iiinova — where your digital self keeps evolving

hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 26/09/2026

unique energy coming off my last four letterboxd

9 to 5, endless summer syndrome, in the mouth of madness, lilies

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 18/09/2026

a brief filthy friday today. surely nothing upsetting happens here right

He eases free of him after he comes, wiping Armand’s spunk off on his thigh. Armand shivers, and Louis watches it travel through his back muscles, up to his straining shoulders. Louis presses a fingertip to where he’s been fucked open, the hot give of him. It flutters at his touch. Armand flexes in his handcuffs.
“You about done in those?”
Armand makes a pleased, fucked-out noise.
“I think you are.”
He angles over and rips the velcro open. Then he bends down for a lazy kiss. He thumbs the dampness under Armand’s eyes.
“Did you cry?”
“Thought you were going to shatter my pelvis, yeah.”
“Oh, no, god forbid you get what you asked for.”

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 09/09/2026

more post-nightmare loumand vacay that i wrote in a fugue state yesterday at work whoops

“You already missed four weeks,” Louis tells him. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you limping again. Hi,” he adds as Bhansali enters. “Just a light day, today, I think, Fareed.”
Louis is listed in Armand’s chart as: husband/advocate. A gentle word for what he really does, which is some amalgamation of mouthpiece, secretary, patriarch, attending nurse, and stress ball. He looks over Armand’s intake and pre-appointment paperwork, fills it in if he thinks Armand’s missed anything, tells the good doctor where Armand’s bad areas are today, and handles scheduling. Once a month, when Bhansali snaps on his gloves and performs internal massage, Louis parks a chair by the table, holds Armand’s hand, and keeps him looking at him and not at the doctor. It’s a good system. All Armand has to do really is show up, and he’s improved a lot in the last few years. Most of the time he doesn’t even cry anymore. Today Armand gets to keep his pants on and Bhansali concentrates on his lower back. After the session, Louis takes Bhansali aside. They don’t come out for a long time. In the waiting room, Armand sips his water bottle and tries to stop bouncing his leg. They’re taking a really long time. He knows why. The other thing his chart says: extensive sexual abuse from ages 10-12. He feels sharpness on his knuckle. He’s chewing it. He tucks his hand under his other arm. He pictures Bhansali saying something like well that explains it, damage consistent with abuse over a much, much longer period, medical word, medical word. This will go in his chart, won’t it? And they always check the little box agreeing to let their specialists talk to their PCP, so that’s another slough of charts alerting strangers of the new-old development. He starts chewing his fingers again.
He stops when Louis emerges, looking red-eyed. A tight smile, a kiss to Armand’s forehead, then it’s home we go.
“I want you to see a therapist,” Louis says on the drive home.
“No.”
“That wasn’t a request.”
“They made me do t…

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 08/09/2026

this wip from years ago as a whole will need a lot of work if i ever post it, but i've always really liked this section

There was a man, many years ago, who had wanted her: enough to pluck her from his daughter’s side, dress her in gold and velvet, and bury his grief in her alongside his cock. He had tried to please her in that slow, stupid way that old men always try to please their young wives. He bought her trinkets. In the evenings, when his eyes were too badly strained, she read to him. She called him my love and he never challenged her to prove that she meant it. That was, at least, one small mercy.
Now he rots in his dark, private chambers. She visits him once in the evenings to read to him like old times. Most nights he never wakes.
Tonight is no different. The chamber smells of sickness. It reminds her a little of Aemond’s rooms immediately after his maiming. Several servants had held her trembling son down as the maesters scooped the mutilated remains of her son’s eye from the socket. She had watched silently from the corner. And where was his father? She still doesn’t know. For a man so reluctant to rule, he always seemed to find the time for it just when she needed him. No, she had never loved him, but she’d slept at his side, endured his fumbling efforts at loving her, and helped him on with his clothes enough times that her little-girl shyness had eventually transformed into matter-of-fact companionship. He was her husband, and they would conduct the business of marriage together.

He hadn’t shared her point of view.
Now, with him sequestered from public view, in his living death, she barely notices his absence.
She reaches the end of tonight’s passage, shuts the book, and considers her sleeping husband’s face. His flesh has sunken into his skull. His breath rattles, wet and phlegmy, in his throat.
The words, briefly, line up on her tongue.
Our son wants to fuck me.
Can he hear her?
As if he would offer her advice if he could. She can hear his voice suddenly, as clearly as if his younger self had just spoken in her ear. His younger self, still mourning the sister he took to wife.
“Don’t bother me with this, Alicent, can’t you see your husband’s weary?”
She reaches for her cup and downs the last of her wine.

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 07/09/2026

can someone real quick go to my edit below and tell me what the coloring looks like? i think youtube is messing up my coloring, bc left is what i see on youtube and right is what the actual final product should look like youtu.be/WjbcGx5lu8U?...

