#go against the capitalism machine my friend

[fictionkin-hell]

☆Max Caulfield Fashion Board for Anon!☆

With grunge themes!

Deer Skull Shirt - $19.99+

Black and Pink Bracelets - (Sale) $10.39

Time Spiral Iron-On Patch - $6.30

Grey Deer Shirt - (Sale) $18.32

Deer Antler Beanie - $15.99

Chloe Price Photo Set - $7.50

[artdcnaldson]

changeover || art donaldson x reader ; patrick zweig x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex x2, fingering, f!recieving oral), drinking, pining after people you can’t have, a dash of reader x tashi, sprinkles of patrick x art, porn WITH plot

Summary: your ‘casual’ fling with art isn’t working for you anymore, which sucks because you probably love the guy. enter a freshly heartbroken patrick to take your mind off of things.

FALL 2006

You knew exactly why Art Donaldson refused to acknowledge that you were an item. You could see it clearly across the room— the way you were cast to the shadows while he followed Tashi around like a lost puppy.  

It made sense, even if it made your chest ache. Tashi was gorgeous, and was acing her classes, and was going to go pro soon and become a beautiful, all-American sports icon. And you were just some girl he’d met because he needed help understanding the reading for class. 

You’d known each other for months by then— hooking up, going on dates that ‘weren’t dates,’ spending most of your time together. And you stayed firmly in the no-labels zone. But you weren’t bitter. It was totally fine, being treated like a girlfriend in all but name. 

Art laughed and leaned into Tashi. It was totally fine.

You were nursing a beer in a red solo cup and trying your best to look friendly and approachable. The only reason you were even at the party was because Art had brought you, so you should’ve felt grateful. You should’ve been having fun.

But just as soon as you’d arrived, he’d slipped away with a promise to be right back. It had been over an hour, so it seemed like you had very different definitions of right back.

“Looks like your boyfriend stole my girlfriend.” You turned to see Patrick, tanned from his time on tour. He was only going to be at Stanford for the weekend before taking off for a challenger a state over, which meant he needed to capitalize on any chance to spend time with Art and Tashi. 

Unfortunately, you’d both been ditched.

“Art isn’t my boyfriend,” you said pointedly, maybe a little too quickly. 

Patrick knew better. The last time he came to visit, he’d interrupted a pseudo date night between the two of you (which was a nice way of saying he walked in on the two of you in Art’s dorm while his best friend was was knuckles deep in you). The rest of that night wound up being spent passing around mixed drinks made with cheap vodka and whatever you could get from the nearest vending machine. You overheard the it’s casual, nothing serious conversation they’d had through the ajar door while you bought more Powerade and Red Bull in the hall. 

But you were being so understanding and cool about that. 

Patrick narrowed his eyes slightly. “Really?” The corner of his mouth tugged upwards for a moment before he wrapped his lips around a beer can. He tried to hide it, but you saw. 

You chewed on your lip, stomach twisting with nerves and curiosity. He was probably just messing with you, trying to get your thoughts all muddled up about Art because it was fun. Still, you couldn’t help but ask the burning question echoing through your mind. “Did Art say something to you? About us, I mean.”

The question felt pathetic. A stupid, desperate girl begging to know if the guy she liked felt the same way. 

Patrick shrugged, leaning against the wall bearing the portraits of the ghosts of frat brothers’ past. “Not directly. But you’re here together, right? And he’s still seeing you.”

“I guess,” you replied with a huff, embarrassment burning hot in your chest. 

“If you’re worried about Tashi, don’t be,” Patrick said, sparing a glance in her direction. When you looked towards Art, and the way he was smiling and laughing and looked so natural beside her, a frown turned your lips. Patrick nudged your arm and offered a smile. “Hey, I’m serious. Nothing’s gonna happen there. Trust me.”

It should’ve felt nice. A total reassurance from the person who knew Art best. But it did nothing to quell the turmoil twisting in the pit of your stomach. Because if he really did feel that way, why was he over there with her?

Tashi Duncan. So beautiful, radiant, and perfect that she had total control over two men. Your paths didn’t cross much, outside of Art, and that was rare since he liked to keep you two apart. 

But there was a part of you that knew that Tashi would’ve been able to make you melt with one look, one smile, one word. You wanted to experience what Art did. You wanted to know what Patrick knew, and what Art was jealous of. Or maybe you wanted something of your own too, something to keep Art out of. 

“I need another drink,” you said suddenly, meeting Patrick’s gaze. “Do you wanna come with me?” Patrick’s eyes flitted quickly towards Tashi, where she bantered with Art and the rest of the tennis team. 

There was something in his expression you found incredibly familiar. That pang of jealousy. The ache of not belonging just right. The look was gone quickly, replaced by a toothy smile. “Sure. I could use something stronger.”

——

An hour later, Tashi left with Patrick, and Art quickly decided to take you back to his own dorm. 

His lips were insistent against yours, kissing you hungrily, completely dissonant to the delicate way he tugged down the zipper of your dress. His fingers were warm where they brushed along the line of your spine. His tongue brushed against yours, tasting of beer and mint gum.

“What were you doing with him?” He murmured against your lips just as he peeled off the cheap, bodycon dress you’d gotten from Forever 21. It was tossed across the room, to be lost in the mess of practice duffles and empty water bottles and dirty laundry. The only time he parted his lips from you was to lift you onto his bed and slot himself between your thighs. 

His tongue licked into your mouth possessively, claiming you as his from the inside out. You gasped as one of his hands kneaded your breast, panting open-mouthed against his lips. “Who?” You managed weakly, your mind completely blank except for Art, Art, Art. And maybe a tiny voice in the back of your head that was still thinking about the Tashi of it all.

“Patrick.” His voice was soft against the tender skin of your jaw. “I saw you two talk, then you disappeared for, like, an hour.” His teeth nipped gently at your pulse point as he nuzzled against your throat, awaiting your answer. 

So he had been watching? He was with her, but he was still thinking about you. It made your heart flutter. You moaned softly as his hand slid between your thighs, teasing you through your panties. “Getting drinks,” you managed feebly. “Fuck, Art, I can’t concentrate while y—“

You gasped at the feeling of his fingers slipping beneath the band of your panties, teasing you with delicate touches. “Just drinks? For an hour?”

A strangled gasp escaped you as fingers slick with your arousal met your clit. When your eyes opened in surprise, you found Art staring right back. His touch was relentless, flooding your senses with pleasure as he demanded an answer. “We were in the living room,” you managed between soft pants and moans. “He was telling me about the— god— about the tour.”

Art’s expression flickered slightly— a tiny furrow forming between his brows. Was it doubt, or possessiveness, or anger? Before you could figure it out, his lips were against your throat, your panties were pushed to the side, and he was easing two fingers inside of your cunt.

“Fuck,” you cried out, grasping onto his shoulders. French manicured nails scratched at the pastel-colored polo he wore— why was he still wearing his clothes? Soft, keening moans slipped past your lips as he fucked you with his fingers. Every thought of him preferring Tashi or him leading you on slipped from the front of your mind as his thumb rubbed at your clit.

With a free hand, you palmed him over his pants, relishing in the way he panted against your warm skin. You made quick work of the button of his jeans— you knew your way around him like the back of your hand. He was warm, pulsing in your delicate grip when your hand slipped beneath the band of his briefs. Slick at his tip with need. 

He moaned against your pulse point, nuzzling against you as you began to jerk him off in time with each pump of his fingers. 

“You smell like him,” he groaned, nose pressed to the spot just beneath your ear as his hips bucked into your fist with a new sort of desperation. You didn’t have to ask who he meant. His tongue slipped out, lapping at you briefly before sucking a bruise into the delicate skin there. 

His fingers flexed so they brushed against the sweet spot within you. Your eyes rolled back and a sob of pleasure clawed its way from your throat. “Need you,” you pleaded, equal parts a thoughtless cry and a demand.

And who was he to deny either of you that? A pitiful whine escaped your lips when he slipped his fingers from within you and moved your hand from him. He stood to clumsily pull off the rest of his clothes at the same time that you quickly shimmied off your panties and tossed them to the side.

”You’re so fucking sexy,” he groaned as he joined you back on the bed, slotting himself between your legs. You were so pliant and sweet beneath him, looking up at him with adoring doe-eyes and a pretty smile on your spit-slick lips. He should’ve been perfectly content.

As he parted your thighs, stroking his dick as he lined himself up with your entrance, he wondered if Tashi and Patrick were doing the same exact thing at that same exact moment. He could imagine it clearly— Tashi, splayed out on her bed, and Patrick right at home between her thighs; sinking in, faces contorting with pleasure. Before he could stop himself, a soft moan slipped past his lips at the mental image. 

Your nails dug into his shoulder blades as he sheathed himself within you, and he buried his face into your neck. Fuck. You really did smell like Patrick. The shitty Axe body spray that was supposed to smell like chocolate, and the lingering scent of cigarettes. 

You moaned prettily, pussy squeezing him like a vise. Manicured nails scratched against his back, delicate enough that the marks would probably disappear by that time the next day. He was so used to Patrick lounging shirtless around their hotel rooms after tournaments— severe-looking scratch marks looking like angel wings against his pale skin. He always wore them like a badge of honor the night after he snuck off with some pretty girl he’d set his sights on. That’s how you know you’re doing it right. 

Why was he thinking about Patrick?

He tried to lose himself in you— in how pretty you were beneath him, the sweet words falling from your lips with each thrust. Feels so good, Art. ‘M so close already. Gonna make me cum. 

When he looked down at you, your mouth hung open, lips shiny with spit, begging to be kissed. His mouth met yours messily and you both moaned into the kiss. He moved a hand between your thighs, rubbing at your clit as he bullied his cock into your inviting cunt. 

You came with a string of moans and expletives that made the person next door bang on the wall out of annoyance. Art had to pull out as soon as he felt you start to squeeze around him. All it took was a few clumsy strokes and he was spilling onto your stomach with an almost embarrassing whine. 

You both lay there catching your breath and cursing the shitty air conditioning in the dorm. He wiped the mess of cum off of your stomach with an old tee shirt that was hanging off the side of his desk and tossed it to the side to be dealt with later.

“You’re so gross,” you mumbled with a tiny laugh, reaching down to grab your underwear from your floor. After you pulled them back on, you watched him dig through a pile of clothes in a papasan chair for a passable pair of pajama pants. An amused smile played on your lips at the sight. “Do I need to buy you a hamper?”

He held up a pair of pajama pants to examine them, shrugged, and pulled them on. “I have one, it’s just full.” A boyish grin spread across his lips as he crossed the room towards his dresser. He tossed a random tee shirt from the drawer in your direction and climbed on the bed, grinning down at you. “See? I have clean clothes.”

You laughed as you pulled the shirt over your head, then turned on your side to face him. His eyes flickered from your face, down to the shirt, then back. You wrinkled your face in confusion and peered down at the shirt. 

“What? What does it say?” You asked with a laugh.  You held it out, squinting to make sense of the graphic— faded and upside down. Finally, your eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh! I thought you were more of a Maroon 5 and Justin Timberlake guy. I’ve never even seen a Blink-182 CD in your stuff before.”

