#the person i follow the closest also got laid off last july- i just like going through her blog bc she reblogs fun stuff

[ruthlesslistener]

being actually active on bluesky has made me realize just how fuckin freaky weird those entitled fandom people who used to harass authors/devs on twitter for fandom validation used to be. the only thing i can fathom being able to directly contact the (now ex) writers/developers of my current hyperfixation is to tell them what i enjoyed about their work, and even then the only thing that is giving me the balls to do that is the fact that d2 is currently enmired in such horrendous negativity that i personally cannot imagine how dispiriting it must be as a creator to pour a shitload of effort into a project, get laid off, and then hear nothing but constant bitching about how everything is trash in the game now.

[goose-books]

goose-books productions: a 2020 review

view the image in higher quality here! (open the image in a new tab to zoom in.) thank you to my dearest @yvesdot for the template

transcripts and month-by-month details under the cut! for reference, you can find my projects here :-) overall, new and old followers, thank you for another good year over here! [holds your hand] [holds your hand] [holds your hand] [holds your h

january

i spent late 2019-early 2020 working on 2019’s nano project, quark, aka the speculative fiction thing about new york city and prophets and dissections of the chosen one trope and gay people. quark is my second-oldest project (five years!), but it’s also probably the most ambitious, so it’s been... difficult to wrangle into place, and i didn’t end up finishing a first draft. oh, well.

enjoy a snippet that is devastatingly emblematic of everything about quark. the tone. the homoerotic tension. the ensemble cast all talking over each other. the fact that caelum has spent pretty much this entire scene crying. fun autopsy report meeting.

Marble stares at the notebook in Shade’s hands. Or maybe he’s staring at Shade’s hands. Dawn feels a little voyeuristic, so she does what she does and says a dumb and unrelated thing: “Augustus, I think this pizza-on-the-floor thing is hurting my ass.”

Augustus flutters his hands. “Sometimes nonconformity is painful.”

“At least we’re originals,” Caelum mumbles into his sleeve.

“Exactly,” Augustus says.

“True originality doesn’t exist,” Marble says.

“Oh,” Shade deadpans, “it’s going to be a fun autopsy report meeting.”

It isn’t.

february

in january i stressed myself out trying to make the plot of quark work. so in february, i decided to take some time and write something Entirely For Fun. like, entirely for fun, no rules. and. my god. how do i explain the project i started calling “third eye for the bad guy.”

it was an unholy mashup of many of my past hyperfixations, including the gone series, a tale of two cities, warrior cats, and the left hand of darkness. one of the characters was a canon scalie and one was a canon fictionkinnie. it centered around a polycule of wannabe-evil-overlord high schoolers. i only wrote like three chapters but i was lost in the sauce for all of february and then i just… like… wiped it from my mind and moved on? somehow??? one character was a werewolf and that literally wasn’t relevant at ALL

I.

Someone was going to die on these steps.

This had been Ivy Lee Palomo’s thought last year during the all-school photo, and it rose in her mind again now. The one hundred marble stairs leading up to the great double doors of Saint Constantine Academy were the school’s pride and glory, steep as the mountain, sharp as the blade under Ivy Lee’s skirt. With the cutting wind and snow glazing the stone more often than not, with the freshmen wild and wired on their first day of their first year, it was really only a matter of time before someone slipped and cracked their fucking head open.

It wasn’t going to be her. Not when she had Doc Martens and reflexes like an electric coil. Still. Ivy Lee didn’t want to watch someone die. She didn’t get along with dead people.

march

in march, i got back to the project i’d started in 2019 - AMT, my podcast! it’s a shakespeare retelling set in a modern high school; this excerpt is funnier and also more unnerving in context. (double, double, toil and trouble...)

INDRAJIT: What the hell are you doing?

[PAUSE.]

DEE (like she’s lying): Making pasta.

[ALL THREE OF THEM LAUGH.]

NONA: That’s right.

MORA: We have the keys to Mab’s office.

DEE: We’re using her stove.

NONA: To make pasta.

DEE: Do you want some?

[A TENSE PAUSE.]

INDRAJIT: No.

april

and darkling rears its head! all of my other projects have existed for at least a year; darkling (specfic king lear retelling) is... special. it was conceived in april, when i started hyperfixating on king lear, and i still managed to write an absolutely ridiculous amount of content for it. it was like the power of hyperfixation let me speedrun the entire process. which. okay.

iv: control

They say Cressida Stayer was nine years old when she turned her hair to gold. They laid her down in bed blonde, and the next morning, the waves cascading down her shoulders were solid metal, glinting harshly in the sunlight, weighing her down, creating that odd head-cocked expression she still wears now. Nine years old. Two or three years before most people develop enough magic skills to dye a single curl. Much less transfigure their hair into precious metal.

People also say Leovald Stayer’s immediate reaction was to hack it off her head and melt it down for cash. But generally they say that part a lot quieter.

may

in may i wrote AMT episode 15, by which i mean that in may there was a day when i sat in my room with the door shut for literally five straight hours listening to the same three songs on loop as i wrote the climax of one of the plotlines of AMT. so. that sure was… a day.

ISAAC: Do you want… do you want someone to drive you home? Hawk, you’re worrying me -

HAWK (almost cutting him off): Don’t. Don’t say that. I’m here to help. With your… thing.

ISAAC (quietly): I… don’t know if you should be here to see this.

HAWK (a little louder, more audibly upset): Well - what else am I going to do? Go home and - and have my dads talk at me and - and not be able to answer them? Because I can’t? I can’t. I don’t know what to say.

[PAUSE.]

ISAAC (V.O.): I wonder if this is what he feels like, on the outside, looking in at me. Watching someone else hurting. Helpless and afraid.

He still fits perfectly in my arms. I rest my chin on top of his head and pull him close to me, like I can stop him from shaking, like I can stop anything from happening the way I know it’s going to. I bury my face in his hair. He smells so familiar. He’s so warm.

God, Hawk. I love you so much. You shouldn’t be here to see this. Something bad’s gonna happen. And you’re not the kind of person who belongs in a tragedy.

june

okay, honestly, i should talk about “night shift” here, because in june i wrote a whole short story in one night (and then foamed over it for a week), but i am still in the process of submitting it places! so i am terrified to put even a sentence of it online. instead: the other thing i did this month was to finish AMT! (sixteen episodes and somewhere around 175k, iirc, but don’t quote me.) these lines are the opener to the final episode!

RAHMA (V.O.): The combined series of sophomore year disasters stretched through November. It’s June now. It’s taken me… a long time to get this all put together. I was going to make a vlog about it, initially - well, calling it a vlog sounds frivolous. I was going to make a video recounting the whole deal. All of it. From when I kissed Avery Fairchilde to the very last night. I scripted dozens of drafts; I put together dozens of bullet-pointed lists of what to cover… and it was never enough. Because Avery and I weren’t the only ones involved. Even if I was only focused on the two of us, it wasn’t just the two of us.