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 04/09/2026

good filthy friday morning, here's intricate lesmand rituals (they aren't that intricate)

Another kiss. Armand slips his tongue into his mouth. Yeah, there he goes.
“Come here, let me take care of it.”
He hikes him up, all six feet of him, legs around Lestat’s waist. Fuck he missed this.
Down the hall to the bed. Lestat rips his sweatpants off and finds more bruises on his thighs and his hips. He fits his own fingers into them as he ducks and spits on Armand’s cock.
“Lestat, don’t—”
“Just let me do it,” Lestat snaps. ‘I know you’re a very sad little boy, or whatever, and that sucking your cock makes you miserable, but—“ he pauses for breath as he pushes Armand’s knees further apart. Briefly he presses his forehead to one. “—please let me make you feel good.”
Armand stares at him.
“You’re hurting me.”
Gently, he eases Lestat’s grip off his knees and closes them a little—but just a little. Leaving room.

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 03/09/2026

this is btw my favorite lestat dialogue i’ve written

It was entirely inappropriate!” Lestat rages. “For the love of God, she’s as fish as I can make her. I see that esthetician more than I see certain relatives of mine!”

“Entirely inappropriate,” Louis echoes. He put his book aside when Lestat came home, the gesture of which Lestat decides to appreciate even though he’s clearly only half-listening.

“But no, it’s a man in a dress, let’s all laugh because clearly this is a cheap burlesque now.” He pulls up one of the promotional stills for Les Bonnes, the really good one of him in the negligee and the heels, switches on Do Not Disturb, and thrusts his phone at Louis. “What about this says comedy? That audience tonight acted like I was John Cleese in one of those Python skits.”

“Clearly you’re Eric Idle,” Louis says and hands the phone back to him.

“I’m Catherine fucking Deneuve!”

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 28/08/2026

no filthy fri today so i'm taking the moment to spotlight this noxious passage from the last chapter that i'm very proud of

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 19/08/2026

running the full gamut of the human experience i see

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 19/08/2026

i don't know if i'll ever actually write the full fic but here's a drabbleish thing i wrote within the human au set post-nightmare loumand vacay

He falls asleep on Louis’s shoulder on the plane, aided by a Xanax. Louis had watchfully dispensed it from its orange prescription bottle, which he then concealed somewhere in the luggage they both pretended Armand couldn’t find. The fantasy is maintained by tacit agreement. They skip Bangkok and return to New York. Louis secures a wheelchair at the airport out of concern for his partner’s injured foot. Armand hates it. On the flight, he nods off and on and off, breathing in the smell of the hotel soap that clung to Louis’s body. Beneath it and the smell of the plane, he fancies he can detect the vestiges of chlorinated water.
Home. After they sleep off the flight, Louis makes an appointment for Armand to get his foot checked out again. At the clinic in Rome, they gave him five stitches and some really impressive painkillers, but it’s not enough to satisfy Louis. Appointment scheduled, he returns to the bedroom, where he sits on the bed and pets Armand’s hair. It makes Armand feel young in a way he probably should not share.

Louis wants him to share, badly. Armand can see the questions threatening to spill out of his mouth every time he opens it. And Armand… Armand would like to hide, somewhere small and secret and dark, where he cannot be found again.
“Remember how good it was when we first started?” he hears himself say.
Louis forces a grin.
“You’re saying it’s not good now?”
“Of course not. I only…” He only misses anonymity.
The questions threaten again. This time, it’s carried out. Louis’s mouth contorts.
“Baby…”
“Don’t.”
“How—how long—”
“Louis, please don’t.”
“How long?”
“Don’t.”
“How soon did it start? When did it start again?”
“You don’t understand,” Armand hears himself say. “It’s not like it was.”
“Not like it was.”
“He doesn’t. He doesn’t—not like he did—Louis, please don’t make me talk about it—”
“I just want to—”
“—I don’t know how to.”
And as if to prove his point, something lodges thick in his throat, and he can’t get another word out. Louis’s face falls.

