#Fee Schedule Update

[insistonyourcupofstars]

college is killing me

[figmentforms]

Part 252 of  “A Tale of Two Rulers” (April 9, 2025)

Happy to finally have an update for your all! I hope to get back to a somewhat regular schedule as i adjust to the big changes in my life. Sorry this wasn't a bigger update, but I'm glad i was able to finish it.

Other Notes!

-Please contact me via dm if you're still waiting on a patreon reward. I'm a mess right now and I know I've missed sending people what they're owed. I want to make it right.

-If you support my comic, (or any Patreon project) through the Apple Patreon App on your iphone, it has forced through an additional 30% fee for Apple the corporation to consume. To bypass this fee, all you need to do it delete your account on the Patreon App and make a new account through ANY web browser and sign up for your donations there. You can even use a web browser on your iphone. I'm so sorry for the increase and I hope this is helpful! If you can't support my work anymore i completely understand. times are hard

★ Webtoon-  https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/a-tale-of-two-rulers/list?title_no=292453 ★ - I’m still building up this archive.

★Patreon- https://www.patreon.com/LorIllustration ★

★Store - www.etsy.com/shop/FigmentForms

annnd Vaati just keep digging.



[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 3

Pairing: Millionaire!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Rating: E, 18+, Minors dni

Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You decide it's time to put yourself on Joel's radar.

CW: Age gap (Joel 45, Reader 22), dual POV. Specific warnings in small red below the cut, do not read to avoid spoilers.

WC: 10k. Sorry, grab a snack!

AN: I'm continuously surprised by the love, excitement and joy that this story brings anyone but me. That probably doesn't even make sense, I'm just lost for words, tbh. Forehead kisses to @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk, and @milla-frenchy for screaming with me or pre reading this for me. @lotusbxtch gets a forehead kiss and a tip of the nose kiss for deep dive beta reading this, she's solely responsible for every semi colon.

Series Masterlist || My Masterist

I no longer have a tag list, please follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates to be alerted for future chapters.

Content Warnings: Flirty, alcohol consumption, mentions of sexual acts, kissing, mutual pining, reader being pinned against a wall, sexual tension, touching. Reader does have some description so may be considered more of an OFC.

The week after Joel removed you from his club goes by in a well-scheduled blur. You work your usual three days, cleaning mansions of people who don’t tip as well as Mister Miller. You pour yourself over LSAT study guides, practicing insane logic questions. You enjoy a coffee date with Jamie who asks you what happened the night at the poker game. You tell her a practiced lie that feels like acid on your tongue as it leaves your lips. You hate lying to your friends, especially her. You can feel that lie sitting heavily on the top of your stomach the entire time you’re with her, but you simply cannot afford to get fired with three years of law school on the horizon. You spend an evening with your roommate, Odette, watching Netflix and eating dumplings from her favourite spot, the only spot in Austin that has those little white paper boxes with the red writing. 

If you decide not to lie to yourself, on top of everyone else, you also spend at least an hour a day watching videos of women tied up and dominated, thinking of Joel goddamn Miller the entire time. Since learning his full name, and the name of his club, the Google searches you swore you’d stop doing have been much more productive. You’ve found multiple blogs and Reddit posts, not just about kink, but also about Joel. It turns out that he’s well-known in the kink and BDSM communities around the world, but is essentially changing the face of kink in Austin. 

One night, you get lost in a Reddit wormhole of women in Texas, and one in Paris, who have been a submissive for a man that sounds a lot like Joel. They don’t actually mention him by name but there’s advice on what he likes and doesn’t like, and how he never actually has sex with any of his submissives. It also sounds like some of these women pay him to be their dom, and, based on the conversations in the comments of one thread, it seems like he has a few submissives at the moment, and majority of their interactions happen at the club. 

 The club. Fuck, Jamie wasn’t kidding when she said JMK was exclusive. Anyone can join, assuming you can pay the yearly membership fees that, according to Reddit, are around $80,000 per year. From the minimal, cryptic information you find, Joel Miller is the main owner and he has two business partners. One you assume is his brother that you served the other night, but the third you are unable to find any information about. 

Since everything you find online is up to interpretation, it’s hard to say what is and isn’t true. According to one disgruntled poster, once you become a member at JMKink, there are a lot of rules to follow. Everyone has to get tested monthly; it’s highly recommended that women are on birth control; and even if you’re married to the guest you bring, men must wear condoms. You can’t just bring anyone in with you: every member and their guest has an app, and the only way to get that app is from a QR code and an assigned activation code. According to another poster, the app is full of waivers and consent forms. You can’t stop the shy smile that crosses your face when you remember how concerned Joel was with your consent the first time you met. 