So… I gathered up everyone else. The whole town of Ellisburg is still talking about the week the town went crazy, but it wasn’t just a week. There was a lot leading up to it. And I think if anyone’s going to talk about it, it should be us. The people who lived it. So here we are. The most ambitious Rahma Ashiq production of all time - at least so far.

july

every july i pause whatever else i’m doing to celebrate the birthday of aurum & argentate, twins from my oldest and dearest WIP The Mortal Realm. july fifteenth! mark your calendars. they’re princes, though argentate would really rather not be; you can read the full birthday piece here.

“Do you… plan to get dressed?” A bit of the usual humor crept back into Aurum’s voice. “Although if you want to speak to the kingdom in your underthings, by all means, you have my full support.”

Argentate scrubbed at his face. He wasn’t dressed, no, but the usual malaise hung over his shoulders like a cloak. Guilt. Nerves. The sick sense that he hadn’t done something he was supposed to. The numb knowledge that it was too late to change a thing.

“I meant to,” he said. “Get dressed, I mean.” The rest went unsaid: I have just been sitting here. On the floor. Thinking about how I should get dressed.

“Ah,” Aurum said, extending his hand. “The traditional route. We’ll save the nude speeches for the future, then.”

Argentate took his hand, stumbling a little as Aurum pulled him to his feet. He steadied himself on the closest wall, taking a few deep breaths. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. His hands found their way to the cross, again and again.

august

this summer, i wrote an entire draft of Valentine Van Velt is Dead, AKA “holden caulfield goes to exposure therapy,” AKA the weird little personal side project i keep tucked into my coat. interesting features include second-person narration from a narrator who doesn’t like the main character all that much. so reading it is kind of like the book wants to kill you? with an added dash of general melancholy.

You used to live here. That’s the thing that’s got you feeling so off.

You didn’t recognize your old house. I mean, you kind of did. You remembered that the road was on a hill. That hill felt like a goddamn forty-five degree angle when you were a kid. But if you didn’t have the address written down you wouldn’t have known it at all. It would have been just another little suburban house in rows of perfect little towns that make your skin crawl.

So now you’re in this diner looking out a gross smudgy window trying to block out the elevator music pumping through the speakers in the ceiling or whatever. I don’t know how speakers work. You’re trying to tune that shit out. The waitress comes over and catches you by surprise so you just point at some coffee thing on the menu so she’ll go away. For the record: you don’t drink coffee.

There’s a public library across the street. A little square building. You probably used to go there. The lady comes over and thunks your coffee on the table and gives you a kind of look, like she wants to know what in the goddamn hell you think you’re doing here and not at school. You sip your coffee and look out the window until she leaves you alone again. And then you spit it back into the cup because, for the record: you don’t drink coffee.

september

i spent september and october prepping for nano, so i was mostly working on darkling...

It’s late spring; still, at this time of night, on a rooftop, there’s a chill. The wind plays with the end of Ruby’s coat, with her hair. She hands the bottle off to Jasper, stares up at the fogged-over sky, wishes she were lying in Dany’s arms in Dany’s bed instead of here. Wishes, even, that Dany were the one on the roof with her. At least then they’d be cold together. At least then she wouldn’t have to imagine what Dany would say; she could just listen, and watch Dany’s flashing smile and her flinty eyes.

(She cuddles. This is another thing Dany does that Dany probably shouldn’t do, based on everything about Dany; it’s not like rattlesnakes cuddle. But Dany likes to nuzzle into Ruby’s side and rest her head on Ruby’s collarbones and toss an arm over Ruby’s chest, and hold her down like she’s worried she’ll float off somewhere. She’ll card her fingers through Ruby’s hair and hum. Even though they could get caught, even though she’s probably got better places to be - Dany cuddles.)

Ruby imagines it, momentarily, both of them on the roof together, sprawled like horrifyingly beautiful gargoyles, sharp teeth flashing, blood running hot. Up here - it’d be like they ruled the world.

But whatever. Jasper’s fun. He’s hot. He’s got a sharp tongue in a lot more ways than one. And she likes when he lets the mask down. She likes seeing the soft bits underneath. She wants to sink her teeth and nails into them so hard she draws blood. Masks don’t bleed. Ruby would know; that’s why she is what she is.

october

...though i was also in creative writing class in school, and thus ended up writing a bunch of poems of varying quality (my teacher had a real thing for poetry) and also one darklingverse short story where rory and cressida hold hands! which you can find here.

Lorelai Rory Flowers is afraid of thunder.

This is a bit of an embarrassing thing to admit, as they’re seventeen (“at least seventeen,” they like to tell people, “maybe two hundred, who’s to say?”) and generally wise beyond their years, or whatever it is that adults say about kids with too much psychological baggage. Being afraid of thunder is not a very wise-beyond-one’s-years trait. And yet the state of affairs remains: loud noises make Rory want to melt into the earth. Back when they still went to school, even the fire alarm sent them scuttling under their desk to hide.

Right now, in the elevator, all they can do is shrink into their sweater.

They haven’t let go of Cressida’s hand yet.

november

and then november of course was nano which was an adventure all the way through. (opening tumblr on the fifth day of nano to find out about d*stiel... was something.)

“Apologize to me. Or get out of my house.”

Gracen’s voice is very, very low. For a moment she thinks he hasn’t heard her at all. Then he spins, eyes blazing. “What did you say?”

Gracen watches her own chest heave. She pushes herself up off the desk, stands with the effort of pushing a mountain off of her back. Leovald is six-foot-four. Gracen is six-foot-two. In her heels, in the heels she must wear to be a professional woman, to be a lady - they are the same height.

Gracen wipes her nose. When she lowers her arm, there’s a streak of blood across the back of her hand. Fire shivers in her chest; her heart rings in her ears; her voice could cut steel.

“I said,” she says, low, slow, volume building, “apologize to me. Or get. Out. Of. My. House.”

december

and finally, the poem i posted this year! it’s called the beast sonnet, and you can find it in its own post over here (with commentary! how sexy.)

i kill the beast and drop down to my knees, my blade stained dark with blood of stygian hue, and for a moment these scarred hands shake free, and hold a world unfurled for me anew. but once-mourned victims, victors, vices find; fear winged me; now its absence strips me bare. my sword now dulls, my legs, my voice, my mind; the beast, pried from my throat, leaves no skill there. and still i hear it laugh, O DEVOTEE— O CHILD DEAR, NO GLORY WITHOUT ME.

i was quite productive this year; i have to think it was because i was avoiding things... the peak of my productivity happened over the summer and in november, AKA, college app hell. (almost done with the last applications! pray for me.)

a general breakdown of what occupied me this year:

(no, i don’t know why the “various other things” category ended up so large... i blame all the one-off projects i wrote a single page for, and also whatever the fuck happened in february. yes, i do know why it looks hideous; it’s because each of my WIPs has a theme color

thank you once again for spending some time at goose-books dot gov this year! what to expect for next year: well, i very much hope i can produce AMT... also hoping to get darkling ready for beta readers, so keep your eyes out!

