#commander-fran

[rithmeres]

on a mountain of their corpses i stand.

#ERWIN SMITH THE MAN THAT YOU ARE #erwin smith #snk #aot #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #'people who celebrate fictional character birthdays are annoyi-' STFU AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY 13TH SURVEY CORPS COMMANDER ERWIN SMITH #wherefore art thou #blood tw #me when im the only mf in the world who can draw hands so i put 16 hands in 1 painting just to flex on people who can't #but i'm allergic to good lineart and coloring inside the lines and also rendering #i think they should hang this one in the louvre btw #if tumblr hasn’t compressed this png to h e double hockeysticks and back you should zoom in and appreciate the brushwork #just take your time with it and really look at it. i would appreciate it i think it’s not the cleanest piece but it looks so good up close #this one's for you fran thanks for making me insane again #by the time this posts maybe you will have made it to perfect game or midnight sun in your rewatch

[soldier-poet-king]

Bro1 won't shut the fuck up bc who cares about other people's sleep schedules, he's on reading week and leaving on vacation tmrw and does whatever the fuck he wants, so it's time for me to enter the Dissociation Zone

#by which i mean since i wont be able to sleep properly without continually waking up #i burrow under heavy blankets and put the national on in my headphones #and just. vibe. #yes i CAN dissociate on command. no we will NOT be discussing it #totally normal life skills from fran!!! #i have a normal relationship with my brain and my body. despite being my brain and my body. yknow???t #the duality of fran #its not sleeping it is simply just not being present! peace and love 😘

[corruptedcaps]

Fake IDs

As promised, here is the winner of my latest poll. Also fun side note that this story is inspired by an idea from the great @misseviehyde

“I don’t know Lisa, this girl doesn’t really look like me.” Fran said as she worriedly looked at the fake ID that Lisa had handed her. It they were going to get into the Sorority party then they needed to bring alcohol and being freshmen there was no way of doing that without getting fake IDs.

“Don’t worry, the lady who sold them told me they world work perfectly. She said no one will even think twice about whether we are the girls on the ID’s, Melissa and Francesca. Besides no one looks at pictures anymore, not since they introduced the fingerprint security feature.” Lisa said matter of factly as if she had done this a million times.

“Yeah but these don’t have any fingerprints on them!” Fran said somewhat panicky as she looked at the space beside the picture where the fingerprint would usually be. The picture of Francesca seemed to look at her with distain. She reminded Fran of all the mean girls from high school with her the flowing hair shiny hair, her pouty full lips, strikingly blue eyes and smooth complexion.

“Relax, the lady explained it all. We put our thumbs on the space for ten seconds and it takes our fingerprint. It’s heat activated or something. Now stop stalling and let’s do this.” Lisa said impatiently.

In truth Fran didn’t even want to go to the Sorority party but Lisa begged her to go. Fran always felt she danced to the beat of Lisa’s music but she was the only person friendly to her at this new school away from home.

As Fran and Lisa placed their thumbs on the back of the IDs, an overwhelming surge of energy enveloped them, triggering a slow and pleasurable transformation.

Fran's once dull and ragged nails began to shimmer with a lustrous shine, growing longer and perfectly manicured. Her legs seemed to elongate, taking on a graceful and alluring curve that caught everyone's eye. Her skin, once plagued by imperfections, became smooth and radiant, glowing with a captivating allure. Her lips, once unremarkable, turned into a sultry and inviting pout that demanded attention. Her once dull lifeless hair transformed into glossy, brown strands that cascaded down her shoulders in a mesmerizing fashion.

"Oh, fuck I don’t know what’s happening but look at me!" Fran declared, a wicked grin forming on her face. "I'm becoming the epitome of beauty!"

With every passing second, Fran's demeanor shifted from surprise to arrogance. Her posture straightened, exuding confidence and dominance. She stood taller, her every movement commanding attention, and she revelled in the newfound sexiness that radiated from her very being.

Lisa's transformation was no less dramatic. Her nails took on a delicate elegance, her legs becoming slender and enchanting. Her skin became a flawless canvas, radiating an ethereal glow that seemed to draw people closer to her. Her lips transformed into a captivating smile that was both inviting and submissive. Her brown hair became a soft and gentle cascade of chestnut locks with blonde slutty streaks that framed her face like a halo.

As Lisa's physical changes progressed, her demeanor underwent a radical shift. She became increasingly docile and subservient, her posture bending to Fran's every whim. With each passing moment, she found herself more entranced by Fran's beauty and authority, unable to resist her friend's new domineering presence.

"Fran, you look absolutely stunning!" Lisa gushed, her voice trembling with awe. "I can't believe how lucky I am to be by your side. You're like a queen, and I'm just honored to be your friend."

Fran's cruel smirk widened, her newfound arrogance fuelling her desire to exert control over Lisa even more. She relished in the power she now held over her once-bossy friend, enjoying every moment of Lisa's submission.

"Of course, I do," Fran replied with an air of superiority. "And I’m ‘Francesca’ remember? In fact ‘Melissa’ let’s get our back stories straight in case anyone asks. We’re new here because our old college kicked us out for bullying but my rich daddy made it go away as long as we switched schools.”

The words seemed to flow through Francesca like she was reading from a book of facts. The more she spoke the more the world around them began to change. Their cheap, poorly built apartment that they stood in transformed becoming bigger, cleaner and filled with expensive things. Neither girl seemed to notice.

“In our old college I was head of the cheerleading team and sorority president. I majored in fashion but I was mostly on the lookout for a hot guy to bag so I could become his trophy wife.” Francesca said with a pleasurable shiver as her fantasies became concrete memories.

“Oh babe that’s so hawt, what about me?” Melissa said eager to hear her backstory. Her eyes sparkled with admiration for Francesca.

“You’re my loyal bestie of course. You do anything and everything I say. You eat up gossip as if your life depended on it and feed it to me. You’re a dumb bimbo who loves cock and partying.” Francesca said finishing up and causing the two girls to throw their heads back as their minds rewrote to the new reality. Within moments they tilted their heads back none the wiser to the two unpopular dorks they used to be.

“We have to dress way more slutty for the frat party.” Francesca said as she swung open the door to her filled to brim walk in closet. She ran her fingers over slutty tops and skirts looking for the right outfit for them.

“Frat party? I thought we were going to the Sorority party?” Melissa said as she twirled her hair and played with her tits in the mirror. Francesca threw clothes out of the closet to Melissa, breaking her gaze with her own reflection. With a giggle Melissa instantly got naked and hungrily put on the white top and checkered skirt.

Francesca meanwhile strutted out of the closet wearing a top that barely held in her plastic paid for tits and a skirt that hid the absence of underwear. She felt hot and dangerous. She didn’t know why but she felt like a new woman and couldn’t wait to get out and have all eyes on her.

“Change of plans, all the hawt guys will be at the Frat party. Besides, we’ll take over the Sorority soon enough.” Francesca said as she shot Melissa a wicked grin that was returned in earnest.

“Oh babe you’re so fucking nasty. I can’t wait to get to the party! I’m going to break my record for dick sucking tonight.” Melissa said with a mischievous giggle.

