Willa understood and was going to talk to some others, leaving you back to yourself.

You got bored pretty quick. You weren't talking to anyone but the character you were playing was also getting bored. If you couldn't drink, then what fun was there to do? No one was dancing, no one was getting 'lit'. But there was one thing you knew - and that was that someone here had drugs. Like, rich people drugs. You weren't just about to do ketamine or bath salts, but maybe weed? You handled yourself well when you were high and maybe it could help this experience altogether?

You began to scope around for someone who resembled a stoner. It was pretty difficult because everyone was wearing nice outfits like suits and dresses, so picking out who in the building that looked like they skated and listened to Odd Future was proving difficult.

"My god, what's a girl gotta do to smoke around here?" you thought.

And then - you found him. He was abnormally tall and definitely looked like he might be a pothead. He was standing outside on the balcony, looking clueless like a puppy or some shit. Man definitely didn't belong here.

"These nepo babies", you thought to yourself as you b-lined towards him.

"Hey, can I smoke with you?" you asked. He turned and looked down at you. You didn't feel you were that short but brother in Christ this man was tall.

"Uh, I'm sorry? I don't think we've met," he extended his hand out for a shake. You shook it, but didn't like it, "I'm Greg, I'm, uh, I'm Logan's nephew. Well, great nephew, technically. But we've like, fostered a relationship, where I'm more of a nephew than a great nephew -"

"- Yeah that's great I'm sure you're great. I'm Y/N. Do you have weed? Mama - I mean, I could use some."

The tall dude named Greg the great nephew smiled like a little boy, "Yeah I do. I get you, it's a lot of people around. That's how I felt when I first got here, you know. Perhaps we should go to the other side of the terrace, perhaps a more secluded area?"

"Yeah whatever," you said. You followed him a little farther down the balcony, behind some shrubbery that blocked you from the sight of all the other rich old people. He stuck his hand inside his pocket and pulled out a small baggie of weed. He continued to shuffle through, but seemed to have lost something. "Oh shit, I forgot the wrappers at home."

There was no way you were going to miss out cause this dodo bird forgot wrappers. "That's okay," you spat. "Stay here, I'll be right back."

You walked back out into the balcony, then back to inside to the food bar. You grabbed some slimy slices of cheese and salami, then went back out to meet Greg.

"Here, use these," you presented him the slices of salami and cheese, but there was no thought behind his blue Miley eyes.

"Uh, what?"

"Roll with these. I've done it before, here, give me," you grabbed the baggie from his hands and began to scatter the bud in a straight little line across the salami and cheese. You then rolled it up tightly, licking the ends shut and presenting it to Greg, who was safe to stay, astonished.

"You really just crafted a doobie out of salami and cheese?" he said, in awe.

"It sucks being poor. You learn your way around things. I also saw this on a clip on YouTube from that show Extreme Cheapskates. Here," you gave him the deli spliff and began to roll another.

"Does this thing really work?" Greg asked you, inspecting it.

"Okay, Grav3yardgirl," you said. "It does. It's basically a life hack."

Greg pulled out a lighter and lit the end, taking in a drag successfully. He was still in awe.

"This is like, inventive. I mean, there is a hint of, uh, dairy and meat, but it's not actually that bad. It's like a true bodega joint. It's just missing the bagel and the salami would have to be bacon instead."

You lit up your joint and you were set - this was it. You looked over the balcony and taking in the city and those hits. You felt like Remy from Ratatouille eating the strawberry and cheese, all the flavors were coming together. It was disgusting at first, but tolerable after a while. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all.

You two sat in silence for some minutes, enjoying one another's company.

"So, would you rather be trapped in a pool with a shark, or with a tiger in a cage?" he asked. You looked over to him, his eyes blood red and glossy.

"Uh, honestly," it took you a moment to process what he was saying. You felt so slow and a little stupid. "Well, how about this instead - gay son or thot daughter?"

Greg took a moment before answering. You frankly forgot what you asked by the time he answered. "Well, uh, in terms of which I'd rather have, I honestly don't know exactly. Maybe like, whatever would come first, you know, if I had a son or daughter first, maybe the logistics of the situation would play a factor," he took another moment. "Honestly this question is kinda stressing me out. Is it supposed to do that?"

"Uh, heyyyyy Gregggguuhh! What are you doing out here, buddy? I've been missing my Sporus!"

You both turned your heads pretty slowly to your left, seeing a head pop out on the side of the shrubbery. It looked as if he was floating and your inebriated self thought it actually was. He resembled Horton from Horton Hears a Who.

"Oh, uh, hey Tom," said Greg. "Tom, this is Y/N."

You waved. He came out from behind and revealed his entire body. You were relived that he wasn't floating after all.

"Y/N, huh? And from where do you sprout from, huh? From what depths have you appeared to land a spot on this balcony?"

You stared at him blankly. You saw his eyes dart from yours to both of your joints. His eyebrows furrowed.

"Are those, are you eating the food bar's deli as if it was a cigarette? Why is it all rolled in that fashion, huh Greg?"

"It's, uh, it's weed. Do you want some?" Greg offered.

"Weed? What do you mean 'weed', Greg?" he inspected Greg's salami and cheese, also in awe. He scoffed, stumped. "Well aren't you just a little brainiac scientist? What are you going to do next, Greg, are you going to make a nuke out of the potato salad?"

"It was actually, it was actually Y/N that made these."

Tom looked to you. "Really?"

Though it didn't appear as so, you were getting overwhelmed as you had gotten used to just Greg's presence, and it didn't help you were still getting over the fact Tom wasn't actually floating. All you could muster up to do was a very lazy, slightly paralyzed-looking biting tongue in your white mom way. It was really your default response.

"Uh, what was that?" Tom asked.

"What was what?" you asked back.

"That tongue thing - right there, when you bit your tongue. Wait there - you just did it again!" he said, pointing at you. You didn't realize it but you did do it again. "How'd you do that?"

"Um, I don't know you said. You just do it," you repeated it again. He seemed to really enjoy it as he began to laugh in disbelief.

"That seems fun!" he said, and he began to do the same, "it's quite fun, isn't it?" He then continued, one after the other until he got the bite right, enjoying himself. You and Greg watched with dead faces. You weren't sure for how long that lasted (it was an hour).

"Uh, the fuck is going on here? What kind of orgy is this?" another voice boomed.

A small man came out from behind. You felt your anxiety grow more now that another person was added behind the shrubbery.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asked you. His squeaky voice was one that you found extremely irritating.

"I'm me," you said, more sass in your tone to match his.

He looked to your salami cheese roll up. "The fuck is that? Wait, are you smoking weed out of what the fuck is even that," he looked closer at it, "fucking havarti cheese? I mean, how poor are you? Aren't my tax dollars for you fucking welfare checks to afford wrappers?"