The Monday before your usual every-other-Tuesday shift at Joel’s, you find a blog post about becoming a submissive, and it’s like it was written just for you. The writer explains how she had a hard time shutting off her brain and how, by the end of the day, she was so exhausted from making decisions that all she wanted was someone to tell her what to do for once. This led to her and her husband exploring a sub/dom partnership. Now, she feels lighter and freer; they’ve both discovered new ways to get pleasure outside of the idea of sex that society feeds us. Being a submissive isn’t always about orgasms or pleasure; it’s helped her build confidence, and she’s found that as they progress, that little voice that tells her she isn't good enough has stopped being so loud. 

After reading through the post a few times, you shut your rose gold laptop and stare at the wall behind your desk. You feel seen, heard even though you didn’t speak. At first, you found yourself feeling ashamed of getting off to these videos, like there was something wrong with you for being turned on by it, but it’s really that ability to let go of control that you crave, the feeling of someone else making the decisions for once. You want that, but more so, you think you need that, and badly.

As a firm believer of ‘everything happens for a reason,’ it all comes together for you. You aren’t even nervous as the thought consumes you. If Joel shows up at his house, tomorrow I’m going to ask him to teach me. 

On Tuesday, you do as you always do, following Joel’s instructions to a tee while listening to a podcast. However, today you only wear one AirPod in hopes of hearing that familiar and comforting engine rev that signals him either coming or going. Every creak or pop of the house causes your heart to flutter, but it’s never him. Much to your chagrin, Joel doesn’t come home. 

Inside the envelope is that expensive matte black paper again, ‘Thanks -JM’ neatly written along it. 

Great, you think to yourself sarcastically, we are on initial terms again. 

Twelve hundred dollars is tucked into the envelope this time, you roll your eyes after thumbing the crisp green bills. The first tip you ever got from him felt sincere, but after walking in on him, and everything since then, it’s feeling more and more like apology money. You shouldn’t complain; people would kill to make this kind of money, but everything would be so much easier if he’d just fucking talk to you.

Your fingers run along the thick, rich paper that he uses as company letterhead. You can’t explain it, but the paper feels like Joel. It’s rough and thick, yet has a vulnerability to it, like you could easily destroy it with just a pinch of your fingers and a flick of your wrist. Your mind flashes back to his club the other night. He was literally begging you to leave, you can still hear it, the pleading in his voice as he said, “I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me”. Your fingers trail across the golden ink of his neat handwriting and then open the paper the rest of the way. At the very bottom of the page, in shiny black print similar to the JMK logo at the top, is a phone number. Your heart slams against your ribcage as your eyes scan across the numbers.

  When you get home, you unfold the note on your kitchen counter and pace the three or four steps it takes to walk the length of your small kitchen, never taking your eyes off the paper, looking at it like it’s a live bomb or like it’s going to disappear if you let it out of your sight. This is it: you could call the office, make an appointment or something. You’d probably have to lie, but you just need to see him; you need to make a case for yourself. Your stomach lurches, throat tightening at the thought of being in the club with him again. You open the freezer and grab the bottle of tequila, taking a big swig right from the bottle. It’s a cold burn and you clench your eyes as you swallow it down. Your body shivers involuntarily.  

You dial before you can talk yourself out of it and before you know it you have an appointment under a fake name to speak to Joel tomorrow afternoon before your study group meets. You take two more large gulps of tequila after hanging up the phone. 

Fuck, this is really happening. You take another large sip of the frozen tequila for good measure, your nose scrunching up at the taste. 

Joel’s office isn’t attached to the club, it’s in a smaller building across the street and that has seemed to tamp some of the nerves that are vibrating your very core. Still, you can stop from nervously smoothing the wrinkles that have formed on the short, flowing skirt of your white sundress as you sit on the red velvet couch across from Joel’s receptionist. She is a small woman with a chin length bob, she’s probably in her late fifties and you wonder if her kids or grandkids know that she works for the owner of a kink club, or maybe she’s part of the community too. You’ve done copious amounts of research; kink isn’t just for young people, and you suppose Joel isn’t exactly young either. For all you know, she very well could be a dominatrix in her spare time. 

