#SHE’S A PROFESSIONAL HAVE SOME RESPECT FOR HER CRAFT!!!!!!

[thehopelessauthor]

Joel Perez doesn’t deserve to be judged or vilified simply because he voices a character who happens to be a rapist. Let me emphasize: character. It’s crucial to understand the distinction between a fictional role and the real-life person behind it. Acting is a profession that requires portraying a wide range of characters, often including morally complex or deeply flawed individuals. This is NOT a reflection of the actor’s personal beliefs, values, or character. The job of an actor is to bring these roles to life— not to be conflated with them. I wish more people could separate the actions of a fictional character from the person who is simply doing their job as an artist.

It’s truly disheartening to see how actors and voice actors are targeted for the roles they play, especially when their performances are simply a reflection of the story they are helping to tell. In the case of Abby Anderson’s VA — Laura Bailey — from The Last of Us Part II, she received an outpouring of hateful comments and harassment because of the controversial storylines and decisions associated with her character. This backlash often crosses the line into personal attacks, failing to differentiate between the actor and the fictional character they portray.

For example, in my opinion, I may hate and reject Ascended Astarion — the character — because of his personality and the evil choices tied to that version of his story. However, that does NOT mean I harbor any negativity toward his voice actor, Neil Newbon, who is, by all accounts, a kind and wonderful person. Neil’s role is to portray the character’s range, including darker arcs chosen by players. He performs his work with incredible skill and dedication, and that deserves absolute respect.

I find it essential to separate an actor from the character they portray, especially when the role involves a complex or despicable personality. For instance, while I think Valentino from Helluva Boss is a detestable character, I hold Joel Perez in high regard. I respect him as an individual and as a professional who brings immense talent and dedication to his work.

I believe that acknowledging the distinction between the actor and their role is important because it allows me to appreciate their craft without conflating their personal character with the fictional one. Joel’s ability to embody someone as awful as Valentino shows incredible skill, and I feel it’s only fair to recognize his professionalism and artistry, even if I have strong negative feelings about the character he portrays.

Conclusion:

It’s perfectly fine to feel excited about certain characters or even find them sexually attractive— if they’re ridiculously hot etc — that’s a natural part of engaging with storytelling and/or having an emotional connection with them. However, it’s crucial to maintain boundaries and respect the voice actors (VAs) who bring these characters to life. When admiration crosses into inappropriate territory, such as making the actor uncomfortable with overly personal or explicit comments, it becomes a form of harassment. This is especially concerning with characters that are intentionally hypersexual — the likes of Angel Dust and Astarion — but as the line between character admiration and VA respect can blur for some fans.

Let’s remember that VAs are professionals who deserve a safe and supportive environment. They’re not stand-ins for the characters they portray — sure! They might strike an iconic pose, crack a joke, or quote their character at Comic-Con, but at the end of the day, they’re real people too, with real feelings — , and bringing inappropriate comments to them is not only disrespectful but harmful. Instead, let’s celebrate their performances, platonically, appreciating their incredible talent and hard work while maintaining respectful boundaries. Be grateful that we get to experience their artistry and storytelling, and let’s show our appreciation in ways that uplift and honour their contributions.

Video shitpost by twt user mmskas_

[autisticaradiamegido]

That dolls gonna beat the shit out of you for doing that to her

no she’s acting. it’s called “costume and makeup,” sweaty, ALL the haunt actors do it.

[taylorman2274]

We Care About You (Part II)

The aftermath that follows is a struggle for everyone to comprehend.

Content Warning(s): N/A

Notes: SAGAU; GN!Reader

Word Count: 1k

Previous || Next

Taglist: @silverstarred

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The past few days have been hard for your mind to wrap around.

Ever since that particular incident you had while playing Genshin, you've been extremely hesitant to log back on. Now that you knew all the people of Teyvat were self-aware, you were scared to imagine what they thought of you.

"Have they been self-aware the entire time that I've been playing? Have they always been able to hear my voice whenever I spoke aloud? Do the Traveler and their friends hate me for forcibly controlling their movements and actions like puppets? If that's the case, wouldn't it be better for me to leave them alone without letting them know?"

It doesn't seem like there's any part of your day where you're not thinking about how to follow up with the world of Genshin Impact. In fact, it's gotten so bad for you that some of your friends have noticed your change in mood and asked if anything was wrong.

Knowing that this situation is not only unheard of but also impossible to comprehend for anyone, you simply told them that you were dealing with personal issues, which honestly isn't that far from the truth.

Eventually, you began to worry if some of the people in Teyvat would figure out a way to reach you beyond the computer should you not reach back to them soon. In the past, you would've laughed at such a thought. But now that you've witnessed the impossible, you didn't want to wait around and find out.

"If I'm going to continue playing Genshin, I should at least try and accommodate their needs and wants better."

As much as you didn't want to delay your return to Genshin any further, you felt that researching all of your current playable character's needs, wants, likes, and dislikes took top priority over anything else in your life right now.

...Well...besides your needs and wants.

First, you took note of their favorite and least favorite foods. You would feel pretty bad if you kept feeding them food that wasn't their preference. Especially since characters like Lisa and Ganyu were vegetarians.

Second, you took note of everyone's talents. While you know that some characters had passive talents which gave you extra dishes when cooking or extra materials when crafting, you felt that those jobs should be left to the professionals, such as Xiangling and Albedo respectively.

"Let's see. First off, I should probably remove the people in my party with full-time jobs, as they take priority over exploring with the Traveler. So I should probably replace any Knights of Favonius, Liyue Qixing, Tri-Commission Member, etc. However, that doesn't exactly leave me with a lot of options to choose from. Although Xiangling works for Wanmin Restaurant, she's currently exploring Teyvat for ingredients. I assume accompanying the traveler would be fine with her. Bennett works for the Adventure's Guild so that works as well. But that also leaves me with a Pyro-heavy party, which may pose a problem for enemies such as Pyro slimes..."

However, the more you spent time researching, the more pessimistic and depressed you began to feel. Here you were spending all this effort trying to accommodate to all the characters you've obtained without even knowing if they gave a single thought or care in the world towards you.

"...I never really asked if they wanted to join the Traveler's adventures. ...So...maybe I should just only use the Traveler...?"

You sighed deeply. This was not gonna be good for your mental health.

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

Meanwhile...

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

The Traveler didn't know what to think.

On one hand, they were happy that [Y/N] was getting some much deserved rest. On top of that, they were also happy that they got to have a break from doing commissions all the time. But on the otherhand...

They were really starting to miss you.

This is the longest that they have gone without feeling your presence and they were starting to worry if they had accidentally scared you off due to that incident.

The incident that revealed Teyvat's self-awareness.

"...You're thinking about [Y/N] again, aren't you?" Paimon asked.

The Traveler chuckled sadly. "Is it really that obvious?"

"Kind of? Paimon thinks that's what everyone is thinking about."

They believe her. Zhongli, Venti, and a few others had reached out to them over the past couple of days for any news about [Y/N]. They were saddened by their expressions when they told them they had no news to give.

“...Y/N..." The Traveler sighed.

"Hmm?" Paimon hummed in thought, "What was that?"

"...To think that was their name all along. And to even think that they may be just as human as most people in Teyvat! It’s honestly kind of relieving when you think about it.

Although they weren't going to lie. At first, they saw [Y/N] as an unknown entity that possessed them to do its bidding. It was scary at first, knowing that neither them nor Paimon were able to figure out a way to interact with or avoid it. However, after solving both Mondstadt's and Liyue's respectable crises and powering them up with newfound strength, they started to see you as a sort of companion similar to Paimon.

"Yeah, even Paimon is starting to miss traveling and exploring with them."

"Is that so?" The Traveler taunted, "I thought that at one point you were trying to prove yourself as the better guide?"

"Hey! Paimon told you already that she has proved herself as the superior guide time and time again." She exclaimed as she crossed her arms.

They laughed. It felt nice to tease Paimon like this to distract them from the lack of [Y/N]'s presence, but they were starting to feel like they couldn't keep this up forever.

"Regardless, Paimon hopes that [Y/N] comes back soon. Everybody will feel a lot better once they do."

The Traveler looked up to the night sky and watched the stars flicker with light. Paimon followed their gaze and gave a sorrowful frown.

"I hope so too."

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Author Side Notes: I had an idea.

But in all seriousness, I'm flattered by all the positive comments, reblogs, and likes from the previous post. I only expected to get around 20 notes since it was my first post but somehow I've ended up at 800+ and counting? It's almost too much for me to handle lol.

As for the rest of this story, I've decided that it will likely take around six parts for me to reach its conclusion. We've got two down so far, so that makes four more to go. Of course, that's only if y'all want to read more.

[whenmemorydies]

See this?

Carmy is about to pull this shit. He is really about to go in and likely blow up one of the only good relationships he has left from The Beef. After yelling at Tina from the pass. After stressing out everyone and their fucking dog cos he thinks this is acceptable behaviour if its all in service of a star?

This part of 3x03 Doors was such a jagged scene for me because of a few things (including what I've said above). What else got me:

Tina is someone Carmy knows, that Carmy loves (go back to their scene in 1x08 Braciole talking about Mikey. Go back to Carmy's soft "hey Tina you go ahead, you take the night off okay? I got you.");

Tina is an older woman of colour who has made the commitment to skill up so that she can work at The Bear after working at The Beef. Carmy has seen the work she has put in but in this moment, he pays none of it any mind. Imagine being T. Imagine how that would feel. Imagine how it would feel knowing all we know after watching Tina's journey in 3x06 Napkins. The thing is, Carmy doesn't need to know all of T's backstory to know his behaviour is unacceptable. The fact that he knows some of it and proceeds to act in this way is just more evidence of his white privilege showing its ass.

Carmy does not have the self reflexivity here to look at his young, white, male self yelling at this older WOC and see how fucked this is: how he's become another white guy in a litany of white men barking at workers of colour, not seeing Tina for the whole human she is but reducing her to a means of production. The racial dynamics on this show are so evident but don't get talked about nearly enough. I know the writers have crafted those dynamics on purpose because as beautiful a character as Carmy is, he's also a product of his environment as a white chef trained in a highly racially segregated field. This has repercussions for his relationships in season 3, particularly with the BIPOC characters in his life. @november-rising speaks about Carmy's behaviour in relation to Black women's experiences of love and professional recognition devastatingly here. Read their post and the reblogs.

While this shit made me so mad this season, it was also in character - as I've said here - for a white guy trained in fine dining to revert to established patterns of behaviour. Though, I'm gonna need the writers of the show to show US that they did this on purpose and have Carmy ATONE for this shit in season 4. Otherwise, what kind of redemption arc will this man have? This shit is hurtful to the BIPOC characters and BIPOC viewers of this show in no small part because white men the world over have a LONG history of using BIPOC people as a means of production and as a means of production alone. If you're unsure about this, please go look up the Transatlantic slave trade. Please go look up the history of colonial indentured labour. Please go look up The British East India Company. Please look up the forced labour regime in the modern prison industrial complex. Please go read a fucking book. And no I'm not saying Carmy is responsible for the slave trade (LMAO please hold fire if this is where your mind is going). I'm saying BIPOC folks carry with us a long ass history, an intergenerational history of this shit. But guess who else does too? White folks. So don't act like they dont.