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 12/08/2026

this is another scene that i suspect will get either cut or cannibalized so here you go, human lesmand backstage shenanigans

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 10/08/2026

frankly embarrassing how many iwtv edits i have in progress/planned

- [ ] IWTV
- [ ] lestat applause
- [ ] lestat everybody dies
- [ ] armand double dark*
- [x] lestat lestat lestat
- [x] odyssey of recollection
- [x] iwtv punish
- [ ] iwtv blue monday (health)
- [ ] amadeo fire of love*
- [ ] RE-EDIT armand fwwm*
- [ ] iwtv berghain
- [ ] lestat i’m a slut loren kramar
- [ ] RE-EDIT my coven is claudia
- [ ] tempest - lesmand
- [ ] smth for gabi?
- [ ] gabistat - dance
- [ ] we keep the damage
- [ ] louis winter woman
- [ ] it was love (hands touch)
- [ ] claudia she’s gone away

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 10/08/2026

buffed my nails for the first time last night and now i feel like an old timey glamourpuss

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 10/08/2026

everyone pls send good vibes max’s way, he had an asthma attack and had to go to the hospital for a few days. he’s home now but still not feeling well

a small marmalade cat with a pointed face and sly, secretive eyes

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 07/08/2026

i think i'll have to cut this but i like it a lot, so here's some human au loumand going through the toy box

Having dragged the plastic tub out from under the bed, Louis and Armand sit on the floor and survey the its contents like doctors performing an autopsy.
“Some of it I took when I left,” Armand is saying. He fidgets with a black blindfold. “The rest of it I’ve scraped together since.”
“What’d you get on your own?” asks Louis.
“That—that—that.” Armand indicates a bright red massager, a steel plug, and the heavy wooden paddle. “Two consolation prizes for solitary life and one investment for the future.”
Louis takes the paddle. It’s weightier than anticipated. The delicate circular cutouts in the wood make the rest of the instrument seem disconcertingly brutal. It seems like it ought to go right through flesh and break bone. When he glances at Armand, he finds him leaned back against the side of the bed with his teeth in his lower lip. He’s wearing a T-shirt and thin shorts despite the chill outside. They show off his hard calf muscles and the soft hair that grows over them. Louis wants to gnaw on them. His scrawny ankles too.
“Thinking about it?” he asks.
A little smile from Armand.
“Maybe.”

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 29/07/2026

i also really like this later bit. armand is an elderly dog

Armand nods again, and Louis huffs a laugh that doesn’t sound very amused. He strokes Armand’s cheek.
“Oh baby.” He says it with a tone of resigned pity, the way he might speak to an elderly dog who can no longer manage stairs. “Get up

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 29/07/2026

another wip i've been trying to finish for mumble years

For a moment, it looks like Louis will try to reply. Then he just sighs again and takes Armand’s hands in his. He rubs his thumbs over Armand’s palms.
“You wouldn’t have to be there,” he says. Is it the start of acquiescence?
Armand considers it—leaving the room, or not putting in an appearance at all. No way to do it unobtrusively, with their insistence on a joint interview, on the record. No way to return unobtrusively either, even if it were the following evening. It’s not as if he can leave Daniel with a collection of neatly preserved diaries and a valet to inform him that the vampire will rest today. Louis is the closest thing he has to a diary, and Louis is more fragile than paper and ink. Daniel can make him bend, he’s proven that.
And the horror of having to finally transverse the threshold afterward and look Daniel in the eye, not having been present for his own story. And Daniel would look at him, probably say something backhanded and crass and, and, and—
“Armand.”
Once upon a time there was a boy in San Francisco who liked the tastes of crème de menthe and bloody gums, who fucked Armand in the ass and mistook his blood for black tar heroin and never dreamed that, inside, Armand was rotting.
He’ll have the memory, whatever else.

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 28/07/2026

THIS WOMAN has a permanently fractured relationship to pleasure and that’s okay!

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 25/07/2026

missed filthy friday so here's a salacious saturday, with a wip i've been uh, trying to finish for like two years

sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, please just take it—”
The bag leaves his head and Armand sucks in a huge lungful of air, as if it had been suffocating him. Louis is there, is looking at him, Louis is cupping his hands in his face.
“There we go,” he says. “Was that so hard?”
Armand sobs, and the sob turns into a gag. His head swims. He can feel his gorge rising. The world feels too big all of the sudden. He can’t stop crying.
“Oh, baby,” Louis says. “We’re done. We’re done.” He gathers Armand into his arms, smooths his hair back from where it was plastered to his face by his sweat and his tears. Bloody hair. “I’m here. We’re done. I knocked you for a loop, huh?” He shushes him and pulls his hips up onto his thighs again, slides his cock back inside of him. Armand sobs again, but it’s in relief this time. He’s still Louis. Louis, who always knows what he needs, and what he needs now is for Louis to fuck him, fuck him, fuck him— “I’m here. I’ve got you.” He kisses his lower lip, tilts Armand’s chin up, and then spits into his open mouth. Armand shivers as the saliva hits his tongue. Louis tucks his mouth closed again. “Swallow, that’s it. Good boy.”