She says your fake name in a soothing tone as she stands and walks towards the tall black door, pulling it open effortlessly. “Go on in, sweetheart. Joel’s ready for you.”

You smile at her sweetly, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously as you walk over the threshold to try to convince the millionaire whose home you clean to dominate you. The air in his large, bright office feels heavy and thick. Blood rushes through your ears as he looks up at you from his seat. He slips off his 1950’s style black horn rimmed glasses and places them on his desk. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he assesses you. Your heart lurches, knees trembling as you take a few nervous steps towards his desk. As his eyes meet yours you feel it again, that exposed and naked feeling that only his gaze seems to be able to cast. Maybe you shouldn’t have worn such a short dress, but it’s an unseasonably warm March day and even before leaving your apartment you were sweating in a mix of nervousness and excitement. 

You see his lips move, but you can’t hear him over the pounding of your heart. You stop just past the door, then hear it click shut behind you. Joel’s silky lips move again and this time you hear your name followed by a calm, “What’re you doin’ here?”

The words come out before you even think about them, you practically yell them at him, “I want you to teach me.”

His hand waves to the chairs across his desk. When you don’t move he harshly says, “Sit.”

You rush across his expansive office, the plush carpet feels luxurious under your shoes. When you reach the black leather chair you sit on the very edge of the seat, your knee nervously bouncing up and down in time with your heart.

“You want me to do what?” He asks hesitantly, leaning forward in his chair. He looks absolutely beautiful in the late afternoon sun - orange hues reflecting off his tanned skin, the few greys along his temples glistening like the moon on the ocean. He’s in a black dress shirt again, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. You noticed today that he’s wearing a black watch and a gold ring on his right ring finger. Between his accessories and the veins that line his toned forearms your mouth goes dry.

“I - umm, I want you to teach me.”

The last word has barely passed your lips when he scoffs out, “No.”

Your face falls, “Joel, please. I’ve been doing research and I’ve decided that, well, that I want to be…that.”

He places his large palms on the desk, the square black diamond in his ring glittering in the sun, and pushes himself up. You crane your neck to look at him as he slips his hands into his pockets, his eyes already locked on yours. His intense eye contact wraps you up in a weighted blanket of safety and comfort, which is a dangerous and vulnerable place, a place that has the ability to rip you in half, much like you could do with that company letterhead he left you. He walks slowly to the other side of his desk. Once in front of you, he leans back onto it, keeping his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored black dress pants. 

“You can’t even say it.” He challenges. 

You furrow your brows, ready to confront him like you always seem to do. In the few interactions you’ve had with Joel, more often than not, it’s been him trying to tell you what to do, you fighting him over it, and then him ultimately winning. It’s infuriating, but not this time. No, this time you’re going to win. You have valid reasons to want this, and they’re all backed up by your research. You are leaving this office as his submissive. 

“I can too!” 

He shrugs his broad shoulders nonchalantly, “Say it then. You wanna learn how to do what, sweetheart?” 

You sit up tall on the edge of the chair, crossing your arms under your breasts, praying your cheeks don’t flush as you finally admit it out loud. “I want to learn how to be a submissive.”

“No.” One of his meaty hands comes out of his pocket, waving you off as he says it again.

“Please!” You plead, “I want to learn how to be a sub.” 

Joel actually squirms at the sound of you being so needy. He lets out a harsh ‘fuck’ under his breath and then whispers your name, “I can’t do this with you.”

Got him, you think to yourself, failing to fight the smirk as you lower your voice and sweetly beg, “Please, Mister Miller?” 

Joel ‘Your-Consent-is-Most-Important’ Miller is not a small man: his broad shoulders take up almost an entire door frame and he’s easily nearing six foot four, but at the sound of you calling him the one name he’s asked you not to, he moves faster than your brain can comprehend. You gasp as he lunges towards you, his hands landing on the arms of the chair, his wide shoulders pushing you back as he cages you in. Your exposed back hits the back of the chair, your short skirt riding up your thighs slightly. He is practically on top of you and for a second you can imagine that this is what having sex with him would look like. His knuckles blanch from gripping the arms of the chair so tightly, his eyes are practically black, and that familiar flush he gets when you challenge him paints his neck and cheeks.

His voice is deeper, thick with arousal, rattling your bones as he speaks slowly, “I said not to call me that. You can’t even…You can’t.” He shuts his eyes and takes a slow breath in through his nose. His tone softens as he opens his eyes, “No, I ain’t doin’ this with you, sweet girl.” 

