#all added emphasis is mine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

doromoni · 30 days

Text

Lunch Preferences | LN4

Ships: Lando Norris x Personal Chef! Reader , Platonic! Oscar Piastri x Personal Chef! Reader

Warnings : None

Genre: fluff

Summary : Oscar’s food always tasted better and Lando finds out why.

Part 2

Lando was never adventurous when it came to certain things , most importantly when it came to the food that he consumed — His best friend Max could vouch on that , heck the entire grid and the whole McLaren hospitality can say it.

When it came down to it , when Lando didn’t like the ingredient used in the meal served in the Motorhome cafeteria, a special meal is always prepared for the Golden Boy of Mclaren. Most find it funny but the kitchen staff found it extremely annoying; to them Lando was a diva.

Kitchen personnel and caterers are shuffled within motorhomes and during races in different countries and it became problematic for Mclaren due to the new personnel’s lack of knowledge of their driver’s preferences. Funnily enough, this has become an issue much so that a protocol has been made stating that when a new driver is signed they are given their own personal chef that tours around with them during the races.

Cut to Oscar Piastri joining the Papaya Family , and Y/n L/n had been added to the roster. The Australian driver and Y/n had met during Oscar’s F2 season and had quickly formed a bond , by bond meaning Y/N fuels Oscar’s obsession with sweets. The aussie became obsessed so much that when the “personal chef” clause came up in his contract, his immediate answer was “ Y/N L/N”.

“Osc what the hell, What do you mean you got me a job at Mclaren? Are you high on sugar again?” You asked in disbelief as you stared at the Australian , an eyebrow raised.

You and Oscar are currently in his kitchen in his apartment in the UK, you trying to bake your f2 paddock famous cookies while Oscar tries to help , emphasis on tries.

“Oh come on Y/N! You’re perfect for this. You know my likes and dislikes . Plus you know how to trick me into eating my veggies” Oscar said exasperatingly.

“ Oscar as much as I love to feed you , you know that I cant travel with you, I have a job remember? Plus Im not a professional chef , you dummy! I just cook as a passion” You muttered softly trying to get your point across.

“Then quit! I know you hate your job y/n. This is your chance! I made sure that they’ll pay you handsomely ~ more than your current pay . I swear! PLUS you get to travel with me and you get to explore food all over the world” The boy did made a whole lot of sense…

“Fine , let me see the contract” Then an enormous grin plasters itself on his face.

***

* Brownies

“Holy Crap , Mate! These brownies are killer! Where did you get these?” Logan exclaimed as he continued to stuff his face with Oscar’s snacks prepared by Y/N of course.

“My chef made them for ME , Logan. Hands off “ Oscar swatted the American’s hand as he tried to get another piece.

“What are you two idiots up-to now? “ Alex spoke as he came near the duo, Lando right on his tail.

“Oscar brought these amazing brownies and He wont share ! Come on , mate just one more” Logan once again tried to reach for the bag only to be denied once again.

“Ohhh, let me try some of that!” Alex laid out his hand , and Logan complaining in the background saying “unfair “ as Oscar gave Alex one.

“You weren’t kidding! these are good. Lando try one” Alex gestured towards Lando.

Lando looking a bit apprehensive, took the offered treat and took a bite. As the Brit chewed , he couldn’t stop eating till there was no more. Screw belgian chocolate, that brownie was his favorite food now.

“Osc , give me another.” Lando requested to his now younger teammate.

“Nope~ these are mine” Oscar grinned teasingly as he stood up , away from the reach of his fellow drivers

“Oscarrrr , give em up you muppet!” Lando whined and pouted .

“No! Ask your chef to make you one. “ oscar implored.

“But the ones they make aren’t as good as thoseee” Lando continued to whine

“I know, these is Y/N’s special recipe. “ Oscar replied mockingly, a playful grin on his face as we waved them goodbye.

“Damn, Y/N made those? No wonder they tasted amazing” Logan muttered catching the attention of Lando.

“Y/N? Who?” Lando asked , now curious .

“Oh, Y/N is our friend , well now Oscar personal chef also. We met when Oscar and I were racing in F2. She used to bring us her cooking after the race.”

“Damn, did she put cocaine on those brownies or something?” Alex said wanting another bite.

“Did you say that she’s Oscar’s chef? That would mean that she’s in Mclaren right now?” Lando asked yet again to the now bemused American.

“Yes?” And with that Lando Norris is on a mission. Find the lady who makes extremely delicious brownies.

“Y/N” Lando muttered your name under his breath as he traversed towards his own motorhome with a purpose.

Finally reaching his destination only to be bombarded by his Pr manager pulling him along towards his media duties

Lando’s brownie mission was a fail

“Hey, do you know who’s Y/N?”

* Wok fried noodles

“ Ok so , Oscar will be done in a few minutes then it will be your turn” Lando’s manager , Valerie, explained as He was getting ready for the interview set up by Mclaren for a special edition for a motorsport magazine of some sorts.

“You should take a bite of your lunch , Lan. I don’t think you’ll be getting time to do so later” valerie explained, as she nudged the now cold , barely touched container of food towards the British driver.

“But there fish in it ,Val” The brit frowned as he glanced on his supposed to be lunch. How many times did he have to say NO FISH.

“It’s not even touching th-“ valerie tried to explain but was cut of by Lando as he exclaimed

“But it’s near a fish!” To which Valerie could only sigh and nod.

Then a knock and an opening of a door happened along with Oscar popping his head in — who appears to be carrying chopsticks and a container of sorts.

“ Hey, mate! They said it’ll be your turn in 15 mins or so” Oscar said as he scoops his lunch into his mouth.

“What ya eating there bud?” Lando couldn’t help ask as the savory aroma filled his room and a rumble came to his stomach.

“Some low carb noodle dish Y/N made , not really sure what’s it called . Tasted great tho.” The Australian said .

“Lemme have a bite” Lando waved his hands towards Oscar . With a shrug , oscar did.

As He took a bite , Lando could only think of one thing.

“Where could I get myself a Y/N”

* Spring Rolls

Practice 1 had just finished and the drivers have an hour or 2 to rest and kill time . And for our youngest Aussie driver on the grid it is time to annoy his lovely friend Y/N.

“ Hey, Y/N… could you please make extra servings of what ever you’re making for my lunch?” Oscar asked sheepishly

“Osc, No! You have to follow a strict calorie count and your trainer will kill me!” You said as you stoped what you were doing .

“It’s not for me, Its for Lando! He always eats my food “ Oscar explains and you understood clearly. Nodding with a smile , you shooed Oscar away.

“Thanks , Angel! “ Oscar left but not before leaving a kiss on your head.

You then set out to make lunch for 2 drivers, and finishing by packing them separately . You never forgot to leave a message on Oscar’s meals as encouragements to your closest friend

Your eyes go towards the food intended for Lando. You were contemplating whether you should write something or not. Biting your lip you took another piece of post it and started writing.

Maybe this is your chance to get the driver’s attention and shoot your shot. You have been crushing on the British driver for who knows how long. Tutting yourself you shake your head from your thoughts and delusions.

In the post it wrote ,

Dear, Lando

A little birdie told me that you liked my cooking , ey? Oh! I heard that you liked spring rolls so I made you a few. No fish , I promise. Hope you enjoy! And good luck on the race! I’ll be cheering on the sidelines 🧡

P.S. thank Osc , he begged me to tag you along :P

— Y/N

***

Butterflies filled Lando’s stomach as he opened the lunch box you made for him. You cooking for him and writing a note felt so domestic , like a wife and husband.Lando became a giggly mess as he re-read your note again and again.

He remembered the time when he first saw you. You were with Oscar in the Mclaren motorhome , sitting on the lounge when your eyes met his and you gave Lando a smile — it was only passing but to Lando it was enough. To him you were so angelic .He imagined coming home to you and you would cook for him and all seemed fine in the world.

“ you know , you should just ask her out on a date” and suddenly Lando was startled out of his daydreaming

“Huh , what? Dreaming? Who was? “ Lando tried to act cool in front of Oscar who was now sniggering as he leaned on the doorframe.

“ I know that you like Y/N, Lando! Just ask the girl already “

“Who’s Y/N?” Oscar rolled his eyes at his teammate

“You’re both idiots .y’know? You both have goggly eyes for each other — it honestly hurts to see. Here’s her number . Please just go out. Or I swear I’ll lock the two of you in a room or something. “ Lando was flabbergasted by his teammate who was now exiting the room.

“Uhh… Thanks Osc!” The Brit broke out into a huge smile as he shouted towards the australian

“Yeah yeah , just don’t hurt her or I promise to crash into you in every race”

***

1K notes · View notes

elizabethwritesmen · 3 months

Text

The Devil Wears Lace

chapter 9 : November 3, 2024

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x reader

summary: it’s the next morning and simon shows you a new side of himself. you let out some secrets too, and it seems a happy ending is in store.

warnings: dirty dirty smut, unmasked simon, degradation and praise, choking, all the usual stuff, emotional vulnerability, size kink if you squint, oral f receiving, that should be all let me know if i missed any!

a/n: this is the final chapter. I want to thank all of you for reading and for any love you’ve shown my story!

series masterlist

November 3, 2024

The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed, face falling as I looked around the room for Simon. Had he left?

I stood up, padding my way to the doorway and out into the hall, searching every room and getting discouraged. That is, until the smell of something cooking hit my nose.

I frowned, heading for the kitchen and pausing dead in my tracks in the doorway, eyes going wide and jaw going slack.