Armand squeezes himself tighter around Louis’s cock, just to feel him groan against him, to feel him more deeply inside his body, the way it stretches him, bludgeons his insides around to make room. There’s so much room for Louis inside of him. He takes one of Louis’s hands, kisses his fingers and pushes them into his mouth, onto his tongue, mouths them the way he loves to do with his cock. He saw a porn video once where a big graying, grizzled leather dom had spit on the bottom’s face and called him daddy’s dumb fucking hole. What a wonderful thing to be, he’d thought. Absent all expectation, all pressure. To be only empty or full, and nothing more, and nothing less either.
Louis kisses his brow, his eyelid on each downstroke, each thrust. He grins at him.
“You and your daddy porn,” he says as he works him. Armand licks his fingers, exhales hot against his palm. Harder, he thinks at him, willing it rather than speaking. He might be somewhere past language now. He whines when Louis pulls his hand from his mouth, but Louis grabs under his knees, hikes him up more firmly, and starts really giving it to him, hard enough that Armand feels it in his throat, that his teeth rattle.
Thank god, he thinks. Thank god.
“Why don’t you get a little louder for me,” Louis pants. “I don’t think they can hear you in Abu Dhabi.”

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 17/07/2026

and a somewhat topical if not very filthy friday to you all

“And he wasn’t nice about it, you know? You know how Lestat’s always like breathe, breathe, like bitch you breathe.” Louis snorts despite himself. “Only thing Santi said to me the first time was take it.” He makes a gulping noise in his throat that might be a giggle. “You know. I’m a romantic.”
“You were kind of a wild teen, huh?” Louis props himself up. “No judgment obviously, just. By the sound of it.”
“Oh god, I was such a problem. You’re lucky we didn’t meet back then, I would have jumped you so quick.”
He slides a leg over to straddle him, bracing his hands on his chest.
“Quicker than you did?”
“Pretty sure you did all the jumping, mister.”
Lazy kissing.
“I would have gotten you, too,” Armand says when they pause for breath.
“Okay, but speaking as a father now,” Louis begins.
“You know I love that.”
“Speaking as a father,” he repeats, “did your dad know that…?”
Armand drums his fingers on Louis’s collarbone.

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 15/07/2026

BEFORE YALL START FOLLOWING: we post rape fic here

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 15/07/2026

how it feels to have some critiques of tvl but overall have a good time with it every week

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 14/07/2026

the thing about the lestat voice is it’s really hard to shake

trying to contain it, he really is. “little miss sloppy toppy in the restroom within four hours of hello-my-name-is, she wants a

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 10/07/2026

i haven't done a wednesday or a friday in a while, so here's an extended snippet of a wip that's not really a wip yet about armand having wedding day jitters, from the benighted human au

As he shakily does up his tie, he finds himself thinking about Santino. About fucking Santino. Tall, lanky. Dark hair on his chest to match his beard and the thatch from which jutted his thick, heavy erection. He was nearly as big as Papa. But he didn’t fuck him like Papa did. He remembers being on all fours that first time, spine arched and cheek on the pillow, Santi’s big, rough hands running down the planes of his back to split him open with his thumbs like a peach. Hot spit, then the jamming-in, the little keening noises that Santi would shock out of him as he bullied a place for himself into his body. And then, a hand in his hair, his face shoved into the bed, the smacking of his heavy balls, and once Santi really got going, he’d put his hand around Amadeo’s throat, not choking him for real, but holding him there, an ever-present threat that made him as aroused as he was frightened—and it was correct, for once, to be frightened. He wasn’t like Papa, who would try to talk him down when he got scared. He’d sucked it before, in the back room of a party he wasn’t supposed to be at, and before that, Santi had pinned him back to the front to the bathroom counter and jerked off behind him to his reflection, which was almost

exactly what one of Marius’s friends had done to him five months ago. Through blurry vision, he watched Santi orgasm. It stained the inside of his pants. Marius’s friend did that to him too. So much laundry to be done when you’re the party favor and the party doesn’t end. There’s a party this evening. The old apprehension rises up in his throat. He doesn’t wanna go. Across the room, Riccardo is shrugging into his suit vest. It’s stupid, but Armand really needs to ask all the sudden if he’s expected to put out tonight. He hasn’t had to do it for years and years. Louis would never ask it of him, it’s his wedding for god’s sake, he just really needs to ask to hear Riccardo say no, obviously, it’s your wedding and you don’t do that anymore, only what if it’s a joke, what if Louis’s just waiting to get the ring on him and then turn to the (pathetically small) crowd, his sister and his daughter and Lily and all of them, and say we’ll start the bidding at ——— because really nothing ever changes except scenery.
He can’t ask Riccardo. Riccardo doesn’t know he did it.

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 01/07/2026

this is what it feels like in escapism when raye says “a little context if you care you listen”

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hostile workplace enthusiast 🔞 @ectoplasmjames.bsky.social · 29/06/2026

this will haunt me for the rest of my life probably

lestat about to kiss gabi. it's visibly turning real for him

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