#but at least the pinstripes are relevant now!

[jerich0two]

Heard he was part of the mob in his prime...

Bonus monochrome newspapery version!

Maybe -- just maybe! -- this is my version of Overlord Angel.

[death-limes]

Say, which characters in HB and HH do you hate the most character wise and then design wise

OHHH MAN i could write an entire video essay about this topic lmao, let me try to be as brief as possible

~~~

Hazbin - Worst Character: This one's hard, there are a few characters who probably suck but I just don't know that much about them. But based on what I know now, honestly…? Charlie. Coinsidering that… I think Faustisse?… confirmed that she's over 200 years old, the sheer level of naivete on her part is just annoying and unbelievable. She's over twice as old as Alastor, she should not be swayed so easily by him. As far as I'm aware she's not in a Disney Princess situation where she was shut inside the castle walls her entire life (PLEASE correct me if I'm wrong on that though) so there's no reason why she shouldn't be at least a little savvy to the ways of sinner demons. She should also have been able to see the VERY OBVIOUS SIGNS that Vaggie used to be an exorcist. Even Carmilla comments that it's super fuckin obvious; the Princess of Hell herself should be knowledgeable enough to pick up on hints that even the fandom picked up on when it was just the pilot. Overall, Charlie just comes across as kinda stupid imo. I don't find myself rooting for her at all.

Hazbin - Worst Design: Alastor. I know he may not necessarily look the worst, and I do in fact simp for him, but his design does absolutely NOTHING that a character design is supposed to do. Namely, it doesn't tell us anything about him & it doesn't help him stand out from the cast. Nothing about his design is uniquely 1930s (nobody wore their hair like that, pinstripe suits started in the 1800s and continue to be popular today, monocles were more of an 1800s thing and were considered old-fashioned by the 30s) or deer-esque (his ears really do not look like dear ears at all, and his "antlers" are just microscopic salad forks that don't even show up on his silhouette). The whole Voodoo thing, aside from being super disrespectful to a literal religion that is still actively practiced, is also so inconsequential to his character that it can be removed entirely and change NOTHING about him. Any of his traits that are in line with the Voodoo thing can still exist without it -- him being a trickster and a dealmaker, mostly. All the blacklight stuff doesn't match his aesthetic at all: in Princess and the Frog where everything was 1920s it gave a magic effect, but in Hazbin where all different time periods comingle it just gives a raver effect, which doesn't fit his anti-modern preferences at all. Also the living-shadow thing is yet another direct ripoff from Dr. Facilier (that might just be in the pilot though I'm not sure), I think the living microphone is a better route to take if you want him to have a spiritual companion type of thing; it's more relevant to his theming and more original. And of course none of this even touches on the "he's half-black" bullshit excuse that only came after V*v received backlash about the Voodoo thing. And it doesn't even solve the issue anyway. A mixed-race man from the 1930s would make for a very interesting character IF that unique experience/identity was actually integrated into his character in any noticeable way, but it's not. It was just slapped on at the last minute. Ugh. I could write an entire essay about Alastor alone tbh.

Helluva - Worst Character: Fizzarolli, but mostly when he was first introduced. Aesthetically he's the closest thing that I have to a "blorbo" in this show, but in the Ozzie's episode he just gave me the most rancid vibes ever. Definitely a "asexuality doesn't exist, you just haven't been with ME yet~" type of person. Admittedly that's more of a personal preference thing and less of a poor characterization; they're in the Lust ring, that type of attitude is kind of expected. What IS poor characterization, however, is his "development" later on when he and Ozzie basically get their own arc. His entire personality changes to be much softer and like…. idk, very obviously a trauma VICTIM and not so much of a potential trauma CAUSER? His character is not nearly as abrasive, but there's no corresponding event that would cause such a change. It just seems like now that he's supposed to be a sympathetic character, they changed his personality to be more appealing. He's not nearly as mean and rude as he used to be. Ozzie has a similar thing going on but it's not quiiiiite as severe, and he's saved from being the Worst by having a far more interesting and unique design. (If you had asked who I think has the BEST design in Helluva, I'd probably say Ozzie.)

Helluva - Worst Design: Beelzebub, no contest. A lot of people seemed to have a problem with her being bee-themed instead of fly-themed like the real Beelzebub in demonology, but that honestly doesn't bother me; I'm not expecting any Hellaverse stuff to be super accurate to The Real Lore so any tiny reference they can slip in (like with Ozzie's design) is just gravy. To me, bee and fly are close enough, I think it counts as a reference. Plus, the bee theme goes well with Gluttony ("nectar" is a common synonym for delicious food) and calling her Queen Bee is an easy way to make her name more appealing/sexy than, yknow. "Beelzebub." What DOES bother me is her canine aspect. Why is she a sparkledog? What is the logic behind that? Why isn't she huge-by-default like Ozzie and Mammon? (You'd think GLUTTONY of all sins would be a big character!) It really just feels like V*v wanted Ke$ha to have a cameo role as a major character and just arbitrarily picked one of the sins for her to be. So the character design has Ke$ha in mind faaaaar more than it has Beelzebub in mind. ***(Funny thing about Queen Bee: for a solid week after her episode came out, I was actually fooled by this page from an RP wiki: [https://hazbin-hotel-and-helluva-boss-rp.fandom.com/wiki/Beelzebub] The explanation that I'd gleaned for this version of her is that the picture shown is the REAL Beelzebub, and the one we see in the show is her daughter by the lord of Hellhounds, Cerberus, which explains her canine features. Queen Bee Jr. is the heiress to her mom's title in the same way Charlie is the heiress to Lucifer's title. The picture shown on that page is just SUCH a better design, and it looks like the show's style, and she seems to be a giant like Ozzie and Mammon…. can you blame me for being like "OH that makes sense!!" Cut to me a week later finding out this is just a fan RP wiki. Siiiigh.)

[soulspeaksfashion]

COLLINA STRADA SS25 “Touch Grass”

view collection here.

collection description: “You know the meme, ‘touch grass?’ The world feels like a battlefield in so many ways right now and I think we can all reconnect and find that peaceful center by touching grass,” explained Creative Director Hillary Taymour – who tapped directly into the relatable and more relevant-than-ever-before meme to inform the label’s latest collection. // “The concept of ‘Mother Earth’ was a big inspiration,” continues Taymour, who envisioned a flowy, floral presentation of femininity across all aspects of the show.

from this hypebeast article

my overall rating: 7.4/10

this collection was very well thought out imo. it had a meaningful message and concept behind it, and i liked the diversity. i’d give them an A for inclusivity. it featured really gorgeous pieces that i’d love to wear/style. the layering incorporated into the pieces was really well executed, probably one of my favorite things about this collection. however, it didn’t really do anything i thought was particularly wowing.. (it takes a lot to wow me i think) the prints and textures were definitely very unique but as i mention later on, i don’t think i’m the target audience for this collection as a whole. so yeah :p

(click keep reading for all images i included!)

♱ ───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────── ♱

LIVE LAUGH LOVED.

this section will almost exclusively include looks that i thought were styled down.

i am obsessed with the prints of these two pieces! the tube top, underneath that cross-body thing, has like bedazzling which is soo cute. as for the other dress, i love a high neckline. i've been anti-asymmetry for a while now, but i think it's executed beautifully here. also green lady, tres adorable. how could we hate?

i love patterns! i love texture! and these looks have it all. i really like the blue dress being high-low, very cute. second photo, its the pants, these pants are calling me. i need them. they're beautiful. you could very easily style these up or down, and i love that. the shirt is fine. and again these pants!! it's something about how they flow, the pattern, the colors. its really nice. the shirt is cool. i'd probably pair it with a big floofy skirt to give it some shape on the sides? idk. cool concept tho.

the lace pants. the layering, the texture. it's deffo not something i would wear (at least i don't think) but i could appreciate someone else wearing it. i would love to see this in a different color palette. that is all. the dress is giving wedding. maybe not the bride. but this is very wedding coded to me. i love the length and the sheer material (can y'all tell idk what things are??) its so pretty. but it's also casual, love.

this ensemble?? i have no idea what it is really but i think its gorgeous. the texture and colors go together real bad. this strapless dress is sexy. the length, the print, the neckline, gagged me. model ate.

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tres cute

this section will almost exclusively feature looks that i only enjoyed elements of.

1) i enjoy the print, otherwise eh imo. 2) hear me out, wide legged pinstriped jorts, without the lace?? would've been a cool concept. not a fan of the lace. the top is fine. 3) the length of the pants? i actually like this look but there's something off about it that i can't pinpoint.. it might be the pants. there's a lot happening there.

1) the sleeves unfortunately. i've been known to love a big long sleeve, but these are not my fav. 2) the shape of the dress is very ugly, hate to use that word but its my opinion. 3) i actually like this dress, but the ruffle placements are hideous. i hate that they don't overlap in a way that hides the gaps, or connect into a full loop around the body.

♱ ───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────── ♱

it's a naur from me...

this section will exclusively feature looks that i do not like/understand

1) the fit is absolutely atrocious. and the fabric looks wrinkly.. idk could just be me. casual grandparent slay. 2) individually i think these pieces are nice. together? naur <3. 3) this look actually just makes me upset. there's another iteration of this with a pink bag and i like that one a lot more. this look feels unfinished. it needed some accessories at the very least.

♱ ───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────── ♱

viewing thoughts:

(i like this name better, trying a slightly diff format as well)

this collection made me cry. not because of the pieces necessarily, but the casting choices are so human. the green lady really was the nail in the coffin. it feels real, like things a real person would choose to wear. i love loved the styling for the most part. the long hair touching the ground, i need to figure out how to make that my next hair style, immediately.  i loved the video editing, the opening with the model doing flips… it was very cute, very aesthetic.

the venue: 5/5

its green, its pretty, its unique (to me). i love seeing brands do more than just clothing, the viewing environment for the collection is very important as well.performance arttt. j’adore.

casting: 10/10 no complaints here what so ever.

now as far as the actual clothing.. it may not be my particular cup of tea (generally), though i do think the pieces are really pretty. the flounce/ruffle situations are gorgeous. i love the lace trim on some of the dresses. i do like the color palette quite a bit. the styling choices are serving a wee bit of cunt, like palatable cunt. one thing i did notice (i looked at their website as well) fitting… tailoring.. i know that not every brand is known for their tailoring but i’ve heard (don’t shoot the messenger) that at the very least, the items should fit very well. again i know this is a small brand, just something i noticed.

the twead? wool? i have no idea what these pieces are made of… but i may be a sucker. i love the texture of them. they look really soft and i like the contrasting dark colors. the pants! i love a good wide leg pant, so bad. i don’t know if i just have an unhealthy affinity towards dark clothes (i do) but the latter portion of the collection i enjoyed so much. like these black flowy dresses and the patterns. tres beau. 

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SUSTAINABILITY!!! 1.5/5

i’m fairly sure that this is the rating i gave robert wun (those reviews haven't come out). and it's only because there's not a lot of information about how they're being sustainable, where they're sourcing their materials from, or anything tbh. i don't doubt that they're being sustainable. i just wish there was more details given. i truly believe in consumers having the right to know what they’re purchasing, how it’s being made, why it's priced a certain amount, how much of that is associated with the brand name. i think consumers should be aware and given a choice in whether they participate in a companies sustainability, or lack there of. i'm all for informed decision making. i think the information should be very easily accessible, and informative. but i found on collina’s website that it doesn't really link to anything so there's no way to actually prove what they're saying, it sort of just goes into "shop this", "shop our stock", and i'm not a fan of that.

they do have a partnership with ‘the or’ foundation, which is based in accra, ghana. again, there's not really much proving that what they're saying is true. i don't doubt that what they're saying is true, there’s just no evidence.

i will continue to reference diesel when it comes to this topic because i strongly believe that the way that they go about sustainability and being open with their sustainable practices is and should be industry standard. i should know who certified you. i should know the methods that you're using to dye fabrics, how we’re handling waste management, the closed end cycle of the clothing produced. (so far, i have yet to find a brand with as much info available, so they’re my go-to as of now).

that is all friends :)

[runn0ft]

pinstripe, navy blue :33333 (but ALSO tempted by "father and son")

Ah yes, my Afterlife soulmates au. It’s been a little bit since I’ve added anything to it but I can tell you about it.

So, in a roundabout back story, my husband and I visited Whaley House a few years ago. It’s supposedly the most haunted place in America (this is relevant, I promise). One of the docents told us that she had so many weird experiences in the house that she’d come to her own conclusion as to what she thought hauntings actually are. She didn’t believe they were ghosts, but instead what would be considered a haunting is time folding over on itself, and those of us in the present then get glimpses into these moments in the past. This idea made me wonder what place in time Meyer (and incidentally Charlie) might remain static in for the rest of eternity. The Claridge was the obvious choice. So the gist is, Meyer dies and gets to spend forever in a hotel suite in Manhattan, with Charlie there to greet him.

Now, I do have a little something I can share for father and son. @portiaadams and I were having an extremely Academic™️ discussion about Meyer’s falling out with his son Paul and well. This was the conclusion.

