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bunnypansy · 10 months

Text

NSFW Alphabet: Pantalone!

Rated R for EXPLICIT CONTENT!

A short script about the ABCs of The Regrator's sex life!

Featuring: Pantalone, and you!

Beware! This film contains: sexual content (duh), objectification, humiliation, financial domination, pet play, submission, handcuffs, spit kink, orgasm denial, edging, dacryphilia, mild degradation

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Perfect. Really! While the richest harbinger, Pantalone does not strike me as the lazy type. He’s not going to pawn off the aftercare on any staff, he’d rather do it himself. Pantalone goes through the same steps every time; he quickly cleans himself up, then gently wipes up the majority of your… fluids. He’ll run you both a nice bath- and you KNOW the Regrator has a giant, beautiful bathtub. Of course, Pantalone will clean you up with the highest quality soap, and when you’re done, he’ll moisturize you from head to toe! No need to stay awake, Pantalone doesn’t mind if you doze off. While he’s mostly hands on, he’ll have staff swap out the messy sheets before he lays you down to rest. Most likely, he’ll hold you close while you fall asleep and he reads.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Your skin overall, which yeah, I know sounds weird, but walk with me. He loves your soft, smooth skin that’s perfect for bruising, kissing, biting; so pretty and delicate. Even in nonsexual moments, Pantalone likes to run his fingers over your skin and trace patterns, just for funsies. Like most of his things, he’ll do his best to make you take care of your beautiful skin. Also lips, beautiful, soft, pink lips just get him hard immediately; wear lip gloss and he’ll fall apart.

It’s not hard to see that Pantalone takes incredible care of his hair. He spends an immeasurable amount of time fussing over it, with a detailed washing schedule and care instructions. He spends much of his morning routine brushing, and styling his hair; if you feel like playing with it or styling it, feel free- but NEVER pull on his hair. EVER.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Pantalone takes impeccable care of himself, he’s well hydrated and keeps a good diet, so his cum is a clear, almost pearly color. It’s textured a lot like syrup and has almost no taste except for a faint saltiness- you’re not really sure how he makes his cum that flavorless. Pantalone doesn’t cum very much, it’s a bit disappointing but I’ll let you in on a little secret; if you squeeze his balls a lil bit you can make him squirt, and if you feel like putting in the effort, keep milking his cock after he starts cumming and he’ll cum even more. Please draw out his orgasm!!! Pantalone prefers cumming in your mouth, on your face or on your tummy- he’s not fond of trying to scoop his cum out of you later, too messy. Besides, don’t you just look beautiful with his cum on your face? Of course you do.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wants to try butt stuff. Huh? No no, not on you. (:

Okay fine I'll elaborate. I don't think he's experimented with anal on his own, he simply has a curiosity that he wants to sate. After sometime, Pantalone might bring up the subject, as casually as one might talk about the weather over morning tea. He actually wants to start rather vanilla with this, a bit of fingering, some gentler sex. After getting a small taste for subbing, he might let you do a few other things to him (cough cough sounding)

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Fairly? I don’t think he’s all that experienced when it comes to sustained relationships, he's very busy and not opposed to hiring sex workers! Everyone has needs, and he is happy to pay for services he deems necessary, as long as he’s satisfied with the result. In short; intimate experience? No. Casual experience? Yes.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Pantalone is usually fucking on the go (read: in his office), so he usually goes for the classic bending over desk. If he’s in the office, he’ll press your chest down the desktop and take you from behind, usually with his fingers in your mouth to pull you back and hold your jaw open. For a long while, he'll probably do this in the bedroom for a while too, bending you over the edge of the bed instead; but once he gets more accustomed to intimacy, I think he'll switch to missionary. Call it vanilla, but he likes being able to see your face, your expressions really heighten the experience for him.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

I wouldn't call it humorous, so much as mocking. He's not laughing with you, he's laughing at you. Pantalone likes humiliating you in little ways, squishing your tear-stained cheeks together and calling you a crybaby, then laughing at you. If you try to tease him back however, he'll brush it off and somehow turn it back onto you. He's mean? Awww, but you like it don't you? Mean perv.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Pantalone strikes me as the sort of man who just. Full body waxes. Not hair to be found on this man. Which is a damn shame cus he's got some of the most beautiful hair I've ever seen, so silky and soft… no he won't stop waxing even if you beg. Sorry sports fans, your hairy man is in another castle.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

When Pantalone was younger, (shallow) people weren’t exactly interested in him, now he’s just too busy with work to bother forming a relationship with others, so he's used to transactional sex. He's probably going to remain rather distant for a while; you will have to have a conversation about it for sure. Pantalone will take your criticism into consideration very easily, he wants you both to enjoy your time after all, then change his behavior for you. It's going to be an awkward change at first, and he'll engage in a lot of pillow talk to go over what was good and what needs improvement, but Pantalone will be nothing but agreeable.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Why would he attempt to satisfy himself with his hands when he could just pay for an escort? Truly, Pantalone doesn't see the need and doesn't get horny enough to crank the ol' hog. But I am nothing if not a kind God! So I'll write this for you anyway.

Unlike with sex, Pantalone will not want to mastrubate in his office, it's too vulnerable and he finds it a bit embarrassing. He is definitely the type of guy to take it slowly, slow strokes over his shaft and rubbing his thumb over his tip, then a good squeeze around the base. Pantalone stays quiet most of the time, just barely panting as he touches himself.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Humiliation: Pantalone loves to feel superior, full stop. As long as you give consent, Pantalone likes to keep you naked in his office, sitting on his desk or the floor like an ornament. His favorite thing to do is keep you bound in a corner, stuffed full of toys for anyone to see, but only him to touch.

Financial domination: He likes being the one with all the money in the relationship. A little part of himself thinks you'll only like him as long as he's rich, so flaunting his wealth to you is a turn on. It's also relieving to him that you're dependent, so that way, you can never leave. Pantalone loves most to dress you up in fineries, then tear it all off in the heat of the moment, just to prove how little those things mean to him.

Mild pet play: dragging you around on a leash is one of Pantalone's greatest pleasures. He likes feeling as if he owns you, calling you pet, giving you orders. Pantalone is definitely the type to buy you a very fancy collar with real jewels on it, then use it as a handle while you fuck. If he's going to have any pet, it'll be a puppy, he's interested in the absolute obedience dogs have.

Submission: Pantalone does not put up with brats, hands down. He desires complete and utter obedience from you in the bedroom, you can either comply or miss out on your dick appointment. Brat taming? In this economy?

Handcuffs: While I don't feel Pantalone likes full body bondage (he likes to feel you struggle against him), he appreciates handcuffs or general hand bondage. It's a good way to yank you around and make sure you don't pull his hair out. His personal favorite is to bind your hands, then make you sit on his lap with your arms around his neck.

Spit: I can't say I have strong reasoning for this, it's just a gut feeling. It's something about spitting in your mouth and making you swallow it that makes the possessive part of him flare up.

Objectification: I mean really, is anyone surprised? This man fully believes he can buy anything, including you. He owns you, and he's not going to act otherwise. Sometimes, if he's had a stressful night, he'll just lube you up and fuck you like a fleshlight, and he's not afraid call you such things either. "Pet", "toy", and "doll" are some of his favorite things to call you.

Orgasm denial/Edging (they go hand in hand for this man): This follows closely with his objectification kink- oh you wanna cum? No, no, no, pet. Fleshlights don't need to cum do they? Ah- they don't talk, either. Watching you squirm and cry for him strokes his ego greatly, and he's not afraid to make you beg.

Dacryphilia: You look. So pretty. When you cry. Your lips trembling, your eyes glittering with tears, eyes and nose reddened, cheeks wet- and at his hand? Even better. Of course, Pantalone cares too much about you to enjoy when you're simply miserable, but when he edges you to tears? Nothing better.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Pantalone is a rather private man, he'll want to stick to his two safe spaces; your bedroom and his office. Of course, the bedroom is your house, but he claims that no one can argue with what he does in the privacy of his own office, especially if someone forgets to knock- not like he'd stop either way. Public bathrooms or secluded alleys are beneath him, while fucking on couches or in showers is just too much of a hassle.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

What Pantalone REALLY wants out of this, is to feel like he owns you. He wants to know that you belong to him, that you are dependent upon him, and that he controls you; it's almost a comfort to him. If Pantalone holds all the control between the two of you, then it is utterly up to him whether you stay or go.

However, Pantalone will spend every waking moment reminding you why you should stay, and this applies to the bedroom as well. He wants to hear you cry out, feel you squirm, watch you cry; a reminder that he is the best man you will ever have.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Piss. I wouldn't call this particularly controversial, only a bit disappointing for the little pee-pee boys in the crowd (it's me I'm pee-pee boys). He doesn't like much of any kink that creates smell and a mess, it's just too much of a hassle to clean up and isn't worth it to him.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

For such a greedy man, Pantalone is a giver!!!! He doesn't care for receiving oral- it's fine -but why would he waste his time on fucking your mouth when he can be inside you? He much prefers the reactions he gets from eating you out or sucking you off. Considering this a bonus to the favorite position category, but when giving oral Pantalone has two favorite positions; letting you lay back and grabbing your hips to lift you to his mouth, or placing you on his lap upside down so your knees rest on his shoulders.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Pantalone keeps his pace moderate, focusing on making his thrusts deep and hard instead. He'll grab your waist and roll his hips against yours, aiming for all your sensitive spots with long, deep strokes. Of course, Pantalone's pace becomes a bit erratic when he's closer to cumming, speeding up then slowing to crawl- you know he's really at the edge when he starts pounding you as hard and fast as you can.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

No. Sorry guys. Pantalone wants to take his time with you and isn't going to settle for an ultimately dissatisfying quickie, he won't apologize either. Good things come to those who wait, don't they?