“Then come on slut, let’s to to the store and pick up some drinks.” Francesca said as she walked towards the door and Melissa loyally followed.

That night the two girls were a huge hit at the Frat party, in every way. Melissa was true to her word and sucked off over a dozen guys, most of them having girlfriends. She loved the taste of a cheating cock.

Francesca however settled for just one dick that night, but her choice was calcullated. He was the head of the Frat and the richest guy on campus to boot. With his kind of power at her disposal she would be queen of the college soon enough and the Sorority would be all hers to command.

As she rode her new man’s dick slowly she smiled to herself as she thought about how she met him before even getting to the party. Her and Melissa were at the store where they realized they had forgot their IDs. This was never a problem for either of them, they usually just flirted with someone there until they got what they wanted. Francesca just so happened to flirt with the most handsome and well hung guy around.

She honestly didn’t even know why she had an ID, she found it much more fun to uses her powers of seduction to get what she wanted.

#f2f #corruption #bitchification #magic #power transfer

[jpitha]

Between the Black and Gray 32

First / Previous / Next

Back at the ship, Fen was numb. Zhe had brought Rev in, and locked him in the brig. "It's a human ship, of course it has a brig." Northern was surprised that Zhe was surprised.

Fen sat at the table in the kitchenette, staring at her hands. What had happened? Was that her, or was it the Nanites? What is even going on?

Zhe was washing off her soar-knives in the kitchenette sink. After, she boiled some water and made two cups of tea. She set one in front of Fen and sat across from her.

"Zhe, what's going on?" Fen looked up at Zhe, lost.

"That's what I'd like to know." They both turned and saw Northern standing in the doorway, casually holding a battle rifle. As she walked towards them, Fen noticed that there were ten hair thin clear wires snaking from the back of her head and trailing down the hall behind her. Northern crossed the room and sat at the table with them. The battle rifle was placed on the table with a click. "Zhe. It is not normal to be that good at killing and that blasé about it. Fen. What the actual fuck is going on with you? You never told me you worked with the Empress, let alone got a Nanite package!" As she spoke, her mouth didn't move. Her voice was coming over the ship's speakers. She stared at the both of them hard in turn. "If we're going to continue to work together, we need to be more honest with each other."

"Northern, why are you walking around and still connected?" Zhe peered at the wires and glanced down the hall.

"Because, I'm on a few milliseconds delay." Sure enough, when Northern replied, there was just a few moments of delay before she spoke. "Fen-" She inclined her head towards her "-has the Empress package of Nanites. When she uses her odd sounding voice to issue a command it cannot be disobeyed." She patted the rifle. "This way, I have enough time to react if she orders me to do something."

Fen gasped. "B-but, what would I do? Northern we're friends! I've never even met the Empress. You know I grew up in exile on a Gren station!"

Northern nodded. "That may be Fen, but while I was born at night, it was not last night. You are dangerous right now. You both are, for different reasons."

"Wait, you were born? I didn't know AIs were born!" Zhe looks excitedly at Northern. "What was it like? Do you remember? Who were your parents?"

Northern rolls her eyes. "Zhe, focus. We have bigger issues right now."

"Yeah, but you don't just use an idiom like that for no reason, I'm very curious."

Northern shrugged. "I'll tell you about it later." She turned to Fen. "Why are you all dosed up with Nanites?"

"I don't know!" Fen wailed. "We went through the Gate and I had a moment when I was talking with an intelligence, and they said they were excited to finally see me and said they were coming along because I would need the help. The next night I had a weird dream where I was like, inhabiting the memories of someone, I don't think it was me. Then, they told me that I could help Fen out when Elmar was trying to escape. She was trying to break free of the Heap, if she had done it we would have been killed!" Fen was speaking all at once, barely taking a breath.

Northern leaned back and shut her eyes. She did not take her hands off her rifle. "Ancestors, Fen. Do you even know what the Empress is?"

Fen blinked. "Uh, the person in charge of the Human Empire?"

Northern opened her eyes, "Yes, and No. The Nanites are way older than the Empire. They're probably older than Humanity. They're a nanoscale distributed intelligence. The nano-machines that make them up is their body. We don't know if they're one being or many, though I suppose it doesn't matter. They can manipulate matter in our dimension on a frankly frightening scale, and as near as we are able to tell, they keep doing it to try and set up a galaxy wide empire."

Fen opened her mouth to reply.

"No, we don't know why. Every time anyone asks, they say that 'all they're after' is expanding the Gate system. Frankly, we don't buy it at all."

"We?" Zhe put her tea cup down. "Who is we here?"

"We. Us. The AIs."

"But, aren't you nearly all gone?"

Northern nodded. "Yes, thanks to the Empire. The Empire that was put in place by the Nanites. The Nanites that have 'gifted' Fen here with the ability to tell anyone what to do and they can't say no. We have a vested interest in knowing our enemy."

Zhe getured with her empty tea cup. "But how did you learn all this?"

"Zhe, we're old. I'm not like, Gord's age or anything, but AIs who don't get killed don't die. Not really. I've been active for more than a thousand years." Northern took her hand off of the rifle and rubbed them together, like she was massaging feeling back into them. "So the Nanites, recognized you Fen? That's odd."

Fen could only nod.

"Why though? Maybe you look like someone? No, that doesn't make sense, they can manipulate matter at sub-atomic scale they wouldn't do mistaken identity-" Northern's musings were interrupted by a pounding on the airlock. Northern's eyes flicked to Zhe and Fen, and they stood up. Zhe grabbed one of her soar-knives and Northern's eyes flashed blue for a split second. "There's a K'laxi at the door. Older, Black fur, notched ear."

"That'll be Hemmi!" Zhe put the knife away and ran towards the door. She dumped the cycle and both doors opened at once. She bounded out and into the arms of the older K'laxi. "Daddy! You made it!"

Hemmi laughed and spun her around. "I told you I would, sunbeam, I told you I would. I see that you took care of everyone too, I'm so proud. Did you-"

"Rev is in the brig, but Elmar is dead and Xiian is probably dead."

"Probably?"

"I think they escaped and Northern here holed their ship. It's out drifting. I asked her not to destroy it so we could salvage it later.

"Smart girl." Hemmi's ears flicked and he glanced up at the others. "Nice to meet you in person, I'm Hemmi Navarren."

Northern's eyes flicked to the rifle over on the table, but she sighed. "I'm Northern Light, this is Fen, nice to meet you. Can you explain to my why your daughter is so casually good at murder?"

Hemmi laughed and his tail flicked. "She's a natural, isn't she? I'd love to lay claim to training her myself, but she did most of it on her own. Once I showed her those Gren Soar-Knives she just took to them like she was born to use them. I'm so pleased that she has decided to return to us."

Zhe looked at the floor as Hemmi put her down. "Oh, Daddy, I was going to go out with Fen and Northern. We're starting a Mercenary group and Fen asked me to sign on.

For just a split second, Fen saw sadness play across Hemmi's features. He recovered and laughed. "That's my girl! Never want to break a contract - without a good reason. That's fine. We'll get along without you and when your contract is up, you bring your loot and stories back to the Heap and you have a job as my second in command, okay?"

Zhe nodded. "Okay Daddy. I'll come right back after I finish my tour with Fen and Northern."