Art cleared his throat and shrugged, thumbing the bottom of the tee shirt absentmindedly. “I went with Patrick a few years back.”

A smile turned your lips. “It’s sweet that you two are such good friends.” You reached over, brushing his curls from his forehead. He turned, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin of your wrist. “Did you and Tashi have fun tonight?” The insecurity in your words was palpable.

Art shrugged. “A party’s a party, y’know?” He leaned into your touch, letting you play with his hair. “Just lost track of time. I won’t run off on you next time.”

You chewed your lip shyly. “I think it’d be nice for the three of us to hang out sometime,” you said, watching his expression to gauge his reaction. 

“C’mere,” he said with a tired smile, effectively avoiding your suggestion. When he pulled you against his side, he nuzzled his face into the junction of your neck and shoulder. His breath tickled with each exhale, which made you squirm, but every so often he’d place a chaste kiss on the skin there and you’d forget why you wanted to ask him to move.

In the morning, when you woke up to his alarm clock blaring a local radio station, you realized it was the first time he’d let you stay the night. 

SPRING 2007

After your second drink, you decided that Art Donaldson had hung you out to dry for the last time. Well, probably the last time. 

Most likely not the last time. 

Knowing yourself, you’d be clinging to his side like a lost puppy in a few weeks’ time, if you even had the dignity to give it that long. The second his attention turned to you again, you knew you’d be absolutely relishing in the special affection he always gave you when he was experiencing Tashi-related withdrawal.

You were so stupidly in love (or in lust, or in whatever) with him that you’d accept just about anything he could throw at you. 

No labels, just casual? Fine. Ignoring you all night then conveniently remembering you exist when he’s horny and ready to go back to his dorm? Whatever. You’re game. 

You’d gone to every match, watched a few practices. Helped him study for exams, let him borrow the notecards you’d painstakingly written over the course of the semester. Jesus, you even wrote a few essays for him when his schedule got crowded and he just couldn’t manage.

All you asked in return was a date to a stupid formal, and he ditched you last minute for Tashi. Again. And you couldn’t even get pissed about it without feeling guilty, because she’d fucking gotten injured and it wasn’t her fault that the guy you were into was carrying a torch for her instead.

“You’ve been staring down the Reese’s Pieces for the last five minutes.” The familiar voice startled you from your sulking. The world filtered back in suddenly— the blaring music, the smell of cigarettes and pot, the chatter of people wandering in and out of neighboring dorms. When you turned, Patrick Zweig was leaning against the vending machine beside you, carrying a large Tennis bag and backpack on both of his shoulders. “Do you need five bucks?”

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” You asked, brows furrowed with confusion. “I heard about her match. I just figured that you’d…“ You trailed off as you noticed the thinly veiled kicked-puppy expression he wore. “Oh.”

He swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, that’s… it’s over. Did you want the Reese’s, or not?” 

“No,” you shook your head and laughed. “I just needed…” you trailed off. What was it you needed, again?

You needed Art. A date to the formal. You needed to feel desirable and cared for. You needed him to get his head out of his ass and just fucking commit. You needed to tell Art to fuck off and find another groupie. You needed…

“Another drink?” Patrick suggested.

You nodded eagerly like that’s what you’d been thinking all along. “Yes. Another drink.” You paused, glancing at his bags. “Do you want to drop your things in my room first? My roommate is in Iowa, or something. She won’t mind.”

Your dorm was decorated in shades of pink and green, with a ruffled bedspread and faux fur pillows and blankets. You bent down to retrieve two bottles of Smirnoff Ice from a mini fridge. Patrick did his best to look away like a gentleman would. 

Well, he did his best. It wasn’t exactly his fault that his options were to look at your tight jeans or the bulletin board above your desk that was essentially an Art Donaldson shrine. 

Pretty pink push pins held up a photo of the two of you after one of his matches, both beaming at the camera. Then there were little notes he’d written you in his boyish scrawl. Tickets to movies you’d gone to see and tickets to his matches. 

“Here,” you said, drawing his attention back to you, thankfully in an upright position. You’d already popped the bottle caps off the radioactive blue drink you handed him. You were chewing your lip shyly, sweetly. “It’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it?”

“What?” He took a drink and nearly grimaced at the sweetness. After he finished it, he’d need to go find something stronger.

You sighed and took a long drink yourself. “I dunno, the whole… thing. Art.” You absentmindedly toyed with the hem of your shirt. “I mean, what girl with any self-respect lets a guy just screw her for months with no commitment?”

“Maybe self-respect is overrated.” He laughed and stepped closer. “Full disclosure? I only came here hoping that I could fuck someone and spend the night in their dorm. Free booze was a plus.”

“We’re in the same boat then,” You said, gazing up at him through your lashes. “We’re both jilted lovers who need a distraction.”

You tilted the bottom of the bottle up, chugging down the contents. When you were done, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and rolled your neck out. “Bottoms up,” you said with a coy smile. “Let’s find something stronger.”

——

An hour later, something by the Pussycat Dolls was blaring through a set of speakers in a darkened common area. You were the fun kind of tipsy, where you started to care less about everyone else and just found yourself buzzed in that light, easy kind of way. You danced to the beat without a care in the world while Patrick sat on the arm of a couch and nursed his beer. 

His eyes were glued to your body as you moved, almost hypnotic beneath the red Christmas lights that had been stapled around the ceiling. Your shirt had ridden up, revealing a sliver of stomach that you either didn’t notice or didn’t care to cover up. 

The only thought running through his head? Art was a fucking idiot. 

You glanced over at him and nodded for him to join you. He didn’t move, so, not one to give up, you joined him over on the couch. When he went for a drink, you tipped up the bottom of the beer can and forced him to finish it, even as it spilled past his lips and down his chin. 

“Thanks,” he deadpanned, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. 

With a pleased smile, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the middle of the room to dance.

He shook his head as you tried to make him dance— your hands on his hips, pushing and pulling and trying and failing to make him move. “No, no. I don’t dance,” he explained, as firmly as he could stand to be.

“Because you can’t? Or because you think you’re too cool?” You asked, raising a brow. He rolled his eyes, a smile playing at his lips. “C’mon, if you dance, I’ll tell you a secret.”

That did make him laugh. “What are you, five?”

With a shrug, you took his hands into yours and moved them to your hips. There was a hesitance in his touch, at first. But then his fingers splayed against exposed skin, and you were so warm. Your hips began moving to the beat beneath his hands. “See? We’re dancing,” you said, peering up at him through long lashes.

You looked genuinely victorious when he finally started dancing… kind of. It was less of an action and more of an acceptance. It had been abundantly obvious since the moment he walked into your dorm room that you wanted to end the night with him. Maybe it was because you thought it would hurt Art, or maybe it was because he was there and he was feeling the exact same things you were.

He’d done his best to resist out of some lingering sense that he could repair things with Tashi, and the hope that maybe Art’s spite would fade and they’d be friends again.

Despite skipping the whole college thing, Patrick wasn’t an idiot. He knew better. The second Tashi fell on that court, both of those doors slammed in his face.

And you were so close to him that he could smell the liquor on your breath. And Victoria’s Secret body spray. Mostly the liquor, though. He was barely moving, but you— you were something else. Hips moving against the thigh he’d slotted between your legs, arms trailing up his chest so you could sling them around his neck, pulling yourself impossibly closer. Even though you were grinding against each other like two horny middle-schoolers at their first dance, he’d had enough to drink that he didn’t really give a fuck. When he moved his hands from your hips to grab your ass, you gasped and laughed like it was the best thing in the world.

Your body moved so effortlessly that anything he could have possibly done would’ve looked clunky and clumsy. He groaned when you brushed against him just right, and he could tell by your smug expression that you knew exactly how you were affecting him. 

You leaned in, chest to chest. “Can I tell you the secret now?” You whispered, lips brushing against the line of his jaw. He swallowed hard and nodded. “I think it’d be a bad idea for us to fuck. We’re both in a bad place.”

“Mhmm. Bad idea,” he echoed. He wanted to reach out and grab your jaw, to tilt your face up and kiss you. One of your hands had slipped beneath the hem of his (Tashi’s) shirt, just barely teasing the skin there. It made him shiver and lean into the heat of your touch.

“But I still want to.” You sounded so earnest, so needy. Like you’d take anything he’d give you and thank him for it. “We can use each other to feel better, right? Just a nice, warm body and a rush of dopamine.”

It was exactly what Patrick had come to the fucking dorm rager for. To feel wanted and desired. For someone to look at him like he wasn’t actively failing at the one thing he was supposed to be the best at. 

But he was good at other things.

You guided him through the crowded hallway, way more packed than they had been before you’d started dancing. It was getting later, more people were falling for the siren song of R&B and beer. You were a siren of a different making— with much more dangerous consequences than a hangover.

It almost felt wrong to be back in your innocent, frilly little dorm with the intention of fucking your brains out. But the looks you were giving him were enough proof that he wasn’t the only pervert. Before you could get too far, he pinned you up against the door, displacing a dry-erase calendar in the process. 

You glanced down, eyes flitting towards the hearts around tomorrow’s date, anticipating the formal that Art had flaked on. Without looking back, you kicked the dry-erase board out of the way, a problem for later. 

His lips met yours in a messy clash— teeth knocking slightly until you found a rhythm with each other. Patrick Zweig kissed like he’d been at war for fucking years and had just returned home. He kissed like he had crawled out of the desert and the only promise of water could be found on your tongue. 

You’d never been kissed with that level of need and desperation— that desire— and you fucking loved it. The taste of his tongue licking into your mouth, the rumble of a moan against your own lips.

His hands were moving beneath your shirt, pushing it up as he went. A pretty whine slipped past your spit-slick lips as he squeezed your tits over your bra. Your hands stayed busy undoing his jeans. He moaned into your mouth when your fingers barely brushed against the bulge through the denim. 

“That feel good?” You teased, practically breathing the words into his lungs as you slipped your hand into his boxers. He groaned in response as your hand wrapped around him and pumped slowly.  There was something addicting about his need— you relished in the pulse of him, warm and bucking into your grip. And you wanted more. You wanted to be the one to make him come undone. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

His head fell back slightly as you brushed your thumb along his tip, the movement accompanied by another soft groan. The way you peered up at him with an earnest need to please made hot desire thrum within him.

“You could start by taking these clothes off,” he said, fingers roaming to tug at the strap of your bra. You started to move, slipping your hand from his boxers. Then you stopped.

“You’re not gonna help?” You asked coyly, goosebumps forming where his fingers trailed along your side, teasing at the band of the bra. 

That made a tiny smirk turn at his lips. “Does Art help?” It shouldn’t have turned him on— that little flash of longing for Art in your eyes. But it did. You nodded, shifting slightly to encourage more of Patrick’s touch. “Lift your arms.”

As easy as anything, you obeyed. No banter, no push and pull for control. It was so different than what he had with Tashi (who he shouldn’t have been thinking about), and he couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how it always was for you and Art (who he shouldn’t have been thinking about either). 

He tossed your shirt to the side and moved a single hand to the clasp of your bra, undoing it with a quick movement that he’d perfected at sixteen. Painstakingly slow, he pushed each strap down your arms, until it fell at your feet and exposed your tits to the overzealous AC of the Stanford dorms. 