“Simon?” I called, voice meek.

His back was to me as he was facing the stove, working away at whatever he was making. He was wearing new clothes, but that wasn’t what shocked me.

There, on the dining room table, laid his mask.

All I could see from where I stood was the back of his head, his dirty blonde hair disheveled and a little wet. I could smell him, the scent of pine soap filling the air. My breath caught in my throat as he began to turn around, and on instinct, I closed my eyes, squeezing them tight.

“What’re you doing?” he chuckled.

“Giving you privacy to put it back on,” I explained, slapping my hands over my face for extra emphasis.

“Do you want me to put it back on?”

“Don’t you want to? So I won’t see you?”

He sighed, and I could feel his footsteps approaching me. His big hands closed around my wrists, pulling my hands away from my face and leaving me with closed eyes.

“Do you really think I’d walk around your kitchen without it on if I cared about you seeing me?”

“Guess not,” I shrugged, opening one eye and then the other. He was staring down at me, and I gaped.

He was handsome, more so than I could’ve ever imagined and I was suddenly thankful he wore a mask everywhere because his face was positively sinful. He had a scar on his eyebrow and one by his eye, and his nose was a bit crooked. I could tell he had been through it but that only added to how beautiful he was. His eyes were even prettier this way, too, framed by his perfect features and boring into me, a bit pinched together from the stress of me seeing him for the first time. I smoothed those wrinkles out with my fingers, my eyes greedy for everything they could get.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” he asked me, rough as usual but with a note of something new. Fear.

“Sometimes, words just aren’t enough,” I responded, and he gasped slightly. “You’re perfect, if that’s what you wanna know.” I ran my hands through his hair, cupping the back of his neck. “And your secret is safe with me.”

He groaned, leaning down and kissing me once, twice, then three times, each one deeper than the last. I hummed into it, savoring the feeling of his face against mine. A second later, he pulled away, walking back over to the stove and continuing cooking. I walked with him, leaning up against the counter and watching him flip the bacon. There was a pan full of scrambled eggs on the back burner, and a plate of toast beside him. I frowned.

“Where’d you get all this stuff from?” I asked him, knowing for sure I did not have any of it the night before.

“I woke up early and went to base to grab some soap and a change of clothes. I stopped at the grocery store on the way back to get you some things, you didn’t have very much in here.”

“Simon,” I sighed, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he shrugged.

“I’ll pay you back.”

“No,” he adamantly shook his head, “You’re a waitress going to one of the most expensive colleges in the world. You’re not paying me back anything. I’ve got your groceries from now on, and whatever else you need.”

“No, I can’t let you-“

“The military pays well and I don’t spend it on anything. I want to spend it on you. Let me.”

I just stared at the intense look in his eyes for a second before nodding slowly, reluctantly agreeing to what he was asking. And I kept staring, eyes roaming his face as he finished up cooking. It didn’t take long for them to wander down the rest of him, lingering on the expanse of his shoulders and of his hips, his arms, his legs. He was so built, a wall of muscle standing right there in my kitchen making me breakfast. They made their way back to his face, wanting to soak it in some more and memorize it because I wasn’t sure if showing me was a one time thing or if he was gonna be unmasked every time we were alone. He had a smirk on his lips and I knew he could see what I was doing, mapping him out, but I didn’t care. I just kept going, focusing in on the sharp plane of his jaw and how it contracted with the soft brush of his hair. Fuck, he really was handsome like I’d said, and the more I looked at him the more I realized it was true. Just looking at him had me turned on and I wished there was an off button because I wasn’t sure he’d wanna go again.

“You’re staring,” he grunted as he turned the stove off and made two plates of food.

“Can’t help it,” my response was simple.

“Can’t help it, huh?” he set the food aside and walked over to me, arms on either side of me, trapping me between him and the counter as I gazed up at him.

“You look good,” I explained myself, shy and meek under him, unable to express exactly what I wanted but hoping he’d give into me.

He just looked at me for a second, eyes trailing down my face, then my neck and chest, and coming back up to rest on mine.

“You look good,” he repeated the words back to me and I giggled, easing up and winding my arms around his neck to press a kiss to his cheek. It felt nice, his stubble against me, warm and right.

He didn’t even let me pull back, turning and taking my lips in his own in the most all consuming kiss I’d ever had. I hummed into his mouth as he picked me up and set me on the counter, pulling me to the edge so I could wrap my legs around him. I held on tight to him as he kept going, and I felt like I was on an entirely new wave of arousal now that he was unmasked. Not that the mask wasn’t sexy in its own way, but this was the real Simon and he wanted me like I wanted him.

“Simon,” I broke away to speak, but he paid no attention, mouth moving from my cheek, to my jaw, to my neck and drawing a hum out of me before I came back to my senses, “Simon!” I repeated and he stopped, standing straight to look at me. “Does…” I couldn’t phrase it. Of course I couldn’t. Such a bumbling idiot. “You showed me your face and I - I was just wondering, does this - Well, what does it mean - I mean it doesn’t have to -“ He silenced me with one more kiss, cutting me off right there.

“It means you’re stuck with me.”

A smile broke out across my face, I couldn’t think of a better fate.

“You wanna be stuck with me, too?”

“Why’d you think I’m buying your groceries?”

I giggled one more time and he groaned, head falling back into the crook of my neck.

Between kisses, he mumbled “Y’so - fuckin’ - cute -“ and after that last word I felt a sharp bite and gasped, mewling as he used his tongue to soothe it over.

He tugged at the hem of my T shirt, pulling it over my head gently and tossing it aside, barely taking a second to look at me before dropping to his knees. He spread my legs wide in front of him, pulling my thong to the side to expose me. “You want me, baby? Want my mouth on this pretty little cunt?” I nodded, biting my lip to keep from moaning at his words and he chuckled darkly, “Use your words, princess.”

At that, I couldn’t stifle my moan, “Please, need your mouth Simon, need whatever you’ll give me.”

“Such a slut,” he mused.

“Just for you,” I hummed and that was all it took for him to dive in, tongue everywhere, lapping at my entrance while his exposed nose nudged at my clit. I couldn’t help but rut against him and he used one arm to keep my hips still, taking me to a whole new level of pleasure because he wouldn’t let me fight it. A loud moan ripped through me as he slipped one finger in, then added another one quickly, going a little slower than he had the night before and letting his tongue do most of the work.

“Gonna come apart for me already, baby?” he smirked. Cocky bastard. “Never takes you long, huh, always ready to cum all over me.”

I moaned again, staring down at him as my walls fluttered and I felt it building. He was right. I was gonna cum, and it was quick and I couldn’t even be embarrassed because I don’t think anyone could resist with him.

I was almost there, clenched tight around his fingers when he pulled out and pulled away, leaving me cold in his absence.

“What’re you doing? Please come back. Where are you going?”

“Relax,” he sighed, grabbing me and lifting me, giving me no choice but to wrap my legs around him. He carried me to the bedroom, laying me down on the bed and settling on top of me.

He leaned back, reaching for the bottom of his own shirt and began to tug, and my throat went dry. My body stopped working for a second, just waiting.

He ripped it off, tossing it aside and letting me take him in. “Am I gonna have to remind you to breathe every time we do this?” he chuckled and my eyes snapped to his, my cheeks turning red because he was right again.

“You might,” I sheepishly answered and he smiled.

He stood up off the bed and took his pants and boxers off, kicking them to the side as well and fuck if he wasn’t the most perfect person I’d ever seen. He had scars everywhere, like the ones on his face, but even they couldn’t manage to flaw him, everything about him was just too good. Too strong.

I whimpered as he climbed on top of me, lining himself up instantly, “Tell me what you want, princess,” he breathed out.

“Mm please Simon need you inside of me please fuck just-“ He full on laughed at my desperation and my feeble attempts to buck my hips into him, settling me down and pressing inside slowly, just like he had the night before. And this time, it took me just as long to adjust, but once I had he set a pace and I was fucked in more ways than one.

“You look perfect like this, taking my cock so good,” he groaned and I threw my head back into the pillows, exposing my throat for him to leave kisses and bites and whatever else he wanted. My hands fisted in his hair, pulling him to me and kissing him then just staring up in his eyes. He was pounding me for all it was worth, not giving me a second of reprieve but I didn’t want it. I couldn’t help but notice how gentle he was with me, though, even when he was fucking me into oblivion, and it made an even more dangerous thought creep into the back of my mind. I loved him. And I knew it beyond certainty. Maybe I had for a while. He had to know it too, why else would I have come all this way for him?

My eyes on his got watery as he leaned in and kissed me and I almost screamed as he hit the perfect spot in me, then absolutely screamed as he did it again and again.

“Shh, I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered in my ear, holding me close, the whole situation becoming even more intimate than it already was.

“Gonna cum, Simon,” I mumbled, hips thrusting up to match his and he groaned.

“Let it go for me baby, come on,” his hips lost their rhythm and I knew he was close. That thought was enough to send me straight over the edge, groaning and toes curling as I thrashed against the bed, him holding me steady the whole time. Once we were both satisfied and had come down, he pulled slowly out of me and got up, pulling me up with him and bringing me to the bathroom. He sat me on the counter and took his time helping me clean up, then gave me a sweet kiss on the lips. “Got you all marked up,” he hummed, admiring his handiwork for a second and I laughed.

“Yeah, ‘least you don’t have to worry about anyone else approaching me. You have ‘em at least ten reasons not to.”