[bee-kathony]

On Your Knees - Jamie and Claire Modern AU

a/n: Jamie and Claire make use of the empty gym. And this one shot is inspired by this gif above and this thirsty tweet of mine xx very NSFW 

Glasgow, Scotland

July 19th, 2019

I’d been working all day, having picked up an extra shift at the hospital. My friend Mary had a family emergency and even though I’d been on call for more than sixteen hours, I told her I would cover for her.

This meant that Jamie spent his Friday evening home alone. There was an eight car pile up on the road that prevented me from even checking in with him all night. Patients had come pouring in with wounds ranging from scraps to broken bones.

Thankfully, everyone had survived, but I was feeling weary and was looking forward to the next two days off. When I walked into our house, the lights were off which was odd, considering Jamie should be home.

“Jamie?” I called out, switching on the light closest to me.

He didn’t answer, and so I pulled out my phone and that’s when I saw the two messages and one missed call.

Jamie Fraser: I made dinner for ye, it’s in the fridge!

Jamie Fraser: I dinna ken when ye’ll be home so I’m headed to the gym. Swing by if yer up for a late night sweat session ;)

That text was sent just twenty minutes ago, which meant he was probably still there. Jamie had opened his own gym two years ago when we moved to Glasgow. It was his passion, and his business had grown so quickly in a short amount of time. It also meant that he had his own personal gym after hours.

As I set my bag down on the couch and walked over to the kitchen, I couldn’t help the warmth that crept up my cheeks. I had accompanied Jamie to the gym when he had forgotten something or felt like working out late at night when it was closed like he was now. One particular memory included Jamie on his knees and me sitting on top of some machine he called a ‘power tower’.

There was a plate of spaghetti wrapped up in the fridge whenever I opened it. Grabbing it, I sighed and then placed it in the microwave. I always hated missing dinner with him — it was no fun to eat leftovers all by yourself.

When the microwave beeped, I took the plate out and stuck my fork in, not bothering to sit down at the table, but stood over the counter. It was only just now 9:30 p.m. on a Friday night, and I didn’t expect Jamie to come home for at least another hour. He was training for another marathon, my wee energizer bunny.

I finished the spaghetti in record time, having not eaten anything since before noon. I didn’t want to just sit at home alone waiting for him to come back, so I went into our bedroom to change. My workout clothes were more for looks than for actual working out. Besides, Jamie always told me that he liked my arse plump the way it was.

My black running tights were snug on my body, hugging my curves in all the right places. I didn’t bother with a sports bra, and just threw on one of Jamie’s old t-shirts. I didn’t send him a text telling him I was headed over, hell, he was probably expecting me to show up any minute.

The gym was only a twelve minute car ride away, and when I stepped outside after locking up, the air felt cool on my skin. That was one nice thing about living in Scotland — it still got chilly when the sun went down in the summer.

Twelve minutes later, I pulled up in the parking lot and shut the car off. Thankfully, his car was still here. It would have been really awkward if I had shown up and he had already headed home.

To get in the back way without a key, you needed a pin number and it just so happened to be my birthday. The numbers lit up as I punched them and it made a beeping sound, signaling that it was unlocked.

Loud music was blaring over the sound system, and as I walked down the hall and past his office, I saw him in the middle of the gym floor doing a plank. Leaning against the wall, I shamelessly admired the long hard lines of his body.

When I met Jamie at Oxford University five years ago during our last year of school, I had been shocked to find myself so taken with him. He wasn’t my usual type — for one, he was extremely tall, red haired and very Scottish. My ex-boyfriend, Frank had been a history major and I had only chosen Oxford because he was already there, two years ahead of me. One day, I went to find him at the library and caught him having sex with his English professor, Mrs. Williams.

That ended quickly, and for the next three years I vowed to a life of singleness. That’s why I was so shocked to find myself attracted to Jamie. My friend, Geillis had invited me out for drinks at the pub near campus, and that’s when I saw him. He was sitting in between Geillis and another man I had seen a few times on campus. That night we had talked for hours, and he walked me home to my apartment where we continued to stay up late talking until the sun rose.

Ever since then, we’d been inseparable. I always wondered how I hadn’t seen him around campus until our last year, but my heart would have been closed off if I’d met him any sooner. It was ten months later, the night after we graduated that Jamie proposed. Then we moved to his small town of Broch Mordha in the Highlands, and gotten married and lived there for two years until we both outgrew it.

I had turned down a job at a hospital in Oxford whenever Jamie proposed. He had to go home to Lallybroch and help his father run their farm. So, I followed him, and I didn’t mind putting my dream on hold, but after many late nights of wondering if this was all our future held, we decided enough was enough and moved to Glasgow.

The gym was his pride and joy, as was working at the hospital mine. We’d both found our passions here, and my current passion was watching him sweat on the gym floor.

As Jamie relaxed and laid down on the floor, his head turned to the side and he saw me. A huge smile lit up his face, and he rolled over, jumping up to come over to me. He grabbed the remote and turned down the music, setting it on the speaker and then kissed me hello.

“I wasna expectin’ to see ye until I got home,” he said through a labored breath. He was wearing his black gym shorts, and had already taken his shirt off.

“Is that so?” I smirked. “Your text about a late night sweat session piqued my interest.”

One of his muscly arms wrapped around my waist and he pressed his body against mine. Normally, I would have pushed him away, not wanting to get sweaty, but there was something about seeing his chest heaving and glistening.

“Did ye see the dinner?” He asked, and I rested my fingers on the waistband of his shorts.

“Yes,” I leaned up to kiss him. “I did, thank you. It was delicious!”

His hand ran up my back and stopped, his fingers searching for something. “Yer no’ wearin’ a bra, Sassenach.”

“Whoops,” I sarcastically said, pressing myself against him so he could feel that I was in fact not wearing one. “Guess I can’t properly work out.”

“Nah,” he looked down at me, his hand now under the back of my shirt and sliding up my bare skin. “But ye can do other activities, no?”

“What’d you have in mind?”

“I ken a bench press over there that’s callin’ yer name,” his fingers moved to grip my side, squeezing firmly.

“You’re the coach,” I smiled playfully and started to walk over towards the equipment. I was glad he wasn’t feeling adventurous and said the elliptical machine, because we had tried that once and I had slipped and banged my head back on one of the arms.

I laid back, scooting my bottom to the end, and Jamie came to stand between my legs. I thought he was going to take me like this, but was pleasantly surprised when he got down onto both knees.

“I dinna like it when ye work for so long,” he said conversationally as he spread my legs, his hands running up my thighs to grip the waistband of my tights. “Ye shouldna have picked up that extra shift.”

“But Mary had a family emergency,” I replied, lifting up my hips so he could pull the material off. When I laid back down, the pad of the bench press was cool on my bottom. “She would have done the same for me.”