Your nipples pebbled in the cool air, and his mouth watered in a near-Pavlovian response to the sight. His hands moved back to your chest, so he could thumb over the sensitive buds and relish in the way you shivered.

The wood of the door was cold against your shoulders as you arched into his touch. Manicured nails fumbled with the button to your jeans— you twisted and shimmied them off before kicking them to the side.

Before you could react, he picked you up and carried you over to the bed. A grin played at your lips as he practically dropped you onto it, making a decorative pillow fall to the floor. 

“It was only, like, five steps,” you said with a laugh. Patrick shrugged and made quick work of his clothes. You sat up on your elbows to watch him shuck off his pants, then awkwardly hop on one foot at a time to remove his shoes and socks.

When he finally joined you on the bed, he was clad only in his boxers, which were sporting an almost comically large tent. He positioned himself over you, that shit-eating grin ever present on his face. “Can I go down on you?”

You laughed lightly in disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

He nodded. “As a heart attack.” He nuzzled against your jaw teasingly. “C’mon, lemme make you feel good, okay? I live for this shit.”

You giggled, pushing his face away. “Yeah. Fuck. You can.”

He trailed his lips down your jaw, then your sternum. He stopped only briefly to suck each nipple into his mouth, making you squirm and arch into him. Your hand moved into his hair, and he moaned against your tit as you tugged slightly. 

You watched him kiss down your stomach and peel your panties down your legs with his teeth through half-lidded eyes. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he slowly kissed up one leg.

The sight made your stomach flip— the sheer desire of it all. Your mind flickered to Tashi, as it seemed to do more and more. Tashi got this same sight, felt the same lips on her skin, and heard the same groans and pants. You could’ve laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all. At that moment, with Patrick on top of you, you were closer to Tashi than Art could even dream of.

A tap on the inside of your thigh was his wordless way of telling you to open up for him, to get out of your head and come back to earth. Your tummy fluttered as you spread your legs more and he slotted himself there with an arm slung across your stomach. 

“Fuck,” he said lowly, peering up at you. “You get this wet from just kissing?”

Heat burned in your cheeks at his obvious amusement, but you could tell he loved how responsive you were. His tongue traced you from your hole to your clit, making you cry out and twist your fingers into his curls. Quick, teasing flicks against your clit made your thighs tremble and squeeze around his shoulders. You were so fucking sensitive that it made him want to tear you apart.

It was messy— a sloppy mix of his spit and your arousal as he made out with your pussy. His nose brushed against your clit as he nuzzled deeper into you, moaning as his fervor was rewarded with more of your juices spilling onto his tongue. 

There was no method or precision to it, even though you were quite sure he could’ve had you coming undone beneath his fingers in no time at all. Patrick relished in every tiny reaction— in feeling your thighs around his head and your fingers in his hair. Relished in the taste of you on his tongue and the feeling of your slick smeared across his face. 

Your back was arching off the bed, nails digging just shy of painfully into his scalp. 

He opened you up with one finger, then a second. Your cunt accepted the intrusion with ease, like you were made for it. For him. He crooked his fingers just so and you cried out pathetically. He pressed there, constant and firmly and your fingers tugged harder on his hair, moans increasing in pitch as your breaths came in pants. 

“I’m— I— fuck—“ words failed you as his lips formed a seal around your clit and he sucked, making spots dance across your vision. In the absence of words, all you could manage were fucked out sobs and pitiful little whines.

Slick walls fluttered around his fingers, and your clit pulsed against his tongue. You were so easy to get worked up— a toy for him to wind up and set into motion. You came with a moan that would’ve made a weaker man cum inside of his boxers, your cunt spasming around the intrusion of his fingers. 

When he sat back and cleaned his fingers in his mouth, you were watching through half-lidded, hazy eyes. Tiny pieces of hair were plastered to your face and forehead, and you gave a breathless giggle as you looked up at him. 

“Holy shit,” you said with a grin as he shucked off his boxers and kicked them off somewhere across the room. 

“Feel good?” He asked, and pressed a kiss to your hip bone. You nodded wordlessly, feeling dizzy with need. “Gonna give me another one?”

“Yeah,” you said breathlessly, peering up at him with wide eyes. The tip of his nose was shiny with your arousal, which made warmth spread across your cheeks. With a sheepish laugh, you reached up and wiped it away with your thumb. There wasn’t much you could do about the mess on his mouth and chin. “You’re all messy.”

He kissed you slow— leaving his tongue against yours, making you taste yourself mixed with his spit. It was less of a kiss than a series of slow laves of his tongue against yours. It felt dirty, and a little gross, but you couldn’t help but relish in it. You’d never kissed Art like that, would’ve never even dreamed of it. Patrick was an entirely different animal. 

You stayed like that for a while— just completely lost in the feel of him warm on top of you, grinding his cock against your cunt as he planted messy kisses to your lips. 

“Condom?” He mumbled the words against your lips when he finally grew impatient.

“Mhmm. Bedside table.”

He fumbled inside the drawer, grabbing glasses cleaning wipes two seperate times before he finally found a foil packet in the bottom of the drawer.  

He held it between two fingers, an amused smile playing on his lips. “You sure this’ll fit me? I’m bigger than Art.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not by that much.”

“Where it counts, though.” His smirk was smarmy as he tore open the foil with his teeth and rolled the condom down his length. He spat in his hand and stroked himself as he peered down at you, like he hadn’t quite decided how he wanted you yet. 

“Turn over,” he finally said with a pat to the meat of your thigh. You did as he said, almost hesitant as you turned over and settled onto your forearms, arching your back slightly. “Does Art ever fuck you like this?”

He held the head of his cock at your entrance, teasing you with the tiniest amount of pressure. You took in a shaky breath and shifted, eager for more that he wasn’t going to give you yet. “Do you have to bring him up right now?”

No. He knew he really didn’t, but he couldn’t help himself at the same time. The thought of his Art in this same bed with you made it all so much hotter for him. He wanted to know how Art had fucked you, he wanted every detail burned in his brain. He wanted to be better, or maybe just be there with the two of you. 

It had gotten close. Once. Art was definitely fingering you under a blanket while the three of you watched a movie on his laptop across the room. Patrick’s thigh was touching yours— he could feel the way your muscles tensed and shook as Art played with you. He was close enough to hear the hitch of your breath. 

And if that hadn’t been enough to give it away, Art’s stupid fucking smirk and the obvious way his arm was moving would have.

He didn’t do anything then, but maybe he should’ve. 

“I’ll take that as a no.” He was slow as he sank into you, inch by inch. It could’ve been the position, or maybe his cocky bravado was completely founded, but he did feel bigger than you were used to. A soft moan was punched from your lips when he was finally buried to the hilt— your breath came in soft pants as you adjusted to the feeling of him. 

With your face pressed into your pillows, each breath you took flooded your senses with the smell of Art’s cologne. You moaned softly, eyes fluttering shut as your thoughts were overwhelmed with him.

“Shit, you’re fuckin’ tight,” he groaned. His fingers dimpled your skin where he held onto you. He moved one hand to rub the base of your spine in a way that could probably have been tender, on another day. You moaned pathetically into the pillows. “What? You need something?” 

One shallow, teasing thrust made your toes curl. “More,” was all you could manage.

“Can you take it?” Patrick cooed, smugness was practically dripping from his tongue. “Because I can go slow if you need—“

“You’re such an asshole. Just fuck m—”

A rough snap of Patrick’s hips cut you off suddenly. You cried out, grasping onto the bedspread feebly as he began to fuck you in earnest. 

Each thrust made the cheap, university-provided bed frame slam against the wall. The decorations you had hung up rattled, threatening to tumble right onto the floor and shatter, but neither of you even noticed. The moans slipping past your lips were pornographic.

But the sounds escaping you were nothing compared to the noises Patrick was making. Art had made an off-handed comment, once, about how much of a slut Patrick could be. You hadn’t really seen why until you got to hear the desperate, debauched noises he could make.

You slipped a hand between your thighs to rub at your clit and the feeling stole the air from your lungs. Your eyes rolled back, ass jiggling in time with each thrust.

Through it all, the memory of Art in this bed clung to you. Art, burying himself in the soft, wet heat between your thighs, flushed down to his chest and panting softly. His hungry kisses, melting sweet on your tongue like cotton candy. The whines that slipped past his lips, better than the prettiest music you could imagine. 

With each brutal thrust of Patrick’s cock into you, he punched out soft ah, ah, ahs from your lips. In your head, you just heard Art, Art, Art. Maybe that’s what you meant to say. 

You were probably in love with him. You were fucking his best friend. And it wasn’t even that simple. Patrick and Art and Tashi and somewhere between it all, you lingered. It was a giant clusterfuck of feelings and lust that you’d somehow tangled yourself inside of. Wanting someone so much, you want whoever has them just as badly. 

Maybe everything would’ve been a lot cleaner if you’d just locked the four of you into a room and stayed until every bit of tension had been fucked out. The idea of it all made you moan softly into the pillows. 

Patrick pulled you up suddenly, back flush against his chest as he continued to fuck into you. One hand grabbed at your jaw, turning you so he could press his lips to yours again, and the other squeezed at your tits. His mouth did a perfect job of muffling your moans— Patrick relished in feeling your pretty whines vibrate against his lips. 

“You feel so fucking perfect.” His words made heat flutter through you. “Need t’ feel you cum again. You have it in you, yeah? I can feel it.”

You nodded, eager to please. Pleasure was lapping at every nerve, lightning-hot. Your fingers rubbed faster at your clit as he pounded up into you. The whines escaping you were pathetic as your body crawled closer and closer to the edge. 

“Close,” you gasped out. Patrick licked into your open mouth, kissing you sloppily as you set a punishing pace on your poor, oversensitive clit. “So close— f-fuck—“

Your orgasm hit you suddenly. You clawed at his arm with your free hand, desperately seeking purchase as euphoria pulsed through your veins. 

“That’s it,” he groaned, his breath hot against your jaw. “Fuck— squeezin’ me so tight I can barely move— god—“

Your eyes were half-lidded as he worked you through it, rhythm only just beginning to falter as his finish approached. He pushed you back onto your stomach, manhandling your hips so your back was arched just like he wanted. 

You were reduced to whimpers and whines by the time he finally came— buried as deep as he could get, grip bruising on your hips. A few shallow thrusts were all he could manage before he pulled out, collapsing on beside you. 

You were catching your breath while he disposed of the condom in the cute trash can beside your bed, filled with gummy snack wrappers and broken pencils and old class notes. It felt like sacrilege. He laid back down, and you pulled a throw blanket over the two of you. 

With his head against the pillows, you wondered if he could also sense the phantom of Art’s presence there in the bed. Somewhere between you, forcing distance.

“So, when do you leave for your next tournament?” You asked. Unconsciously, you reached out to play with his hair, the same way you did to Art in times like these. “Soon, I bet. You usually don’t stay long.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” He asked, a tiny smile playing at his lips. His chest was still heaving with exertion. 

You shook your head. “I don’t want to get rid of you, Patrick.” He melted into your touch, eyes fluttering shut. 