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

If you wanna try something new, Pantalone is happy to agree, most times he won't say no; though he might show hesitation if you ask him to harm you. You'll have to tell him in advance so he can properly research the kink and how to enact the fantasy safely, and even before you have sex he'll probably warn you that he's going to try something new.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

My guy is a one and done kind of man, squirt then skirt if you will. So yeah, unfortunately you're only getting a single round out of Pantalone, but that round can last about as long as you like- and perhaps longer. A session with Pantalone can last from one hour up to three, and he won't let himself cum once until you cum at least twice, so there are no worries of being left unsatisfied.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Yes! Absolutely! Nipple clamps, a couple bullet vibrators, a wand vibrator, vary sizes of plugs, beads and dildos, an O-ring gag, spreader bars- though he only uses those last two if you're being shy with him. For afab partners he also owns a rosebud vibrator, and for the amabs he owns sounding rods and cock rings. Mostly the toys are for you, but with a bit of encouragement you might be able to coax him into using a few on himself. After a fair bit of experimentation, Pantalone finds himself in favor of wearing a cock ring and nipple clamps while fucking you… you might get him to warm up to a bit of sounding.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

If Pantalone isn't a tease, then I don't know who is. He takes great pleasure in riling you up, then denying you sex entirely, not even allowing you to touch yourself; a test of your obedience. God forbid you break his rules and get caught using any toys on yourself- and you will get caught -Pantalone will spend hours punishing you for disobedience. You'll find yourself handcuffed and stuck in spreader bars, the largest dildo of Pantalone's collection stuffed into your hole. Your lover shows no kindness, grabbing the base of the toy and ramming it in and out as fast and hard as he can, but stopping right before you cum and waiting however long it takes for you to calm down. This will go on for hours until you're sobbing, begging for forgiveness and wailing your apologies. So yeah. Pantalone is far from fair.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

A few whimpers, mostly panting, maybe grunt here or there; While Pantalone may not be much of a moaner, he certainly is a chatterbox! He'll go on and on with you, muttering praise and degradation, fully expecting a response from you (how unrealistic, sir). He gets even worse when he gets closer to his orgasm; Pantalone's words break up with moans and become less coherent, but he still forces them out as fast as he possibly can, until he's stuttering forward a slew of curses at a near shout. Cutie <3

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

The male boob lovers in the crowd are going to like this one- I believe with my entire heart that my double D malewife has sensitive nipples, his left one pierced. They're naturally puffy and pink, and they turn all red and swollen when you play with them. Unfortunately, Pantalone isn't going to give you much of a chance to toy with his chest, so when do you get boob time? One of the few times he subs, that's when. He's not going to argue if you pinch and pull on his nipples in the middle of easing your way inside of him, Pantalone is going to whimper. Enjoy this power, and use it wisely.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

This man is vice president of the pretty penis club (I'll elaborate on the prez in a later post). He sits around 5.7-ish flaccid and an easy 6 when he's hard, a skinny penis haver but it's okay because I love him. He only really has one prominent vein that trails from the underside of his shaft then wraps around to the front side, just beneath his tip. Speaking of his tip!! It's a beautiful shade of pink that reddens when he gets hard, and drips soooo much pre. He's got a slight upward curve and when he's very hard, his dick nearly touches his abdomen.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Pantalone has a relatively low sex drive, really only feeling the need for sex every two to three weeks, however! He has no problem going at it more often if you so desire, if anything he likes how dependent upon him you are, please, ask for more.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Sleep?? After sex??? Pantalone could never. If anything, a good session clears his head and calms him down. He's more than likely to grab a lapdesk and do some paperwork while you're dozing off, but if it's really late or you went for a particularly long round he might just read at your side or even talk you to sleep.

That's the end of our showing for today, and as always, thank you for attending!

You can really REALLY smell the favoritism on this one, I'm very very in love with Pantalone and I wanna kith him.

#pansy writes #genshin impact #genshin x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #genshin x you #genshin pantalone #genshin smut #hoyoverse #pantalone x male reader #pantalone #pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #fatui harbingers #fatui headcanons #nsft alphabet #nsft tumblr #mlm nsft #male reader

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5eraphim · 10 months

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Can I request a oneshot of nsfw yandere sniper x s/o with a predator/prey kink. ;)

Uh, so this one went in a super weird direction- but like, Sniper is sososo hard to write for! I'm sorry if this isn't quite what you were looking for, but I tried my best to incorporate the prompt, while twisting it into something fun to write. Sniper isn't my cup of tea, but with this dynamic- („ᵕᴗᵕ„) I've wanted to write something a little exophilic forever, and this request seemed like an apt enough place to do it! I hope you're ok with the odd way this turned out, and I really hope you enjoy!

In this story Reader is a hunter hired to poach a wild beast terrorizing a local's livestock. But when face to face with the monster their roles reverse and Reader has to try and escape becoming Sniper's newest prey.

Title: Poacher's Pride

Character: Werewolf!Sniper 🦘 (Team Fortress 2)

Rating: X (MINORS DNI- YOU KNOW THIS AINT FOR YOU)

Content Warnings: Dub-con, exophilia, mild terato, Dark!Sniper, werewolf, breeding kink, angst-y ending, stalking, yandere, possessive behavior, mates, size difference, forced cuddling/intimacy

Work Count: 5.6k

TIP JAR

MASTER LIST

You were a hunter. This was a fact. No matter how unfamiliar the terrain or how fearsome the prey was, you were the one with a gun, the killer. So long as you had your gun and wits about you, nothing would change this. The less charitable would call you a poacher, hunting down the rarest prey you could find to sell to the highest bidder. Perhaps this was more accurate, but you hardly cared as long as you had enough money to keep food on the table.

Tonight's mission was nothing special, a report of a wild animal feeding on a farmer's livestock and unnatural howling at night disturbing the farm's residents. While you found it unusual that the farmer who commissioned you to kill the beast couldn't identify the species, as you'd expect one who spent so much time working with animals would know their predators by now. But the farmer was an older man, likely a bit superstitious, and feared whatever creature it was preying upon his livestock was some kind of cryptid or supernatural entity. Though you were far too skeptical to really worry about the paranormal as you listened to the farmer recounting his stories of this monster striking every full moon, the other-worldliness of the howls he heard in the night, none of which you paid much mind to, but nodded and let him speak anyhow.

Of course, it was easy to tell yourself you didn't believe in monsters during the daylight, but now that you were staking out alone in the middle of the night, you weren't quite so resolute. Despite your fear, you didn't move from your post; hidden in forest foliage a moderate distance from the livestock's pen, you sunk deep into the shadows. Milky-white moonlight illuminated the clearing around you, filtered through the canopy above. It was a full moon, and whatever it was you were hunting was sure to be out any moment.

You couldn't help but notice the absence of nocturnal insects you were so used to hearing on nighttime stakeouts. You couldn't hear any buzzing from flying insects; no birds were around, nor any other nocturnal creature you could perceive in the darkness. Making you feel all the more alone as seemingly every other living creature knew to keep away from this area while this elusive predator was on the prowl.

The wind rustling trees overhead helped break up the eerie silence that settled so heavily around you. As the wind picked up, you could hear the sheep beginning to bleat nervously, you swore you felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickle, but you weren't sure the sudden temperature drop was to blame. A tree in the distance swayed noisily, creaking as the wind continued to flow through the forest.

Time moved painfully still, and you worried the night would never end until a twig snapping in the distance caught your full attention. Your head shot toward the sound, immediately noticing movement in the bushes diagonal to where you were hidden.

You steeled yourself, gritting your teeth almost painfully tight, forcing your eyes to remain focused dead ahead on the rustling bushes, waiting at any second for some kind of creature to emerge. You were expecting some massive wolf, or a cougar, or some kind of hulking mammal to crawl its way from the bushes, but when you watched an unmistakably humanoid figure crawling on all fours from the bushes, you couldn't believe your eyes.

What you saw was like nothing you'd seen before, the mere sight of this creature freezing you in place; your mouth went dry as you lowered your rifle from the firing position with shaking hands. The beast sniffed at the air, turning it's head in your direction, eyes shining like shards of flint in the night, making your blood run cold, before turning his attention back to the sheep's pen. His head locked in their direction as he rose from all fours to standing upright, forcing you to realize just how massive this beast truly was. Your stomach flipped as the enormous creature's head tilted back to howl in some kind of hellish, animalistic scream, though disturbingly, with undertones of an unmistakably human-like cry. Like a man imitating a wolf's cry, but far, far more accurately than ought to be humanly possible.

This thing- it wasn't human, a man specifically. It was so massive you were too far away to guess its height, but you didn't need to come any closer to know that while standing on two legs. From the tips of its protruding wolf-like ears to its clawed feet, it was taller than any human you'd seen before. A bushy wolf-like tail flicked back and forth behind him, almost as distracting as the horrific way this creature's legs were visibly non-human, even while obscured under a thick coat of fur.

You were utterly horrified, but you forced yourself to hold your ground, waiting for the monster to look the other way, allowing you to raise your loaded rifle to a firing stance and pull the trigger. The sound of the gun going off cut through the heavy silence of the night, though the sound was nothing compared to the sound of the beast's cry.

To your horror, despite the shot sounding as though it connected with his body, nothing happened. Your eyes were wide with fear and disbelief as you watched the creature turn its head in your direction, eyes narrowing as it growled. With fumbling fingers, you pumped the rifle, firing again to the same effect. Your heart hammered loudly in your ears as you saw the monster continue to growl, not at all fazed by the bullets as it lowered itself to all fours, tail straight out behind before charging in your direction.