This shit is also hurtful because we know how respectful Carmy can be. We’ve seen him in seasons 1 & 2. We know he knows what being a practical ally looks like (even if he may not have the language to name what he was doing) when he made sure to bring the staff of The Beef with him to The Bear and invested in them accordingly. We know he loves and respects them, none more so than Sydney. But there were so many times where he did not act like it in season 3. And when folks have got histories - not just personal but cultural too - as long and as loaded as we ALL do, actions account for a lot. What you do is the shorthand for who you are in the world, whether you like it or not.

Ok back to the scene.

Who comes in and simultaneously saves Carmy's ass and ANOTHER of his relationships? Who protects Tina and keeps the kitchen from exploding AGAIN?

Who supervises her sous chef like a fucking pro?

Sydney. Sydney. Sydney.

And who knows that he's in the presence of greatness but doesn't know how to articulate it cos he's not integrated, not by a fucking long shot. Who needs to attend some anti-racism training along with Al-Anon and therapy (so he can get the benefit of understanding his role in this system and get a better understanding of his own mind)?

Yeah you Carmen, you.

Better get on that shit before you lose the woman who is the beat to your whole heart another means of production to a chef who's going to pay her better, give Syd insurance from the jump and total creative control. Just saying.

[theunsinkableship1]

LUKOLA FANDOM: The bad and the ugly

DISCLAIMER: This is LUKOLALAND only. Skip this if you're not a shipper. This is only my point of view. No harm intended

Luke

Luke has recently found himself at the center of an undeserved hate campaign. Luke is not only a talented actor but also a genuinely kind and down-to-earth person. Those who know him personally often speak highly of his warmth, and strong work ethic. His colleagues frequently commend his positive attitude on set, his dedication to his craft, and his ability to bring a nuanced, relatable charm to his characters.

Despite this, Luke has been unfairly criticized for a range of baseless reasons. One of the most prominent accusations involves "Papgate," where he was allegedly involved in a publicity stunt that some claim detracted from the show's success. However, it's important to recognize that Luke has always been committed to the success of Bridgerton. As a professional, he understands the importance of the show's reputation and would never intentionally jeopardize it. A professional PR team would never have advised Luke to engage in such a stunt, especially given that there was no pressing need or benefit in doing so, after all, the hard launch has yet to occur. It's clear that Luke genuinely admires his good pal Nicola and values their relationship too much to have intentionally ruined their night. The lack of evidence to support these accusations further highlights the unfair nature of this criticism. His hard work and talent should be celebrated, not overshadowed by baseless accusations.

Another point of contention has been Luke's personal life, with some fans unfairly speculating and judging his choices. However, Luke, like anyone, has the right to live his life privately and without undue scrutiny. We might raise an eyebrow at some of Luke's associations and choices, but that's something we can ponder in the privacy of our Lukolaland without spreading negativity. Luke wasn’t jobless; he was taking a well-deserved vacation after months of hard work with his friends before returning to work in August, just like many do. There's nothing out of the ordinary here. It’s important to remember that we don’t have all the details, so we shouldn’t be quick to judge without knowing the full story. I trust that both Luke and Nicola will navigate this situation wisely and come through just fine. He has conducted himself with integrity, and the assumptions made about his relationships are purely speculative and often harmful. It’s wrong to attack him, his family and friends.

Luke Newton is a promising young actor with a bright future ahead of him. Beyond his undeniable talent, he is known for his kindness, and humility. Luke has always been a good-looking guy, though attraction is subjective. If he’s not your type, that’s fine, but many others do find him attractive, and it doesn’t make sense to broadcast your disinterest across Lukolaland. If you’re not a fan, simply move on without trying to ruin it for others. What truly matters is the work he’s done. Luke plays Colin with skill, bringing depth, relevance, and nuance to the role, with a performance that is both detailed and deeply empathetic. If his performance wasn’t to your taste, feel free to critique it constructively, but keep the focus on his acting. Luke is talented, passionate, and generous, and those who know him appreciate and love him for that. Even his Barbie, I mean-his costar, Nicola has nothing but kind words to say about him. While fans may have opinions, it is important to approach these with empathy and respect, rather than extending unwarranted criticism.

Nicola

I've come across articles and comments that unfairly critique Nicola’s appearance, suggesting she isn’t attractive enough due to her so-called "average" or "oversized" body. The only thing average about her body is that it fits an average size. Let's set the record straight: Nicola is neither fat nor skinny, she’s simply herself. And let's stop equating body size with beauty. Fat people can be stunning, just as skinny people can be less so; it's a fact of life. To claim she doesn't meet certain standards of beauty is not only incorrect but downright absurd. Have you seen her? She is a definition of beauty, both inside and out. Her radiance is undeniable, fitting most conventional beauty standards effortlessly with her baby blue eyes. She embodies all the qualities we value collectively in terms of feminine beauty and her body is a Roman empire.

While you might not personally be attracted to her, that view is far from the majority. Nicola outshines 99% of the population, and among the remaining 1%, she’s in the top tier, thanks to the beauty that comes from within. Her intelligence, brightness, and wisdom add to her allure, making her truly captivating. It's absurd to claim that Luke isn't attracted to Nicola simply because she doesn't fit someone's narrow idea of "his type." Attraction is highly personal and goes far beyond superficial traits. Luke and Nicola share an evident deep connection that likely transcends physical appearance, focusing more on personality, shared values, and mutual respect. Moreover, the idea that Luke wouldn’t be attracted to someone as radiant, talented, and charming as Nicola is equally baseless, if anything, she embodies qualities that many find irresistibly attractive. And we have no definitive idea of what "his type" is as both of his exes looked different and the only trait that they have in common is that they’re attractive talented genuine and kind women who are actresses; Its therefore not wrong to assume that Nicola could fit that description and not the contrary. Just as some may assume Nicola isn't his type, the reverse could be just as true, maybe she is not attracted to tall, dark and handsome men with a remarkable shade of blue eyes, which only underscores how irrelevant these superficial judgments are. Nicola is human, at least I think that she is, and like all of us, she might make mistakes. But unlike many, she is thoughtful and deliberate in her life choices. Nicola has every right to choose her own partner, and while we may wish otherwise, that decision is hers alone. She’s independent and career-driven, and she’s certainly not desperately waiting around for just anyone, only for the one who truly makes a difference in her life. That’s likely why she hasn’t publicly claimed anyone yet. Thankfully, we can trust her judgment, as she knows best who brings happiness and adds value to her life.

Tifaine

Within the Lukola fandom, some creators have been unfairly attacked for their dedication and hard work. Tifaine, in particular, has faced criticism despite her contributions to the community. While it may seem unusual to outsiders that grown people dedicate so much time to shipping real people, it is essential to understand that this community is built on love and admiration, not harm. The only people who have the right to criticize this are Luke and Nicola themselves, and they have expressed appreciation for the support they receive from fans. If Nicola or Luke ever express discomfort or a desire to reassess those boundaries, most of us would comply or, would stop because, contrary to popular belief, we are functioning adults with full lives.

Tifaine's work in the fandom has been invaluable, and while disagreements may arise, it is important to recognize the effort and passion she brings to the community.She has certainly sacrificed time, money for the cause and she puts herself out there which attracts a lot of negativity. Based on my understanding, she was merely presenting facts mostly well-known and non-detrimental ones that do not undermine what’s happening between the two leads. She has consistently shown that she cares deeply for both of them and genuinely wishes for their success, whether individually or together. I trust her intentions and appreciate the significant effort she has put into her work, which is far from negligible. Her dedication is commendable, and her contributions have helped create a space where fans can come together to celebrate the love and success of Luke and Nicola.

In conclusion, I believe that the recent wave of negativity in the community is both unwarranted and harmful and frankly quite counterproductive. And if none of them is above criticism, it is crucial to remember that behind the screens they are real people deserving of respect and kindness. As fans, our role should be to support and uplift, not tear down. By fostering a community built on love and understanding, we can ensure that the fandom remains a positive and welcoming space.

[partialbirthabortion]

A thing that crystalized for me this year on womyns land is that consciousness raising really does need to be an egoless experience. In a space that is Of The Movement, you will hear your words and thoughts reflected back at you in later conversations that may not be credited back to you, that the speaker might not even remember you said. Intentional spaces like the Land, like feminist groups, even sometimes like heavily emotional professional work like abortion, have this almost indescribable character of overfilling you, washing over you, and creating this unifying voice in your memory of consensus. Not even consensus in the sense that there is no debate - I heard more respectful, thoughtful, emotionally difficult debate on the Land than I have ever heard in my entire life - moreso in the sense that we have created a perspective and paradigm collectively and that any one individual’s phrase or framing sublimates to the experience of conversation that We had as a whole. It doesn’t matter that maybe I introduced a distinction between “prescriptive” and “descriptive” in a workshop that I hear echoed back in other workshops and other contexts as “a thing someone talked about in the femmes conversation,” what matters is that we have found a useful way to continue growing together, creating understanding, and reach group goals.

That’s not even to say that lands are disrespectful of works and texts that contribute to a movement. Women were great at referencing quotes and ideas from specific feminists, forming connections between things they’ve read and their own experiences and naming the creators of those foundations! But your goal in a consciousness raising space should not be credit, especially when you’re talking about conversing and not reference-able writing. It will not always be given to you, and it doesn’t need to be.

Obviously I’m talking about ego in the colloquial sense and not the Freudian one here but I described this to @bluerotundas as an “egomelting” experience, and it was! The feeling that you are part of something larger than yourself is so powerful, and so humbling. It’s a big shift. If I say some life changing thing to a woman and she goes on to better her life with it, other womens lives with it, to craft it into art and policy and kindness and community work, it doesn’t matter if she remembers I said it or not. What’s good for her is good for me! This is a team sport.

[wifelinkmtg]

Wifelink: Murders! #sponsored

Welcome back to the best dumb idea I've ever had! Murder has come to the City of Guilds. Well, murder lives here, but it's crept out of the shadows, crawled up from the undercity, slunk through steam and oozed its way out of the breeding pools, and guild leaders are dropping like coins from a debtor's mouth. Who could be responsible? Who could be next? Who was that woman slipping furtively into an alley, and what's her deal? Is she single? Some of these questions and more will be answered on today's episode. Live from Ravnica, this... is Wifelink.

