#even if it’s just being a sad sack of shit all the time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chokepoet · 8 months

Text

Cruelty & Empathy 18+

gif by @romulussy

Summary | A night alone in the office has Roman and his assistant escalating their tension past a point of no return. The aftermath of which leads to confessions that will change the trajectory of their relationship forever.

Genre | Angst, Fluff, Porn With Plot

Content | anxiety, biting, blood, bondage, choking, crying, dom/sub tones, degradation, dirty talk, mentions of past physical abuse, power struggles, thigh riding, sadomasochism, slapping, spitting

Word Count | 8.5k

A/N: Y’all this fic is fuckin’ filthyyyy… but like in a romantic way??? I wasn’t going to share it but my best friend insisted. If y’all hate this I volunteer as tribute for boar on the floor lmao

Roman Roy’s Office | 10:33 pm

He was sprawled out across the couch as if this were his family’s private estate. It might as well have been. The building’s climate control always seemed to be blowing a peculiar air. One that felt like his father breathing down the back of his neck at all times. Left calf draped over the backrest, right hand cradling a whiskey, and head tilted back over the armrest. His once-slick hair now hung limp, with loose strands reaching for the carpet below. His upside-down gaze willed me to stop my attempts at meeting our deadline and to focus solely on him instead.

My bank account's dwindling had my morals emaciated. They’d weakly played tug of war with my last braincell when I'd accepted Roman’s job offer nearly two years prior. About 6 months into being his assistant, I found myself earning another role: his best friend. His only friend. My typing picks up speed as I contemplate what level of fucked-up I had to be in order to actually enjoy this job. I decide it must have been top-tier when my thoughts drift to the one Roy that had me feeling this way.

In the past 22 months, I came to understand Roman better than anyone else ever had. He somehow wormed his way into gaining just as much insight into me as well. It made me feel strangely protective over him. Oddly enough, he seemed to reciprocate. We still rarely aloud ourselves vulnerability in the presence of the other. We much preferred self-immolation. I don’t think he ever intended to grow so attached to me. He certainly would never admit to it. If you had asked me if the feeling was mutual, I’d lie through my teeth.

I loved him madly.

I don’t exactly know when or how it happened. I do, however, vividly remember when I first realized he held something soft for me.

Siena, Italy | 4:21 am

He was drunk off his ass, his head resting on my shoulder. He had been leaning into my frame for support long before he even needed it. Roman mumbled something about liking me because I was the only “sad sack of shit” in the office who could make him laugh. I asked him why I was a sad sack and not just a regular sack. He blew out a huff of air, causing his lips to trill. The sound was quickly preceded by the flipping of his wrists in a few circles.

“Isn't it obvious?” I nudged my shoulder against his head.

“Because I work for your sorry ass?”

He clumsily tapped the tip of my nose with his right pointer finger, nearly blinded my left eye in the process.

“Bingo, bongo, banjo.” The nonsensical words tumbled out and the rest of his drink tumbled in. “Itstheeyes.” I’d been unable to make out the slurred syllables mumbled just under his breath. For all I knew, they could’ve been Latin for ‘bastard’.

“What?” He dropped his now-empty glass into a historic fountain as we passed. I stopped to try and fish it out, but he dragged me away. I remember wondering if he had made a wish on it in his drunken haze. Rich and careless enough to pretend it was a penny. Maybe that had been why he was so adamant about me not retrieving it. My mind wandered as I pondered what Roman could have possibly wished for. His father's approval? An endless supply of luxurious Korean face creams? A pair of stunning Italian supermodels to lean into instead of me?

Tripping over his own two feet, I instinctively gripped his bicep. Stubborn as ever, he shoved me and muttered something along the lines of 'fuck off'. God forbid he’d take my help. Throwing my hands up, I left him to walk alone a few steps ahead of me. He weaved for a while before slowing his pace until he could lay his head back on my shoulder.

A beat passed, where the only sound was the soft crunch of our shoes against the weathered cobblestone. I caught one of his bleary eyes peeking over at my face. Content with whatever it was he found, he nodded to himself.

“Yep.” He popped his lips on the 'p' and absentmindedly kicked a pebble from our path. “It's the eyes. Sad sack of shit eyes. You've got 'em.” The laugh that had left me seemed much too loud as it ricocheted off every crumbling brick ahead of us. Roman smiled proudly for a moment. “I love your laugh.” The words were said mostly to himself. My cheeks warmed considerably.

“Really? It's obnoxious as all hell.” His brows furrowed, and he shook his head.

“No, it's fuckin’—fuck off. No, it's not.” He kicked another stone. “It's pretty. Pretty like… like your face.” Pretty. “Nothin’ like a hyena.” Hyena? “I think I'm gonna puke.”

He did.

Roman’s Office | 10:47 pm

“Hi.” A small voice lounging across from me pulls my attention. I look up from the computer and rest my head in my hand, my elbow propped on his desk.

“Hi.” I smile softly with a raised brow.“Need somethin’?” The grin that breaks across his features is almost childlike. His big brown eyes could even be mistaken for innocent; I knew better.

“As a matter of fact…” Extremely happy to have garnered my attention, he pulls himself to a sitting position. “Yes!” With a swift motion, he slams his whiskey onto the coffee table. The sharp sound of glass on glass reverberates throughout the room.

“Yes?”

“Yes?” His voice drops into a cartoonish impersonation of my own. His hand was still clasped around his drink for some reason. Flipping his face up to me with a saccharine simper, he adds, “Will you kindly suck my cock?”

“Will you kindly go fuck yourself?” My impression of him was just as cartoonish as his of me. The hand holding my head returns to typing. Groaning loudly, he lets go of his glass to dramatically fall back into the couch.

“Will you? ‘Cause I’m fuckin’ bored!” He drags out his words until they turn to whine. “This is fucking boring. Aren’t you bored?”

“Yes, you’re extremely boring.”

“Hurr-hurr.” He mocks while crinkling his nose. “I’ll have you know I’m anything but and am widely known as delightful company.” A snort escapes my nose and Roman smiles.

“Really? I thought you were widely known as a terrible person.” He rolls his eyes as I quote his cousin.

“Yeah, yeah fuck you.” He gives me the finger. I flip him off in return. “The fuck does Nosferatu fuckin’ know anyways?” The nickname makes me chuckle and has Roman mimicking Greg. “Oh, I—I couldn’t help but—couldn’t help but notice that my gargantuan height may be alarm—alarming the schoolchildren. I—is that why Iverson is um c—crying? Or is he like, I—I mean, is he… y—ya know… special?”

The laughter still bubbled up uncontrollably even as I tried maintaining focus on the task at hand. My passive interest towards Roman was annoying him to no end.

“Come on! I want entertainment! Entertain me, woman!” I roll my eyes. A cinnamon tinted stare was steady burning apertures into my features, willing me to stop ignoring him. “Come—Come on…” His hands outstretch in my direction, middle and index finger beckoning quickly. “Come show big daddy watcha got.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, my typing stops and I fully turn my attention towards him. His face contorts in a grimace already knowing what was to come. My brows raise as I slowly repeat his words back to him.

“Come show big daddy what I got?” Roman’s hands drag down his face and he groans loudly as soon as big leaves my mouth.

“Oh, fuck y—shut the fuck up.” He sinks lower into the couch with high hopes of it swallowing him whole. The smile that breaks across my features is downright malevolent. I couldn’t recall having ever seen him this embarrassed. Surprising, considering all the lewd shit he spews at me daily. There was something sick inside me that enjoyed it. The urge to play cat rather than mouse overtakes me.

“No, no, no. I just want to understand you clearly, Mr. Roy.” Our dynamic had never been much of a professional one. I couldn’t recall the last time I had addressed him so formally but I wanted to really get under his skin. Oddly enjoying my place in its prickled embrace. Rising from my chair, I place both palms on the desk and lean forward with a pout. “Are you saying you wanna shut me up with your cock, big daddy?”

“I’m going to fucking kill myself.” He was pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Aw! Weawwy, Daddy? Jus' 'cause I won't suwck yo big thick cock?” At that, a cushion flies towards my head. I narrowly catch it as I’m doubling over in laughter. He’s standing now, hands overtly animated.

“I swear to GOD, I’m going to fucking—fuck! Fuck you! Out the window!” He’s angrily pointing towards the giant window panes beside him. “I’m going to throw you out the fucking window!”

“Oh wow, you’re gonna fuck me out the window?” His face was the deepest shade of crimson I had ever seen it.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I swear to Christ I’ll—“

“You’ll what?” I was doing a piss-poor job at stifling my laughter.

“I just fucking told you. Ass through glass.” He dismissively waves a hand in the air.

“Bullshit.” Finally looking at me, I cross my arms. His eyes flicker to my chest. “You don’t have the balls.”

“Are you saying I don’t have the balls to murder you?” The words come out in a bemused laugh. “I could murder the fuckin’—murder the shit out of you. Easily.”

“Okay.” With a shrug of my shoulders, I feel a dark coil in the back of my mind start to twist. “Prove it.”

“Prove it? You want me to—to what? Throw you through the goddamn window right now?”

I smirk back at him with a shrug, an inkling I had about him spilling to the forefront of my mind. It colors my vision and stains my tongue. If there was ever a time to find out if my suspicions held true, for some reason, I decided that now was the time. The office was definitely empty at this hour, and the privacy blinds were drawn, so no cameras. Risky as all hell, but if things go south, maybe I could play it off as riffing. I could be quite the convincing liar when I needed to be. My mother saw to that.

“See? I knew it.” With hands on my hips, I tilt my head to size him up. My tone shifts into something silky as sin. “You won’t do shit.” The air begins filling with static causing Roman’s lips to twitch. “You and I both know it. Don’t we…” I slide out from behind the desk, feeling taller as I grow closer. Feeling bolder seeing him swallow. “Romulus?” Using his father’s nickname for him causes his nostrils to flare. A clench in the jaw, a quick exhale. I fucking knew it. “So why don’t you just…” Fully standing in front of him now, I look down with a smirk “sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up for once in your life.”

The air was now overcome with static. Thick and heavy. The subjugated desire etched into his features felt so familiar to me. While I had never seen him this way, or anyone else for that matter, I myself had given that look many a time. That inkling I had was no longer an inkling. It had grown roots that smiled with wicked teeth; I was right.

The electric silence between us started to prick at my skin. My bottom lip twitches as it fought against every instinct to fill the silence with some form of an apology. To try and turn my sudden shift from dominance back into normalcy. His eyes dart to my mouth immediately; he knows.

“Make me.” His head slowly tilts upwards, as do the corners of his lips. The heat that had been slowly brewing between us for well over a year licks up my thighs. He was sneering up at me as we stood toe to toe. His burnt espresso eyes had my mind spiraling in their steam. The look on his face said everything. He saw me, he had me, he called my bluff, he won.

No.

My hand wound itself in the silky hair at the nape of his neck and I use it to jerk his head back. His jaw immediately goes slack. Something akin to a whimper escapes his throat. Surprise has my brows raising and Roman feeling embarrassed. His heavy lids fall and he turns himself away. Reaching up with my free hand, I grip his jaw until he’s facing me once again.

“Look at me.” He does in an instant and I’m flooded by a mixture of emotions. Relief, power, love. I never want to forget how he looks beneath my hands. The way his pupils eclipse the hazel of his eyes. The way his freckles scatter under the pinkish hue of a blush. The way his lips part slightly as his breath shakes out across them. Just as my eyes dance across his every feature, his do mine. Is he etching my features into his own memory?

He attempts to lean forward but I hold him steady. Roman wanted to kiss me but I wanted to tease. I press my lips beside his mouth before trailing them along the smooth path of skin leading to his ear. Sucking his skin into my mouth, I bit gently. A soft sound of content slips from his lips, so I trace up the shell of his ear with my tongue. Upon my return, I bite down once more; harder this time. Just as my teeth release him, the fist tangled in his hair gives a sharp tug. His hum bleeds into a moan that has me squeezing my thighs together. A cool plume of air billows past my lips along the now damp skin; goosebumps erupt immediately. I slide my hand from his jaw until my fingers wrap around his throat to hold him.

“Do you like this, Rome?” The soft whisper has him murmuring his satisfaction. “Come on…” I lightly squeeze his throat. “Be a good boy and use your words.” When I pull away to look at his face, I find his lids are nearly shut.

“Y-yeah.” He swallows in an attempt to steady himself. It doesn’t. “Y-yes, I like it.” He could barely look me in the eyes and it made my stomach flip in the best way possible.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this.” The words slip out before I have the chance to stop them. He inhales sharply, and the air seems to rattle through his skull. His eyes quickly leave mine as his face warms considerably. My heart beats as if it were trying to rip itself from my chest and collide with his. The blood rushing in my ears was chanting 'I love you' over and over again. My teeth dig into my cheek until the taste of blood envelops my tongue. I'm raging a war with my own body in silence. This newfound power was locking talons with my own subjugated nature and death spiraling through the emotion in my chest.

His pulse was racing underneath my thumb. My voice cascades over his flushed skin as I let feather light kisses rain upon him. His first name glides along the tip of his right cheek, his last over the tip of his left. Hovering just out of his reach, I whisper into his open mouth.