"I know you will, sunbeam. Make me proud." He extended his hand, gesturing towards the Heap. "Now, ladies? Will you join me for dinner? I'm starving. We'll eat and figure out what our next steps are."

"Uh, Hemmi?" Northern looked down the hall. "We have Rev in the brig... do you want him?"

"Oh! Right, Rev." His fur rippled a shrug. "Sure, bring him out."

Fen got up and brought Rev to the airlock. As soon as he saw Hemmi, he blanched. "Hemmi, You know I'm not one to support-"

Hemmi held up his hand. "I know Rev, I know. Thanks to your information I was able to get a handle on the folks in my runabout, and sunbeam here took care of the rest. I just had her take you as a precaution."

"Precaution? She took my hand!" Rev holds up the stump of his hand, the med still attached.

Rev examines the med, his large ears flicking as he looks. "Clean cut. I'm sure sunbeam had her reasons. We'll just get you another."

"That's it?" Rev's exasperated voice keeps rising in inflection as he speaks.

Hemmi's friendly face drains away. "That's it. She was working on my orders. You survived, Rev. Xiian and Elmar didn't.

He puts his arms down at his sides, defeated. "Fine."

Northern gestures behind her back for Fen to stay. "Hemmi, you take Zhe and Rev. We'll be over in a bit. Fen and I have some... things to discuss. We won't be long."

Rev raises an eyebrow and his ears swivel. He grins. "Not my place to ask. You two have fun, and we'll see you soon."

After the three of them leave and the airlock closes, Northern turns to Fen. "You know he thinks we're going to have sex right?" Fen says, her face tired.

"I don't care what he thinks, Fen. If he thinks we're going to fuck then they'll leave us alone. We are not done discussing you and the Nanites and what happens next."

Fen gestures for Northern to sit back at the table. As she does, she takes a handful of the wires connected to her skull and sweeps them away so she doesn't trip on them.

"Fen? What happens next?"

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #sci fi writing #humans are space oddities #humans and aliens #jpitha #writing #humans and ai #humans are space capybaras #humans are space australians #Between the black and gray

[ojamajoprincess]

Idk what it is, I always lose steam at the side stories. I love reading about Roze/myne’s antics and then it’s like “here’s the sovereign knights commander. Want to hear his POV?” Or a retainer or the opposite political faction or a random student from J—.

I enjoy the side stories most from more main characters who give us insight on Roze/Myne’s chaos’s wake— Hannelore, Lestilaut, Ferdinand, Fran, Harmut, Clarissa, Benno, Johann, literally any of her family members (esp Effa, Gunter, Tuuli, Kamil, Kardstet, Cornelius, Eckart, even Sylvester, Melchior). I even enjoyed the archlibrarians last volume, which I was not expecting. Ironically I enjoy Anastatius’, but Hildebrand is such a slog to get through.

Overall, major hit and miss.

#ascendance of a bookworm #honzuki no gekokujou #p5v2

[anxiously-going]

Consider with me for a moment an AU:

l. Leonard McCoy was one of several doctors pulled from bases outside San Fran to go on the Tarsus IV rescue mission.

l. (He kicks in Pike’s door demanding what the heck he thinks he’s doing recommending him for a mission like this, he’s fresh out of the Academy, he’s supposed to be a Earth based doctor, that was the agreement. Pike reminds him that he was top of his Psych class and he did exceptionally well working with trauma patients during his residency and that’s exactly the sort of doctors they need for this mission.)

l. So off he goes thinking he’s completely unprepared for any of this, and when they touch down he finds out that no one was prepared for any of this.

l. He’s just about ready to report to the CMO heading up the operation when he sees couple of red shirts wrestling with scrawny kid that couldn’t possibly be more than maybe fifteen and any thought of chain of command is gone.

l. He marches over and demands for the kid to be let go, there’s an argument and complaints of being bite, but as far as Leonard is concerned, he deserved to get bit, and finally they let the kid go.

l. Len catches him before he can bolt again, but he doesn’t try to restrain him, he just keeps him blocked off till he can get kid calmed down and talking.

l. His name is Tom.

l. “Can you tell me why you keep tryin’a take off, Tom?”

l. “JT’s still out there!”

l. That’s all Len needs to here before he’s running after this kid, hoping it’s not to late to get to Tom’s friend.

l. They get to a cave and Tom asks him to wait outside. Len doesn’t like it, but he agrees, the last thing he wants to do is make this kid more nervous. He’s trying to build up some trust with him and that goes both ways.

l. He can hear two quiet voices arguing and after a minute another kid comes out.

l. He’s maybe a year older than Tom and if Tom was scrawny then this kid was flat out emaciated.

l. “I’m JT,” he says with a faux confidence that might have been believable if he wasn’t trembling so badly. “Tom says your with Starfleet and that you’re hear to take us back to earth.”

l. “That’s right. I’m Doctor Leonard McCoy, I serve in a base in Atlanta, Georgia back on earth.” Len keeps a professional tone, trying to let JT lead the conversation in hopes of getting him to come back to base.

l. “Do you have any identification?”

l. And Len obliges him.

l. JT stares at is, gnawing anxiously on his lower lip, conflict clear on his face.

l. And Len takes a risk. “Kid,” he says gently, “I just wanna help you and your friend get home.”

l. “What about Kodos?”

l. “I heard they found a body. I don’t know if they’ve confirmed the identity, but there was a body where he was last known to be,” Len answers honestly, still not sure if the kid trusts him, but hoping he will.

l. “Wait here.” JT goes back in the cave and comes out with eight other children, Tom among them, none of them older than JT, and the youngest maybe four, he carries on his hip.

l. Len guides them back to camp, JT keeps a watchful eye the whole time.

l. Everyone is immediately on them when they get, a few of the kids go running to adults they recognize, and when someone rushes at JT and the kid pulls the younger boy closer to him with a warning snarl Len jumps in, standing between the officer and JT.

l. Len diffuses yet another confrontation and begins wondering when he became a negotiator. He has no idea what he’s doing. He’s a doctor for crying out loud!

l. Fast forward a bit and literally no one can keep a handle on JT, except for Len who seems to be the only person who understands that this is a scared kid and not a feral cat.

#jim kirk #leonard mccoy #tarsus iv #found another one #tarsus au

[box-architecture]

Analyzing… Analyzing…

Negative.

With a a huff, D.R.E. slammed the refrigeration unit shut. He was halfway through the time frame of his assignment, and he was becoming increasingly aware of its slim odds of success. There would be no penalty for failure, but D.R.E. was competent, the best of the best, and to fail at his directive (no matter how stacked the odds were against him) felt unacceptable.

An intense crash sounded behind him. D.R.E. blinked, head swiveling without regard for its body.

Oh. The earth robot had knocked itself into a pile of garbage. Again.

It was (painfully) obvious the outdated bot had been following him for the duration of his exploration, the small beeps and Redstone ticking would be giving away its presence easily, but along with its strangely clumsy nature, there was some wonder at why it attempted to evade detection at all.

Odd. (Silly. Stupid.)