Without sparing a second to think about where you were going, you sprinted deeper into the forest. Too blinded by fear to realize how dangerous it was to run back into the woods like this, but currently, the only thing on your mind was getting as much distance between you and the wild animal as you could. You had a decent head start but didn't know how long that would last. Straying from the main path through the woods, you tried to weave your way through the overgrowth to throw him off your scent. While whatever it was chasing you down was much bigger and faster, you tried to use human agility to your advantage, doing the best you could to avoid getting clotheslined by any of the foliage in the forest. Earlier that day, it rained, and water still drenched the leaves and branches, soaking into your clothes as you ran by. But worse was the slick mud and puddles of water covering your track, making it all the harder to keep running as your feet threatened to slip out from under you at any moment.

The thundering sound of footsteps in the distance spurred you on. You were too scared to even look back; hearing the snarling and barking of the creature behind made you afraid enough that you didn't need a closer look. The longer you ran, the less light seemed to reach you; the tree's overgrowth was so dense now, the dark shadows of the forest warping your visibility, making you flinch in terror at the sight of even the slightest motion in the corners of your vision.

It was only a matter of time before the wolf caught up to you. It was inevitable. You were on borrowed time and didn't have much longer. Your fate was sealed when you finally lost your footing. Before realizing what happened, you went from upright, running full speed, to crashing into the dirt. You hit the ground hard, bracing your fall with your forearms, enough to protect your face and head, preventing serious injury, though unable to spare yourself the pain of the impact. For just a beat, you lay motionless, too dazed from the fall to move. While you were lucky you hadn't accidentally knocked your head against something when you fell, you felt the wind knock from your lungs. The feeling is not exactly painful, but struggling to breathe only intensified your fear and disorientation. You were so far from home, and the night so dark the situation felt more like a nightmare than reality.

Initially, you thought you slipped while running, but you soon noticed the feeling of cold metal around your ankle. Still in a daze, you craned your head over your shoulder, looking down at your leg, seeing a silver wire looped around your ankle, a snare. You blinked once, feeling closer to death than ever before, the wild fear flooding your mind now replaced with an icy certainty. You were about to die, and you could do nothing to save yourself now. Weeping bitterly, you saw the shrubs close behind parting, the monster's face for just an instance before you squeezed your eyes shut tight, ducking your head, wrapping your arms around yourself, curling into a little ball, and waiting for the killing blow.

Time stood still as you cowered in fear, listening to the stalking creature drawing closer, knowing you had nowhere to run now. While you couldn't see him, keeping your head down and eyes shut tight, you could smell him. The blood caught in his fur mats, the scent of the forest trapped in his coat, the gore from his hot breath. He was getting closer. You couldn't take it anymore, and as you heard another low growl and felt a clawed "hand" wrap around your leg to pull you closer, your anxiety spiked, making you black out.

For a long while, you were somewhere between awake and sleeping. Too scared and too dizzy to open your eyes or try to "wake up," but still, on some level, perceptive of the world around you. You felt like you were dreaming and silently hoped that if you were dead, the pain was already over, and this feeling of passing away would remain gentle forever.

It was impossible to track time, too woozy to try, too numb to care, but after a while, you realized you weren't moving anymore. Laying in a heap of something soft and dusty-smelling, gingerly easing movement back into your body by groping at the material with your fingers and toes. A fire crackled a short ways away, and the air smelt an odd combination of fresh and stale. And finally, with a little focus, you managed to open your eyes.

Apparently, you weren't dead after all, but you couldn't guess where you were now. Some kind of shack, probably still deep in the woods somewhere. You could hear the rain picking up again outside as tiny beads of rain patted against the windows and tin roof. Fire danced in a fireplace on the other end of the shack, illuminating the chipped paint on the walls and cracks in the plaster.

Your stomach dropped when you realized you weren't alone; sitting in the corner of the room, somewhat obscured by shadows, the werewolf sat staring at you, sitting back on his hunches, his yellow eyes watching you intently as you finally woke up.

Bizarrely enough, you realized the closer you were to the wolf, the more human he appeared. Despite the shaggy hair running down his neck and shoulders like a mane and wolf-like ears, his face remained strikingly human-esque. Aside from his yellow eyes and sharp teeth, of course. He looked almost docile like this, but you didn't dare move.

He crept forward slowly on his hands and knees, making you sit up to push yourself away instinctively, but when you saw the blankets covering your chest fall away, you realized you were completely naked under the covers. Gripping the blanket tight in your hand to protect yourself, you looked at him, bewildered.

"Clothes were all wet. You were shivering… Warm yet?" He spoke in fragments, voice low and almost raspy, as though he'd just started talking for the first time in ages. You weren't exactly in a bed, more so a massive pile of blankets and a few pillows pushed into the corner of the room, but it was better than being back out in the rain. You nodded, watching him perching at the foot of the bed.

In a weak voice, you managed, "Where?"

You were too muddled to find the right words, but he responded. The wolf-man seemed able to pick up on your emotions, even if you couldn't elaborate verbally.

"My den. Other wolves were out. You're safe here." He spoke bluntly. You felt safe assuming while biologically he was, at best, humanoid, he was intelligent enough to communicate and, judging by the dirty shack he called a den, lived a lifestyle not entirely unlike a human's.

"They won't hurt you here."

You didn't respond, just nodded. He was closer now, within reaching distance, but your back was against the wall; you could push away any further, even if you wanted to. His attention dropped from your face to the blankets you were nestled amid, reaching under the blankets until he found your feet while you eyed him wearily.

You tensed when he pulled them closer, pushing away the blankets to expose you from your shins down.

He began to lean down a little closer to your body, making you instinctively back up a little, making him pause, sitting at the foot of the nest frowning, looking at you with an almost child-like pout. "Won't hurt you. Can make it better."

You didn't realize what he meant until he gestured to the laceration encircling just above your ankle, where you caught on the snare. Now that you were really looking at it, it was a bit deeper than you thought, and you'd gotten a few other nasty abrasions from your little game of chase earlier.

Before you could do anything to stop him, you watched him gripping your injured leg in place with one hand as he leaned his head to the wound before running the flat of his tongue over the cut. You jolted, squirming a little in discomfort, but he wouldn't budge, ignoring your whines of distress as he continued to lap against the wounded skin.

Forcing yourself to breathe slowly, convincing yourself there was still some chance you would make it out of the night alive, you stopped fighting him, ignoring how his fangs would lightly scrape against your flesh as he licked up and down your leg. You had to suppress another spike of fear as he gently pulled the blankets away from you. His eyes flicked up from your wounds to your exposed skin for a moment as he continued working. After another moment, he pulled away, and you sighed in relief.

The respite didn't last too long, however, as he only pulled away so he could crawl on top of you, making your eyes widen, hands drawing into tight fists as you were unable to fully mask your rising dread. You held your breath until he stopped moving, sitting on his knees and elbows over your body. Despite the position, you couldn't ignore how bizarrely mellow he appeared. Very calmly leaning down to run his tongue along your shoulder, making you shiver as the wet muscle made contact with the sensitive skin of your neck.

Aside from your fear, you had to strain yourself to keep a poker face and ignore the light ticklish sensation you felt. The feeling of his tongue running along your cheek finally caused a break in your composure. "What the hell are you doing?"

The werewolf cocked his head to the side. "I'm grooming you."

He said it so bluntly, as though it were perfectly normal for humans to give each other tongue baths. While the shock and discomfort had greatly worn off by now, the feeling was invasive all the same.

"Still hurt?" the werewolf asked. You hated how heartfelt he sounded, confused why a predator species would be so caring concerning your comfort and safety like this. For some reason, you almost felt reluctant to ask him to stop as he looked at you with puppy eyes, not understanding why you wouldn't let him get closer to you.

"No, but.." As he watched you, you trailed off, waiting for you to explain yourself. After a beat of silence, he resumed his work. Snuggling his head tight up against yours.

"Don't want this-" You protested, but Harold sounded sincere.

"Won't hurt you." His words were muffled as he buried his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling, coddling his face against your hair. You went rigid as you felt him take a test bite against your skin, his sharp teeth just barely scraping against the side of your neck while his hands palmed at your body beneath his. While the nest you were brought to was comfortable enough to work as a human bed, the smell of the dog was too distracting for you to relax too much.

He moved his hands from your chest down to your own hands, clasping them with his own as he brought them from laying limp beside you to the sides of his scalp. Your fingers were instantly lost in the bird's-nest-like mess that was his shaggy mane.

"Keep them here."

He wanted scritches? In an act of morbid curiosity, you allowed your hands to ruffle at the fur, feeling his ears twitching a little as you brushed them with your fingertips. Your fingers moved on their own as they tangled into his hair. His hands dropped as you kept yours in place, and he made an odd, almost humming-moan, his tail beginning to wag steadily as you continued to work your fingers in his hair. When your fingers grazed the sides of his ears a little harder, you watched them twitching a little harder, and you couldn't help but stare, wanting to touch them so badly. He didn't pull away when you shyly traced a finger from the base of his ears to prod gently at the side, nor when you cupped your hand against the soft thing, letting you feel him up with curious fingers, smiling to himself, quite enjoying the gentle touch of another after so much time in isolation before now.

"What are you?" You whispered to yourself, feeling him nuzzle into you.

"Human once, something different now."

You were about to ask what he meant by this when you felt something hard grazing the top of your thigh, making you freeze. He was breathing much heavier now, pressing himself against you a little harder, pushing his pelvis forward to grind against the top of your thigh. You could feel the blankets originally piled somewhat neatly earlier starting to bunch up and the pillows falling to the side and tumbling in different directions. You could hear the sound of cloth tearing and realized it was likely the sound of his clawed feet getting tangled up in the blankets, accidentally shredding them in the process.