“Still,” Jamie smirked, tugging my tights down to my ankles but not pulling them off, making it impossible for me to open my legs any wider than they already were. “I missed my wife.”

I was about to reply with some witty remark, but then his mouth was on me. His head was bent between thighs, fit perfectly as if the space was made just for him. I felt his tongue swipe up and down along my crease, and my hips bucked up involuntarily. Jamie chuckled and it vibrated against my skin. He was avoiding my clit, his tongue lapping at my folds and I squirmed against him.

One of his hands slid across my stomach, pushing up the t-shirt until my stomach and one breast was exposed. The cool air hit my nipple and I shivered, feeling it harden under his firm touch. His tongue was quick and with every flick, I wanted to cry out.

“God, Jamie!”

His lips vibrated against my pussy, and finally, he took my clit into his mouth, sucking gently. My back arched off the pad below me, and I earned an encouraging thigh squeeze from Jamie. I opened my eyes and looked down at him, watching as his head bobbed and moved. It was mesmerizing, like watching a cat lap up milk.

His other hand opened me up, and his tongue slid in briefly. My hand flew down to rest in his mess of curls and as he started to suck on my now swollen clit again, I came hard and fast. My hips jerked almost violently causing him to move his head and just watch me fall apart.

“Christ,” Jamie muttered under his breath and then he stood up, simply looking down at me. “This has to be one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen.”

“Hush,” I laughed, wiping the back off my hand across my forehead. I may not have come here to workout, but Jamie was making sure my heart rate still went up.

Slowly, my head cleared up, and I managed to sit up, my tights and panties still around my ankles. Jamie was breathing hard as well, having almost been suffocated between my thighs.

“Should we go home now?” I teased.

“Not a chance, mo nighean donn,” he smirked.

“Then move back” I commanded and watched the smirk slide off his face. His gaze was direct and focused on me as backed up. Once he was a few steps away from me, I stood up and stepped out of my tights, next grabbing the hem of my shirt and pulling it off.

I walked in front of him, my body almost touching his. Jamie’s mouth was partially open, his eyes grazing over my body.

“I wonder what your customers would think if they knew what happened here after dark?” I said and got down on my knees one at a time.

He automatically moved one hand into my hair, pushing his hips forward whenever I started to pull down his shorts. His cock was already hard, and I could see the head throbbing — a dark purplish color.

“Weel, I dinna think they’d be too pleased to find out,” he chuckled. “But they’d be happy to know I sanitize every surface afterwards.”

“Of course,” I smiled and moved my hand over him, watching as he took his bottom lip between his teeth. Jamie loved to watch me go down on him and I had his full attention. His length was hot and heavy in my hand and it twitched whenever I leaned in closer.

“Fuck,” he breathed and his fingers pulled on my hair.

I placed my tongue on his head, swirling it slowly, tasting him. He was still sweaty, and when I licked my lips they were salty. My hand moved up and down the back of his thigh, pressing lightly to push him closer to me. Jamie was starting to breath heavily, and I mentally patted myself on the back for being able to bring up his heart rate too.

Finally, I looked up at him and searched for his gaze. When his eyes met mine, I took him in my mouth as deep as I could. Groaning above me, he tried to steady his hips to not hurt me, but I knew it was difficult.

My lips parted and his cock slipped out of my mouth. I paused, catching my breath. “I want you to come in my mouth,” I said, flicking my tongue out on the head.

“I’ll do anythin’ ye ask, Sassenach,” he groaned and his head fell back a little as I began to slide my hand up and down his length. I knew he was close. My hand other hand took a firm hold of his arse, feeling him clench his cheeks. Sometimes I forgot how much power he had in his body, how he could lift my body into the with ease. I took him in my mouth once again, my tongue gliding over the ridge.

“A Dhia,” he cried out. “Christ, Claire—“

I sucked harder, my fingers grazing his balls, and he shouted my name as he came down my throat. My knees were beginning to hurt, and as much as I was enjoying myself, I was also glad when he sank to his knees and pulled me to the ground next to him.

“I didna expect ye to do that,” Jamie sighed, his hand pulling my leg over his. “Ye didna have to.”

“I wanted to,” I nipped at his finger as it brushed over my bottom lip. “I missed you too.”

Jamie leaned in to kiss me, his lips lingering. “I need my cock in ye, Sassenach. But just now I need a wee rest.”

My hands slid over his back, which was now lightly coated in sweat. Jamie pressed his forehead against mine, and we lay there, each catching our breath.

“We may be sleeping here tonight,” I said, lightly touching his shut eyelids.

“Nah,” he smiled softly. “I dinna think Murtagh would be too pleased to find us naked here on the floor come morning.”

“He’d be in for quite a shock,” I laughed, imagining his godfather finding us as we were.

Jamie moved suddenly, rolling over on top of me. He was very big, and very warm, and he smelled of desire, strong, and sharp. A shadow moved across his face and shoulders, dappling the floor and the white skin of my thighs, open wide.

“I like ye fine, Sassenach,” he murmured in my ear. “I love you. I wor—“

“What was that about a rest?”

His hands were worming themselves under me, cupping my buttocks, squeezing, his breath soft and hot on my neck.

“I have to have my—“

“But—“

“Now, Sassenach.” He rose up abruptly, kneeling on the floor before me. There was a faint smile on his face, but his eyes were dark blue and intent. He cupped his heavy balls in one hand, the thumb moving up and down his exigent member in a slow and thoughtful manner.

“On your knees, a nighean,” he said softly. “Now.”

By the tone of his voice, I knew not to tease him, so I complied rolled over onto my stomach, moving to rest on my knees, arse high in the air. Turning my head to look over my shoulder, I watched him stroke his length, his mouth parted as he looked at me.

“Ye’ve the sweetest arse, Claire,” he said, his voice dripping with lust.

I wiggled back against him, feeling the tip of his cock touch my entrance and I moaned, my head falling forward into my hands. Jamie grabbed my hip with one large, sure hand and then finally fed himself into me.

“Uhh!”

“Fuck,” he said, pushing deeper into me. One hand snaked between our bodies, his thumb pressing over my clit. I began to move my hips, pressing back at every thrust.

There were times that Jamie was a tender, and sweet lover — holding back the strength he wanted to use to be gentle with me. And then there were times that he pummeled into me, knocking the breath out of my chest. Both hands were on my waist, and I heard the slap of his balls on my arse.

“Jamie, please!” I begged, not knowing what I was even begging for — faster, harder, more, anything.

I leaned forward, hanging my head down and groaned as my nipples grazed the floor. I wanted to turn my head and look back at him, to see how he was enjoying this, but my head was fuzzy and my legs were turning to jello.

“Oh God! Claire,” he cried out and then stilled in the next instant, his body folding over mine. His cock pressed deeply inside of me, hitting my g-spot and I trembled, my legs nearly giving out from the weight of him.