But first, a word from today's sponsor: picture this - it's your turn to host the monthly meeting of your true crime book club, and you maybe haven't finished Massacre: the true story of Ravnica's bloodiest killings and the woman behind them, and now you're trying to decide whether to finish it so you don't look like an idiot in the discussion group, or to spend time whipping up hors d'oeuvres so you don't have to serve everyone the same stupid veggies-and-ranch plate you did last time and suffer once more through Joanna's veiled disapproval. But what if I told you there was a way to get professionally-made charcuterie shipped directly to your home, leaving you the time you need to finish your last few chapters and craft a trenchant discussion question just in time for the doorbell? With Hello Flesh, it's just that easy: the incredible chefs at Hellbender will provide you with a mouthwatering selection of their finest meats: prosciutto, summer sausage, capicola, pastrami, and much, much more! Go to helloflesh dot com now, and sign up using offer code KNIFELINK to get your first month absolutely free! That's helloflesh dot com, offer code K-N-I-F-E-L-I-N-K. Hello Flesh: Don't ask where the meat comes from.

WAIT, WE'RE DOING RAVNICA? DIDN'T YOU SKIP A COUPLE SETS

What are you, Azorius? I've never felt any fondness for Eldraine, and I really didn't vibe with the new Ixalan set, so we're doing the Ravnica Murder Mystery set. I'm not going to do every single set that comes out or this will be my full-time job by 2026.

Cold Case Cracker (art by Wayne Wu)

Some things are very simple. Good cheekbones and the classic trench coat with the wide belt. I particularly enjoy the way her hair looks more like strips of fabric or parchment.

Merchant of Truth (art by Carissa Susilo)

"Goth angel" works on me every time, and this piece is particularly gorgeous - the composition and that dress, my goodness. You don't see a lot of angels from behind in Magic, on account of you would have to figure out what the anatomy and clothing situation is where the wings connect to the back, and Carissa has solved the clothing problem rather elegantly, and refused to engage with the anatomy problem at all. I can respect that.

I've never quite understood what's going on with Orzhov angels - I think they're mostly supposed to be disillusioned ex-Boros, but they don't really get much of a voice in story. You've got the flavor text on Angel of Despair, "it is as if their duty is to an empty void," but that's a quote from the most Boros of all the angels. Perhaps it's simply that the Orzhov don't labor under the same illusions as the other white-aligned guilds - the Boros and the Azorius and as we see in this story, even the Selesnya are all firmly entrenched in the idea that they stand for what's Right and Good on Ravnica, but ultimately they stand only for themselves and their own power and pre-eminence. The Orzhov, at least, make no secret of this. Maybe that's a comfort, to an angel.

Experiment Twelve (art by Michele Giorgi)

Oh baby girl the Simic fucked you right up, didn't they. Claws and scales and some sort of muzzle - do you feel like an animal, now? Do you hate what they did to you, or do you glory in your new sharpness? Did you escape, or are you on their leash? Are you hunted, or am I?

Bubble Smuggler (art by Leesha Hannigan)

This is Glovax. I've only had them for a day but if anything happened to them I would kill everyone in the room and then myself.

Honestly I'm disconsolate that this isn't a real animal that exists in the world and that I'll never get to rescue one from an aquarium and have an octopus fish best friend for life. You know that soul-sick feeling you get when you remember that Anomalocaris has been extinct for 500 million years ago and that you will never be able to pet one? Yeah. Goddammit they're going to make this a pet on Arena and I will spend real earth dollars on it.

ALL THESE TENTACLES AND STILL THE BIGGEST SUCKER IS YOU. NOW MAKE WITH THE LEGENDARIES

Etrata, Deadly Fugitive (art by Livia Prima)

I have looked at a whole lot of Etrata art, and do you want to know my considered opinion? This outfit fucking rules. It's got one and a quarter sleeves, thirteen visible buckles, a circular collar that connects only at the sternum, and a clingy ankle-length skirt with a slit damn near up to the thigh to reveal more buckles. It is the least practical outfit I can imagine an assassin wearing short of an inflatable dinosaur costume but god, it looks like it's meant for deadly stealth, and I am in love. Etrata is broody and gorgeous and has a big knife and extraordinarily naked shoulders, and what else could you want?

Judith, Carnage Connoisseur (art by Jodie Muir)

A look specifically crafted to elicit "step on me mommy"s from the general public. I'm on record as saying that there's no way Judith does any sort of aftercare, so maybe have a Selesnya cleric on speed-dial if you're gonna run that risk.

Judith, Carnage Connoisseur (alternate art by Alex Dos Diaz)

I think Loxodon Hierarch is screening my calls.

Honestly, I would do stupid, stupid things for a pretty girl with red eyes, sharp nails and facial scarring. I'm not sure what kinds of things I would do for a pretty girl with gold flame decals on her arms, but based on prior evidence, they would probably also be extremely stupid.

Izoni, Center of the Web (art by Justine Cruz)

It's weird how people get locked in your memory at the point in time you knew them. You know you've changed a lot since then, and if you thought about it you'd agree other people might well also have changed, but you don't think about it, and then you run into an old friend or an ex and the things you knew them for, the things you've tied their memory to in your mind, aren't even still part of their life.

So Izoni, my beloved Izoni, Ravnica's foremost bug girl and finder of beetles, has moved on with her life in the past six years. She's into spiders now, that's her thing. She's a spider girl. And that's cool, spiders are cool, too, but the way this went in my head I was going to tell her about the mantis-riders of Tarkir and the dune-beetles of Amonkhet and the behavioral quirks of giant ants on Innistrad and now, instead, I'm not sure what to say. "You're looking well," I suppose, or something about, "so, leading the Swarm now? How's that going for you?"

Analyze the Pollen (art by Anna Christenson)

It's not even that big a change, really. Hardly noticeable. She still has that same intensity, that same curiosity. Her brows still furrow in concentration. She's still covered in crawling things, and she is still the most beautiful woman on Ravnica. Spiders or insects, what's the difference? All it means is that six years have passed. All it means is that the places and people you love continue to move in your absence. All it means is that you're both talking past each other to your echoes, to the people you used to know, who no longer exist. Time has eaten them both.

And if you, like time, get hungry, don't forget to use our affiliate code KNIFELINK at -

HEY. HELLO FLESH IS A RAKDOS JOINT, RIGHT

- in the middle of the ad read, dude?

YOU SAID HELLBENDER CHEFS DO THE CHARCUTERIE. THAT'S JUDITH'S PLACE

Yeah, what about it?

DO YOU THINK SHE'S GONNA BE GOOD WITH CONTENT SHE SPONSORED CALLING SOMEONE ELSE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN RAVNICA

Ah.

OR LIKE DO YOU THINK SHE'S GENERALLY COMFORTABLE SHARING THE SPOTLIGHT

...so thank you all so much for listening to this episode of Wifelink! I'm going to lay low for a bit, and if my body turns up face-down in an undercity canal, y'all know who did it.

[kdinjenzen]

i know you probably want to put it all behind you but the fact that your last workplace kept misgendering you when you look Like That is, objectively, kind of hilarious. like my brother in christ do you also he/him all curvy redheads like mrs jessica rabbit? and the reason you give is because she is taller then her husband with a deeper voice? do you have nothing but a single lonely piece of salad for a brain? transphobia gives you brain worms via spontaneous generation i swear.

It’s frustrating, honestly. It shows that people, especially in professional industries, really still have no idea how to act around a trans person. And when they make a mistake they make it about THEM instead of just being self reflective about it or the company having some kind of “hey we should have a professional come talk to everyone about how to not be an asshole to trans people.”

There’s so many things companies CAN do to better help their cis and trans employees so that things like this don’t happen. Which will make cis people less “cis shame-ful” about everything, where they use so many excuses for wrongful treatment, and will help make trans people feel actually safe.

The BARE MINIMUM is that if someone says “these are my pronouns” you respect that. It’s that simple. It’s not even hard to do. And YET…

Urgh… yeah, I’m still very upset about it, and the way it was handled by HR was even WORSE.

Is it really that much to ask for a job that will let me, gasp, do my job properly without someone misgendering me and making the workplace hostile? I WANT TO WORK! I actually LIKE the feeling of working in groups and putting in effort to craft and creat with people. I like JOB. My brain feels happy when I have “JOB TO DO.” Work is, or can be, very fun and validating.

But if the workplace is hostile and you are constantly being lied to and mistreated, especially after you JUST joined the team, it’s very obvious that it can only get worse.

(Again, for everyone out there, physical presentation of “societal gender norms” don’t matter. Trans men can have boobs, non binary people don’t own androgyny, trans women can have facial hair, cis women can have very deep voices, cis men can have very high voices, etc etc etc. You don’t gotta look like anything to expect the smallest bit of respect from people. ESPECIALLY in the work place.)

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Dear Hollywood Celebrities, Nobody Cares - The Critical Drinker

"The cold, hard truth is that nobody gives a fuck about your political opinions anymore. You are some of the least qualified people in the world to be lecturing normal people on how to think and vote. Because you're not normal people. You don't work normal jobs. You don't live normal lives. You exist in a nice, comfortable bubble that protects and insulates you from reality, where you're surrounded by other people just like yourselves.

And the thing is, we don't actually hate you for that. There's nothing wrong with being rich and successful if you've earned it. And part of being rich and successful is that you get a bit detached from the mundane reality of daily life. Again, we understand.

And let's be honest. It's kind of fucking cool to be an actor. You guys get to do stuff and go places that most of us could never dream of. And we're happy to cheer and boo the characters that you play. We're happy to be captivated by the performances you deliver. We're happy to listen to you talk about your craft and share stories and insights into what it's like making movies.

But what we're not prepared to do anymore is be lectured by you, or told what causes we're supposed to support by you, or how to think and vote by you. This next bit is going to take a bit of humility and self-reflection, which I realize are two qualities you're not exactly hot on, but it's time to shut the fuck up about this stuff.

It's none of your business, it's not your area of expertise and it never was. Learn that lesson and you might just get back the respect and attention that you won. Learn it not, and, well, you might just find out how fickle a mistress fame really is."

==

Dare I say, Amen.

Social media destroyed the "movie star." We used to put them on pedestals because they were inaccessible, and their world was beyond our comprehension. We liked not knowing very much about them because it added to the mystery and allure of people who became someone completely different on the screen each time we saw them. They were blank slates who became the embodiment of the characters we saw on the screen.

But the mystery is gone. Because social media took us behind the veil and showed us what sanctimonious, shitty, entitled fuckers these people are. They hold luxury beliefs as a form of status symbol, such as calling to "defund the police" from behind the locked doors of their mansions, on properties surrounded by high walls and gates, in communities that are themselves walled and gated.

For example, nobody can look at the remake of "Snow White" and actually see Snow White. We can only see a narcissistic little snot who was whining about being paid millions of dollars to wear a dress for 12 hours a day for a few months; an ignorant little brat who, rather than be humble and grateful for the opportunity countless no less qualified professional pretenders would give their left arm for, took joy in shitting on the original that millions have loved since before her own parents were born, and who attached her support for violent Islamic terrorists to the unnecessary, unwanted future box-office bomb she didn't deserve to be in.