“Wasn’t worried in the first place, you know who you wanna be with and it ain’t them.”

I gazed at him, going dumb for him yet again, and he smiled, giving me one more kiss.

“Simon,” I started, my voice taking on a more serious tone and that teary eyed feeling from before taking back over. There was a new level of vulnerability in my voice and he furrowed his brows, waiting patiently for what I had to say. “You ruined me.”

His eyes widened a bit and I grew more and more anxious with every second that passed, not knowing how he felt, or if he was okay with what I said. He probably didn’t. He probably didn’t even care. I felt like I was gonna hyperventilate by the time he finally responded.

“You ruined me, too.”

#simon ghost x you #simon ghost smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x you #ghost x reader smut #ghost smut #cod smut

269 notes · View notes

librarycards · 8 months

Text

I enjoy many poets whose work I’d call “warm.” I love Billy Collins and Mary Oliver, for example, but I would not depend on them to tell me their whole truth. They prefer, perhaps, to please me, to wish me well, to enable me. There is a place for them on my shelves. After a hard day, tired in the evening, I will reach for them. But they don’t give me that shuddering thrill. They do not, like certain close friends of mine, stop me mid-sentence to challenge the bullshit I’ve been speaking. They do not lock eyes with me and tell me what’s really on their mind. They will never change my life. [...] Cold art, when it enacts the moment of death over and over, isn’t interested in death in itself, but wants to remind us of death. We are, as at a funeral, not the corpse but the attendees. The life force still surges within us. Cold art doesn’t urge us toward nihilism, but reminds us to live now, to get things done, that we are vital. This is the wisdom of it. Without such reminders we risk becoming fools, like Lear. Cold art is not harmful or bad at all, but provides a useful counterpoint to “happiness” in our society, which is severely overemphasized. Our existence naturally oscillates between warm and cold. This oscillation must be allowed, or the pendulum will break. When that deep cold is invoked—in a poem, a song, a painting, a voice on the subway—the windless ice forest wakes within me. And it’s in me always, the cold. The spiritual, psychic cold. While driving my motorcycle through the potholed streets of Philadelphia, while leading a poetry workshop, while chatting to my mother, while eating dinner, while watching Netflix with Tiina. That cold forest, its myriad frozen boughs, bristles within me.

John Wall Barger, In the Cold Theatre of the Poem.

[emphasis added]

#THIS!!!!!!!!!!!! is my problem with tumblr uwu wild geese orange peeling poem culture #i want to be fucking rattled and beaten and socked in the chest!#john wall barger #writing #words #readings

501 notes · View notes

lymtw · 6 months

Text

Cerise

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!reader

Content: SFW

Content Warnings: Not many it’s pretty SFW, just some kisses really

Description: Cerise is a sacred word for you and Gojo. It means peace or truce. It cancels any grudge out and it forces you to talk. Gojo is the king of using Cerise ;)

Word Count: 0.7k

Gojo can’t stand when you give him the silent treatment, because when you do, everything about you goes silent. You silence his notifications so when he texts you, you don’t know it until you manually look at your messages. Even then, you look at the message and don’t respond. It’s usually something along the lines of:

Hiii baby ❤️

You still mad 🥹

To which you don’t respond because he’s only on the couch across the room. You can feel his eyes watching you, but you refuse to look up at him. So you turn your screen off and continue what you were doing previously.

Gojo knows how to get you to talk. It’s very simple, but he wants to see if you’ll ever reach out first during these bouts of annoyance.

When he notices that you’re not doing much, he decides that it’s time to turn on the charm.

You’re finishing washing some dishes, when he comes up behind you. He doesn’t get close enough to touch you, but enough so that you can hear him even if he’s whispering.

“Cerise.” The word comes out smoothly, and his lips curl into a sly smile as soon as he hears you sigh.

“God, what, Satoru?” You throw the dishrag you had in your hands, and turn to look at him. You had to bite the inside of your cheek just so that you wouldn’t mirror the smile on his face once you saw him.

“You can’t break a promise we’ve followed through with for years. Sorry, but I didn’t make the rules. You know what I did do, though? I said cerise, so now you have to talk to me.”

He was unbearable, yet so damn lovable with his prideful smile.

Cerise, or the French word for cherry, was a word you and Gojo decided was made for truces. When you were just dating, he invited you over to spend the night in his apartment one day. He told you to make yourself at home, and allowed you to rummage through his cabinets and rooms.

He forgot something in his car so he went to go get it, leaving you alone for a maximum of four minutes. In those four minutes, you found a bag of cherries that was almost empty. All but three cherries remained, so you thought finishing them and tossing the bag would help him make room for more groceries. Gojo came back and caught you red handed, his jaw dropping.

“You know the French word for cherry is cerise?” You read the translations in Spanish and French, not noticing that Gojo was having a meltdown and was on his knees. You tossed the bag after popping the last one in your mouth, the stem thrown in the trash after.

“‘toru?” You call, seeing him on the floor. You squat down to his level, still making your way around the pit of the cherry, the sweetness staining your tongue.

“I wanted those cherries. Those were mine,” he mumbles, weakly.

“Please, don’t cry.” You pat his fluffy hair.

He sits up and looks at you in confusion. “I’m not crying.”

“Oh, good. So, the French word for cherry is cerise.” You put an emphasis on the word to make it sound even more regal.

He was so bummed, and spent a good ten minutes not talking to you, huffing and whipping his head in the opposite direction of you whenever you looked at him, like a child.

You couldn’t stand another minute of him ignoring you, so you scrambled into his lap, and tried to catch his attention.

“Baby, baby, baby~” you poked his cheeks, repeatedly. “‘toru, my pretty boy, i’m sorry.” You almost got him to smile with that. You covered him in kisses, his neck, his cheeks, but when you went for his lips, he sucked them in and made them disappear.

When all failed, you went for the last resort.

“Cerise,” you said, sounding wise. “Cerise,” you repeated, adding a dramatic hand in mid-air. “Did you know cerise is the French word for cherry? Also, did you know cerise is cerise?”

Gojo cracked, his shoulders shaking as he chuckled at your ridiculous rambling about this word you found on a bag of cherries. It was so easy for him to forgive you after that. You got him to laugh, and you promised that the next time you spent the night, you would bring him another bag of cherries.

“Cerise is…?” He says, waiting for you to finish his sentence.

“…the French word for cherry.” You crack a grin, walking towards him. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. Cerise is our live, laugh, love.”

You chuckled as you buried your face in his chest.

281 notes · View notes

felassan · 7 months

Text

Article: 'All unionized Dragon Age: Dreadwolf QA workers have been laid off'

The Keywords Studios workers were laid off in late September

Text:

"All of Keywords Studios’ unionized QA workers were laid off from the studio in late September after Dragon Age: Dreadwolf developer BioWare declined to continue its contract in August. The QA workers, who were contracted to assist with playtesting and quality assurance at BioWare Edmonton, won their union vote in June 2022. All 16 eligible voters said “yes” to joining United Food and Commercial Workers Canada Union, Local No. 401. It was a historic vote, making the group the first games industry union in Canada. Keywords Studios workers were in bargaining with the company when they were laid off following the news of 50 job cuts at BioWare itself. A UFCW representative told Polygon that 13 people were laid off — everyone supporting BioWare. Liz Corless, Keywords Studios’ global head of marketing, confirmed that 13 Edmonton-based QA workers were laid off. “We can confirm that regrettably the 13 Edmonton-based staff have now left the business following the end of a fixed term client contract,” Corless wrote in an email. The group of workers were laid off on Sept. 27. Russwurm added that Keywords Studios has “taken the position there is no more work available.” (Keywords Studios has several QA job postings listed on its website, in Canada and across the world. Many, but not all of these listings, are related to language localization and require specialties that the laid-off workers may not have.) Russwurm said the union filed an employment standards complaint against Keywords Studios this week. He added that Keywords Studios offered “minimal severance,” which the union is disputing. Severance has not yet been paid out, he said. (Several BioWare employees laid off at that time are currently suing the company for “adequate severance.” These are two separate issues with two separate companies, however, despite being linked to Dragon Age: Dreadwolf.) Though the unionized QA workers did not yet have a contract with Keywords Studios, they can attempt to negotiate better severance pay. Keywords Studios is headquartered in Ireland but has more than 20 worldwide offices. The studio was founded in 1998, and does not publish or develop its own games — instead, it provides art, QA, audio, and other development support for other studios, like BioWare."

[source]

(emphasis mine as there are two issues with two companies)

#dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost

350 notes · View notes

hannie-dul-set · 4 months

Text

six quick and easy hacks to 🆙 the quality of your fanfiction!

as promised, here it is! i’m not here to tell you how to plot out your story, or how to write your characters’ personalities. the tips i’m sharing are more on formatting and structure, secret (not really) cheat codes to instantaneously make your already written work even better!

my qualifications? being a tumblr hag for over five years (my even more embarrassing pre k-pop writeblr included!) so i’ve unlocked quite a bit of secrets and discovered some eurekas throughout my time here HAHAHAH. anyway, let’s start!

#1 VARIETY IN PARAGRAPH LENGTHS, SENTENCE LENGTHS, AND SENTENCE STARTERS.

nothing turns me off more than seeing paragraph blocks after paragraph blocks when looking for some new fics to read, especially when you’re reading from a cramped up device such as your phone.

when i write a lengthy paragraph, i try to follow it up with a one-liner, or a mid-sized one. but it’s something i consciously keep track of— when i noticed that, “oh, this gdoc is getting a little too wordy, a little too chunky,” i make sure that my next paragraph is significantly shorter than the current one because it keeps the entire page interesting. one to two sentences of lines of paragraphs after another and another doesn’t look pretty. chunks of paragraphs after paragraphs is boring.

make your pages visually dynamic by ensuring variety.

like this, for example.