"Keep going- C'mon, more! I need more, more!" He begged and whined, still rutting against you, his hands finding yours again, guiding you to keep playing with his hair, scratching him behind the ear, doing whatever you were doing that was driving him crazy.

You felt an unwanted stir as he continued to grind against you, moaning and panting against your neck, into your ear. His hands separated to return to your body, wanting to feel your curves beneath him. As he continued to play with your flesh, you could hear the werewolf inhaling, catching the scent of something, pausing for a moment as he sniffed, his eyes drifting shut as he sighed, practically moaning out loud.

"You like this?" His ears were perked upright, and pupils were dilated as he looked at you expectantly. Feeling blood rushing to your cheeks, you shook your head, feeling too overwhelmed to think clearly. But your reluctance only excited him more. He grinned ferally, mouth opening giving you a quick flash of his sharp teeth as he popped two fingers into his mouth, coating them with spit before pulling them out, watching you with eager eyes as they trailed down your stomach until they halted just above your clit.

Without stalling any longer, you felt his two fingers pressing up against the sensitive nub, feeling your heartbeat increase and blood rushing south as he got a little bolder. Collecting the slick between your legs, using it to glide his fingers in gentle circles against you, making your breath hitch and your body tense up. How in the world he knew how to pleasure another human, you couldn't imagine, but he was doing a damn good job of it. You swallowed hard, he was much more adept at keeping his claws to himself than you imagined, and his fingers felt inhumanly big in the best possible way.

Everything was moving so fast; one minute, you were arching your back underneath him, and the next, you were face down under him. The werewolf pulled away just enough to kneel over you. The feeling of his hands on your waist brought you crashing back to reality, reigniting the fear you'd shamefully forgotten.

Before he could pull you any closer, you inched forward a bit, trying to keep your voice steady despite the wild beating of your heart. "It's not too late, just let me go- Please, if you just let me go, you'll never see me again! I won't tell anyone what I saw!" You pressed your cheek against the blankets trying your best to crane your face to the side and look at him but found no mercy.

"Don't want- you can't leave!" You paused, looking up at him, brows creasing. "Did he almost say he didn't want me to go?" you wondered, noticing how he caught himself, a bit of vulnerability breaking through his intimidation.

"If I let you go. You'll kill me." Before now, even when threatening or intimidating you, there was a note of playfulness to his voice that was gone now. Despite the morbid way the two of you met, he couldn't entirely hide his excitement of bringing a little fresh meat home and, by extension, not having to spend another night alone.

"I-" He didn't give you a chance to defend yourself.

"Tell me again, what were you hiding out in those bushes earlier?"

You were paralyzed with fear, your mind going blank as his yellow eyes narrowed and his voice lowered to an animalistic growl. His lips drew back in a snarl, bearing his sharp canine-like teeth as you felt his hot breath against your bare flesh as he breathed heavily. You wanted to make up some lie about only shooting him because he startled you, but you knew something like that wouldn't work on him. While the beast wasn't entirely a wild animal, he didn't possess a human's capacity for reason. And with a sinking realization, you knew no amount of begging for mercy, logical reasoning, or threats of retaliation would do anything to stop him. You were now just moments away from meeting your fate, and you could do nothing but accept it.

You might've cried if you had any strength left, but not anymore. The best you could do for yourself was close your eyes and try to flinch as you felt him peel away a little, sitting back on his haunches before pushing you over and repositioning you to lay flat on your stomach.

You could feel his saliva and some of your slick still smeared along your sex and inner thighs as he used both hands to grab at your ass, hoisting you up as he positioned himself from behind. Forcing you to bend your knees and arch your back up as he situated himself on his knees from behind. Just the feeling of his head against your core made you squirm in discomfort, though unable to pull away from his hold. You moved your arms from your sides to in front of you, burrowing your head in your forearms. The position was the opposite of dignified, but at least he wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing the look on your face as he took you.

"I can tell you're scared; I can smell your fear, and I can't say I blame you. But let's see if you'll make a better mate than a hunter." You couldn't tell if he was trying to comfort or mock you, as though that even mattered. The feeling of his tip prodding at your core told you, whether he tried to be gentle or not, you'd feel this in the morning.

The thick fur covering his underbelly helped to conceal his size before now, even while hard, but you had a feeling he'd be big. It was so odd to feel an animal's fur against your thighs as you felt an unmistakably non-human cock push inside you. While terrified, you thanked God he'd taken the time to prepare your hole.

While the feeling of stretching around his cock stung, but you couldn't ignore the satisfaction you felt; at last, the emptiness you'd felt was satisfied. You were expecting so much more pain and brutality, but the beast took his time. As though he wanted to make the moment last as long as he could. Given the sound of his labored breathing through grit teeth from behind, you could tell he was trying to hold back. Your thighs spread as you slumped forwards a bit as he pushed inside, making you bite down on your forearm to keep from whining.

"You're So warm! So, so soft inside- hah, S'good" He repositioned his hands from your hips to your back, shoving you down even harder as he pushed all the way inside. He was pushing your chest so hard into the nest it was hard to breathe. You had no idea if he could even tell what he was doing to you or if he was already so blinded by his own pleasure.

His claws pressed a little harder against the flesh of your back, not enough to draw blood, but enough to remind you he could do so in a second if he wanted to. The beast kept one hand on your back, the other sliding forward to meet your own hand. Using his massive hand, he guided yours from in front of you back down to your side before fully seizing your hand, bringing it under your belly, groping downwards and around for a moment until he managed to find your clit.

Forcing your fingers against your clit he growled, "Touch yourself for me. Wanna- I wanna know what you feel like when you come."

Something about the loss of control, the fear and adrenaline overrunning your body, made perverse moments feel sickly exciting. And you didn't hold back much longer, your fingers rubbing circles over your swollen clit as he pulled out and began to rock back and forth. Your body limply moving in rhythm with the overwhelming force from behind.

Your cheek flattened against the blankets as he dug his claws a little harder into your back, raking your bare skin as he began to pick up speed. The pain and pleasure overtook your mind as you felt yourself getting even wetter, your hand moving even faster over your clit. He was already so hard, but you could've sworn you felt him swelling up a little inside you. You didn't want to think about what would happen after he inevitably came inside you. The only thing on your mind now was your own climax, the smell of sex in the air spurring you on, making you hornier, needier, exactly like the wolf behind you.

Closing your eyes, you felt yourself tightening against the werewolf, your muscles acting with a mind of their own as you could feel your climax coming on; the feeling of your body so hot and painfully close to orgasm was driving him wild, knowing he wouldn't last much longer than you. And sure enough, with a breathy sigh of relief, you came. Feeling your body gripping against the werewolf as you grinded yourself against him, riding out your orgasm as long as possible.

The afterglow set in not long after, making the feeling of the werewolf behind you thrusting in and out wildly much more bearable. You gasped out loud when you felt him bust, his seed fucked deep inside your body while you two were momentarily forced to remain connected. Fortunately, this didn't last as long as you feared it would, and not long after his climax, you felt the swelling between your legs going down, giving you enough wiggle room to pull yourself off him. As far away as you could while he was still pressing his weight down on your back.

Feeling a bit more clear-headed after cumming, you began to try and pull further away from the monster behind, but he still had you pinned, and the longer you were like this, the more aware you were of the sting of the scratch marks on your back, making you feel like a cornered mouse under a cat's paw. Thankfully he eventually lifted his weight from behind you, finally allowing you to take a deep breath as he sat back on his haunches, likely enjoying the view of your abused body limp and sprawled out like this in his nest.

After a moment, you heard him shifting behind you, repositioning the pillows and blankets in his nest as you lay face down in the center. He pulled you from your stomach to your side as you instinctively curled into the fetal position. The werewolf propped you against some pillows as though you weighed nothing before sliding into bed beside you, gently coaxing your body from a tight ball to wrap around him, tucking your head under his chin. Burying your head against his chest, you could hear the slow thumping of his heart as his hands smoothed against your back and hair.

Everything felt surreal; the creature you were so certain would end your life less than a few hours ago now had you curled up against him like a teddy bear. Making sure you were comfortable and not smothered by his thick tufts of hair. Your self-preservation instincts told you to let him do as he pleased with you. The last thing you wanted was to provoke him into another round of what you'd just endured. But even without saying anything, you felt his head shift away from you to face you. His brow creased slightly in what appeared to be confusion.

"You're still scared?"

"I don't understand… Why haven't you killed me yet? You're a predator- surely you could've done it by now; what are you waiting for?" You bit your lower lip, hoping desperately he wouldn't take that as a challenge.

"You're not my prey anymore." To your surprise, he didn't sound upset, his voice notably softer than you'd heard all night, as though trying not to frighten you. You wanted him to explain what he meant but were too scared to ask. You let him pull your back under his chin, his fingers twisting around your hair.

"I'll protect you. But if you try to leave me, I'll have to stop you." As quickly as it had come, the softness in his voice was gone.

"We're one now. And the longer you're here, the closer we'll be." You didn't understand what he meant by this. You were still oblivious to what this creature was, and you were too terrified to speculate about what was now inside of you.

"You can't really think we'll be together forever after this, do you?" It was hard to tell if you were trying to convince him of this or yourself.

You wanted to believe he was wrong, a wild animal with no concept of forever, but by now, you knew he was far from entirely bestial. "I… I don't understand."

"We're mates now. We're bonded for life." You were well aware that it was dangerous to provoke him, but despite his bluntness, he sounded notably calm, and you couldn't keep your curiosity to yourself.

"What does it mean to be mates? How can you be so sure we're mated for life?" You had to choose your words carefully, trying your best to avoid saying something like, "your kind mate for life." to prevent the risk of offending him.

"I know so." He was so blunt and sure of himself that it scared you, and you had a bad feeling he wasn't just trying to intimidate you.