We know too much about you fucking retards now. You're glorified hairless performing monkeys, and you don't live in the real world of the regular person. Sit the hell down and shut the fuck up.

[blooms-in-sleep]

Toy Soldiers, Ch. 1

Inscrutable aliens abduct and brainwash hundreds of women into devoted slaves, among them Erica Galletti, a university professor convinced she must help her Masters conquer Earth.

Sometimes I wondered if I was the same woman as three days ago. Thinking in terms of days was definitely strange. I put my fingers to the metal wall beside me, separating me from the infinite vacuum, black and timeless. Somewhere amongst the drifting stars was Earth, but I knew at this distance it easily blended into their midst. I hauled myself forward in the zero gravity, down a rounded pentagonal tube studded with periwinkle lights. Just wide enough for me to move through in my current condition: naked except for the store between my legs. It was an arrow-shaped thing of black resin, clinging to my skin, with the head covering my crotch. It absorbed moisture. I never would’ve thought of it as a “store” had I seen it on someone else. But my Masters were very capable of guiding my thoughts.

Three days ago, Erica Galletti was a professor of political science at Columbia University, having worked there for seven years. She had colleagues she respected and prided herself on being professional but approachable. But then she’d been driving home through Harriman State Park and seen the road in front of her start to distort into a heat-haze-minus-heat, then melt away like a hologram along with the trees, the sunset sky, everything – replaced by an unearthly light that only she and her car seemed to inhabit. For some reason, it was at that point I tried to brake.

I?

I was a slave. I thought my name was Erica Galletti, but that only went so far.

An aperture of teardrop-shaped plates irised open in front of me, and I emerged into one of the ship’s central chambers. It was an ovoid: twenty feet across, thirty-five feet tall, with entrances clustered randomly near each end. Struts of an almost clear, plasticky substance jutted from above the equator of the interior surface and crisscrossed in a circular grid, reaching down to surround and hold a glittering crystal sphere at the room’s centre, big enough for me to curl up inside, with a black pillar affixed to the top. In nearly all the grid’s holes – which were a little over twenty inches on each side – another slave was holding themself in place, clasping the transparent tubes and softly kicking their legs like they were swimming with a rubber ring.

As a door to my left opened, and a soft-featured young woman with dark eyes peered out, I pushed against the now-shut plates of the aperture, up and off, and soon met the grid in a less-populated area. I monkey-barred over to my place, wandering a forest of legs where a dozen ebony stores winked at me between the “trees.” I slipped up into my space, staring straight ahead at the crystal ball. My only other accoutrements were a series of pins, keeping my medium-long, dark brown hair out of my eyes. On either side of me were a woman my age, with dusky, heart-shaped lips and small, pyramidal breasts; and a thin transgender man, judging by the dark threads on his upper lip, and his scars. The woman was squinting slightly. Maybe she wore glasses, before.

The last few slaves were entering the room now. Somewhere past a hundred people now waited in place, glancing politely between the sphere – the informer – or the doors in the “upper” reaches of the room. They, of course, eventually opened. All at once, we felt the same tension thrum into existence and vibrate between us. We were like the taut strings or wires of a musical instrument, waiting for the maestro’s first chord. Two Masters clambered into the room, and I couldn’t look away. They were all I needed to see. I failed to restrain a deep, satisfied groan. Nothing about their forms was sexually attractive to me, so I had to chalk up the liquid shock pooling inside me, making me drip into my ever-receptive store, entirely to their conditioning. Not just of me, they were Masters of their craft.

Our Masters wore no clothes, like us, but it was because their bodies were covered in sand-coloured fur. Such strange bodies: to move, to touch, their six limbs would inflate with fluid and extend, and I could only imagine their skin stretching like rubber beneath the fur. Folded against their chins when at rest, as if eternally praying or begging, their hands were elongated and finlike. Two thick stalks jutted from the centre of their wrinkled, blotchy faces, meeting at something like a nose, which twitched. As I watched the closer of the two Masters, the chestnut-shaped eye on one of those stalks swivelled to face me, while its twin surveyed the other side of the room. The eye was glossy and wine-red. Dark shapes flashed within; the pupils? A long, lipless gash of a mouth ran down from the stalks, flexing in gentle waves.

I recognised our Masters by the shapes of their heads and the patterns of spots on their faces: these were “Sixteen” and “Twenty-one.” They had helped train me. Their legs extended to cushion their landing on the informer’s dome, steadying themselves on the pillar at its apex. Sixteen, who had looked at me earlier, wasted no more time. He – I’d already interrogated myself for hours on how naturally the pronoun came to me – extended his arm to tap and stroke the pillar’s surface. Meanwhile, Twenty-one kept watch over the gathered flock. I heard the woman beside me sigh softly whenever one of his eyes roved past us. I knew exactly what she was feeling. One of the layers of conditioning that laid on my mind the heaviest went part-and-parcel with the intense focus I felt whenever a Master was in sight, the overwhelming security. On an instinctual level, I knew I could, should, must leave everything up to them.

Or to their technology, I reflected after Sixteen finished his work, and in the brief moments before the informer came – the light in the centre of the sphere shot through my eyes like a javelin. Online. My mind shrank away, beaten back by the relentless flashes, already disappearing over the horizon, into the new sunrise of my understanding.

Spending time in the informer’s grasp was the start of every “day” here. Like falling asleep, I couldn’t remember the one moment I disappeared and left behind a taught thing in my body. The Masters had their backs to us; I felt the instinct to follow fail to arise. We were leaving the assembly chamber as orderly as we could, battling our burnt-out nerves and the constant impulse to blink after so long spent before the light to navigate in zero gravity. I slung myself down by the arms and let go, drifting towards the doors back to the slave quarters feet-first. On top of the crystal sphere above my head, the Masters tended to its workings in silence. I couldn’t remember what exactly I’d seen in its depths, but I knew what it had meant. Then again, “knowing” it was an understatement.

New thoughts marched through my mind and trampled everything from before. I was a slave. A slave soldier, being trained to help my Masters conquer Earth, and I would always follow orders. At the same time, I left my body on autopilot, half-swimming, half-scrambling down the ship’s silent tunnels. I thought it again: I was whatever the informer taught me. My store gently gathered the evidence of my obedience, keeping my Masters’ home clean. Coming to an intersection, a ring of lights in front of me turned yellow. A pale, high-cheekboned, delicately freckled face appeared in the tube running perpendicular to mine, framed by vivid red hair, which, like mine, was pinned into a row of small buns. The girl’s body drifted by; her breasts weren’t large but could foster impressive cleavage in the right outfit. Her legs, most of all, gave me pause; so long, perfect, and what a waist…! As her feet left my field of view, I wondered if I’d seen her before.

As far as I could tell, we slaves had one half of the ship and the Masters had the other, divided along the interiors of central chambers like where the informer rested. Upon arriving back in the slave quarters, I made my way to what could be called the “mess hall.” As tall as the assembly chamber but roughly cylindrical, the walls were made of a ring of convex curves, with footholds scooped out and larger holes where the whole arm could slot in. The centre of the room had a ribbed pole running through it, and it was this I clung to and descended, waiting for another woman’s gently kicking legs to drift out of the way before I leapt to a free feeding station. I hooked my feet, slotted my arms inside the holes and placed my lips on the waiting nozzle. The nutrient gel was cool and bitter. Above me, another store attended to its pussy. My own was pleasantly tickled by the flavour of our Masters’ formula, and the feel of it in my throat; otherwise, I may have choked again.

After a quick towel bath alongside thirty or so other slaves, I floated up the ship to where I’d be spending the rest of my day – much to the delight of my ever-thrumming pussy. My personal training, lessons, whatever it could be called. “Training” would most befit a soldier. The room was tiny compared to the others; a pill, into one end of which I had to squeeze, my knees almost touching my chest as I bent along with the wall behind me. In front of me were a smaller informer, the size of a child’s beachball, and two screens very closely sandwiched together, set up like a keyboard. Behind these things was a window, in the middle of the room. Sixteen watched me from behind it. He couldn’t be with me – earlier when I’d been taught with the group, he and Twenty-one had been ensconced behind a wall of solid air – but the pang I felt each time I saw that barrier… what did I want from my Master, this alien?

There was a hum, then English issued from an unseen speaker somewhere in the room, the artificial voice croaky, jerking from sound to sound. “Sixteen talking. Eh-rhi-kaah hears, will nod now.” I looked into his swivelling eyes and nodded my head. “Good slave.” Contrary to the slapdash assembly of my name, those two words stroked my brain and made a grab for my pleasure centre. Psychology wasn’t my exact field, but I’d known for most of my life there were ways people could be led around like animals. Even thinking of it like that, it was like I’d been asking for this. Sixteen continued, “Eh-rhi-kaah will place finger available hands drawing plate, will look informer now,” and I obeyed, my fingers touching the cool surface in front of me while my eyes rested on the inert crystal. “Good slave.” Again, the silken vice, setting me boiling into my store, wriggling in my ready pose, practically purring.

How could there have been a me who wasn’t enslaved? The entirety of my mind was sure I belonged here, except for this meniscus of rational thought floating on my unconscious. But the calming of the waters was coming. My Master activated the informer and after that, there was nothing else to know about.

[snarkys-malarky]

Snow Time like the Present

Not really happy with the title name but I wanted to throw in my donation toward Tech Tuesday!!

This version is SFW and can be read by those of the 13+ crowd I feel. If you want the spicy version, hit me up. I may post it later anyway if I get time.

I live off the dopamine dump from comments, reblogs and reviews.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I wasn’t sure how I kept getting myself into weird situations but it seemed to be a trend in my life that had no intention of slowing down. Sitting inside of a grounded space craft, freezing my arse off while waiting for the other person I was with to (hopefully) return was definitely, I felt, outside of normal for most folks. This other person with me insisted on cheecking on the hyperdrive for which, and I quote, my assistance was unnecessary. I wasn’t sure what I did to make him dislike me but (ok, well maybe I have an idea but I apologized) try as I might, I couldn’t get on his good side. I credited it to the way I met up with him and the odd but loveable bunch of misfits that was his family.

After all, I was trying (accidentally) to kill them.

A fact for which I have repeatedly apologized and done my very best to make amends for but some people just refuse to let bygones be bygones.

It wasn’t even personal. I was in a bit of a spot and the guy who I owed quite a bit of credits to insisted that bringing in the kid would wipe the slate clean and I would be free to go. Considering he had my ship impounded and I couldn’t get off the dirtball where he reigned supreme without it, I agreed. I’m no professional bounty hunter, how was I supposed to know she had 4 older brothers who would literally do anything to protect her?

And is it my fault that the kid and I got into a tug of war over the blaster and the kill/stun switch got moved from stun to kill just as I pulled it away from her and then had to fight for my life against the running tide of death that suddenly rounded the corner and was chasing us?