You practically writhe in your chair. Sweet girl. He’s terrifying and commanding and so fucking beautiful like this. He obviously has a soft spot for when you beg, so you soften your eyes and stick out your velvety smooth bottom lip enticingly before whispering, “Please, Joel.” 

He lets out a groan as he pushes himself off the chair and walks towards the large wall of windows behind his desk, his hands resting on his tapered waist. He avoids your gaze as you sit up, squeezing your thighs together tightly to calm the need at your core. “Lemme set ya up with someone else. My brother Tommy. You were gettin’ him a drink at that poker game.”

“I remember,” you mumble, looking down at your hands like you always do when your lack of confidence gets the best of you. You can’t let that self-doubt creep in now, not when you’re this close. You look back towards his broad back. “But I really don’t want anyone else.”

“Why?” He spins towards you, the lighting behind him gives him an almost ethereal glow. There’s absolutely no denying it, Joel Miller is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

You tuck your hands under your legs, simply stating, “I trust you.”

“You don’t even know me. I could be a horrible guy.”

You let out a sad laugh, shaking your head at him. He’s right, you don’t know him, but you have a feeling about him and you consider yourself pretty good at reading people. “You’ve never given me reason to think I couldn’t trust you. Even that first day. You were so calm and apologetic.”

Joel presses his lips in a thin line, eyes raking over you. You subconsciously slip your bottom lip between your teeth, and a muscle in his jaw flexes. “How old are you?”

“Twenty two,” you immediately regret lying; the avenue of trust is of utmost importance between a submissive and their dominant, so you quickly add, “Almost, I turn twenty two on Friday.”

 “I can’t do this.” He croaks and you can’t help but feel a little bad. You’ve put him in an uncomfortable position and his voice sounds defeated. 

“Please. I always felt I needed more but,” you stand up and take a few slow steps in his direction. “But…I didn’t know what more was and I - I think it’s this.” You audibly swallow pleading, “Please. I need you to help me. I want you to help me. Teach me.” 

He holds his hands up and steps back as you inch closer. A silent call that signals you to stop or that he doesn’t trust himself, not here, not with you. “Jus’ let me set ya up with Tommy. You’re his type.” 

Your heart sinks and an acidic taste lines your tongue. Of course. You aren’t that tall, slender icy blonde girl he had strapped to his desk. No, you have curves, and stretch marks along your hips, your boobs are a B cup on a good day. He can get whatever woman he wants, why would it be you? You look down at your hands, pushing back the nonexistent cuticle on your right thumb. This nervous habit of yours used to drive your mom crazy, ‘you’re going to have no skin left soon’ she’d lecture, but you can’t help it. The immediate result of the nail bed looking clean and perfect is like a dopamine hit. It leaves you with a feeling of accomplishment. The problem is, the initial confidence you had about this decision on Monday night has dwindled and you’ve been so anxious about this meeting that every single finger has a nicely pushed back cuticle. 

It’s silent in the room for a while, you shut your eyes as you sheepishly ask,  “Am I not attractive enough for you?”

“No!” He says insistently and without hesitation. His hand runs through his beard, a faint scratching sound fills the room drawing your eyes open and away from the skin of your thumb. As they land back on him you wonder what his patchy facial hair would feel like between your legs or along the soft skin of your stomach as he kissed you. His voice softens, “That’s not it. I just - I’m sorry. I jus’ can’t do this, sweetheart.”

You feel your chance to become the woman you want to be slipping through your fingers. Your plan is failing and for once in your life you don’t have a Plan B, this is the only plan that makes sense to you. Sadness creeps into your throat, “Why?” 

“‘S not a good idea, sweet girl,” he answers, his soft brown sugar flecked eyes reaching out to yours. 

His face and voice seem to be at war with his words. He’s saying no, but there’s a sadness in his eyes and a caring undertone to his voice. You’re not sure how you know it, but him calling you sweet girl means something to him. “Because I’m not your type?”

He shakes his head, that same curl falling into his eyes as it did in his foyer the other day. “That’s the problem, you’re exactly my type.”

Hearing that you’re this beautiful man's type should feel like you’ve won the lottery, but the way his shoulders slump as he says it only builds that lump in your throat. As you swallow the sadness down, his eyes travel to your neck, watching as the muscles flex and relax with the motion. “I - then why?”