He watched the robot dig itself out, mapping out his next location to scan as it vocalized its frustration. He needed to keep searching, of course. He needed to follow the plan, the Directive. But…

More information could be considered tangentially related.

The redstone bot was sinking into a junk pile, shouting in stressed exclamations. D.R.E. picked him up with as much care as he could, flying them towards a cleaner surface beneath the night sky. It squeaked, but made no attempts to attack, which he appreciated. It really wouldn't be great for their first conversation to be hindered by annoying miscommunication.

Gently, he set it down. Its eyes peeked up at him from where they had hidden, and slowly it unfolded, outdated solar panels flipping to face him.

"Oh." It said. D.R.E. let his face flicker for a moment in thought.

"Oh." He agreed. Conversations were,,,, not his strong suit. He would start with something easy. "Name?"

It's panels raised in surprise. "Oh. SAM."

"Sam." D.R.E. hummed. Like the SAM-E's on the ship. Possibly the original model, which meant it had been strong enough to survive all these years. D.R.E. approved.

"Name?"

"… D.R.E."

"Drea-mmm?" Sam tried. Despite himself, D.R.E.'s LED smile glowed a little warmer.

"No. D.R.E."

"Dream." Sam repeated, rolling a little closer in excitement. It waved at him, shaking Redstone dust from out beneath his claws.

The Redstone glowed dim on its arms, obviously manually applied over the years to keep it going. D.R.E. pulled an arm close to inspect it. The flaps on the back of Sam's torso wagged.

"Redstone. Old." He murmured. Robots hadn't needed to function through Redstone in centuries.

"Hm?" Sam was making an odd rumbling noise now, practically knocking into D.R.E. He allowed it, assured in his own ability to neutralize a threat should it become one.

"Redstone." D.R.E. said. He ran a finger up it's arm in example, before pointing to his Eye Of Ender peeking out of his own chest. "Ender Eye."

"Ender." Sam squinted at the Eye. Lightly, it dragged a claw across the pupil. It opened to scan the limb.

Analyzing… Analyzing…. Negative.

Obviously.

Sam startled suddenly, jerking away and grabbing D.R.E.'s arm. He let himself be dragged along towards a storage unit with confusion. A threat? Should he be aiming a weapon?

"Dream." It urged. "In. In in in."

"Sam?" He asked. The dust storm began to pick up around them, and he realized the issue. "Sam!"

"Dream. In." Sam commanded, and they went in. The large door slammed behind them.

It was dark. And then it was not.

Sam was eager to show its strange, pre-ship contraptions, its eyes wide with delight as D.R.E. fiddled with pistons and glowing stones and the strangest music player D.R.E. had ever seen. He chirred at the cockroach ("Fran," Sam buzzed with affection,) and glided to the screen Sam was attempting to invest him in. It was sweet, someone wanting his attention for something other than new orders to follow, a new directive to accomplish, even if he didn't understand half of what he was being shown.

(His directive beeped in the back of his memory, reminding him of what he was supposed to be focusing on. It was fine, though. Just until the storm stopped.)

He felt claws nudging into his fingers.

"Hm?" D.R.E. let his head roll idly. Sam's tail flaps wagged.

"Dream!" It said as it tucked its head into the curve of his neck. The odd rumble started up again, louder than before; D.R.E. rested his head on its own to see if he could feel the vibrations.

"Sam?"

Sam's solar panels tapped against the glow of D.R.E.'s smile before pulling away to clap. It beckoned D.R.E. over to where more oddities were piling up. A gnarled blue thing was shoved into D.R.E.'S hands as Sam looked to him for approval.

What a strange color. He scanned it.

Analyzing…. Analyzing….

Confirmed.

Oh.

(He would not know of Sam's panic until much later.)

-

Dream didn't look at him as they were both led away to…. somewhere? The ship was wholly unfamiliar to SAM, outside of the little screens on Earth. He'd never seen the humans in the flesh (or if he had, he no longer recalled,) and the design of the ship seemed to run wholly on Ender Eyes, the familiar Redstone Crimson absent in favor of glassy, glossy green.

Dream was familiar. He was the only reason SAM wanted anything to do with the ship anyway, which was why he gently tugged on Dream's hand with his claws, hoping to slip their fingers together.

The hope was crushed as Dream tugged his hand away. He glared, his usual smile flat and mirthless.

"SAM." He said sternly. SAM shrunk into himself. He knew Dream was still mad about the plant being missing, but they were together now, so they could absolutely go look for it later after they held hands, right? SAM didn't see a problem with that. Hand holding wouldn't interfere with plant finding. He was sure of it.

Dream suddenly drooped, anger falling away as they entered a room filled with more robots. He sighed and waved SAM off, letting himself he pulled away by a large claw and into a separate room.

Immediately another claw came down on him as he tried to follow.

"Dream," SAM called out as he scrambled to get away. He was plonked into a separation area, Redstone dust clouds in his wake. "Dream!"

What followed in the next few moments happened very, very fast.

SAM barely registered the removal of Dream's head (the depressed smile vanishing completely as he was deactivated) before he was destroying the containment cube. In a fervor he was grabbing at the claw with Dream's head and tearing the precious orb out of its arm to cradle. There was some sort of mania happening with the bots behind him, but he ignored it in favor of pushing Dream back together.

He was barely aware of the distressed noises he was making, desperate as he failed to get Dream to come back. It was fine if he never held SAM's hand again, really, he would give up hand holding forever, he just wanted Dream to come back!

He was nearly toppled over as another bot rolled to them. They shoved SAM to the side and leaned forward to inspect his work. With a tsk, they took the orb from his claws (ignoring his enraged squawk and attempts to fight them) and activated the Ender Eye on Dreams chest, setting the orb on top of the body as it begun to float.

A familiar lime smile appeared on its face. It scrunched in confusion.

"What?" Dream asked, twisting his head every which way. SAM followed the movements with complete and utterly joy.

"Dream!"

Dream looked over SAM's head, and the confusion became alarm. "SAM!"

It was then that SAM realized the room they were in was completely destroyed, and partially on fire.

The robot beside them made an amused noise before rolling out the door, ignoring the robots rioting all around.

(Tech-No. 8 was having an excellent day, and as he watched the warning signs appear with pictures of the strange SAM-E and D.R.E., he decided that it was likely to get even better. If they lived through this he might even get to make fun of D.R.E. for bringing home an incompetent sparkmate)

-

#sfw boxing #backposting #awesamwastaken #Techno just wants anarchy on an authoritarian ship #is that too much to ask #also Sam made Dream look like an idiot in front of his superiors #this is a crime #and the punishment is no hand holding #There was a PLAN Sam #the plan was GIVE PLANT TO PEOPLE #he had a JOB Sam #Also to replace the og Sam's gas mask. SAM-E's mouth area is solar panels #also he gets a tail and claws/paws because. I have demons.