Greg rose up. "It's actually, uh, pretty innovative. It just proves, I think, personally, that anything can be a wrapper if you want it to be. Like, if you set your mind to it."

"Yeah, how about that? Say can my dick be a wrapper if you 'set your mind to it'? And what about you," he turned to your direction, "what're you a fucking - a fucking mute? Who are you fucking, Helen Keller?"

You continued to stare him down. You didn't know what it was but his little presence was really starting to make you angry. A part of you had the strong urge to stand and use all your strength to knock this elf on the shelf motherfucker over the ledge. He seemed to be reading your face.

"Her name is actually Y/N," said Greg.

"Y/N, huh?" he looked to Tom, who this entire time had been practicing his mom tonguing. "The fuck is wrong with you? Why does it look like you're having a stroke?"

"Can you leave us alone," you finally said.

He whipped his head back to you, a daring look on his face. "Oh yeah, and what are you gonna do? Run to Twitter and cancel me? I'm Roman Roy, motherfucker. You can't cancel this," he motioned his entire petite body.

"You look like the kid from Home Alone," you shot back. "The one that got left alone."

Roman's face froze. He could not believe what the fuck you just said. Greg giggled but soon stopped once he realizes just how quickly and deeply Roman was made insecure.

You didn't want to linger for any longer in the awkward silence, so you quickly rose and bolted.

"That was the weirdest blunt rotation I've ever had", you thought. And you once smoked with Pablo Escobar's mom.

Fortunately, parallel to the other side the terrace was another corner covered on shrubbery. It was a perfect spot to finish off your joint, now in complete peace but not complete silence, as the party was still going on like ten feet away.

It was now nearing nighttime. The sun began to set over Alicia Key's concrete jungle.

"Hey, mind if I join?"

"Jesus Christ how many are there of you?!" you screamed, turning to your right to see who the fuck was it now disturbing your silence now.

And that was him. Kendall. You didn't know it at the time but that was Kendall Roy.

"Oh, sorry, I, uh, didn't mean to bother you -"

"No it's okay," you quickly switched up, sure to smile. "Come sit. I'm sorry, I just, I got stressed out." You giggled in embarrassment, sounding a little like Trisha Paytas.

He took the seat beside you. "No, I get it," he smiled, revealing his goofy fine ass smile, "it can get pretty annoying, all these fuckers here put in one place. Kendall."

"Y/N," you said. You then offered your roll up, "you wanna kill it?"

He took it. "Sure. I don't even know what the fuck this is, but fuck it," he placed the entire roll up into his mouth, the tip of it barely out from his lips as he took a hit. You watched, transfixed and taken aback. He began to blow out rings and laughed as he coughed. "Jesus, that's some strong fucking shit there."

You tried not to look too much at him, instead facing back forward. But you couldn't help it. Man was fine as fuck in the goofiest way. The way he blew those rings - I mean what that mouth do I don't know.

You remembered a quote you saw on a Pinterest board once - "Compliments are just the absolute best ❤️ ". Now was your time to shine and put that quote to WORK.

"Your eyebrows."

He looked over to you. "Sorry? My eyebrows?"

"They're like, thin. Like Y2K vibes. I have to use a Men's shaver to get mine like yours - but you just have them all natural."

He nodded. He didn't get what the fuck you were on about. "Thanks. So who are you?" he asked. "Who do you know here?"

"I'm Willa's friend," you replied. From then on, you two spoke the rest of the night, free from any disturbance as you two were hidden in the shrubbery. As time went on, you felt a strong connection with him, and despite him being attractive, there was somewhat of a sad presence around him, in his self-deprecating way. There was something helpless, something loser about him that you felt immensely relatable. You could tell that he lacked a mother (and honestly father) figure, something you felt immediately attached to. Not to say that just because you're a girl means you're going to have motherly instincts all the time, but it was extremely intense with this one. A part of you wanted to pick up your hair in a ponytail and let everything do the rest, but another part of you wanted to cradle this man and pop a boob out to breastfeed his ass like the mother from Barbarian did to Justin Long's character.

Later that night, he'd introduce you to his father, Logan, and that was it. You won him over as assistant when he asked you a simple question, "Y/N. What would you do with a million dollars?" he was trying to prove something to his kids but you didn't realize it then. Your answer was quick, simple, and to the point: "If I had a million dollars I would buy so many cheeseburgers and Big Macs in McDonald's. I would also go to sweet tomatoes during lunch hour and I would tell the manager I want to co-own the business. And then I would fly myself to meet harry styles and offer him some money (not like he needs it) and ask him if he can be my boyfriend. And he can't deny my proposal cause I own sweet tomatoes. And I can offer him McDonald's food and he'll love me for that."

He loved that answer. "Smart. Very smart."

From that point on, you pretty much secured your position that family.

Working at the office, you and Kendall flirted here and there, but it never became anything too serious, to your own dismay. You loved the adrenaline that came through you when you saw him at work, and weren't at all opposed to the little office romance you two had going on. A little Jim and Pam hurt no one. You'd even post on your Instagram stories a screenshot of the two and type out "me and who". Kendall hearted it every time <3

One of your favorite parts of the day was getting ready for work, where you woke up two hours earlier to do your makeup and hair, and mentally prepare yourself for when you saw him at work. You looked cute asf every time, so the days he wouldn't show - let's just say it was very difficult for you to go on. Those days always ended up being the worst and resulted in you going to an extra storage room by yourself and going absolutely ape shit and trashing the entire place to let go some of that unwanted tension from the lack of the wanted tension from Kendall.

Okay so back to the office. Again, EVERYONE was there.

You snapped out of your trance. "Oh, uh, I'll come back later!" You were about to turn around, as you were not mentally prepared for all of that, let alone Kendall. He hadn't been in the office for several days and it just so happened that you got self-diagnosed with depression at that same time. See the coincidence?

"The fuck do you want?" Roman asked. "Don't you see the adults are talking?"

"Watch it, Roman," Kendall said. He always came to your rescue and it made you all hot down there.

"Shut up," Roman said to his brother. Oh no. That was a no-no in your book, no-no.

"Shut up Home Alone bitch!" you shot back.

He glared at you. It was like a slur for that man. You saw the flashbacks from the party replay behind his eyes, it filled you with such satisfaction. "You don't tell me to shut up! What do you want? Why are you even here, huh? Wanna crack my dad's back again, huh?"

"Romulus, enough," Logan said. His voice had such power it made the room fall silent again. Roman, annoyed and upset with his father's picking of sides, gave up. He crossed his arms and turned to face the window, away from you. "I'm sorry, Y/N."

"No, it's totally okay!" you said to your boss, "I love a little office rapport!"

Logan smiled softly, his little white mustache moving upwards. He turned to Roman. "For the record, Y/N cracks backs better than any one of you morons in here can." He turned to you again. "What is it, Y/N?"

"I have the, you know," you motioned to the papers, "you know. The documents."