“You need to get in line with your family.” His father says with finality—end of discussion—dabbing at the corner of his mouth with his thumb. It comes away bloody. He must have landed at least one hit, then.

“Like you did?” The initial shock of being beaten in front of his children has passed and incredulity, rage, easily fill the space it leaves in its wake. “You want to tell me how uncle Charlie factored into getting in line with your family?”

WIP MEME

[mandoalorian]

The Secret Of The Wish [Max Lord x F!Reader] SEX POLLEN

Summary: You’re a new intern for the Wall Street Journal, sent out to interview Maxwell Lord, a businessman who has suddenly found financial success in the oil drilling industry. When you ask him what does he owe his success to, he gives you a surprisingly honest answer: through the power of the wish. You make the mistake of humouring him, and playing along with his little story until he proves to you just how powerful wishing can be.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT (sex pollen in the form of wish granting therefore there is automatic dub-con) unprotected p in v, male oral, handjob, tit play, butt play, spanking, cockwarming, creampie, degradation, praise kink, office sex, power-shift, dom/sub dynamic, implied age difference, mutual pining.

Word count: 4400>

Masterlist

REBLOGS appreciated! 🤍

Black Gold Cooperative was booming with business. Even the outside of the building was swamped with hundreds of people who were desperate to get inside and speak to Mr Lord himself. Luckily, you were a journalist for the esteemed Wall Street Journal and your position in the company had earned yourself an interview with the successful CEO. The entire world had thousands upon thousands of questions for Maxwell Lord, and you were the lucky intern who got to meet with him on this humid Wednesday afternoon.

A tall blonde woman who you assumed was his secretary, led you to his office. All his employees seemed to be young, attractive and wore only the best designer clothes. It was almost intimidating. You couldn’t mess this up. You were conducting an interview with one of the most successful people alive - this could actually be your big break in the industry. Taking a deep breath, you made an attempt to swallow away your nerves before making your way into his own private office.

It was extensive in size, with large plants and statues in every corner and on every surface. Honestly, you found his taste in furnishings to be quite tacky. You knew it was just his way of bragging about how wealthy he was without actually saying anything. He was neck deep in paperwork and he hadn’t even noticed you were just standing there, in his office. Your eyes flicked across his messy desk, taking in the sight of multiple opened bottles of vitamins, colourful smoothies and other supplements. You made a mental note, not exactly pinning the salesman as a health freak. You’d been standing there for longer than you’d anticipated and he still hadn’t looked up, so you cleared your throat and prepared to grab his attention.

“Mr Lord… I’m here on behalf of Wall Street Journal, we’re doing a segment on Company Sudden Search....” you began to introduce yourself but a roll of his eyes and a flimsy yet disapproving gesture of his hand cut you off.

“Yeah yeah, I know,” he grumbled, taking a swing of his green juice before fastening the cap back on the bottle and pulling a face of disgust. If he thought it tasted so bad, why was he drinking it? Maxwell took a minute trying to compose himself for the interview. He’d waited his whole life to be interviewed by the Wall Street Journal and no matter how bad his migraine was… he couldn’t mess this up.

In fact… there was something about the way Maxwell Lord looked in this moment. His bottle blonde hair was sticking up in random places, probably due to the beads of sweat that laced his forehead. His tie was pulled open and his suit jacket was crinkled, yet he still made the effort to keep it on for whatever reason. He didn’t look like the persuasive, bright eyed salesman on the television, that’s for sure. You supposed all those studio lights could make anyone look different, but that didn’t necessarily mean he looked bad. He didn’t look sick as such, just a little disheveled. He kept rubbing his temples as if he had a killer headache. You considered asking him if he was okay, but that wasn’t why you were here.

The prolonged silence made Max Lord look up at you from the many papers on his desk. He was frowning, and if one thing was clear, it looked like he was having a bad day. It looked like he could do with some major stress relief. The first two buttons of his pinstripe shirt were open, and his collar was wonky, and honestly? You had to fight the urge to stalk over to him and help him out. You imagined running your fingers through his golden hair, caressing his face and letting your hands wander down his chest. You imagined whispering dirty little things into his ear until he ached for you. There was something about teasing a higher-up that you just couldn’t resist. Nevertheless, you cursed yourself for the inappropriate thoughts. You were a young intern for one of the most successful journalism companies… and shit, he was the CEO of what had suddenly become the richest organization in the world. He was a powerful man, more powerful than you knew. It would be foolish to mess around with a man like Maxwell Lord.

Maxwell took a shaky exhale and done what he could do best. Fake a smile. Feign confidence. Pretend like he was okay... like he had it together. He promised himself that he would not lose control of his power— he couldn’t— but this moment was only the start of his descent into madness. He never knew how hungry he could get... how satisfying his power could be, until he met you.

“Come here sweetheart,” his frown curled upwards into a smirk and his eyes began to gleam again, just like they did on his famous infomercials. His voice became a little louder, and a little more confident as he stood up and padded around his desk, pulling out a chair for you to sit down on. You hesitated, his change in attitude wasn't lost on you, but still, you obliged, and shuffled into the golden plush chair. The material was so soft and you struggled to suppress a moan. “Everything okay?” he asked you, placing a large ring clad hand on your shoulder and giving you a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah I just… I’ve never sat on anything so comfortable.” you confessed, shuffling around. Maxwell’s eyes lit up with desire at your comment and his gaze fixated on your face.

“Really?” Never?” he chuckled lightly, brushing his thumb against his lower lip as he took in your appearance. Just the shape of your perfect body was enough to initiate something primal in him. The tightness of your blouse and the vision of your short pencil skirt that cut off mid-thigh already had his cock straining against his tailored suit pants. “I can think of at least one more comfortable thing in this office for you to sit on.”

You’d be lying if you said you were unfazed by his little flirtation. If any other middle aged man had said something so crude to you, you’d have snapped back with something witty to put them in their place. But Maxwell Lord wasn’t any man and his charm alone had cast you under a spell. Your knees were weak and you felt like putty under his touch. Even when he removed his hand from your shoulder, you felt completely and utterly submissive to him. 

You cleared your throat and opened up your notepad. “I’m just here to ask you a few questions…” you told the businessman, biting your lip nervously. Maxwell nodded and sat on the edge of his desk, waiting patiently for you to get started. “So uhm, Forbes is reveling in the fact you’re self made… but not much is known about your past. We don’t know about your family or where you come from… is there anything relevant you’d like to share with the world?” you asked curiously.

And for the first time, Maxwell Lord broke his gaze with you and looked down at the carpeted floor. “There’s not much to say, really.” he said, but there was something in his tone of voice that indicated he wasn’t willing to provide any further details. Hoping you hadn’t struck a sensitive cord with him, you glanced back down at your notepad to ask him another question.

“I hope you don’t think I’m prying, but not much is known about your personal life. A handsome, wealthy man like yourself can’t be single, right?” you asked, even startling yourself over how over bearing you’d begun to sound. Maxwell let out a chuckle and quirked an inquisitive eyebrow.

“I’m single, yes. Tell me darling, is this Wall Street Journal or US Weekly?” he joked, and you felt a flush of heat radiate your cheeks. You knew better.

“I’m sorry. It was an unprofessional question,” you quickly backtracked. “Do you uhm… do you have a pen… I could borrow?” You asked awkwardly, feeling a little irked over how flustered his simple presence had made you. You'd been so nervous to actually meet with Max Lord, you'd even forgotten to bring something to write with. You were so embarassed. But Maxwell was hardly paying attention to your lack of organization, and instead he just smiled and grabbed a gold encrusted company pen from his desk. “Thank you.” you said timidly. “Can I ask you something?”

“That’s why you’re here… isn’t it?” he retorted playfully. 

“The interview is about Company Sudden Search and for some reason there are no questions about your company… just you,” you frowned apologetically. You hadn't come up with the questions, one of your executives had. You were just there to look pretty and milk as much information out of him as you could. “I guess the world is curious about you, Mr Lord. More curious about your private life than this empire that you have created. But Black Gold Cooperative had been off the grid for many years only prior to this week and now suddenly you’re the wealthiest company in the world. You’re the richest man in the US. And data shows absolute no correlation towards that. Your purchased oil wells were dry until one day they just weren’t. It wasn’t gradual, but Mr Lord, we are living during the Cold War and oil is as scarce enough as it is. How… how did this happen? You must know something.”

As you rambled on, Maxwell stared dead into you. You hadn’t been asked to say this, this was coming from your own interest. You had done your own digging about this (just like any successful journalist would), snooping into Maxwell’s business and finding out exactly which oil fields he owned and how much oil was in them in the first place. This wasn’t coming from the Wall Street Journal. This was coming from you. Maxwell never expected to be confronted with such a question. You were practically trapping him, but the way you could swindle the truth out of him was an attractive quality of yours. Not many people could get the truth out of Max Lord.

Maxwell chuckled lightly. He could tell you. It wouldn't make much of a difference. Besides, you’d be foolish to believe the truth. You’d think he’d gone insane. Had he gone insane? These damn migraines… he was drunk on power… his mind had become corrupt with the idea of fortune and success. And he needed this interview to go well.

Maxwell grinned, as charming as ever, and took both of your hands. “I made a wish.” he told you, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

You paused, unsure what to make of his comment. Was he making a joke? It didn’t sound like he was joking. In fact he sounded more serious than ever. “Like… upon a star?” you asked, giggling only slightly in attempt to make a judgement of whether or not he was just messing with you. Maxwell smirked and nodded his head. He’d expected that you wouldn’t believe him.

“On my journey to self fulfilment I locked into a secret, the secret of the wish. So I wished for it. Or, someone wished for it for me…” Maxwell explained, talking in tongue twisters. His fingers brushed over your knuckles. As you listened to him, he noticed the way your eyebrows knotted together in bewilderment. He was definitely serious about the wishing thing. But if he wasn’t going to be honest with you, then maybe this interview was more trouble than it was worth. Just as you were about to break away your contact with his hands, he continued. “Tell me what you wish for you and I will show you how it works.”

That was quite the proposal coming from him.

You blinked. “Uhm…” He stared at you, waiting for you to come up with some kind of answer. You supposed that you could always just humour him. “So you’re like a genie?”

“I’m Max Lord, sweetheart, and I can make your darkest fantasies come true as long as you just say the word.” he said, his voice dropping an octave.

The sexual tension between you both was undeniable, and it had been since you had entered his office. His already chocolate brown eyes had darkened considerably with lust. You pursed your lips together into a fine line and you tried your very best to ignore the fact that your lace panties were damp with arousal. You knew he was powerful. Strong… sexy. You’d been in his office for barely five minutes and he already had a hold on you.

“I suppose I’d want success in my career. It’s hard… being taken seriously, as a woman in journalism. It would be nice to just feel respected amongst my peers.” you confessed.

“The people at Wall Street don’t respect you?” Maxwell asked, and you swore that for a split second he sounded genuinely concerned.

“Uhm… I feel like I’m not really at liberty to discuss that. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have mentioned it in the first place.” you scrunched up your nose.

“Because you deserve respect, miss Y/L/N.” Maxwell promised you, his hand sinking down to caress your thigh. You gasped under his touch and looked up at the ceiling. “Is this alright… me touching you like this?” he cooed, tracing circles over your pantyhose.

“Mm.” you mumbled in agreement, your eyes fluttering shut as his fingers dipped under the hem of your skirt.

“So if you could wish for one thing… one thing at this very moment in time, it would be for success in your career? Is that true?” Maxwell quizzed, eyeing you up with curiosity.

No.

It wasn’t true.

In fact your career— this interview— was the last thing on your mind.

Fuck.

Silently, you shook your head. “So darling, tell me, what would you wish for?”

You sighed in defeat, remembering that you’d just humour him. It wasn’t exactly professional but he wasn’t helping you out either. Just go along with it, you told yourself. You finally looked back down at him and saw that his lips were moist from where he’d hungrily licked at them, his eyes fixated on your breasts and the way he could just about see the lace print underneath the thin material.

“I’d wish for you…” you shakily exhaled. And that caught his attention. His gaze flicked up to meet yours and he waited for you to continue. “I’d wish for you to let me use you to get what I want. You’re rich… powerful… wealthy…” A gust of air distracted you and a breeze blew through your hair. The windows weren’t open, the fan wasn’t on, and Maxwell looked completely and utterly spent over your revelation. It had just came out of nowhere. There was a few beats of silence and Max looked you up and down.

“What do you want?” he croaked meekly. He removed his hand from your thigh and his whole demeanor changed in a split second.

When you noticed how stiff his manhood was, and the way his precum had already leaked out onto the grey material of his pants, it stirred something up inside of you. He wanted this too, that much was clear.

And now, the roles had reversed. You were no longer the shy intern interviewing the big name CEO, you were a sexy journalist who’s nipples had hardened significantly and you had this fresh yet welcoming air of power to you. There were two people in this office and yet suddenly, you were the one in control.

Maxwell’s perfect, plush lips had parted and his dark eyes followed you as you stood up from your seat. He looked down at the wet patch from where you were sitting and gulped, imagining just how great it would feel to slide his fingers through your folds and feel your arousal himself.

All for him.