“Tell me what you need.” He desperately tries to press his lips into mine but I just pull back. He grunts in frustration.

“Just fuckin’ kiss me already.”

“No.” Releasing my grip, I shove him into the couch. He trips backwards, gracelessly collapsing into the cushions. I climb onto his lap with my knees pressed to either side of his hips. With one hand, I weave my fist around his tie and pull him to me. My other grips his jaw tightly. “You wanna try that again?” His jaw clenches beneath my fingers. His eyes were wild as they flared up at me. Suddenly, his hands lock onto my hips, hard. He pushes his face into my fingers until the tips of our noses bump together.

“I said, just fucking kiss me and I meant do it now.” His words were caught somewhere between a hiss and a growl. He never could handle the word no, so his response shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. The power I’d been holding over him was now leaking through the lace under my skirt. My thighs instinctively flex around him and it has him digging his fingers in harder. A liquid heat spreads through my chest at the thought of later seeing the bruises he was surely leaving behind.

“Well?” My teeth clench and the hand holding his jaw twitches. The attitude lacing his voice drug it’s nails up my spine as I’m reminded of how entitled he could be. He wasn’t supposed to be the one making demands anymore. His smile twitches as a darkness blooms behind his glee. “You wanna hit me don’t you?” My grip loosened; my lungs suddenly feeling like he held them in his fist.

“W-what?” I didn’t want to hit him. Did I? He was selfish, he was arrogant, and he could be so goddamn cruel. Still, the urge to physically harm him was something I had never once encountered. Knowing the history of his childhood and having bared witness to his father’s present day violence against him had made me hyper aware of the constant pain pulsing below his surface. My eyes rapidly blink as they search past his burning stare and into the darkened crevices of his soul.

Oh—he wanted me to hurt him.

His need for it radiating from the blackened pits to scald me. It scared me. It scared me because it felt dark. It felt wrong. But it scared me the most of all because suddenly in this moment, I wanted to. “I-I don’t-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Again, my teeth clench and my grip retightens on his jaw. His smile grew. Mother fucker knew what he was doing. He was basking in it.

He reaches for my hand wound in his tie, quickly unraveling before bringing it to his throat. His own then slide towards my ass. Gripping tightly, he pushes me down against his length to make sure I felt how badly he wanted this. He throbbed against my center; he wanted it bad. “Listen to me. You’re gonna let go of my jaw and you’re gonna fuckin’ slap me, aright?” I nod and release him. “Fuckin’ hit me.” As I draw back my palm, his tongue peaks out to wet his bottom lip.

Slap.

My palm makes contact and brushes across his cheek. It was a sad attempt really. Weak. Even though I knew he wanted it, needed it, something inside held me back.

I was still scared of harming him.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Come on!” He roughly digs his fingers into my ass, significantly harder than before. “I said fucking slap me!”

Crack.

I slapped him. Hard. His face jerks to the side. My hand stung as it instinctively goes to cover my mouth in shock of myself. His lips twitch before slowly turning up in a demented grin. A bloom of red seeps out from his bottom lip and his tongue slides across it. With the taste of his own blood, his smile widens. He laughs softly to himself and I slowly lower my hand.

“There she is.” His voice low, a rumbling purr. “You fuckin’ bitch.” The hand I had just used to strike instantly flies into the mess of his hair; our lips collide. A groan escapes, but from which of us—I didn’t know. The metallic taste of him fueled me. It felt frantic, bruising, needy. We pushed ourselves into each other as if we were feral creatures, held captive and starved. Feeding on something we had buried deep inside only to be found behind the teeth of the other. Sucking his tongue into my mouth causes him to moan and set me ablaze.

I force our mouths apart with a pull of his hair; desperately needing to catch my breath and clear my head. Panting heavily, we stare into the depths of the other in quiet disbelief. This was really happening.

“You sure you want this?” I needed to hear him confirm that he did, in-fact, want to go where we were obviously heading. I knew Roman long enough to know he had serious intimacy issues. Their seeming lack of presence in this moment had me in a whirlwind. He pressed himself into my center once again, his nails bruising crescents into my skin.

“What do you fuckin’ think, dumbass?” I let go of his throat and dig my own nails into his jaw to grip him harshly. He openly smiles with swollen lips.

“Tell me then. Tell me exactly what you want.” His expression falters and his jaw tenses beneath my fingers, eyes flickering from mine.

“You know what I fuckin’ want.” His words seep through gritted teeth. I press my forehead to his. Ever so slowly, I begin rhythmically grinding my hips down upon him. The friction causing his eyes to slip shut. A loud groan escapes from somewhere deep within his chest.

“Roman, I swear to God I’ll stop.” He doesn’t say anything so I still my hips. Umber eyes shoot open and he tries to move me himself. I won’t budge. “I will get up and I will fucking leave you here like this. Pathetic and alone with nothing but your hand.” As the words leave my mouth, so do my hips leave his. His brows snap together and tries in vain to pull me back down again. Still, I don’t budge. “I will walk out this door and you will never fucking see me again. Is that what you want?” The threat was hollow but said with a bite that had shaken me. I was falling into this role a little too easily, a little too well.

He gapes up at me when I completely let go of him. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I attempt to push myself off. It’s him who doesn’t budge this time. He yanks me back down with every ounce of strength his small frame contained. The sudden action has all the air escaping my lungs. With a hand clasped to the back of my neck, he seizes me into a searing kiss.

“Whatever you want.” The words frantically rush into my mouth. “I don’t care.” Fighting against the grip on my neck, he finally gives. I pull back to contemplate his words. Tilting my head slightly, my gaze falls to his tie. An idea begins forming as I slowly untie the silk. My nimble fingers unbuttoning his shirt has him intently studying my face. Whatever I want.

Cupping his warm face in one hand, I smear the blood of his bottom lip with my thumb. He parts his mouth and sucks it in. With my other, I reach for Roman’s and slide his own thumb into my waiting mouth. As I swirl my tongue around him, Roman’s eyes darken and he sucks me harder.

Pulling from his lips with a pop, I rub my now wet thumb against his nipple. A soft moan is let loose. My tongue continuously plays with him inside me. He shudders as I pinch the bud beneath my fingers before doing the same to the other. Letting go of his hand, I reach forward to pinch both simultaneously and he groans loudly.

My cheeks hollow around his thumb as he slips it from me. He drags it down my bottom lip and stares intently. Transfixed by my spit glistening in the incandescent light. Cupping my jaw, he pulls me forward to replace his thumb with his tongue. That familiar groan returning when I suck him in. His other hand tangles itself into my staticky waves and he kisses me with everything he has.

“Give me your wrists.” The order was partially muffled against his mouth.

“Huh?” The question was mumbled into my lips.

“I said,” Threading my fingers into his own hair, I pull him back. “give me your fucking wrists.” With a dramatic tug, his tie is jerked from underneath his collar in a rush. He sat still, blinking up at me. The walnut shells of his eyes fall into my hands. There was a slight apprehension, a nervousness to them. “Do you trust me, Rome?”

“Y-yeah.” His voice was hushed as he presents his hands to me and I slowly start wrapping the silk around his wrists.

“We can stop at anytime. You know that, right? Just say the word and I’ll stop immediately.” My reassurance seems to irritate more than comfort. He rolls his eyes with a tilt of the head.

“Would you fuck off? I’m fine.” A crease digs itself into the bridge of his nose and my actions immediately still.

“I’m not going to fuck off unless I know that you know that you’re safe with me, okay?” This dominate role was far from the submissive one I was innately familiar with. We obviously had never discussed boundaries and I didn’t know where the lines were anymore. “I need you to know you can speak up. That I’ll stop the second you tell me to.” Roman looks like he’d rather get a root canal than continue this discussion, but I don’t care. This was far too important. “I need you to know that your comfort is important—that your feelings matter.”

“I fucking know it, alright?” He snapped before groaning and throwing his head back. “God, what the fuck else do you need to know before you just shut the fuck up and get on with it already?” My hand quickly finds its way to his throat with a squeeze. He seems more than pleased by this response.

“Do you wanna fucking cum?”

“Clearly I wanna fuckin’—“ My other hand slaps over his mouth and I can feel him smiling underneath my palm. Roman was gladly trying to piss me off. He was itching to see me lose control; yearned to meet the creature locked inside me. The wicked one I never acknowledged or came near; the demon only he could see. She bathes me in the blood of solidified suspicions.

Roman didn’t want my empathy.

Roman wanted my cruelty.

“Then are you fucking stupid? If you don’t shut the fuck up I’ll make damn sure to have you crying like a little bitch before I even think of letting you cum.” His eyes blackened as he watches my succubuss unhinge her jaw to swallow me whole. “Got it?” He nods quickly. Rapid bursts of air shoot from his nose across the back of my hand. “And lose the fuckin’ attitude.” Removing my hand, I slap him across the mouth; handing myself over to his desires completely.

Having finished binding his wrists and setting them behind his head, I rise from the couch. Standing between his ankles, I unzip my skirt and let it fall to my feet. The muscles in his forearms flex. His tongue peaks between his lips as he gawked at the damp lace between my thighs. Sliding my finger below his chin, I tilt his head until he meets my eyes.

“You know what I want, Roman?” My hand takes home around his throat once again. Now having his full attention, I feel him swallow as he shakes his head. His excitement was palpable. Settling my right knee between his thighs, I nudge it gently against his hard length. His nostrils flare with a sharp inhale. “I want you to watch me get myself off on your thigh.” He groans loudly. I couldn’t tell if it was out of desire, frustration, or a mixture of both but the response delighted me nonetheless. Placing my left knee to the other side of his thigh, I fully seat myself upon him. “Knowing there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.”

“Fuck.” Slowly grinding against the fabric of his thigh, my lashes flutter at the sensation. A soft moan escapes me before I can stop it. I was dripping wet and could already feel myself swiftly ruining his ostentatiously expensive pants.

“How does it feel Roman? To have me use you like this?“ A whimper meets my ears. His eyes transfixed on my clothed center sliding roughly against his thigh. There was a fire beneath his skin and he was entranced by the sight of kerosene being poured upon it. “To ruin you like this?” His smokey gaze flickers up to mine and I use the moment to grind myself harder against him. The rough friction elicits another moan from me, louder this time. “This is all you’re good for—” My final word comes out in a whine causing Roman to tear into his bottom lip hard enough to draw more blood. “Tell me. How does it feel?” I nudge my knee into his throbbing member once more and the deepest groan ripples through his teeth. His arms jerk against his binds as I use my free hand to sharply twist his nipple. “Answer me!”

“Good! It feels—Fuck.” The sentiment came out hoarse and husky. He shoves his head back into his tied wrists, thrusting himself against my knee. “Feels so f-fuckin’ good.” Digging my thumb into his pulse point, I slide my knee back. He whines; all hopes of friction dashing in an instant.

“No. You don’t get to cum until I say you do. Got it, you demented little fuck?” He’s a whimpering mess beneath me; eyes wide and watery. I wanted to drown myself in the sight and never touch the light of day again.

My thong bunches to the side from the aggression in my movements. Now fully bare against him, a shiver rushes through me as my clit kisses the luxurious fabric of his thigh. I wasn’t going to last much longer.

“If you don’t fucking behave I swear to God I’ll leave you like this—tied up and soaking for whoever to find.” The bite in my threats were losing their edge. My voice lost somewhere between a moan and sigh. An impending orgasm flicks it’s tongue at the base of my spine.

“Wouldn’t want it to be your father who finds you like this, would you?” A mangled whine shakes itself from his throat and has me smiling.

The blood seeping from his parted lips seem to glitter under the city light of his windows. I flatten my tongue across his jaw and drag it up his chin until my mouth fills with copper. The taste causes a sigh to slip from my mouth into his.

“You’re close. I-I can feel it.” His voice tight and high-pitched as he starts to slightly bounce his leg. “You’ve f-fucking drenched me.” The jolting of his thigh into my clit has my head falling into his shoulder; grinding harder and faster against him. The nails of my right hand embed themselves into the skin of his waist. A carnal mosaic of the flesh born below my grip. I was at the brink. “I-I wanna feel you cum.” He’s whining as he starts to bounce his leg faster; face buried in my hair. His shaking breath against my cheek has my entire body erupting in goosebumps. “P-please lemme f-feel you cum.” His beg hitches to an even higher pitch. His thigh nearly vibrating under me, desperate pleas rippling through me. Every nerve ending in my body felt ablaze.

It was all too much.

A scream rips from my lungs and I sink my teeth into the flesh of Roman’s shoulder. He tasted of salt and brimstone. My nails frenetically scratch into his skin as my thighs tremble and squeeze. Groans barrel up from his chest to mingle with my own. My release shatters through me with a blinding intensity I had never experienced before. I was overflowing; drenching his thigh to seep into his soul.

The heaving of our chests pressed tightly together slowly lulls me back down again. My fingertips absentmindedly painting shapes into his skin with the blood I’d drawn from his waist. Sparkles of light and voids of soot twirl across my vision. An indention of my teeth remained etched into his shoulder. He shudders when I press a soft kiss onto the bruised skin. My head falling heavy when it replaces my mouth to lean into him.