For a moment, he was quiet, as though trying to choose his next words carefully. "I've been a lone wolf for years now. It's miserable; I can't go back to that."

He paused again, and you were unfortunately forced to remember the monster curled around you like a fur coat was once a human and, to some unknowable degree, still was. You didn't want to see him as anything but a brute, an animal acting on primal impulses, but you knew this wasn't true. And if you were in his position, spending years as a reclusive creature of the night, forced to live in the shadows like a stray, you might be just as desperate to escape such a purgatory.

"But, I'm not like you; people are going to come try to find me-" The wolf interrupted Before you could finish the thought.

"I won't let them take you. I'll protect you. Keep you here as long as it takes for you to settle."

It wasn't a promise; it was a fact. Just as it was a fact, so long as the werewolf lived, you weren't going anywhere.

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decolonize-the-left · 1 year

Text

This sucks. These prices and these wages (and my own lack of them) doesn't fuck in the slightest.

And based on my recent posts and notes...y'all wanna strike huh?

Well since you insist on not doing it without formal organizing, can I ask if you've heard about the IWW and if you have, have you joined it?

"By age, workers ages 45 to 54 had the highest union membership rate in 2022, at 12.6 percent. Younger workers—those ages 16 to 24—had the lowest union membership rate, at 4.4 percent.

In 2022, the union membership rate for full-time workers (11.0 percent) was double than that for part- time workers (5.5 percent)."

I'll take that statistic from the BLS file on Unions as a 'probably not' since I don't have many older people following me.

Well, joining this union can provide you with all the formality and organization you'll need to get started and without compromising your say as an individual worker.

TLDR: Anyone, yes even if you're unemployed, can join as long as you have at least $6/mo and aren't a manager. No union bosses either. The idea is that it's One Big Union. Meaning it's strength lies in it's solidarity from unifying workers across All types of employment.

It's just a matter of finding your local union and they will help you with the rest.

Worried you might stand out?

In 2021, 14 million U.S. workers - or about 10.3 percent of the American workforce - were members of a union.

That's 1 in every 10 workers. And

In 2022, 16 million wage and salary workers were represented by a union[...]" (Bureau of Labor Statistics Union2.pdf).

You quite literally will be just be one of the tens of thousands joining a union everyday.

Social scientist Damon Centola's new research shows a cascade of change is triggered when 25% of a population embraces an idea.

Minority views of what is acceptable quickly become majority views. Historically, majority- rules economic thinking assumed change happened when 51% of a population wanted it. But in 1977, Harvard University's Rosabeth Moss Kanter studied tokenism in the workplace. She found that women as small minorities were subject to an oppressive culture of discrimination and harassment. But when women occupied 20%-35% of leadership roles, work culture shifted.

Centola's 2018 small-group experiments show how sensitive the tipping point is. Sometimes adding just a single person to the committed minority meant hitting 25%-and the transition from failure to success. Varying numbers of activists were planted into groups in 10 trials.

So if 10% are already unionized then we're halfway there... in a way.

Why join a union?

It's largest tool is collective bargaining, that's why organized strikes work better, it guarantees you have people supporting you. Using numbers helps enforce demands and rights be met.

We know unions work because they gave us all these things already.

So like... Yeah..

Join a union. Even if it's not IWW. Join one.

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darkurgetrash · 3 months

Text

─── 𓆩♱𓆪 ───

When Gortash first formed the cult of the Absolute, he’d somehow expected it to be more glamorous than watching drunken goblins through a scrying eye.

What he’d expected even less was to see his former lover, long-presumed dead, walking among them…

─── 𓆩♱𓆪 ───

Characters: The Dark Urge / Gortash

Game: Baldur’s Gate 3

Words: 1,700

Rating: Teen+

─── 𓆩♱𓆪 ───

When Gortash first formed the cult of the Absolute, he’d somehow expected it to be more glamorous than watching drunken goblins through a scrying eye.

Indeed, in his visions he’d fantasised of insidious masquerade balls, dangerous heists, and intellectual assassinations. Alas, he supposed that tasks of observation were important too. For the plan to succeed, everyone had to be playing their part, from the highest ranking ‘True Soul’ to the lowliest gnoll, and someone had to make sure it was all going accordingly.

After all, if not him, then who? That loathsome animal Orin cared more about her pitiful attempts to please Bhaal than their grand plan, and Ketheric was much too busy ruling over Moonrise Towers to worry about the proceedings of some pathetic goblin camp, so who did that leave? He alone. Besides, he was probably the only one sharp and observant enough to notice if anything went amiss.

That was the case, at least, since Mera was taken from him.

He sighed. How annoying that, even now, performing the most mundane task possible, he still thought of her. The way she’d be sitting beside him, delicately fingering her dagger while her slender feet rested on his lap. She just loved to distract him; tease him.

“What does this button do?”

“That would shut down the Steel Watch.”

“How interesting, what would you do if I pressed it right now?”

“It’s a temporary measure. I’d simply commandeer one of the Gondians to fix it.”

“Boring. What does this one do?”

“That controls the Scrying Eye.”

“I see… Hmm, how about we do a little contest to see who can get someone murdered using it first? The chosen of Bane or Bhaal?”

“That would be hard considering we can’t communicate through it, only watch.”

“Ah, but that’s part of the challenge, dearest Enver.”

She’d strategically stroke his thigh with her foot, raising higher towards his groin in hopes that he might offer a soft moan and give in to her playful, mischievous ways. Then, of course, he’d have to put her in her place, right there on the command console. His hands clasped around her pale neck, long black hair splayed behind her as she glared daggers at him through those divine, striking red eyes…

He shook his head. Pathetic. He couldn’t allow himself to lose focus like this, not when so much was at stake. Mera was in the past, probably now dead and wreaking havoc in some corner of Avernus without a single thought for her once partner-in-crime, so why should he spare one for her? Besides, he spent too many long and lonely nights staring at his balcony, wondering if she’d suddenly appear to amuse him, love him, torment him. Even if it was to assassinate him, he’d have been glad for it, just to see her again…

She’d have been delighted to hear such a shameful admission.

Gortash turned his attention back to the screen, where a red-headed goblin now stood, waving her hand in front of the eye.

“ELLO?? Dis fin broken or wot?”

He leaned forward to reach the control panel, bumping the eye into the goblin in a childish act of irritation. She jumped back, startled.

“OI! I fink dis thing ‘as lost its marbles. Whateva, come this way and I’ll introduce you to the drow.”

The goblin turned and hobbled towards Minthara, a drow noble Orin had selected to be a spokesperson for The Absolute many moons ago. She was followed by a small party, presumably a gang of adventurers who had been infected with the tadpole. Strange though - he did not recognise any of them to be True Souls, so why were they being granted such a high ranking audience?

Intrigued, Gortash watched them as they followed the goblin. He could not see the adventurers clearly due to his positioning, but he could tell that there were four - possibly two men and two women judging by stature alone. One of the men looked to be an elf with curled white hair and daggers equipped at the hip while the other was clearly a magic user, adorning a long purple robe with a quarter staff on his back. The two women were harder to analyse - being shorter and obscured from view - but they both appeared to have dark hair. This was, unfortunately, all he could discern for now.

The goblin and the drow talked together as the four of them observed. Gortash edged the eye slightly closer.

“…This mug helped me to escape. I say we stick a few holes in her, show how grateful we are!”

The goblin seemed to be referring to one of the women, who Gortash could now see was a human with loose hair hanging around her shoulders. She seemed to be the centre of the group, maybe even their leader.

“Oh dear. Your prisoner is one of the Absolute's favourites, Sazza. A True Soul…”

Minthara’s brow raised in interest as the goblin squirmed beneath her gaze. Interesting, so they were True Souls after all… Then why did he not recognise them? Was it possible they somehow slipped the system unnoticed?

“Nah. Can't be... they woz in the grove, hangin' around with the tieflins!” The goblin replied, backing away nervously.

“Undercover, no doubt. Carrying out the Absolute's will. Oh, Sazza - you have made a grave error…”

Gortash knew that this wasn’t the case; The Absolute’s will was his own, after all. Could this be the work of Ketheric or Orin behind his back? Some kind of plan to usurp him?

“… please, no! I didn’t know!…”

It was certainly a possibility. If these True Souls had found their way to Moonrise Towers, it would have been easy for Ketheric to recruit them as sole commander. But to position them in a grove filled with tieflings - what would be the point? Could there somehow be ties to Avernus at play?

“She’s telling the truth. She didn’t know.”

A shiver shot up Gortash’ spine as he heard a voice all too familiar. He stood and moved closer to the viewing screen, but the Scrying Eye was positioned too far away to clearly identify the woman that spoke.

It was surely a trick or some coincidence, but still, the woman sounded exactly like her. Like Mera.

The mere fact that this woman spoke on behalf of a lowly goblin and saved her from a deathly fate was proof enough that this wasn’t his once-partner. Mera was as blood-thirsty and cruel as she was cunning and beautiful. Not in the way her replacement Orin was - who acted like a wild dog, murdering left and right for senseless amusement alone - but in a way that was meticulous and logical enough to match his own intellect. There would have been no point in sparing a goblin, no, his lover would have remained silent as Minthara laid out her judgement, simply observing with deliciously cold calculation.

“… silence, wretch. And remember - you owe your miserable life to this one.”

The goblin ran from the scene and towards the eye, knocking into it in her clumsy escape. Gortash exhaled through his nose in frustration as the screen fuzzed and the audio crackled - all sound now unintelligible.

“Tamia!” he called out through gritted teeth. A cultist belonging to Bane rushed into the room at his call.

“My lord?”

“Send in one of the slaves to fix this at once.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Within seconds, a Gondian shuffled into the room with their head lowered, immediately beginning to fix the scrying eye. Gortash tapped his foot impatiently.