“I think you know.” you replied softly, sitting him down in the golden chair that you had once made yourself comfortable in. You pulled off his crumpled suit jacket and discarded his tie, throwing it haphazardly onto his already messy desk, and then sunk down to your knees, spreading his legs apart.

You began to palm at his erection through his pants, involuntarily licking your lips as your fingers danced around his growing bulge. “Ngh- fucking tease.” he groaned, his eyes snapping shut the second he felt you begin to work at removing his belt. You pulled down his zipper and reached into his pants, pulling his cock free. He wasn’t enormous, but definitely above average, and thicker than you’d ever taken before.

“You just need someone to make you feel nice, don’t you?” you cooed gently before licking a stripe up the base of his cock. “All this stress from work… huh? From making people’s wishes come true.”

“You… you have no idea.” Maxwell grunted, his cock twitching in your hands as you pressed a sweet little kiss to his head. His slit was still leaking with precum and you were desperate to get a taste of the CEO. You gave him a small kitten lick, relishing the saltiness of his seed. He was delicious.

This shouldn’t have been happening. Sure, Maxwell was hard before you’d even made the wish, but holy crap, he didn’t expect for this to actually happen. And neither did you. You assumed he was lying, just like he lied about everything else in his life. Afterall, who was going to believe a man who told you his success was owed to wish granting? 

“Mr Lord… you’re so big.” you sighed longingly before making an attempt to attach your lips around his cock. He looked down at you and let his hands grip the back of your head as you sucked on his sensitive tip. 

Who would've guessed that a good blowjob was exactly what Max Lord needed to feel better about himself?

Max felt like he was in heaven. He was already seeing stars. He’d been granting peoples wishes left, right and centre. He wasn’t necessarily touch starved but it had been a good few weeks since he’d gone without sex; his only motivation being to find and harness the power of the dreamstone. But you were giving him the best head he’d ever had in his life. It was like everything was pent up inside of him. His balls were tight and he was achingly hard and in a moment of pure lust, he thrusted his hips deep into your mouth. The sudden movement had you gagging and a trail of saliva mixed with his precum dripped down your lips. You pulled off him, gasping for air but quickly wrapped your lips back around him and taking his length even further than before. If he filled your mouth this good, you wondered how he’d feel filling your pussy.

“Not gonna last… fuck!” Maxwell cried, his cum shamelessly spurting into your mouth. His load was massive and he doubled out of you, the remnants of his seed spilling against your lips and down your chin. His heart was beating rapidly against his chest as he took in the appearance of you, down on your knees, in between his legs, with his milky white cum all over your pretty face.

Despite his orgasm, Maxwell was still hard. He still craved more. More of a release from you. It must’ve been your wish that created this desperation that dwelled inside of him.

“More,” he pleaded, his eyes round and doe-like. “Please, I need more.”

“Say less.” you whispered, unbuttoning your blouse and pulling down your skirt and pantyhose so you were simply just standing there in your white lingerie set. You looked so pure and innocent, and yet you were in absolute full control of this situation. You were the one dominating him.

“You said you wish to use me, so use me.” Maxwell begged as he extended his arms and made grabby fists, desperate for you to come over and help him out. 

He was right. This was your wish. You could play along with this for as long as you wanted. You removed your panties, unclipped your bra and discarded the garments, letting your breasts fall free. Maxwell’s jaw dropped at the sight of you and you stalked over to him. You straddled him and sat on his lap.

With one hand, you wrapped your fingers around his cock again and began to slowly jerk it, beginning a handjob which was more than pleasant for him. With your free hand, you grabbed onto his shoulder and steadied yourself, before stretching your body and pressing one of your breasts into his mouth. His lips latched around your tit immediately and he began to suck on your nipple as you continued to rub his cock. You moaned with pleasure, tossing your head back as his tongue worked at the hard little bud.

You subconsciously found yourself riding his thigh, dragging your dripping wet cunt along his expensive pants and making an absolute mess of them. He experimentally flexed the muscles in his thigh a few times, trying to gauge a reaction out of you and see how you liked it. His teeth grazed your breast and he let himself get a little too excited, peppering love bites all over your chest.

“Yes, that’s it,” Maxwell groaned. “Take what you need sweet girl.” he praised.

You whimpered when he flexed his thigh again and you felt yourself begin to reach your climax. You clenched around nothing and his cock was throbbing in your hand. You knew he needed more too.

You let go of him and he pulled his mouth off your tit with a ‘pop’. You cupped his face with both your hands and adjusted yourself slightly, this time so the tip of his cock was pressed against your entrance. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for his stretch before sinking down onto his length, settling balls deep. “Fuck… Fuck fuck fuck,” you chanted, your eyes squeezing tight shut as he filled you.

“Move.” he gasped, biting down on your shoulder. You whimpered and tugged on his golden hair, sending him into an absolute frenzy.

“Fuck, Mr Lord… oh god please, you’re so fucking big.” you cried, tears of pleasure pricking your eyes. He wanted you to move, sure, but this was your wish, and you were more than happy to just sit on and warm his cock for a few minutes.

Your walls were tight and perfect around him, just like he’d imagined. You brought your finger down to your cunt and began to rub at your clit as his cock stretched you out. Your moans of gratification echoed throughout the extensively sized office and you felt your juices drip down his cock.

“So good,” he whispered. “Move, please.”

“Mmm,” you couldn’t even fumble out words, and your vision was nothing less than a haze.

He rubbed the pad of his finger against your puckered asshole before sliding it in. Your body tensed up at the intrusion but God did it feel good. “Fucking move.” he growled, biting down on your earlobe as he began to thrust his index finger in and out of you.

Maxwell brought a hand down to cup your ass and he gave you a rough spanking. “Move.” He repeated, this time his tone a lot more demanding and less polite than the first time.

And just like that— he was in control again.

You obliged, not wanting to irk him any more, and began to bounce on his cock. “Greedy bitch,” he grunted, spanking you again. “Fuck… thinking you can use my dick for your own pleasure, huh? Everything comes with a price.” he hissed as you rolled your hips over his manhood.

“Oh Mr Lord.” you sighed with every movement, as his cock pressed against that sweet spot inside of you.

“You just couldn’t resist it, could you?” Maxwell asked rhetorically, a villainous smirk crossing his lips. “One great wish and you wish to ride my fucking cock," He had a point. People had come to him wishing for Porsche's, political power,— and you, with your whole chest, had wished to be the one who could pleasure him. Help him let go. “Shit baby, you take me so well.”

Despite his growls of degradation you knew he wasn’t going to last long, if the way his cock throbbed inside of you was anything to go by. You didn’t mind though. He could disrespect you all he wanted. You were more than happy to be Maxwell Lord’s little cumslut. His little whore.

“G-gonna cum, oh fuck, please.” you screamed, pressing your fingernails into his back as you rode out your high.

“Yes,” he moaned wantonly. “Soak my cock.” And with those three words, you came undone, sat on top of the richest and most successful CEO in the world. “Are you safe?” he asked, his hips bucking up into your sensitive core.

“I am.” you confirmed, and without even asking for permission, he spilt his seed inside of you, ruthlessly painting your walls with his cum.

He kept his cock inside of you until it softened and slipped out, and you mumbled something incoherent at the loss of his fullness. Maxwell watched your chest as you heaved, making every attempt you could to catch your breath. He pressed a sweet kiss into your collar bone, and then up your neck and along your jaw. You relished the feeling of his lips against skin; post coital bliss fostering your every thought.

“You’re a good girl,” he whispered, rubbing the curve of his nose against your neck. “I grant you your wish, and in return, I give you the utmost success in your career.” he sighed, and for the very first time Maxwell Lord said something completely and utterly selfless. It was through no gain to him whatsoever. You didn’t deserve to be looked down upon by your peers and employers, he knew that much. And if he had the chance to change that, he sure as hell would. 

“You will achieve things no journalist has achieved before, you will be rich, and be the first to seize every opportunity.” he said in between kisses.

To you, he was just whispering sweet nothings into your ear, humouring your larger-than-life dreams and ambitions. But if there was one thing that Maxwell Lord admired in a woman, it was her aspiration and goals. If you were brave enough to waltz into his office as let him cum all over you, you definitely deserve this. At that moment, you had no idea that Maxwell Lord would change your life forever...

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711  @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor

[stagefoureddiediaz]

so people on twitter are now pointing out that buck is wearing the same shade of blue ana war during the break up and eddie is wearing the same shade of blue taylor wore when BT crossed the point of it's all downhill from here. Thoughts?

Hey Nonnies

Except he's not though!!! The blue of Bucks suit is much paler than the blue of Ana's top in the break up scene, it's at least 3 if not more pantone shades lighter! if you look at the pantone chart below - Buck's suit is the third from the left on the top row- e7f2fa whereas Ana's top was d2e8f4 if not c5e0f3 or even beddf2. As for the Taylor shirt colour - which shirt are we talking about? because I'm drawing a blank (its 2am here and my brain is going brrrr) on her wearing a blue that pale - I think its darker even than Ana's!

There is also the (probably more important and relevant) fact that the break up scene and whenever Buck and Taylor have been paralleled with that scene in costumes terms, the other person has been wearing green - olive drab green to be precise and Eddie is not wearing green. he is in fact wearing a suit with pinstripes in the same shade of blue as Bucks suit and a darker navy (or black) so there is no point in trying to draw a parallel with any of these scenes because they just don't exist!

I am not afraid to get the pantone colour charts out to end this nonsense!!!

[beewolfwrites]

And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter Fourteen: Half-Sick of Shadows

Hello again! This is instalment 14 of my Chishiya x OC/reader fic. You’ll also find it over here on AO3 too. 

Thanks for all the support so far, and all of the people who have gone through every chapter and liked them. It means so much to see that you’re enjoying this <3 

childlikeempress/mercipourleslivres - I have a feeling you’ll get this chapter title :D 

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

By the time we made it back to the Beach, Kuina and I were too tired and overwhelmed to bother with the everlasting party. The teenage boy clung to my side, thanking me repeatedly for saving his life. I tried to tell him that there was no need, that anyone would have done the same, but I had to force the words out. It wasn’t true.

In this world, you’re supposed to look out for yourself.

He promised me he’d repay the favour, but I just shook my head and smiled, telling him to survive instead.

I retreated into my room for the rest of the night, and immediately hopped into the shower. The water swirled, washing away the remains of the pinstripe tent, the red water, yellow eyes and leathery skin.

Don’t focus on it. Don’t think about it.

The stained red scrunchie bobbed on the surface of the water as it spun towards the drain.

My legs collapsed beneath me. Sinking to the to the bottom of the shower, I finally wept.

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

The next morning, I awoke with a splitting headache. My eyes were pink from the night before, and my hands stung, irritated from the metal pull of the wire and the weight of the teenage boy. It was tempting to stay in bed and dream away the blood and guts of the Borderlands. But there was something I needed to do.

‘Don’t you want to thank Chishiya?’

Back then, Kuina’s words had been a lifeline, cutting through the fear.

Sitting up in bed, I took the copy of Wuthering Heights out of the bedside drawer, flicking through the pages. It was all in Japanese, meaning it was illegible to me. But there was something else; one of the page corners was turned over. Flipping to it, I found that a line of the text had been underlined in pen.

Did Chishiya do this?

It seemed unlikely, although he could have done it with the intention that I would translate it. It was impossible to tell, since he was such a closed book. But seeing the words acted as a reminder that I still needed to find him anyway.

Kicking back the covers, I got up and dressed, and while I still felt half-dead after the game, I somehow felt more confident approaching Chishiya. When I finally left my room, it was nearly noon, and I had a pretty good idea as to where he would be.

The hotel was mostly quiet as I slipped through the halls, following the same path Kuina had led me just days before. Having memorised every turn, I eventually came to the doors that opened up to the roof. A cold gust of air sent goosebumps across my skin, and rubbing my arms, I spied the hunched figure sitting, one leg bent, near the edge. Just seeing him alive and well was a huge relief.

He didn’t turn or react as I sat beside him. ‘I didn’t see you yesterday. How did your game go?’

There was silence at first, before he spoke, half-teasing. ‘So you’re speaking to me again? I see.’ When he realised the words had no effect on me, he added, ‘Eight of Diamonds – it was nothing.’

For him, it was nothing. Personally, I would have struggled with an Eight of Diamonds. Knowing myself, I’d second-guess every move. Chishiya didn’t elaborate on the game, or even speak at all.

‘Aren’t you going to ask about my game?’

He was idly watching the pool-goers splashing around and having fun, but his expression was apathetic. ‘I already know. Kuina told me everything.’ He glanced briefly at my reddened hands ‘Apparently you saved a boy. It was a stupid move.’

To someone like you, it would be.

‘I disagree. He lived because of it.’

‘And if he dies in his next game, then it was a waste of time,’ Chishiya berated. ‘It’s pointless to risk your life for a stranger.’

I spun around to face him fully, crossing my legs beneath me. ‘Okay,’ I challenged him. ‘What about if it was you down there? You’d want someone to save you.’

The question was shut down immediately. ‘That’s different. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to end up in that situation.’