He lets out a long breath and as he walks to the door he says, “I ain’t havin’ this conversation. I said no. And someone who is cut out to be a submissive would just take that answer for what it is.” 

“You’ve made it clear that I’m not a submissive,” you counter and walk towards the door. He cracks the door open and you step in close to him, unconsciously taking in his leather and ash scent before adding, “Have a nice night, Mister Miller.” 

Joel

The door feels like a feather behind his hand as he slams it shut - your body, warm and already vibrating, trapped between him and the solid piece of wood that separates the two of you from his receptionist. He made himself a promise in his rear view mirror the other week; he had to cut this off, create distance. He needed you to be just his house cleaner. Because everytime he looks into your eyes he feels the same way he felt at seventeen when he met Tiffany in that garage. Everything about you oozes sweetness and innocence, his sweetheart, his sweet girl. He didn’t think he was capable of feeling that way again. And he definitely should not feel this way for someone who is younger than his own daughter.

His large frame looms behind you, forcing your chest and forehead to rest against the door. He uses his foot to spread your legs wide. A breathy gasp passes your lips as your hands scramble for purchase against the wood grain of the door. He keeps pushing your legs apart, wide enough for your short white skirt to ride up your creamy thighs. Thighs he’s imagined wrapped tightly around his head as he makes you scream. 

Joel takes a small step forward, caging you completely, making it so you’re completely at his mercy. He can smell the sweet scent of your arousal growing between your thighs; he knows if he reaches a calloused finger to the gusset of your panties they’d be soaked through. His cock is hard as steel, pressing against the zipper of his pants and the small of your back. You’re practically panting and he fights to keep his breathing steady when really he wants to mirror the quick, uneven pace of your breath. This is much more serious and intimate than when he had you trapped in the chair. This is dangerous. This could lead to more.   

His strong fingers wrap around your dainty wrists. He loves the way you don’t fight him as he pulls them above your head, gathering both your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them to the door roughly. His free hand draws a slow line down your arm, then along the sensitive skin of your neck, and down your spine. Goosebumps break out over your skin and you instinctively arch your back into him, a desperate whine passes from your lips between laboured breaths, and that sound nearly buckles his knees.  

His lips come to the shell of your ear, his beard tickling you as he speaks in a slow and commanding tone. “Do you feel what you do to me when you call me that. I’ve asked you not to. Multiple times.”

Your mint and lavender scented shampoo fills his nose as he nudges at you to tilt open your throat to him. He revels in how easily you oblige, cocking your head to the side like the good little girl he knows you are. He continues, lips just a hair away from your pulse point; he’s sure if he pressed his lips to it he’d feel how hard your heart is racing. “But I don’t want you to stop. In fact, I fucking love that you haven’t stopped.” 

Your soft skin is warm against his rough fingers as they continue their trail down your body, running over the firm globe of one of your ass cheeks. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, distracting himself from the urge to spank you for calling him Mister Miller yet again. Finally, his fingers find a home on one of your thighs. He brushes lightly against your soft inner thighs, small little touches jumping from one leg to the other. The little involuntary twitches of your body and the needy little gasps of air you suck through your teeth has his cock straining painfully against his zipper. He’s aching for you in a way he hasn’t felt for years. 

“You infuriate me with your insubordination and it makes me weak,” he mutters. “Makes me absolutely insane. I can’t stop fucking thinking about what’s underneath those clothes, and after seeing your perfect breasts and your little pink nipples… fuuuuck, baby. All I can think about is how good they’d look with my handprints tattooed on them after I slap them while you orgasm. Can’t stop thinking about how wet your little pussy must get. How tight she would be around my fingers as I claim her as mine. How fucking delicious she must taste. How goddamn sexy your cries of pain and pleasure would sound.”

Your whole body shudders against his. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you and he knows he needs to stop before he crosses a line, but the way your body responds to him is precisely how he likes it: pliant and ready. His mind reels with all the naughty things he’d like to do to you. If he reaches just a little bit higher he could finally know how you sound when you come, how silky your cunt is, how you taste. He runs the tip of his hooked nose down your neck, the light citrus of your perfume replacing the scent of your shampoo. 

“That what you wanna hear?” Joel continues. “How fucking weak you make me? How desperate? I can’t do this because once I start…I ain’t gonna be able to let you go. Ain’t gonna be able to stop. Never gonna be able to have any other little play thing. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. If I start this, this is it for me.”