I’m suddenly reminded of Roman’s own much needed release upon finding his hips desperately grinding circles into empty air. He’s whimpering; body begging. My hand still cradled his throat so I languidly brush my thumb along his pulse point. His heart was racing.

“Do you need to cum, Roman?” A loud, high-pitched whine answers me.

“Please.” The word comes out in a choked sob. “I need—“ He was fighting against his binds, the silk digging painfully into his wrists. “Please.” He frantically presses open mouth kisses into any inch of my skin that he could reach; pleading with glassy eyes. “Please lemme cum.” I leave his throat to gently cup his cheek and smile softly before pulling back from him. “No—“ He stops himself when I thread one hand into his hair and place the other bloodied one atop his chest.

“You gonna cum your pants for me, Romie?” I take my sweet time sliding my palm towards where he needs it most. “Like the needy little slut that you are?” The whispered words were dripping in ghost pepper honey that had him swallowing. “Are you that desperate? That pathetic?”

“Yes.” The answer comes out in a quiet quick rush of air. “Y-yeah, I am.” My hand finally reaches his pulsing length and it twitches beneath my fingers. He immediately ruts against my palm and I squeeze him before jerking his head back.

“Stop.” He clenches his teeth but surprisingly does. Tensing beneath me, using every ounce of self control to still himself. He was trembling beneath my grasp. Frustrated tears caressed his lashes and began streaming down his flushed cheeks. His breath was coming out hard and shallow through flared nostrils.

A memory flashes through my mind: Roman’s captivated stare watching his glistening thumb press into my bottom lip.

“Open your mouth.” Again, he follows my orders instantly. Hovering my face above his, my lips purse with a drop of spit. He catches it with a moan that I immediately kiss into my mouth. “Cum.” My voice drops just above a whisper against his raw lips. “Make a mess of yourself.”

He instantly begins fucking himself roughly into my grip. The heat of his flesh searing me through the fabric. Grunting into my open mouth as I tug his hair into the cushions just below his wrists. His hands opening and closing before locking into tight fists. “Look at me.” His eyes shoot open. “Such a good boy for me.” A familiar emotion swirls through the sliver of hazel around his pupils. His lids flutter as he fought with everything in him to keep himself rooted in my gaze. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Roman.”

His hips shoot from the couch as he explodes and spreads me open across his thigh. The sensation causes my breath to catch in my throat. A gravely yell rips from the deepest parts of himself and tears apart every muscle in my body. He pours everything he has into the fabric beneath my hand with wide eyes never leaving mine. He collapses hard with shuttering breaths; body limp and twitching.

I release him to bring my palm to my lips; the slightest bit damp from him. My tongue paints his taste into my memory with pupils blown. Jaw slack, he watches intently through heavy wet lashes. His muddy eyes fill with that same emotion I had seen from him earlier.

“Lemme taste you.” The request was nearly silent but it rattled me like a wail. If I was any further from him I wouldn’t have heard it, but I did and couldn’t believe he had asked. Lifting my hips slightly, I run two fingers through my sensitive folds and shiver. He immediately takes notice and a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips.

My fingers tremble as they rise towards his mouth. He inhales deeply before parting his lips for me. Slipping into the velvet of his mouth, his eyes flutter shut. His pointed tongue runs up between their gaps before flattening to drag back down. He was savoring every drop as if he were a starved man lost at sea. An involuntary hum reverberates from his throat into my skin and his cheeks seem to darken even more. He playfully bites down with sparkling eyes when I slip my fingers from his warm mouth.

The sight had the blood pounding in my ears beginning their familiar chant: ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ It overwhelmed me and I couldn’t help but pull him into one last searing kiss. Tasting myself on his tongue had my head spinning. Here on my knees, I prayed to a godless sky that he could taste my heart overflowing into his mouth. Cupping his cheeks in both hands, my thumbs brush away the damp paths left by his previous tears. His forehead suddenly creases beneath mine.

“You okay, Rome?” He shakes my hands from his face and turns away from me. My own brows knot together in worry.

“I’m fine.” His face further contorts upon hearing how his voice cracked. It might as well have cracked my ribs right along with it. He clenches his jaw before gnawing at the inside of his cheek. His hands form into tight fist behind his head. He was trying not to cry again.

My fingers twitch in my lap and it takes everything in me not to wrap him in my arms. Instead, I reach for his wrists and bring them forward. They felt heavy and limp in my hands. Right as I began my attempt at untying them, a small sniffle brings my attention back to Roman’s face.

“It’s okay if you’re not okay, you know?” I try to gently reassure him but it only deepens the tortured disgust in his features.

“I said I’m fucking fine.” The words are spit with a venom that eats through to my bones. Feeling me search his feature has him crumbling before me. Fresh tears immediately start spilling down his cheeks and into the pits of my soul. I couldn’t help but reach for him. He surprisingly lets me cup his cheek, so I gently turn him to face me. His eyes squeeze tighter below my lips as I lightly kiss their corners. The small gesture of affection has a mangled sob ripping from his chest. Fully burying his face into my hand, he lets himself weep into my palm.

Brushing back the strands of hair sticking to his sweat, I feel my own eyes filling with tears. Refusing to let myself cry, I leave his hair to clumsily attempt untying his wrists with one hand but the knot had grown significantly tighter. No doubt from Roman constantly pulling against it all this time.

“Hey, Rome?” He responds with a mangled sound in the back of his throat. A desperate need to comfort and free him started anxiously clawing at my throat. “Listen, I know you’re totally fine and everything but I’m actually not.” His watery eyes glance to me, not registering that I’m joking. “The she demon that possessed me, she—the bitch was a Girl Scout from hell. This knot’s tighter than a goddamn hangman’s noose.” Roman pulls his face from my hand while rapidly blinking. The sounds of grinding metal fill my ears and their smokey scent tickles my nose. I flash him a goofy, albeit nervous, smile and the gears inside his head finally click into place.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” There was no bite to his words, having spoke them through a bemused chuckle. He wipes his nose with back of his hand and inhales the remnants of his vulnerability. Grateful relief balms the scrapes at my neck left by worry’s desperate claws.

His smile falters when I suddenly get up and leave him; it's as if a burst of panic fills his chest. However, when he watches me pick up a pair of scissors and the joggers from his gym bag, I sense the tension in him ease slightly. It's only when I climb back atop his thigh that he appears fully relieved. The weight of my warmth sinking into him seems to ground him.

After tossing his change of pants onto the cushion beside us, I carefully slide the blade under his tie and free him. The silk had dug in painfully, leaving nearly raw indentions in it’s wake. I mentally make a note to check my purse for some soothing lotion later as my fingers lightly brush across his skin. My thumbs begin rubbing into the muscles of his forearms. Roman was studying my face intently.

“These feel okay?” Shaking out his wrists, he rotates them a few times before letting them fall limp in my lap. It was his way of silently asking me to continue with my actions. He had far too much pride to express his desire for such a tender expression.

“Feels fine.” He fights off a shy smile when my hands pick up where they left off, massaging him gently. “My side on the other hand feels like fuckin’ cruise papers with the way ya shredded me.” He chuckles but I could still hear the residual emotion behind it. I lift the corner of his shirt up to take a look. The sight has my stomach instantly dropping; tangled weeds of angry wounds imbedded deep into flesh. Needles of red hot guilt begin sewing threads of shame up my legs. Looking down, I’m greeted with his blood caked under my nails. Memories of violence and words of degradation take ownership of my lungs.

“Fuck Rome…” My voice cracks and I suddenly feel my own tears holding a knife to my throat. “I’m so fucking sorry.” Roman quickly tears the fabric from my grasp and yanks it down.

“Oh shit. No no no no no—fuck fuck fuck.” His panicked expression made me feel so much worse. The canines of an anxiety attack drag up the nape of my neck like a threat. “I—I was fucking kidding!”

“I shouldn’t have d—done that to you. I—I shouldn’t have hit you. I shouldn’t have said—I didn’t—Rome, I didn’t mean them! The words—I—I’m so sor—“

“Oh dear God, would you fuckin’ stop.” He quickly cut me off but I had already dove to the deep end of a molten lava shame spiral.

“I—I made you fucking bleed Roman!” He rolls his eyes. “Multiple times!” His hands slap themselves onto the sides of my face, pressing hard into my cheeks.

“Yeah and you licked it up and it was the sexiest fuckin’—” I couldn’t open my eyes to look at him. If I looked at him I’d most certainly start crying. “I mean, I’m literally fucking drenched in cum right now.” My mouth was set in a hard line but my bottom lip quivered. “Come on now…” Nope, didn’t have to look at him. Turns out his voice alone could send tears falling. “I was kidding! I liked the fuckin’—fuckin’ feral scratchy shit! It was hot! And—and I told you to hit me! I—I wanted it! I wanted you to say all that fuckin’ nasty shit!” His fingers press into my skin harder as if he could force his sentiments to penetrate my skull. “I…I fuckin’ loved it. Like a lot. Okay?” My head was shaking back and forth trying to gain some control over my emotions, shake free of my tears. Roman didn’t know that though. How could he? I wasn’t speaking. He probably thought my actions were just my way of rejecting him. “Please don’t fuckin’ do this.”

My eyes crack open as I remove Roman’s hands from my face. The knotted look of bewilderment etched into his features summons the childhood phantom of my mother. Taking her disembodied palm to slap me across the mouth and rattle me with shrill screams: ‘You need to pull yourself the fuck together!’ I follow suit, digging the heels of my palms into my eyes.

“Promise?” My question came out pathetic and small. I fucking hated it and I fucking hated crying. I’m being fucking ridiculous. Stupid.

“Again, and I can’t stress this enough, soaking in my own cum right now.” His reassurance comes with a laugh that tugs my frown up slightly.

“I just—I’m sorry. It was one thing in the moment but just like… I dunno. I’ve never done anything like that. I—I don’t know what came over me.” My face felt feverish as the backs of my hands wipe the shame staining my cheeks. “Seeing the aftermath just kinda, it just—The thought of actually hurting you makes me feel fucking sick, Rome.” I feel the back of Roman’s knuckle brush away the tears I had missed. Chancing a look at his face gifted me the softest expression I had ever seen from him. “I never want to cause you any real harm.” My voice sounded almost foreign, weak with emotion and vulnerability. Where did all my bravado go? Oh yeah, it’s dripping down my thighs.

“Well you didn’t, alright? I’m fine. Like completely. A-o-fuckin’-kay over here.” He throws me the okay symbol and tries offering me a reassuring smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“But you were crying, Rome.” The smile instantly drops.

“That? No, I wasn’t—“ He shakes his head before scratching at his jaw. “It—it wasn’t because of that.” My brows furrow, and he groans, hands dragging down his face. “Look, I didn’t—I don’t—fuck!” He shakes his fingers through his hair and looks as if he’s about to rip it out. Refusing to meet my eyes, his stare finally settles on my hands lying face up in my lap. “It was your fuckin’—your hands, okay? It was your fuckin’ hands.” My eyes fall from his face and focus on the blood staining my fingertips. So it really was because I hit him. “The way you—“ He sighs. “The way you held me.” Oh. His head falls back as a long frustrated groan escapes him, eyes searching for heaven in the ceiling. “I dunno, okay? It just felt—it felt—“ He couldn’t finish. His eyes fall shut before he continues, his voice even quieter than before. “All I could think about was how you had looked at me.” I swallow before whispering just as quietly as he.

“How did I look at you?”

“I don’t know.” His voice grew thick with emotion once again. He shakes his head and finally meets my eyes; looking so defeated and sad. His pain bled me. “You’re always fuckin’ lookin’ at me like—like—“ Again, he can’t finish. He clenches his jaw like a threat towards the words caught in his throat.

“Like I love you?” His eyes squeeze shut and he turns his face from me once again; hiding himself from my words. I watch him clench and unclench his jaw until courage clenches my own. “Because I do love you, Roman.” Every muscle in his body seemed to tense beneath me, but I couldn’t stop my feelings from shattering their shackles. They’d been locked up for so long that their first taste of freedom sends them sprinting. “I love you so fucking much.” He clenches his fists, still unable to open his eyes and look at me.

I let myself lean into him and lay my head onto his shoulder. His fist start to unfurl and he lets his head fall against mine. A shuddering breath leaves him and he buries his face into my hair, hands tentatively resting on my hips. We sit in silence as I listen to his breathing slowly steadying. Once it had nearly returned to normal, I feel his lips gently press into my temple.

“I love you too.” The words were murmured into me, a heavy sigh follows after them. “You have no fucking idea.” The wilted buds of my heart and mind begin to bloom. My arms wrap themselves around him and squeeze him to me tightly. He reluctantly wraps his arms around me as well; slowly tightening his embrace until he’s clinging to my soul. Turning my head I press a kiss into the side of his throat and hear him sigh once again; the weight between us was dissipating.

“I’m sorry for freaking out earlier.” The words he had stuttered out when trying to calm me drift to the forefront of my mind. “I—I liked it too.” The warmth of his skin embraces my shy confession. “What we did together, I mean.” I hear him snort and it has me smiling against him. The air was feeling lighter.