I pouted. He wasn’t technically wrong. It was hard to picture Chishiya scared and hanging upside down on a tightrope. If anything, he wouldn’t hesitate to cross it. But he did get nervous. That much was clear from the Two of Spades game, when I’d felt his heart thudding as his arms tightened, pulling me into the darkness.

And now, as my eyes traced over his deadened expression and the thin hair that stirred in the breeze like spider’s silk, I couldn’t stop the question from slipping out. ‘And what if it was Kuina?’ I paused, whispering, ‘or me?’

Now I had his attention, as his lips twisted in that cruel, cruel smile that used to make me shudder. ‘Do you really want me to answer that question?’

No.

The answer was already clear, and for some unknown reason, it hurt.

I don’t want you to say it out loud.

I swallowed, instantly regretting bringing the subject up. ‘You were wrong, by the way... about what you said before.’ This prompted him to lift his brows in mock surprise. ‘You did end up in a similar situation. Both in the Tag game… and in the Two of Spades. Your injury… how is it?’

During our argument, it hadn’t been the right time to ask, but better late than never. I unconsciously reached for him, as if trying to make sure he was okay. However, Chishiya’s hand darted out, catching my fingers in a tight squeeze.

‘Don’t.’ His tone was icy, and it was the first time I’d seen him grow so cold.  

It hurt, seeing him so reluctant to let me in. But to him it was a moment of weakness, a reminder that he had lost control of a situation, even if only for a second.

‘At least tell me you’re okay.’

‘I’ve already told you it’s nothing.’ He clasped my fingers harder. ‘It shouldn’t matter to you anyway.’

I pulled myself free, rubbing my fingertips where they’d turned white and red. ‘That’s not true. I care, and that makes it relevant to me.’

For just a second, I thought I heard him begin to call me an idiot. But then he stopped. ‘You care too much about things that have nothing to do with you. You should focus on what’s in front of you.’ It was fleeting, the way his eyes washed over the bruises on my ankle.

I see.

It felt nice, knowing that in his own abrasive way, he was telling me to watch out. ‘You know what’s strange? Niragi hasn’t bothered me again. I thought he’d have killed me by now.’

Chishiya sighed. ‘That’d be too easy, and not as much fun.’

So Niragi did have his eye on me, but he was biding his time before coming after me again. It was a wonder he seemed to think that by attacking me, he’d be getting to Chishiya. Their rivalry had nothing to do with me, and Chishiya had all but confirmed moments ago that he wouldn’t even risk his life to save me in a game. Coming after me was pointless.

But that’s not what Niragi thinks.

‘It’s only a matter of time before he tries something again. You should watch your back,’ Chishiya warned. Then his face stretched into that familiar, all-knowing smile. ‘But you didn’t come up here to talk to me about Niragi.’

He already knew. He must’ve been waiting for me to track him down.

Mixed feelings swirled within me; embarrassment that he’d so easily predicted my behaviour, annoyance over the fact that he’d been smugly waiting, and something else I couldn’t identify.

Warmth, perhaps?

No, that wasn’t the right word.

‘I’m sorry.’ The words came out in a whisper. Grimacing, I cleared my throat and spoke up. ‘I want to thank you for the books, but I also want to apologise. Everything you said back then was true.’ The words were hard to admit, even to myself. ‘I’ve been living in a hole all my life and I got too used to it. And now the world seems terrifying. But if I survive here and make it back, I know that nothing my dad does will be scarier than these games. I’ll try and make my own freedom from now on. So, thank you… but also, I’m sorry.’

I waited for a response, some kind of acknowledgement. Anything. Instead, there was a rustle of clothes as he stood and began walking to the door. My heart froze over, and I blinked at the empty space beside me.

Did I say something wrong?

‘Antiseptic ointment and gauze,’ I heard him say, before the roof door swung shut.

I was alone, with nothing but the breeze and the distant laughter from the patio below. Looking down at my reddened hands, I smiled, finally understanding.

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

It had been three days since our conversation on the rooftop, and I had been following Chishiya’s advice, using supplies I’d borrowed from the medical room to treat the irritated skin of my hands. The bruising around my cheek, neck and ankle had faded to a fainter yellowish brown. Kuina kept telling me that we’d find a way of getting back at Niragi for what he did, although I knew she wouldn’t want to do anything drastic without Chishiya’s input; she was just as nervous around Niragi as I was.

I spent all my time pouring over the Japanese language textbook and trying to translate the opening sections of The Metamorphosis. Twice, I’d picked up Wuthering Heights and attempted to make sense of the underlined words. But it was hopeless. There were complex kanji I didn’t know how to pronounce, meaning they were impossible to search in the dictionary I had, and Google was no-go in the Borderlands.

Closing the book yet again, I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the headache brewing after hours spent squinting at different characters.

I should just ask Chishiya.

I hadn’t seen him much since the rooftop, as he was always busy with executive work. And even now, with the late afternoon sun beating through the windows, there was no guarantee he’d be free to talk. But it was worth a shot.

That’s it, I’m going to go ask him.

Pulling on my hoodie, I picked up the copy of Wuthering Heights and left my room. The hallways were pretty quiet around this time, as people were either downstairs enjoying the party while they could, or tucked away in their rooms getting some last-minute sleep before the long evening ahead.

Heading down the hall, I tried to remember where Chishiya’s room was. I had only been there once, after Kuina had given me directions, but at the time I’d been nervous and distracted by the argument that ensued. The hotel was like a maze. No, not a maze – a labyrinth. And his room was hidden somewhere behind one of these identical doors.

I’ll know when I see it.

Rounding a corner… I immediately froze. At the end of the hall, Niragi and his thugs were dragging a man by his bloodied scruff. When the man thrashed wildly in their grip, they stopped to kick him in the ribs and jaw, sending speckles of blood up the wallpaper.

Niragi was a sight. The nail marks down his cheek had scabbed over, and beneath his right eye was a faint purple bruise from where I’d kicked him in the face.

My limbs stiffened in place. I couldn’t move.

And even when his eyes lifted, widening with fury as they locked onto me, I couldn’t move.

He began striding towards me, jaw clenched and hands readying his rifle.

Run, run, run…

As if struck by electricity, I bolted back the way I came, shoving past the occasional person I ran into. Niragi’s footfalls were close behind me. He was following fast, and I could hear his growls.

‘You fucking bitch, get back here!’

The words sounded faint and close at the same time. Everything was close but far away, and my legs had turned to rubber. I spied a familiar looking door and threw myself into it, panting hard as it closed behind me. Outside, Niragi’s footfalls grew closer and closer… then further and further away.

He was gone. At least for now. My relief was cut short when it became clear where I was.

Sitting on the bed with open first-aid kit, gauze held delicately in one hand, Chishiya was completely shirtless. His side was swathed in old bandages, spotted with red. And he was staring at me.  

‘Get out.’

[zenlesszonezero]

Join Zenless Zone Zero with Tsukishiro Yanagi, the deputy leader of Hollow Special Operations Section 6! Beneath her ordinary office lady exterior lies a meticulous, emotionally intelligent big sister to the team.

[dramarising-replacement]

Re: https://dramarising-replacement.tumblr.com/post/617916922335543296/so-ive-had-a-subspecies-since-september-i-noticed

TL;DR: Things are fishier than they seem, and M might actually be more of a thief than SB. At the very least, M 100% falsely accused SB of theft; at the worst, M stole SB’s idea and went on an editing spree to cover their tracks.

I don't have a tumblr so usually commenting on posts here is more trouble than it's worth, but I just have to on this one for some reason. Maybe it's because I think the entire concept of “subspecies” is stupid, maybe it's because thanks to a namedrop I could easily dig everything up... but from what I found the drama OP (M) definitely seems shady. Brace yourselves, my salty friends, for an unnecessarily long deep-dive into stupid drama (because what else are you going to spend quarantine doing?).

First, let's take a look at the timeline.

According to the original post date, the drama OP (M) created their subspecies in Dragon Share on September 13 2019. The thread has moderate activity levels up (~2 week post gaps max) until December 13 2019, when it apparently dies (barring any ghost bumping of course). The next post on the thread is made May 11 2020, when M suddenly becomes active again. M also created a new subspecies thread in Dragon Share on May 9 2020 at 13:05 FR (exact times will become relevant later on); it seems the posts were filled in with edits made within the next couple days, as is standard. Also of note is the fact that many of M’s posts in their original thread have edits made May 9 2020 from 10:39-13:27 FR (this will be key); additionally, a majority of these edits are made on posts that contain the guidelines for the subspecies- not sales, affiliates, pinglists, etc. that would require any sort of update.

The “accused” in this case (SB) created their hatchery thread in Dragons For Sale on December 24 2019. Aside from sales/affiliate posts, no edits to the main hatchery posts were made since December 29 2019 (likely filling in from a structure laid out 5 days prior), except for on March 19 2020, when it looks like they might have converted how they list dragons for sale to be linked to a tab instead of posted/adjusted g:t ratio. In any case, I believe these particular edits do not really play a big role on the overall timeline and drama, same as M's edits on their new thread. For a user that describes themselves as “barely active”, they do a decent job at bumping posts, with ~1 week between bumps except for 2 spans of ~1 month: from Feb-Mar, and after a short bout of bumping, from Mar-Apr.

The drama begins when M makes their post on SB’s hatchery thread May 09 2020 at 10:10 FR, which is edited less than a minute later (maybe a typo correction?). So here’s the timeline all pieced together:

September 13, 2019 – M creates the subspecies

December 13, 2019 – M seemingly goes inactive on their thread

December 24, 2019 – SB creates their hatchery thread

peace, until…

May 09, 2020 @10:10 – M accuses SB of “stealing” their idea on SB’s hatchery thread

May 09, 2020 @10:39 – M edits their subspecies requirement post

May 09, 2020 @13:05 – M creates a new subspecies thread

May 09, 2020 @13:14 – M edits their old subspecies main post

May 09, 2020 @13:21 – M edits a post about ‘Queen’ variant(?) requirements on their old thread (Important)

May 09, 2020 @13:27 – M edits a post showing examples of ‘Queen’ variants on their old thread (Important)

~BONUS~ May 12, 2020 – people start defending M on SB’s hatchery thread. The posts weren’t exactly the nicest, so who knows if they’ll still be around by the time this gets out of the queue

Ok, I know what you’re all thinking- what does all this mean? How is this shady?? For that, we will have to dive a bit more into the content of the posts to put some context to that timeline; but first, let’s take a look at the threads and see if the theft accusation is accurate.

M’s old subspecies thread:

Messy layout/design. Links are left as ugly long URLs, but most importantly… there is no consistency on what the subspecies design is! In the main post, no colors are listed, but the genes are specified to be Slime/Lionfish, Sludge/Bee, and Capsule. In their next post on the subspecies requirements, genes are listed as Slime, Sludge/Bee, Capsule- no Lionfish to be found! Color specifications are kept vague, with only a Honey tert required, though they do also lay out 4 specific named variations using Amber/Amber, Amber/Gold, Lemon/Gold, and Lemon/Lemon. The post with the ‘Queen’ requirements lists genes of Slime/Hex/Capsule, with no colors specified except for the same 4 variants made earlier.

M’s new subspecies thread:

Still a work in progress, but looks to be pretty much identical to the previous thread; the only main change is that banner is replaced with an original (credited!!) logo (good job on that, M). The main post specifies genes of Slime, Sludge/Bee, and Capsule. The color rule examples post contain the subspecies and the ‘Queen’ variant (Slime/Hex/Capsule), and include some additional variants as well- ‘Crystallized’ (Bee sec), ‘Wasp’ (Lionfish prim), Pollenators[sic] (Glimmer tert), and ‘Hornets’ (Pinstripe/Sludge/Glimmer).

So if you’ve been paying attention, M’s ~super special unique subspecies~ has color requirements of “anything honey-like” (while also having 4 specific color combinations) and a combination of random genes in addition to the “official” genes thanks to the addition of “variants” that have nothing to do with the original Slime/Sludge/Capsule premise. The only consistency seems to be Honey tert.

SB’s hatchery thread:

Aside from some hard-to-read colors used, has nice formatting. Lists 6 pairs, which are strictly either Amber/Amber or Grapefruit/Grapefruit, with a small range of matching terts for each pair (not necessarily encompassing Honey). 5 pairs give primarily Slime/Hex (+small gem gene chance), and 1 is Slime/Sludge. As far as terts go, 2 have terts weighted towards Capsule, 1 is Capsule/Runes, 1 is Opal/Glimmer, and 1 is Glimmer. So primarily Slime/Hex/assorted, in an xxy Amber/Grapefruit+assorted.

So to put that all together:

M’s claim of subspecies “theft” would really ONLY pertain to their ‘Queen’ variant, not their main subspecies (only 1 of SB’s pairs has a 50% chance at making M’s subspecies). In addition, the range built into SB’s pairs violate the only seemingly consistent rule of M’s subspecies: a Honey tert. The only argument for “theft” would pertain to the gene combo of Slime/Hex, which appears in 5 of SB’s pairs and M's ‘Queen’ variant (though again, SB’s pairs do not have the right tert color/gene most of the time!).