“It is fixed m-my l-lord.”

“You are dismissed.”

The gnome left just as the screen flashed back into focus and the audio returned - but now Gortash could see only Minthara, her gaze fixed on something in the distance.

He returned to his seat and slumped in defeat and annoyance. If he should ever meet this ‘Sazza’, she would face a punishment worse than death for the damage she caused - thanks to her, he would now have to contact Minthara personally to discover what transpired between she and the adventurers.

He returned his hand to the control panel and began moving towards the drow when a light indicating ‘physical altercation’ quickly flashed. Had the eye just been… poked?

He rotated the eye towards the source and…

His heart pounded heavily in his chest and long-dried tear ducts threatened to enflame. Was he even still breathing? Was time still moving? He could scarcely tell, as the world around him seemed to turn to nothing but darkness, the scrying screen a single spotlight.

For there, standing in front of the eye with a puzzled expression, was her.

“It can’t be…”

Mera.

She waved, crossed her arms, and peered deeper into the eye as if she were looking directly at him. Could she sense him there?

“… My lord?”

Gortash snapped back to reality as the cultist cautiously approached him. He realised then that he had shot up to his feet once more, lights flickering around the control panel and small alarms sounding as his fists throbbed against the deck.

He took a deep breath and calmly removed his hands from the panel, assessing the slight damage caused by his clawed glove.

“…How I detest flies.” He hissed. “You were dismissed, Tamia. Were you not?”

He heard the cultist’s breath hitch in her chest.

“My deepest apologies, my lord. I thought you had dismissed the Gondian alone, I-“

“Excuses are a waste of breath. Leave at once. Oh, and Tamia? Have a new slave come repair this and punish the previous one that let a filthy insect into my office.”

“Y-yes, my lord.”

The cultist bowed and left. The command panel still flickered and Mera still shone from the screen, her attention now turned to the elf who was glancing at the Eye with suspicion.

Mera…

No. No, it was impossible. Mera was not infected, she was not even still with the living - if she was, she’d have gone to him. Wouldn’t she have? It… it must be a shapeshifter, another trick from Orin meant to throw him off balance. So he was right, the others were plotting to wage war with him.

How foolish they were.

As the thought grazed his mind, the so-called ghost of Mera raised an electrified hand and swiped.

Then all faded to black.

─── 𓆩♱𓆪 ───

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oh-stars · 2 months

Text

Healthy Secrets

Love is being late to work because you can’t ever say goodbye in a reasonable amount of time

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 1012 words | CW: N/A | Rating: T

Marnie hates him. Steve can’t really blame her. The practice opens at 8:30 am sharp and for the other psychiatrists that’s a non-starter. Well. It’s not a rule, officially, at least, but Marnie’s a stickler. Her schedule may as well be a bible, dictating their lives and holding everyone to the highest standards.

Except Steve. He uses the schedule as… a suggestion, a guide really.

See why Marnie hates him?

He tries to make it up to her. Honest. Steve is diligent about his appointments and doesn’t mind staying later than the others. He makes a point to keep fresh flowers in her vase at the desk (a tradition he’d started on behalf of her late husband) and he takes her out for lunch twice a month.

None of that even softens her glare when Steve walks into the clinic with only five minutes to spare before his first appointment. Every day, like clockwork.

Look. Steve’s a punctual guy. Really! Any other time he’d be sweating his balls off trying to get there on time or going ninety to nothing – always racing the clock. On weekends, he’s the one chomping at the bit to make it to brunch plans or hounding Eddie to get a move on so they can beat holiday traffic when they make plans to visit Wayne.

Mornings are his weakness.

He wakes up, twisted in sheets with his leg between Eddie’s and their arms splayed over one another. Eddie’s face is almost always close to his, either sharing the same pillows or nuzzling up to Steve’s collarbones. Their comforter is a delightfully heavy weight, although it creates a furnace beneath its shelter – one Steve never wants to leave. Can you blame him? He wakes up to his own dash of heaven every morning, just himself and the love of his life in the sanctuary they built together.

His alarm goes off at six, then again thirty minutes later. He’s awake at the first trill, mind already racing as his itinerary for the day speeds through his mind. Steve spends these thirty minutes peacefully holding Eddie in his arms as they brace for the day. Or well, he does because Eddie never wakes to the first alarm, his heavy snores blocking out everything but Steve’s touch and his dreams.

A bleary eye will peel open at the second blasting. Eddie’s glare lightened by the pile of curls on his head and the way he wiggles closer to Steve. “Five more minutes?” he says, syllables barely distinguishable.

And Steve agrees.

Eddie could ask Steve to fall off the edge of the world and Steve would do it, would sacrifice his own body if it meant Eddie would be happy, alive, and safe.

So he sets a timer for five minutes, then another five that Eddie deems necessary and is exclusively dedicated to their good morning kiss.

It’s arguably the best ten minutes of his day.

“We have to get up,” Steve says, heavy limbs pulling away with the stubbornness of an elephant.

Eddie whines, but pulls away to grab his pajama pants off the floor. “Why must you have a grown-up job?”

Steve shrugs and quickly heads to his dresser for his gym clothes.

They go through the motions – Steve goes for a quick run while Eddie smokes on the porch and takes languid sips of his coffee. He’ll slip inside as Steve turns back onto the street so the shower will be nice and warm by the time Stve makes it to the bathroom. Gentle hands scrub through thick hair, dragging washcloths over sud-lathered skin, all followed by sweet kisses. Okay, Steve may have lied; this is the best ten minutes of his day.

While Steve finishes getting ready, Eddie makes a quick breakfast (usually just toasting bagels with whatever spread strikes his fancy that day and cutting up whatever fruit they have). They share their plans between bites as their free hands map out one another. Eddie doesn’t work for another few hours, so he’ll go back to sleep (even though he claims to be up for the day) but this means his fingers are still bare except for the matching band they both wear. Steve never misses a chance to feel those fingers against his.

And then it's time for him to leave and Steve realizes it’s not Eddie’s fault. It’s his own. Because as he stands there, bag in hand and his shoes on, Steve wants to throw a tantrum and crawl back into bed with Eddie. He wants to be unreasonable and never leave their bed, ever, for any reason.

“I love you,” Steve says against Eddie’s lips, between kisses.

Eddie hums as he kisses him. “I love you. You’ve got to go,” he whispers.

“I don’t want to.”

“You’ll be home quicker if you go,” Eddie says.

“But that means leaving now.”

Eddie laughs softly as he kisses along Steve’s jaw. “I have to leave in a few hours, too. You wouldn’t want to be by yourself, would you, baby?”

Steve sighs, but relents as he kisses Eddie one more time.

All in all, Steve walks out of the door at 8:29am. One minute to spare.

Steve drives the twenty minutes to work knowing he’ll barely beat his first client and Marnie is sure to give him hell for it. He doesn’t let it bother him, instead blaring the mixtape he made with Robin a few summers ago. It’s hard to care about appointments and being on time when his lips still tingle from Eddie’s kiss and Eddie’s aftershave and cologne still lingers in his nose.

He’s floating on a cloud as he makes his way to work.

And when someone asks them what time Steve starts in the morning, no matter the reason, Eddie will confidently say 9:00 am.

Who is Steve to correct him?

He walks through the lobby of the practice to Marnie’s icy glare. Steve just smiles and wishes her good morning. She’ll like him again come lunch, he’s sure of it. And if not? Oh well.

Ao3 Link

Thank you @lady-lostmind

#ohstars fic #steddie #steve harrington #steddie fic #stranger things #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #ohstars posting challenge

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911lsbts · 5 months

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The move of flagship 9-1-1 to ABC, due on financial reasons, was announced in May. Now its spinoff, 9-1-1: Lone Star, which was renewed for a fifth season by Fox in May, will not return with new episodes this spring. Instead, the drama starring Rob Lowe, will produce 12 episodes to air in fall 2024, making fans’ wait for Season 5 extra long.

Like any other linear or streaming series, 9-1-1: Lone Star has been impacted by the double Hollywood strike. Earlier this fall, Fox and producing studio 20th Television had been discussing an 18-episode order, six episodes for midseason and 12 for fall, sources said. As the SAG-AFTRA strike stretched into November, those plans changed, and the two sides ultimately agreed on 12 episodes for fall 2024.

Fox needs 9-1-1: Lone Star next fall. Like other broadcast networks, Fox is delaying its new 2023-24 scripted series, dramas Doc and Rescue: Hi-Surf, to 2024-25, aiming at a fall/January launch when the network has NFL and MLB coverage as promotional platform. As Fox’s most established, longest-running and highest rated remaining drama, 9-1-1: Lone Star is expected to be used as a lead-in to help get both series off the ground.

#911 lone star #s5 #this could change

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piratesfromspace · 1 year

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The Escape (Joel/Reader)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader Rated: Explicit Word count: 2.9k Summary: You've been captured by slavers and thrown into the same cell as Joel. Note: I've been through a severe lack of energy and inspiration, but here is my take on Joel, featuring some sweet smut of course! This happens roughly 10 years after the Outbreak, so Joel would be in his 40s and Reader is in her 20s. Content: hurt/comfort, smut, almost-virginity loss, p-i-v, praise kink, alcohol, overall canon typical violence

MASTERLIST

When you’re thrown into his cell - an old bathroom, all broken tiles and rusted pipes - Joel gets tense, hand clenching harder on the shiv he improvised a couple days ago. He has no idea what the slavers are plotting. He’s been held in here for maybe one week now, hard to tell when the days are blending into each other, long boring hours only punctuated by a bottle of water and some food left on the floor without a word.