“I’d fuckin’ say so, ya fuckin’ banshee. You shoulda seen how fuckin’ hard you came. I mean—Jesus Christ, you were fuckin’ feral.” I hide my face further into his neck but can’t help the laughter that bubbles up from me. “And now you act all fuckin’ bashful and shit? How the fuck does that even work? You literally tied me up and road my thigh like a buckin’ bronco.” I bite his throat and my body shakes from his laughter vibrating through me.

“Fuck you! I’m complex.”

“Yeah, no shit.” He tangles his hands in my hair and pulls me back to face him. “You’re fuckin’ insane, you know that?” He was smiling as he said it. “You drive me fucking insane.”

“The feelings mutual.” His smile only widens and he bounces his leg. I yelp in surprise, frantically gripping at his arms to maintain balance. He’s giggling uncontrollably. “You’re a sick fuck, Roman Roy.”

“Ooo round two already, thigh master?” He bounces his leg again. I try to slap his chest but he catches my wrist with his freehand and pulls me into a kiss I’m never going to forget. It was different than all the ones we had shared prior. This one was so much softer, so much gentler. Our foreheads rest against one another. His smile against my lips illuminates every crevice once void of light; I was loved.

#this used to be 10k words lol #I’ve rewritten it soooo many times #Roman Roy #Succession #Succession HBO #roman roy smut #roman roy x reader #roman roy one shot #roman roy fanfic #roman roy imagine #succession smut #succession fanfic #succession imagine #succession one shot #mine #can’t believe I’m following up kittens & perverts w/ this filth lmao #it still doesn’t feel perfect but she’s about to confiscate the phone from me if I keep rewriting this lol #cruelty & empathy

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engeorged · 10 months

Text

The Influencer : Milo

Words by @engeorged

Illustrations by @badoobers

Milo was drifting in life. Now I’m his late twenties he hadn’t really found a purpose in life or a job that lasted for more than 6 months. He was more athletic than smart, but popular and always surrounded by people. He would do pretty much anything to gets a laugh. Setting fire to his farts was his specialty, guaranteed to bring the house down. Once nearly literally when he set fire to the curtains.

Never good enough to be captain but always good enough to be picked first for most things. He excelled in rugby due to his size and build. One thing he was head and shoulders above the rest at. Towering above most of this peers, by the time puberty have finished with him he was 6’6 and built like a house. He had broad shoulders with a physique to match. Thick arms and legs and an ass you might assume was some sort of joke prosthetic. Real country corn fed type with dirty blonde hair and usually some combination of darker facial hair.

When all his friends went off to university, he stayed behind to care for his father who was dying of a rather short lived and aggressive illness. This took him to a fairly dark and lonely place as he hit his twenties. He expected all his old friends to start drifting back to the town they grew up in but most were high flyers and weren’t interested in coming back to that small life. Ever the optimist Milo set about trying to find himself a career. He would try most things once. Hospitality didn’t really suit his bulking frame, knocking stuff over regularly with one of his large limbs. Being the size he was didn’t really suit nipping between tables either. Retail bored him and he rarely lasted a few weeks. Ballon modelling, catering, tree surgery, manual labour all came and went. Nothing really stuck. His life was spent between jobs crashing on sofas and living in his parents basement when that wasn’t an option.

His latest idea was to try and make it as a social media influencer. He was funny enough and decent looking enough to at least have a go but nothing he made seemed to go viral. There were a few times he thought he’d cracked it but his views never made it past the high hundreds. He was currently living above a pizza place in a shitty flat share and supporting himself with three jobs. Dog walking, delivering pizza flyers and a few days looking after some rich guys house whilst he was off round the world. Milo was coming to the sad realisation that he was just like every other washed up jock struggling to hold his shit together.

It was Friday evening and his employer Mr Gordon was away again. This time brokering a merger in Singapore or Shanghai or Seoul, something like that anyway. Milo was sat next to the pool drinking a beer, daydreaming of the day he would have his own house like this. He was in a bit of a funk and a little bit buzzed with the several beers he had downed on his empty stomach. As he brooded on his life he started a bit of a downward spiral. Eventually coming to the conclusion that he’d had enough. The influencer thing was dumb. Influencers were all ball sacks anyway, he wasn’t about that life.

Out of the blue last week he’d had a DM from a friend he’d not seen for years. Will had gotten married straight from college, as his cheerleader girlfriend got pregnant and Milo hadn’t really heard from him since. Apparently he now had a successful business in construction or logistics and after they were chatting he said he had a few entry level jobs going if he was interested. Milo had closed down the message at that point, but right now it was starting to look promising. The pay was ok and he would be trained on the job. Even if it meant a lifetime of desk work, maybe that kind of stability was just what he needed? As usual he couldn’t find his phone so he searched round for it and eventually found it in the footwell of his batteries pickup. Unlocking the screen, he began to go through and delete his five instagram accounts then his twitter handles. He’d leave Facebook as no one bothered with that any more anyway. However, as he opened his TikTok app he noticed a notification at the bottom of the screen. Opening it, his eyes widened, as he saw what was in the message. One of his videos in the last day had actually finally gone and done it. He’d gone viral. Quickly he scrolled through the notifications to work out which video it was and to his surprise it was a mukbang video he’d done a few weeks ago. He’d bought two kfc family buckets and had ploughed through them in half an hour. Chugging the soda at the end and showing everyone his swollen belly. It was a bit of a low point afterwards and he nearly deleted it as it made him feel a bit vulnerable. He was so glad he left it up there as now this might be his ticket to fame.

The video had amassed over 200,000 likes in just over 24 hours. Scrolling through the comments, there were people from all over the world commenting on how amazing the video was and how good he looked. Milo was a little surprised at how many thirsty comments on there. People commenting on how hot the video was and how hot it was to see his bloated belly at the end. They seemed to be impressed at how much he ate as well. He remembered at the time feeling a bit sick but he was a big guy. He was always capable to eating big. He was known for it with his three brothers who would always get a bit competitive over family meals. Especially at Christmas time when they would take bets on who could eat the most. Milo was pretty much the undefeated champion, even now his eldest brother Tom had gotten super fat.

There were hundreds of comments asking for more and demanding a live stream. Taking a moment to think, he came to the slow realisation that he was in a huge mansion with permission to eat anything he wanted. Mr Gordon wouldn’t even notice if he cleared the fridge which was always well stocked. He had already consumed a good dozen beers which was giving him a decent amount of Dutch courage. Dizzy with beer and ambition he hit the live button and headed to the kitchen. Several thoughts rushed through his head whilst he waited. The watcher count stayed at zero for 5 whole minutes. The adrenaline began to wear off and he started feeling embarrassed. Maybe he’d jumped the gun. Maybe he wasn’t destined for internet fame. Maybe the video going viral meant nothing. Just the victim of an algorithm. Then suddenly with a ping the counter went up to one. The lone watcher was typing . . .

🥵

Never had a single emoji made Milo feel so great. A few seconds later, a second ping happened, followed by a third. People were coming. Soon the watcher number began to rise and with an intake of breath Milo began talking. Moving round kitchen he showed the watchers what was in the fridge The beer and wine store was pretty stocked, so that was always an option but the general consensus was that they wanted him to eat not drink. Opening the double doors of the huge fridge revealed a world of options. Someone in the comments even asked him if he could eat the whole lot. To which he laughed and said ‘Maybe!’

In the end it was decided by the group, that he was to eat a load of leftovers from some party Mr Gordon had had a few days before. As soon as Milo started to pull the tubs out of the fridge he began to regret suggesting it. There was a lot of food. Two large tubs, a platter of entrees and a good two thirds of a huge chocolate and caramel cake covered in thick double cream. As he laid it all out on the Italian marble worktop he propped his phone up against the fancy fruit bowl. The watchers were up to 800 and still rising. Adrenaline pumping, Milo started stuffing his face. The comments were rolling in thick and fast. Too fast for him to read but as they rushed past he could see the people were loving it. Lots of little images were pinging up and AR lenses people started to be applying to him, making him look like a cowboy and then an alien and then a cute fluffy teddy bear which everyone agreed made him look adorable with.

As he shovelled in the rich canapés, he could feel his stomach begin to tighten. He wondered whether or not to say anything but the second he did the watcher went crazy for it! So he continued describing to the watchers everything that was happening to him, lifting his T-shirt to show them his slight curve as his thick abs began to rise. There were numbers and emojis flying all over his screen and he had no idea what any of them were but he was obviously smashing it. This gave him some momentum to plough through. The entire platter of entrees were now firmly inside his now gently curved stomach. As he finished the tray he lifted his shirt and showed everyone again, jokingly slamming the tray upside down on the counter.

Over the next hour he ate like he had never eaten before. The first run containing a selection of nibbles, including some of the best duck bao buns he’d ever seen. Every one was decorated to look like a cute little animal which the crowd watching especially enjoyed. After those he stated I inhaling some mini sliders and pulled pork blinis. He began to slow down a little as the tub began to empty and so, needing a little break, he stood and pulled his shirt completely off revealing his now substantially distended stomach. The comments were turning slightly feral as people were lapping it up this slab of a man, stuffing himself silly. Giving him instructions to rub it or push it out. There were a few weird vaguely sexual suggestions which he put out of his head for now. There was time to process that later. However, on the whole everyone was loving his engorged stomach. Who knew this was the thing would turn him into an influencer?

In the flurry of messages, one user was beginning to stand out. The messages he sent were in bold and a mustard yellow colour which made them stand out. Pausing the chat so he could try and read them, they came from user @fulltank87, who seemed to be offering some advice. The guy advised Milo to head to the fridge and grab a bottle of soda and chug it as fast as he could without belching and hold it for as long as he could whilst leaning to the right. He ran to the fridge and slowed down as his fullness hit him. Grabbing a 2 litre bottle of coke he lined up the shot and got ready. @fulltank87 gave one more instruction to push a straw into the neck of the bottle and push the end down the side. This came back to Milo as a cheap way of doing a beer bong. Rummaging through the cupboards he finally found a plastic straw and popped it inside the neck. Getting back into position so the audience could get the best view, he lifted the bottle to his lips and threw it back. The coke pushed down his throat fast nearly causing him to cough and choke but he managed to push through. Closing his eyes he concentrated on the heavy flow of the coke surging down into his already swollen gut. He had a way of relaxing his throat so he didn’t need to swallow which came back to him from his rugby party days. From the side the viewers got a perfect view of his thick adams apple bobbing up and down with the liquid and if you looked carefully you could see his stomach inching out a little further.

Toward the end the coldness of the cokeand the bubbles were hurting the back of his throat and he nearly had to stop, but he knew he could make it. With a loud roar he finished the whole thing and immediately felt sick. Remembering the suggestion, he leant to the right and tried to hold it but he could feel bubbles rushing up his nose. With another almighty roar he let out the biggest burp he had ever done. He could literally feel his belly going down as the gas escaped.

Instead of turning people off, this seemed to be the highlight of the live. Approval was pouring in from the now people watching, which now had reached 1k. The adoration and attention he was receiving, along with and the stretch provided by the coke gave him the momentum to keep going. Pulling open the second tub he found a whole load of chicken wings which were his all time favourite. There must have been at least thirty of them. He teased the load to the watching crowd who responded with more of the same reaction. Looking down at his stomach he was a little scared. He wasn’t this big when he did the kfc mukbang video. He’d seen his belly like this before at family gatherings but looking at how much food was left he would definitely be pushing his limit.

Milo decided to tell the live stream exactly how he was feeling, hoping it would endear him to people. He showed them how swollen stomach was, running his hand across is distended bulge. He was feeling an awful lot of pressure just under his ribs which he half remembered was where his stomach was. Obviously, tips and comments poured in from that point. People telling him how to eat, what angle to eat at, the speed at which he should eat them. Overwhelmed, he found a way to filter just @fulltank87’s comments, who was calmly explaining to him how he just needed to simply keep a fast pace up and rhythmically start eating. So Milo did just that. He got into a rhythm of breaking the wing and stripping the meat off with his teeth and sucking the succulent flesh off of it. Whilst he chewed it and swallowed, he prepped the next wing. Ignoring the pressure building up inside him he ploughed through and within 15 minutes the tub was empty. Standing again he proudly displayed his swollen belly. It was now much more pronounced. Making his long torso, oval as it swelled. Giving time for some audience interaction would be a good move to let him have a little breather. Rubbing his furry stomach and arching his back for emphasis he showed off the results of his feasting.

Milo was beginning to feel as if he wasn’t able to eat any more when he glanced at the watchers. He was up to 1.2k which was insane. He needed to finish this for the people watching. Plus, if he could finish this challenge he could definitely build a whole career out of this. The only thing left in the counter was the large cake. The only way he was doing this was to totally ignore the uncomfortable feeling of his belly pushing against the counter. This was possible. The end was in sight. And that end was 4000 calories of rich cake. Spurred on by the encouragements, Milo found the largest spoon he could find and stood up for this final lap. There was nothing for it but to undo the top button on his shorts which popped satisfyingly. He felt his stomach relax as it filled the space vacated. This also had the unfortunate impact of sliding his zipper all the way down. Panicking, he checked his phone screen and thankfully today was not a day when he had chosen to go commando.