After a moment, he pulled out and the warmth left me, leaving me aching for him to return. I fell to the ground beside him on my side, my chest heaving with exertion.

“How many calories do you think we burned?”

“Enough so that we can eat that tub of ice cream that’s in the freezer at home,” he chuckled.

He stood up first, then reached down for my hand to pull me up to my feet. I felt odd, standing there naked in the gym, knowing that in just a few hours, people would be here to workout.

We got dressed, stealing kisses as we thought about what we’d just done.

“Ye go on home, Sassenach,” he smiled, tossing his shirt over his head. “I need to clean up a few things before joinin’ ye.”

“I wonder why you feel the need to clean?” I smirked, and then kissed him one last time.

As I started to walk out of the gym and back to my car, my knees wobbled and a throbbing ache formed in between my thighs.

“I love working out,” I said to myself, laughing and wondering what machine we would conquer next.

[archimage-writings]

Lucky Friday the 13th

This past Friday was the 13th and, at least for me, was very lucky, magical, mystical, and dare I say alchemical? Ok, I’m overdoing it. I get it. But, the weekend was transformative. Creatures, Crime, and Creativity (C3) is a yearly fan and writer’s conference held in Columbia, MD and hosted by Austin and Desinse Camacho of Intrigue Publishing. I had gone last year, and had learned a lot and had a good time, so I registered for this year’s event. Now, I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember (and that’s a long time), I’ve self-published a bunch of books (think of them as a bunch of carrots tied together and thrown into the bottom drawer of the refrigerator), and they are out there, but I don’t promote, push, market, or talk about them to people I meet. I’m not that good. (self-criticism is the sincerest kind, and I’m me.) I’m a writer because I write. Be that as it may, I registered and took a chance and this year I registered as an author. The only real requirement was having published. As I registered, I had thoughts of imposter syndrome. What if they found out I was no one famous (or even important)?  I didn’t want to get kicked out. I wanted to go. Time passed. Then I got an email from Cynthia Lauth, an organizer, telling me she was having a hard time finding my books on Amazon. Ruh, roh!  Panic.  I took a deep breath and relaxed. I have publisher links. I have real books. I just don’t sell them. I passed the links back. Time passed. I get another email from Cynthia. I’m on two panels and I’m moderating two others. Wha–?! I check the schedule.  I’m on: “Humor in Writing” with Jeff Markowitz, Allan Ansange, and Susan McBride (moderating).  Ok, I sort of get it. I write humor. I think I have a sense of humor, but just a sense. People I know, don’t like my sense of humor, but I get why I’m on this panel. I can pull this off. But with Jeff and Allan? I’m familiar with both of them and I was witness to Jeff’s wit at last year’s conference. I’m done for (dangling preposition notwithstanding). I’d have to prepare… Next up was, “The Battle of the Sexes–What Makes Hero and Heroine Conflict Such a Prevalent Concept in Romance Novels?”  I was moderating. I read the title again… Ok, I could talk about “The Battle of the Sexes” and, I didn’t even see “Romance Novels”.  This panel comprised Rebecca York, Jenna Harte, and Becky Muth. An all-female panel. I was toast. Sweating, I scanned for the next appearance of my name on the schedule.  Saturday, I was on one of the first panels. “Ripped from the Headlines: Writing Stories from 'Fake News’”. I’ve never done that. The closest I’d ever come was commenting on tweets I saw. I’m not a news “junkie”. I know better than to troll or be trolled. I sat and thought about the topic. I wasn’t even sure I knew what “fake news” was… apart from what some important people believed it was. I could probably fake my way through this panel.  D.W. Maroney, Adam Meyer, Karl Brungart, were the other panelists, and Susan McBride was moderating again. Scan… scan… scan… change… change… change… King of Fools… I was moderating one of the last panels on Saturday. I relaxed and remembered to breathe. “Writing for TV/Film.” I’d written several structurally, and story-wise god-awful scripts/screenplays to learn how to write them. I had questions. I’d be good. I gulped when I saw the panelists.  John Gilstrap, David Mack, and Adam Meyer.  Again, people I was familiar with, read, or followed. These three were the power team. I was in over my head. Maybe I could call in sick. They would be able to find someone to cover for me, couldn’t they?  Maybe Austin and gang were desperate, and I was the fill-in….  I couldn’t let them down. The imposter syndrome flashed through my brain caught up and ran over me like a train full of experts. Well, I was commited. I’d go through with it. If only to tell myself that I had done my best. I spent a day or so thinking about how to handle each panel and sent out emails to the panelists both to introduce myself (who has ever heard of me?) and to throw out some sample questions. I got some nice responses from everyone. Time passes and the weekend of the conference rolls around. It’s Friday the 13th weekend, 2019. A full moon.  I lug a copy of some of my books in case they ask me for my ID before they let me on the panels. Too cut to the chase, I did OK on the humor panel, and got a few laughs, and when things got deep and serious, some nods of agreement from a lot of the audience (including Austin). My copanelists were awesome and made me look good.  The “Battle of the Sexes” panel, I stumbled through. Remember I mentioned I didn’t even notice the phrase “Romance Novel”? I asked very amateurish and obvious questions (because I have never read a romance novel).  I learned a lot and the authors were kind enough not walk out on me. The Film/TV panel went ok. I asked the questions I wanted answered; again some were basic ones. The panel went well and I was surprised I could supress my awe at the panelists while asking. The “Fake News” panel, I felt I held my own.  Afterward, I was physically and emotionally wiped. I will admit, I’m an introvert. I don’t do well with people I don’t know despite having given presentations and taught in front of hundreds. It’s still not a pleasant experience. It’s not about me, however. –––– I should get to the point of this post. The panelists all were stellar and the discussions were wonderful. I am honered to have been included and given the chance to take part. Everyone at C3 was welcoming, friendly, curious, and helpful. I met many people, reconnected with those I met last year, and for the first time ever felt I was an author, and not just someone who wrote books. People wanted to know where to get my books.  No, not because I felt like a celebrity, I didn’t and hope I never do. Because everyone at C3 treated me (and everyone else) as an equal.  I was part of the community. I felt my efforts as a writer were validated.  My life has changed, from my perspective. I want to mention a few people. (If I were to mention everyone I interacted with, I’d be writing my next book.) Austin and Denise Camacho, and Cynthia Lauth. They put this conference on, are friendly, good folk. They work hard. Support them and C3. They make it what it is. David Mack, one keynoter. This man is an expert. He is a technician of the first order. I really wish I had a chance to spend some time chatting with him, but he was always busy.  His keynote was bitter-sweet about the up and down cycles of his carreer and the industry. It was inspiring and motivating. He is a fairly quiet guy (I got the sense he was uncomfortable being in the spotlight), but he became more relaxed and seemed to be enjoying himself as the coference went on. His wit is dry, sardonic, and ascerbic.  I get it. I like it. Cool dude. Also, his wife Kara is a great person. Julie Hyzy and husband Curt. Great people, both. Julie was the other keynoter. Her talk was the most heartfelt and personal one I’ve ever heard. It was full of anecdotes, touching moments, humor and inspiration. For someone who claims to not enjoy speaking in public, she’s an expert. She also talks a mile a minute on panels when she is excited and/or interested. The fact she likes puns and time-travel doesn’t colour (British spelling) my opinon–well not much.  I awkwardly handed her my books (to show my appreciation for her keynote) and later she asked me to sign them. My first real autographs! Curt is a very cool guy in a laid-back sort of way. I had a nice chat about sports with him. S.A. Cosby was a highlight of the conference.  “Noir at the Bar” is a mini-event within C3 where authors read one of their shorter works over drinks. Mr. Cosby read a story that was immediate, powerful, visceral, and imaginative. His reading was more acting than reading.  I’d buy any audiobook read by him. I was lucky enough to win one of his books and get it signed. Debbie Mack. I met her at last year’s C3, but this year was the first time I got a chance to chat with her. Not only is she an author, but she also blogs, and produces videos that remind me of MST3K. She’s currently subtitling the old Buck Rogers serial. She’s also a fan of old movies, Doctor Who, and The Prisoner. What can be wrong with that? Cool person. There are too many others to mention.  Thank you all for allowing me into the fold. If you are a fan of writing, a writer, or an author you owe it to yourself to check out C3 http://creaturescrimesandcreativity.com If you want to follow people on Twitter: @Ascamacho - Austin Camacho @JulieHyzy - Julie Hyzy @DavidAlanMack - David Mack @Blacklionking73 - Shawn A Cosby @DebbieMack - Debbie Mack @JohnGilstrap - John Gilstrap @FJTalleyAuthor - FJ Talley @EButlerBooks - Ellen Butler @AlanOrloff - Alan Orloff @AuthorBeckyMuth - Becky Muth @Jenna_Harte - Jenna Harte