Logan's face lit up. "Oh yes, yes. Alright everyone, fuck off!"

Everyone looked to one another, clueless.

"Well, wait. Logan. What do we do? We need to have a decision for tonight, for the markets, before the stock closes," said Frank.

The moment the words "markets" and "stocks" came out of Frank's mouth, they were as if they were the secret code to turn your brain off. You zoned out the moment they began to blabber on, incapable of deciphering whatever the fuck they were talking about. All the big words were difficult for you to understand. In fact, you didn't understand literally anyone in this office but you did a pretty good job at pretending you did. Your usual rotation of responses were as follows:

"Oh my god yes we have to think about the numbers!" or

"Yeah, the shareholders won't be big fans of that!" or

"The stock! We need to think about how it'll affect he stock!" or

"Yes! Investors are investing!"

There were more and even though sometimes saying any of these would result you in getting pretty confused looks, playing the office bimbo was just, well, YOUR forte. Not math.

You knew they were finished talking when they all began to leave. You snapped out of your disassociation and opened the door for them as they all left. Kendall gave you a small nod (you blushed), Gerri said thank you, Tom did his little white mom tongue that he now completely mastered, and Stewy winked at you. All the others just left, except Roman, who left last. He stopped at the door, and in a whisper said, "Keep up your attitude and I'll personally hire a tech fucker to wipe all your Sims 3 files from your PC."

You ignored him and shut the door behind him, pushing and forcing him out. He couldn't do that. Do you know how hard it was to log into your computer? No one would guess your password was ImJohnnyKnoxvillesLittleTenesseeWhiskeyCowgirl123.

You walked over to Logan as he put his glasses on and inspected the papers you put in front of him. "The fuck is it today?" he looked at the papers carefully, then closely, but ultimately threw it down. "Can you read it, Y/N, the print is so fucking small!"

"Of course, Logan!" you smiled, you cleared your throat. "Okay, today's date October 13th! Today's horoscope for Libras are, (insert here an entire usual horoscope bullshit here that really doesn't mean or say anything despite having a shit ton of words and sentences that sound like they make sense but they don't)."

Logan took a second after you finished. He began to nod. "Sounds about fucking right. I'm surrounded by MORONS!" he looked to you, "Not you, Y/N, you're just a bimbo."

"Aw, thanks, of course! Do you need anything else?"

"Yes, actually. I don't know how to get that goddamned Alexa to fucking work! Can you turn it on for me, Y/N, or fix it. Whatever the fuck, just do something about it!"

You walked over to it, initially not believing you could even try to attack the root of the problem. But, it wasn't hard. It was plugged out of its socket. No biggie. "Fixed it!"

"Thank you, Y/N, can you play that uh," he sat, thinking in his old man brain, "that woman."

"What woman?" you asked.

"Erm, that woman you know the one. You played it last time."

"Oh!" you remembered, "Lana! Yeah sure, what song?"

"The one I liked."

"Alexa, play Brooklyn Baby by Lana Del Rey."

The Alexa lit up blue and began to play. Logan nodded. "Nothing better than a woman who's proud to be an American woman." Logan put his glasses back on and began to look at other mumbo jumbo documents at his desk. "Thank you, Y/N. You may go now."

You walked over to the door, "anything else, Logan?"

"Actually yes, one more thing," he looked above his papers to you, "Go get your nails done. You need refills, 'girlie'."

You looked down to your hands. It was true. You really did need refills bad. It's literally been five fucking weeks and those acrylics were barely hanging on.

You were now at the nail salon, admiring your new set - they were a French set - Logan's favorite. You sat in the chair waiting for your nail lady to get a seat to do your feet. It was packed in there, but you weren't leaving until your patas were done.

"Well, well, look who's here."

You turned around at the bell on the door ringing. Stewy had just entered.

"Hey Stewy," you said, surprised, "what are you doing here? Picking up your girlfriend?"

He showed his well groomed hands. His nails were short and smooth - no cuticle in SIGHT.

"I always knew you were a well-manicured man." He took his own seat with his lady and began to create some rapport with her.

"Hey so listen, there's like no chairs that are going to be available soon, is it okay if we put you in the backrooms chair?" you nail lady asked.

"Yeah sure! Let's go!"

She took you to the back which resembled a photo from that liminal spaces Twitter account and sat you down on a lawn chair with an Orbeez Soothing Spa at the bottom. You put your patas in those rubber boba-esque balls, enjoying the weird sensation on your feet. She didn't realize, but as she was getting things to prepare, you kept popping some of those balls in with your feet. They were delicious. She then began to get to work, taking a little longer than usual taking off all your dead skin. It looked like parmesan cheese had been coated all over those rubber balls.

Mid-way in, with the first coat, your phone began to ring. It was no longer an iPhone 4s, you were able to upgrade now to an iPhone 7 rose gold! Though your nails were still wet, you struggled to grab it from your side with just the palms of your hands.

You gasped, wide-eyed at the contact name. It was Kendall.

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!" you worried. Your nail lady gave you a giant side eye. "Can you answer it? I can't, my nails -"

You passed it over to her, but before she could grab it your phone thought it would be funny to do a little slippy slip slip from your hands and fell into the Orbeez bath. "Oh fuck!"

Your nail lady grabbed the iPhone, drying it with a towel, answered the phone and passed it over to you. You scrambled to answer.

"Hello, Kendall? Oh my God," you called. His voice was cracky and static. You looked to the lady, pointing at it, "it's Kendall!"

"No, it's wet. There's water in your phone, it's broken."

"Oh no!" you cried, "Ken, can you hear me?"

"He- lo- Y/N - cn an - you - ear - meeee"

The line then dropped, and your phone screen went black. "He sounds like shit. Man. I missed my fucking chance. FUCK!" you catapulted your now broken phone across the salon, accidentally and effectively hitting Stewy in the face. He was not happy. It was a habit you really needed to break.

After you finished both your mani and pedi, you went back to Waystar ready to present to Logan just where his money had gone. It was night time by now, so the building was bordering on empty.

You went up the elevator and went straight for his office - but oh no he's not there.

"Aw, man," you said, saddened. You turned back around, back for the exit, with lack of pep in your step...

"Hey, Y/N," you turned over - oh fuck it's Kendall. "Hey, I called you earlier."

"Oh, hey Kendall. Yeah sorry, I was doing my nails and my phone slipped into the Orbeez Soothing Spa thing. Look at them," you presented your hands. He touched them softly, looking at them in the light. His touch made you SHIT.

"Wow," he said, admiring them, "why are they so long?"

"Uh, cause the longer the better, duh!"

"What's this white powder, under your nail? That white shit? Is that why they're long, you're snorting?" he began to giggle.

"Uh no," you took your hands away from his gently and inspected it for yourself, "it's baby powder. I chafe bad. Some must've gotten stuck. Anyway, you going to Logan's birthday dinner tomorrow night?"