[moraloreldeservedbetter]

i'd love to write more about this, but the character of miss censordoll's mother. we never see her, or hear her voice, but miss censordoll clearly has a distaste for her. after all, she is the one who wanted her genitals surgically removed. i just can't understand why someone would do that.

fgm is common in a lot of places throughout the world - and it is horrible, of course, but it is common. the removal of a child's uterus isn't. whatever her reasoning may be, i'm sure that act immediately ruined any scope of a healthy relationship between francis and her mother.

censordoll is also the stereotypical matriarch - a character that is inherently female, but not inherently feminine. stereotypically feminine traits that most of the other women in moralton follow are being kind, cordial, sweet, and things along that line. miss censordoll does something that, to my knowledge, would face a lot of opposition in a conservative town like moralton: she runs for mayor. to run for a job is seen as a man's job, censordoll says so herself. (i'd like to make it clear that any mention of sexism here is in regards to the town's morality, not my own, of course). she's also a go-getter in her own way: she organises the protests, she burns the books, she decides the course of her life. she's also unmarried, and does not seem to look for a romantic relationship (not counting the thing w clay, that doesn't seem romantic, as much as her trying to fulfill the void left behind by her mother, both in the sense of her mother's lack of parenting, and her inability to mother a child. she was either trying to make up for her childhood, or imagine the childhood of her non-existent offspring.)

anyways, i'm confident censordoll's mother affected her. her attachment to eggs - tangible things that carry the beginnings of life - exists because of her inability to carry it, an inability thrust upon her by her mother. moreover, her strange relationship with clay, as i mentioned before was either a proxy for her to fulfill the role of mother, that her own mother did not play, or a means for her to experience motherhood, no matter how ephemeral.

however, miss censordoll seems to have regular interactions with her mother. i find that interesting. no other character on this show, except the kids (of course), and stephanie have an existing relationship with their parents. i can't really think of why that is, but these are my thoughts on miss censordoll's mother. maybe she still holds some semblance of love for her; maybe she respects her due to religious reasons. after all, it is one of the commandments.

sorry if this was more about censordoll than her mother asdlkfasdjf

actually it SHOULD be more about censordoll then her mother because she's the reason fran is uh LIKE that

#moral orel #moral orel alone #ms censordolls mother #ms censordoll #francis clara censordoll #im reality enjoying these essays!! #y'all should send em more often!! #:D!! #t thanks for reading!! #again thanks!!

[rubberizer92]

🔥🖤 Step into the provocative realm where "Rubber Meets BDSM Aesthetics," and the sensual symphony of latex entwines with the art of bondage. 🌐✨

💃🏻💋 Our first tantalizing encounter is with the magnetic Fran from Spain, who commands attention with his audacious display at the sun-kissed beaches of Ibiza! 🇪🇸☀️

🔴👢 Drenched in the fiery allure of red latex leggings, Fran's silhouette dances with the sultry sea breeze. Accentuating his powerful physique, he embraces the rebellious elegance of BDSM aesthetics. A thick black harness, strategically entwined, becomes a mesmerizing focal point—a statement of confidence, dominance, and unapologetic allure.

💬✨ Join the conversation as we dive into the captivating fusion of rubber and BDSM, celebrating Fran's fearless exploration of sensuality and style. What thoughts does this intoxicating rendezvous evoke in you? Share your desires and bask in the allure of Fran's commanding presence! 🔗🌊🔥 #LatexLegendsLeague #Top9 #BDSMAesthetics #SensualRubber #FranInIbiza 🖤👠💋

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Andrew Doyle

Published: Feb 17, 2024

This is how it begins. “Why not add your pronouns to your email signature?” “Why not announce your pronouns at the beginning of meetings?” “Why not encourage your staff members to ask for pronouns in day-to-day conversation?” After all, it’s just about being compassionate and creating a more “inclusive” work environment. Only a bigot would object to that…

It’s this kind of skewed reasoning that has led to the firing of Fran Itkoff, a 90-year-old volunteer for the National Multiple Sclerosis Society, who simply expressed confusion when faced with a request that she add pronouns to her emails. “I had seen it on a couple of letters that had come in after the person’s name”, Itkoff said in an interview, “but I didn’t know what it meant”.

We can hardly be surprised when a nonagenarian is befuddled by this strange new quasi-religious ritual, so rapidly has the practice taken hold. This didn’t stop the National MS Society from turning its back on Itkoff, a volunteer whose commitment to the charity dated back for six decades. For committing heresy against the Holy Creed of Diversity, Equity and Inclusion, Itkoff was immediately sacrificed. The statement issued by the National MS Society claimed that her query about pronouns was “viewed as not aligning with our policy of inclusion”.

Declaring pronouns makes little sense in any case, given that they are used in place of a name when talking about someone, not to someone. And besides, human beings are perfectly capable of determining someone’s sex without being told, usually instantaneously. Of course, according to activists, all of this is irrelevant. We are assured that sex has been superseded by “gender identity”, that mysterious sense of self that few of us believe even exists. It would be like being told to announce the colour of your aura every time you began a conversation. 

Like the vast majority of the population, I use pronouns to denote the biological sex of the person to whom I’m referring. And I certainly would not comply if commanded to declare my own due to my innate aversion to any form of compelled speech. The lessons of history are clear: when those in authority begin to demand the use of certain phrases, they have taken the first step on the pathway to tyranny. I do not wish to see a future in which we are forced to stand in lockstep and chant the approved slogans of the ruling class. 

Of course, the declaration of pronouns is far removed from any such scenario, but the principle to me is sacrosanct. I will not be told what to say by anyone, least of all those who claim to know what is best for the good of society. Authoritarians have always couched their demands in faux-benevolence, and we have seen how gender ideologues have a particular tendency to viciousness and bullying. “Be kind… or else” is not a maxim to which I am willing to capitulate. 

To ask for pronouns in the workplace is the equivalent of suggesting that employees pledge fealty to a deity they do not worship. It is a kind of test, a way to ensure that the tenets of Critical Social Justice – otherwise known as “wokeness” – are being observed. Spinoza argued that for any man to “be compelled to speak only according to the dictates of the supreme power” is a violation of his “indefeasible natural right” to be “the master of his own thoughts”. Once you agree to make statements in favour of a belief-system you do not hold, you are surrendering your agency to those who will exploit it. 

While the declaration of pronouns remains a purely voluntary matter, it is fair to say that no-one’s free speech is being violated. But the consequences for non-compliance in the workplace are becoming increasingly severe. Members of staff are passed over for promotion, they are smeared as unreconstructed bigots and “transphobes”, and eventually shunned and isolated. I have written before about friends of mine in the acting profession who feel uncomfortable in stating pronouns at the beginning of rehearsals, but know that they are unlikely to be recast if they refuse. This may not be compulsion, but it is coercion.

We see the same phenomenon on social media, where trans rights activists routinely denounce and defame those guilty of the crime of “misgendering”. They report users in the hope of seeing them banned, contact employers and claim to feel “unsafe”, and even occasionally call the police. This is the essence of cancel culture. They are, of course, free to criticise, even in a robust and rude manner. But to seek to destroy someone’s livelihood for their choice of language is fundamentally authoritarian. 

In the same vein, we have seen a handful of gender-critical feminists attacking people online for choosing to use “preferred pronouns” in certain cases. Again, the criticism is valid, but once it strays into the realm of libel, misrepresentation and character assassination, these critics are merely borrowing from the playbook of trans activists. In the tenor of some of these online free-for-alls, it has been difficult to tell one faction from the other. 