@RebeccaYork43 - Rebecca York

…and many others… …oh, and me, @Archimage Time to get back to editing two novels, a book of short stories, and finishing my current work in progress, a satire.

Thank you all! Write on!

[creepingsharia]

Dem Senator Kirsten Gillibrand fires Muslim aide after Politico investigates sexual harassment claims

Source: Former Gillibrand aide resigned in protest over handling of sex harassment claims – POLITICO h/t FPM

Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand (D-N.Y.), one of the most outspoken advocates of the #MeToo movement who has made fighting sexual misconduct a centerpiece of her presidential campaign, spent last summer pressing legislators to update Congress’ “broken” system of handling sexual harassment.

At the same time, a mid-20s female aide to Gillibrand resigned in protest over the handling of her sexual harassment complaint by Gillibrand‘s office, and criticized the senator for failing to abide by her own public standards.

In July, the female staffer alleged one of Gillibrand’s closest aides — who was a decade her senior and married — repeatedly made unwelcome advances after the senator had told him he would be promoted to a supervisory role over her. She also said the male aide regularly made crude, misogynistic remarks in the office about his female colleagues and potential female hires.

Less than three weeks after reporting the alleged harassment and subsequently claiming that the man retaliated against her for doing so, the woman told chief of staff Jess Fassler that she was resigning because of the office’s handling of the matter. She did not have another job lined up.

The woman was granted anonymity because she fears retaliation and damage to her future professional prospects.

“I have offered my resignation because of how poorly the investigation and post-investigation was handled,” the woman wrote to Gillibrand in a letter sent on her final day to the senator’s personal email account. Copied were general counsel Keith Castaldo and Fassler, who is now managing the senator’s presidential bid.

“I trusted and leaned on this statement that you made: ‘You need to draw a line in the sand and say none of it is O.K. None of it is acceptable.’ Your office chose to go against your public belief that women shouldn’t accept sexual harassment in any form and portrayed my experience as a misinterpretation instead of what it actually was: harassment and ultimately, intimidation,” the woman wrote.

The senator and her staff never responded to the letter.

…

Since she left last summer, the woman has been doing part-time contract work. The male aide, Abbas Malik, kept his job.

Two weeks ago, however, POLITICO presented the office with its own findings of additional allegations of inappropriate workplace conduct by Malik. Among the claims were that he made a “joke” about rape to a female colleague — a person whom the office had failed to contact last summer despite repeated urgings by Malik’s accuser to reach out to the person.

Gillibrand’s office opened a new investigation and dismissed Malik last week. Malik did not respond to requests for comment.

…

Malik had spent years by Gillibrand’s side as her driver — the senator officiated at his wedding — while the woman was a more recent hire and had significantly less stature in the office. He was accused not of physical harassment but of making unwanted advances and using demeaning language — behavior that can be easier to downplay and can require a higher level of diligence to get to the bottom of.

Gillibrand’s advisers said they took the woman’s claims seriously, consulted with Senate employment lawyers for guidance and punished Malik at the time for what they could substantiate. But after “a full and thorough investigation into the evidence, including multiple interviews with current employees who could have witnessed this behavior, the office concluded that the allegations did not meet the standard of sexual harassment,” the office said of its initial internal investigation.

That inquiry, however, left out key former staffers. The aides who led it — deputy chief of staff Anne Bradley and Castaldo — did not contact two former employees whom the woman said could corroborate and add to her allegations of inappropriate workplace conduct. Gillibrand’s office interviewed only current employees.

“Anyone doing a thorough investigation would contact any witness that had or was likely to have relevant information, particularly when there is a hostile working environment alleged,” said Les Alderman, an attorney who specializes in sexual harassment in the workplace and represented an alleged victim in a case against former Rep. Blake Farenthold (R-Texas) that garnered national attention last year. “The idea that an employer is somehow restricted from contacting former employees who could shed light on the situation is laughable.”

POLITICO reached out to more than 20 former Gillibrand staffers to see if there was a pattern of behavior by Malik, including the two aides the woman specifically asked the office to contact.

One of those two former staffers said Malik often called her fat and unattractive to her face and made light of sexual abuse. She recalled one instance in which Malik remarked that a particular woman they were talking about “couldn’t get laid unless she was raped.” The person did not report that behavior at the time but now says she wishes she had.

Two more staffers who worked for Gillibrand said the woman’s claims of Malik’s inappropriate workplace behavior matched their own experiences. They said Malik regularly made misogynistic jokes, frequently appraised what they wore, disparaged the looks of other female staffers and rated the attractiveness of women who came in for interviews.

The office also dispensed with the allegations of Malik‘s retaliation without informing the woman of its conclusions or any disciplinary action.

Gillibrand’s office acknowledged it found evidence that Malik had made unspecified inappropriate comments and revoked his expected promotion, which would have come with a raise. It also moved his desk and gave him a final warning. This was not the first time the senator’s top aides dealt with an allegation of bad behavior by Malik: According to a firsthand witness of an incident in 2015, Malik confronted a fellow aide in the office. He got in the man’s face, pushed his desk and threatened to “fucking” hurt him, the witness said, describing the confrontation as “violent.”