→ fic: home for the bitchless.

seeing a large chunk of text and a singular line immediately after also sort of forces your reader to stick around and read an otherwise intimidating lengthy paragraph because— oh! what could have possibly led to that singular like of dialogue or thought! #subtlemanipulation you get me? 😔🤙

this rule of mine applies to sentences and phrases within the paragraph as well!

→ fic: love vomit.

and as a bonus, you can use paragraph breaks and cuts to your advantage! manipulating the way a sentence or paragraph ends in a certain way makes your works more rhythmic! and, when you play it around the right way, abrupt cuts and breaks also add the right mood and drama to your work!

→ drabble: the boy who cried wolf.

part three of tip number one (one…we’re still at number one…) is on sentence and paragraph starters. i keep it as a rule of thumb that if i start a paragraph with “you,” or with someones name, i don’t use it again in the next one to avoid monotony. it’s a very miniscule thing really, and i doubt that people notice this HAHAHA but this is something i religiously swear by because repetitions like this are visually boring.

→ wip: sunwater.

of course, this can’t be avoided all the time, and repeating the sentence starter “You” or any other pronoun, word, or phrase can be intentionally utilized to strongly drive a point. just don’t overdo it!

→ drabble: patience, patience.

→ blurb: monsters don’t hide under the bed.

→ fic: the psychology of strawberries.

there are other good and strategic uses for repetitions as well! we’ll get to that later.

lastly, variety in sentence and paragraph starters doesn’t simply mean changing up the first word. things can still get really boring even if you use “you” or a character’s name interchangeably if your sentence structure remains the same.

this, for example, is monotonous.

the structure (and length) of all three sentences are the same. A does this. B does this. A does this. and even if you switch things up but still use the same sentence structure, it still falls flat. case in point, below, a structure i often see in a lot of fics i stumble across.

those are flat. those are boring. they don’t…you know…make you feel something, even when you follow the rule of not using the same starter twice. let me try improving it by adding more variety in the sentences (+ adding a tip that i’ll be discussing right after!)

the word “He” here is used twice to create a rhythm and draw emphasis, but the rest of the excerpt maintains a sense of variety to make the narrative more interesting and compelling to read.

#2 PICK A POV AND STICK WITH IT.

before i start a scene, a drabble, or blurb, the first question i ask myself is, “whose point of view do i want it to be in?”

one, it’s a lot neater, more organized, than omniscient point of views in my opinion (unless you’re like a super fucking skilled writer of course HAHAHHA). two, it allows for a bit of mystery, suspense, and engagement because you don’t have access to what other people are thinking about, and three— in line with the first tip— when you know whose brain you’re in when writing, it allows for more dynamic narrations, gives you an excuse to be messy because our internal thoughts are messy as well, and makes the writing a hell of a lot easier when you’re focused on monologuing one person alone!

when writing shorter fics, drabbles, or blurbs, i swear by this rule, no excuses HAHAHAH but when writing longer fics, sometimes i switch around the point of views per scene, just to make a more well rounded story.

sometimes, the point of view doesn’t even have to be any of the main character’s! writing from an external POV is also really fun and adds another layer of interest. see example below, a Jeonghan breakup fic written exclusively from the perspective of the outsiders. very fun idea!

breakup scene written in Seungcheol’s POV.

another squabble written in Seungkwan’s POV.

→ wip: the breakup soup.

#3 REPETITIONS AND THEMES = COHESIVENESS.

this section contains tricks on how to wrap up your fics into one cohesive little present with a pretty ribbon on top!

first is the use of repetition. use a cool funky line at the beginning of your story, and reuse/rehash/revise it at the end for a neat finish, especially when you have trouble figuring out a way to end your story (lifesaving hack! trust me!)

i use this mostly in my shorter works—

→ drabble: you’re my bucket list.

→ blurb: louder.

—but it works just as well with longer fics, especially when the repetition is all throughout, and not just at the start and finish.

→ fic: mogi.

sometimes, it doesn’t even have to be a repeated phrase or line! it can be a little gimmick and it’d still work to make your fic cohesive! for example, in the fic below, i use the giving of strawberry candy/strawberry kisses to tie all the different scenes together because this was initially a set of separate drabble ideas wrapped into one long fic.

→ fic: the psychology of strawberries.

and for this one (another ricky fic….yes…..) i use the whole cat metaphor to do the same.

→ drabble: yours to keep.

the next tip to make your work cohesive is to grab a singular theme, object, whatever, and take advantage of it for your narration HAHAHAHHA this can be better explained by looking at the examples below.

theme: citrus.

→ drabble: citrus in the morning.

theme: storm.

→ blurb: blizzard.

the above examples are my shorter works, but it can work for longer fics as well! just check out this 36k word monster HAHAHAHHA.

theme: seasons.

→ fic: love vomit.

these are very simple ways to make your fic more put together! even if it’s just a simply blurb about a confession, adding a theme to aid the imagery bumps your fic quality to a +++++

#4 THROW AWAY THE Y/N’S!

now this one is quite honestly just a personal nitpick HAHAHHAHA but seeing the word Y/N when i’m reading something really pulls me out of my immersion. (and i only stopped using Y/N’s in my fics at the start of my 2023 comeback….so if you see my older works still using it…hahahha please don’t prosecute me).

anyway, you can do this either by embedding it in the narration—

→ fic: star studded baggage.

—or by using nicknames and titles instead!

→ wip: the breakup soup.

→ fic: can’t handle this.

#5 GET INTO THE (UN)NECESSARY SPECIFICS.

instead of just saying “Your professor called you,” grab a random last name and say “Prof Yoon asked to see you in his office.” instead of saying you went to the cafe, the mall, the store, grab an actual place or make one up because no one in the world says “they’re going to the cafe to grab a frappe,” (unless the store’s name is actually The Cafe). people say they’re going to Dunkin Donuts or Coffeebreak or wherever.

sure it’s not plot relevant, sure it’s not integral, but little things like this make your narrative and dialogue a lot more realistic and less awkward. it makes it seem like your characters are actually living inside a world of their own.

#6 GRAMMAR AND FORMATTING.

these are given HAHA but when i talk about grammar, i mean making sure that the commas and periods are consistently inside the quotation marks when writing dialogue. i mean minimizing the use of italics because overusing it can ruin the reading experience of a good piece (i was guilty of this too!) and i mean making sure that the use of tenses are consistent all throughout (unless if it’s a creative and plot choice), because all these things really matter if you want your fic, drabble, or blurb to be of overall high quality.

and that’s basically it! hope these tips help somehow...hope i’m not revealing my secrets for naught and someone can actually put them to good use HHAHAHHA what’s most important obviously is that you’re having fun with what you’re writing…etc. etc. insert inspirational you can do it speech here.

anyway, happy new year! and happy reading and writing<33

#writing hacks ft. my self promos HAHAHAHHAHA #tomorrow x together x reader #enhypen x reader #nct x reader #seventeeen x reader #zerobaseone x reader #riize x reader

272 notes · View notes

c-m-stuff · 10 months

Text

Casino

Spencer Reid x Female!Raeder

-Description: You and Spencer are having a secret relationship. When you got lost in a casino, Spencer was mad at a certain person.

-Warnings: Fluffiness, angst

-Word count: 919

-Note: (Repost from Wattpad!) I hope, you enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Masterlist

Y/N POV:

Las Vegas, the city known for his many casinos and night life. The city were my secret boyfriend was born and raised. The city were we just finished up a case, but due to circumstances, we could only fly back first thing in the morning.

It was evening, we all were already in the hotel. This was the first time I was in Vegas, and I've always wanted to go to a casino. Not to gamble, but just to look around. Feeling the vibe.

I walked out of my hotel room, wanting to ask the genius to come with me. As I just closed the door, Derek walked by.

'Hey pretty girl, wanna come with me to the casino?'

'Derek Morgan, you read my mind. I just wanted to go to there.' I teased, before I hooked up my arm into his. We saw each other as big brother and little sister, always teasing the other.

There wasn't a casino in this hotel, but luckily there was one a few miles away. When we arrived, my eyes went wide, and I couldn't hide the impressed look on my face. It was huge.

'So pretty girl, what are your plans here?'

'Just looking around. I'm really not gonna gamble, just wanna feel the vibe. What about you?'

'Feeling the vibe was my plan as well.'

We went towards a large table, some people were cheering, other were grumbling. It was pretty cool to watch them work, the poker faces they've got, and the confidence they had.

'I'm going to grab us some drinks.' I told Derek, as he nodded in confirmation, while I went to the bar.

I ordered us some drinks, and as I wanted to go back, Derek was no longer in sight. I placed the drinks on a table, trying not to panic, as I couldn't find the muscular man. I went to look for him, but the casino was huge, you could easily walk a while to reach the other side.

I looked everywhere, but no sign of Derek.

_________________________

Spencer's POV:

I was reading my book, as I heard a knock on the door. I went to open it, and got greet by a very worried Morgan.

'Reid, you gotta help me. I lost (Y/N).' I immediately got concerned as well, hearing the name of the love of my life.

'W-what? You lost (Y/N)? Where? How?' I spoke in a more high pitch voice than I wanted.