Determined to finish this he hefted a large spoon full of the cake and pushed it into his mouth. The cake was unbelievable. The cake was light and fluffy with bitter dark chocolate ganache through it. The sweet salted caramel sauce filled his tastebuds with electricity. All offset but the light but heavy whipped cream. The cake was perfection. Pushing on he crammed more and more of the cake into his mouth, cream and chocolate smeared all over his face. He was beginning to loose himself in the tastes that were filling his brain, almost numb to the building swell of his stomach. The viewers going wild in the comments. Urging him to finish his challenge. Milo had an almost out of body experience where he was watching himself eat on his phone. On the screen, his stomach was comically distended, curving up from the gaping v of his fly. His neatly trimmed stomach hair covered in grease from the food on his hands as he had rubbed his distended gut. In a dream-like state he watched himself finish the cake. The whole thing now concealed inside his hugely bloated stomach. Comments and congratulations from all the watchers were streaming in as he stood face on to the camera breathing heavily. Belching under his breath he assured them he would be back and leant forward and turned the live stream off.

The silence in the kitchen was deafening. The only sounds he could hear were the faint gurgle of his stomach digesting the huge quantity of food and his own heart, beating in his ears.

Looking down his normally flat stomach was arched out from his body. He felt utterly packed full. He just about managed to make it to the shower where he stripped off and got in underneath the rainfall setting. The warm water soothing his massively swollen dome of a gut. He couldn’t even really move. He just allowed the soothing water to wash off the evidence gluttony. As he stood there with his eyes closed his thoughts turned to what he might do next.

Find Part Two here

#gainer fiction #belly expansion #gay gainer #stuffing #belly fiction #gainer stories #male gaining #stuffing art #gainer story #gainer artwork

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luxthestrange · 3 months

Text

RoR Incorrect quotes#166 BET

You know how Odin and Hermes started ....weird musical entrance..., Man image Theater/Drama Y/n going "BET"...and wanting to OUTDO...them, while also bringing the other gods down and the humans up to the clear hypocrisy of the gods in condemning humans, And bringing out their Truths...With the human fighters behind you supporting the musical-

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As Heimdall was speaking a giant explosion from the human side arena appeared...inside there was a dark room...and music started to play as you started to sing...Both Humans and Gods were in shock at the song as you started to straight up...CURSE THE GODS TO THEIR FACES WITH LIGHTERS, EXPLOSIONS-THE WHOLE SHEBANG-

Drama!Y/n:

-We have taken shit (Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh) Been crushed under your heel (Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh) We have suffered for Offerings and suckered for faith (Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh) Made a fortunes you all could steal (Ooh-ooh)

I've had enough, I've hit the wall I'm tired of taking your calls It ends today, now there's just one last thing to say-ay-ay

Some gods even laugh at the imagery of You being crushed under the heal of them as You and known humans who were faithful to the gods but god "punished" for petty thinking,bets...and such

Drama!Y/n:

Fuck you! I wish I'd said it sooner, fuck you Cut you off, just like a tumor Hope you all die, kiss my ass goodbye, you cucks, fuck you!

Drama!Y/n*Appearing all of sudden with the humans belachers...and even on the with some lower gods/demigods smiling and patting their backs*

(Eeugh—) Have you ever felt sick and tired of doing the same shit everyday with your anger brewin'? Eatin' shit for a boss that you're sick of obeyin'? If you ever felt the same, let me hear ya say it!

Drama!Y/n + Humans/Demigods:

Did you really think I was gonna stay? Spending life bent over with your fist in my a— Slander me, say We are Sinners now If I stick around, I'll be six more feet under the ground

Fuck you! (Woah-oh-oh!) Here's my two minutes notice, fuck you (Suck it, greedy bastards) (You're a fucking, ass clowns) Time to quit and smell the roses Say goodbye, too late to apologize! So this is it Zeus, you sad sack of shit, fuck you!

(Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you) You bitch! Yeah!

youtube

Never go against a bard,poet, or theater kid...

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thanksjro · 6 months

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Transformers Holiday Special (2015) — Wishing You and Yours a Delightfully Secular Wintertime, Containing Absolutely Zero References to the Birth of Christ

Despite what some might like to think, Christmas isn’t for everyone; even with all the commercialization, at its heart, it’s still about the Baby Jesus. You can tell that we haven’t shaken the Christian connection, because the cover for this special issue has the father, the son, and the holy spirit, which is hidden behind the company logo.

And if Rodimus doesn’t stop screwing around, his resurrection’s gonna have to happen a lot sooner than Easter.

Because this is a comic special, things are going to be a little different. Instead of one standard-size issue, we’re getting three mini-stories, each with their own writer (from each of the comic runs that were publishing at the time) and artist. Our stories are listed here:

Don’t worry about what Ultra Magnus is up to behind that text.

Now, you may ask, why on earth am I covering this issue, which is a specifically Christmassy one, now, when it’s not currently Christmas? Well, according to Roberts, the story “Silent Light” takes place after MTMTE #49, and #50 is when the crew manifest for the Lost Light gets shaved down some, so realistically, this is when “Silent Light” happens in continuity. So I want you to keep in mind that Getaway’s Christmas isn’t going so great.

I won’t be going back to catch up on the other runs’ plots, as the Christmas stories are stand-alone.

Getting into it, our first story is:

Penned by Mairghread Scott and drawn by Corin Howell. We open up on a cityscape featuring a happy sun and some eye-searing narration boxes.

I went to Howell’s Twitter to see what her deal was, and was greeted with a banner consisting of a sexy succubus lady with her boobies out, so I’m going to assume she simplified her style for this issue, since mecha are hella difficult to draw.

Also, I hope you like the structure of How The Grinch Stole Christmas!, because that’s what we’re getting for the next little while, complete with chunky, white text on painful-to-view red.

Our story opens with all the transformers from the colonies visiting Cybertron and making friends with each other. Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts, which pisses off President-King Starscream to no end. Being the drama queen that he is, Starscream feels that everyone should be paying attention to him 24/7 and feed him grapes as he reclines on a sofa, because hasn’t he done enough for all these sorry sacks of shit? He hasn’t even caused a war, unlike the last guy who was in charge. Bumblebee (who is a ghost) tells him to just be fucking nice for once in his miserable life, but Starscream wouldn’t be Starscream if he could settle down like that.

Our god-king of the planet calls for his aide, Rattrap, who is going to be in his alt mode for the entirety of this story, to help him set up for a public broadcast addressing his need for attention and adoration.

He sends Rattrap off to deliver the tape to the news, which seems to consist of two very sleep-deprived individuals. Because they’re apparently the only two robots stupid enough to attempt to cover the nightmare hellscape that is Cybertronian current events, the last bit of Starscream’s tape is cut off when one of them falls asleep on the switchboard. This turns Starscream’s personal worship holiday into “For the Love of God Be Nice to Each Other” Day. Everyone takes to it beautifully, getting BFF tattoos, going on vacation with their husbands, hugging in the straightest gay way possible, holding parades, giving each other bombs, and getting absolutely shitfaced.

Starscream, distraught that nobody is giving him the emperor treatment like he had wanted, sulks in his twin bed, then moves to his dinky little throne as the night wears on, making the most miserable faces he can the whole time. Eventually, Chosen One Day ends, and he’s been completely ignored. Very sad.

Then, there’s a knock on his door, and Starscream creeps over to the peephole just in time to be smashed flat by Wheeljack slamming the door open. Last time we saw Wheeljack he was assumed dead by most, and floating in a tank at Starscream’s behest. He’s gotten better since then, clearly.

Wheeljack came with friends— the entirety of the main cast for Windblade/Til All Are One, to be exact— and they’re here to make sure that Starscream isn’t completely alone on this friendship holiday he accidentally invented. Everyone toasts to his good, totally intentional idea, and Starscream decides against killing all of them for at least the next 24 hours.

Now pay attention to this next story, because it’s actually canon-relevant, because of course Roberts would write a holiday special mini-comic that ties into his overarching plot. Fucking nerd.

Our artist for “Silent Light” is Kotteri (or Kotteri!, as it’s been written on some of their other publications) the pen name for Ikumi Fukuda. Kotteri is primarily a manga artist, having created their own works and well as working on other projects. I admittedly can’t find much on this person, not even their preferred pronouns, TFWiki itself using “they”, which I will default to. All of the info they’ve provided themself is, of course, written in Japanese, but even running things through a translator only proves that information to be purely professional. Their personal Twitter is protected, and my follow request was never answered, as far as I know. There’s a fan Twitter account for their art that claims “she”, but I have no way to verify, and I don’t want to assume anything based on art style, because that’s sort of shitty. Let it never be said that I didn’t do my due diligence here— I fucking hate using Twitter.

We open with Rodimus having just returned from Meteorfest, a festival where you surf on meteors and avoid your co-captain and SIC’s calls like the putz you are. He’s greeted by said co-captain and SIC decorating assembling a Christmas tree cloaking machine and finishing each other’s sentences like an old married couple. Rodimus tries to deny the existence of Minimegs, then we get our heavy-handed and lampshaded explanation for the crux of the issue. Megatron handles Minimus like a baby doll as the two of them explain that the Lost Light is about to hit Mauler territory.

Maulers are notorious for wanting the Cybertronians dead, but Megatron is too much of a macho man to pussy out and go around them. So instead, the crew will be hiding in special sleeping pods that will mask their spark signatures, and pray to their pantheon of gods that no one notices the ship the size of Manhattan. Brainstorm has like fifteen new inventions, despite being on house arrest from his lab. Megatron’s autobot badge is wearing a hat. Merry fucking Christmas.

Over at Swerve’s, it would appear that everyone’s favorite television junkie is closed for business, as it’s just him, Nautica, and Whirl, sitting on the floor getting absolutely shit-faced on subspace-filtered engex. This might’ve been an issue, as folks are supposed to be bedding down in their B.E.D.s for the next leg of the trip, but Swerve slipped Magnus some Bing Crosby earlier so they’re cool right now.

There’s a banging at the door, and Whirl decides to answer, even though it’s not his bar, because if it’s trouble come a-knocking, it was probably looking for Whirl anyhow.

When Whirl answers, however, it’s not Magnus having caught wind of Nautica disrespecting the Autobot code, but an entirely different flavor of problem.

Now, I know that thing Whirl’s holding looks like a fucked up Hitachi Wand, but it is, in fact, an entire-ass baby robot. It seems that when Cerebros (Fortress Maximus’s friend, if you’ll recall) sent the engex through the subspace, this infant Cybertronian (Luna One-ian?) got mixed in with the other supplies.

We learn a bit about how baby Cybertronians work before we remember, oh right, this kid is gonna get everyone killed if they catch wind of her spark, since there isn’t a B.E.D. for her. Yes, it’s a girl! Congrats to our three idiots on their Cybertronian gender non-conforming little princess.

They gang decides to shunt her back through the subspace hatch, so they head over to where it’s currently being housed— the office of Ultra Magnus. Nautica, using her wits and all the tools in her arsenal, smashes the window to the office and they break in. The empty Magnus Armor sits in the dark like a grim monument to being married to your job. Whirl informs Nautica how to comfort the baby that he super for-sure doesn’t care about, handing her off while he uses his titty glass to replace the window in the door. Swerve tries to bite through iron chains holding the subspace hatch hostage, only to be stopped by the sound of justice coming down the hall.

The gang, of course, looks suspicious as hell standing stock straight immediately in front of Magnus’s office, but Minimus rather likes the change of pace out of these goofy morons, and is maybe also trying to deflect his embarrassment at being caught performing his own personal karaoke. He sends them off to their B.E.D.s, and it looks like all’s well that ends well until Whirl asks where Sparky is.

Yes, he named the baby.

Don’t worry though, he’s totally not attached or whatever.

Nautica, in her panic to not be caught stealing/vandalizing/using equipment she doesn’t have the clearance for, stuffed Sparky in the Magnus Armor. And also put the helmet portion back on the body, for some reason. Anyway, it looks like our little princess is gonna be a load-bearer when she grows up, because Magnus is up and looking for hugs. Nautica, a paragon of level-headed thinking in times of crisis, handles this in the best way she can.

And that’s a wrap on Minimus Ambus! Let’s give him a hand, folks! And let’s also give a hand to the new Ultra Magnus, Miss Sparky Whirldòttir! Where did that little scamp get to, anyhow?

Swerve nominates himself to be the one to drag Minimus to a B.E.D. to sleep off his concussion, leaving Whirl and Nautica to track down the baby.

The scene changes to Megatron announcing a last call for beddy-bye time on the intercom, just as Ultra Sparky enters the room. She looms over Megatron, putting him in a very compromising position as he hits the intercom button with his arm. Rodimus, climbing into his own B.E.D., wishes that his co-captain and SIC would stop being gay for, like, five minutes, or at least wouldn’t do it where it can be broadcasted throughout the whole ship in audio format.