It’s not like I intended to hit goggle guy.

With my abysmal aim, I thought it was a miracle I hit anyone at all, and it was just a flesh wound anyway, only grazed his thigh…kinda.

I tried to explain that once they (of course) caught us. Funnily enough, it was the kid and the small mountain of a man (who I later learned was called Omega and Wrecker respectively and both of whom I absolutely adore) who decided to use their superpower of irresistible baby tooka eyes to keep the others from killing me on the spot just for the principle of the thing. The pale one (whose name is Echo and who has a never-ending supply of corny jokes) just rolled his eyes and went to help the one I accidentally winged while the bandana wearing hottie (Hunter, who needs a massage more than anyone I have ever met) just sighed and turned to me. I offered to help patch up goggle guy (called Tech and the source of my current woes) but the death glare said goggle wearing guy sent me killed that. Granted he was doing a pretty good job on his own with the stuff from his backpack.

Hunter, arms crossed and broody scowl firmly in place, was the one to interrogate me and find out why I was trying to kidnap their sister.

Like I said, it wasn’t personal. I just wanted my ship back and to get the hell off that planet. I couldn’t even tell them why Horgan (that was the guy holding my ship to ransom) wanted her. He just said she’d been kidnapped and was worth a lot of money returned and he didn’t plan to kill or slave her.

I do have some principles after all.

Getting the hell off that planet would suffice as well since I didn’t figure Horgan to be the type to expend the energy to come after me, especially if he still had my ship. Losing my ship would hurt for sure, it was the only thing I really had and my way of making money but, in the balance of the galaxy and my personal life or death, I had no problem leaving it.

Imagine my surprise when Hunter (after a stern look from the kid) offered a ride off planet.

Since my momma didn’t raise no fool, I jumped at the offer and followed them back to their ship, listening the whole way to the pale guy and goggle guy list reasons why helping me was a Bad Idea.

It was kinda funny when Omega turned to look at both of her complaining brothers and told them they were better than that just like she was their mother.

It was even funnier when they both shut up and looked away, just like they had been scolded by their mother.

Considering that clones don’t have mothers I figure that was another of Omega’s superpowers. However, I didn’t know that at the time, about them being clones, so my snort laughing at their faces probably didn’t help my situation but it didn’t get me left behind either so…win.

They were all shocked to discover, on our way back to Ord Mantell, their apparent base of operations, that I had been a blockade runner during the Clone Wars for several Republic planets and was about 9/10 of the way to having my healer certifications.

Ha, not the shiftless no good you guys just assumed I was.

How I ended up on Partoola was a long story and one I didn’t like to think about so I gave them the redacted version.

The heavily redacted version.

Which was something along the lines of “I don’t know you and I don’t want to talk about it but it involved nothing illegal and I’m not wanted by the Empire”.

Which was more than they could say so I call it fair.

My skill set allowed me to easily get a job on Ord Mantell (apparently even almost healers were rare in the Outer Rim, especially Core trained ones, and I was a hot commodity) and it wasn’t long before I had a shitty little apartment and found myself often hosting the young Omega and Co. when they were on planet.

I blame it on the fact I could cook, and liked to cook, and had money with which to buy food to cook and they all, to a man (and child), greatly appreciated food that wasn’t rations.

The first time I invited them over to eat, by way of apology for trying to kidnap Omega and giving Tech a new scar, I wasn’t sure they would come. I had cornered them at Cid’s, their official, unofficial, hangout, about a month after our adventure together. I had seen them several times before as Omega had decided before we even made it to Ord Mantell to adopt me, like I was some kind of lost tooka kit, and insisted on comming me whenever they were on the planet and wanting to see me.

Which usually meant me meeting her at Cid’s and either spending time losing repeatedly to Omega in dejarik or, if a brother was available, going on chaperoned walks to the market square and buying Mantell Mix, for which she had a serious addiction.

This time she had greeted me enthusiastically by jumping into my arms (it was a good thing I was tall for a female) and telling me she was glad to see me alive.

I had to wonder at what all this kid experienced for that to be her go to greeting.

All four of the men were gathered at the bar, drinks in hand and turned to look at me with a synchronization which was a little bit disturbing, to be honest.

I put on my best smile.

And noted Tech look down with a frown.

Oh well, can’t win them all.

I repeated my carefully rehearsed invitation and was please to note Omega’s eyes light up and she began to bounce. A good indicator that my invitation would probably be accepted, no matter how the others felt about it.

That child had them so whipped.

If she ever figured out how much I wanted ring side seats.

I was also gratified to note Wrecker’s hopeful expression and even Echo looked intrigued.

Hunter, as usual, looked cautious.

Tech just kept looking down.

In the end, the invite was accepted and I and my tiny apartment played host to a group of clones who acted like they had never had real food before.

It was a bit of a cringe thought to think that maybe they hadn’t.

After poking and prodding and carefully sniffing (even though they all commented at some point how good it smelled when they arrived) they all began to eat.

And eat.

And eat.

Holy kriff was I glad I estimated on the larger end of the scale how much to cook because they cleaned it all up.

And no one spent any time hesitating over dessert when I brought it out, instead falling in with enthusiasm.

I noticed Tech’s enthusiasm seemed to be just a bit more than the others and took amused note that he was the apparent sweet tooth in the bunch.

There then followed a much more relaxed atmosphere of food filled males. Once I turned on the holonet and found a program which Tech and Omega both latched onto with enthusiasm, I set about cleaning up the disaster as I observed them with no small amount of amusement. I knew by now they lived on their ship and wondered how often they had such an opportunity as this, to do something that most beings considered so normal and mundane.

It wasn’t long before all but Omega and Tech were steadily filling the air with the soft sounds of sleeping males. Those two were still glued to the holoprojector. I finished my cleanup before making my way to the small sitting area and settling onto the floor next to Omega. I had snagged from the back of the sofa the large throw and, after sitting, unfolded it to share across with Omega and Tech as well. He demurred, saying he was not cold which left Omega to gleefully gather up the remainer and burrow into it, leaning into my side and cuddling down until her head was nearly in my lap.

I was pretty sure she would be asleep before long.

I was right.

I looked down and grinned when I heard the soft sounds of her snoring, not being able to resist petting that fluffy blond mop. I ran my hands thru her hair, scritching gently at her head. I looked up after a moment to find Tech gazing intently at us. I offered him a small smile and was again disappointed as he turned quickly away, fastening his attention to the screen in front of us.

I sighed quietly.

I found myself after that night mass cooking at least once a week for six. At first, they used an array of flimsy excuses to find a way to finagle an invitation until I finally took the bantha by the horns and told them I really appreciated getting to exercise my cooking skills again and also get to have company which just so happened to intimidate the local nasties enough that they tended to steer clear of my apartment block when they decided to practice their main skillsets of B&E.

Maybe it was a slight stretch of the truth but the upshot was I got to have company and cook, they got to eat and spend time somewhere other than their ship and I had the safest apartment in that not particularly great neighborhood.

Another upshot was I occasionally got tapped to come with them on missions (read money making gigs), especially if there was the possibility of Omega needing to be kept out of trouble.

The first time I went because I happened to be off work for a couple days, was bored, and Omega gave me her class 1 baby aak eyes, which, so far as I knew, no one had the power to resist.

The subsequent times after that I had no good excuse except I liked this scruffy bunch of nerfs and I took advantage of the time they were gone to convince Omega to try and help me clean the ship enough to get the godsawful smell down to a dull roar.

Honestly, an enclosed space inhabited only by males is bound to be bad. Add in the fact that none of them seemed to have the slightest idea of how to clean just made it ten times worse.

The first time Omega and I did it, we pretended like nothing had been done and watched covertly for reaction. Wrecker and Tech seemed oblivious but Echo took a couple of deep breaths, gave us both a nearly teary-eyed look of gratitude and walked by. Hunter kept deep breathing and looking confused but pleased.

After that, Echo found a reason for me to go on as many missions as he could manage. And I usually went because, well, because why not? This ragtag bunch had become as much family to me as I had ever had and the idea of something happening to them without me knowing about it was unbearable.

Which is what ended me up in my current predicament, i.e., freezing my shebs off on a Force forsaken planet in a bid to help Tech, who out of them all seemed to like me the least. It was just supposed to be a quick supply run for Cid. The others were recovering from some very bad street food which I had not been present for and Tech refused to eat anything from a street vendor. They had all shown up at my door in the mid evening that day with a pale and sweating Omega carried by Tech, the rest of them in not much better shape. After a quick med scan, I confirmed what Tech had already been telling them, that they all had a bad case of food poisoning. I could tell he was trying hard not to I told you so his miserable siblings but it was a near thing. I had him help me to get them all settled, with Hunter and Omega getting my bed and Echo on the sofa with Wrecker on a nest on the living room floor since he was way too big for the sofa or anywhere else. After administering some low dose antiemetics and making sure everyone had fluids and vomit containers, Tech went back to the Marauder to get Lola for Omega, who had asked so pitifully for the stuffy that I could almost visibly see Tech melt before patting her head and hurrying off after the requested item. Hunter then asked(begged) me to go with Tech since Cid was being her usual arse of a self and demanding a supply run job be run since ‘Tech was still fine wasn’t he’?

It seemed the Batch had a personal rule about no one ever being alone, especially on ops. I tried not to giggle at the thought of picking up a load of alcohol as an op even as Hunter hit me with his own version of baby aak eyes and I folded like a tent in the wind.

So, after making sure none of them were about to die whilst we were gone and after Tech’s obligatory arguing about why I didn’t have to go, he eventually gave in and off we went.

Then the hyperdrive, which Tech had said was fixed since an earlier trip where it had blew, turned out to not be as fixed as he thought and we had been lucky to be thrown out of hyperspace instead of blown to miniscule bits. It just sucked that we were thrown out with the only breathable atmosphere planet close enough for emergency landing being an icebox that probably classified as many species version of hell.

I know it was certainly contending heavily for mine.

After what Tech referred to as a “controlled crash landing” which was Tech code for the ship didn’t end up in a mile long debris field of component pieces, we unbuckled and got up to assess the damage. I was not the mechanic or techno whiz that Tech was but I had flown a ship thru the wars  and knew enough to tell what was what. We both began to check over the ship, me with the manual check and Tech checking diagnostics. It wasn’t until I heard him let loose a particularly vicious Huttese curse that I began to worry. When he said he needed to check outside I looked out the cockpit viewport to note it was snowing. He opened the ship to go out and assess the damage there and the burst of freezing air that whipped in and against us both was enough to steal my breath and cause an instant cascade of chills. The snow I had noted thru the viewport was coming down heavily. I looked at Tech and tapped his vambrace since he was already in his helmet. He turned to look at me.

“Are your blacks thermo-regulated for artic temps as well?”

“To a degree. The time before bodily damage occurs is relative to the ambient temperature. And the health of the wearer, of course.”