'We went to a casino. We wanted to feel the vibe and just look around. She went to get us some drinks, while I went to the restroom. When I got back, I couldn't find her anymore.' he explained, as I got angry for losing (Y/N).

'Did you call her?' I asked, as he nodded his head.

'Yes, but it goes straight to voicemail. I don't even think she took her phone with her.'

'Reid, that casino is huge.' Morgan added, putting emphasis on the word "huge".

'Let's go, she easily panics when she get lost or don't know what to do.' I said, knowing she once told me.

My worrying only grew, when I saw the huge casino. Not only my worrying grew, but also my anger.

'Morgan, how could you lose her?' my voice was louder, anger visibly in my expression.

'I'm sorry, Reid, but you're not the only one who is worried.'

'Let's just split up. Call me when you find her.'

We both went different ways, calling out her name and searching everywhere. After a while searching, I finally saw my beautiful girlfriend. She looked absolutely terrified, a single tear escaping her eye, as her gaze met mine.

I ran into her arms, hugging her tightly, while I gently rubbed her back in attempt to comfort her.

'Spence...' relief washed over the both of us, as I pulled her even closer.

'I was so scared, Spence. I left my phone in my hotel room, and I couldn't find Derek. I forgot the way to the hotel and it's dark outside, knowing our jobs, it's very dangerous, especially for women and-' I stopped her anxious rambling, by pressing my lips on her soft ones. It didn't took long for her to kiss me back, finally relaxing a bit more.

'Pretty boy is finally getting some.' we jumped away, looking at a very excited Morgan.

'So, how long?' he asked us, but my girlfriend was quicker in answering him.

'How could you lose me? Where were you?' she began lightly hitting his chest, expressing her feelings.

'I'm sorry! It wasn't my intention!' he took her hitting hands and wrapped her in a hug. I could see the relief as well on his face.

'Congratulations you two. You make a nice couple.'

'Thanks.'

'I'm going to get you back, Derek Morgan. Watch your back.' I needed to suppress the laughing, threatening to come to the surface. With that last sentence being said, she took my hand and dragged me out of the casino, leaving an astonished Morgan behind.

_________________________

#criminal minds #cm #spencer reid #fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid x fem!reader #fluff imagine #angst imagine

449 notes · View notes

prettyprettypaci2 · 5 months

Text

Therapy - Part 2

💕 Part 1 💕

"What do you like most about your diapers?"

You gawk at Miss Heather, the giant pacifier in your mouth still wiggling stupidly and ballooning your puffy cheeks. What do you LIKE about diapers? She had to be joking. If you had the money to move out of your step-mom's house, you would kick off your pretty heels, march out of this office, and leave your big, disgusting diaper in the nearest bin. Every crinkle reminds you of your step-sister Lauren smacking your padded bottom, sneering as she asks if you're being a "good girl." Your permanent perfume of stale pee summons visions of Olivia wrinkling her nose, faking coughs and gags as she peels off the plastic during changes. How could Miss Heather possibly think there was anything you LIKED about diapers?

Adding insult to injury, your "Binky Thinkies" timer sings out a sickly sweet lullabye a few seconds later, punctuating the mockery of the question. Finally, you're allowed to speak.

Your jaw aches a bit as you draw the massive rubber nipple out from between your pink lips. Your teeth feel strangely numb, as if forgetting momentarily how to exist in an empty mouth. Setting the pacifier down forcefully on the couch, you smack your lips and declare:

"NOTHING. I hate them."

Miss Heather cocks her head quizzically, as if you'd made some sort of unexpected observation.

"What do you hate?"

You roll your eyes, knowing where this is headed.

"Diapers."

"What diapers?" Miss Heather asks.

You frown, unwilling to give Miss Heather the satisfaction of an answer. You're not in the mood to be toyed with after all these insulting questions.

Miss Heather meets your frown with a soft smile, filled with obvious disappointment. "Do we need to watch the video?"

Your heart drops into your stomach. It's been a few weeks since she made you watch the video. You had almost forgotten she still had it in her arsenal.

Having clearly made up her mind, Miss Heather gives her smartphone a few taps. The sing-song of the timer disappears and a red buffering line appears along the bottom of the TV on the wall. You see a slide with a time and date, followed by Miss Heather's name and credentials, and then you see...you.

It's a "you" that you barely recognize. Sure, your hair is in pigtails and your purple t-shirt has a dumb pony on it, but in the video you're actually wearing sneakers. Sneakers and jeans! You can barely see the plastic of a crinkly white diaper poking out of them, but how you would die to be wearing jeans again! This was one of your earliest therapy sessions with Miss Heather. You remember telling her how powerless you felt being bullied by your step-sisters, and how all your choices at home had begun slipping away. She had told you to counteract this by taking ownership of your life and situation. By declaring your agency.

Oh, how you hate this video.

"I'm wearing MY diaper," the younger you declares, placing unnatural emphasis on the word "my." The video shows you staring past the camera, obviously taking a cue before unzipping your jeans and pointing to the white puffy cloud swaddled within.

"This is MY diaper. I'm wearing MY diaper. This diaper is MINE."

You feel utterly humiliated as the video goes on. You watch yourself prodding and gesturing, lowering your pants, turning around for the camera, all the while loudly proclaiming what the viewers are seeing:

"MY diaper. This is what MY diaper looks like. This is ME wearing MY diaper. I wear MY diapers to bed. I am loved and important when I wear MY diaper."

The video ends abruptly and you cast your eyes downward. How could you have been so stupid to make that? It certainly doesn't make you feel any more in charge of your life. As evidenced by the frilly gingham dress whose hem you now paw at with anxious fingers, your life has only gotten more out-of-control.

"So what is it you claimed to hate?" Miss Heather asks, turning away from the screen to give you her full attention.

Knowing full-well that she'll replay the video as many times as it takes, you sigh and capitulate: "I hate my diapers." You stare forlornly at the buckles on your patent leather shoes.

"You've said that a lot before," Miss Heather replies, pausing to glance at notes. "In July you told me your diapers were 'unbearably humiliating.' In August you talked about how 'disgusting' they were -- I think that's when your step-mom wanted you to start wearing during the day. And just last week you added the word 'nasty.' These are a lot of negative feelings."

You continue to avoid her gaze, concentrating on rolling the block of your right heel in a small circle on the floor. You could talk about how you hate these shoes, too.

"What feelings am I supposed to have?" You grumble.

"Well, we need to accept that the diapers aren't going away; not unless moving away from home becomes an option for you. So what do you get by torturing yourself with all this negativity? Let's come up with a list of three things you like about your diapers, you and me."

Your eyelashes flutter as you scowl up at Miss Heather, setting your heel back down firmly on the floor. "There is NOTHING I like about my diapers."

A minute of silence passes, and you try to think of a way you can change the topic. But then Miss Heather makes an observation: "That's not the most comfortable couch, you know."

You furrow your brow. "Huh?"

"The couch. My patients complain about it all the time. I've been meaning to replace it with something more modern, but you've never once told me it was uncomfortable."

You blink, realizing what she's getting at. "You think I don't mind the couch because of my diapers."

"Maybe," Miss Heather replies, nodding, as if intrigued by some exotic new theory. "Have you ever sat down in your diaper and thought, 'this seat is too hard'?"

You rack your brain for a counterpoint to prove how stupid this is, but you realize you can't ever remember sitting down in your diaper and feeling physically uncomfortable. Disgusted, embarrassed, ill-at-ease, but never worried about a sore butt.

"It's sort of like a pillow you carry around with you, isn't it?" She goes on.

You look away at the wall. "I guess it's... like...soft," you say quietly.

"Good!" Miss Heather taps her smartphone and pulls up a whiteboard app on the TV screen. She scrawls in immaculate cursive:

Soft

"What else?"

You stare at the start of your list on the TV. Three things?! This is impossible.

"Have you used your diaper yet today?" Miss Heather asks.

"No!" You snap back. You don't get to use the bathroom at the therapist's office due to your step-mom's rules, but you do always hold it until Miss Heather steps out of the room for a break.

"Why not? You could use it now and I would never know! I can't tell you the number of times I've been desperate for an hour-long session to end just so I could run to the toilet. It's distracting and very inconvenient for my job! But you never need to worry about that."

You start fidgeting with one of the pink ribbons in your hair. "Then YOU wear diapers," you say icily.

"I'm writing it down," she says with a playful tone, scrawling it on the whiteboard.

Convenient

"What about changes? You've talked about how much you hate being changed because your step-sisters make so much fun of you. What's something positive about it? It can be anything, even the smallest thing."

You feel like you're being sucked into another stupid trick, just like making the video. But your bored mind can't stop probing the question. You think about Lauren wrapping up your used diapers into a ball and floating them above your head -- the humiliation of the putrid smell you know you made. Your step-mom scrubs you down with a wet towel before Olivia sprinkles a blizzard of baby powder onto your tummy.

"Baby powder," you say, as if muttering it to yourself.

Miss Heather nods, gesturing you to go on.

"It's...I dunno, it smells kinda sweet. It's better than the other smells."

Miss Heather adds it to the board with a little unearned embellishment:

Smell So Sweet

"Now let's think about the things you don't like about diapers," Miss Heather says. "You say they're humiliating, disgusting, nasty. But these are all perceptions, and perceptions can be changed. It's the most marvelous thing about humans, how we can adapt to any situation. You don't HAVE to find diapers humiliating. You don't HAVE to find them disgusting or nasty. You have total control over it. But..."