But Fassler and Bradley told the woman that her claim of inappropriate advances was a case of “misinterpretation” and too much of a “he said, she said” to warrant Malik‘s dismissal, according to contemporaneous notes taken by the woman.

The office did not deny those terms were used but disputed that characterization of the investigation. “This case was never viewed as ‘he said, she said.’ Upon conclusion of the full and thorough investigation, it was determined that the evidence revealed employee misconduct that, while inappropriate, did not constitute sexual harassment,” the office said.

“When I had the courage to speak up about my harasser, I was belittled by her office and treated like an inconvenience,” the woman said of Gillibrand in an interview. “She kept a harasser on her staff until it proved politically untenable for her to do so.”

…

Malik became Gillibrand’s driver in 2011 after serving two tours in the Iraq War. He became such a constant presence in Gillibrand’s life — he had a set of keys to her home and often drove her children to school with her — that some staffers dubbed him “the keeper of her purse.” The office changed his title to “military adviser” in 2015 despite his responsibilities remaining largely the same.

Though she said she was put off by Malik’s comments about other female aides, the woman said her dealings with him had been generally cordial. But that changed when Gillibrand told him on July 10, 2018, that she wanted him to direct advance work for her future trips. All the details of the new job hadn’t been settled, but Abbas told the woman that he would be “in charge” of her position, she said.

“I have treated [A]bbas the same the entire year I have worked here,” the woman wrote in a detailed timeline of events that she later sent to Bradley, the deputy chief of staff. “It wasn’t until after this ‘promotion’ that he decided to hit on me.”

According to that timeline and documentation sent to Gillibrand’s office at the time, the alleged harassment started almost immediately after word of the planned promotion, with increasingly aggressive advances. In one late-night text message, Malik told her he now understood the meaning of the clown emoji — it meant “down to clown,” an innuendo for having sex from the movie “Blockers,” he elaborated the next morning.

On one day alone, July 13, she said Malik made four unwanted advances, which were all rebuffed. The first occurred alone in the office early in the morning when Malik told the woman he had a secret for her: Her boss had just quit.

“Ugh I shouldn’t have told you. You are totally going to tell people,” he said, according to her notes. “Why do I love you! I should hate you!”

After Malik prodded her for a secret of her own, she said Malik walked up to her desk and asked, “If we had met in a bar would it have happened for us?”

And at a birthday party for another staffer that evening, Malik told her privately that “I thought by debrief you meant you were hitting on me,” referencing an earlier text message.

She asked him if he was kidding. “No, I’m not kidding,” he responded. “[O]h wow ok no I was absolutely not hitting on you,” she replied, according to her timeline. He pressed two more times, prompting the woman to chide him in a text: “You’re married!!” He still sent a string of flirtatious texts later, including one with a clown emoji.

The woman said she tried to stay away from Malik the following week. But he began complaining that she was being mean to him because of his expected promotion, and said that he would give her the silent treatment until she apologized. “This seriously was so upsetting to me because I was not upset about that. I was upset with him sexually harassing me and he is trying to create his own narrative,” she wrote in her timeline.

On July 25, the woman emailed Bradley her detailed recollection of events, which she had written over the previous week. In addition to the advances, the woman claimed that Malik “said derogatory and inappropriate things about women since I started here.” She alleged that Malik called a female colleague “fat” and “ugly,” would rate the appearance of potential hires, and told colleagues that the office’s new fellow — essentially a young female intern — “wanted him.”

There’s more, but you get the idea. The #MeToo movement seems to end with Muslim misogyny.

[flarekitti]

20 questions meme!!

tagged by: @ignoring-impossibility *thank you~

rules: answer the 20 questions and tag 20 amazing followers you would like to get to know better.

name: *Ace

nicknames: *Danny, Alphys

zodiac sign: *Scorpio

height: *5 foot 5 and ¾!

orientation: *Asexual/Demiromantic

ethnicity: *so white that I literally reflect light :/ not even kidding,,

favorite fruit: *oh goodness… dragonfruit?

favorite season: *Winter, for sure!!!

favorite book: *hmm… i dont think I have one?? I mean. When i was little, I loved Warriors a lot! And. I enjoyed the Dragonriders of Pern series, but only the ones that lady wrote.. also, i absolutely hated the focus on sex and the terrible misogyny :’// they were cool otherwise??

favorite flowers: *uhh?? I love p much all flowers!!! But i suppose bleeding hearts and hyacinths are the ones closest to me bc of memories and family! I also love yellow roses!

favorite scent: *chamomile!!!!! Various teas and blueberries are close behind tho!

favorite color: *as i put in the last ask meme i did: i would have said red if youd asked me a couple years ago. But. I honestly don’t know? I like red, pastel yellow, pastel green, black, white, and grey tho!

favorite animal: *aaaaa dont make me choose!!!!! ;×; i love all animals!! Can i say dragons though??

coffee, tea or hot chocolate?: *Tea, for sure!!!!!

average sleep hours: *about 5. Whoops.

cat or dog person?: *i dunno?? My family is way more connected to dogs, and they’re easy to tell how theyre feeling! But i love cats’ more laid-back feel and i love love how they purr!! Aaaaa please dont make me choose ;;

favorite fictional character: *dude idk?? There are a lot i suppose! Like. Include all of Pokémon. Idk who else? :0

number of blankets you sleep with: *used to be 2, but I found a third one in our closet that is super fluffy so now 3 >v>;

ideal trip: *To New York!!!!! I love NY! Not the city parts though, just Upstate! I love the mix of country and North style they’ve got there. Also, Stewarts. >:3c

blog created: *i dont know when it was created, but I do know that my first post was on July 23rd, 2012 so there’s that!

tag 20 people: *oh goodness, I can’t think of that many people off the top of my head ;; Um… @madiesunny @cordolis @thisdragonisnerdy @cellular-device @mysticalmidnightmarsh @noxioussanctity @i-am-avacado @mangle198701 @admiralgrak @threeisjustwright @nauta-nebula @loaf-screams and anyone else who feels like it! Please don’t feel pressured to do this, though ^^; Sorry if I didn’t include you specifically!!

[webittech]

Mr. Robot's new season has business as usual—epic hacks, innovativeness in the midst of mayhem Elliot is back, so too is the high-wire filmmaking and haywire plot.

Mr. Robot appears to know we as a whole need CliffsNotes now. Pause, what's Stage Two once more? How does this character realize that character? Its Season 3 debut to a great extent tosses gatherings of people a bone with some table-setting, reintroducing us to the principle players as they get the pieces in the fallout of different Season 2 turns. Keep in mind, the FBI caught Darlene, Elliot got shot, Angela consented to enable the Dark Army, to control blackouts ran widespread in NYC, et al. So fight the temptation to interruption and make a beeline for Wikipedia, and Sam Esmail and co. will remunerate you with adequate in-scene updates.