Of course.

“Set your timer then.” I told him. “If you’re not back in 20, I’m coming to find you.”

“That will not be necessary.”

“That’s correct, because you’re gonna be back in 15 so I don’t have to!” I yelled over the sound of the inrushing wind.

He stepped out and I closed up the ramp and set a timer on my comm. Then went into survival prep mode. I had no idea if long range comms were down or if this icy rock was inhabited. Figuring we would need to save as much power as possible, I started building a nest in the warmest interior part of the ship. Keeping warm would be of vital importance, as much as hydration and I knew this ship would get cold fast. I pulled the thin excuse for mattresses off the two racks and laid them together then gathered all the blankets and pillows I could find, even taking down the ones in Omega’s “room”. I pulled the med scanner and rations kits and extra hydration packs and placed them together in a pile near the makeshift nest.

I checked my timer and then sat down at the navigation console to wait.

The sad thing was, I knew we would probably have to huddle together to conserve body heat and any other time I would be thrilled at such a prospect. While he seemed to have a bit of a problem with me, I really liked Tech.

Like, really liked Tech.

He was everything I found attractive in a male. Terrifyingly brilliant, witty, funny, kind, caring. Not to mention just as deliciously gorgeous as all his brothers. There was just something about him that ticked all my boxes and even though probably any of the others would have been an easy win if I wanted to, of course my attention had to get fixed by the one out of the group that seemed to have some kind of allergy to me.

I had noticed his reticence around me and I had gone out of my way to engage him, thinking that maybe he was just shy and needed someone else to make the friendly overtures. After months of knowing them, I had come to know the others fairly well. However, getting Tech to talk with me had been difficult. I hit on asking him about things I heard him mention since he always seemed to have something to say but little opportunity to do so. Once he realized I was not teasing but sincere he could carry on about a topic in astonishing detail. Honestly, it was intimidating how much he seemed to know about just about anything you could ask. I loved listening to him enthusiastically talk about whatever the topic happened to be. It only took occasional questions to keep him going. And I would think we were making progress toward becoming friendly if not friends then he would back off again, shrinking back into himself and it would feel like starting all over again from the beginning.

I wasn’t sure what I was doing wrong. Sometimes I would see him looking at me, his expression unreadable before looking away. When I was with them on jobs, he would have that soft, almost smiling expression sometimes when Omega would ask me for stories while in hyperspace, cuddling up to me on a rack and falling asleep while I spoke. I wished I could figure out where I was wrong stepping but it would have to wait.

I checked my comm. It had been 25 minutes. Worried, I hurried to the ramp and opened it, just in time to see Tech stumble from under the ship and against the side of the ramp. Even though I was in no way dressed for it, I ran down the ramp, reaching to catch him as he stumbled again.

The cold was mind numbing.

Somehow, we made it back up the ramp and inside and I slammed my hand against the panel to seal the hatch. Tech fell to his knees. I scrambled down beside him and reached to pop the seal on his helmet before pulling it off. He was shaking so hard he couldn’t manage it.

His face was pale, his lips tinged blue. I swore loudly.

“Why didn’t you come in sooner?” I fumed as I worked to get him out of his armour.

“H-h-had t-to rep-pair long d-d-distance relay. B-boost c-c-comm signal. I c-can’t f-fix ship without p-parts.”

I was really worried at his disjointed and slurred speech. I managed to get him to the nest of blankets I had made on the floor and half pushed, half rolled his shaking form onto it. He curled into himself and I worried even more. I pulled off his gloves and unlatched and removed his boots, socks and vambraces, checking over his hands and feet as I went.

Damnit. Toes and fingers both showing signs of early frostbite, I cursed aloud once again. The stubborn kriffer. I bundled him in everything we had and grabbed the med scanner.

A quick head to toe scan showed me what I already knew.

He was hypothermic. I debated whether or not to strip him out of his blacks. They were crafted to keep the wearer’s body temperature regulated, yes. But they also appeared damp in the spots where they were not covered by armour. Erring on the side of caution, I began to run my hands over his body, trying to see if his blacks were wet or just appeared so.  I discovered they were actually wet in several spots and argued myself for a moment before gritting my teeth and tugging the items off him. Not an easy endeavor.

Of all the ways I had imagined getting him out of his clothes, this had not been one of them.

I had found one heating pack in the medical supplies and used it now. I started the thermal reaction and tucked it next to his hands as I began to take off my shoes. I had to use the biggest thermal heat producer I had available.

Which was me.

I crawled up next to his still shaking form. Unsure if he could hear me or not, I still told him what I was going to do.

“So, smart one, you’ve managed to give yourself a nice case of hypothermia. Since we are all out of sources of synthesized warmth right now, we’re gonna have to do this the old fashioned way.”

I apologized as I pulled the blankets back quickly and wrapped myself around him before tugging the blankets back into place. I laid my head against his icy cheek and spoke.

“I know I’m not exactly your favorite person but I’m all you got at the moment for a heater and I’m not about to let you freeze to death just cause you don’t like me.”

I hugged him close, trapping his hands with the warmer between us and rubbing my warmer feet gently against his to try and keep the circulation going. Toes he might could live without but I knew Tech would be lost if he lost any part of his hands. He buried his face into my neck, his breathy pants hot against my skin even as his skin was still much too cold. I rubbed my hands softly over his back, encouraging blood flow. I kept talking, telling him not to go to sleep, making him answer questions and using every method I could think of to keep his mind engaged enough to not slip into dangerous slumber. I knew as he warmed it would be harder.

It seemed forever before I felt his hard shakes begin to subside into softer shivers then occasional tremors. His body softened against mine, curving in more closely as he was able to instinctively seek the warmth he was too immobilized to be able to do earlier. I snaked a hand between us and felt gently along his hands and fingers, asking if he could feel here or if this tingled. His groggy answers eased some of my concern. I used my feet on his to perform more or less the same maneuver. He still had a few tingly spots on his feet but that was better than numb so I decided to leave it for the moment until I was sure his core temp was closer to where it should be and he was out of danger.  I was also now having to fight against my own adrenaline crash and subsequent shakes and sleepiness. Having his big, warm(ing) body wrapped around mine was not helping me win that battle. I wanted to drift off to sleep quite badly myself and it was only my still lingering fear for him that was helping me to fight it. I struggled on for a bit longer but when I felt myself jerk in that almost asleep but shouldn’t be reflex I knew I was losing the battle.

I wiggled an arm free and reached just above my head where I had, with way more forethought than I had thought myself capable of at the time, placed the med scanner. I turned it on and ran it awkwardly over what of him I could reach in my position. Thank the freggin Force it was showing him out of the danger zone. I laid it back over our heads and squirmed my arm back under the blanket again. Tech shifted against me and somehow, miraculously, managed to wrap even more of himself around me.

I was beginning to wonder if clones had some snake DNA in the mix.

I could feel his breathing edging into the deeper rhythms of sleep and decided it was safe to let him go.

For that matter, I decided it was safe to let me go as well and let the warmth we were now cocooned in work its magic.

I wasn’t sure how long I was out but waking up was deliciously disorienting. The first thing I noticed was being warm… very warm. The next thing I noticed was the spot where my head was resting was moving rhythmically up and down.

Something my pillow usually didn’t do.

I shifted a bit and realized I was shifting against something.

Make that someone.

My eyes shot open as the someone I was wrapped around, and who also happened to be wrapped around me, breathed deeper, body stretching as one does when slowly waking as the arms around me convulsively grew tighter and the hands began to languidly stroke over my back and my head, where one hand was buried. I tried not to move as I realized parts of me were extremely close to parts of him and I had one leg in a very strategic position.

It was very disturbing, to be simultaneously so very comfortable and relaxed and yet nervous and terror struck. Add in the fact that I had said someone running their hands over me like I was a pet tooka and my body and brain were stuck in a feedback loop of not knowing how to respond so I simply lay, frozen and unable to move a muscle.

“I do not dislike you, you know.”

What?

My mind was simply not making the necessary transition from sleeping to waking fast enough to follow.

I must have made some kind of sound because he continued.

“I do not dislike you at all. In fact,” he paused here and took a deep breath, a fact I could know for certain as my head was still resting on his shoulder, tucked in the space between the natural curve of his neck and chest. And boy, did he smell good.

“I… I like you very much.” This came out in a hurried rush.

That seemed to unlock me and I raised my head to look at him. I forgot I had pulled off his goggles and laid them to the side as well earlier and ended up practically nose to nose with a set of warm, golden brown eyes locked with mine.

Of the many times I had imagined confronting him and having a similar conversation as this and all the smart, logical, witty and cogent replies I had imagined myself having, alas my reality was immensely deficient and boiled down to a surprised sounding, “Y-you do?”

Reality was a bitch and vastly irritating and I would be having words with her later about the fact that I couldn’t seem to form necessary words at extremely important times.

But that was later since right now, I was hypnotized by watching the eyes that mine were locked with grow increasingly darker and that big, long-fingered and amazingly dexterous hand still on the back of my head press just enough that I finally clued in to what was happening, took the hint I hoped I was being presented with and leaned forward, pressing my lips to the ones just a breath away from my own.

Dear gods, he had amazing lips. Soft yet firm and perfect for the activity they were currently engaged in. I wasn’t sure which of us the soft moan I heard originated from but it definitely fit the mood. I had longed to taste him and now I was being handed my desire and I was not about to waste it. I slanted my mouth against his, pushing my body up just a bit so that I could glide the hand of the arm that had been wrapped around his torso up that chiseled chest and around his neck. I dug my fingers into the soft hair at the back of his head and there was no mistaking the moan that I heard this time was from him. He jerked me closer, a move which made the precariously positioned leg mentioned earlier slide hard against the hard thing it had been trying to avoid.

The effect was electric.

Tech gasped sharply, his hips jerking up hard against my traitorous leg, which seemed to have a mind of its own. I couldn’t resist the lust driven impulse to sensuously rub my leg over him, eliciting a sound I knew I would probably be hearing in some of my hotter fantasies from here on out. I slid said leg up and over his hip, causing me to groan as well as the shift in position allowed me to feel the hard, hot length of him against a very needy part of my anatomy. It caused me to curse quite fluently mentally at the fact I happened to still be wearing clothing. Even so, instinct still won and I couldn’t help my own hips from seeking friction against his. I felt his entire body shudder against mine and was gratified that this time, it had nothing to do with being cold.

He gasped my name against my lips as he continued to ravage them as our bodies moved against each other in increasing need. I wanted him so much I could barely string two thoughts together but the problem was I didn’t just want his body (which was smokin hot and definitely worth wanting). I wanted everything about him that had drawn me into this honey trap to begin with.

And I couldn’t just enjoy his body without making sure the rest was coming along for the ride as well.

I somehow found the willpower to dig deep and push him back for a moment. The look of confused dread on his face nearly caused me to stop with my intentions but my heart was, surprisingly, speaking louder than my hormones at the moment.