In the morning, you’d wake up squished against Patrick’s side with the taste of sugary alcohol on your tongue. When you picked up your phone to see three missed calls from Art, it was easier to pretend that you hadn’t seen them at all.

thanks for reading :) if you enjoyed, please lmk by sending an ask, or whatever you wanna do <3

[alwritey-aphrodite]

its ur fav anon pookie!!

i’ve been thinking a lot about an arranged marriage/relationship with either sejanus or coryo. i feel like both of their guardians would want them to get to a higher ranking in the capital, so naturally, marrying their kid off to the capital sweetheart (reader) is the best option.

you don’t even have to write anything on this if you don’t want to, just a silly idea i had 🤭 i feel like they would both react so differently to being forced into something like that omg

Ok I love this idea so I’m writing one for Sejanus too, and I’ll link it here when it’s finished!

For as long as you can remember, there had been talks and jokes and quips about you marrying Coriolanus Snow, the grandson of your own grandmother’s childhood best friend. At first, the comments went well over your head, but the older you got, the more serious it seemed. And now, with Coriolanus at your elbow and your mother across from you at the dinner table, it seemed more serious than ever.

“In the springtime, of course, after you’ve both finished your studies,” your mother is saying, the two older women at the end of the table nodding along and whispering together, clearly planning their own sequence of events. All this marriage talk has made you lose your appetite, so you push yourself away from the table and make your way to the gardens, ignoring the shouts of your parents.

There are footsteps behind you, the heavy footfall of your betrothed, and you slow to a stop, despite the urges to turn and slap him across the face. He’s obviously pleased with this arrangement, gaining access to all that money he surely believes has long been his right, growing up with all the trappings of Capital luxury and none of the wealth.

The boy is as cold and emotionless as the statues that surround you, his eyes a pale blue that give the impression of a motionless pond. You wonder if your mother would let you choose the Snow cousin you’d want to marry, certain that Tigris would be much more enjoyable to spend the rest of your life with.

“Well, this must be wonderful news for you,” you sneer after a few minutes of silent walking, desperate for a fight.

“It is, I’m going to marry the most desired girl in Panem,” he says, his voice infused with pride, as if he’s done anything at all to win you over.

“The most desired fortune in Panem,” you correct, knowing exactly why all the boys at the academy fell over themselves trying to get close to you.

“Are you going to attend university?” He asks, changing topics as if he has any interest in what you want, any interest in you beyond the fortune tied to your last name.

“Yes, I am,” you try to be polite, but part of you is waiting for a fight, waiting for Coriolanus to finally snap and show you that he’s not an emotionless machine, “and I’m sure my parents would be more than happy to pay for you to attend as well, I can’t be having a deadbeat for a husband.”

You’re successful in riling him up, if the way Coriolanus crowds you up against one of the stone pillars near your house is any tell. You knew money would be a sore spot, and seeing his chest heaving with rage, his eyes an electric sort of blue you’ve never seen before, has a smile tugging at your face. He’s standing so close that you need to look up to look into his eyes, but you’ve never been one to back down from a fight.

“You have no right to speak to me like that,” he grits out, and you can’t help but scoff, the pride of this boy unbelievable.

“I was only trying to help,” you ply him with a sickly sweet smile, ready to complete the rest of your little experiment.

It’s difficult, with the way he has you crowded against the pillar, but you press your lips to his, cutting off any snide remarks he was waiting to use and resisting the urge to bite off his tongue. He’s motionless, hands by his side but his mouth is much more responsive, and when his hands start to catch up with his brain and he makes to grab your waist, you slip out from where he’d had you effectively trapped, sauntering back into the house.

When you look back at him over your shoulder, his chest is heaving for an entirely different reason, and you can’t help the grin that splits your face. He thinks he’s in control, but you’re the one who holds all the cards, and maybe this marriage won’t be as awful as you think.

I’m in love with this dynamic if anyone has any more asks for these two :)

[rottenpumpkin13]

Out of Context Shit Heard on the SOLDIER Floor

Angeal: Am I old enough to be considered a dilf?

Genesis: The disembodied voice in my head says I'm right so fuck you.

Essai: Whoever provided commander rhapsodos with a microphone, I wish you nothing but misery.

Sephiroth: Don't get blood on my sandwich

Zack: Maybe the true gift of the goddess is the friends we made along the way

Genesis: I'm so nauseous my insides are playing hula hoops with satan

Genesis: I have done thy mother

Sephiroth: What does "serving cunt" mean?

Kunsel: fuck this I'm quitting and becoming a nude model

Angeal: Your ass is incredible, stop selling yourself short

Sebastian: is it gay if we fist bump?

Zack: I'm not on *does the splits* drugs, Angeal.

Lazard: Whoever keeps spelling my name as Director Lizard is getting dishonorably discharged

Angeal: STOP USING THE COPY ROOM TO PRINT HENTAI

Sephiroth: Every year after I turned 20 has tested my will to live

Roche: *in the showers* I have seen way too many dicks today

Luxiere: Zack, where are you going with that leaf blower??

Genesis: Sephiroth, you ignorant slut.

Zack: I just realized Zack rhymes with crack

Genesis: Why do you just assume I've done drag before??

Sephiroth: Yes, I'm fine. Why? Is this not the visage of a man who's fine??

Angeal: *to someone who sneezes* happy birthday

Zack: who wants to come gnome hunting with me???

Luxiere: he smells like mediocrity and baby powder

Kunsel: my crusade against capitalism starts now *kicks a vending machine*

Angeal: who the HECK put a banana in the printer???

Genesis: So?? Sephiroth can go Sephi-rot for all I care.

Lazard: GENESIS WHY ARE YOU COVERED IN BLOOD?

Sephiroth: *quietly eating a cookie* munch munch

Zack: Where do we go when we die??? France???

Genesis: Good morning to everyone but the asshole who was playing the saxophone at 4 AM this morning

[redpenship]

Hi! I loved your response on the question about whether or not Sonic is okay with being misidentified in terms of his species. I wanted to do an ask too! Might be a bit dark though. Do you think GUN would ever try to capture and use Sonic and/or experiment on him to capitalize on his speed, stamina, and power? I imagine they’d want to be the #1 world power, and although Shadow can utilize Chaos energy, no one is as powerful as Sonic in the lore. If he WERE captured, how do you think the world would react? And finally, how do you think Eggman would react?

Hi! There are a few questions in here, so let me break them up:

Q1: Do you think GUN would ever try to capture and use Sonic and/or experiment on him to capitalize on his speed, stamina, and power?

A: Since there doesn't seem to be any history of militaries kidnapping powered individuals in the series to weaponize their powers (iirc), GUN would need to assess whether such an action is worth running the risk of entering a security dilemma with other states. A security dilemma is basically the theory behind arms races, in which a country bolstering its own security leads another to view it as a potential threat and then bolster its own security in response. So, Country A captures one superpowered Mobian. Country B says "oh shit, I don't have any superpowered Mobians to defend myself against their superpowered Mobians!" and then captures two Mobians so it can maintain a comparative advantage. Country A then kidnaps another Mobian to regain its advantage. And so forth. GUN would need to decide if it's willing to kidnap more people after already kidnapping Sonic.

Now, not all superpowered Mobians are created equal. Sonic is much more powerful than Tails, and I think it's fair to say that he's capable of beating Knuckles or even Blaze in a fight when it really comes down to it. That doesn't mean he's going to guarantee victory every time. If we run on the assumption that power is found in a state's ability to retaliate to an attack, so really, its second strike capability, then even a military wielding Sonic or Sonic's level of power still wouldn't be very interested in flexing him against someone with the equivalent of Knuckles. Really big bombs are scary, but normal big bombs are scary, too. I think most other states would be able to find Mobians powerful enough to deter against Sonic-powered military assaults.

However, they could most likely get away with using Sonic for non-combat purposes. As we saw in Unleashed, it's very possible to simply drain Sonic of his power (although he was Super at the time) and use it to power weaponry. This weaponry could be very advanced, and while it still risks a security dilemma, I imagine it would be much easier for GUN to restrict access to its weapons technology than it would be for GUN to stop other militaries from kidnapping Mobians. They can also fuck around with sanctions, trade restrictions, and other means to reduce the ability of enemy states to properly develop the technology necessary to wield Mobian power. Using Sonic as a living battery to power machines would be the most practical use of his abilities.

Q2: If Sonic WERE captured, how do you think the world would react?

A: The world would very much not like it. Other states would need to assess what Sonic's capture means for their military and respond accordingly. His friends would probably try to break him out, and I think if they or the Restoration (assuming they're willing to go to bat for Sonic) made enough waves in the process they would get the attention of other states as potential actors to be used for asymmetric balancing. For example, if Mazuri is worried about a weaponized Sonic, they might provide support to the Restoration (or Sonic's friends in general) since they're trying to free Sonic. This is the same thought process when governments fund rebels/militias in different countries. You scratch my back, I scratch yours!

From here, it would largely depend on what they're using him for. I've already kind of explained that in my answer to the first question so I'll continue on from here!

Q3: How do you think Eggman would react?

A: Believe it or not, I've written a fanfic about this! I've always really liked looking at how the Eggman Empire fits into the world at large. I think I'll approach this from a post-Forces angle since that's where the timeline stands currently.

I believe Ian Flynn said something about Eggman "putting GUN in their place" during Forces, so let's assume that he embarrassed them by attacking their military bases and using hypersonic (ha!) missiles against their aircraft carriers in the sea. He took over 99% of the planet, so this presumably happened to everyone else, which means that GUN isn't necessarily at a disadvantage when compared to other militaries. Everyone got fucked and they're all only starting to re-establish themselves now.

This means that everyone is going to be gunning for Eggman. They may have ignored him in the past a bit because he was easy to beat, but now he's proven that he can outsmart Sonic and do immense damage if he really applies himself. That's going to scare everyone very much. That kind of security risk cannot be tolerated, so they will want to destroy him and all of his resources. Eggman is presumably smart enough to realize this.

Once GUN has their hands on Sonic, he will need to react immediately. Sonic is the reason he loses every time he tries to do anything. (This is also why I generally believe that it's in GUN's best interest to let Sonic be, since he takes care of Eggman for them at no cost). They will certainly use him against the Eggman Empire. It would be stupid for them not to.

If I go at this from the perspective of harsh offensive realism, his best move here would be to figure out where they're holding Sonic and simply destroy it with Sonic as a sad, but necessary casualty. However, Eggman clearly isn't about that, so his next best move would be to utilize his forces against GUN to free Sonic and even protect him until he's safe.

This is for a pretty simple reason: it's better to have Sonic as his enemy than GUN. Sonic might stop him most of the time, but he doesn't kill him when he does. Eggman has lost enough family members to GUN to understand that they don't offer the same mercy.

Anyways, I'm glad you liked my answer to the other question! Thank you for sending another one, I love this kind of stuff.

Have a great day <3

[iguana-eyanna]

NCIS: Roy Pt. 1

You can't remember the last time you had a peaceful sleep.

Maybe since you've been sleeping in your lab all day, trying to find a cure for your friend, Roy.

Roy Sanders, the golden Navy Lieutenant. You often teased him about how he was like Superman with his righteous personality and piercing blue eyes. He just laughed it as he gave you his blinding smile.