Now, do you remember that timeline? After accusing SB of “stealing” their idea (presumably for the ‘Queen’ variant), what did M immediately do? They went back to their thread and specifically edited the posts pertaining to the requirements for the subspecies and the ‘Queen’ variant! It’s theoretically even possible that the ‘Queen’ variant didn’t even formally exist when SB made their hatchery- all the dragons mentioned/posted in M’s thread are the standard Slime/Sludge/Capsule subspecies, and 3 of the registered dragons of the ‘Queen’ variant were bred in January (well after SB started their hatchery), with 1 other dragon acquired from untraceable sellers at some point (likely around the same time as it is the parent of the other 3). You might even say that perhaps M “stole” the idea for the ‘Queen’ from SB… M also posted the proof themselves in the OP that they use shady edits to change the narrative in their favor- SB specifically mentions this in the screenshots after calling out M for removing their link, who then backs it up by claiming they were “project” dragons; yet M placed them in the “Completed breeders” tab, which was hastily edited to now include “Breeders that need gene alterations”, a shady move that SB commented on and M decided to post proof of for some reason lol.

So if this is true, and M accused SB of stealing their idea, then raced to edit their posts to create a narrative to justify their claims… why would they do it? My theory is simple: an honest mistake combined with jealousy. There are only 12 registered dragons listed on both the old and new subspecies threads, half of which are owned by M. On the other hand, SB’s hatchery lists 22 dragons sold, only 1 of which is exalted. Now I don’t know anything about hatcheries, but I think that is a decent amount for just under 5 months of sales, especially when taking into account the periods of seeming inactivity. I think that M either went on hiatus or forgot/gave up on the subspecies back in December, before SB created their hatchery. SB then created their hatchery, using similar (but definitely not the same!) ideas. Time passed, and one day when browsing the sale forum M comes across SB’s thread. Seeing SB’s hatchery have the popularity they never had, combined with poor memory of the details of their subspecies after such a long time had passed, M comments mistakenly accusing SB of theft. However, not long after they find their old thread, and realize that SB isn’t at all copying their Slime/Sludge/Capsule xxy Amber-ish/Honey, and rush to make the edits needed to tidy up their claims. In the process, they quickly realize it’d be best to just start a new thread altogether, as the current thread was a mess and had no more reserved space past the ‘Queen’ variant (which may have been reserved/lore space before M covered their tracks). Far less sinisterly, perhaps M continued their subspecies idea after abandoning the thread, and after accusing SB they realized that they never actually officially updated their subspecies.

  But who’s to say? There might not be a smoking gun one way or the other, but there’s enough circumstantial evidence to say M doesn’t look as innocent as they sound. As far as SB’s response, it was definitely out of line and way too harsh. But you’ve also gotta admit you’d be pretty peeved if you had been peacefully minding your own business for months and suddenly someone comes in out of the blue, wrongfully accuses you of being a thief, demands you give them credit for all your hard work, then proceeds to buy your dragons to make them part of their “rightful” hatchery, erasing any mention of you as just another slap in the face. From looking at the dragons they’ve sold, SB doesn’t really seem to care what happens to them- genes have been changed, links have been removed, no drama that I can see. It really seems like they are reacting more to M’s shadiness over the whole deal than anything else. That said, nobody likes being namecalled, so SB’s parting remark wasn’t right even if they were wrongly accused of theft.

[sometimesiwrite]

A Pinter Pause (1/2)

Summary: Terence and Katherine reconnect at the opening night reception for a collection of short plays by Harold Pinter. After talking for a long while, they realize there’s more than just an intellectual connection between them and things get deliciously tense. 

Content Notes: Sexual tension, references to sex in public and arousal.

Word Count: ~3,000? 

I didn’t intend this as a fanfic/imagine piece but if one just so happens to imagine one’s favourite actor crush playing the role of Terence, then who am I to tell you what to do with your imagination?

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Terence Davis had been standing in the lobby of the Old Playhouse Theatre after the opening night of collected short plays by Harold Pinter. He was holding a martini and wearing a smart blue suit with a crisp white shirt and tastefully colourful tie. An excellent tie which Katherine remembered exactly — oblique stripes of electric blue, yellow, black, aqua, and a less occasional thicker white stripe for the sake of it. Katherine had seen him from the opposite corner of the room where she stuck to the wall in an attempt to avoid the ever-churning mass of theatre goers who were in the process of getting drunk, and were therefore more likely to bump into each other. Terence seemed sober, though, and as he looked up, smiling from the remains of a witty retort (probably one of his own), he saw Katherine Henderson over the top of his martini glass. He smiled at her, and waved. Katherine waved back and then made an oh-my-god-there-are-too-many-people-in-here face.

Terence laughed, and raised his glass to her in agreement; Katherine took a sip from her glass of Rosé. It was mostly full. As the minutes inched their way around the clock on the lintel above the front doors, Katherine watched the swarm as its consistent buzzing reverberated through the teal-carpeted room. Every once in a while, she glanced Mr. Tie on the other side of the world, still in his corner contentedly talking with the same two or three people. She could have sworn she met him before. Where, she could not imagine. Somewhere classy, probably. She stood silently sipping at her glass, listening to the ebb and flow of sounds. Laughter stood out the most, then pompous protests, scolding, one unruly child, and the traditional cocktail phrases could be heard above the hubbub: “Oh my God, look who’s here!”; “And then I said…”; “Nooo of course not!”; “Oh my goodness, how are you?” All of that was underscored with a general clatter of clinking class and clanging catering dishes.

Of all the people in the room, Katherine knew probably five or six, two of whom were certainly in bed by now (probably with each other). Another two were evidently more-than-tipsy, and the others were involved in ever-so-enthralling discussions with members of the school board, or Theatre Arts Association, or some other organization in search of people to whom they could give money. So, Katherine stayed in her corner, watching people come and go as groups morphed and merged into one another like water drops on a window. Drunk, noisy water drops.

Katherine always found it interesting how much unfocussed electricity could be produced after the intensely-focussed energy of a two-hour play. Not a film. Film could never do that, it was easy to get your bearings after a movie had ended — all you had in front of you was a black screen. The theatre was different; even when the house lights went up after the standing ovation, one was able to sense the bit of the world that was left behind on the flower-strewn stage. She could not help but compare it to the thin layer of mist that hung over hot pavement after a summer rain shower. She didn’t really understand her own simile at the time, but she was too claustrophobic to care.

About fifteen long minutes after their silent conversation across the room, Katherine looked back to Mr. Tie’s usual corner. He was gone. Katherine assumed he had left with his friends, and decided to eves-drop on the conversation to her left: “Well, I just didn’t get it. I mean, who writes plays like that? No one’s going to understand them anyway—”; “No, but—no shut up and listen. You never listen when I try to talk and it’s rude. It’s very, very rude. You’re rude. That’s what I’m trying to explain to you. Understanding them isn’t the point. There is no point.”; “Well then what the hell’s the point of trying to watch something you’re never going to understand. It’s just dumb. And I hated the pauses. So many pauses. You would have thought a good company like them would have known to pick up the pace…” Katherine’s wine was starting to release the cynic. Oh Christ, if a piano were to fall through the ceiling right now, I would want it to be them or me. Someone please drop a piano.

Katherine turned around in the hopes of finding a less drunk, more interesting group, though she suspected it was too late in the evening for either of those criteria to be relevant. Instead, she came face-to-collar with a brightly-striped tie. “Hello!” it said. Katherine looked up. “Oh, it’s you,” she replied, not sure what else to say. “I’m not sure what else to say. I didn’t expect to see you out of your corner.”

“I often find ‘hello’ is a good safe standard to go by,” he said, soberly.

“Should I try it?”

“By all means, do please try. After all, you may like it.” His smile was crooked without being roguish or gruff. Instead she found it rather warm and reassuring. Not as though Katherine needed any reassurance to say hello.

“Hello,” Katherine said.

“See, that didn’t hurt one bit, did it?”

“No, it didn’t. I might say it again sometime, just to be rebellious.”

“Alright, but you know what they say: greetings can lead to scandalous things like friends and lifelong companions, romantic or otherwise.”

“Is that what they say?”

“I believe so. Though nowadays, they say so many things one can’t help but suspect they make at least some of them up.”

Katherine realized that she could easily listen to this man talk all evening. His voice was smooth, calm, and wonderfully expressive. It reminded her of a radio voice from the 1960′s or—what was his name? The man who did The Twilight Zone..? His demeanour was straightforward and grounded, and had a softness to it hat she found soothing. She was glad for the company. He produced a sort of shield which relieved Katherine of her subtle crowd induced panic.

“Would you think it terribly rude of me if I asked what you were thinking of just now? Before I ambushed you?” He asked, just loud enough to cut through the buzz and no more.

What a strange question.

“It’s just, you had such an interesting expression on your face as I walked over, I couldn’t help but be curious.”

She paused, wondering whether she should tell the truth. “I was thinking about how nice it would be if a piano fell through the ceiling and killed either me or the two women behind me who are far too stupid to go to the theatre, and far too drunk to talk about it.”

Mr. Tie laughed. A rich, genuine laugh. Brushed his hair out of his eyes with a well-practiced gesture. “Were you really? That’s fantastic. Though, I suppose it’s all you really can do when they get to this stage, isn’t it? They’re already bumping into one another, next they’ll stop noticing other people standing right behind them—”

“Then they’ll start spilling things...”

“But nothing can beat the point immediately after when they begin profusely apologizing at a decibel level beyond human standards.”

Katherine laughed aloud for the first time all evening. His poise and manner were thought to be extinct. How wonderful to find they were only severely endangered. “The theatre really is an ugly place, isn’t it?”

“An ugly place filled to the brim with beautiful people.”

“Better than a beautiful place filled with ugly people. At least with your example the expectations are low.”

“Whereas your example is utterly devastating,” he quipped. 

“Tsk!” Katherine playfully batted him on the arm. For a few moments, they fell silent. Not an awkward silence, but a settled one as they waited for something else to say.

“We’ve met once before, haven’t we?” Katherine said, still watching the crowd.

“Last Christmas. Jennifer Finney’s.”

“You had a pinstripe suit and a pink shirt. And a vest.”

“With suspenders,” he added, leaning towards her ear.

Katherine gasped. “Please, we’re in public!” she cautioned playfully.      

“You were wearing an evergreen evening gown with blood red earrings.”

“Bravo!”

There was another pause. Shorter this time. It was Terence who broke it. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it seems I have forgotten your name in the six months since I met you.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Mr. Tie raised his eyebrows.

“No, no! It’s just that I can’t remember your name either, and I’ve felt so awful this whole time talking to you and not calling you by your name because I forgot it.”

He offered he hand: “Terence Davis.”

She accepted it: “Katherine Henderson.”

“I am pleased to re-make your acquaintance,” he peacocked, kissing her hand in mock chivalry. “Well, now that we officially know each other, may I ask what you have been doing in this corner all evening? Have you been punished for stealing peppermints or something ridiculous like that? Or was it some other dubious thing?”

“Well, the thing is, I kept running around kicking people in the shins and screaming at the top of my lungs, so my mother made me stand in the corner all night.”

“Really?”

“No, but that’s what should have happened to a boy who was in here earlier.”

“I saw him.”

“He was hard to miss.”

“I had rather short words with a young woman who I can only assume was his  mother. She did not heed my advice. Eventually, Angela, that Goddess of a stage manager, asked her to leave.” Katherine flushed a little at his last comment, wondering whether he was confiding in her that we was attracted to the stage manager or just saying she was an all-powerful saviour of the world, which was true.

“At least you tried,” she replied, intentionally feigning over-comfort as she put a hand on his shoulder. Terence glanced at her hand, and then back to her. Katherine flushed a little more.

“I do what little I can for the betterment of humanity,” he sighed, his eyes locking onto hers a little more firmly and lingering a little longer than was necessary. Katherine was suddenly very aware of her heartbeat which had crept its way into her throat. She tried to swallow it back to where it belonged.

“Though,” she continued, her mouth slightly dry, “if you want an honest answer to why I was standing in my corner—”

“It’s noisy, crowded, hot, and you don’t like anyone here because they’re all inarticulate and annoying.”

“Well, I was going to try to put it a bit more diplomatically but, yes, in a nutshell.”

“Darling, over the years, I have found it’s often more diplomatic to speak your mind, and those who are offended can go join a support group.”

Katherine smiled. “I suppose I haven’t quite gotten to that point yet.”

“Rest assured, the day will come when you shake off that downy coat of concern over other people’s reactions, and realize that the only way to deal with the insanity of the world is to tell it the truth.”

“I feel a deep discussion coming on.”

“You know, I believe I do as well. Would you like to escape and venture elsewhere?”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” answered Katherine, breathless with anticipation, though she didn’t know why. There was no implication in his voice that suggested he wanted anything other than conversation. And yet…

“Ladies first.” The two of them maneuvered their way through the crowd toward the front doors of the theatre, eventually finding themselves in the open air, breathing freely and deeply. This must be how a fish feels when it’s released from its small plastic bag. They walked for about a minute without speaking, enjoying the warm, fragrant night air. It had rained while they were inside so that the street lamps cast shimmering amber rings on the black, empty pavement. No traffic on the residential side street. It was Katherine’s turn to break the silence.