“Tech,” I panted, “I’m not gonna lie. I want you so bad right now I can barely think but I don’t want to do this if you are going to regret it later or if its going to make things weird between us,” I could feel my courage waning under the look he was leveling at me.

“I just… don’t want you to hate me later,” I hated how small and unsure my voice sounded at that last and turned my eyes from his, certain I had not only killed the mood but any burgeoning fondness he might have developed for me.

I felt one of those big hands I had somewhat of a fixation on gently cup my face and turn it back to his. It took him softly saying my name though before I could drag my gaze back to his.

“Mesh’la I must apologize for giving you a wrong impression. It seems in my attempt not to importune you with how I felt toward you, I have instead given you the opposite impression. I have never disliked you. In fact, from the moment we met when you shot me to now I have been impressed over and again with your courage, kindness, intelligence and beauty. I have never been good with expressing my feelings or reading those of others and I did not want to make you uncomfortable with me if all you felt toward me was friendliness. If that was all I could have then I was determined not to make it awkward. However,” a soft grin lit his face and hypnotized me with how excruciatingly handsome it made him, “I have recently come to suspect that you may feel more than just general friendliness for me. Would this be a correct assumption?” he asked, a bit cheekily I felt since we had all but been dry humping one another just a few moments ago.

I, however, managed to answer both succinctly and pertinently.

“Yes.” I said before dragging his head back down to mine and fastening my mouth to his.

His hands, clever things that they are, didn’t waste much time in divesting me of my clothing. My enthusiastic help probably was a boon as well. His eyes burned with appreciation as the last bit of my clothing was flung who knows where and all of me was visible. It was quite a stroke to my ego I had to admit to have a man as physically attractive as him admiring and desiring me. I considered myself quite average physically, neither fat nor skinny, a bit on the taller side but pretty much just your average, everyday female. I reached out, pulling him to me then pulling the blankets around us both.  The question on his face was easy to interpret.

“It’s too cold to waste good body heat.” I said with a smile and he grinned at my humor before I wrapped my arms around him once again. We both gasped and groaned at the sensation of being skin to skin. He hovered over me, a look of uncertainty on his face.

“I do not wish to crush you. I am a good deal heavier than you.”

I smiled up at him, “I’ll let you know if that becomes an issue. Right now, I can’t think of anything better than having your entire body pressed against mine.”

He answering smile lit up his face and made him look boyishly happy.

After that, there wasn’t much in the way of coherent noises, much less speech, for quite some time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was nearly a full rotation later before his brothers, in a ship that looked as barely flight worthy as they did, barely recovered as they were. The ship was on loan from Cid with the understanding that someone besides her would be paying for its use but, it arrived with what we needed to fix the ship and get off that frozen rock.  I could tell Hunter immediately knew what was up as soon as he stepped on the ship and removed his helmet. He shot us both a Look before, surprisingly, a small grin then turned to help Wrecker who had called out from the bottom of the ramp. Tech and I swapped glances before moving to help, him warning them about the danger of the extreme temperatures and me to oversee the control panel as they hurried to make the needed repairs. Omega had been left back on Ord Mantell with orders to fleece as many of Cid’s clientele in dejarik as she wanted. A task I understood she set to with great glee.

As I sat relaying information and swapping quips and insults over comms to the group of men working to repair the ship, I smiled at the thought that this was my family now. A family I had never expected but one I could not imagine my life without now.

When I felt a pair of ice-cold hands slip down my shirt and cup my breasts as I shrieked only to hear Tech chuckle behind me. I grabbed his arms to pull him down to where I could kiss him properly, deciding perhaps the galaxy didn’t hate me as much as I had always thought.

The whistles and catcalls of his brothers behind us notwithstanding.

[murdermortician]

The Podcasters

The podcasters are a small group of young adults who met and went to school together in Vermont. They podcast crimes, and missing cases, and even participate in research to try and solve crimes occasionally. Everything was okay until they decided to cover the intense increase in serial killers and nationwide threats that took place in the 2000s and 2010s.

To introduce them all, we'll begin with none other than Roxxy Blues, the podcast's one and only reporter. Roxxy was born in Montgomery, Alabama, and is definitely not used to the freezing winters in Vermont. She moved in the fifth grade and met Luna, who was born and raised in the general area. She interviews speakers, types out information reports, and does a lot of research on topics. She's informed, resourceful, and intelligent, albeit a little irritable and can come off as rude or unempathetic. Roxxy is an effective communicator, often thinking of her words and actions before saying or doing them. She is 22 years old during the main events of the story, and she's in college with a major in criminology and a minor in journalism.

The next podcaster would be Luna Ripley. Luna was born and raised in Vermont and has built a tolerance for the cold winters. She met Roxxy in the fifth grade and they quickly became good friends with each other. Luna is the photographer and the scripter for the podcast, generally photographing findings and planning out the script. Roxxy takes part in the job as well since she will be saying what's on the script, but it's primarily Luna's job. Luna is a survivalist, having more resilience and stamina than most. She's distrusting, respectful, and a bit grouchy at times. Don't let it fool you though, Luna can be a good friend and she's usually one to believe in staying together through hard times. She's 21 during the story's events, majoring in photography and minoring in language arts.

Zayne Repson Goth is the set designer and is in charge of the general scenery. He is a very artistic and creative person, so he isn't afraid to get into arts and crafts to make things. Zayne moved to Vermont shortly after 6th grade but had never met Roxxy or Luna until his older step-sister brought him into the podcast and let him play a role in it. He's 19 in the main story's events and unfortunately is not in college. He's a very calm, happy, and optimistic person and he usually keeps determination through hardships. He has the most spirit out of the three and keeps the sets bright while also keeping the mood on the better and more tranquil side. As the set designer, it's his job to make sure the backgrounds that the reporter sits in look presentable, change in some ways to keep it interesting, and he has to ensure that everything goes smoothly while filming or streaming.

Dahlia Goth is the step-sister to Zayne Repson Goth. She moved to Vermont in fifth grade and met Roxxy and Luna, eventually coming up with the idea for the podcast and helping with it. She is the makeup artist and generally the person to go to for a touch-up during filming. She's the primary stylist for the podcast and is in charge of making sure everyone looks professional. She is a qualified nail technician and tattoo artist. She's 23 and providing for Zayne since their parents aren't the best people. She's got extreme determination, she's intelligent, a fast thinker, and a mother hen at heart. She tends to be a bit distrusting of people at first, but she warms up once you gain her trust. She's very patient, but don't run her patience into the ground. She won't stay motherly forever if you keep giving her reasons to drop you.

[avelera]

Hello! I’m the anon that asked for your advice on where to start reading the vampire chronicles. I just wanted to let you know that I’m nearly finished with Tale of the Body Thief and I’m just having such a good time with them.

Unsurprisingly, given her legacy, but Anne is such a good writer and Lestat is truly the character of all time. But I was pondering why they’re so good - because they are sort of ridiculous and Things Just Sort of Happen. It’s almost (but not quite) like reading fanfic because Lestat will just randomly do the most bonkers thing imaginable. So it almost shouldn’t be so compelling but it really is. And I think why is that it’s all earnestly done. There is humour in there - I’ve laughed a lot - but it’s not done with that in mind. Lestat’s earnestness and therefore the book’s is what makes it feel so captivating I think. Anyway, just thought I’d share and thank you again!

I definitely agree, as does Rolin Jones I believe, that the books lack something of "forward momentum" or plot. Things do just sort of happen.

But I think that is an element of Anne's great strength at writing characters. Truly, I think, her mastery of writing fascinating people that you want to hang out with covers a lot of what would technically be considered writing flaws, like a lack of plot or causal chain. We like spending time with these characters so we'll just follow them wherever they want to go. After all, the biggest sin of fiction is being boring and Anne through Lestat is very good at not being boring.

(Quick aside, I absolutely love Body Thief because I think it's as close as we get to The Vampire Chronicles pivoting to What We Do in the Shadows, which is one natural conclusion of her worldbuilding and characters with their big personalities. Instead, she professionally pivoted more towards the religious than the ridiculous aspects of her world, which to me was a bit of a shame. I think the books really shine when she allowed a bit more humor in.)

But yes, I think Anne Rice also appeals to fanfic writers because much of her style is an elevated form of fanfic writing. It's incredibly earnest and sincere, it's completely in love with its own premise, it references wider "fandoms" like vampires throughout literature and history itself, and it was queer before queer was cool let alone mainstream.

Anyway! I have a lot of respect for Anne Rice as an author, she put a lot of work into her craft and I think in this case her similarity to fanfic is less some sort of pejorative saying she's "amateur" and more saying she shared many of the same sensibilities and priorities as later fanfic writers, which makes her very accessible. She is also a NYT Bestselling author for a reason, her books are fun!

I'm so glad you're enjoying them and I'm so glad you stopped by to let me know!

[warningsine]

Deborah Vance and Ava Daniels can’t seem to quit each other. For two seasons, the love-hate relationship between Hacks’ imperious, old-school comedian, Deborah (Jean Smart), and the woke, down-on-her-luck, 20-something comedy writer Ava (Hannah Einbinder) hired to update her material fueled some of TV’s funniest and most provocative humor about people who tell jokes for a living. Then, for a year or so, it seemed as though the joke was on Hacks. First, Smart needed heart surgery. Just days after she’d recovered and the Emmy-winning series had gone back into production, the WGA and then SAG-AFTRA went on strike.

Hence the two-year wait for Season 3, whose first two episodes debuted May 2 on Max. Such a disjointed production schedule could have been disastrous for a show that relies so heavily on the chemistry of its cast—and especially between its intergenerational leads. Fortunately, the actors seem to have flourished amid adversity, just as Deborah and Ava often do. Creators Lucia Aniello, Paul W. Downs, and Jen Statsky have crafted Hacks’ best season yet, one that allows the characters to grow without killing their spiky, push-pull bond. Smart and Einbinder further elevate that story arc with a rapport that feels more natural and intimate than ever.

When we last saw the divine Ms. V, her career was soaring on the strength of a smash-hit, self-released special in which she dropped her dated stand-up schtick and told the funny, sad, real stories she’d amassed as a pioneering woman in a male-dominated entertainment industry. It was Ava who pushed Deborah to push herself, and Deborah thanked her by pushing her out of the nest. In the Season 2 finale, the diva fired a protégée she’d come to respect, in hopes that the younger woman would seize the opportunity to start making her own dreams come true.

But Hacks would not be Hacks if its stars spent all their screen time apart. Season 3 picks up one year after its predecessor left off, as the Vance-aissance continues with Deborah’s appearance on—what else?—the TIME 100. Things are going great for Ava, too. She’s secured a staff job writing for a comedy-news show in the vein of John Oliver’s Last Week Tonight and is living with her actress girlfriend, Ruby (Lorenza Izzo). Then she runs into Deborah at Montreal’s Just for Laughs festival and they bond over Tom Cruise’s coveted coconut cake.