"Yeah, that's actually why I called you. Will you go with me?"

"Of course! I mean, I was going anyway!"

"Uh, yeah, I know, but, I meant to go with me?"

"No yeah I know what you mean. But, technically, me going is like, me going with everyone. But of course Kendall!"

He smiled his goofy smile, it filled you with butterflies (euphemism for anxiety) that made you all warm inside. It filled you with such satisfaction to know that you had that affect on him. But of course you did, you are you and that's just what you do!

The following morning, you had your usual routine - you left the basement, elevator, your office, coffee, sign in, print horoscopes, looked out to the city, "I built this", lit your candle before Gerri told you to put it out, whatever. You made sure to look EXTRA cute today cause girl this was going to be a very important night. Kendall literally asked you out. This is no fucking joke. It's like the D-Day of this World War II thing y'all got going on if no one was dying.

After reading Logan his horoscopes, he asked to look at your nails.

"They're perfect, Y/N," he smiled. When he wasn't scary he was just a chill old man. "French. My favorite genre of nail."

"Of course, Logan! It is your birthday today after all! I actually have a gift for you. Do you mind if I give it to you now, I just can't wait," you said. It was true, you couldn't wait. You handed him an envelope before he could say yes.

He began to open it, taking out your gift - a sticker of bagpipes you got from Redbubble. You waited excitedly for his reaction like a weirdo.

"They're bagpipes! Since, you know, you're Scottish, so they're like naturally your favorite instrument! You can put it anywhere, it's waterproof!"

Logan looked up to you, a dead-serious face he only sported during his seemingly important meetings. A part of you didn't read this Logan expression well - you didn't know what he was about to say next...

"Y/N," he began in a serious, low tone, "this is the most thoughtful fucking gift I've ever received that none of these moronic imbeciles have ever gotten close to giving me. Better than anything my own fucking kids have given me. Thank you. I'll put it on the side of my helicopter."

Your wholesome moment was then ruined by an all too familiar annoying voice. It was Greg.

"The fuck do you want, Greg?" Logan boomed.

"Well, uh, happy birthday Uncle Log, first off. But anyway, uh," he struggled.

"Spit it out!"

"Well, uh, Tom's asking for Y/N. Like, summoning her down to ATN. We're uh actually short of an assistant today, you know, for the debate."

"Debate? Oh yeah, yeah, Y/N, go on."

As you were leaving, you heard the faint and muffled start of what you recognized as "Million Dollar Man" by Lana Del Rey come from Logan's office. You began to walk down the hallway down to ATN, a place you rarely ever found yourself going to. If there was anything worse than numbers, it was politics. It just honestly sounded like a whole lotta nothing to you. But you weren't just about to say no to Logan, especially today - that would be illegal. Greg continued talking about potential gifts for Logan, but you had a knack for drowning people out.

"Hey buddyyyyyyy," another all too familiar voice called. You turned to see Tom's Horton ass face catch up with you and Greg.

"What, Tom?" you asked.

"Well, I'm sure my assistant briefed you," he looked over to Greg, with a little gay twinkle in his eye, "but we do have a guest today for ATN. A little debate, you might say. A little clinking and clashing of fine weaponry, perhaps, shiny swords of red and blue -"

"- Don't you think that's like, embarrassing?" you asked. You three reached the newsroom, where one of the anchors was getting her makeup retouched but looking extremely annoyed as if she was going to bite the makeup artist's finger Abby Lee Miller style.

Tom seem insulted. "Why? What do you mean embarrassing, Y/N?"

"Well, like, lowkey," you said in a whisper as to not get bitten by the woman, Tom leaned in, "anyone from the outside can debate anyone in here and like, win. I don't think it's that hard."

Tom backed up. He took a moment, and looked to the anchor for the day's debate, then back to you. "Well, I take great offense to that, Y/N."

"Yeah, whatever. What do I know, though? Anyway what do I have to do what the fuck am I actually doing down here?"

"The guest should be arriving soon, through the back, where the shredded papers are thrown away. By the dumpster, you know, where you seemed to appear from like a fairy. As if Tinker Bell was a homeless fairy and a slut. Go on, go, escort him up," Tom turned, arms now crossed like a child and refused to talk to you anymore. That was just Tom, though. You shrugged it off and went towards the back.

Once you opened the door, you saw that fat ass SUV of an Escalade pull up and out came the guest. But it wasn't just any guest - no no it can't be. It's not just any ordinary guest, not just your regular Joe - oh no, oh no oh fuck fuck fuck - it's your ex Hasan! Fuck!

His 6'4'' ass stepped out in his signature blue suit - the same he always wore for debates that you ironed (and burned multiple holes through that you blamed on overly-grown moths) yourself - and you both caught one another's stare.

Let's just say - you were stunned. Like, no fucking way. There's no way. But there is a way and this was the way exactly. You were pretty much at a loss for words. All that confidence from "I built this" had seeped out of your body like body oil and it fucking REEKED. Like it was impossible for this to happen. But at the same time it wasn't? Cause he's literally a political commentator. Oh shit this is real.

He laughed in disbelief. You were both in awe. You stood there, blank and still like your ass fucking froze like you computer sometimes when you signed in because of how overloaded and backed up it was from those Sims 3 files. You looked high key stupid.

"Really?" he said as he walked towards you.

"Bro what the fuck," was all you could say.  

"Wow. So ATN, Y/N? Really. That's fucking low, dude. I never thought you were THAT familiar with the political climate of America, but I also didn't see you stooping down to work for literal Nazi sympathizers."

You turned and began walking back, not caring if he followed or not. You needed a moment to take it in. Okay. Okay....Okay cool now you took it in.

"Um, actually, Hasan, I work for Logan. And he's actually Scottish. How can a Scottish person be a Nazi?" you snapped, basking in your sudden femme fatale attitude, oh how you loved being a woman in the workplace!, "Anyway, mind your business just like I did yours."

"Fair enough," you two now stepped into the elevator. He leaned down to whisper, "Do you think Logan likes Zootopia just like you?"

The motherfucker was a rocket up your ass. Too bad he was still fine as fuck. But alas not all good things last forever...

You didn't give him the satisfaction of replying to him. You tried to make it seem like you were being the bigger, professional person, but in reality you had nothing to hit him back with. He was just too perfect honestly.

Now at the panel, Hasan took a seat by the anchor and the two began to fix themselves. They didn't speak one word to another - not even a hello. You cringed. This is awkward asf.

You hid behind the cameras in the corner, to yourself like a kid in timeout. Safe to say you were startled.

"Y/N, what is wrong with you?" Tom asked, now at your side.

You swallowed a pretty substantial wad of saliva, gulping pretty substantially. You said lowly, "Yeah. I am. That's my ex."