“How did you enjoy the show?” She asked, trying to find new footing for their conversation after its drastic change in atmosphere.

“I thought it was quite good.” Katherine noticed some reservation in his voice.

“But…” She prompted.

“You don’t know any of the cast, do you?”

“Just one. The man with the funny hat.”

“An unfortunate casting choice, but obviously not his fault. He was very good. One of the best of the group, I would say.”

“Mmhmm, he’s very versatile, wasted on this production if you ask me. But then again, the production was wasted on the audience, so perhaps it’s all for the sake of balance.”

There was a brief pause.

“You’re a clever young woman, did you know that?”

“So my bathroom mirror has tried to convince me.”

“Maybe you should listen to it. It’s a very attractive trait.”

Katherine felt like giggling on the inside, but resisted. Instead, she directed the conversation into more comfortable territory, one where she would always have a response. “You’re just trying to change the subject. You still haven’t told me what you thought about An Evening of Pinter.”

“I would, but I was taught never to speak ill of the dead.”

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Parts of it were on the stage, but the rest was back in the rehearsal room somewhere looking for its socks.”

“How so?”

“Well, the taxi driver, for example. She wasn’t specific enough in her choices. She clearly had no idea what she was talking about.”

“Neither did we, though.”

“No, but the playwright did. Some people argue that absurdist theatre is a waste of time, and that may be in some cases, but the fact still stands that a published playwright went to the creative trouble to put some very specific words on paper for a very specific reason. Not to respect that in one’s performance is rude. I saw quite a bit of that in other scenes as well, and I found it very disappointing. Others were good. Surprisingly good. But I can’t help but feel I’ve missed a connection. It’s like a bad date”

Katherine felt herself blushing again, feeling playful and a bit bold in the late night air. “Well, maybe the director didn’t know you were expecting a date, maybe he thought you were just talking nonsense together for the evening.”

“Perhaps, but surely the fact that I had purchased a ticket suggested I was interested in more than just a bit of nonsense.”

“Or, maybe the director was trying to expose the language burier. Sometimes life makes sense, sometimes it doesn’t, and sometimes we think we’re talking about one thing when we’re really talking about another.”

“Hmmm subtext carrying our baser selves on the shoulders of nonsense…” They had stopped walking now and Terence had squared himself to her, looking her dead in the face, hands casually in his pockets, dark eyes intensely steady yet still warm.

“Subtext can be confusing,” said Katherine, breathlessly, not breaking eye contact but feeling her arms go cold as her palms moistened.

“Then let’s be direct.”

“…Okay”

“I’ll start: I’ve been watching you watch other people all evening and I find that utterly fascinating.”

“I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“…I noticed” He raised an eyebrow and that damn smile came back to his lips.

“I find you very attractive and charming,” Katherine blurted out.

“I would find that very flattering if you didn’t look as though you were about to get hit by a car,” he chuckled. Katherine buried her face in her hands, laughing in embarrassment, wishing her hands weren’t so cold all of a sudden.

“Nevertheless,” he said, gently pulling her hands from her face to find her eyes again, “I find you incredibly alluring.” His last words were spoken so quietly they were almost a whisper, but Katherine them rumble in his chest. He had closed the distance between them by placing one hand on her shoulder, leaving one side of her open so as not to trap her. He tilted his face closer to hers, but didn’t kiss her. His lips were three inches away from hers, an offer and a question. She could almost taste his breath in her mouth, sweet with gin and vermouth. He stayed there, one hand on her shoulder, one still in his pocket. Ordinarily Katherine would have felt threatened by his confidence but instead she felt secure and aroused in a way that she wasn’t accustomed to. She felt emboldened, even—dare she say—empowered? Ugh, she hated that word. And yet, she felt such a sense of… control. Not more than he had, but no less either. Whatever was about to happen was on both of their terms and she was so unused to that feeling, always having to either take the lead or navigate objecthood.

Still, he hovered there, waiting for Katherine to decide what she wanted to do. His eyes had started searching her face for signs of a wordless answer, clues for whether he should proceed or retreat. Finally, she spoke, bringing her lips just to the point of almost touching his as she spoke and adoration began to spread from his chest like hot wax dripping down a candle. “You see, the thing with pauses,” she said, her breath heavy on his face, “is that they build tension between the performers and the audience. So that by the time they find their next line...the audience is in agony with anticipation.”

“This is a very long pause, darling,” he said, just as breathless as she was. She could tell how much he was holding back.

“Shall I kiss you then?”

He pressed a little closer to her. “Yes, I think you better had. If you’d like that.”

She breathed and closed the molecular distance between their mouths. Terence freed his other hand from his pocket and cupped her cheek, his fingers combing her hair away from her face as he did. The kiss was tender, chaste, and brimming with desire all at the same time. She pressed her front against his, convincing herself that this was actually happening somehow. It had been so long since she felt this rush of exhilaration about anyone. She didn’t know it, but Terence was just thinking the same thing, feeling remarkably fortunate if a bit nonplussed. 

With both of them feeling pleasantly surprised about the direction the evening had taken for them, things had heated up quickly, fuelled by alcohol and the empty street. Terrence gently pulled away from their hungry embrace his grin more primal than it had been in the theatre. “Easy, darling,” he cautioned. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We still need to walk to my flat. If you want to come with me…”

Katherine almost laughed out loud at how unnecessary his question was, but wanted to respect his efforts nonetheless. She looked him in the eye, tilted her head and said, “When you say come…” and then smiled a wide, cheeky smile that made Terrence raise his eyebrows in surprise. He shot her a playful warning glance and said, “Damnit, woman, you’re going to be my undoing. Let’s just hope I can do the same for you,” he added in her ear as they started walking, his arm around her waist. 

She was just starting to hope he didn’t live far she heard keys in his pocket. They had arrived at the shiny black door of a red brick duplex, two mailboxes mounted above the doorbell. Terence  lifted the lid of the bottom one and peered inside. It was stuffed full of flyers, letters, and a newspaper. “Good news,” he said, letting the lid fall closed again and unlocking the door. “The neighbours are out of the town.” He smiled at her as he opened the door behind him and held an arm out, ushering Katherine in: “After you.”

Tag Requests!

@iloveyouyen

[welllpthisishappening]

I can’t remember if you’ve talked about tush ogling in any of your baseball fics before but that’s, like, definitely a thing you should consider. 👍

That gif is not really relevant to the words that I am about to post here, but he looks awfully pleased with himself and that is kind of relevant, so really what is the truth dot gif. Anyway, he’s attractive. As are what baseball pants do the male human. We only wear high socks with those baseball pants. 

Also, this is inexplicably part of Start Spreading the News because the number of Yankee!Killians I have is starting to get confusing, even for me. Here we go:

-----

She hates these seats. They’re too close. There are too many people near her. 

And that doesn’t make much sense. 

Because it’s crowded in the bleachers, but there are also fewer cameras pointed her direction in the bleachers and, Emma supposes, the whole thing was kind of inevitable. She’s going to have some fun. 

She leans forward, curling her fingers around the net in front of her and she didn’t realize the on-deck circle was this close. 

Seriously, this is going to be fun. 

And those pinstripes do something positively unfair to just...his entire being.

“Hey batter, batter, batter,” Emma calls, voice not quite even because this is also a little ridiculous. She can see Killian tense slightly. He’s doing his best to ignore her, that’s fairly obvious as well –– bat still swinging aimlessly above his head, like that will do anything to help the dexterity of his shoulders, but there’s a sudden straightness to his back that’s oddly pleasing as well. 

Pinstripes. Pinstripes. Pinstripes. 

“Hey, hey, Jones!”

Nothing.

Well, kind of. His head tilts slightly. And Emma’s smile stretches across her face like some kind of 400-foot home run, slow and measured and the statistics of it will be mentioned in detail on YES for, at least, half an inning. 

Whoever is up before Killian is taking forever. 

“I know you can hear me twenty-two,” Emma continues, cupping her hands in some misplaced effort to make her voice travel. It may work. Killian’s hips shift, which definitely means she’s also staring at his hips, but Emma is going to blame the pinstripes and the socks. 

It’s all very streamlined. 

It’s ridiculous. 

She can ogle better in right field. It’s because he’s in front of her more often. Now, she’s at some kind of weird angle and he’s put a weight on his bat.

“Stop swinging at pitches on the corner!”

That gets him to snap his head around, brows so high they’re barely visible over his hair and the batting helmet he’s got in. Emma’s smile widens. “You’ve got to wait on that curve,” Emma shouts. “It hooks to the bottom left corner, every single time and you fall for it. Every single time!”

Killian’s lips twitch. 

“You wait on that two-strike fastball, get your wrists around and--boom. Moonshot. Easy.”

“Easy,” he mouths. And winks. He tries. It’s almost as attractive as the pants. 

And the guy in front of him got on, worked a walk in some kind of battle of an at-bat with nearly a dozen pitches, giving Killian runners on second and first and one out and very well-tailored baseball pants. 

He makes contact on the fifth pitch. Directly over the right field wall. Emma nearly knocks her knees into several people when she leaps up, hands in the air and voice cracking and yes, yes, yes flies out of her with now-practiced ease.

The pinstripes look even better when he jogs. After her flips his bat. 

She makes fun of him for that later, a distinct lack of pants and far fewer words, lips ghosting over the side of her neck while Killian’s fingers dance along the curve of her hip and the inside of her thighs. 

“Why the high socks?”

Killian hums, nipping at her skin and Emma refuses to be held accountable for that sound. “Are you attracted to my socks?”

“No.”

“I don’t know, love, it certainly seemed like--”

“--Your socks make your legs look longer and your pants fit really well,” Emma snaps, not much frustration when she’s trying to keep breathing normally. “That’s all.”

He chuckles, something slightly snarky and self-satisfied about it, sliding his phone across the kitchen counter the next morning when a photo of Emma cheering finds its way to the Post website. 

[shtcablogs]

Rufus Humphrey is a Loser

In terms of characters on Gossip Girl, Rufus Humphrey is the absolute worst. Actually, let me retract that statement. Vanessa is the worst, but Rufus is a very close second. He’s a failing art gallery owner, father of Dan and Jenny, ex-husband of Lily, and former “rock star”. There are so many things I loathe about RH that I’ve decided to put it all in writing. Rufus is a grade A loser, and here’s why.

He takes real pride in being poor and thinks that having money makes you a terrible person.

He is always on his moral high horse and is constantly disappointed by everyone around him.

He didn’t realize that his wife left him in Season 1. She moved out and had an affair for months, and he was oblivious. 

After Jenny sabotages a charity event by putting on a fashion show of her new clothing line, he tries to get her arrested. He literally tried to send his own daughter to jail. Thankfully Lily was there to talk him out of it. 

He was Lily’s house bitch when they were married. A real trophy husband. 

He dated Ivy after she stole money from the entire family. 

He’s living in the past and thinks he’s still relevant because he was in a band in the 90′s. Band name “Lincoln Hawk”. Cool name. Not.

Rufus: “Guess whose dad is cool?” 

If you have to tell people you’re cool, odds are you’re not cool.

Rufus: “Maybe if musicians got off their blogs and picked up their guitars, the music business would be in better shape.”

Rufus: “You think I’d skip out on a room full of champagne and models? Are you forgetting I used to be a rock star?”

This is me digitally rolling my eyes.

He’s obsessed with being a “Humphrey”. I’m not sure why, you guys are known for being the middle-class wannabe family from Brooklyn.

Rufus: “Did my son just walk out before playing the Q on a double letter? That is so not the Humphrey way.”

Family Scrabble night. Such a Humphrey move.

Rufus: “Show that Celia Rhodes what us Humphrey men are made of.”

Rufus: “Oh, come on. You’re a Humphrey man. No daughter of Lily’s could ever resist.”

Again with the digital eye rolling.

He dresses like he got all his clothes on clearance at Goodwill.

Is he color blind? Is that a man purse?

Those jeans are not doing you any favors.

Turtleneck + look of overwhelming disapproval = The Rufus Humphrey 

The worst outfit of all. WTF is that tie? Sketchy brown pinstripe suit? Burn it all. 

He’s the king of man jewelry. Rufus Humphrey tried and failed to make chokers cool again.

Man jewelry is never a good look, especially when you’re over the age of 25. “Does this bracelet make me look hip?” Nah it makes you look like you’re in the throes of a midlife crisis.

He’s constantly being roasted. Rufus is the butt of everyone’s jokes, and rightfully so. I mean, just take a look at this Halloween costume he put together.

Rufus: “Since when were you the patron saint of former rock stars?” Lily: “Since when were you a rock star?”

Rufus: “At least you don't have to worry about sun damage and we don't have to spend the month of August with Eleanor and Cyrus on that cruise like they suggested. Can you imagine?” Blair: “I don't think the Principality of Monaco's yacht counts as a cruise, Mr. Humphrey.”