Joel releases your wrists with a growl and walks away, carding his fingers through his curls and looking out at the cityscape as the sun begins to dip behind the tall buildings. He doesn’t look back, he can’t look back or he’ll fucking crack. He’ll haul you over his shoulder and take you into his club. He’ll show you everything right now and he won’t stop. His eyes flutter closed as he takes controlled breaths to slow his heart rate, the unmistakable sound of his office door opening and closing behind him. 

You 

You yank the door open and walk as fast as your legs will take you, your mind swirling, every emotion trying to win for first place. You’re painfully turned on, you can feel how soaked your panties are. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. It’s like it’s been carved into your brain. Only you. You jam at the elevator close button as your lungs scream for fresh air, and as you step out into the warm spring night you suck in breath for what feels like the first time since you made this appointment last night. 

Your phone vibrates in the small purse you have across your body. He doesn’t have your number, you remind yourself as you reach for your phone. Jamie’s name across your slightly cracked screen. “Hey!” 

“Are you ok?” her voice is thick with concern.

Your chest feels tight, “Ya, why?”

“You sound like you're out of breath.” 

You laugh a little, “Oh. I was..” fuck, what was I doing. “I mean I am walking. Like on a walk.” 

Even a toddler wouldn’t be convinced by your lie, and Jamie isn’t either as she gasps loudly on the other end before whispering, “Were you having sex?”

“No! God no!” Your clit twitches at the thought of how close Joel was today. “I’m on the street, can’t you hear the cars.” 

“Ok. You do need some sex though,” she laughs. 

“Jamie,” you sigh, “I have to get to a study group. What’s up?” 

She giggles devilishly. “Wellll - It’s your birthday weekend. I want to throw you a party at this really amazing club on Friday.”

“Umm, ya. Sure. Nothing too crazy though, right?” 

“Promise you can keep your top on this time, prude.” She says teasingly and you laugh. “It’s called Mystique. The owner is an old family friend and she gave us a sweet VIP booth and bottle service, all completely free!”

You slide your key into the door of your SUV to unlock it, “Ok. Let’s do it.”

“Good, because I already invited the girls.” You sigh and your phone buzzes in your ear as Jamie’s computer dings on the other end. “Oh, weird. Your regular every other Tuesday clean just requested for you to go on Friday. Weren’t you just there yesterday?” 

Joel. You say dreamily in your mind. 

“That’s shitty,” Jamie continues, “That’s your birthday. The shift is only 4 hours, but I can offer it to someone else if you want.” 

“No!” It comes out too eager and you remind yourself to chill the fuck out as you put her on speaker phone and open the app. “I mean, no, that’s ok. I need the money and my calendar shows 11 to 3, lots of time to get ready!” 

“Text me when you’re done with your study group and we’ll hammer out the details for Friday night. We didn’t get to celebrate you turning twenty one with your insane schedule -”

“Hey!” You exclaim, pretending to be hurt.

“Ya ya, I know,” her voice an amused sarcasm as she continues, “The master plan to graduate early. Which you did. So can we please make this the best celebration yet?” Even without being able to see your best friend you know she’s dancing excitedly on the balls of her feet while giving big green doe eyes. 

Friday rolls around quickly, and you aren’t sure what you’re looking forward to more; a much needed night out with your girlfriends or the possibility of Joel being home today. You’ve tried not to think about how his body felt against yours, but every few hours you found yourself with your hand between your legs, rubbing tight little circles on your clit until you came to thoughts of him, whispering Mister Miller like a church prayer.  

Pulling up to his house today feels strange. He requested an extra clean this week just minutes after you asked him to teach you how to sub and after finding out that your birthday was today. You haul your stuff into his house, letting out a frustrated sigh when you find it quiet and empty. You click open your app and he’s asking you to dust and vacuum the basement, as well as wipe out the fridge. You look down at the app confused. He’s never asked you to clean the basement, and the fridge? He doesn’t cook. The eleven thousand dollar fridge is basically just a decoration to fill a gap in the countertops. 

You pop in your airpods and head downstairs. The cozy white carpet of the stairs feels like plush clouds under your Keds. As you round the corner of the stairs you see everything that makes someone's house a home. So this is where he keeps it all, you think to yourself. 

The short hallway from the stairs to the large open concept basement is covered in photos of Joel at all stages of his life. The first picture that catches your eye is a teenage baby faced Joel and a beautiful young woman sitting on a hospital bed, she’s smiling at the camera as Joel looks down at the tiny bundle of pink blankets in her arms. He looks so happy and soft, and it ignites a small flame of jealousy. Not at the woman, but at the happy little family.