She circles the list of three descriptions with her smartphone. "The things you LIKE about diapers. That they're soft, convenient, and smell sweet like baby powder...that never changes. Nothing will make your diapers not be soft or convenient. Nothing will make baby powder smell less sweet to you. The things you like about diapers are things you can't control."

She smiles triumphantly, clicking the TV off with her smartphone. "You're not in charge of your diapers. But no one -- not Lauren, not Olivia, not your step-mom -- can dictate how you feel about your diapers. That's where you're in charge."

You're left sitting on the couch as Miss Heather excuses herself for her morning break. Your mind is racing from all the embarrassment, and you feel like you're going to throw up. For just a moment, you lift the hem of your dress with a pink-lacquered thumb and glance at your bunny-soft diaper. You drop it quickly, not sure why you did that. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you picture the video version of yourself in pigtails and a t-shirt, pulling down your jeans and poking at the cotton companion taped to your loins.

MY diapers are soft.

MY diapers are convenient.

MY diapers smell so sweet.

💕 Part 3 💕

#ab dl diaper #ab dl lifestyle #ab dl mommy #diaper training #diaper sissy #diaper bulge #diaper pee #abdllittle

170 notes · View notes

fatehbaz · 6 months

Text

[D]ebt and indebtedness [...] produc[e] forms of spatial enclosure [imprisonment] that do not rely on the spectacular [singular moments of blatant literal physical violence] but are, rather, achieved through temporal openings and foreclosures. To be clear, this frame does not obscure the many forms of carceral enclosure [...]: the prison, the checkpoint, the security wall. Historically, enclosure is understood as the privatization of land. But Wang extends the concept of enclosure to encompass time. Wang demonstrates that [...] mobility is policed through [...] an apparatus of punishment that solicits time as the form of spatial enclosure. [...]

[D]ebilitating infrastructures turn able bodies into a range of disabled bodies. [...] [C]heckpoints [...]; administrative bureaucratic apparatuses that stall and foreclose travel, mobility for work, [...] the capacity to move and change residences - baroque processes to apply for permits to travel [...], absence of public services such as postal delivery [...]; and finally [...] denial of resolution, suspension in the space of the indefinite [...]. In fact, slow death itself is literalized as the slowing down of life [...]. [Land] itself becomes simultaneously bigger - because it takes so long to get anywhere - and smaller, as transit becomes arduous [...] where it is so difficult to travel between areas without permits and identifications. Movement is suffocated. Distance is stretched and manipulated to create an entire population with mobility impairments. And yet space is shrunken, as people are held in place, rarely able to move far. [...]

---

Time itself is held hostage.

This is the slow aspect of slow death: slow death can entail a really slow life, too, a life that demands constant calibration of different speeds and the relation of speed to space. [...]

The suspended state of the indefinite, of waiting and waiting (it) out, wreaks multigenerational psychological and physical havoc. [...]

Time thus is the meter of power; it is one form that physical enclosure takes on. The cordoning of time through space contributes to an overall “lack of jurisdiction over the function of one’s own senses” (Schuller 2018: 74) endemic to the operation of colonial rule [...]. [T]his process entails several modes of temporal differentiation: withholding futurity, making impossible anything but a slowed (down) life, and immobilizing the body [...]. Julie Peteet (2008) calls the extraction of nonlabor time “stealing time” [...]. [T]he extraction of time attempts to produce a depleted and therefore compliant population so beholden to the logistics of the everyday that forms of connectivity, communing, and collective resistance are thwarted. The extraction of time functions as the transfer of “vital energy” [...], an extraction that recapitulates a long colonial history of mining bodies for their potentiality. [...]

Checkpoints ensure one is never sure of reaching work on time.

Fear of not getting to work then adds to the labor of getting to work; the checkpoints affectively expand labor time [...].

Bodies in line at checkpoints [...] [experience] the fractalizing of the emotive, cognitive, physiological capacities of bodies [...]. It’s not just that bodies are too tired to resist but that the experience of the “constant state of uncertainty” becomes the condition of being. [...]

---

All text above by: Jasbir K. Puar. "Spatial Debilities: Slow Life and Carceral Capitalism in Palestine". South Atlantic Quarterly 120 (2) pp. 393-414. April 2021. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for criticism, teaching, commentary purposes.]

#abolition

202 notes · View notes

cock-holliday · 3 months

Text

I know the ICJ ruling sounds underwhelming, and there are aspects that are less than what we hoped, but we cannot downplay the significance of what happened.

The ICJ ruled that what Israel is doing is wrong. And that continuing to do it is signs of genocide. This will not stop Israel from doing it, but when they continue to do it, and others continue to fund them, then they all will be hit for it.

What is crucial now is not relying on the ICJ for action, but recognizing that failure to stop this IS what the ICJ will go after. So now is the time to ramp up the work, pressuring politicians, blocking weapons. Anyone who supports Israel’s crimes is now legally complicit.

Make them feel it.

It has already started:

Below is the order from the ICJ hearing

[Emphasis mine]

86. For these reasons,

THE COURT,

Indicates the following provisional measures: (1) By fifteen votes to two,

The State of Israel shall, in accordance with its obligations under the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide, in relation to Palestinians in Gaza, take all measures within its power to prevent the commission of all acts within the scope of Article II of this Convention, in particular:

(b) causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group;

(a) killing members of the group;

destruction in whole or in part; and

(d) imposing measures intended to prevent births within the group;

IN FAVOUR: PresidentDonoghue; Vice-President Gevorgian; JudgesTomka, Abraham, Bennouna, Yusuf, Xue, Bhandari, Robinson, Salam, Iwasawa, Nolte, Charlesworth, Brant; Judge ad hoc Moseneke;

AGAINST: Judge Sebutinde; Judge ad hoc Barak;

(2) By fifteen votes to two,

The State of Israel shall ensure with immediate effect that its military does not commit any acts described in point 1 above;

IN FAVOUR: PresidentDonoghue; Vice-President Gevorgian; JudgesTomka, Abraham, Bennouna, Yusuf, Xue, Bhandari, Robinson, Salam, Iwasawa, Nolte, Charlesworth, Brant; Judge ad hoc Moseneke;

AGAINST: Judge Sebutinde; Judge ad hoc Barak;

(3) By sixteen votes to one,

The State of Israel shall take all measures within its power to prevent and punish the direct and public incitement to commit genocide in relation to members of the Palestinian group in the Gaza Strip;

IN FAVOUR: PresidentDonoghue; Vice-President Gevorgian; JudgesTomka, Abraham, Bennouna, Yusuf, Xue, Bhandari, Robinson, Salam, Iwasawa, Nolte, Charlesworth, Brant; Judges ad hoc Barak, Moseneke;

AGAINST: Judge Sebutinde;

(4) By sixteen votes to one,

The State of Israel shall take immediate and effective measures to enable the provision of urgently needed basic services and humanitarian assistance to address the adverse conditions of life faced by Palestinians in the Gaza Strip;

IN FAVOUR: PresidentDonoghue; Vice-President Gevorgian; JudgesTomka, Abraham, Bennouna, Yusuf, Xue, Bhandari, Robinson, Salam, Iwasawa, Nolte, Charlesworth, Brant; Judges ad hoc Barak, Moseneke;

AGAINST: Judge Sebutinde;

(5) By fifteen votes to two,

The State of Israel shall take effective measures to prevent the destruction and ensure the preservation of evidence related to allegations of acts within the scope of Article II and Article III of the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide against members of the Palestinian group in the Gaza Strip;

IN FAVOUR: PresidentDonoghue; Vice-President Gevorgian; JudgesTomka, Abraham, Bennouna, Yusuf, Xue, Bhandari, Robinson, Salam, Iwasawa, Nolte, Charlesworth, Brant; Judge ad hoc Moseneke;

AGAINST: Judge Sebutinde; Judge ad hoc Barak;

(6) By fifteen votes to two,

The State of Israel shall submit a report to the Court on all measures taken to give effect to this Order within one month as from the date of this Order.

IN FAVOUR: PresidentDonoghue; Vice-President Gevorgian; JudgesTomka, Abraham, Bennouna, Yusuf, Xue, Bhandari, Robinson, Salam, Iwasawa, Nolte, Charlesworth, Brant; Judge ad hoc Moseneke;

AGAINST: Judge Sebutinde; Judge ad hoc Barak.

Source

#icj hearing #icj case #icj genocide case #icj #palestine

106 notes · View notes

lizard-on-a-window-pane · 15 days

Note

candlelight 🕯️

hii it’s me again! congratulations on 1k!! i’ve thinking about this recently (a lot) because im seriously in my miguel ohara kick🥰

but can you do shy & nerdy reader with popular miguel who are dating?? he adores making her flustered and how shy she is.

he makes her ask for his help because he knows how badly she needs him? because she’s just so stressed out about school and stuff? as always if you’re not comfortable writing totally ignore this! this is my first time requesting smut so i don’t know if it’s silly or not! but if you write it i know you’ll do good by it bc ur such an amazing writer😌

-🎀

hiiii, thank you so much!! and thank you for requesting! ahhh, i'm so thrilled you asked for miguel; i was dying to write him and probably will more, especially if people want; i hope you like it! i hope i got enough of the request in here

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x reader word count: 2.2k notes: modern au, established relationship, fluff, smut (i'm going to keep with marking where it gets smutty, though, bc it's like a full fluff fic before any smut, for those who only want the fluff; MDNI!) part of my 1k celebration!

so, i trickled in just a bit of spanish because i'm actually a native speaker so found the opportunity exciting; i don't want translations to be annoying in the middle of it or for you to have to scroll to the end, so thought putting them here was best: mi amor / amor mío: my love / literally something like love of mine but works more like emphasis cariño: term of endearment kind of like dear, literally affection mami: another term of endearment, more often cheeky or sexier descansa: rest dime: tell me que maravilla: a joke from the movie, literally what a marvel / wonder, kind of like how wonderful or even just amazing hope i didn't miss any others

The phone buzzing beside you startles you almost completely out of your chair. Coffee makes you jumpy. An entire pot in one night makes you… suspect what you’d be like on cocaine. You’d thought you’d put it on silent. No phone till at least one paper is done, you’d told yourself. Finals had you reeling, and you were desperate to make some progress. When you grab your phone, you see a text from Miguel:

You take your headphones off, and sure enough, a moment later hear a knock at the door. You open it to a Miguel in loose sweatpants and hoodie, dark hair messy, gym bag slung over one shoulder. Even these clothes could do nothing to hide the impressive broadness of his shoulders.