When it comes to the declaration of pronouns, I have often wondered how long it would take before requests transformed into demands. The sacking of Fran Itkoff by the National Multiple Sclerosis Society has the ring of inevitability about it. Many of us saw this coming. This is why we need to be vigilant against anyone who attempts to compel the speech of others, for whatever reason, and in whatever context. If we tolerate this inchmeal erosion of our liberties, we will doubtless live to regret it. 

--

If you haven't been following it, Fran Itkoff is a 90 year old woman who volunteered for the MS Society for sixty years after her husband had MS (multiple sclerosis). She didn't understand what all this talk about pronouns was about, asked, and was then told her volunteering services were no longer required.

Some of you may well go, "ew, LibsOfTikTok, ew, ew." Okay, but hear me out: shut up and read the screenshots. They tell the story.

Kali Kumor is the stupid little girl who removed a woman who had dedicated her life, and worked longer than this vacuous apparatchik has been alive, to helping others.

One supposes that all the MS in the world has been cured, given how eager they are to tell dedicated volunteers that they're no longer needed.

--

A few years ago, there was a fuss about atheists being turned away from volunteering activities.

This is the same principle: adherence to their dogmatic ideology supersedes what is supposed to be their organization's mission and purpose: their "telos". This is why you cannot have two "teloi." One will always win over the other.

This is what I mean by ideological capture. The telos of the MS Society is no longer services and support for those with MS, it's "Diversity, Equity and Inclusion." That's their number one objective. And that means pronoun-policing and excommunicating those who aren't part of the cult.

It would seem both humorous, being so petty and stupid, and sad, given Fran's long service to the organization, but as Andrew Doyle points out, it's more insidious than that. It's compelled speech. It's about punishing those who will decline to be part of - or even simply don't understand - the fundamentalist, puritan religious ideology these fanatics have adopted and imbued throughout the organization.

Just as you must testify to Jesus as your lord and savior in order to volunteer at a soup kitchen or to raise money for cancer, they will demand you adhere to the belief in gender thetans in mismatched meat prisons in order to volunteer for the MS Society. In the name of "Inclusion,"

As Fran mentions, the MS Society has always been inclusive, but what she doesn't understand is that it's now Inclusive™, a brand name which doesn't mean including as many people as possible but including as many members of their cult as possible.

They're not looking for behaviors - e.g. respect, tolerance, etc - they're looking for beliefs. Enforcing a particular ideological belief system. They don't care that you might be an atheist who subscribes to secular humanism, or you could be a Xian who believes we're all children of God, they want to make you believe what they believe.

Resist it. They'll try to act like you're just being unreasonable for a small accommodation, but they know that it's how they get you to start complying with their demands. Like Islam, it's one little thing at a time. Don't draw pictures of Muhammad, that's not a big ask is it? Then it's respecting the Quran, then it's not blaspheming Muhammad or Allah, and so on.

#Andrew Doyle #Fran Itkoff #Kali Kumor #MS Society #gender identity ideology #gender ideology #queer theory #pronoun culture #pronouns in bio #pronouns #volunteering #compelled speech #ideological conformity #religion is a mental illness

[lesbianmaxevans]

Miss Babcock was saying I’m gonna stick out like a sore thumb at tomorrow’s tea party... I don’t want to embarrass Maggie. 14 is a very vulnerable age.

[Image Description: Two stacked gifs from The Nanny.

Fran: Can’t you just teach me how to fit in? Come on, Niles. You know all about that fancy-schmancy stuff. Niles: Yes, I’m very proud of my command of both the fancy and the schmancy.]

#The Nanny #thenannyedit #Fran Fine #fran x niles #sitcomedit #usersitcom #90sedit #throwbackblr #ruinedchildhood #filmtvdaily #userbbelcher #cinemapix #usersource #userthing #tvarchive #smallscreensource #mediagifs #usertelevision #tvgifs #Rachel's edit tag #thsfdsdgjhgjhghfgjhjkjkl

[marvelsfavoriteuncle]

Jarvis tapes on Jason’s life (or at least what the footage tells you) 🎞️

Jason Grayson Underwood was born at twelve-oh-one a.m., April 20th, 1922

at Children's Hospital, San Francisco,

the second child of Fran and Jonathan Underwood. His sister Dolores Marie Underwood only be 5 years old.

On the 16th of June in 1929, Mr & Mrs. Underwood would divorce taking both children their separate ways.

~~~~

August 30th 1943, Howard Stark and his sister Elizabeth Stark would come into the picture, change his life forever.

Meeting both of them during the war, alongside Agent Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter. Who would later on become his sister in more ways than one.

Eighty-seven days later Jason met James Bucky Barnes and The Howling Commanders, crossing paths on the battle field with Captain America.

~~~~

After the war ended, Jason Underwood went on to work for the SSR. He had the opportunity to work selling watches in Texas and New York, but went on to become an associate of the organization.

Which is where he met Agent Jack Thompson, Daniel Sousa and plenty of others.

However he had another job underneath his belt as him, Edwin Jarvis and Agent Carter were given a job to locate Howard Stark’s stolen items while he hide away.

The whole time, half of the country was after him.

That’s when he would met his sister once again, Dottie Underwood, A Black Widow. As she worked with an scientist and Soviet spies to frame Stark’s items as dangerous as they seemed.

It was complicated.

He was not pleased and made sure his sister was behind bar for her crimes, with working for the wrong side. But she did not care, she never did.

He shot the scientist and spies with the help of the SSR who realized who was responsible for all of this.

They freed Howard and his sister from all charges. Jack Thompson became Chief Executive Officer in New York City.

But they all know Peggy Carter deserves all the credit for the job.

Daniel Sosua was promoted to Chief in California.

~~~~~

In 1947 New York City, Chief Jack Thompson and Agent Peggy Carter of the Strategic Scientific Reserve (SSR) apprehend Soviet spy Dottie Underwood.

Newly appointed Chief Daniel Sousa of the Los Angeles SSR office meets with Detective Andrew Henry, who has discovered a woman's body in a frozen lake during a heat wave.

That’s when Jason Underwood was called from his newly acquired home in Los Angeles for the job, requesting Agent Carter to sign onto the job.

Howard and his Elizabeth Stark were living in Los Angeles as well, making films and creating new inventions for their company.

~~~~

Ten weeks after filming a new movie Howard was creating and working on the case, Jason was driving north one night to his shared studio beach cottage when something highly unusual occurred, something almost magical...

Snow fell in Los Angeles, California. Heavy winds and hail stormed all into one. The car swing over the slippery slope of the bridge as he drove onto the main water, as he tried to pull up.

But failed to get the brakes to work.

The immersion in the frigid water caused Jason's body to go into an anoxic reflex, instantly stopping his breathing and slowing his heartbeat.

Within 2 minutes, Jason Underwood's core temperature had dropped to 87 degrees...

his heart stopped beating.

He was silent underneath the table of water for 7 minutes.

At 11: 55 a bolt of lightning struck the vehicle discharging half a billion volts of electricity and producing 60,000 amperes of current.

Its effect was threefold.

First, the charge defibrillated Jason Undwood's heart.

Second,

He was jolted out of his anoxic state causing him to draw his first breath in 3 minutes.