Rufus: “Admit it, you’re falling for me again.” Lily: “You’re right. It’s the low income tax bracket, the bad v-neck t-shirts, the awful jokes. I don’t know why your wife left you.”

Carol [sarcastically]: “Rufus, love the loafers. Are those Tod’s?”

Rufus: “I need to know how you and Jenny would feel if I went out tonight for a drink, with a woman.” Dan: “Well, I guess I’d feel like you shouldn’t wear that shirt or there will not be a second date.”

Eric: “And you want to be the cool rocker guy?” Rufus: “Come on, I was the cool rocker guy.” Eric: “Yeah, but now the penthouse, the art, the millionairess wife under house arrest doesn’t exactly scream street cred.”

Lily: “Rufus, what are you doing here? I thought we had security.”

He’s got a hard-on for waffles. Seriously, all the dude talks about is waffles.

Everyone is over your waffles, man.

Especially Jenny.

Congratulations, Rufus Humphrey. You’re America’s least favorite TV dad. Now please be a dear and whip me up some breakfast. Preferably waffles.

You know you love me. 

xoxo,

CA

[zenlesszonezero]

Join Zenless Zone Zero with Tsukishiro Yanagi, the deputy leader of Hollow Special Operations Section 6! Beneath her ordinary office lady exterior lies a meticulous, emotionally intelligent big sister to the team.

[erhiem]

The third kit for the new season is falling in a big way this week as clubs across Europe are ramping up their matchday wardrobes for the 2021-22 season.

Instead of releasing their latest jerseys one club at a time, Puma opted for a 10-dimensional launch on Wednesday, introducing new third alternative shirts for the likes of Manchester City, AC Milan, Valencia, Borussia Monchengladbach and Marseille Went. That approach was logical, as Puma had released a whole collection of kits based on the exact same template.

– ESPN+ audience guide: LaLiga, Bundesliga, MLS, FA Cup, and more (USA) – Stream ESPN FC Daily on ESPN+ (US only) – Don’t have ESPN? get instant access

The manufacturer stated that it sought to recreate the conventions of football shirt design by removing the club crests from the traditional position on the chest and placing them on the back, tucking them just below the collar. Various crests are also present in the graphic used on each shirt, which are embedded within the fabric as an entire “wallpaper” print.

2 related

In addition, we see that the standard crest and logo have been replaced by a large band, with the club’s name spread across the chest, with all relevant sponsors below – as the football shirt is not explicitly extended. can be done. Playing with commercial revenue.

While intended to challenge the norms and present kit design through a brave new lens, the resulting designs are actually rather troubling – especially for the traditionalists among us – and usually all of them require basic training. Serves to give air to wear.

If we were polite, we’d say the general reaction to Puma’s new blueprint has been mixed.

When you have all summer to design 6 kits and you leave it an hour before the deadline. https://t.co/4YiYQvOTKv

— Paul Watson (@paul_c_watson) 18 August 2021

puma must stop pic.twitter.com/AHXMkakFd4

— No Score Draw (Cyan & Alex) (@CheapPanini) 18 August 2021

The new Man City third kit has arrived. pic.twitter.com/obVHz3NRX9

— these football times (@thesefootytimes) 18 August 2021

Very funny man city, very funny. Now show us the original third shirt, please.

Please? pic.twitter.com/U5WAPPEDo1

— Ryan Bailey (@RyanJayBailey) 18 August 2021

be like puma kit pic.twitter.com/GI17dddvcb

— Football Ramble (@FootballRamble) 18 August 2021

Here’s a closer look at 10 Puma jerseys and how they stack up.

AC Milan

Claudio Villa / AC Milan via Getty Images

Quite the best in a small group, Milan has ample style inherent in its iconic crest and rossoneri Club Colors to pull off your new third kit.

Manchester City

puma

A viable effort, but we can’t imagine City’s new third strip is going to be a big seller at Club Megastore to help recover the £100 million transfer fee paid for Jack Grealish, Never pay attention to the nine digit sum. Still looking forward to investing in Harry Kane.

Valencia

puma

Valencia suffers badly from having no shirt sponsors so to speak, giving a distinctly “off-brand” vibe to their plain and gaudy dominant colors.

Borussia Monchengladbach

puma

There’s more to be said about the Gladbach’s variety on the subject, with the angular club crest and vivid, eye-catching trim at least serving to create a design that borders on being visually interesting.

Marseille

puma

You know there must be something fundamentally wrong with your kit when you’re making Dimitri Payette and his fabulous man-bun look drab and monotonous.

puma

An oversized sponsor logo makes Rennes’ shirt stand out from the crowd, but it’s another item of French clothing that’s anything but chic.

puma

Shakhtar will be sporting a beautiful sharp orange shirt at home this season and a classy black pinstriped kit on the road. Here’s hoping the Ukrainian team’s teetering third doesn’t get so much as a look-in.

fenerbash

puma

A prematch warm-up kit by any other name, you’d expect to see Mesut Ozil wearing it while casually manipulating the ball under floodlights before a Europa League game.

puma

Krasnodar is riddled with the most modest design of them all. It is dangerously close to being a plan white T-shirt, although the club’s name being written in Cyrillic script is a nice touch.

puma

Mint green and black, PSV’s shirt is hampered by the sponsor logo spread across the front and back. It is as if the kit was designed entirely using Microsoft Word.

.

Source

The post Man City, AC Milan’s Puma third kits using same template attract criticism on social media appeared first on Spicy Celebrity News.

[toxinfox]

Templars of Metal

“The fuck am I doing?” Alex muttered under her breath as she passed the gate guards and climbed the stairs toward Temple Hall. Harley wasn’t on duty tonight, and for once she was grateful; if she got into deep shit for this, she didn’t want to have to see him be genuinely disappointed in her. The gentle creaking of her leather uniform jacket as she moved made her feel guilty enough.

She’d lost a bet. Four drinks down at the Horned God, and she’d lost a bet to Reynolds, over a lousy card trick of all things. Fucker had grinned like a Chesire cat at watching the loud American dhampyr get it wrong… Resolving to figure out how that particular magic trick was done and get him back for this later, Alex tried not to look nervous as she strode casually-ish past a second set of door guards, these flanking the actual grand doors into the Templar headquarters itself.

The task Reynolds had laid out for her after wallowing in his success was simple: Go to Temple Hall, in uniform. Go into Richard Sonnac’s office. And perform ‘vigorous’ air guitar atop his desk. Record yourself doing so.

None of the other posted guards in the soaring foyer of the grand hall batted an eye at her as she headed for Sonnac’s office. Agents reported to him at all hours of the day and night, and by now Alex was recognized as a (somewhat unusual) fixture among the ranks. No, going to speak to Sonnac wasn’t noteworthy.

Planting her boots on his mahogany desk and shredding air guitar would be another story.

“Sorry sir, I lost a bet, please don’t fire me or turn me into a research project,” she mouthed to herself, practicing her apologies. A nervous swallow later, she gently shouldered the door to his office open, drawing a breath to explain as she crossed the threshold.

And then she paused, just inside. The office was empty. Sonnac wasn’t here.

Blinking, Alex let the door fall closed behind her. She hadn’t prepared for this possibility. Sonnac wasn’t here?

… did he have to be?

Alex felt the grin start on her face. Reynolds hadn’t said ANYTHING about Sonnac being present. There was no telling how long Sonnac had been gone-- or WOULD be gone-- but she had this one, blessed, solitary moment to make good on the bet possibly without getting fired.

Snagging her phone from within her jacket, Alex started a thrashy metal song, set the phone to record video, and darted across the room, hefting herself up onto her handler’s desk, keeping her boots off of his papers and pens. Taking a deep breath, she quickly opened her coat, showing off her metal t-shirt, and… began aggressively air-guitaring, headbanging and snarling to the tinny cell phone music. Holy fuck, she was doing it. She was air-guitaring on Sonnac’s desk.

“Yeah, suck it, Reynolds. You’ll get yours soon enough,” she muttered, shredding one more glorious guitar riff--

-- when the door opened.

Alex froze, except for her head, which snapped toward the sound.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit SHIT.

Standing in the doorway, brows raised in faint bewilderment.... Was Richard Sonnac.

Fuck. She’d been caught red-handed. Alex winced and hopped down from the desk, mortified, aware of her pulse in ways she usually wasn’t. The cell phone, still growling its tune into the otherwise silent office, only made it worse.

“I trust there’s an explanation for this,” the Englishman said tentatively. His voice was steady, maybe curious. Not angry. Yet.

The wince on Alex’s face turned to a full cringe that continued on into her shoulders and posture. She turned away, scratching her neck awkwardly.  “I… lost a bet, sir. I’ll… I’ll get out’a your hair. Sorry.”

Burning with embarrassment, she started for the door, but Sonnac held up a hand to stop her. Alex stopped. Cringed again. Looked up a bit, wondering what he wanted.

Sonnac’s hands settled on his hips, and his head cocked to one side. The whole gesture was too loose to imply condemnation. “You took a bet, where the condition of losing was to dance on my desk?” he asked. His voice was almost amused.

“Air-guitar, actually, sir, if we’re splittin’ hairs,” Alex offered, arms folded, gaze turned to her boots. “I… really didn’t think I was gonna lose that bet, honestly.”

“Mm. I imagine not.” Straightening, Sonnac walked past her toward his desk. Puzzled at his lack of reaction to catching her in such an absurd moment, Alex couldn’t help but look up, wondering what he was doing. Her confusion only deepened as he shrugged off his immaculate suit jacket and hung it neatly on the back of a chair, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Then he opened a drawer in his desk, put away his papers and lamp, and pulled out a slim black object; it looked like a remote control of some sort. Alex cocked her head as he pointed it at a painting on one wall, pressed a button…

… and the sounds of Iron Maiden’s ‘Death or Glory’ thundered through the stone room, courtesy of half a dozen small but potent hidden speakers. Alex’s jaw dropped. Her head snapped back to Sonnac, her eyes wide with surprise.

He was grinning, his teeth a slash of white in his dark face. “If you’re going to enjoy a bit of heavy metal in my office, you should at least do it properly.” And before she could say a word, Sonnac himself hopped upon his desk and conducted his own enthusiastic air-guitar.

Alex stared. Blinked. Shrugged. And joined in.

When the song wound down, her handler hopped neatly down from his desk, turned the speakers back off again, and began rolling his shirtsleeves back down as casually as if he’d helped move a couch. Alex was still grinning, although not without a tinge of nervousness.

“Jeez, Sonn-- I mean, sir. I had no idea you listened to-”

“Metal?” he asked, his tone level, maybe even a bit conspiratorial. “I have broad tastes, actually.”

Alex nodded. He was… taking this strangely well. Scratching the back of her neck again, she watched as he finished with his sleeves and began to shrug his jacket back on. “So… I’m not in trouble then?”

“Trouble? No. You’re far from the first agent to be up to harmless shenanigans in my office, and if we’re being frank, I have an idea of who you lost a bet too, based on the nature of the shenanigans at hand.” His tone and faint hint of a knowing smirk as he settled back into his chair implied that this might not have been a first. Folding his hands on his desk he added, “I wouldn’t suggest making a habit of this, of course.”

She almost laughed in relief, but stifled it for a smile and a salute instead. “Yes sir! Or, uh, no sir! Or, fuck, whatever. You know what I mean.”

Was that a little smile? Sonnac hid it and waved her toward the door. “Go on then. Unless you have something relevant to report. I’m afraid the paperwork that crosses my desk is endless.”

“Right. Yessir. You have a good night, sir! And, uh, thank you.”

Her body wanted to dart for the door, spurred by a combination of nervousness and relief, but Alex forced herself to walk normally-- although she paused at the threshold.

Oh yeah. Her phone. It had stopped playing music several minutes ago, but had it stopped recording?

She glanced over her shoulder as she picked it up. Sonnac’s head was down, reading a report. Had he even been aware it was there? He had to have been; it’d been playing music when he’d entered… She swallowed, then slipped out the door, shoving the phone in her jacket again. Past the guards in the foyer. Past the guards at the door. Past the guards at the gate. She walked normally, heading for home.

Only at home, safely behind closed doors, would she dare to check and see if she had indeed captured video of Richard Sonnac playing heavy metal air guitar on his desk.

Pax was never going to believe this.  

* * *

Explanations for those who don’t know:

Characters and setting portrayed are those belonging to the MMORPG “The Secret World/Secret World Legends”. Richard Sonnac is a game NPC, and Alexandra Bishop is one of my characters. 

Alex is A) from Brooklyn, NY, and B) is a dhampyr, which in my interpretation means she was bitten by a vampire, but never fully turned, and is ‘stuck’ halfway between being human and being vampire. 

‘Harley’ is Harley Trevelyan, a mortal Templar guard that Alex is frenemies with. They sass each other, but still have each other’s backs. 

I have no idea who Reynolds is, but he’s going to get what’s coming to him. 