"I'm sorry, wait. Hasan Piker, the Twitch streamer, the little fingers dancing on a keyboard while his buttocks gets sores from sitting all day until time calls for his little occasional wee in his two million dollar home, whore-for-Bernie, communist masquerading as a socialist, Hasan Piker?" he seemed to enjoy this sudden news, relishing in its irony. You were not finding it as amusing as him. In fact, you started to see red at his apparent enjoyment. You felt that rosacea take over.

"Your wife cuck-holds you, Tom."

His face immediately fell. He walked away. It really did seem easy to make anyone in this fucking family insecure. Either that or it was another forte to add to your albeit short yet expansive list.

The moment they went live, you knew you didn't have that strength to stick around. It looks like your work was done. You ran out and felt tears well and stream down your face. Thank god you stole that Milk Hydro Grip Primer from Sephora, because this makeup was NOT coming off.

Everyone seemed to avoid you, and you liked it that way. There was nothing worse than this!

Oh god, everyone's gonna see me crying! Fuck! They're not gonna take me, a woman, seriously! you thought. You felt the early symptoms of a psychotic break linger. This was definitely not the time and place.

But there was no doubt about it - girl you were spiraling. Flashbacks that you thought your little brain worked to forget started to appear. You remembered the beyblade. You remembered his love for beyblades. You remembered being HIS beyblade...

You felt your breathing quicken. Your chest was tight. You knew you had to retreat somewhere - there was no stopping the rain after the lightning or whatever Lightning McQueen said.

"Hey, Y/N!"

You turn to see who grabbed your arm, ever so gently at that. Oh my god it's Kendall! He couldn't see you like this!

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"Oh my god Kendall I can't no it's that I can't bro what even is that?!" you said through muffled mucus.

"Come here, let's get you out of the hallway," he pulled you into the women's bathroom and locked the door. You admired he didn't care for gender norms. He began to rub your shoulders in a soothing way trying to calm you down. There was something wrong with him being the one to console you, because typically you'd think it would be the other way around. But whatever another time.

"What's wrong, Y/N?"

You started to regulate your breathing. "Okay, so like," never mind you started hyperventilating again, "my ex, that Hasan guy. He's my ex! I just wasn't expecting him, you know?"

"Wow, okay," now he started to process the situation, "wow, he must've really fucking hurt you."

"Yeah, I have a permanent bump on my parietal lobe just to prove it!"

You then began to cry in his arms, he held you in that bathroom and you felt all your problems not go away exactly but for the moment it felt good. There was no way a MAN could fix your ass.

"Hey, listen," he had you face him, "fuck that guy. Okay? I can fucking, like, ruin his life for what he did. Why don't we, like, fucking bail? Okay? Let's go to lunch, we can fucking, I don't know, we can fucking eat açaí bowls or some shit. Whatever."

"Really? Like right now?"

"Yeah. I'm dead fucking serious."

"Oh my god Kendall you're like the best!"

A toilet then flushed. You both thought it best to bolt out of there before you came face to face with whoever was just minding their business to take a shit. No need to call HR here!

You both stepped into the JFK dream car, the chauffeur turned to ask Kendall where they were off to. You licked some of the fallen tears on your face. There was nothing that hit better than the salty brine of those tears on your weather-beaten face.

He turned to you, "What do you want to eat? It's up to you. Anything you want."

You turned to the window to think, watching the droplets beginning to slam at high speeds onto the glass. You then turned to him, feeling flirty and sensual all of a sudden, "I'd honestly really fuck up Oui yogurt -"

"Actually, buddy, can you drive us to Texas de Brazil?" Kendall said to the chauffeur. He nodded and began driving, occasionally going on the sidewalks to avoid that rush hour traffic. Evidently there was no fine that Kendall couldn't afford.

At the restaurant, it was literally just your regular Texas de Brazil. You personally weren't a fan, but you weren't going to tell Kendall no. Telling him no would send him into a spiral, an two spirals together are not good. You know what two people spiraling is? Yeah. Exactly that. It's two people spiraling.

Basically Texas de Brazil is where people go when they have too much money to spend on scraps of fucking meat. Like a vulture would absolutely go berserk. (Authors Note! If you've never been to Texas de Brazil, it's okay! It doesn't mean you're poor, it just means you're smart with your money!)

Kendall landed you two a sweet secluded spot directly in the middle of everything. Men with skewers stacked with meat were running away and offering it to every table. Frankly, it gave you anxiety like why are we running? The meat is not gonna go that cold fast like chill out. You're not getting paid enough for all that.

You and Kendall weren't able to speak too much as every time you tried to the men with skewers with unreadable faces were speed walking towards your table at full  force, one after the other after the other.

Mama's getting overwhelmed...

They kept coming at all angles, not giving you a moment to breathe. In your peripheral, you saw them coming at you like fucking crazy. You wondered when it was the best time to let Kendall know you didn't eat red meat. It wasn't for religious reasons exactly, but it was because it made it difficult for you to shit. And since clearing your intestines was something of a spiritual practice, it could arguably be for those religious reasons.

"Ribeye?"

"Pork?"

"Sirloin?"

It's getting worse...

"Chicken Breast Wrapped in Bacon?"

"Filet Mignon Wrapped in Bacon?"

"Bacon?"

Mama's getting stressed....

"Ox tail?"

"Brazilian Sausage?"

"Lamb Chops?"

Mama's gonna blow.....

"Parmesan-Crusted Pork Loin?"

"Braised Beef Rib -"

"ENOUGH!" you finally shouted, hands on the sides of your head covering your ears, shaking, "STOP! NO MEANS NO! I KEEP TELLING YOU NO!!!!!".

The restaurant fell silent.

You opened your eyes as they were shut tight like gorilla glue. You peeked through, everyone stared at you blankly - you weren't just in the center of the restaurant but now the center of their world...

You and Kendall ended up leaving directly after that. He was pretty quick to get out of there. Now carless, you both walked the streets of New York. It was nighttime already. Neither of you had spoken yet to break the silence.

"I'm sorry about that, back there," you said, faintly smiling in embarrassment, "I just get overstimmied easily."

"It's okay," he chuckled, "actually I - I found it kind of hot. You know, like, telling them off?"

You felt yourself blush. He was for real a man who grew up without a mother figure.

"So where do you wanna eat now?" you asked. Your fat ass was still hungry.

"How about," he stopped on the sidewalk and you faced him. He had that delusional look in his eye. "How about we eat in like, real fucking America?"

"What do you mean Kenny Ken?"

"Like, I'm talking, you know, fucking, oily fries, injected hormone burgers, fucking - disgusting Sprite? Right, like? Type 2 diabetes on a fucking tray?"

"It sounds like you're talking about McDonald's."

"Yeah, sure whatever. Like, how about Outback? Huh? The fuck is that?" he started to chuckle a little manically with his goofy smile, it made you happy, "or like, P.F. Cheng's?"