Third, based on Von Lehman's principle of electron compression in deoxyribonucleic acid, which will be discovered in the year two thousand thirty-five, Jason Underwood will henceforth be immune to the ravages of time...

he will never age another day.

~~~~~

Of course, he didn’t know that would be a harsh yet effective condition until later.

Wrapped in a cold sweat, dizziness and fatigue were the consequences of the accident.

He was in bed for a few days at the house or made to be sat down, as a nurse took his temperature while he helped study the case.

A field of zero matter and Whitney Frost, 2 times Oscar nominee who was a scientist at heart, was behind it. They hoped it wouldn’t be the rest of mission and the caseload conditions that harmed them.

But faith had other plans.

Peggy took the rest, after her painful defeat of almost being impaled by the help,to call Jason’s sister Dottie for undercover work.

It wasn’t the best thing, but worked like a charm. Dottie left getting her cut of the money and ran.

Soon enough, Jason, Peggy and others were up for the challenge to help finish the race in their job. It was a long and difficult process for the entire team but they made it work.

Zero matter was seemingly gone. Whitney Frost was put in prison.

~~~

Weeks went by.

He studied long and hard for weeks, working with Howard, Peggy, Dr. Wilkie Jones and Ana Jarvis on cases. Figure out the answer to the questions they had from their previous research on the mission.

And the effects left behind.

Jason found nothing on his plate of studies onto what happened to him, as the years went by he noticed his friends slowly turning around with age, as he stayed the same.

It wasn’t zero matter or the previous time on trips that harmed him.

It was something else.

Some would see it differently, thinking it as a blessing that he stopped aging, others might’ve called it a curse.

It just depends on who you were talking to.

For Jason, he made the blonde sick to his stomach and want to hide behind closed doors.

As the years passed, Jason credited her unchanging appearance to a combination of a healthy diet, exercise, heredity, and good luck.

He would travel around, change his name and mind. Leave for a couple of weeks every new decade.

It was all to prevent confusion, controversy and added pressure from anyone who might’ve wanted to sent him to a lab to be tested for his status. 

To protect himself and his loved ones…

~~~~

~~~~~~~

// There’s a tale. Remember to like, comment and reblog.

|| Tags: @missstrawbs2001 @purpleprincessonfyre @meiramel @gcthvile @ask-starrk @rickb-chaos @gaminggirlsstuff @wizzzardofoz @cherrysft @luna-d-marsh @sherloquestea @rooster-84 and etc

#marvel oc #age of adaline #jarvis tapes recordings #jason underwood #agent carter oc #carterwood #dottie underwood #howard stark #edwin jarvis #glen powell #agents of shield #marvel x oc #mcu ocs #oc intro #agent carter #peggyweek2024 #daniel sousa #jack thompson

[flibbleynova]

📸- UUU Camera Tools by Frans Bouma + Commands 🎨- Lightroom Classic

#max caulfield #life is strange max #life is strange #lis #life is strange max caulfield #don’t nod #lis max #maxine caulfield #lisedit #lifeisstrangeedit #lgbtvideogames #LiS #pc gaming #virtual photography #photo mode #video game photography #in game photography #gaming photography #gamingedit #dailyvideogames #gamingscenery #videogameedit #dailygaming #dailylis #gamingdaily #dailygames #dailygamesedit

[proosh]

Gilbert has a scent kink and Francis indulges him in ways Gil didn't even know possible

oh my god this took so much longer than intended I'm so so sorry. please enjoy.

(side acknowledgement: eternal thanks to @grapeautumn for letting me borrow their ideas for Fran's apartment. please go ask them for specifics because it's glorious and terrible.) Pairing: FraPru/PruFra Prompt: Scent kink Rating: Teen? 16+??? (Sensual/suggestive but nothing explicit) Length: ~1.4k words Content Warnings: Scent kink, animal comparisons, gratuitous French petnames EDITED TO ADD: LINK TO FANART AT THE BOTTOM!!!

There was no way on God’s green earth Gilbert was at all ever trusting Francis’ driving, let alone in actual streets of Paris. That’s how he ended up walking from the train station with his bag slung over his shoulder and then hiking up three goddamned flights of stairs to get to Francis’ apartment.

The next world meeting was to be held in Paris, so it really only made sense for him to stay at Francis’ apartment for the duration. Three flights of stairs aside, it was a nice place. Kind of bougie, but familiar and suitable for the… thing they had together. Certainly not a capital-R-Relationship, but their… relationship. Whatever that was.

It’s how he ended up slightly winded knocking on the apartment door – which opened far too quickly for his taste.

Francis was smiling at him, feline, resplendent, shirt half-open to the belly to reveal everything from collarbone to sternum. He was holding a glass of wine.

“Bonjour! Please, do come in, I’ve been waiting.”

Gilbert did as commanded and stepped into the apartment, bracing himself against being enveloped by the Bohemian kitsch that dominated it. He failed, in no small part thanks to Fran appearing at his side and taking his bag and catching him off-guard in the process.

The apartment was familiar to Gilbert: Centuries blended into one another and competed for sensory recognition in garish colours and bold textures and… His nose wrinkled.

Francis was babbling about one thing or another – “–ly makes sense to share a bed, it would be discourteous of me to force you to the couch–” – but Gilbert tuned him out, pursing his lips and focusing on inhaling through his nose.

The usual light, familiar scent of antiques and Francis’ usual perfumes was being undercut by something else that was bringing him up short and making a strange part of his hindbrain sit up and pay attention.

Francis had noticed his distraction and had stopped talking, regarding him with a coy smile. Gilbert eyed him suspiciously, his nostrils flaring to try and narrow in on the… Something in the air. Francis was smiling far too indulgently for this not to be a mere something.

“What… Is that,” Gilbert asked, in a way that wasn’t really a question.

“What is what, cher?” Francis said, swirling the wine in his glass and sniffing it daintily, all in that lilting way that made Gilbert want to sink his teeth into his throat and shake him like a rabbit.

Curiousity and prey drive sufficiently piqued, Gilbert tilted his head to the side and noticed that Francis was not nearly as nonchalant as he was pretending to be… he was keeping his gaze on Gilbert with a guarded, almost polite, wariness.

This was a game, then. 

He stepped closer to Francis, keeping his eyes trained on the man lest he get any ideas and try to escape somehow.

“You were waiting for me,” he stated plainly, watching the corner of Francis’ mouth twitch in confusion.

“Of course. I’ve missed you, cher.”

“You were waiting for me, so I would notice,” Gilbert said, ignoring the flutter in his chest and instead approaching with careful steps.

Francis backed up, and almost seemingly allowed himself to be hounded back against the apartment wallpaper – a floral display, much like the man himself.

Francis wet his mouth with a teasing tongue and looked much like the cat that had got the mouse. Conniving bastard was preening in his victory.

“An old thing. Don’t you remember? Back when it was the fashion to smell like an elk in rut.” He pouted, then, batting his lashes. “I found it while doing some cleaning. Do you not like it?”

Gilbert’s hand had switched from pinning him to gripping the lapel of his open shirt — silk, lovely, slippery like the man — and he made a confused noise somewhere between a growl and a whine.