He knows his worth is in his strength and the slavers have no interest in letting him starve to death - that’s the only positive thing in his whole ordeal. He can’t believe he’s been stupid enough to let himself be captured. But he had reacted one second too late, and there were too many, and here he is, waiting to be sold to the highest bidder.

You land hard on your knees, unable to stop your pathetic fall on the hard floor, as the door of the cell is closed shut once again. He watches, ready to strike, as you scramble to get back in a sitting position - and then you finally notice him, standing tall in one of the corners, the glint of something undoubtedly lethal in the hand he’s hiding behind him. You try to get up on your feet, but your muddy boots are sliding on the tiles, your legs shaking with the effort - you’re clearly exhausted. Your hands are bound behind your back, leaving you with very little option. You push yourself back until the wall hits your shoulders, until you have nowhere else to go.

Joel is assessing your form very calmly, a stark contrast with the frantic terror pinching your brows. You look young, younger than him for sure, body lean from years of privation (like everyone else now), and he’s sure you could be mistaken for a teenager from afar - maybe you were when the Outbreak happened 10 years ago, but he can see the way your eyes are sunk, the fine skin under them puffy from a decade-worth of bad sleep and dirty conscience. Nah, you may be a child of the Apocalypse, but you’re definitely old enough to realize you’re in a shitty situation. Something like pity tugs at his heart - or more like recognition, the fire in your gaze despite the fear washing over your features, the will to push through the tiredness, the need to fight until the very end, even cornered and tied up. A mirror handed to him of what he was like at your age.

Maybe you can be useful, you can help him escape, surely you know a trick or two, or you wouldn’t have been able to survive this long - he tries to convince himself that’s the reason why he helps you. Why he walks up to you, crouches in front of your scared face and orders you to turn around. He has to repeat himself because you don’t want to listen but he does his best to not sound as harsh as usual, and finally, you understand and offer him your bound hands. He tugs on the dirty scrap of fabric, unties the knot with skillful fingers. He takes hold of your wrists before you can even move your arms, and for a second you feel the icy stab of panic and treason in your throat. Since when do you trust strangers?

“Easy there…” his warm voice rumbles in your back “Guess you’ve been like this for more than an hour, ‘gonna hurt if you move too fast.” he explains, while bringing slowly your hands in front of you. He’s right, you hiss a pained fuck when your shoulders protest at the change in position. He’s freaking close, his chest almost flush to your back, the rough skin of his palms still on your wrists. He suddenly lets go of you, gets up on his feet, and you turn on your knees to face him. He looks older than you, his temples already turning to gray. There is a gravity in his expression, like he stopped smiling 10 years ago and never did it again since - but still you catch a distant warmth in his soft brown eyes, behind his steely demeanor. His whole persona is a mix of hard and soft, exposed forearms showing off the chords of his muscles under a skin littered with scars, contrasting with the mundane patchy beard and the soft curls on his nape. He’s kinda handsome in his own way, even though he looks like someone who can do ugly things.

—

That’s the beginning of your cooperation. You had helped him, baiting the guard in pretending to be sick, and then he had used the makeshift knife to slit his throat, without so much as a second of hesitation. You remember the bright red blood spilling on the dirty tiles, staining the dried grout vermilion. It had been a while since you had seen a healthy human get killed up close. You had stood there, bile at the back of your tongue, ringing in your ears, until the firm command - move, come on - had made you join him. He had slashed his way out with too much ease, and had made you run for so long, you got sick the minute you finally stopped inside an abandoned house. You spat all the bile that had been bubbling in your guts, folded over the moldy kitchen sink. You had expected him to get disgusted and just leave you there to a very certain death, but he just took out a bottle of water from the backpack he stole during your escape and wordlessly handed it to you. He did not have to do that, he could have kept the precious resource for himself. You still wonder why - it wasn’t out of selflessness, definitely not out of kindness. You guessed he needed someone to stay awake and keep watch so he could sleep a little. Useful - you were useful.

He brings you back to the QZ because that’s where you’ll be safe - safer at least. Shielded from the slavers and the raiders and the biters. Definitely not from the corrupt FEDRA guards, the local traffickers, the ruthless fireflies - and really, any individual ready to take advantage showing how thin the veneer of civilization truly was in the first place.

You stay in his small apartment because you have nowhere else to go. Even after you start working and earning your part. At first, he slept on the couch so you could have the bed. But one day, after a gruesome double-shift, he comes back home so exhausted he just crashes on the mattress without realizing you’re already there. It’s not the first time you sleep next to him. You had to during the trek back to the QZ. Only way to keep warm. It was utilitarian, nothing else. Still, it meant you trusted him enough to close your eyes in his presence. You still do.

When you wake up the next morning, you feel him pressed against your back. Either him or you had sought the other’s warmth during the night. You have to admit you slept pretty well. You’re usually freezing and he’s just… warm. A solid wall radiating heat behind you. His slow breathing is keeping at bay the usual rush of anxiety you get when you wake up every day to discover this too long nightmare is indeed reality. You guess you had to have a similar effect on him because dawn is already lighting the room with its dull glow and he’s not awake yet.

That’s the beginning of another level of your relationship - you don’t want to give a name to whatever strange alliance is going on between you. Still, night after night, he keeps going back, and you let him, welcome him silently in your bed (actually it’s his). You should be scared, he’s but a man, and if he was any other man, you would know that he’d been expecting something from you. Expecting you to offer your naked skin and your warm body in exchange for his protection. But it never comes. Joel seems very content in being able to lay there on his mattress and share his warmth with you. You can even see how he glares darkly at that FEDRA guard who keeps talking to you for any reason possible. How he makes sure you’re home as soon as the sun sets.

And then, one day, you’re on his sofa sharing some whisky - the nice one, the real one, a 20-year old bottle he traded - and it says a lot he’s even sharing it with you in the first place. Joel is in a good mood, he cracks a couple awful dad jokes, and you laugh, so hard tears leak on your cheeks. He doesn’t think, just swipes them with his thumb, calloused pad of his finger on the sensitive skin just under your lashes. He lingers there, looks at you with hooded eyes and you know you’re royally fucked. He looks so good, the warm light of sunset on his tanned skin, his hair mussed, making him look a bit younger. It makes you forget he’s almost two decades older - but what does that even mean today? Life - death - is no longer this linear thing, and there is no one left to scold you about your partner’s choice. Nobody cares anymore. Yet he cared for you. So you decide to indulge in this desire that has been brewing in your chest since the moment he untied you in that damned icy cell.

He’s kind of a jerk with it, lets you do all the work. Maybe he’s just too scared you would feel forced to accept what he wants to offer. But you soldier on, you kiss him with all the fervor of your youth, climb on his lap, and keep licking his tongue until he finally dares to take charge. Joel tastes like the bourbon discarded on the floor - sweet and rich, smoked spice and the desperate furor of someone whose will to live only surpasses his devastating grief by a short inch.

You sigh in his mouth, the relief provided by his touch welcome but not enough to quench the pent-up thirst you’ve been harboring for years now. He must feel it because when your slightly shaking fingers are hastily working the buttons of his shirt open, then diving straight to the fly of his jeans, he stops you.

“Wait”, he rasps, a hint of worry mixed in the molasses of his voice, “please tell me you have done this before”.

“Yeah -yes, yes… just -it’s been a long time. Like, not since the ‘break…”

“Fuck.” he answers, head lolling backward against the sofa, and you’re sure you screwed up. No way he’s gonna want to do it with an almost virgin. For your defense, after a few experiments with your then-boyfriend from before the apocalypse, your possibilities were quite limited. You focused more on staying alive than romance. More on avoiding men than courting them. Years went by and no one came who you could trust enough. Until him.

“Please, Joel” you kiss his cheek, his neck. “I want to feel good just for a bit”, you beg him, because the thought of him leaving you like this makes you wanna die of shame.

You feel more than you hear him growl, the rumble of his chest making you shiver against him. He grounds his hands on your waist, presses the rough pads of his fingers into your supple and warm flesh.

“Remove your clothes”, he finally commands. Your jeans and sweater are thrown on the ground without second thought. You’re naked while he just pushed his pants low enough to free his already leaking cock.

“Joel…” your gasp dies in your throat when he crashes his mouth on yours again. He’s… big. You haven’t seen a lot of cocks in your life, but you’re pretty sure he definitely has bragging rights. He feels burning hot and surprisingly soft in your palm, pulsing in time with the frantic beating of your heart.

He’s not especially careful when he parts your folds, long fingers pressing against your clit in a couple of crude circles before pushing inside you. The intrusion is nothing like you remember. It burns in an addictive way, and when he crooks his index toward your belly, and presses his thumb on your clit, you let out a whimper that makes him groan in response. His other hand has threaded itself in your hair, and he uses it to hold your head steady.

“Eyes on me sweetheart” he urges. His lips are parted, the glint of his canines echoing the predatory gaze he’s pining you with. It’s been barely a minute and you’re already panting, feeling your orgasm build up at an impressive pace. You muffle your cries against your palm, unwilling for anyone on the other side of those cardboard thin walls to hear you.

“Come on, don't get shy now.” he rasps, voice thick in his throat. “Wanna hear you when I make you come”. Reluctantly, you remove your hand, finding purchase on his shoulders where you sink your short nails, trying to contain the molten wave of pleasure washing over you. The orgasm is brutal, your whole body seizing as Joel keeps on grounding his thumb cruelly hard on your clit, the fist on your hair tightening even more as he praises you throughout. It hurts so good you don’t remember sex could even be like this.

You’re barely down from your high that Joel manhandles your pliant body until you’re under him on the couch. He’s still clothed, his jeans scratchy against your bare legs. His fingers follow an ugly scar on your flank - you got this one pretty early after the end of the world, it’s still itchy sometimes, you don’t really want to talk about it - and you hear him mumble how pretty you are, more for himself than for you. “Joel” you plead again and he snaps out of his haze, voracious glint back in his eyes.