Whirl and Nautica come save Megatron from the onslaught of physical affection, stating that “Magnus” has had a bit too much to drink. Megatron orders them to bed from his fetal position on the countertop.

It’s bedtime, but we still haven’t figured out how to get the kid back to Luna 1 so the Maulers don’t super-murder the whole crew. Nautica leaves Whirl to figure it out, getting into B.E.D. and wondering who the fuck knocked on the door in the first place. Whirl tells her not to worry about it and to go to sleep, so he can be the one to deal with this mess.

Whirl, notorious for doing all the nastiest jobs— former Wrecker, intended bullet sponge for the time travel situation, attempting suicide via Megatron— is going to add another tally to the list labeled “Reasons My Peers Don’t Really Like Me All That Much”, by throwing an entire baby out the air lock.

However, Whirl is being written by Roberts, who would never allow the number of robot babies to go down, so Sparky’s adorable assimilation of Whirl’s signature physical features gets him right in the soft underbelly he swears doesn’t exist.

Wow, Roberts put a baby in that robot. Surely this is as overt as we’re going to get with this imagery, since we’re in a major publication and not some fan-fiction!

ANYWAY

Whirl wakes up in the Medibay, emptied of infant and freaked the hell out about it. Velocity— who I will remind you is basically the only medical doctor on the Lost Light, since everyone else is too busy getting railed by weeaboos and joining unethical polycules to do their actual jobs—informs him that his daughter is, in actuality, a massive colony of scraplets that combined to look like a newborn.

It turns out that Nautica is a bit of a snitch, having spilled the beans after she woke up. Whether or not she thought Whirl had thrown the baby out the air lock isn’t really addressed, but thank god he didn’t, because then we would have had to send everyone’s favorite gun-addled dipshit to jail for the rest of forever. Checking security footage revealed who the mystery knocker was— it was the scraplets, forming the shape of an arm.

When Nautica asks how the hell they all survived this, seeing as Whirl kept the murder baby, Whirl informs her that he cut off power to his own spark to allow everyone else to live, including his sweet baby princess, winning him a #1 Dad mug, and also several emails from Rung to please make an appointment with him.

Whirl’s miracle Christmas baby lied and stole with the intent to murder everyone on board, and that makes her the ultimate daddy’s girl.

I hope you’ve all enjoyed this canon-important holiday special story about Whirl becoming a father.

In our third and final story, it appears we’ve been transported to Whoville, by the talent of our MTMTE Season 1 colorist, Josh Burcham. Within Whoville resides Anna Log, a human woman who owns two turbofoxes and sleeps in full military body armor on her couch. The wall in her living room suddenly explodes, revealing a late-night visitor.

Motherfucker, you are supposed to be on the ship right now.

Mega-Claus fusion-cannons Anna Log, and we cut to a film noir office where none other than Thundercracker has his feet up on the desk. The art grayscales for this section, as he narrates that he’s a detective. He’s wearing a fedora. It’s January 7th. He has a mysterious past and probably thinks that makes him very sexy.

The phone rings, cueing Buster, Thundercracker’s puggle, to put on her own fedora, and the two go to see the crime scene, where Thundercracker is the same size as a normal human man and wears a trench coat.

It turns out that Anna Log is the director of security for the entirety of planet Earth, which is sort of a big deal. When Thundercracker and the cops look at the security footage, they see who did it— Santa Claus, played by Megatron himself. Fucked up.

Sure, pal.

Thundercracker must now fly to the North Pole and kill Santa, because that’s how the law works. He transforms, flies by Club Penguin and a Coke commercial, reflects on his job, and then gets ready for a fight with Santa’s security measures, as Busters glowing nose warns him of incoming danger. She’s very talented, Buster.

Thundercracker makes quick work of the cybernetic security reindeer with his twin energy katanas and Buster’s jetpack. He kicks down Santa’s door to find the jolly elf himself standing in the dark, potentially rabid. The two start kung-fu beating the shit out of each other. It should be noted that this Santa isn’t the Megatron Santa, who shows up behind the two as they brawl, but rather original-flavor fat man Santa. How Thundercracker didn’t notice this isn’t addressed.

Thundercracker demands to know why Megatron dressed up as Santa Claus to commit a murder— the murder part made sense, Director Log and Megatron would be diametrically opposed— and Megatron reveals the greatest slight against himself he’s ever known.

Framing Santa for murder ain’t exactly gonna turn that coal into a diamond, Meggy baby.

Thundercracker clocks Megatron, he becomes besties with Santa Claus, and they ride a flying tank into the sunset. Thus ends Thundercracker’s most brilliant writing project yet, which he was reading to Marissa Faireborn this entire time.

Marissa isn’t terribly impressed, poking holes in all the little nonsense bits, while also not feeling thrilled about having been killed off in the first two pages of Thundercracker’s book. While the two argue, Buster and Ayana Jones make a Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown! reference together, and the issue closes out with a big ol’ Autobot symbol, even though Thundercracker was a Decepticon, Ayana and Marissa are humans, and Buster is a goddamned dog.

Thus ends the Holiday Special. Up next, more direct story progression!

#transformers #MTMTE #holiday special #jro punches me in the face #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing

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isa-ghost · 2 months

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amfmn missa.. p please.. please mother … feed us

I'M BEING ENABLED PPOVERHEAT

He's an actual grim reaper. That's where he's disappeared to so often in canon, reaper duties. It's a very demanding job, you know.

Doesn't stop him from feeling terrible about being gone so often though. He misses his husband and kids and hates how often he's out of the loop :(

Fr though Phil and the kids make him so so happy after spending countless hours working such a sad job. It's also partially why he sings and makes art. That brand of fun is catharsis for the soul.

He has all his canon weapons but I ALSO gave him a reaper deathscythe. And boy is he gonna use it. Fucking AWOOGA MissaSinfonia when he's angry.

Btw as a reaper he can FEEL souls. He can see their power, their condition, feel the surface level emotions and personality of its owner. This will come in handy later in the fic. ;)

As per the post I made asking for Missa appreciation so I can characterize him properly: He's undyingly loyal, he fights hard and loves even harder, he's protective, silly, and goddamn can he flirt.

All his wet cat behavior is a result of getting too overwhelmed by The Horrors. He's seen A Lot as a reaper. But somehow Quesadilla Island and all its... Everything. Always manage to show him a new brand of What The Fuck he's never even imagined before. Hence all his screaming and weeping when he's caught up on what he's missed. Like how tf else is he supposed to react??

Somewhat attached to that, he and Phil rlly were a match made in Federation Heaven bc they both have issues with self-doubt despite being insanely skilled and sharp-witted. Missa is better abt it than Phil though. His only acts up when he messes up a lot or just. Doesn't have a clue how to handle a situation where it's dire that he does. It's more of an insecurity about being unprepared and failing his loved ones than it is a doubt he has skill. He KNOWS he does, he hates when it's not enough. That's how he differs from Phil, who thinks he has none at all.

Btw when you fuck with the people he's protective over, he gets PISSED. We're getting a LOT of pissed off Missa in AMFMN <3 Ofc there'll be a lot of reaper tears too, his husband is suffering and there's little he can do about it. :( But ohohoho when the sad turns into rage. BARK WOOF. Eventually he decides EK is catching these hands and scythe.

He also shakes hands with his husband on being a self-sacrificing little shit. And. Yeah this is gonna happen later in the fic. (He's not dying dw dw)

You have no idea how excited I am that I basically get to build his dynamics with Fit, Etoiles, and Bagi from scratch. I'm so hyped. People are welcome to reply with this with any crumbs we have of their dynamics in canon but afaik they've rarely interacted outside of very minor moments, so AMFMN will largely be a sandbox for me to establish what I THINK they'd be like. Which in my fic plan so far, is largely taking each character's personality and applying how I think they'd react to a situation, and how that would look when two of them are interacting in that situation. Ex: at one point Etoiles has to comfort Missa bc he's just having a ROUGH time with this saving Phil stuff. But Etoiles is NOT a comfort guy. So he does his Etoiles thing: hearing Missa out while also cracking his usual brand of jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.

I also have a plot point planned with him and Bagi when shit is hitting the fan the hardest and OUUGHHH. That self-sacrificing shit am I right.

God I'm being so mean to him specifically in AMFMN though. Ender King is a sack of shit, he knows exactly who to harass most using Phil's body >:/

See in my AMFMN Fitza headcanons, I said they're each other's confidants. Which IS true. However, no one in the fic gets the honor of Phil FINALLY communicating with someone about his issues other than his husband. Missa is the person he caves and confesses things to. Missa gets the HC Deity lore and what's been happening to him lately. This is actually what Chapter 3 is :D

Also I am so sorry but I'm sliding a Missa Romantic Love Confession attempt into the fic and it gets interrupted by The Horrors. But yeah Missa is romantically in love with Phil, he just respects that Phil sees things platonically. He still wants to communicate his feelings though.

#qsmp #qsmp pissa #pissa #qsmp philza #qsmp missa #AMFMN things #deathduo #qsmp deathduo

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monstersinthecosmos · 18 days

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i want a human AU about Marius as just a really boring guy with an office job, divorced sad sack nearing mid-life crisis realizing he hasn't made a career of his many passions, super strung tight and touch starved and lonely and a friend (probably a weirdo friend like Avi) finally gives him the number for a dom service he should try. And Marius's interest is piqued; he remembers being into stuff like this before the divorce shriveled up his libido, and tbh it's not entirely even ABOUT libido as much as like, maybe he just wants someone to hit him so that he feels something, and then he'll be able to get some sleep.

so anyway a few weeks later after he's worked up the courage and filled out the little survey online and signed all the waivers and submitted his medical documents etc he has his first session with Amadeo; he shells out for a nice hotel room, not sure if it's appropriate to bring this person home, maybe secretly wanting to show off, but Amadeo is so cold and deadpan and doesn't even comment on it, isn't impressed at all. He shows up in jeans and a ratty hoodie and just pushes forward to go change in the bathroom, and comes out in tight black shiny gear, flogger in hand, and after an hour Marius's ears are ringing and he's red all over and he had no idea so much degrading, mean shit could come out of this angelic looking face.

Amadeo doesn't talk much afterwards but sticks around for a little while, back in his jeans and hoodie, and he makes Marius tea and asks if he wants a massage. There are a few minutes that Marius feels the threat of sub drop hovering at the edges, feeling old and stupid, thinking his life has been a waste, but Amadeo is graceful enough to distract him. Doesn't talk much, just enough, asks if he wants to put a movie on, and Marius watches the soft curiosity in his face as he keeps glancing at the screen.

Marius tips him well, thanks him, spends the night in the hotel since he paid for it.

It becomes a regular spot in their calendars. They get a little more elaborate. Amadeo is honest when he's not confident about something, and keeps it professional, but he allows Marius to teach him. Marius shows him all the knots he likes, and teaches him some other methods for impact play. More and more, in the aftercare when they're done, Amadeo's personality comes out. He talks more. Marius even gets him to laugh.

And Amadeo is professional, but he's young. Marius notices when his resolve starts to chip away. Maybe Marius leans into it, even though he knows he shouldn't. Maybe it turns into breaking some rules on their original contract, like when they finally make out. And the time Marius finally reaches to touch the bulge in Amadeo's pants, because Amadeo never gets off in their sessions. Even Amadeo's agency discourages unsafe sex or fluid exchange, and neither of them talk about it when Marius finally sucks him off, and Amadeo comes all over his face.

So what happens when it gets unethical, when they're in too deep? Amadeo tells him one night that he doesn't think he should see Marius as a client anymore, that their boundaries have become too murky, and he suggests someone else that Marius could see instead, but it just turns into them meeting outside the agency. Meeting in the daylight, for coffee, and Amadeo blushes when Marius puts a hand on his leg beneath the table.

"I still want to pay you, you know," Marius says, near his ear. "Not as a client. I just want to pay you."

And just a bit longer before they finally start meeting at Marius's house. Off the books now, no agency involved, but Marius keeps paying him. And texts him through the week, buys him clothes, Venmo's him with a note to treat himself to lunch. Whenever Marius gets paid he thinks about how much he'll pass onward to Amadeo. Sometimes, watching the numbers drain from his bank account feels the same as an orgasm draining his body.

Maybe a year in before they finally fuck. And at first it's still Amadeo in charge. Smacking him on the face and telling him what to do, telling him how fast to go, making demands. Riding him for the first half, staring down at Marius like he's worthless. Stoic for as long as he can before he falls apart whimpering, and then he's just a brat. He doesn't protest when Marius takes control, flips them over, rails him into the mattress. Tears in Amadeo's eyes as he comes on his soft belly, and he presses his hands to his face to hide.

Then, the next time after that, Amadeo actually spends the night.

His name is Armand, he admits one day. Quietly, after dinner, as Marius signs the check. His real name, he means. And he's blushing again, and looking away, and tells Marius he can still call him Amadeo if he wants to. But his name is Armand. If he likes that instead.

And Amadeo was the dom, but Armand is something else.