"Well, if you want real America, we should go to a buffet!" Oh how you loved buffets. There was no rules, you could eat and eat as much as you want until you were bloated and backed up for days.

"So what like a fucking, uh, Golden Corral?"

"Jesus no," you gagged. The fuck was wrong with this man? He really needs guidance and you didn't mind being that for him. "Good heavens, no. Let's just stick to McDonald's, okay? If we were going to a buffet, I'd take you to Sweet Tomatoes."

"Well, why not? Let's go."

"We can't, cause an annoying fucking bitch named 'Covid' took her away. It wasn't just the lives of people that were lost."

"'Covid'?" Kendall asked, "I don't think that happened in Succession universe."

"What's 'Succession'?"

"I don't know. I guess I made it up. So McDonald's, then? Let's go!" He suddenly grabbed your hand and yanked you as he started running, you nearly tripped and tore your ACL. The last time you did that you busted your ass on a city bike in Miami Beach.

You two made your way to the nearest McDonald's using the directions on your new iPhone 8 Plus. You ordered your food, and unlike Texas de Brazil, at your own fucking pace. This was the only red meat you could eat and it went clean through. That oil and grease works magic!

You both had sat in the corner of the restaurant and had been deep on conversation. The ambience of McDonald's was very homey and nostalgic for you. The random beeping in the background was the best.

You were on your round 3 already, not your fault the burgers were small and didn't fill you up. You're still a growing girlie. Your favorite part were those little ketchup packets. They were so cute and small and red. It was your favorite thing that was red next to a tampon when you could afford them. Anyway dipping those skinny soggy fries in it was just the best! It was definitely your favorite activity, next to trimming your nails with scissor's, and after putting Kendall on, he agreed. You rarely shared that secret combo with anyone, so Kendall now knowing it meant that he was worth to know about the ketchup and fry crossover.

"Okay, so how about this," you took a great chomp outta your fry, "who's your problematic fave?"

"Hmm I don't know," he said, "Maybe my dad. What about yours?"

"Great answer! I think," you thought, but you really didn't need to think cause you already knew who, "Nicki."

"Khrushchev?"

"No, that's Nikita! Very close, though. I'm talking about Minaj. You know, Lewinsky. The Barbz. I don't blame you I get them confused too."

"I actually, uh, I actually really fucking like Nicki. No one else knows, but my favorite song from hers is Only, with her, Drake and Lil Wayne," he said as he munched on his own fries. It filled you with such joy to know he didn't credit the woman-beater in that sentence.

"Same! I love that song!"

"My favorite part is when Drake says, 'but I'm still staring at the titties though!'" he smiled after delivering the line. Had this been a frat bro, you would've (TW//purging) tried to voluntarily throw up your entire meal at his face because what the actual fuck was that. Your toes curled at the ick. But since it's Kendall, he always got a pass. He could kill a teenager and it'd be okay!

"Okay, what about your favorite song of ALL time?"

"Rich Girl by Gwen," he said, a little too quick. "But keep that between us, please. I put the Private Session option on my Spotify when I listen to it. It just empowers me before I make deals, you know? I just, like, blast her whole fucking discography in my huge bulky headphones. The JBL ones? Yeah, those. Her and Fergie. When I need a good like, fucking cry, I put Big Girls Don't Cry. It helps, my therapist says it's, like, a good way to let all the shit out, you know?"

"You know what you are Kendall?" you said, low but extremely flirtatious, "you're kinda cunt. Like, cunty. Like, you're Princess Diana was reincarnated." You bit your tongue like a white mom - now was a perfect time for it.

Kendall smiled softly but you knew he wanted to smile BIG. If he had rosacea like you he'd be beet fucking red. You loved seeing this loser flustered. "Well, Y/N, no. You're like, fucking my princess."

Your phone buzzed. It was a notification from Twitter. You clicked to open it and the link took you to a highlight from the debate with Hasan. It began playing loud, and thanks to Elon, the app began glitching and didn't allow you to get out of it.

"- and everything I do and say for my viewers is for the betterment of America." Hasan said.

"Well, didn't you wish for 9/11 to happen again?" said the anchor.

"Hey," Kendall placed his hand over your phone. You felt those tears well up again. "Turn it off, it's not worth it, okay? Hey, let's like - do you wanna, like, fucking hotbox or something?"

You shut your phone off. "Of course, Kendall. I'd love to hotbox with you. Let's go!"

You two left the McDonald's and Kendall was able to call his chauffeur. He told him that he needed to stand outside and wait for you and him to finish the hotboxing session in the car. The chauffeur simply said 'okay' and sat on a bench while the SUV was in park on the side of the busy New Yorkan road.

You and Kendall sat in the front seat, he pulled out his pen (the weed one) and began to take big ass, very long hits. He passed it over to you and you did the same, the smoke filling up the car and making it reek.

"So when are we going to hotbox?" you asked, voice barely hanging on from it's effects.

"Well, uh, what do you mean? We're hotboxing right now?"

You were confused. "I mean, usually when I hotbox it gets pretty smelly. Stinky maybe." He still didn't seem to understand what you were saying. He looked concerned as his eyes were swollen red and he honestly probably forgot who you were for a second.

"Huh?"

"My farts? I've been told it gives the same high. For the brief period I was homeless, before my girl Willa picked me off the streets, I got paid to hotbox cars. There's no real way of escaping it now. It's gonna come. Usually I don't eat red meat, so when I do I get pretty gassy."

He continued to look at you blankly. You were getting kinda uncomfortable for a minute as you were taking your own hits.

"Do you wanna go to the back?" he finally said, immediately regretting it. "Sorry for being, uh forward as fuck. But, like, I like walking when I'm high, I actually like going to the beach or any body of water when I'm fucked up, but -"

You put your finger to his lips, a little harder than either of you anticipated. "It's okay Kendall, you don't have to explain. Let's hit that back." You began to climb over to the backseat, accidentally flashing New York you pantiless bottom and kneeing Kendall in the face. You forgot you were wearing a business-themed skirt cause it's work appropriate, but your laced Victoria's Secret thong that you stole during your homeless era.

He climbed after you. You two sat and stared at one another for several moments, having temporary amnesia as you forgot why you went to the back in the first place.

"Y/N, can you be, like, my fucking assistant? I need help, uh, assisting."

"Oh my god, yes Kendall! That's like, my forte!" You jumped to hug him, he hugged tightly back, he then threw you on the hard leather seats and you feel his member pressed against your leg. He began kissing you, his tongue licking your lips for entrance. You let him in. Your tongues fought for dominance but you let him win. He eventually started going down on you, taking your business skirt clean off, and started kissing your labia.

"This...this is a fucking, uh, labia," he says.