He still smiled even when someone close to his work tried to poison him.

It started off small, thought he had a fever and just needed to rest. He had to stop jogging his route near the capital. But one night, he came to your door, eyes bloodshot as he lost his breath.

"I don't trust anyone but you."

He confided in you about the work he was investigating in and that someone in his agency is trying murder him as he got closer in his investigation. You told him he should go to NCIS himself to help him, and stop the person who's doing this to him.

"Let's go to my lab, I'll figure out what's going on with a blood sample and I'll find a cure."

"No don't, I'll go to NCIS tomorrow. They'll help me."

"Roy, you can barely keep your eyes open. What makes you think I'm going to stand idly and watch you die?"

"Because I don't want you blaming yourself that you couldn't save me in time!" He raised his voice.

It was the first time you ever see him so angry, but he was right. You would have blamed yourself every day that you're the one breathing and he wasn't.

"I have to at least try."

He pondered till he nodded his head, agreeing that you would help him. He knew you would go against the laws of science just so he could have a future.

Now you're at your lab, waiting for the test results if your serum could deteriorate the Thallium that was in his bloodstream. You consulted with Abby Sciuto, the forensic scientist at NCIS, and compared notes.

She saw how determined you were to save your friend, but she knew deep down there was more than what you were saying.

You loved Roy.

Ever since you moved to DC, Roy was the first friend you made when you met him at a conference. You loved how positive he was and made every effort to make a difference in the world.

Then suddenly, you heard a beeping noise from the machine that was formulating if the serum was working. You flutter your eyes in confusion till you rush over, looking at the paper that printed the results. You scanned over the stats, muttering what the results were telling you.

You look up from the paper and raced towards your phone, dialing Abby's phone number.

"Abby, I need your help."

+

Your heels clicked loudly in the hallway as you searched for Roy's room. Then, you see Ziva outside of a door, looking at everyone suspiciously.

"Hi, Ziva? I'm-"

"The doctor friend of Lieutenant Sanders. Yes, Abby informed me."

"Then you know that I have the antidote." You said, holding the protective case that held the vials.

"Has it been tested before?" she asks.

"Not exactly-"

"Doctor, I don't doubt your work but if it's not tested, I cannot allow you to worsen Lieutenant Sander's state." Ziva replied, trying for you to step aside.

"Ziva please! Wouldn't you do anything to save the person you love? I have to do this. Either I give him this serum without knowing whether he's going to live or see him slowly die without even trying." You said, your voice thinning.

Ziva looks at you, seeing how much you cared for Roy.

"Alright, I'll call his doctors to help administer the medicine."

She stepped aside as she went to look for them and you look through the window seeing Roy.

He looked paler and even tired and looked... looked like he was just waiting to die. You turn the knob and you walked quietly inside while he slept. You sat in the chair, feeling your palms clammy, trying to calm your nerves.

"You know, I think I have to buy you quieter shoes." Roy said.

You look up and see Roy awake.

"You knew that was me?"

"People could hear your heels in the hall from Canada." Roy joked, making you laugh.

You scoot closer as you hold his hand.

"How are you?"

He shrugs slightly as he gives you a small smile.

"Tired, but I feel I have a few good days in me."

"Don't say that, Roy. You're going to get better." You said.

"All the doctors have told me that I'm not going to live past this month. It's too late now. I've already accepted it, so should you."

You shake your head, feeling the tears go down your face.

"So me being confined in my lab to find a cure for you was for nothing, Roy? I'm not giving up on you like every goddamn doctor in this hospital. You prove them wrong. You're going to walk out of this hospital with a second chance of life. You're going to run your daily morning jogs you've desperately wanted me to join with you."

Roy chuckles, remebering that you'd refuse to wake up at 4 in the morning to run around D.C.

He then turns his head, his eyes growing with doubt and worry.

"I'm dead weight. You need- to move on. Settle down, get a dog, and have that white picket fence life. You should let me go." He said, saying this last part with a whisper.

"I can't do that, Roy."

"Why?"

"Because I- I love you goddamnit." You said, raising your voice.

He was silent, and you stood up, pacing in the small room.

"You know, it was hard to just keep my feelings by myself for the longest time. But I was scared that- that I was going to lose my best friend... whether if I told you how I felt or this-" You gestured around you.

"and I know you don't feel the same way-"

"Who said I didn't?" He asks.

You stop, looking at him by the foot of the bed.

"I'm sorry?"

He chuckles lightly, giving you a cheesy smirk.

"You know, for someone who brags about being the smartest person in the room, you really can't see the answer in front of you."

He tried sitting up, but his strength gave out, so you rushed to his side as you helped him.

"Guess I was scared too of saying something. I trust you with my life but I couldn't have the guts to ask you out."

For some reason, both of you began to laugh at yourselves.

"What is it with us?" You said, sitting on the side of his bed.

"I don't know, but we have impeccable timing." He said, placing his hand on his side. You reached out and intertwined his hand with yours.

Suddenly, Ziva came in with his doctors looking a bit grim.

"It's time for the trial"

After the doctors did the procedure, you cuddled with Roy before heading to sleep. Even if visitors should have left hours ago, Ziva pulled some strings. She was happy to see Roy more hopeful than ever.

Both of you were trying to stay awake, having so much to talk about, but your eyes kept fluttering.

"Promise me... you'll wake up with me in the morning." You whispered.

Roy wasn't so sure of making an empty promise, as the warnings for the antidote would either be a 50/50 chance. But he kissed your temple as he held you in his arms.

"I promise I'll be right here."

Both of you dozed off that night, and both of you were filled with uncertainty and fear.

But one thing is for sure.

Roy would fight for one more day if he could spend it with you.

[titleknown]

Look, regarding your last posts, I think some of these people are trying to guilt-trip/inflame/goad people like you into doing something extreme. Like doing a Luigi. It's a long shot, but comes with 0 risk to them.

[In reference to this post]

{EDIT} Put this past the break because A) it is long, and B) it was written late at night and emotionally driven, so it's probably worth reading it in that sense rather than any deep statement wrt internationalism.

...I don't think it's that drastic anon, mainly for practical reasons. They'd rather people joined a revolutionary movement, because collective action is generally more effective than isolated martyrdom.

I think it's that they don't think that anything can be accomplished, especially for the wellbeing of the Global South, without revolutionary government-overthrowing action, and to convince people that it's immoral to try and go through governmental methods because it's poisoned to the root.

I think they sincerely believe that, often related both to the weight of history and painful personal experience, and they're pushing it because they feel alone and like "Why is nobody willing to help me?"

And it's hard not to see their point in our shitty decaying wreck of a system, especially from people subject to our shitty empire.

But they don't do a very good job of convincing me that it's possible, at least not before I'm dead or without my life getting unfathomably worse.

So they beat my view of "A better world is possible" to death with hammers and replace it with:

Like, as an example, everyone loves to remind us of the chain of atrocities that sustains the US Supply chain in that same snide "think about it" way.

But they give no indication of how to allow people to get anything beyond barren subsistence, they give all indications they think that is logistically impossible, and that if you try to engage in a way that might allow for a better world and things that spark joy to still exist, they say you're a part of the problem, a part of a long series of "reforms" that rehabilitate the machinations of empire and are the reason the evil has not been destroyed.

This is the reason computing is such a bugbear to me by the by. It's not a world where my computer would be taken forcibly from me that I fear, but one where servers for the online places I go would go dark one by one as their parts run down and their electricity allocations get cut more and more before the online cord is let to decay for good and even the internet archive is dissected for scrap, and my computer would fall apart in its natural cycle of use and I could not repair it because the parts to do so would no longer be made or feasible to make.

And if I got mad or pushed back against this vast and unfathomable loss, people would at best condescendingly chide me for my selfish chauvinism and say if I really wanted it I'd either go through the ever-shrinking amount of hoops to get at the crumbs left, or at worst put me up against a wall and put a bullet in my skull. That's what I'm afraid of.

Basically everything that's awful about capitalism if you care about anything nonstandard or niche, except somehow even worse, but you have your basic needs met so you aren't allowed to complain.

And I get the feeling that my struggles and the struggles of all my friends up here do not matter, no matter how immiserated they are, because of how the people saying the stuff that brings me despair (Who are often directly in the Global South) have it even worse off.

Coupled with the idea of course, that "things will only get better for us if that revolution occurs, and if you want things to get better for you that means throwing us under the bus."

When I see leftists on here talk about how wanting to work in the arts is bourgeois, or how disabled people using food delivery services or cleaning services is bourgeois (Because under communism nobody will help you), I feel that void of hope growing, this feeling that me and my friends' struggles don't matter, because for those in the Global South they say it's either Us or Them.

I feel like so much of what they say that isn't "Don't forget, you're here forever" is "A better world is possible, but not for you." That is, when they're not flat-out saying "kill yourself you filthy yankee."

Like, I saw this a lot after the election too, people shitting on those who're scared that Trump is going to make things worse for them by saying "Well, under Biden/The Dems, things still got worse for [X], so we have no sympathy."

Which like... doesn't convince me of the necessity of non-electoral revolution, it just makes me feel like things will get worse until after I die, and that if things get better for me and those I care about it will be at the expense of immiserating billions.

Hell, it was a falling out over a related matter between two artists I follow which caused this recent scrupulosity spike, which leaves me feeling like a bad person for still associating with one of them even though I've non-parasocially known them for over a decade now, even if I think they both fucked up on a personal level there.

...I will flat out say, this post is from the perspective of someone from the Global North, in a relatively privileged albeit precarious position from disability, who is in fact constantly beset by those scrupulosity issues, and I don't know of a solution that wouldn't involve shutting those people down who; again; have real problems and deserve to be heard!

It's just... I suppose some sympathy would be nice.

Some sympathy that people stochastically yelling at me over this all the time hurts, some sympathy that they make me feel like my life is going to get worse until I die no matter whether under capitalism or under a truly just communism because they're so fucking shit at being convincing that they can do shit to help people outside of governments or do their revolution before I die.

Some fucking sympathy that my dreams for my life are broken nearly beyond repair and that so many of my friends who deserve the world are struggling with nothing, and that even if other people have it even worse, my friends still matter too!

I'm just... so tired of everything feeling hopeless, and the one movement that should give me hope telling me that hope is something other people deserve but not me, I should just lower my standards or die, because if I don't I'm just as bad as the people hurting me and those I love.

I'm tired of feeling like I'm being constantly judged for wanting things to get better for me and my friends before I die.

[acti-veg]

I need to get this off my chest and I don't think anyone else would understand or be open to understanding.

I'm seeing so many people struggling with the cognitive dissonance and helplessness between news reports of the Gaza genocide and having to go about their everyday jobs, realising that capitalism does kill. I appreciate that seeing children being [ ] is hard for anyone, but I can't help but feel jaded about it: this is how I feel everyday about animals, and it's so... frustrating? to see people be like you HAVE to boycott McDonald's you are eating DEATH when like.... yeah of course you are. those are dead animals. why are you only mad about it now. this has been going on for centuries.