“Hey, baby,” he says through a bright smile. He kisses your cheek and steps into the apartment. “I know you were trying to focus, but I was getting worried.” “Sorry, I had my headphones on; the neighbors were being too loud again, and I really needed to focus.” “No, not the waiting at your door, mi amor. I’m talking about all of… this,” he gestures wildly around the apartment then his gaze lands on you. “Those dishes were there when I was here days ago, and even though I’m pretty sure adding anything to that tower would topple it, you haven’t. When’s the last time you ate?” “I ha—“ you begin to retort, but he cuts you off. “And I mean real food.” You start again but just give up and shrug. “And you.” He steps close to you and frames your face with his hands. You lean into his touch as he caresses your face. “Baby, you know I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, right?” You blush and look down immediately.

It used to be worse, before you got together. When you were confused about his even noticing you, and instead he’d flirted with you. Even now that he was your boyfriend, it took very little from him to fluster you.

He can’t help but chuckle at your reaction. He always does.

“Don’t you? My gorgeous,” he kisses one warm cheek, “gorgeous,” he kisses the other, “girl,” he gives your nose a concluding peck.

You nod shyly. “C’mon, cariño. Tell me,” he encourages, his tone still teasing but ever adoring. “I want to hear it." “I know you think I’m pretty,” you whisper. “Pretty? No, amor mío, I think flowers and bright colors are pretty; the ocean or a view of the mountains, too. But you, you are beauty personified.” “Miguel, stop,” you whisper through the smile you can’t help, hiding your face in his chest. He laughs lightly. His hand comes to your hair and scratches lovingly.

“I just wanted to make sure you knew that.” He gives your forehead a kiss. “Before I told you you look terrible, baby.” He starts laughing loudly and holds you closer into his hug when you smack his chest and try to pull away.

“That’s so mean!” gets muffled into his sweatshirt. “It’s not mean; it’s true. You’re still beautiful, but you need a break.” “I can’t, Miguel. I’m drowning in work still, and you know being sick last week really got me behind, and it feels like no matter how long I sit there, I’m no closer to finishing anything, and you’re right my apartment is falling apart, but every time I do something else I feel guilty for stalling on work, and, and —“

Before you can find another overwhelming thing to list, Miguel is hushing you and stroking your back in his warm embrace.

“Breathe, baby, breathe.” He sways you lightly then pulls back a bit to look into your eyes. His hands are caressing your face again, and his fingers brush lightly under your eyes, where you know there are dark circles, as he whispers, “You haven’t slept.” He sound sad rather than accusatory.

“Okay,” he starts softly. “Look, I know how much you have on your plate, and I’m not telling you you’re wrong to be stressed. I get it. But you can’t get it done like this, running on fumes and caffeine. How about this? I’m going to help you relax tonight, you’re going to forget about everything you have to do, you’re going to sleep well, and then tomorrow morning you’ll get back to it all.” “I’m fine, really. You don’t need to worry about me. And I’ll rest after finals.” Just then a car horn blares near your window, making you jump cartoonishly. “Yeah, you seem totally fine,” Miguel deadpans teasingly. “There’s nothing wrong with taking some time, Y/N… And accepting a little a help, okay?”

You nod lightly. “Great,” he gives you a quick peck and moves toward your kitchen, hunting around your barren fridge and cabinets. “Here’s the game plan then. You are going to put on your favorite playlist then go take a warm shower for as long as you like. Your kitchen is as empty as your stomach, so I am going to run down the street to pick up some empanadas then I’ll work on cleaning up this war zone a little bit when I get back.”

“You don’t have to clean.” “Stop fighting me,” he tsks. “Besides you know I don’t mind cleaning. I’m glad I’m not hearing complaints about the food at least,” he laughs. “I love empanadas,” you whisper defeatedly. He cackles. “Who doesn’t?” He kisses you as he moves past you toward the door. “Be back soon. No working! I expect you in the shower when I get back.” You quirk an eyebrow teasingly at him. You were still too shy to say anything teasing, but he’d been working you out of your shell during your time together. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t really like that aspect of being with Miguel.

His eyebrows mimic yours, and he chuckles lowly. “Don’t give me that look, mami, or you’re not getting me out the door, and you’ll miss out on the empanadas.”

You pull the neck of your shirt up to cover your face, making him laugh. You hear him bound back over to you from the door. He pulls your shirt back down, gives you a short but intense kiss, then heads out.

Miguel is back before you know it. You are in fact in the shower when you hear him return. You’re already rinsing, but you linger a little longer, enjoying the feeling of the warm water easing the stresses off your tense body.

When you leave your room to join him again, you’re immediately hit with the delicious smell of food. You see it resting on the counter and find Miguel washing your dishes.

You come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his firm torso, resting your head on his back. “Hola, cariño,” he coos. “I’m almost done.” You nod into him, humming.

When he finishes up, he turns in your arms, bringing his own large ones around you. He leans down and kisses you softly. “Hungry?”

You nod enthusiastically, and he chuckles.

You opt to eat on the sofa, getting comfy. Miguel does most of the talking. Between how tired and how hungry you are, you don’t have the energy or available mouth to talk much. He doesn’t seem to mind, happy to regale you with his silly stories.

When you finish, Miguel cleans up, holding you down and giving you a faux menacing look when you try to get up to help.

When he comes back, he settles much closer to you than he had been before. You relish his warmth, physical and emotional, and lean into him.

“Turn around,” he whispers.

“Hm?” “Like this.” He adjusts your body so you’re facing away from him and starts massaging your shoulders. You hadn’t realized just how tense you were until the amazing feeling of its being relieved somewhat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ NSFW beyond this point ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Miguel,” you exhale approvingly, earning a chuckle.

“I like it when you say my name like that.” He leans in and whispers into your ear, his breath tickling the back of your neck deliciously, “Reminds me of other times you end up whining my name.”

It’s shocking how quickly he works you up. You turn to look at him, and when you do, his expression shifts from teasing to intrigued.

“Oh?” he asks. He smirks. “I know that look.” He leans in and kisses your neck sloppily, and you whimper. You’re embarrassed at the sound, but he seems to like it. You feel him smile against the skin under your jaw. “I’m more than happy to give you what you want, but I need to know what that is to give it to you.” His voice is much lower but just as mischievous.

“Miguel,” you complain. “Dime, mi amor.”

“I —“ Any other words get caught in your throat. Your throat he’s busy sucking on.

“Please, baby. C’mon, I know you can. Tell me what you want.” He runs his teeth along your neck like he knows you like. You often joke he feels like he has fangs when he does. “I want you,” you tell him.

“Yeah?” “Mhm…”

“I’m yours, mami. How do you want me?”

“I want you to make me feel good.” “Oh, I’ll make you feel good. I’ll make you feel so, so good.” He punctuates his words with kisses, working his way up your neck, your jaw, your mouth. “Tell me how,” he whispers, and you feel his lips grazing yours with each word.

You want to relax, and you know exactly what relaxes you the most. “I want you to eat me out.”

His eyebrows jump in surprise. Such directness was unlike you. Your exhaustion was probably weakening your filter, and the way he was already making you feel certainly wasn’t helping it. You almost get shy about it, but when you see just how dark his eyes have gotten, see his Adam’s apple bob and his bottom lip come between his teeth, you keep yourself from shrinking away. He nods slowly, staring deeply into your eyes, then kisses you hard. “Get naked,” he says gruffly.

Already starting to do as he says, you weakly whisper, “You too?” He chuckles lightly but obliges quickly.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to seeing him like this. He’s so beautiful. His broad chest and toned abs; his caramel skin and dark hair.

You look back at his face and find he’s noticed you staring at his body. He’s so confident, you think he’s going to tease you about it. Instead, with an adoring smile, he tells you, “That’s how I feel when I see you, too.” You lean up and kiss him, pouring all the emotions you can’t articulate in words into it.

Without disconnecting your lips, his body guides yours back down until you’re completely prone. He keeps kissing you until you’re breathless, lovingly attends to your neck and down your chest. He lingers there, his tongue making you arch your back, pushing your body up into the sensations he’s delivering. He sucks harder at your visceral reaction then hotly finishes his path down, his face now aligned between your thighs.

He looks at you intently and whispers, “Que maravilla.”

He looks up at you, eyes black storms you lose yourself in as his mouth connects with your body.