Marius should have known, when he saw the eagerness, teaching him how to work rope and teaching him the best places to land a flogger and he should've known as Amadeo's façade cracked, every time they've fucked, the way he became so small and needy. He should've seen the way his big wet eyes could follow Marius around the room sometimes.

Subbing was fun for Marius and he needs it sometimes, for sure. But he's in too deep now. He needs both, he needs anything. He needs Armand most of all. And domming Armand is just as good.

#marius/armand #simple italian perv #wow i meant to just drop a quick headcanon i got a little carried away #marius de romanus

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goodnightmemes · 6 months

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THE CRAFT (1996) SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ I can't stay home and watch daytime TV for the rest of my life. ❜

❛ The almanac says today will bring an arrival of something. ❜

❛ We need someone to call out the corners-- north, south, east and west. ❜

❛ I am sorry. My defenses are up. People here have been really rude to me. ❜

❛ He comes on to anything with tits. ❜

❛ Everything in nature steals, you know. Big animals steal from little ones. ❜

❛ Maybe you're a natural witch. Your power comes from within. ❜

❛ I had a dream about you. In my dream, you were dead. ❜

❛ Man invented God. This is older than that. ❜

❛ Do you guys worship the devil? ❜

❛ Sometimes I will want it to rain, and a pipe will burst in my room and it will just get flooded. Or I will want it just to be quiet, and I will wish for it, and I will go deaf for three days straight. ❜

❛ Nothing makes everything all better again. ❜

❛ Maybe he was just trying to save face then... because... he's going around the whole school saying that... you're the lousiest lay he's ever had. ❜

❛ Why'd you lie about me? ❜

❛ Look, I don't want to go out with you again. Okay? Please stop begging. It's pathetic. ❜

❛ She's gonna cry, and then I am gonna cry. We're all gonna cry. ❜

❛ You girls watch out for those weirdos. ❜

❛ We are the weirdos. ❜

❛ Did you tell your friends? That you're a lying sack of shit. ❜

❛ Did you ever play that game, light as a feather, stiff as a board? ❜

❛ I think she doesn't want to be white trash any more. And I told her, "You're white, honey. Just deal with it." ❜

❛ Ever since I was a little girl I said, “All I want in life is a juke box that plays nothing but Connie Francis records.' ❜

❛ It's just that I can't stop thinking about you. I don't know why, but I think I love you. ❜

❛ I don't know what's happening to me. I can't eat. I can't sleep. ❜

❛ When you open a floodgate, how do you undo it? You unleash something with a spell. There is no undoing. It must run its course. ❜

❛ You should let him suffer. ❜

❛ It's not for you to judge suffering. ❜

❛ True magic is neither black nor white. It's both because nature is both. Loving and cruel, all at the same time. The only good or bad is in the heart of the witch. ❜

❛ Whatever you send out you get back times three. ❜

❛ You want to invoke the spirit? You must be experienced to do this. It's very dangerous. ❜

❛ You know, the serpent is a very powerful being. You should respect it. ❜

❛ Listen, all I am saying is I think it's enough already. ❜

❛ I know you think we're getting what we want now, but it's going to come back to us threefold. ❜

❛ Are we actually having a theological conversation here? ❜

❛ I mean, it's fun, it's scary. I mean, who gives a shit? ❜

❛ Stop trying to win them over, because it won't work. ❜

❛ How do you know what I look like? We're talking on the phone. ❜

❛ I disagreed with them once, and they turned their backs on me. That's not friendship. ❜

❛ Sometimes it's like we're one person. Know what I mean? ❜

❛ You should have seen the look in his eyes. It was so weird. They seemed empty, like it wasn't even him. ❜

❛ You're a witch! They were right. ❜

❛ The only reason you're in love with her is because she cast a spell on you. Sad, but true. ❜

❛ You don't even exist to me! You don't even exist. You are nothing. ❜

❛ The only way you know how to treat women is by treating them like whores! ❜

❛ He's sorry? Oh, he's sorry! He's sorry! He's sorry! Sorry, my ass! ❜

❛ Don't touch me! Everything I touch turns to shit. ❜

❛ You know, in the old days if a witch betrayed her coven... they would kill her. ❜

❛ I know I don't know you very well, but I just didn't know where else to go. ❜

❛ And now, it's like everywhere I turn, they're all around me. No matter what I do, ❛ they're still there. I don't know what to do. ��

❛ She's inside my dreams. She knows what's going on inside my head. She can read my mind. ❜

❛ I can't control it. I always end up hurting somebody. ❜

❛ You must invoke the spirit. ❜

❛ If it isn’t real then why are you still bleeding? ❜

❛ Run! Run back up to your room like the little coward that you are. ❜

❛ What's going on? Why aren't you dead? ❜

❛ He came to me. Saved me. And he wanted me to give you a message. You're in deep shit. ❜

❛ By the way, what happened to [name]? They rushed out of here without even saying good-bye. That's bad manners. ❜

❛ Relax. It's only magic. ❜

❛ Look. I know I am a little crazy. I don't mean to be. ❜

❛ It all got out of hand, and I am sorry. No more games, okay? ❜

❛ We were just wondering, do you still have any powers? Because we don't. ❜

❛ Hold your breath until I call. ❜

❛ Be careful. You don't want to end up like [name]. ❜

#rp meme #rp prompt #sentence starters #sentence meme #roleplay prompts #role #inbox meme #askbox meme #rp prompts #rp memes #*movie

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wynnyfryd · 1 year

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from is this your card? pt 2

“Just invite him to play cards with you,” Robin suggests around a massive bite of pizza.

“Shit, Birdy,” he whistles, looking over at her with some mix of awe and alarm. Girl’s gonna choke herself someday. “Thought I was the gremlin in this friendship.”

“Wha’?” She tries to protest; there’s sauce all over her chin.

“Unhinge your jaw like a snake next time, save yourself the trouble.”

She bounces on the lumpy couch cushion, overcome with that specific excitement she gets right before she word-vomits useless trivia. “Did you know a python can open its mouth up to a hundred and eighty degrees?”

Eddie stares at her blankly.

Robin squirms.

“…What about a king cobra?”

“One-thirty-five,” she answers without missing a beat and reaches for a second slice, dropping the uneaten crust back in the box. “And, anyway, I take it back. You’re not allowed to invite Steve over or hang out with him without me because the two of you are going to be a total nightmare for me if you ever manage to get it together and start going out.”

Eddie arranges her abandoned crust beneath two pieces of pepperoni on his paper plate to make a frowny face. “But Robi-i-inn,” he whines, pitching his voice all high and stupid.

“Please tell Mr. Pepperoni that his pouting game needs work and that I am not swayed.”

“Rude.” He discards his plate and flops back on the couch with a put-out groan. Slings an arm over his eyes just to be dramatic. “This would be so much easier if he weren’t so intimidatingly hot. Why does he have to be so hot?”

Robin sucks a lump of cheese off her thumb. “I don’t know. Is he hot?”

“Dude.” Eddie sits back up, eyeing her with a blank stare and considering tossing her ass out of his living room. Is Steve Harrington hot? IS STEVE HARRINGTON HOT? Jesus Christ.

“What? He’s hairy, okay? Point your creepy laser vision somewhere else!”

“Excuse you! My eyes are not creepy! I have it on good authority that they’re pretty.”

“They’re piercing.”

“Whatever. You just can’t appreciate my beauty, Buckley. Or Steve’s, apparently.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

Robin and Eddie whip around, matching deer-in-headlights expressions at the sound of another voice in the room, and there’s Steve, suddenly, leaning against the door frame (Eddie has no idea how; dude’s a ninja or some shit), looking bashful but quietly pleased with his arms folded across his chest. Eddie desperately wants to bite the ring of freckles blooming on his tanned forearm.

He looks at Robin, and they both turn back to Steve and oh so elegantly bleat out: “Uhhhh…”

Smooth. Good save, Munson, real nice.

Robin pulls it together first, smiles wide and says, “Hi, Steve. Eddie was just being a homophobe as usual.”

“Dude! You have got to stop fucking accusing me of that shit, I’m literally gay!”

“Gay men are not immune to lesbophobia, Edward. It’s honestly a little concerning that you don’t know that.”

“Oh, holy shit, why do I hang out with you?”

Robin licks her teeth in smug delight and kicks at his thigh. “Because you cherish our time together.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“You think I’m an undeniable joy.”

“Steve. Steve, please get her out of my house.”

Eddie puts his head in his hands, but Robin’s picking up steam now, hopping up onto the couch cushion and brandishing a pizza crust like a torch, hoisting it high into the air, exclaiming, “Nay! A light, even! A shining beacon in your sad, dark little life!”

“Steve, I am begging you, man.”

Steve’s a real one because he doesn’t say a word, just crosses the room and chucks Robin over his shoulder like a sack of flour and carries her flailing out onto the front porch.

#hell honk #steddie #steddie fic #eddie munson #robin buckley #steve harrington #platonic stobin #platonic edbin #my writing #my fic

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inmyhorrorsera · 8 months

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S5E8 "The Roast" thoughts:

Ok, I watched this episode three times and I'm still smiling. I love when you think and episode is gonna be about something because of its title and then surprise you when its all a misdirection (see also: Succession's "Connor's Wedding").

At first Laszlo's err… state intrigued me, love everyone projecting and imposing their own insecurities (Guillermo's secret, Nadja's hex) as a reason on why he is behaving like that. And of course it's a stupid reason 😭.

"And a flat pepsi for Guillermo". Oh Nandor, that's the worst thing you ever done to Guillermo, that's the worst thing you could do to anyone. And yes, I remember a certain S4 episode.

I screeched like a bird when Colin mentioned dreaming about being a baby under Laszlo's care, not only because I wanted this shit to happen since the past finale, but also I really thought the episode was going on that direction (and also bc its another W for my predictions).

Having said that, LOVED the nonchalance of Nadja and the others when they were like 'no, it wasn't a dream, that totally happened'.

I mentioned it in a separate post: they really had a Sweet Dee in IASIP moment when The Guide gave the roast idea, only to be ignored and then the same idea being stolen by a dude who is celebrated.

Seanie's poor brain it should be soup at this point, we don't know if he can hazily remember the event like it happened before.

What can I remember is his line after Nadja's roast because it was one of the biggest laughs for me: "Women CAN be funny!" I fucking loved it so much, it's the perfect condescending shit straight men say all the time, even when they're trying to be complementary to you they can't stop being garbage. It was a simple line but Anthony nailed the delivery and timing. Seriously, rewatch that part.

At first I was confused why all the jokes were so mid, but shortly I realized this episode wasn't about the roast at all, lol.

Just by watching screenshots of other users I noticed that in the scene of Nandor resting his head on Guillermo's shoulder there's a BIG flame between them. LMAO. There's no way that is unintentional.

Good for The Guide being the catalyst of Baron Afanas learning the truth. I was demanding more screen time for her lately, so having some incidence in the main plot goes on the plus column.

The other guests present at the roast being shocked at the knowledge of Guillermo killing vampires surprised me; I always assumed Guillermo being a familiar/slayer was a known fact in the vampire community after his very public massacre at the Théâtre des Vampires.

Fuck yeah when I realized this is a Doug Jones spotlight episode, I just fuckin ahgdjkaksdf, love him, perfect, no notes.

The Baron being terrifying!! Guillermo was seriously scared for the others and he barely tried to show off his Van Helsing abilities.

Nandor and Nadja begging the Baron to not hurt Guillermo!! 😭 Them being dragged while grabbing the cape!! 😭 They're spiritual siblings to me!! 😭😭

They really reminded me a little bro and sis begging their mom to not hit their beloved older brother with the chancla for talking back or something.

I fell for the two fake-outs with the sack lol I'm so gullible when it comes to vampires I guess.

NANDOR PAINFUL SOUNDS (MOANS???) WHEN HE BELIEVED HE WAS IN FRONT OF GUILLERMO'S INERT BODY. IT WAS SAD BUT ALSO A LITTLE HORNY!!!

"At least he died doing what he loved: beating off in the toolshed."

A wonderful small detail: After Laszlo opened fake Guillermo with the knife he cleaned his hands on The Guide's dress.

Idc if you think its dark, the whole 'Nandor will kill you and then kill himself' bit becoming a recurring joke it's peak writing.

I wish I can say something more serious about Baron Afanas' sadness over how boring his life is now. But I just keep thinking that the way he talks about his homelife with The Sire and the Hellhound sounds exactly when a dude has a middle life crisis and suddenly he doesn't enjoy his marriage anymore. They're husbands!! And I loved how cunty he looked at the end all half-charred (see posted gif) Queen!

Now, the Nandermo of it all: What more can I say than incoherent screaming and foaming from the mouth? Episodes 8 are all about them again!! Nandor on the window looking all cliched melancholic heroine of a romance novel?? How relieved he was when he found him in the coffin??? Him still remembering Guillermo's card word for word???!! Knowing that this toxic dark sided devotion goes both ways???!!! Borrowing the words of Fleabag: THIS IS A LOVE STORY.

Seriously, I know all these soft Nandor moments are here so the heartbreak when he learns about Guillermo being turned it's even bigger. But still denying that there is a romantic undertone between these two it's just being purposely adamant at this point (i'm looking at you wwdits reddit). Even if nothing explicitly romantic happens on screen, just by watching these moments, I know, we know.