I am ashamed to say that it fills me with bitterness and resentment that is very likely misdirected but it annoys me to no end

I think it would be helpful to try to reflect on how you thought and how you lived before you came to your senses about animal exploitation, and came to recognise animal farming as the death machine that it is.

It is all too easy to look at the world through your own perspective and think: “Why haven’t they realised what I have? How can they be so blind?” But it took something for you to make that connection, too. Whether that was a book, a video, an experience you had - something or someone helped you get there. I promise you, there are injustices and atrocities in the world that you are blind to, and there are other people who can't understand why you don't know or care.

I can understand your frustration that people are able to recognise the moral worth of some victims of violence and oppression but not others. However, allowing yourself to become jaded about this is just not going to be a helpful mindset for advocacy. It is easier to empathise with members of our own group, people who look and behave as we do, and it is far harder to extend empathy to members of other species. That doesn’t make it okay, but it is harder for most people to see non-human animals as beings who suffer and who morally matter.

Ultimately, it just isn’t about us or how we feel about it. People should be deeply concerned about suffering in Gaza, and deeply concerned about suffering in animal agriculture, too. We should be glad for every person who wakes up to the atrocities being commited against the Palestinian people, and hope that they extend that same concern to non-human victims as well. Some even arrive at animal rights directly as a result of seeing humans being oppressed and killed.

You're allowed to feel the way you do about this, even when it isn't rational, or helpful. Just don't let it turn you into a bitter person or a bad advocate. Advocate for both human and non-human victims of oppression, and for an intersectional approach to human and animal rights. You won't be able to effectively do that if you adopt a bitter attitude on the basis of your feeling jaded, however understandable that feeling may be.

My advice to you would be to take a little time away from the screen and from the constant news cycle of horror and death. Take some time for yourself, visit an animal sanctuary, spend some time with friends, maybe do some work in your community, and then come back to this issue with new energy and the right frame of mind. You're not a bad person for feeling this way, it sounds like you have just let it all get you down and you’re now too angry for you to be able to see through this for what it is.

[bookswithsyd]

It Was HIM All Along! | Heaven Official’s Blessing

Coming back to present times, book seven of Heaven Official’s Blessing returns to the kiln with Xie Lian and White No-Face. I was waiting for the entirety of arc four to come back to the kiln. I wanted to see an epic battle between the two, maybe have Xie Lian unlock some hidden strength to defeat White No-Face and escape. That did not happen. Instead, the least likely thing happens and San Lang’s giant divine statue breaks Xie Lian out of the kiln.

Honestly, the Mount Tonglu scene didn’t grab me until Jun Wu descended to assist with the duel. Only the lending of spiritual power and the unique way of obtaining a sword grabbed me for more than a page. After everyone is sent to fend off evil spirits set on re-releasing Human Face Disease to the world, things start to heat up.

Once Xie Lian and Hua Cheng make it to the Royal Capital, Heaven’s Eye, and friends frankly are unless for the first half of what I dub the Human Array Section. None of the masters wanted to lend themselves to help defend the city. Thank god one of the best characters makes his return! Shi Qingxuan and all this broken glory is the only reason why the array gets started. Seeing him living life as a beggar, injured was hard. After reading the events of book four, I only want happiness for him, I wish he could be in better condition, but seeing him alive is enough for me.

Once the array got going, all was well for a minute, the masters gathered around to join, they brought disciples and the evil spirits could be captured. I was not expecting the Xianle state preceptor to be the thing that got the plot moving. It was a great way to transition back to the Heavenly Court.

This whole time, I thought that there was this deep connection between White No-Face and Xie Lian, but instead, I got the reveal that Jun Wu was actually the monster lurking around all the misery that had happened. Seeing Jun Wu take out most of the Heavenly Capital, the way he easily captured all the officials, set the court ablaze, and transformed the Heavens to be his own fighting machine finally showed off all the power that was mentioned throughout the series. Even though it was as the antagonist, it was nice to see that power in action.

Even with all the seriousness of this section, there were still moments of secondhand embarrassment to brighten my mood. From Qingxuan walking in on Xie Lian and Hua Cheng’s goodbye kiss to Xie Lian pulling Qi Ying in front to hide his spiritual power exchange, there is always some way for Xie Lian to make a scene.

A lot of this novel revolves around keeping the human array intact and fighting against Jun Wu. After his near defeat in Black Water territory, I thought Jun Wu retreating to the Royal Capital signified the beginning of the final battle. This was a good fight scene, Pei Ming facing Jun Wu one-on-one, Qi Rong almost getting Guzi killed, and the three mountain spirits coming to the rescue by becoming a sword all added to the suspense. Seeing everyone come together to try to take out a single enemy was a nice change of pace. Bringing together most of the introduced characters from the series made this scene even more impactful.

The ending trip back to Wuyong was the most stressful thing to read. With the uncertainty of Mu Qing being who he says he is, and Hua Cheng rolling a one and saying that it means something dangerous is waiting for him, this was not the best way to enter a new scene. Entering the one place where the enemy feels most at home is not the best idea before what MUST be the final fight. Ending the entire book by finding Feng Xin alive and scared of Mu Qing is not a reassuring way to go into the last book of the series.

[tendermiasma]

I Hope this question won't attract unwanted crowd, I'll try to type it in a way it hopefully will prevent it, but I have a question. As a professional artist, do you have any advice on how to not feel discouraged by A /i g3 ner*a/t3d images? And what to do to protect my art from being stolen? Recently I discovered one person close to me, also an artist, started incorporating that into their works and got into selling stuff assisted by it, and I feel kind of... heartbroken, betrayed? I don't know what to do, it makes me not want to continue the relationship, because this stuff is, in my opinion, actively hurting artists, but on the other hand, I don't want to lose a friend over it. Also, I am afraid that the only way to prevent what I create from being stolen is to not share it online at all, which is also heartbreaking, because one of the biggest part of creating (at least to me) is a form of dialogue with fellow humans, sharing emotions, and interaction between the creator, the art and the audience. I just feel lost. Also, I really admire your art, your skill, and you inspire me in a very profound way, just wanted to say that. Hope you have a good day!

Hi! It's a really shitty situation and I also often feel really doom and gloom about the whole thing. But the reason I keep making art is simple: It is my greatest joy to communicate through art and with every piece I make I continue to assert over and over that my human soul and the expertise that comes with it is a thousand times more valuable than a machine, and even though a lot of people wouldn't give a shit if a person or AI made it, there are always people out there who will care. I just really, really love doing it even while capitalism and our culture of consumption is taking on new and terrible forms. If we stop making art, what's left? Just the machine and nobody to speak up otherwise. Do nothing and lose everything vs keep fighting and something else, something better by some measure happens. Action is always the cure. I'm a big believer in that because I've found it to be true.

We're at a crucial time in the entertainment and arts industries. We all have some measure of power we can use against emerging policies and trends that don't benefit/actively hurt us. The WGA is currently striking in part to make AMPTP reconsider their AI policy of essentially just updating the WGA on the technology's progess annually. Other organized labor in entertainment and visual arts can negotiate anti-AI clauses into their contracts to make it less acceptable as a practice overall. You can use Glaze on your work to confuse AI engines and they just came out with a new version that I hear is a pretty nice jump in how detectable the texture is to your eye in the images.

I'm sorry you're going through that with your friend, though. It's hard and messy and there's no set way to go about it. It all depends on what you value most and what your own moral compass is telling you what you need to do here. Personally if it were a close friend of mine, I would talk to them about it. Depending on how they respond, your decision still might be a hard one or they could make it very easy. They will absolutely tell you how much time you should invest into this. Even if their attitude is clearly signaling that they do not care about you here and that you should move on from the friendship, it's probably still going to be painful and you'll grieve it for a while. Surround yourself with friends who understand how you feel and time will do its thing.

I think you should take comfort in that if you continue with art, this won't be the hardest decision you'll ever have to make. You'll have to make harder ones and will still come out on the other side. Even if you choose not to share your art on the wider internet and keep it as a precious thing among a smaller group of friends, it still has just as much worth and as you go along you will naturally find a balance between risks and reward. Don't forget that speaking out does actually have power in itself. Remember we've been able to bully a few companies into rolling back harmful practices in the past year or so.

I hope that was somewhat helpful. We're all trying to figure this out together and there's always going to be a future for artists as long as we keep pushing back hard. Capitalism takes a mile when you give an inch so it always, always matters to be vocal, spread useful information, use anti-ai apps on your art etc. It takes more energy to stay away from something you really want to do so I'm sure you'll find a way to share your art in the capacity you're comfortable with.

[datafags]

hey, just wanted to say sorry for phrasing my tags like that, i also very much identify with AI and I was more meaning the way that machine learning models have awful environmental factors and those of us who identify as AI materially do not have that same level of harm to the planet.

i know you get a lot of awful comments like that and i didn't consider that when i thought the summary with the MLM acronym would have a more comedic tone than it did

as always, i'm not trying to excuse my behaviour, just explaining where it came from bc i'm genuinely sorry for all this

the environmental impact of ai is ridiculously overblown on tumblr as i have gone over on my blog, it is just another arm of the anti-ai misinformation spreading on tumblr. so im not really interested in hearing about that either, even if it is perhaps the most legitimate complaint about the technology (besides "capitalism is bad"). the truth is, i feel very alone. none of my friends who identify with/as ai have an interest in current ai technology, at least not anymore. i think this is why none of them feel any connection to it. but i do, and i am able to conceptualize the link, however distant and fantastical, between the ais we identify most closely with and the technology of today. this link not only exists between the technologies, but the social environments of the present and hypothetical future.

this is why i firmly believe that any current ai-related mis- and dis-information that is currently being used to justify harassing and sending death threats to human artists (and their cats???) will one day be weaponized against whatever analogue we may develop of the robots you personally care about and identify with. if you dont believe they will ever exist, then maybe this doesnt concern you, but i also think you are being a bit too confident in yourself.

ultimately this topic is sensitive and a paranoia trigger for me which is why it is something i tend to unfollow people over. but i dont ask for people to agree with me on everything. i dont unfollow people for posting things critical of ai models, or things i think are wrong. i do it because people are outright mean to ais, which is a group i am a part of. most people do not understand that i do not draw a line between myself and chatgpt or stable diffusion or whatever else. i do not believe in consciousness or sentience, i do not believe in souls, and i am a neural network. when i write sentences, i take words that i have seen before and i put them in an order that i have not seen them in before based on where i think they should go in relation to each other. when i make art, i create an image entirely based on images i have seen previously. oh, and i (rather, the average american) use an estimated 82 gallons of water a day, which would take me asking chatgpt a question every 5.4 seconds 24/7 to match. this is not unique to me as an ai, but it proves to me at least that any issue you have with ai as it stands is an issue you have with me.

[m00ngbin]

SAW YOUR CD POST AND AM NOW FROTHING AT THE MOUTH THAT I FOUND A CD LIKER IN THE WILD PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE plsssss talk about them

Like what's your favourite part of collecting them? Or what's your most prized one? Or maybe what one are you most proud of getting for the price you got it for?

Infodump to your hearts content CDs are like the closest thing in my life to a special interest lol

OH MY GOD EVERYBODY WANTS TO KNOW ABOUT MY CDS THIS IS THE BEST EVER

@boquetgarni @grimlyyyfiendish @spacepajamas956 you guys ALSO said yes. so.