In view of the previous evening's first hour ("eps3.0_power-saver-mode.h"), everything still is by all accounts rotating around the dismal Stage Two on a large scale plot level. As we adapted late last season, Elliot (well, actually Mr. Robot) conceived an assault with Tyrell and the Dark Army where E-Corp's paper records will vanish through huge blast, in this manner finishing his revolutionary objectives to pulverize the advanced shackles keeping up riches imbalance. It turns out the femtocell Elliot modified for Darlene (that Angela sneaked into a FBI transitory camp) didn't seek to catch proof of the agency's snooping, rather it was implied for hacking E-Corp. What's more, now Mr. Robot/Elliot/Tyrell/the Dark Army trust they can fill a high rise with hydrogen and cause the transformers inside to light the circuit—Elliot's Batman-like no-murder ethos be cursed. (As an aside: that was tech consultant Ryan Kazanciyan's most loved S2 hack, and it took seven days in addition to deal with, as he let us know on our on-break Decrypted podcast. Kazanciyan has effectively laid out his work from S3 debut if intrigued.)

This being Mr. Robot, obviously things will just turn out to be more confused than that. The debut makes it clear Elliot and Mr. Robot have diverse objectives, and few out of every odd real player has all the earmarks of being mindful of that. Anticipate that S3 will truly commute home how confounded life can get when everybody from your youth closest companion to an omniscient pioneer of a universal hacking ring appears to be mindful of your condition to changing degrees and tries to use it in quest for their own particular advantages. Phew.

Be that as it may, in case despite everything you're following alongside Mr. Robot after a hit-and-miss S2, odds are plot isn't the main (or even the most essential) thing keeping you around. Also, fortunately, in view of screening some of this current season's initial scenes, the show keeps on conveying on a ton of different fronts regardless of whether its story can feel extended now and again.

Seek imagination, remain for Cannavale

Quickly, the show's novel visual pizazz invites watchers back. Power-blackout stricken NYC looks especially troubling and enables bits of neon (from BBQ to shop lights or hacking rivalry scoreboards) extremely pop right off the bat, building up a shading palette not at all like whatever else on TV. Esmail keeps on discovering camera points others don't, as well. One especially remarkable grouping begins our vantage point with a tight shot on Whiterose inside an E-Corp atomic office, step by step raises us skyward to look downward on a dull NYC building, at that point flawlessly transports us into the retina of one Elliot Alderson (all while a Julie Andrews' rendition of "Shrieking Away" cunningly scores it). On the off chance that the stylish keeps you viewing, there's no indication of Mr. Robot's creative filmmaking backing off here.

Try not to stress. The hacking aspiration and specialized detail that draws in such a dedicated Internet following returns also. We see Elliot discover a Def Con CTF (catch the banner) rivalry as yet occurring between worldwide aggregates in spite of the city being without control for seven days ("A CTF competition, programmer Olympics," Elliot considers. "The whole city is enduring a vitality emergency while they're here practicing their inward political agitation"). What's more, even in this first scene, Mr. Robot compensates the individuals who have taken after security news in the previous year—I can't think about another auto pursue that closures like that in late memory.

The show likewise keeps up its comical inclination (Alf slaughtered somebody on-screen a year ago, recall) in spite of just extending its dull, dim representation of society and human instinct. Elliot meanders the avenues in a Josh Groban shirt at a certain point; Whiterose still holds her partner's allegorical hands as she stuns them with pleasantry. And keeping in mind that Leon's affection for Seinfeld is mysteriously gone yet, new expansion to the cast Bobby Cannavale ventures in as a delightfully "excessively" fixer for the Dark Army this season.

Cannavale's character has an always disconnected quiet joined with a know-it-all conceit, kinda like that old Jason Sudeikis character on SNL (directly down to the Bluetooth headset) however all the more debilitating given Cannavale's partners here. At a certain point he traces the defective rationale of not getting a free shake for his unwaveringness card punch 'til the following visit, just to leave the clerk with an unpropitious tip. "It's not about the cash, it's the guideline," he advises her. "When we lose our standards, we welcome tumult." Given the surprising significance new characters tend to demonstrate later in Mr. Robot seasons, we'll be checking this person.

Be that as it may, in maybe its most entrancing convention, Mr. Robot has dependably been a judicious show with regards to building its reality in a way that uncovers facts about our own. S1 set up an Occupy-powered fight over imbalance some time before Bernie Sanders began filling fields over the US. S2 highlights government hacks, crypto-ransomware gone wild, alongside references to the division of uncouthness versus damaging force inside a certain eventual legislator. What's more, despite the fact that these seasons disclosed in 2015 and 2016 separately, the scholars' room concocted such ideas much further ahead of time.

In this debut, we get an expanded monolog from Elliot that reminds us the show will keep on having bounty to say in regards to the present regardless of whether it stays set in this semi-prophetically catastrophic form of 2015:

"They're having their way with us—they bundled our battle into item, transformed our plummet into protected innovation, broadcast an unrest with business breaks, repaired the realities at that point increased the cost, lobotomized us into their VR ghastliness appear," Elliot opines in one of his mark monologs while pictures of Antifa and Nazis, environmental change and Brexit montage-on by.

"Imagine a scenario in which as opposed to battling back we surrender, give away our protection for security, trade poise for wellbeing, exchange insurgency for mistreatment. Imagine a scenario where we pick shortcoming over quality?" he proceeds with, his discourse now joined with sound of Donald Trump expressing "these are not the general population that made our nation awesome, these are individuals pulverizing our nation" amid some battle occasion.

"This is the thing that they needed from the start: for us to purchase in on our most exceedingly terrible selves, and I simply made it less demanding for them. I didn't begin an upheaval, I simply made us sufficiently quiet for the butchering."

In indeterminate circumstances (regardless of whether you characterize them through the viewpoint of individual, political, worldwide prosperity or something unique totally), watching appears about calamitous destructions complemented by viciousness can be excessively dreary. This present reality creates enough uneasiness, as indicated by this line of reasoning, so why dedicate whenever to this? Such rationale got me out of The Walking Dead long back, and it'll likely make them skirt an apparently agonizing rendition of The Justice League later this fall.

The plot of Mr. Robot focuses on turmoil, decimation, and control, however now the show's plot might be the slightest of numerous watchers' worries. Mr. Robot likewise demonstrates the benefit of depicting reality through its way to deal with hacking, it indicates how workmanship can at present be found in even the darkest settings, and it requests that watchers ponder conceivably annoying true powers (from psychological sickness to disparity to autocracy to reconnaissance states and back once more) through a current idea analyze rather than one set in a world far, far away. So regardless of whether we'll likely need the Cliffsnotes again by the end, S3 of Mr. Robot at first hopes to have bounty to offer those hopping in for another 12-scene ride.