Now, go listen to the ending song again. You will not regret it.

#i wish nandermo enjoyers only good dreams tonight!#to the others sorry err for me keep winning and being right #nandermo #wwdits #what we do in the shadows #wwdits thoughts

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hourglassfish · 8 months

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A (long) Aside on 1:7 and 2:10

There are two responses to 1:7 and 2:10 that always quietly horrify me.

The first, and you know, I'm writing a multi part series on it, so it's no mystery - is that Sydney was arrogant/a brat/ couldn't hack it/ wrong to walk out, and that the situation as a whole was her fault. Nah. She was right to walk out, the biggest failure of that episode is not fucking pulling the breaks when Richie gets stabbed. The workplace has gone from dysfunctional to dangerous, she has been responsible for that danger, the perpetrator of it, and she is right to leave.

little bit of an asshole but i love you so i don't care

Carmy sees Syd saying she's going to stab Richie (as she holds her knife to his chest!) while they're up in each other's faces (with Richie goading her) and he does... nothing. He tells them to shut the fuck up and make giardiniera. At this point they needed to be separated! One or both of them needed to cool off. We've seen Syd bodily put herself between a fighting Carmy and Richie. A little reciprocity would have gone a long way here.

It's wild to me that people think that Carmy was justified in his anger and aggression towards Marcus and Syd and ignore that he is aggressive to Richie also! Richie, typically one of the more confrontational characters in the show asks him to calm down, to cool it. That so many viewers so quickly and uncritically accept Carmy's narrative point of view, even while the show actively challenges it confirms something that has been in the culture a long time: that we are much more used to excusing and aligning ourselves with abusive behaviour, than we are at challenging and refusing it. That people - many of whom have received this kind of behaviour themselves - want to defend it, makes me so, so sad.

It always hurts me a little that in 1:8 Tina tells Carmy that if he 'tries that shit with her, she'll fuck him up'. It's a fun line! But I'm sorry, no she won't. He screams at her too, while chucking bowls around and Sydney's words in 1:7 clearly hurt her. Tina categorically did nothing wrong. She doesn't deserve that shit. But at the end of the day, she is a middle aged Latinx woman and a mother, and so her tolerance level has to be higher. She needs that job! Shedoes not, as far as we know, have a father she can live with rent free, she does not have youth and the promise of exploitable potential to offer to employers in an ageist job market, she does not have CIA qualifications or a CV full of ‘serious heat’.

Carmy. holds. a. position. of. power. over. these. people. He is their boss, not their manager, and he owns the place, mob loan or no. He has the power to sack them all, to cut their hours, to cut their wages; thus the impact of that power extends not just to them, but also to their children and families. Louis being present in Review is not just to add an obstacle, it's also a reminder of those stakes.

Carmy has influence in the fine dining industry, regardless of whether that social and cultural capital is respected at The Beef or not. The very same oppourtunities that he provides them with in season 2 are things he could also lock them out of if he so chose. Any analysis of 1:7 that ignores this power is flawed from its root. When you are a boss, this power is ever present. One of the few things you can do to alter your boss's behaviour is to withdraw your labour. It's not the only option you have, but everything else is at their discretion, or mediated by lengthy, expensive legal processes.

yeh, i hate this

Carmy knows this, even if you don't! It's why the apology he gives Marcus - which Marcus does not ask for - is so heartfelt. Carmy has been on the receiving end of what that power, wielded cruelly, can do. He does not want to do this to others. We see him talk to staff with respect even while he endures horrid abuse in a flashback. We see him teach and explain himself, we see him listen and invite feedback - ‘say more’. His commitment to being a good boss is sincere, that kindness is in his bones.

The second thing people say that makes me want to die a little inside is that Carmy bought getting locked in the fridge on himself, that he deserved it in some way, and that getting locked in the fridge was him abandoning Sydney.

Oh my god!

He does not have a diagnosis yet - so anything we see is an interpretation. But it feels explicit that Carmy has panic disorder, and perhaps generalised anxiety disorder and CPTSD from both his workplace experiences and his childhood. A couple of things that he says and does suggest ADHD, or some other neurodiversity. He is not very careful with himself, and does not recognise these things as treatable problems (Richie says he experiences anxiety and dread, Carmy's response is 'who doesn't' - wince, cruel to Richie, cruel to himself - vomiting everyday and crying out of nowhere are presented as something 'loads of people do' to Sugar. Tumblr loves to send people to therapy, but I just want to send this man to do a basic google search of more than fun tbh). But they are debilitating for him, especially at work.

What happens to how we read Carmy's behaviour when he is presented as someone with an untreated disability, and absolutely no support plan in place? Does he still get his just desserts at the end of the season?

The fridge thing is a bit clumsy, I think. It's silly that over the space of three months, no one at any point just takes that job off him as a priority, or at least makes it something where Tony will call the restaurant, not Carmy specifically. It is unrealistic that there would not be some kind of back up safety lock inside the fridge. But you know, they're characters in a TV show, it also does not take two people swivelling around on the floor to tighten the coat hooks on a table (LOOOOOOL) - it's realistic until its not.

But, you know, it's doing a thing, several things - it's Chekov's gun, isn't it, it's the tangible impact of the lapse of focus that Uncle Jimmy is constantly trying to warn them about.

He wanted to cry here so bad!!! It makes me laugh every time

But umm... guys? What happens to him on that night is so, so horrible. They're a chef down, they're running out of forks, Richie's giving him shit (and Carmy is so susceptible to Richie giving him shit), Marcus and Syd are being all weird. He thinks one of his abusers (Donna) might come, or that she might not come and there will be emotional fallout from that. He thinks he sees his other abuser (Evil Joel Mc Hale) - and he's triggered. He goes in the kitchen and yells, but Syd pulls him back in. Then he goes into the fridge, partly to do chef stuff, I'm sure, but also partly to fucking get his shit together aaaaaand he gets locked in there! He has a panic attack! In a fridge! That he is locked in! And the people he loves most in the world, are the other side of that door, and for five minutes, an eternity in panic attack time, they ignore him! He has no clue what's going on! Last time shit hit the fan, two of his staff walked out (he's still not over Syd walking out cus they never talk about it properly), another one got stabbed and all these new ones are 'emerald green'. And he still thinks evil Joel Mc Hale is out there!

My loves, that shit is the stuff of nightmares! I know he tells himself that he bought this on himself but can we please! stop! uncritically! accepting! his narrative! point! of view!

I don't think anybody on screen recognises that a panic attack is what he's having. That's not their fault. None of them have seen him have a panic attack! They don’t get to see inside his head like we do (which saves them from a lot of R.E.M.) He is locked in the fridge, they just hear the bear banging on the door of his cage! It's not even in the language of the show at this point (though i am curious about how and when Richie came to get his Xanax). But that's what's happening. The team are fine. They do great. He has a terrible, terrible time.

My support worker found 2:10 deeply triggering - and her reason for this, she said, was that a lot of her job was supporting people with panic disorders who are leading teams, and seeing that moment coming, the moment where the panic crashes headlong into their role as leader. Part of her role is anticipating it, and trying to turn it around before they reach the point of no return. And as soon as Carmy thinks he sees Old Boss, he's gone. His body is in flight or fight, and he is alone with that. He can’t show up for Syd at that point, he is in his equivalent of the trenches.

This is also what is happening in 1:7. Somehow his response is often framed as a) rational or b) just an asshole - but it is so outsize to the situation, and to who we know him to be most of the time (quiet, kind, thoughtful, sensitive, BITCHY), that we know it has to be more than that.

None of this is helped by the fact that Carmy's panic attacks are... well they're kind of ugly! His meltdowns are aggressive and shouty, on the edge of physical violence, in an industry where people behave like that because they can. It is hard, parsing through that to the triggers, and fears, and panic beneath. It's scary! It asks so much of people to see that and want to help, not run away. But that is where he's at.

I do not have language for how much I hate how physical he gets with Marcus here, it is deeply upsetting

I have an access rider, to help me work well with people, and to help them work well with me. My mental health turns up in every job I do. All the time. Has done for years. It can make me unreliable, uncommunicative and absent. It can mean that people have to step up sometimes in ways they weren't anticipating. And one of the things the rider asks for is 'Good Faith' - a belief that I have not shut down because I'm an asshole, but rather because I have some unhelpful coping mechanisms that I am trying to work my way out of, that my triggers are real, not excuses for laziness or an expression of lack of care, that i will give as much as I can when I can.

Syd and Carmy are beginning to work towards this - Carmy says over and over again that he doesn't want to be shitty. Claire fucking muddies things, because I will not meet you skiving off to see your girlfriend with good faith fam. That shit he needs to be held accountable for. Dropping that envelope was a perfect Richie job, I'm still pissed about that. But being locked in the fridge... there's way more going on there.

The idea that Carmy should, and will, leave the culinary world keeps coming up in various metas. But... the problem isn't cooking? I think Carmy loves cooking, still. I think he likes being part of a team, and wants to be good at it. I think he likes teaching, and he is good at that. I think he likes picking the right silent plates and having his CDC in Thom Browne. I also think he likes being there a lot and being absorbed by his job.

The problem is that the workplace he is in is not one that is set up to his needs right now - it's not set up so that he can rest enough, so that he can eat well, so that he can exercise, or whatever he needs to do to help him manage his brain and nervous system. It's not set up so that if he is triggered, he and his team knows how to keep going with the service *and* not abandon him to the worst of his brain.

Ohhhh it's bad

Carmy ignoring Claire's call and not calling Tony feels bizarre stripped of the context of his panic attack that morning. But we know that anxiety and panic and executive dysfunction take simple things and make them insurmountable. It's not about Sydney in that moment, or even really about Claire*, and self sabotage feels so weighted with judgement when I think about what those frozen moments feel like from the inside. And I've had my diagnoses for 12 years! I've been doing that work, the long slog of trying to make sure my employees know enough context that my MH doesn't fuck up their day, whilst also maintaining my own dignity and right to privacy.

The disentangling of symptoms from personality traits is so hard - fuck ups from trauma responses, what was preventable, and what might have happened even if you did everything right. I never want to lose sight of compassion for Carmy, and the reality of how long it takes to break those cycles.

I also never want to stop seeing the power that he has over the people that he works with, and how, unfortunately, one of the responsibilities of leadership is that you have to be trying to get your shit together, you have to know yourself, and know how your baggage, combined with your power could be creating harm. It’s hard, but there’s not way around it. It is essential that he gets the support he needs, and puts the measures in place that means that he can also be vulnerable, not just for him, but for the team as whole. The power and the lack of framework together are so very harmful for everyone.

makes for delicious tv though 😉

I think a lot about the ticket machines in The Bear. I'm not thinking about them as a former line chef, cus I'm not that, I'm an artist and writer, that waitressed for a while (while a lot of chefs did a lot of coke out back!) and The Bear is fiction, not a documentary. Those little tickets are used for so many things. They're the sound of pressure. They're where a bunch of intrusive thoughts get flashed up on the screen. They are the presence of tech and of speed and alienation. They are the gap where two human beings, one asking for food, and one cooking that food, become consumer and producer. They are a presence of the machine in the workplace, and they stand in for Marcus's machines in McDonald's and for Evil Joel McHale and for financial failure.

One of the things that capitalism demands is that we always listen to that machine. That when we are making a choice, between the people stood around us, who we work with daily, who we live massive chunks of our life with, and the demand for production for go go go - that we choose the latter, even if it harms the former. That we open for service, even though one of our oldest friends just got stabbed. That we prioritise getting the service turned around on Friends and Family night (the easiest night of the year to go out, pour more wine, and say service is a little delayed, but we've got this), rather than maybe asking Fak or even Claire, to come and talk to Carmy through the door, as well, make sure that he's OK. That we just keep going.

And there are so many really important reasons to do that! Keeping going is how we learn and grow, it's how we make sure that we can pay the bills, how we provide beautiful experiences for customers and guests who are more than consumers to us.

But at some point, we have to ask at what cost. When do we stop and make different? When do we try something else, make new systems, that work for us?

A moment - a small, tiny moment - of triumph for me, is when Richie and Syd turn the table around. So rather than one person, facing the tickets alone, with their back to the kitchen as they yell out orders, the person on Expo faces in. yes they can see the tickets, but they can also see the people they are working with. They can see stress, and worry and joy. They can see how hard they are working. They can see that they are not alone, not just in a promise before service, but during service, when you need that connection most.

My hope is that Season 3 will have more of them making these decisions - ones that lean into seeing each other, where their relationships keep growing, and they build a system where the love and care they have for each other is truthfully at the heart of it.

Richie is not my bag, that's just for me, personally, but I get how much he means to others, and he's beautiful here.

*Man, I do think the romance subplot was a bit of a misstep. Pop always feels like such a waste of the audience's time, time not spent with Ebra and Tina, time spent on a presentation of romance that has been done to death and is never especially satisfying. Truncates a lot of empathy for Carmy. Boo. Hiss.

#the bear #carmy berzatto #sydney adamu

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