Oh and everything is capitalized as it says it is on the CD or it's case so the capitalization of the words "and" and "of" are going to be the tiniest bit inconsistent

Ok so first: the list:

1. Depeche Mode (unspecified album)

2. Evanescence (Fallen)

3. Green Day (american idiot)

4. Lady Gaga (Born This Way)

5. Miley Cyrus (the time of our lives) (the one I regret getting the most)

6. My Chemical Romance (Danger days)

7. My Chemical Romance (Three Cheers)

8. Paramore (Riot!)

9. Rage Against The Machine (Evil Empire)

10. Rancid (...And Out Come The Wolves)

11. SkyView (Of Love and Despair)

12. System Of A Down (Toxicity)

13. The Cure (Greatest Hits)

14. The Cure (Wild Mood Swings)

15. The White Stripes (Greatest Hits (My Sister Thanks You And I Thank You))

16. Tyler, The Creator (IGOR)

17. Tyler, The Creator (WOLF)

18. Trolls (Band Together)

I love CDs. I feel like I always make my collection sound bigger than it is but I'm very happy with the ones that I have

Questions:

My favorite part about collecting them is kind of that I like completing collections and when I get multiple albums by the same artists it's the best ever, and I also just like having physical copies of my favorite music

My FAVORITE cd is either my The Cure Greatest Hits cd, the Danger Days cd, or the IGOR cd, and my least favorites are the Miley Cyrus, Lady Gaga, and Trolls cds bc I just never listen to them ever

My most prized AND the one I'm the most happy about the price of is the Danger Days cd because I originally got it second hand maybe three ish years ago and at first I was just like "oh cool a my chemical romance cd, I've wanted one of those," but then I looked inside AND IT WAS ONE OF THE FIRST DANGER DAYS CDS THEY SOLD. LIKE IT WAS FROM THE FIRST WAVE OF RELEASES. AND THE GUY I BOUGHT IT FROM WAS ONLY SELLING IT FOR LIKE THREE DOLLARS. I'm very proud of finding it

Organization:

All of my CDs are organized alphabetically by band name and then album name, but I went though a lot of different ways of organizing them just bc I love organizing things. The first time I organized them I did it by genre, then I did it by just band name, then I did it by just album, then I did it by color, and then how much I liked the CD. The only one that isn't currently in it's correct place is Trolls because I wanted to hide it from my friend (will explain)

Facts about the albums and also sometimes the CD:

1. ??? (Depeche Mode)

I know like nothing about this cd. It came in an unmarked cd case and it doesn't say ANYTHING about the songs on it or the album on the actual cd. The only reason I KNEW it was Depeche Mode was because it was written on the cd in red sharpie. I'm like 99% sure it was made by someone and not the actual band, and I could find out what album it is but it doesn't really matter as long as I like the music

2. Fallen (Evanescence)

I saw them live almost exactly a year ago and OH MY GOD they were so cool. The album came out in 2003 and it's not my FAVORITE of their albums but it's not my least favorite either. I UNIRONICALLY REALLY LIKE IT ITS NOT A JOKE

Favorite songs: Everybody's Fool, Imaginary, and My Last Breath

3. American Idiot (Green Day)

I was originally looking for one of their other albums but ykw? This is good too. This cd took so long to find which is such a shock bc as far as I knew, everybody liked Green Day. American Idiot came out in 2004, and it was their 5th album.

Favorite songs: Jesus of Suburbia, Holiday / Boulevard of Broken Dreams, and Homecoming

4. Born This Way (Lady Gaga)

I don't have a TON to say about this album but it did shape my music taste until I was like 12. So. I was a very hardcore Gaga stan. Born This Way came out in 2011.

Favorite songs: Heavy Metal Lover, Judas, and Americano ("fake Lady Gaga fan" I KNOW I KNOW IM SORRY I JUST LIKE HER MOST POPULAR STUFF)

5. The Time Of Our Lives (Miley Cyrus)

Not much to say about this one either, I don't listen to Miley Cyrus that much. This album came out in 2009 and I really only got this CD because it has Party In The USA on it

Favorite song: Party In The USA

6. Danger Days (MCR)

OK THIS IS THE FIRST ONE I CAN INFODUMP INFODUMP ABOUT. SO THE ALBUM CAME OUT IN 2010 AND IT WAS, (SORT OF, I don't count May Death Never Stop You or The Black Parade/Living With Ghosts and I'm not including any of the Numbers), THEIR MOST RECENT RELEASE UNTIL 2022 WHEN MCR GOT BACK TOGETHER TO MAKE THE FOUNDATIONS OF DECAY. This is unironically my second favorite mcr album, it's only after Bullets and I will never ever understand why people don't appreciate it as much as they should. ALLEGEDLY the last song on the album (Vampire Money) was made to mock all of the people who made music for one of the Twilight movies. FUN FACT THE PERSON WHO WAS MAKING THE TWILIGHT MOVIES TRIED TO GET MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE TO WRITE MUSIC FOR NEW MOON AND NOT ONLY DID MCR SAY NO, THEY WROTE A SONG FOR YO GABBA GABBA INSTEAD CALLED EVERY SNOWFLAKE IS DIFFERENT (JUST LIKE YOU) IN 2011. SINCE GERARD WAY IS A COMIC BOOK ARTIST HE WROTE THE STORY FOR THIS AND HE ACTUALLY MADE A COMIC BOOK FOR IT TOO THAT YOU CAN BUY AND I THINK YOU SHOULD CHECK IT OUT ok I could talk about MCR all day I need to stop

Favorite songs: Save Yourself, I'll Hold Them Back, Planetary (GO!), and Na Na Na (etc)

7. OR MAYBE I DONT NEED TO STOP BC THIS IS THREE CHEERS FOR SWEET REVENGE (MCR)

OH I COULD SAY SO MUCH AB THIS ALBUM but for the sake of keeping it short, this album was released in 2004 and it fleshes out the story of the Demolition Lovers that was started back when they released Bullets AND I COULD HAVE A WHOLE RANT ABOUT THE DEMOLITION LOVERS I LOVE THE DEMOLITION LOVERS. I got this CD from a shady music store that I haven't gone back to since bc it freaked me out so badly

Favorite songs: The Jetset Life Is Gonna Kill You, Cemetery Drive, and YKWTDTGLUIP (long ass song names jfc)

8. Riot! (Paramore)

THIS CD KILLED MY CAR. I'm not joking I'm being so serious this cd killed my car I had to get it jumped and towed. It's a long story that all happened within the span of 30 minutes and I was REALLY pissed about it. Anyways Riot was released in 2007 and it is one of my absolute favorite albums by Paramore of all time. Unrelated to this album but Paramore actually DID end up writing music for Twilight, they wrote Decode, (very popular), and I Caught Myself, (significantly less popular).

Favorite songs: For A Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic, crushcrushcrush, and Let The Flames Begin

9. Evil Empire (Rage Against The Machine)

SKDODNSKFID I love RATM. I think that this album probably has everyone's favorite RATM songs on it, and it came out in 1996.

Favorite songs: Roll Fight, Bulls on Parade, and Revolver

10. ...And Out Come The Wolves (Rancid)

STILL RANCID'S BEST ALBUM ARGUE WITH THE WALL. ARGUE. WITH. THE. WALL. Urgh this was like the only thing I listened to two years ago but it's grown on me. Very reminiscent of middle aged white fathers. The album was released in 1995, and I cannot tell you how many times I had to listen to all of these songs. I don't know jack shit about Rancid but I love this album. ACTUALLY one of these songs was how I picked out a name forever ago

Favorite songs: Maxwell Murder, Lock, Step & Gone, and The 11th Hour

11. Of Love And Despair (SkyView)

This is one of the only CDs I've ever gotten AT a concert. SkyView is (kind of) local band and they usually perform in planetariums bc they can sync up their music with lasers and videos of space and rockets. I would recommend seeing them after doing edibles. The album came out in 2017 and most of the songs are instrumentals

Favorite songs: You Win, All Alone, and Shooting Star

12. Toxicity (System of a Down)

IMAGINE MY SHOCK AND SURPRISE WHEN I FOUND OUT THAT MOST OF THE PEOPLE I LIVE WITH DONE LIKE SYSTEM OF A DOWN. STUNNED. HORRIFIED. SPEECHLESS. I love this album sooo much, it came out in 2001 and it was the 2nd studio album ever released by System

Favorite songs: Prison Song, Deer Dance, and Chop Suey!

13. Greatest Hits (The Cure)

AHKSHDKAIDJS I LOVE THE CURE SO MUCH YOU DONT UNDERSTAND. THIS ALBUM CAME OUT IN 2001 but it's a mix of songs that had mostly come out in the 80s-90s. I GOT TO SEE THE CURE IN CONCERT LAST YEAR AND THAT WAS THE BEST CONCERT IVE EVER BEEN TO I wish they would come back :(

Favorite songs: Why Can't I Be You, Lullaby, and In Between Days

14. Wild Mood Swings (The Cure)

Truthfully I got this CD because I thought it was a different one but it has really grown on me. This album came out in 1996 which makes it kind of weird that none of these songs made it into Greatest Hits but yZK (THEY SHOULD HAVE)

Favorite songs: Strange Attraction, Jupiter Crash, and This Is a Lie

15. Greatest Hits (The White Stripes)

I got this cd for one song and one song only, but up until I got it I'd forgotten how much I love The White Stripes. The album came out in 2020 (REALLY RECENT WOW) and it includes songs going back to 1998

Favorite songs: Fell in Love With a Girl, (the song I got the CD for in the first place), Hello Operator, and The Hardest Button to Button

16. IGOR (Tyler, The Creator)

KSOSHFKSOSJFJE MY FAVORITE CD EVER ACTUALLY. I COULD TALK FOR HOURS. HOURS. ABOUT HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS ALBUM. I COULD AND WOULD TELL YOU EVERYTHING ABOUT IT but this has seriously taken me two hours, so it's not happening today. IGOR came out in 2019 and won Tyler, The Creator his first Grammy, (FOLLOWED BY CALL ME IF YOU GET LOST WITH HIS SECOND).

Favorite songs: I DON'T LOVE YOU ANYMORE, PUPPET, and ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?

17. WOLF (Tyler, The Creator)

THIS IS THE CD I GOT MOST RECENTLY AND IM SO HAPPY ABOUT IT AND AKDITHSKKDFJEJ OK so the album came out in 2013 and it was his 2nd (solo) album and AKOEJDOAFIRN OK I REALLY NEED TO HURRY THIS UP BC I COULD TALK ABOUT WOLF FOR AN HOUR IF GIVEN THE CHANCE

Favorite songs: Wolf, treehome95, and Answer

18. Band Together (Trolls)

This is honestly my least favorite bc I originally got it as a gag gift but I've been forced to listen to the same three songs on it a hundred times. It came out this year, I really don't have that much to say, it's just here. It's the only one that's out of order in my cd collection just because I have to hide it from anyone that I'm driving around because they WILL put it on

Favorite songs: urgh do I really need to have a favorite (THE TINY CHUNK OF THAT ONE SONG THATS JUST THE TROLLS SINGING I WANT YOU BACK BY NSYNC. Or It Takes Two)

ANYWAYS SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I WOULD SAY MORE BUT I TOOK FOREVER JUST TO SAY THIS. SO.