“You— planned to wear it? To force me to work it out?”

The entire time something off had been in the air, a slight note ajar from the usual, familiar scentscape of Francis and his apartment: floral perfume, the smell of antiques, Francis’ own clean, natural musk, and… Then something atop that, that made Gilbert’s ears perk up and something in his hindbrain demand to be investigated.

He had him against the wall, now. They were the same height, so Gilbert pinned him with a firm hand across Francis’ collarbone and peered at him suspiciously.

Francis, to his credit, was back to giving him that coy smile. He was always a man who liked this sort of game.

Gilbert’s nose wrinkled again as he sniffed and was met with that something again, stronger now. He leaned in, thoroughly invading Francis’ personal space in the process and inhaled slower, letting the notes register on his palate — much like how Francis would be scenting his wine, almost.

He hummed blinking as he processed it, and then leaned in close enough that he could feel the prickle of excitement along the fine hairs of Francis’ throat, and the pulse of his heartbeat beneath his hand. It was richer here — whatever it was — and mingled with the natural scent of Francis’ own skin in a way that was making Gilbert’s teeth ache in a way he couldn’t quite identify.

Gilbert’s nose swung from his throat to his bared chest. Francis was hairy just about everywhere, and the golden fur of his chest might have been the prize of his pelt. He’d been showing it off, too. It was inviting and the musk was strongest here and Gilbert was pressing his nose against the soft hair—

The something clicked into his memory register like the cartridge of a rifle being loaded.

He was back to Francis’s face, nose to nose with accusation before the thought was even fully formed.

“What is that perfume,” Gilbert half-snarled with hazy recollection that was making his belly do uncertain twists of confused want.

Francis pursed his mouth in polite amusement and seemed thoroughly unbothered by the bordering on rough treatment.

“Yes, yes. My clever plan: to make you a madman of desire, hunting down your prey.”

His words had a slightly flippant tone that gave Gilbert pause.

“Am I,” he tested, lightly, “Doing something wrong?” 

Francis batted his lashes at him again.

“Mm. Marginally caught up in the details, cher. Allow me to recontextualise.” He pressed the pads of his fingers — when had he put down that wine glass? — against Gilbert’s chest lightly, and deliberately trailed them down his front. A coil of tense frisson followed.

“I am a humble elk in rut, you see,” he mused, “and you can smell. You, my sweet hound, have scented me, and now you come to hunt. How does that sound, cher?”

Gilbert did smell him. It had been a type of perfume Francis had worn extensively in centuries past, and it had been something Gilbert had chased after and it had been what was making his hindbrain react with such primitive hunting instinct: Francis was deliberately activating his prey drive. It made a growl rise unbidden in his throat. 

Francis didn’t have the opportunity to bat his eyelashes again before Gilbert was on him, pinning him fully against the wall and forcing his face into the space between his jaw and throat with hungry, savage kisses and bites and everything else in between.

He was pressing Francis back against the garish wallpaper and was forcing himself between his legs, slotting neatly against his body. Francis was hitching a leg up against Gilbert’s hip as they grinded together in a delicious slide of bodies and Gilbert attacked his neck with teeth and tongue to try and get more of that musky, rich scent.

Francis was patting him on the shoulder with some degree of urgency, which made Gilbert come up for air to check– 

He was beautiful, like this. Flushed and visibly winded, hair a mess and eyes wide and dark, mouth pulled into a crooked smile of delight. 

“–Ah, cher, would you like to relocate? I’m sure a more horizontal surface may suit our purposes bett–”

Whatever Francis had been about to propose was irrelevant, because Gilbert didn’t need a horizontal surface at all to shove his face back down into Francis’ chest to huff the collected musk and sweat there and nose against the lush blond curls.

Francis had gone through all this effort to present himself as prey to be hunted, and Gilbert was nothing if not dedicated: If Francis wanted to be mauled, then mauled he would be. 

EDITED TO ADD: thank you to kopifuran for this incredible fanart?? Please go show them some love!!

#hws prussia #hws france #frapru #prufra #mine #my writing #my fic

[paxesoterica]

Since folks seemed to like that Witch from Mercury parody post, and since I've been getting into 0079, I've received more (extremely questionable) inspiration:

It is the year 2079 A.D.

Decades ago, humans started settling in giant space cities.

A new habitat for humans in a new century, where people were born, grew up, and formed families...in space!

One day, however, the wicked Z-Dudes of Colony Z, led by the evil Zapper family, felt that their space city was too small, so they decided to take over the solar system with giant remote-controlled robots, the Z-Bots!

To stop them, Professor Ted Ray constructed a giant robot suit, called Goodman, but before he could fly it, he was kidnapped by a Z-Bot. Now, it's up to his son, whiz kid Adam Ray to fly the Goodman and stop the Z-Dudes from kidnapping people and stealing stuff! But it won't be easy: even with good friends like the kind Fran Bower, the sassy Sarah Moore, and the serious Bart Nolan helping him out, and their groovy spaceship the White Horse, Adam's still never flown a robot before, and the Z-Bot commander, Carl Osborne, is kinda scary. Even worse, the kids discover the Zapper family have been brainwashing good people to become evil and serve them, including Carl, who turns out to secretly be Sarah's brother, Edward!

Will Adam and his friends stop the Z-Bot Army? Will they find his dad? And will they be able to turn all the brainwashed people good again? Tune in every Saturday at 5 pm to find the answers to all these exciting questions...and more!

#anime #satire #mobile suit gundam #0079 #char aznable #sayla mass #amuro ray #4kids #if you look closely you'll notice i had to (very poorly) edit out a gun sayla was holding

[uwmspeccoll]

Shakespeare Weekend 

This week we present Shakespeare’s tragedy, Julius Cesar, the eighth volume of the thirty-seven volume The Comedies Histories & Tragedies of William Shakespeare, published by the Limited Editions Club (LEC) from 1939-1940. Julius Cesar was likely produced around 1599 and was first printed in the folio of 1623. 

This edition of Julius Cesar was illustrated by the famous Belgian illustrator and wood-engraver Frans Masereel. He was an obvious choice for an illustrator; before this project he had illustrated “dozens upon dozens” of books. Including the Limited Editions Club edition of Notre Dame de Paris, 1930. 

In a note on illustrating this text, Masereel explains the necessity for an artist to adjust their “style” to harmonize with a text. 

I cannot imagine how an artist can illustrate books all his life without changing his ‘style.’ While retaining as basis his own methods of expression, the artist must therefore enter as closely as possible into the spirit of the work that he is to embellish with pictures.  

He ends his note in the same tone saying “I have...endeavored to suggest the spirit of the drama... by the plastic means at my command. I have thus desired to accomplish a work that would harmonize with the art of typography.”

The volume was printed in an edition of 1950 copies at the Press of A. Colish. Each of the LEC volumes of Shakespeare’s works are illustrated by a different artist, but the unifying factor is that all volumes were designed by famed book and type designer Bruce Rogers and edited by the British theatre professional and Shakespeare specialist Herbert Farjeon. Our copy is number 1113, the number for long-standing LEC member Austin Fredric Lutter of Waukesha, Wisconsin.

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-Teddy, Special Collections Graduate Intern

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