You lifted your legs as he began to eat you out, his wet breath on your cooter. He held your foot up and raised himself, ready to press his member into your entrance. Your eyes were closed, ready to take the boy from Manhattan Financial District in. This is it. No Excel spreadsheet, no Texas de Brazil waiters, no Elf on the Shelf, no annoying Jordan Belfort sympathizers/incels, nothing - just you and Kendall.

Thank god for illegally tinted windows!

Hope you enjoyed!

xoxo,

~Sam St. Clair

#kendall roy #succession #xreader #fanfiction #kendall roy x reader #smut #jeremy strong #imagine

[maivolpe]

hii! i j read “as long as ur with me” & i love ur writing :3 could i request a very cheesy fic in which reader’s alrdy confessed to bucky & bucky’s rejected them ? ( maybe bc he’s unsure abt his feelings ? ) tony holds a party later & bucky gets jealous ( ooo ~~ ) of the reader after he sees them talking & being close to sam, ( meanwhile the reader’s only talking to sam for help abt bucky ? ) basically mutual pining but reader & bucky just need a push in the right direction ?? thank u either way & i hope u have a nice day ♡Ꮺ៸៸

thank you so much for your kind words :) so sorry for the delay, writer's block hit me like a truck last month so i'm trying to slowly get back into it (this is really lengthy and i don’t like it very much eek) anyways thank you for requesting ♡

･｡ﾟ: ∘◦☾◦∘｡ﾟ.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader cw: mentions of alcohol, cursing, knives wc: 1.5k

tony was having yet another party. you swore he never even slept, just drank the night away with whoever was willing to with him. tonight, however, you didn’t have time to lecture him about his coping mechanisms. you had more pressing problems.

exactly a week before, bucky had invited you to spar. you'd jumped at the chance to have such experienced competition, and, if you were being honest, your heart raced when he pinned you. or talked to you, or even just looked at you, anything really. but everyone thought that way. right? right.

he’d let you choose one of his blades to work with, stating that he wanted you to be more familiar with knives. they were much easier to come by than guns, he’d noted.

"move your hand here instead of there... there you go."

"watch your six, good."

and soon enough the critiques turned to compliments, and it was much more of a fair fight. for almost an hour you were evenly matched, each dodging nearly all of the others’ blows.

as time dragged on, bucky started to get distracted. his eyes had flickered away for only a split second, but it was all you needed. you pushed him up against the wall, holding your knife to his throat. your breaths came quick and hard, and you'd stared up at his smirk, just inches from your face.

"careful there," he'd breathed. "you want to stab your opponent, not kiss them."

and with a rush of confidence, you'd cocked your head.

"would it be so bad?"

recognition dawned in his eyes, and that was the last thing you saw before a flash of metal overtook your vision. his knuckles had struck your ribs hard, and you went flying. he’d stalked out of the room and left you sprawled on the floor, gasping for breath.

ever since then, you’d been stuck in a whirlpool of emotions, keeping yourself confined to your room whenever you could. your ribs were bruised along with your ego, and altogether you just felt terrible. what were you thinking? what posessed you to leave a thought you would've been embarassed to even think, just floating in the air like that? and now tony was hosting this party, and the last thing you wanted to do was go.

well, maybe you'd get something to drink.

the room was flooded with people, packed to the brim with journalists, celebrities, and some uninvited partiers that had found their way in. trying to avoid conversation, you found yourself, drink in hand, tucked away in the corner of the room with sam.

“i feel so stupid, sam.”

“dude, i’m sure it’s not that serious. he probably just freaked out a little. and besides, i mean, look at you!” he motioned towards your dress, giving his hands a shake to emphasize how it flattered your figure.

“listen, though,” he continued. “just give him some time. he’s one to avoid any and all confrontation, but he’ll come around. with some nagging, maybe.”

you laughed. “thank you. i’m sorry for bothering you about this, i know it’s not super important.”

“it’s super important to you,” he pointed out, stuffing an hor d'oeuvre in his mouth. “‘s ‘mportant t’me by default.”

“ew, sam.”

bucky, in the meantime, was livid.

he’d come down just to grab a drink, or five, because the serum made it particularly tough for him to be inebriated. in the two minutes he was downstairs, of course he’d caught a glimpse of you, the very person he was trying to avoid. and you looked beautiful.

the party spilled out of open doors, people clambering in for a glance at tony. many shoved past him at an attempt to get closer to the middle of the room. it was a security nightmare, and also, he couldn’t hear anything.

he saw sam leaning in, whispering something to you, gesturing to your body? and you were laughing? as if his week hadn’t been bad enough, you’d moved right on from him. he wasn’t mad at you, he could never be. but sam?

“i need some air,” he grumbled to no one in particular. he pushed past waves of partygoers, keeping his head down, and slipped away through the first door he found.

across the room, you felt your heart sink to your stomach. you’d only seen bucky for a moment, and despite your determination to be happy, the look of revulsion on his face made you want to crumble.

“sam, i- i need some air.”

he nodded, brushing crumbs off of his chin and waving as you ducked through the crowd, dodging drinks and people alike. your ears rang, and even the silence of the elevator was deafening when the doors slid shut.

you tumbled out of the elevator as soon as the doors slid open, steadying yourself on a nearby doorknob. the wind whipped around your body, sending goosebumps down your arms and stinging your eyes. it was far too cold to be out on the roof, but where else was there to be?

you crept closer to the edge, perching on the roof so that you could see the city moving below you. cars and trucks whizzed by, oblivious to your existence. you found the bright colors of the stoplights blurring in your vision.

you were quickly learning that your emotions would always get the better of you. no matter how determined you were, they always took control.

the maintenance door behind you creaked open, and you whirled around to see who had found you. the glint of metal under the spotlights told you all you needed to know, and you quickly turned away.

“are you… crying?”

“no,” you sniffed, swiping fruitlessly at your tears.

"okay."

bucky lowered himself down next to you, stretching his legs to let them dangle off of the roof. he left a good space between the two of you, and you couldn't even bring yourself to hope he'd close the gap.

there was silence for a few moments, where neither of you dared to even breathe, much less look at each other.

"i was wrong," he whispered.

"what?"

“i said, i was wrong."

it was louder this time, but left you just as confused. was it guilt or pity that compelled him to make such a statement? either way, you shook your head. he couldn't be left thinking that way for simply feeling what he felt.

"no, you're not wrong. i was way too forward, and i made you uncomfortable. maybe you didn't have to lay me out like that, but that was a justified response. it's perfectly fine that you don't want me."

"but i do want you."

a puff of air escaped his lips with the words, visible in the frigid night. it dissipated as you turned the words over in your mind. you toyed with your fingers, afraid you'd misheard him. afraid you'd dreamed up the whole thing.

"i do want you. i've wanted you since i met you, the way you throw your head back when you laugh, the way you smile at me when you think i'm not looking, the way you hum along to every song, all of it. i just..."

he took a deep breath, and you could've sworn his hands had a little shake to them.