Ava misses working with a boss who can certainly be a self-absorbed pain but who also really gets her sense of humor. Deborah is surrounded by sycophants, from the two mediocre writers she hired to replace Ava to the stylist who co-signs her bad fashion choices to audiences who laugh appreciatively even when she isn’t cracking a joke, and longs for a collaborator who will tell her the unvarnished truth. So, with Deborah in the running for her dream job as a late-night host, Ava agrees to spend her show’s three-month hiatus helping her prepare.

Deborah’s new place at the center of the comedy universe gives Aniello, Downs, and Statsky an excuse to survey the strange, fragmented and often-contradictory state of that art form in 2024. There’s a roast that brings both hired-gun comics and Deborah’s aggrieved adult daughter, DJ (Kaitlin Olson), together to say the meanest things they can think of about her. Then there’s her G-rated gig cheerily co-hosting the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. At one point, Deborah’s history of insensitive humor resurfaces. While she initially vows never to apologize for any joke, Ava urges her to at least hear out a generation that wasn’t even alive when she made many of them, in what is perhaps the least hysterical “cancel culture” plot TV has produced.

For all its timely self-awareness about the industry it represents, Hacks is, in many ways, a traditional sitcom. It’s a professional will-they-or-won’t-they centered on a classic odd-couple duo: two women of vastly divergent ages, politics, and bank balances, one just starting her career and the other a battle-scarred veteran. Season 3 smartly ups the show’s focus on another well-mismatched pair, Deborah and Ava’s dangerously decent agent, Jimmy (Downs), and his flighty assistant, Kayla (the wonderful Megan Stalter, now more than just wacky comic relief), who have left the agency her dad runs and struck out on their own. (The season’s one notable flaw is the dearth of substantive storylines for two chronically under-developed characters, DJ and Deborah’s repressed deputy Marcus, played by Carl Clemons-Hopkins.)

The writers make inspired use of sitcom standbys, from the character who absolutely needs to be in two places at once to the bottle episode; Deborah and Ava are forced to spend hours alone together, as Deborah finally confesses her mixed emotions about getting everything she’s always wanted so late in life. “You know,” she tells Ava, “your whole life you say, ‘One day I’ll do this, one day I’ll accomplish that.’ And the magic of ‘one day’ is that it’s all ahead of you. But for me, ‘one day’ is now. Anything I want to do, I have to do now, or else I’ll never do it. That’s the worst part of being old.” The speech resonates whether you’re Deborah’s age or Ava’s, made all the more poignant by Smart’s gradual shift in mood, from tough to vulnerable. In this scene and others, the tumultuous love between her character and Einbinder’s has a familial authenticity. 

Like its best forerunners, from Seinfeld to 30 Rock, Hacks is hitting its stride a few seasons into its run because it takes that long for a cast and a writing staff to learn how to make each other as brilliant as they can possibly all be. Early on in the series, there was a bit of a disconnect between Einbinder’s affable performance and some of Ava’s nastier moments. Now, the character seamlessly coheres. Deborah has always been the role of a lifetime for Smart, and in the new episodes, the creators reward her virtuosity by giving her more fodder for introspection and growth than ever before. In the heyday of broadcast comedy, a sitcom that had achieved such ideal synergy could retain its audience—and the support of its network—for upwards of a decade. It’s fitting, when you consider that one of its heroines is the ultimate Hollywood survivor, that Hacks has become the rare streaming show with the potential to have the same longevity. 

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

your tolkien edits are always so lovely, do you have graphics editors that inspire you?

hey anon.. would you perhaps want to join me in a small and tumbledown cliff-side castle by the shining sea within whose shelter we can spend the rest of our days. circle yes or no

anyways!! tumblr is the school of athens and i am but a humble student sitting at the feet of greater talents, so here are a few of my biggest editing inspirations for your happy perusal:

@himemiyaaah / @tarninausta - probably my original editing inspiration back when i took my first waddling steps into making graphics myself! rosie just has such an amazing command of color, style, balance, etc.. her edits are so beautiful and harmonious, and i love her expressive use of text.

@miriel-therindes - also someone i discovered early on! i swear there isn't a form lyndeth hasn't tried her hand at and succeeded with in high style. her incredible sense and editing of colors and creative typography are just !!!

@arwenindomiel /@edwinas - the enormously talented mastermind behind tolkien south asian week! her edits are striking and have a real cinematic feel with bold, gorgeously cohesive color palettes (her dramatic shadows are spectacular) as well as innovative use of text and other graphic elements that just tie it all together each time.

@emyn-arnens - save me atlas of arda series atlas of arda series save me !! whenever i need inspiration on how to make dynamic edits that don't include people, i go to this master of her craft. her colors mesh so well together, her formatting is creative and refreshing, and her photo choices are on point. whence does her power flow.

@aredhels - so elegant and sleek! sari is so good at using all the parts of her edits to evoke the desired mood--for lack of a better word, everything she makes is just so aesthetic. i love her understated, low-text style and how she can make incredibly compelling edits just with her impeccable image choices and color editing. and besides all that she singlehandedly gave me the confidence to experiment with the eight-image picspam format yayay

@tilions - legendary user of non-text elements! i honestly have no idea how emily comes out with some of the image layering that they do. her edits feel professional-grade (hoping tentatively that this is a comparison that makes sense but who knows). she makes such bold color choices! it's easy to be scared off by bright palettes but apparently emily is immune to aesthetic fear. she also concocts these amazing silhouette edits that are like those 70s nasa posters and it's. so cool.

@russingon - i want to imbibe mayim's delicious color palettes into myself for real. something about them is so distinctive and pleasing! how much punch he can pack into a two-image edit never ceases to astound. i'm especially fond of their family/house edits (i love seeing their great faceclaim choices all together)!

@brighter-arda - toi is so endlessly committed to making the tolkien fandom a more diverse, inclusive, and accepting space, and i really admire all the work she puts in to uplift other creators. her own edits have really interesting and creative themes and formatting, and it's wonderful how she always incorporates meaningful elements of the character's culture.

@someoneinthestars - their use of darker colors is so evocative, and i love their latine tolkien series! they often align text to elements within the image, which takes such precision (i've only done it once, i think!), but when they do it it always comes out gorgeously.. awuagh.

@outofangband - the attention and research nelyo puts into their environmental edits could power three mid-size cities and i have nothing but respect for them and their dedication. honestly i think they know more about the ecology of middle earth than tolkien himself did when he made it (and he also never made edits about it, so another point to nelyo)!

anyways, this is only a cross-section of the plethora of amazing and talented people i get to share this community with, but i hope it was what you were looking for anon! many many thanks for giving me the ever-welcomed opportunity to kvell a little over some of my favorite creators, and as always, many many thanks to those creators themselves for sharing their spectacular works ♡♡♡

[tgrailwar-zero]

With the match starting, the two fighters lunged at each other, before they both realized that the ground under them had vanished- opening up into a massive, dark pit..

MUSASHI: "Ah."

PRETENDER: "Huh."

BOTH: "Aaaaaaahhhh--!!"

They both fell downwards, before suddenly their fall into a pit transition into falling from the sky.. You watched PRETENDER's cape billow outward as he drifted with the wind, floating away from MUSASHI as she fell straight downwards. She tried to slow her fall, whipping out one of her swords and jamming it into a wall. It scraped into the brick, making a horrible sound.

MUSASHI: "Agh-- no good!"

As she winced at the sound her sword made scraping against the wall, eventually hitting the ground with a less than graceful landing.

The screen flickered, going back to the two Ptolemaic Pharaohs.

CLEOPATRA: "We can't provide much color commentary- that's the job of the pussycat and the priest, but for those new to our Bout, behold! It's gone under some renovations, but the arena once lovingly crafted by Pharaoh Ozymandias, Keeper Ptolemaios, Beastmaster Tezcatlipoca, and Freyr Sigurd is back in full force!"

The Keeper seemed distracted, eyes widening.

PTOLEMAIOS: "That swordsman..."

Cleopatra glanced towards him, before speaking up suddenly.

CLEOPATRA: "Oh? Do you have an eye for our Samurai, Keeper? She's certainly beautiful, but can't hold a candle to me, and I've also heard that she's quite the heartbreaker."

PTOLEMAIOS: "...Mm? Ah, you jest, Pharaoh Cleopatra. And isn't it rather unprofessional to make comments like that about the contestants?"

CLEOPATRA: "Come now, everything I do is professional. Still, let's see if her skills are as refined as her looks!"

The screen flickered back to MUSASHI as she dusted herself off, looking around.

The priest's voice echoed, coming from nowhere in particular.

PRIEST: 'I do apologize, fighters. I forgot to mention that the terrain changes per round. This was once a training simulator for the illustrious Servants of the Sun, after all. It does a surface-level mental scan, and randomly picks locations from the participant's memories to use as a battleground. Also don't dawdle. If things start taking too long, we might have to… give some incentive, let's say.'

MUSASHI: "That's super ominous! And also… tell us these things beforehand! Where are you so I can stab-- ah, I mean, so I can thank you for the advice!"

PRIEST: 'Apologies, did you just say you were going stab me, Miss Zero?'

MUSASHI: "Hm? You're hearing things. Forgetful and mishearing, are you sure you're fit to be doing this job, Father? …Also, is it just me, or did my title get slightly less respectable?"

From where you were, you heard some the muffled sound of crowd laughter- and heard JAGUAR MAN laugh behind you, crossing her arms.

JAGUAR MAN: "She's taking to this pretty well. Sometimes you get good fighters that don't have good 'stage presence', but she's so bold that I think she can handle both. I didn't have much time to sit down and have a meeting about people's 'characters'… she'll just have to improvise. I guess if you want to feed her lines, that works too."

Looking back at the screen, you saw MUSASHI walking down the street, folding her arms.

MUSASHI: "Well, if I were a flouncy nobleman, where would I hide… it seems like this turf was designed from, uh, 'Jeran's mind. Seems pretty dreary. Is this somewhere in Britain? And how big is this arena anyways?"

She trailed off, going quiet. You assumed she was giving you a chance to give some advice.

JAGUAR MAN: "The screen here is locked on situations from your Saber's POV, by the way. Can't have you cheating and rigging the match. Best to take a seat, and think. But keep it quick, that Priest might start pushing buttons if he gets bored, and he's a real fickle one."

Then, the JAGUAR MAN found a seat and sat down, kicking her feet up.

Looking around, you see a few potential paths. Straight onward seemed to lead to a seaport, while heading to the left seemed to lead to an alleyway that was pretty constantly emitting fog. However... to the right, you heard the sound of music.

MUSASHI'S STATS:

(When her Endurance reaches 1, she'll go unconscious! Different choices will have a differing effect on her Endurance!):

ENDURANCE GAUGE: [X/X/X/X/X/X]

MANA CHARGES: [X]