“I’m here, I’m here” he repeats, guiding his cock against your wet slit. He stops just a second to ask if you still want this, and you beg his name again. Finally, he pushes inside you, fills you in one slow motion. You can’t stop the litany of fuck escaping your mouth. It feels like he’s splitting you in two, molding your flesh to him. The stretch is a lot, makes your brain short-circuit. “Breathe” he instructs, his fingers - still wet from your desire - finds your cheek in a soothing gesture. “Stay with me”, he adds, voice low against the dainty shell of your ear.

Joel fucks you slow, way more gentle than when he had his fingers buried in your cunt a few minutes before. He pushes your knees apart, hikes your legs high on his waist, almost folding you in half. It still hurts a little, but the pressure feels good, even better when one of his hands finds your clit again. Your soft moans fill the air between you, warm with whiskey and need. One particularly powerful snap of his hips and his cock touches something bright inside of you, awakening feelings you had even forgotten about. He keeps rubbing the delicate and swollen flesh just above there you’re joined, and you already know your second orgasm is not far.

You seek his mouth, demanding for him to kiss you, as you bury your hand in his soft curls, where early swirls of gray ring the end of his youth. A sudden burst of need and yearning and almost sadness shots through you. It’s not only about being intimate with someone after all those years. It’s the emotion of trusting another human enough to bare your body, to let them come close, to show vulnerability - not in the form of the pain and the gruesome you’re both accustomed to - no, the real vulnerability that lies in the will to share something good, something mundane and beautiful, sinful and sacred. The illusion that everything will be alright, that, in the next seconds, you both have nothing else to care about than your common pleasure, than the warmth of the other’s skin, than this silly and dangerous thrill you’re willing to offer. You’re opening your legs as much as your heart, and you know it’s going to wreck you in the most stunning way.

You come with a whisper of his name against his lips, like a secret prayer, an oath that in this instant he is all you believe in. He follows you in your bliss just after, considerate enough to pull out and cum on your belly. You forgot how messy all this can be. But the sight of his cum on your skin is also a bleak reminder of reality - you better not get pregnant now. He must sense your distress because he cups your cheeks gently, kisses you again.

“Stay with me” he says, echoing his words from a few minutes earlier, when you were stuffed full with him. Except this time, you think you understand what he means - what he truly means.

You think you feel him smile in the kiss.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel the last of us #joel tlou #pedro pascal imagine #joel miller x you #tlou hbo #joel miller #joel miller fic

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iamadequate1 · 3 months

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Don't Stream on Max

Ragging on Max is fun, isn't it? This is going to be long since I brought tables. Here's a kiss GIF to get people's attention!

Let's be real: if HBO/Max has a cancellation rate this high and is the only streamer with a cancellation rate approaching these numbers, we're long past the point where fingers can be pointed at the shows individually, trying to invent unique "failures" in each one separately... except for Zaslav's baby, The Idol, that show deserved it. If there is an oddity like this, deduce down the common factor, and the common factor here in all these "failures" is WBD/HBO/Max. WBD does not know how to run a streaming business, and yet, it is charging consumers the highest rates in the industry.

✨Cancel Max now✨

Remember that WBD sponsored article from Vulture? Remember?? Specifically...

And then there was the final strike against last month’s canceled trio of titles: their production costs. As noted earlier, all three series went into development circa 2019-2020, at a time when competition for hot new shows was beyond intense. Streamers were handing out ridiculous deals in order to land coveted projects and agreeing to license fees and production budgets that were usually only reserved for big, established blockbuster hits. So a series like Rap Sh!t, which had the feel of an indie production and used iPhones to tell its story, ended up costing Max twice as much to license as HBO’s critically loved, niche comedy Somebody Somewhere, per a source familiar with show budgets. Our Flag Means Death, the same sources say, had a license fee three times that of Somebody.

First of all, they picked the smallest show they could in order to justify ~scary~ words like "twice" and "three times" without any danger of being specific, but they also picked a show that was "renewed" and I can find no evidence it's being worked on anymore!

But 2019-2020, let's discuss that. The merger was finalized April 8, 2022, and Max, the illicit love baby between Discovery+ and HBO Max, launched on May 23, 2023. On its face, Max has the second largest sticker price of streamers, and that sticker price is mostly built from that HBO prestige, but I'll build to that...

Let's say Zaslav had to let 2022 roll, so let's look at 2023, shall we? HBO/Max had 11 shows debut in 2023.

Velma (Max - renewed + lol)

The Last of Us (HBO - renewed)

Fired on Mars (Max - Purgatory)

Gremlins: Secrets of the Mogwai (Max - Renewed)

Clone High (Max - Purgatory as new season is coming in)

The Idol (HBO - cancelled)

Warrior (Max - cancelled + moved to Netflix)

Adventure Time: Fionna and Cake (Max - renewed)

Young Love (Max - Purgatory)

Scavengers Reign (Max - Purgatory)

Bookie (Max - Renewed)

Wow! Not even half confirmed renewed, and one of the success stories is Velma. HBO also only debuted two series that year: TLOU was in development since 2020, but The Idol was still in early stages when Zaslav wandered in. Since he didn't put a stop to it, The Idol remains Zaslav's sole contribution to HBO, especially since according to Wikipedia, the show went under a "drastic" overhaul in April 2022, the month of the merger.

There is an article going around citing that Max has a 26.9% cancellation rate, and that seems.... off? It is still far higher than every other streamer, but it's still lower than what's expected from what we've seen of WBD/Max. If you look at Max's original programming list and HBO's original programming list, something's not adding up. I tried to follow the source back, but it wanted money, so I'll do it myself! I suspect that the glut of mindless reality shows, exploitative docuseries, and miniseries really brought that percentage down.

I'm just going to look at the cancellation of actual scripted shows, ignoring miniseries (that's just a big movie on purpose and no concern about #FinishOurStories), series that haven't aired an episode yet, non-English series (most don't have Wikipedia entries and are a messier thing to research), and co-productions (as Anne with an E showed, sometimes the partner can be responsible for cancellations -- this unfortunately leaves off series like Gentleman Jack). I also limited myself to series that had/about to have a season debut after the merger date (April 8, 2022).

(I've got the 'tism, and I enjoy making spreadsheets.)

Drama:

Comedy:

Anthology:

Continuation:

Adult Animation:

Kid/Family:

(Note: I used "ended" if I immediately saw that it was the creators who ended the show on purpose.)

HBO Breakdown:

Max Breakdown:

Combined:

HBO/Max is hovering around a confirmed 50% cancellation rate. I don't expect shows like Tokyo Vice and The Sex Lives of College Girls to last past their seasons that are about to premiere, and I expect many of these other "renewed" or "pending" shows to disappear into the ether.

Let's talk money. What is the monthly cost to subscribe to streamers? To make my life easier, I'm not going to list out yearly costs.

Streamer | Cost/Month with Ads (USD) | Cost/Month without Ads (USD) Apple | n/a | 9.99 Disney | 7.99 | 13.99 Hulu | 7.99 | 17.99 Disney/Hulu Bundle | 9.99 | 19.99 Max | 9.99 | 15.99 Netflix | 6.99 | 15.49 Paramount | 5.99 | 11.99 Peacock | 5.99 | 11.99 Prime | 8.99 | 11.98 Starz | n/a | 9.99 Discovery+ (on debut) | 4.99 | 6.99

Disney and Hulu together without bundling would be 15.98 with ads and 31.98 without ads, so each bundle is 62.5% of what it would have been with a double charge. If Max would be a similar deal, the HBO and Discovery pieces separately would add to 15.98 (ads) and 25.58 (no ads), so assuming no Discovery inflation (and, lbr, the starting pricing was already too high), the HBO piece would be 10.99 (ads) and 18.59 (no ads), putting HBO as the most expensive streaming option.

It's hidden, but Max is a bundle. Discovery+ and HBO do not have overlapping shows or audiences; it's really like if ESPN and Disney tried to sell itself as one service without telling anyone.

Since I tossed out the reality pieces, the cancellation rates I have above are the HBO pieces. If you're paying for Max, you're paying for the most expensive TV option, while paying for the highest turnover in TV productions. If you're subbed to Max for one show, it would be cheaper to just buy it from a digital store or, you know, 🏴‍☠️

So, circling back to the initial quote: sobbing about being beholden to the wacky 2019-2020 greenlights, when those greenlights are the only reason people are subscribed to the service in the first place is certainly a choice! Especially since now that the only "originals" Max is offering up are on par with Velma and The Idol, and the prestige TV that were underway at the time of merger (ex, TLOU and that upcoming HP show) maybe justify a one month sub-and-binge per year. With this obscene cancellation rate and creator disrespect, they aren't going to nab any more big projects, but they sure want you to pay them like they are.

Look, I'm not getting into the labor and worker treatment parts of this, and I'm not getting into the media representation parts of this or how non-white/straight/male shows have to meet impossible standards. Both of those are also egregious and part of a much, much larger discussion. Just from a purely consumer point of view, Max is a bad product.

Cancel Max. It is not worth your time to care about anything they put out.

Anyway, some petitions for shows that this failed streamer dumped recently. Max won't pick any of them up again, but you can show other streamers that there is interest for them to pick up the shows!

Our Flag Means Death

Rap Sh!t

Julia

Winning Time

Warrior (S4 has not been confirmed with Netflix)

#petitions at end #our flag means death #ofmd #save ofmd #adopt our crew #david zaslav #hbo max #max #don't stream on max #rap shit #rap sh!t #julia hbo #winning time #warrior #the gilded age #the gilded age should help out their Gay Twitter brethren

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