"it's... crazy. like shit, doll, i've hardly even talked to a girl in seventy years, and there you were lookin' beautiful, and talkin' about kissing me, and i just... didn't know what to do."

you nodded, gathering enough courage to peek up at him. he was watching you wistfully, emotion you'd never seen in him before displayed plainly on his face.

he looked away, though, shaking his head. "i'm sorry, i shouldn't have said anything. especially since you have that thing going on with sam now."

you wrinkled your nose. “what thing?”

“i, uh,” he started, clearing his throat, “i saw you guys talking. you looked happy.”

you giggled, smiling for what felt like the first time in forever. "about you, buck. i was worried about you. did you think i was making a move on sam?"

"maybe," he said sheepishly.

“he was helping me, or trying to, because i really messed up. i really do like you, james.”

his face softened at that, eyes widening at your confession. "in that case, i want- if you want to, i mean, i don't want to force anything-"

you reached over and took his hand, relishing the feeling of it slotting perfectly into your grip. "i want to."

"well, c'mere then."

he tucked an arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him, smiling down at you.

“can i kiss you now?” you breathed.

he answered by pressing his lips to yours, and it felt as though you melted into him for a moment. the colors dancing across your eyes were no longer from the traffic lights, but the dizzying happiness fizzing in your body, like the bubbles in a champagne glass.

he pulled away for a moment, and your heart pounded, afraid you’d messed something else up. but he only smiled at you.

“that felt really good.”

and before you could say “yes, it did,” his hands were cupping your face and he was pressing another gentle kiss to your longing lips.

･｡ﾟ: ∘◦☾◦∘｡ﾟ.

ko-fi ♡

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes blurb #blurb #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #winter soldier #avenger reader #marvel #mai writes

[seeingteacupsindragons]

Normally, my meta is pretty focused on what happens in the story, and I bring things from reality to use when it’s useful. But I like pulling stories apart to talk about how the story works, and stories only exist with a thin tether to reality most of the time, and they have wildly different rules.

This one is a little different. This one is going to have a lot of outside information brought to bear to discuss Sherliam’s relationship, but they’re things I think are relevant: A Japanese word and its origins, how creating art and stories works, what being an artist is…and how that all impacts William and Sherlock, how they relate to each other as creations of artists and artists themselves.

Basically, stuff about how art is made and the context it lives in. I think that's more useful than comparing it to reality. It’ll be interesting, I promise! Just a little different than usual.

Let’s start here. I think you’ll see where I’m going with the Sherliam thing pretty quickly, but if not, don’t worry. I’m going to explain.

I saw this post on Bluesky during aro week, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot since.

Basically, there’s a word in Chinese, that has actually carried over to Japanese (I’ll get to that in a minute) that means, basically, “person who truly understands your songs.” It’s based off this story of this musician would make instrumental music, as one does, and this person who understood immediately, without being told, what the song was about. And this relationship was so deeply important and meaningful that after the second person died, the first destroyed his instrument, because there seemed to be no point in continuing to create music without the person who got it.

Yes, I know, you’re all seeing the Sherliam parallels already, but give me a bit longer before we get there.

This word carried over to Japanese with a slightly different pronunciation (as happens), but the same kanji and the same meaning. My Japanese-English dictionary defines it solely as “an exceptionally close friend.” No other options are provided. So I looked it up in some Japanese dictionaries! They both started with the same origin story of the word, and then both came up with a handful of definitions: Dear friend, person who understands your heart, partner, comrade, eventually it got down to sweetheart, someone you can rely on. My favorite was “Peerless/unmatched friend.”

The word does seem to be fairly formal and archaic and mostly relegated to Literature™ and classic works. It’s not a word that’s canonically ever applied to Sherlock or William.

And yet. And yet.

I don’t know how common the word is in Japanese that they’d recognize or know it. Whether or not it actually influenced the story from background knowledge, intentionally or not. But knowing the concept now, and knowing the concept has existed in Japanese culture as…as an option does change how I think of some of the media I’ve seen before. The word notwithstanding, the concept exists.

As an artist myself, I deeply understand the need/desire/hope/longing/etc. for a person who just. Gets what you’re trying to do. The person who deeply understands what you’re doing and your intentions and the way you expressed yourself. Who understands you via your creations.

I am, as many of you know, looking for a new critique partner right now. I have one, but I need one or two others for Reasons. And one of them already turned up a dud because this person’s feedback had nothing to do with what I want the story to be or what I’m trying to write. It’s a lot of marketing advice. Advice on how to make the story more what they would want, or more like other books.

A good CP needs to see what the intention of the story is, so they can make that story stronger and help that story make that point to more people. They have to understand your art. Not to the degree of a 知音, but nonetheless.

Sherlock and William are, obviously, on the level of understanding each other this way. They just get each other, without explanation, and they both treasure that relationship dearly. So dearly that Sherlock, when faced with the prospect of losing the person who truly got him, would have rather died with him then survive without that connection.

Because what was the point of doing things, of making things, of being, without that person who got it. How to bear living once you’ve finally found that person?

And I think this kind of gets to what Louis was seeing in Sherlock and hoping he would do to validate William’s existence. Sherlock got William. He saw his intentions through his plans, and saw who he was and what his soul was even under all the masks and walls and machinations. He understood why William would want to die, and that he was actually trying to die intentionally almost immediately.

And because Sherlock actually understood William’s existence, he could actually validate William’s existence. The same way someone has to understand what my book’s story is trying to be to actually help it. The same way someone actually understanding what the fuck I was trying to write makes me feel…well, like writing and sharing it with people is actually worth it, because I can do this.

And, because Sherlock understood William’s intentions and plans, he made changes to the story William planned, because he saw the weaknesses from a distance, saw the intentions without drowning himself in what was already there the way William the Author did. Because he saw the intentions, but also the actual effects.

And William’s plan came out stronger and more effective and more beautiful for it all. Because Sherlock was there to see it, to understand it, and to help.

After all, Sherlock is an artist, too, even if we only see him with his violin on occasion. He knows what it’s like. And he knows William helped give him a stage to show off what Sherlock wanted to share with the world, too (forensics, etc.).

And I think it’s interesting, after all that, to remember that Yuukoku no Moriarty is created by not one artist, but two. Did they understand each other’s intentions the way William and Sherlock understand each other? Almost certainly not, especially given that we lost one of them from the series. But they had to work together, to understand each other’s intentions and art, in order to work together and create the story. To fill in where the other fell short, to give feedback and strengthen the story together.

We don’t know much at all about their working relationship or how the series came to be from the two of them. It’s really impossible to speculate if they felt in sync or they wished they were working with someone who Got Them better. But I think either way, Sherlock and William’s working together to create a story that was stronger, fuller, and better than either could have come up with alone is an interesting reflection of their story’s two creators anyway.

#Yuukoku no Moriarty #Moriarty the Patriot #Sherliam #writing #art #etc