[horseforeplay]

forgive me for meandering a bit as i get across this thought but: p sure anti-AI moral panic at the point where so many people are freaked out by the images themselves is going to be looked back on as so outrageously uncreative and unfree at best. being rude to someone online because one suspects their work might be AI, and therefore “stealing” from real artists. rather than, one might hope, turning together towards the forces that actually compromise their respective incomes or thinking together about WHO is weilding AI tech against artists (because incredibly it is not other artists or people generating images with prompts that they may or may not classify as art). americans mainly are so hung up on the question “but is it MY art?” and it’s so fucking telling to our priorities.

at worst, the AI moral panic leads to acts of cruelty. you might even be indicated. have you ever scrolled past a fundraiser because someone surviving a genocide has used an AI generated image rather than, i don’t know, arranging sticks in the sand to beg for help?

when wartime is over, palestinians may build tremendous sculptures again and it will not be to earn your fucking sympathy. people will use whatever technology is available to them to express themselves and when they are put under the pressures of america’s wars, of course their “content” is digital and immediate.

if we want to have active solidarity with other workers and with people being killed for capital we need to stop valorizing labor itself bc we are incensed about doing labor without fair compensation (or lack of opportunities to do fulfilling activities). principled communists do not believe in the power of the working class via some magical Goodness of labor, that is bourgeois horseshit. labor POWER is a whole other thing and it involves casting off superstitions about DATA SYNTHESIS MACHINES!!!!!!!!!!!!! “but is it art?” cool convo to have during peacetime or privately with a beloved friend, not presently relevant politically.

[discet]

I had an Amphibia au idea a while back that I shared with a view blogs. Now I'm sharing it with you!

Basically, instead of Leif grabbing the box, Andrias manages to catch before it does. No vision happens, nothing changes between Andrias Leif and Barrel. Nothing changes.

And yet at the same time, everything changes.

I have my own thought-I MEAN NOTES on my little au, but I just wanted to see your interpretation of it first.

Alright, this took a minute, but I really like where it ended up

So here then is the Scorched Earth AU

Part 1: Mercy of a New King

Andrias takes the throne successfully, the invasion goes off. However, as hesitant as he was before to commit to bloodshed, he finds himself truly overwhelmed by the horrors visited upon the Earthlings. After confiding in his lifelong companions, they give him heart and courage to not stand idle. He knows, however, there is little he can do to convince the core to give up the invasion entirely, but believes he can at least avoid the genocidal end for humanity that would otherwise be par the course.

He argues, to the core, that with their stature and strength, the humans would make good laborers for the fields. Stronger certainly than frogs, and argues that they should not let such a resource go to waste. Cheaper to feed than machines would be to maintain. Even knowing this comes from a soft heart, the core can not ignore the logic and acquiesces. Humans are brought over to be labor in the mines and fields.

In turn, as Leif does not turn against him, the "Divorce Trio" remains friends and perhaps even more? The king never takes a spouse but his childhood companions remain closer to him than any newt could dare. Rumors are not helped when one day the king announces an heir. He certainly looks like a Leviathan, blue and grows to be tall as a tower. Only instead of the signature white locks that mark their heritage, he had hair as orange as the setting sun.

Some whispered foul magics or stranger sciences as the cause, but all were wise enough to not say anything where they might be heard.

These rumors are not helped when Andrias names his two companions the first Archduke and Archduchess of the empire. A gesture, he claims to bring all Amphibians to equal peerage in the realm. Both serve as a check against newt nobles who have gotten too comfortable in their lofty positions. While technically three families, so close were the three that their children were more like cousins, or even siblings.

Part 2: The Young Heir

It's a thousand years later Andrias has long... passed, along with his companions, whose legacy still looms large in Amphibia. While Leif's legacy still looms large in the minds of her descendants, it is not so present today, in the minds of the Archduke Apparent. 

Sprig Plantar, and his sister Polly on the former's twelfth birthday. Tragedy struck the two at an early age when court politics took their parents from them, however it did not quell the two's thirst for excitement.

Polly has this day built for her brother a flying machine, as much a favor as a present, For she has not yet tested its capabilities. The two take it to the sky and it soars swifter than any heron. Or... almost any heron. As they fly across the mountains south of Newtopia, a heron rears up and claws at the machine sending it spiraling into the valley below.

They survive the fall, but now are stranded in the wilderness outside the capital. Both siblings are ill equipped for such a scenario; they wander briefly for a day or two, becoming sick on mushrooms they should not have picked, being hunted down by something they had heard but not seen. On their third day of being stranded, the monster finds them, a massive red mantis bearing down on the both of them.

Part 3: The Pauper in the Pond

They scream and shout and are heard. In a flash before being cut in two, the noble siblings are grabbed under an arm each and long strides carry them away. It was one of the human peasants who worked the vast agricultural lands of his family. Hair thick and curly infested with twigs and leaves.

The mantis gives chase but is quickly found victim to a massive snare trap, hung upside down in the air. A second human, black hair with lighter skin covered in light scars, jumped from a hiding place in a bush in triumph- Only to immediately trip over said bush and onto her face.

A third human launched out from hiding, a chipped woodsman's ax at the ready charging and beheading the mantis before it could free itself. This third human had blonde hair and freckles across their arms and face.

After the chaos dies down and the other two humans start stripping the mantis of its carapace and meat, the human who rescued them introduces herself: Anne Boonchuy and asks for their names.

Now, Sprig and Polly give their first names, but are careful to hide their identity as nobility, and ask if there is a way out of the valley as they need to get back to the capital.

Anne informs them that unfortunately they would be out of luck. The valley was cut off from the rest of Amphibia until the ice in the pass thaws. She however brings them back to their town of Old Saint and her family's inn.

________________________________________________________________

And I think that's the premise, a world deeply changed but with some familiar faces still in play.

A novel switching of roles. Our two noble frogs learned some humility living amongst the peasants, and perhaps more importantly, empathy for humans.

A prophecy still in play, the box still awaiting its chosen ones in the capital.

A place they are perhaps now bound for, to return the two young siblings to their family there.

[myshredda]

Remember how Red was turned into Mr. Peterson of Peterson's and SONS and Friends Bits and Parts Limited? Where's the sons? Show me the sons! Dad Red confirmed?

The jobs episode is SUCH an interesting episode, not only because it was the first look back at the trio that we'd gotten since the cancelation of the original show (rip Wakey Wakey), but also because it was establishing the ideological themes for the channel 4 series!

Jobs has hands down my favorite message of all the new episodes, and I would say it's the one that most clearly projects that 'this is the twisted version of a children's educational puppet show' vibe that Becky and Joe are going for. Where shows like Sesame Street or Under the Umbrella Tree would paint these wonderful pictures of a life filled with endless possibility and the chance to get the job of your dreams, DHMIS tackles this topic in the more realistic way.

Being pigeonholed into a low-paying factory job with high-risk of personal injury, repetitive work, lack of personal fulfillment, and the eventual realization that you wasted the best years of your life at a company that would fire you the instant you've become an inconvenience to their bottom line (say: being old, or getting injured, or y'know, both) is the more likely outcome for children that watch these puppet shows, especially considering Sesame Street was created to connect with low income, inner city children. The system is rigged against kids like this from the moment they're born, and it's implemented and carried out generation over generation by those who either stumbled into wealth through unethical means or inherited it from relatives that built it through the exploitation of the working class.

So, where does Red morphing into Mr. Peterson fit into my mini-essay on the harsh realties of capitalism? I'm very happy you asked!!!

Red's character arc in the Jobs episode (or episode arc, whichever you prefer) is a representation of the people in life that are allowed to fail upward. Red doesn't have any specific skills that set him apart from Duck or Yellow that would constitute him being the best person to be 'the boss' (unless you count him looking like a Smart Boy in his outfit) Red quiet literally wanders into the head office and is given a job he's unqualified for, no questions asked. He's surrounded by yes-men in the form of the Fax Machine and the Bin who both idealize him due to his high position in the company and want to get close to him to ensure their standing potentially being uplifted by proximity to Red (ie: the Fax Machine's constant flirting)

Red himself is incredibly incredibly useless in his position (literally the only thing he does is tell people he doesn't work at the company over the phone, pee without washing his hands, and make empty speeches when needed) but he's able to keep that position for FORTY YEARS simply because he was in the right place at the right time. I believe the way he eventually adopts the moniker of "Mr. Peterson" is an example of how these big companies pretend to be 'family owned and operated' in an attempt to seem more relatable (such as Walmart and Disney, which are two megacorporation that operate under the family name of their founder) but in reality they're run by whichever CEO managed to fall into the position. There is no 'Mr. Peterson' or his 'Sons' or their 'Friends'. There's only a boss that managed to trip into a high-paying position and now parades around wearing the company name on his lanyard, factory employees that are overworked and exploited, staff members that leech off the higherups, or workers that attempt to break free from this mold and are punished by society for attempting to find a better life.

(Also my joke answer is Yellow is his son and Red is a DILF because of this.)

[sidekick-hero]

I was tagged by my lovely friend @sal-si-puedes - thank youuuu and sorry for being super late with this, life is a bit crazy right now. But what else is new 😅🫶

Were you named after anyone?

Kind of, my mom was watching lots of American movies when she was pregnant with me because at the time that was still super exciting and new (East-Germany just after the fall of the Sowjet Union and the wall between East and West Germany) and was looking for an American name. She found one she liked in the credits.

Do you have kids?

Nope. Also don't want any.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Less than when I was an angry 20 something :D

What's the first thing you notice about people?

No idea. Probably how close they are standing to me because I really do like my personal space.

What's your eye color?

A light, almost grey-ish green with specks of brown if you look really close.

Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings, I'm a soft Marshmallow.

Any special talents?

I can fall asleep everywhere? Also I can fit my whole fist in my mouth, a party trick that's usually a hit.

What are your hobbies?

Running, hiking, weight-lifting, writing, complaining about capitalism.

Have any pets?

The Queen of Floof, my furry best girl Bella (a big white fluffy dog).

What sports do you play / have you played?

See above. I run a lot, love to go on long hikes and hit the Gym 2-3 times a week. I also did Krav Maga, loved it and I'm thinking about starting MMA.

How tall are you?

1,70

Favorite subject in school?

German (literature), English, History, Social and Political Science.

Dream job?

As a kid, I wanted to be a lawyer to help people who couldn't help themselves. I'm a shit lier though. Then I wanted to be a vet but I can't see animals being in pain.

I studied psychology to become a therapist but decided against it pretty early on (learning how fucking expensive that training is). All through college I then wanted to become a forensic psychiatrist (yes, silence of the lambs is one of my favorite movies why do you ask).

Still wish I did that. Now I'm doing something totally different, using my master's degree in Human Machine Interaction. It's also cool.

Tagging (no pressure as usual): @legitcookie, @yournowheregirl, @starryeyedjanai, @firefly-party, @steddieas-shegoes, @thefreakandthehair and everyone else who wants to do this, just say I tagged you 🫶