Black Jackal (on Alex’s T-shirt) is a fictitious heavy metal band. 

Pax belongs to a fellow player, @packetdancer

All artwork is art markers on Bristol. (With the exception of Sonnac’s pinstripes-- they’re colored pencil.) 

[trevoriirw639]

The Best Kept Secrets About sandale rieker

Does one at any time surprise in which the many dress rules have long gone? Depending on when and in which you are on any given business enterprise working day, the words “distant past” may well arrive at intellect. It’s challenging to make a decision if persons don’t really know what to dress in to operate or if they have got shed sight with the relevance of look to Qualified results.

The Queen of England is claimed to get told Prince Charles, “Gown provides just one the outward signal from which people can choose the inward state of mind. 1 they can see, another they can't.” Obviously, she was indicating what A lot of people are reluctant to accept; that men and women judge us by the way we dress. In all situations, company and social, our outward look sends a information.

Consider about to a occupied cafe at lunchtime. Go searching you at what folks are carrying and find out when you don’t make judgments about who They're, their line of business enterprise, their personalities and their competencies. Think about how you feel when you are wearing your normal organization attire as opposed to casual gown. Your choice of enterprise apparel speaks in your Experienced habits and credibility. It is important to understand how to costume for organization if you wish to market you along with your Business inside a beneficial method,

The way you costume is dependent upon four components: the business where you work, The work you may have in that field, the geographic area where you live; and most of all, what your client expects to discover.

Specialist Gown for Men

In Guys’s garments, manner would not improve drastically from period to season but business enterprise attire is about becoming Specialist rather than about becoming stylish. It’s about presenting oneself in a method that makes your customers really feel relaxed and assured with you. Dressing for fulfillment remains the rule. The Skilled businessman really should Take into account these couple of factors when choosing what to don to work.

Select a conservative fit in navy, black or gray possibly pinstripe or reliable. The standard of the fabric speaks as loudly as the color and will make the distinction between sleaze and suave.

A sound white or blue dress shirt with lengthy sleeves gives essentially the most polished seem. The more pattern and colour you include, the more the main focus is on your clothes, rather then your professionalism.

Ties should be manufactured from silk or simply a silk-like cloth. Steer clear of the cartoon figures and go for easy and delicate in order to improve your believability.

Socks must be calf-size or over. Be sure they match not simply what you're putting on, but in addition one another. A fast look in superior light right before heading out the doorway can save embarrassment later on during the working day. Check for holes at the same time for those who’ll be experiencing airport safety and eliminating your footwear.

Shoes ought to devoid of problem be conservative, clean up and well polished. Lace-up footwear are the choice in excess of slip-ons or flip flops. Don’t think for the moment that individuals don’t see footwear. A lot of people will examine your ft ahead of your deal with.

Belts should match or intently coordinate using your footwear. Once again, top quality counts.

Continue to keep jewellery to the least. Inside of a time when Males sport gold necklaces, bracelets and earrings, the business Specialist ought to limit himself to the conservative enjoy, a marriage band and perhaps his faculty ring.

Private hygiene is an element on the results equation. Freshly scrubbed wins out above intensely fragranced any working day from the week. Save the immediately after-shave for immediately after several hours, but never the shave by itself.

The finishing touch to the business person is his choice of extras: briefcase, portfolio and pen. When it comes to sealing the deal, a best of the line fit, a silk tie and a great pair of leather-based footwear can eliminate their affect after you pull out the ball position pen you picked up while in the lodge Assembly home the day before.

Qualified Gown for Gals

When Girls entered the workplace within the 1970’s and 1980’s in increased quantities than ever just before and commenced to maneuver into positions which experienced ordinarily been held by Guys, most of them believed that they necessary to imitate male enterprise attire. The end result was Gals exhibiting up at the Office environment in skirted satisfies or coordinated skirts and jackets with customized blouses concluded off with an accessory merchandise that appeared a great deal just like a gentleman’s tie. Happily All those days are gone. When the organization woman might now put on trousers to operate, she does it from a desire to look Qualified and at the same time delight in the pliability and luxury that trousers offer you more than skirts. Her aim is no more to mirror her male colleagues.

A similar Over-all procedures use to Women of all ages’s get the job done attire as use to men’s. Enterprise apparel isn't a reflection of the newest vogue craze. A lady ought to be observed for who she is and her Specialist expertise instead of for what she wears. Her enterprise have on must be appropriate for her field and her placement or title throughout the business.

Start with a skirted match or trousers go well with for by far the most conservative appear. A skirted accommodate is among the most professional. With a few exceptions, attire usually do not offer a similar reliability unless they are accompanied by matching jackets.

Skirts should be knee-length or a little bit over or below. Stay clear of extremes. A skirt over two inches previously mentioned the knee raises eyebrows and queries.

Pants ought to split at the very best with the foot or shoe. Whilst Capri pants and their vogue cousins sandale piele that can be found in assorted lengths from mid-calf to ankle are the most up-to-date trend, They may be outside of place in the conservative company setting.

Blouses and sweaters supply coloration and selection to woman’s outfits, but they should be captivating as opposed to revealing. Inappropriate necklines and waistlines may give the wrong effect.

Ladies should put on hose within the small business planet. Neutral or flesh-tone stockings are the most beneficial possibilities. Hardly ever dress in dim hose with light-coloured clothing or shoes. Keep an extra set of stockings inside your desk drawer Except the hosiery shop is future door or just down the road in the Place of work.

Faces, not ft, ought to be the point of interest in company so chose conservative sneakers. A minimal heel is much more Experienced than flats or substantial heels. Despite latest style and the sandal rage, open-toed or backless footwear are not Office environment apparel. Not merely are sandals a security hazard, they counsel a certain Formal agenda.

In regards to equipment and jewelry, considerably less is Once more a lot more. Maintain it easy: one particular ring for every hand, one particular earring for each ear. Add-ons should reflect your persona, not diminish your trustworthiness.

Small business attire is different from weekend and evening have on. Buying a very good business enterprise wardrobe is undoubtedly an expense inside your Expert long run. For individuals who Feel it’s not what you don but who you might be that makes good results, give that some additional thought. Enterprise expertise and expertise count, but so does private physical appearance and that every one-important first perception.

[junker-town]

Dorktown: The secret to not allowing homers to Babe Ruth was being bad, apparently

Bettmann Archive

The story of the two pitchers Babe Ruth faced a ton without ever homering

Babe Ruth began his Major League career with the Boston Red Sox in 1914. By the next year had become one of the very best pitchers in the big leagues. But a problem quickly arose. He’d also developed into one hell of a hitter.

For a few seasons he remained solely a pitcher who dabbled in a little pinch-hitting. Then manager Ed Barrow got the bold idea in 1918 to get his bat in the lineup more often by also playing him at first base and in the outfield.

The following year, even while pulling double-duty, he hit 29 homers, breaking the single-season record. Then he was sold to the New York Yankees for 100 grand, whereupon they immediately closed the curtain on the whole pitching thing and just told him to play outfield and mash baseballs every day. And mash he did. Starting with year one:

Across Ruth’s 15 years in pinstripes, he faced 342 pitchers for a total of 9,200 plate appearances, resulting in 659 homers (in the process just squeaking past Roger Connor’s at-the-time-career-home-run-record of 138):

But take a close look there. Notice anything weird? Specifically, look at the row of dots representing pitchers who Ruth took deep zero times in his Yankee career. More specifically, the two dots in that row chilling in solitary (dual?) confinement. Not one, but two pitchers who he faced approximately 70 times each without ever homering.

One of them was a gentleman by the name of Ed Wells (71 plate appearances), the other was Roy Mahaffey (68 plate appearances). So they both held Ruth homerless despite the fact that he hit at least five homers against 38 of the other 41 pitchers who he faced at least that much (and even the remaining three allowed four, four, and two homers to the Babe).

Overall, Ruth homered in about 7.2 percent of his Yankee plate appearances. Here’s how it breaks down in terms of percentage against each pitcher he had a decent sample against:

With only one exception, every other pitcher allowed homers to Ruth on over four percent of their encounters. Most of them by a lot.

Now, to provide some context about what it means for a supernatural slugger to have his two home run kryptonites stem from such big samples. To me, I’d say that the 10 greatest home run-hitters of all-time are the nine members of the 600-home run club, plus Mark McGwire. Well:

For Ruth to have faced one pitcher so much without homering is really bizarre. But two? That’s like bizarre squared. Now granted, Ruth’s Yankee tenure was during an era in which his league was much smaller than it is today. He played just seven teams over and over for a decade and a half. Additionally, relief pitchers weren’t used anywhere near as extensively back then as they are in modern times. So that all meant there were plenty of pitchers Ruth faced a lot of times, but also that he faced a mere 362 overall in 15 years as a Yank.

As opposed to more recent history when it’s not at all unusual for players with lengthy careers to wind up facing well over 1,000 different pitchers. But that necessarily stretches thin the average amount of matchups that player has against each pitcher.

For example, Jim Thome had nearly as many career plate appearances as Babe Ruth, but there was only one pitcher (Brad Radke) that he faced more than 70 times, and none that he faced as many as 80 times (for perspective, in Ruth’s Yankee career there were 24 pitchers who he faced at least 100 times, three up over 200). So that obviously makes it pretty hard to have guys you face that much without ever homering when there are barely any guys you’re facing that much to begin with.

Nevertheless, we’re still talking about Babe Ruth here. Regardless of how large the pool of pitchers he regularly competed against was, it’s still an upset of epic proportions that there could’ve been even one who he didn’t hit a single homer off of. Let alone two. To ostensibly have a 7.2 percent chance of doing something, yet not doing so in any of 68 (1-in-156 chance) or 71 (1-in-195 chance) opportunities is pretty unlikely individually, let alone collectively.

And indeed, Mahaffey and Wells’ placement on all those scatter charts relative to all the other data points is quite impressive. But what really kicks the absurdity into even another gear is that whereas the chances of a Babe Ruth homer in a random plate appearance was about 7.2 percent, against Mahaffey and Wells specifically, you’d think it would’ve been much, much higher — not lower.

Because while one might naturally figure Roy Mahaffey and Ed Wells were both superstar, transcendent pitchers, they were not. No, actually, they were not even good pitchers. No, actually, they were bad. No, actually, they were each the very worst (decent-volume) pitchers in all of baseball throughout the entirety of the periods in which their Ruth encounters occurred.

For Mahaffey, that was 1930-1934:

For Wells, that was 1923-1934 (four of those years as Babe’s teammate notwithstanding):

In case you’re wondering if Ruth’s lack of homers against them was potentially a product of simply walking a ton, the answer is no. For two main reasons. One, Mahaffey and Wells combined to walk him 29 out of 139 times. That is about 20.9 percent — right in line with the 20.1 percent of all plate appearances in which Ruth walked during his time with the Yankees. And two, walks also pad the plate appearance totals that Ruth had against all the other pitchers, too; they’re reflected with everyone, not just Mahaffey and Wells.

It was already bewildering that there was one, let alone two, pitchers that could face Ruth that much without allowing a single homer. Then the idea that even one of the two pitchers could have been anything other than one of the very best in the game seems unfathomable. Let alone not even average. Let alone arguably the worst in the Majors during the relevant time period. And both of them were!

In the name of completeness, let’s remove the Yankee restriction — since he did have 1,424 plate appearances (and 55 home runs) with the Red Sox and Braves — to provide a total and comprehensive snapshot of every plate appearance of Ruth’s career (he had over 1,600 career plate appearances that stem from games of which play-by-play data does not exist; it required the development and execution of a plan to ascertain which pitcher each of those plate appearances was against — if you’re curious to see the overall raw numbers, or just the product of some good ol’ masochism, here you go):

You may notice a dot in that one representing another pitcher who Ruth faced nearly as much as Mahaffey and Wells without ever hitting a homer. That would be Black Sox scandal legend Eddie Cicotte. But there are two gigantic asterisks that make the story with Cicotte completely different.

One is that the overwhelming majority of their showdowns came when Ruth was still a Red Sock; in other words, before Babe Ruth truly became BABE RUTH. Wells was squaring off against Ruth during most of Ruth’s prime and, though he came along a bit later, Mahaffey still mostly faced a near-peak version.

The other is that while Mahaffey and Wells were as bad as anyone during their windows facing Ruth, Cicotte was dominant. In three of the five seasons in which Ruth faced Cicotte, Cicotte had a minuscule, sub-2.00 ERA. Still kinda surprising, but easily explainable.

But never hitting a single homer in his best years off two of the lousiest pitchers in the game in a combined 139 tries? Well, that’s just baseball for you.

[campbellhugh]

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Second is the best solution available to those who indeed have problems with growth and overall physical development of growth of your money back.If you constantly think about your height?Stands out from the wooden models because most of them that you can reach the pedals of your spine and it starts to work even though your growth hormones from the bookstore or anywhere else for that is the key in order to grow taller, eating healthy, the use of the many natural ways as it flushes out the most.Aside from being able to feel sorry for themselves and two, have not yet realized just what you want to do is start exercising.Consequently, she felt like her stature had been refined and at the same time.