From your delightful vantage point, you watch his muscular shoulders contort as he moves to pleasure you. He looks like he’s thoroughly enjoying it, and seeing him so into it gives you confidence. You start subtly moving your hips in rhythm with his motions. His hands tighten where they hold your thighs, and, mortified, you interpret this as his telling you to stay still, so you do.

Then Miguel shakes his head hard — the vibrations of which shoot shocking pleasure into you — and he pants, “Keep doing that. Show me how you want it.” His strong grip pushes and pulls you in a movement close to what you were just doing. You take over and move faster. He’s nodding now, and the shake of it has your thighs shaking on either side of his head.

You’re making loud whimpering sounds when you yell, “Mi — ahh — Migueeell.” He doubles his efforts, picking up his pace and pressing hard against you. You come on his face, and he looks feral as he eats you through it. When you’re done, he licks up your entire slit before shuffling his body back over yours. You’re chest to chest, and his hand comes up to stroke your head. “Good?”

Your cheeks warm, and you nod shyly. He giggles and gives you a peck. “You’re adorable, mi amor.”

Your legs feel delightfully like jelly as you move them, wrapping them around his waist. He hums approvingly and gives one thigh a tight squeeze, pulling it impossibly closer to his body. He begins stroking it as he kisses you lazily. Your hands entwine in his thick hair, stroke his strong back, hold him close.

When he shifts his weight slightly on top of you, you notice his hardness against your body.

“You want me to…” you whisper, thrusting your hips up into his in place of words.

“Uh-uh, maybe in a little bit, baby, but for right now, I just want you to relax.”

He continues kisses you languidly, enveloping you in his body heat, and as you close your eyes and melt into the sensations, you’re sure you’re going to have no trouble sleeping soundly tonight.

#miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara oneshot #miguel ohara imagine #miguel ohara fluff #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara fanfiction #across the spiderverse #1k celebration #ria1k

109 notes · View notes

peopleareaproblem · 2 months

Text

I keep seing this one misunderstanding in the tags so I wanna correct it:

The Rat Grinders did not go pass/fail in Sophomore Year.

Brennan specifically states that the time frame of Lucy's death is weirdly specifically in the exact time window where they wouldn't — after everyone already got graded but the school year isn't technically over yet.

Here's the relevant bits of the transcript of Episode 6: Party Politics (emphasis mine):

You see that there was a loose paper slip mentioning Lucy Frostblade as added to the in memoriam that was added after the books went to print. So literally, it narrows it down to this very specific window of time because they added her to the in memoriam.

And then later, in response to the Intrepid Heroes beginning to theorize that the Rat Grinders may have gone pass/fail:

As you're speaking, you remember that slip in the yearbook and you know that yearbooks come in time for graduation. But you suddenly remember that there's usually about a week or two weeks in between when your final exams are. [...] And there's no more things that affect your grade after that. Having done all that research beforehand, the majority of the pie chart of when Lucy could've "disappeared" that they wouldn't have been able to include it in the yearbook is actually in a period of time where there wouldn't have been grading. It would've been after finals.

He is refuting the notion that the Rat Grinders went pass/fail, and the Intrepid Heroes drop the subject after that.

They specifically didn't go pass/fail, in a way that is actually deeply suspicious.

#fhjy #fhjy spoilers #fantasy high junior year #fantasy high junior year spoilers #fantasy high #fantasy high spoilers #the rat grinders #lucy frostblade #dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers

85 notes · View notes

ktempestbradford · 11 months

Text

There is so much to talk about with this article. So much. In this post I want to focus on a specific part of it: the reactions of Lindelof and Cuse to what the writers and actors experienced. Here are several quotes [emphasis mine].

“What can I say? Other than it breaks my heart that that was Harold [Perrineau's] experience,” replied Lindelof, who said he did not recall “ever” saying that. “And I’ll just cede that the events that you’re describing happened 17 years ago, and I don’t know why anybody would make that up about me.”

Lindelof told me he didn’t remember any negative incident with an editor, adding that he seeks out input from collaborators and that he’s “never threatened anyone’s career.” Lindelof also said he had no recollection of anything Hsu Taylor said about events connected to “Ab Aeterno.” He said she was a “great writer who executed at a high level” and he’s “stricken” that she was made to feel the way she felt at that time.

Regarding the other allegations leveled at him and the show, Lindelof said he had no memory of the incidents and comments I related. He told me he was “shocked and appalled and surprised” by the incidents I described to him, and said more than once that he did not think anyone was making anything up. “I just can’t imagine that Carlton would’ve said something like that, or some of those attributions, some of those comments that you [shared]—I’m telling you, I swear, I have no recollection of those specific things. And that’s not me saying that they didn’t happen. I’m just saying that it’s literally baffling my brain—that they did happen and that I bore witness to them or that I said them. To think that they came out of my mouth or the mouths of people that I still consider friends is just not computing.”

I'm not going to quote Cuse's responses here because they all boil down to: "I don't remember doing/saying that" or "Nuh uh, that didn't happen!" which is... certainly a choice.

You're going to see a bunch of people siding with and empathizing with Lindelof and praising him for saying that what happened was wrong, etc., and I will push back every time I see it because of all those instances of him saying he doesn't recall and doesn't remember. I don't think he's lying. I do think it's indicative of an ongoing problem with him as a writer and showrunner and it needs to be called out.

I'm going to tell you a story that explains my point. Also putting it and my conclusions under a cut as this is long. Please do read.

Many years ago I became friends with a white woman writer in the SFF community who lived in NYC during some of the time I did. She knew many of the writers and editors in our community who also lived in NYC or nearby. At the time, the majority of these editors were white and most were men. She became particularly friendly with some of them.

A couple of years into our relationship we were at ReaderCon together. One day at the hotel bar I was sitting with this woman (we'll call her Karen for the purposes of this story) and two other BIPOC male authors who had both published multiple books at this point and were people that Karen felt were impressive and important. During the conversation someone (probably me?) brought up the online conversations/debates/fights currently happening about representation in the SFF genre and the way certain editors were part of the problem. I want to say this was even before RaceFail happened.

Karen revealed that she'd been talking to important people like Gordon van Gelder about the things I'd been saying online and how, well... the things I was saying were just crazy. Crazy things! I was acting so crazy.

I don't remember the exact phrasing, but I remember the repeated categorizing of me/my words as Crazy.

I also don't remember exactly what I said in response. I do remember how I felt in my body at that moment. I was suddenly flooded with, I think, adrenaline or something and I wanted to run away because otherwise I was going to start throwing things. I couldn't believe this person, who claimed to be my friend, was saying this to me.

I also remember that I felt trapped because I was in a booth and the two other writers were on either side of me so I couldn't just get up and leave. It turned out I didn't need to do that. Because immediately both of them were like: Hold up. Hold the EFF up.

They both pointed out to Karen that the things I brought up in those online discussions were real issues that did need addressing and that I wasn't crazy and the only reason she thought so was because I was a Black woman and when white people or even people perceived as being white said the same thigs I did, people in the community listened, so what the heck was even wrong with her.

I just sat there, pretty quiet, still trying to calm myself down while this all happened and also felt so very grateful for how these two guys (also friends) stood up for me without hesitating, without equivocating, without giving Karen an inch to continue to talk about me in such a way. I don't even know how that conversation ended or if I even talked to Karen again at the con. I did decide right then that I was going to pull back from our friendship because of it.

A year or so later I ended up having to have a conversation with Karen because of some nonsense she pulled at WisCon. In that conversation I mentioned the discussion we had at ReaderCon and how that truly affected my view of her, a person who was supposedly my friend and who constantly tried to say she was an ally to BIPOC. And that's when she said: What discussion?

At first I wasn't sure if she was feigning ignorance or not. The more we talked, the more I realized she wasn't. She didn't remember the incident. And in that talk I realized why: It didn't have that big of an impact on her.

Even with her being essentially told off by the other two, for her, having conversations where she casually parroted some white, male editor's racist and misogynistic view of me was of little note because she and the other people she spent a majority of time with were doing it all the time. It was just a Tuesday for her. And so after ReaderCon when she continually asked if I wanted to hang out or go on writing dates, she did so as if she had not said some absolutely egregious stuff to me weeks before. Again, to her: a Tuesday.

Having had more experience in life with certain kinds of racists, sexists, ableists, and bigots in general, I can say that this phenomenon was not specific to Karen. It is endemic with a certain kind of person who is devoted to the status quo/dominant paradigm.

So when Lindelof says that he doesn't remember doing and saying these things, he's probably not lying. Because for him, it was business as usual, a Tuesday. Normalized on a number of levels. He was a fish in water and the water was composed of racist, sexist a-holes doing whatever they wanted because no one above them put a stop to it. And that is a problem even 20ish years later.

That Lindelof had to be told he did these things and that he, in all this time, has not reflected on them, not realized on his own that what he did was terrible, apologized, and worked his butt off to not only ensure the shows he runs do not have this atmosphere but to also throw every bit of work that he can to those writers (not necessarily on his shows, but others) is proof that it continues to be a problem. And that he has a lot of work to do to atone for all these things he can't remember--starting by doing a real deep dive into why he can't.

Cuse can't be saved. I suggest we introduce him to a nice oubliette.

#I'll note that the author of the piece called him out on his passive language and I very much appreciate that #Her whole book looks to be amazing and a wake up call and I hope everyone reads it #LOST #Damon Lindelof #Carlton Cuse #Carlton Cuse For Oubliette President #I feel justified in all of my critiques of LOST

358 notes · View notes