As your eyes scan all the pictures you see that baby at all ages. There’s a picture of her holding a trophy as big as her with little cleats and shin guards on. In another, she and Joel are holding a big fish, her toothless smile bright and brilliant, while something in Joel’s eyes looks sad even though his plush lips are curved up in a sexy smile. 

Another picture is of the little girl sitting on her mom’s lap; the woman doesn’t seem as vibrant in this picture. The next one to catch your eye is her holding a cupcake with a candle in the shape of the number sixteen, then him in a pressed black suit and her in her high school cap and gown. The last picture is similar, except it’s a college graduation photo. 

As you peel yourself away from all the pictures you haven’t managed to look at yet, you face the main living area, a large open concept space. There’s a cozy grey sectional facing the big screen TV, shelves of DVDs surround it and you can only imagine all the movie nights the two of them had down here. There's a pool table along the far back right side of the room and to the left are a bunch of guitars, both acoustic and electric, hanging on the wall. You walk towards the guitars, there’s a stool and a small table beside the amp. An open notebook with lyrics lays on the table and as tempting as it is to read it, you look away. This space is who Joel is and he’s obviously trusting or testing you by sending you down here. He did tell you that you didn’t know him, and that he could be a bad guy, but everything here screams wholesome family man. 

You dust and vacuum, then fluff the couch cushions and fold the blankets nicely. There’s an empty glass on the side table, so you grab that and wash it at the small wet bar before placing it with the other glasses. You take one last longing look at the notebook, it’s tempting but decide you are right to not read it. It’s none of your business what he writes and sings about. You picture him there, dressed casually in sweat pants and t-shirt, his large fingers plucking with a practiced finesse at the strings, you wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the floor with a cup of coffee and a book. The two of you being independently together on a Sunday morning. 

Thoughts of the two of you like that are dangerous; being his submissive isn’t being his girlfriend. You’ve been very good at compartmentalizing, mostly as a coping mechanism to your past, so you find a metaphorical little box in the back of your mind to stuff all those feelings and thoughts into. As you gather your cleaning supplies, you take one last look around. maybe this was his way of showing you that you can’t have a future with him, that he’s done with the kids-and-marriage part of his life. None of that matters to you; you don’t want kids and marriage, you just want a partnership, and the support and comfort that comes with it. You want to become a lawyer, and eventually a judge, and one day sit on the supreme court and defend everyone's civil and human rights. That’s the goal, the only goal.  

From this point on, any feelings for Joel Miller go in that box. If he ever changes his mind, he is my dominant and nothing else. You push the lid on the feelings box and run through your life plan as you head up the stairs. Law school and lawyer, then a relationship before judge and supreme court. That’s the plan, it’s always been the plan.

Once you’re in the kitchen, you pop open the fridge to see a single red rose. You lose a fighting battle with your face, smiling huge from ear to ear. You grab it and close the now empty fridge, bringing the rose to your nose to breathe in the sweet and powdery scent. The black and red envelope sits on the shiny marble countertop. You place the rose down and pop open the envelope. You pull out fifteen hundred dollars and a black business card. Your brows knit together as you inspect the card, flipping it over. A QR code for the JMK app, an activation code, and a note that says “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.” 

You practically rip your phone from your back pocket and scan the QR code. You dance nervously on the balls of your feet as the app downloads. With shaky fingers you create a username and password, then type in the activation code. A bunch of permissions pop up, and while the baby lawyer inside of you screams that you need to read them, you’re too eager, so you hastily click accept on all of them. A profile with your newly appointed username splays across the screen. Right below your name it says “Beginner Submissive” and you roll your eyes. You upload the hottest selfie you can find of yourself to be your profile picture, smirking at what you imagine Joel’s reaction will be when he sees you in that tight fitting gold dress, a picture Jamie took of you on New Year’s Eve. 

On the top right of your screen are 3 little lines, you open the menu and have two options. ‘Assigned Dominant’ and ‘Limits and Waivers’. You are eager to fill out whatever Joel wants on this app, but none of this will feel real to you until you see his name as your Dom. You giggle as you click the first menu. Holy shit, you think as the new window loads, this is going to happen, he’s going to do it. 

Your heart freezes in your chest, and every ounce of excitement and happiness drains from you as you read ‘Assigned Dominant: Tommy Miller’.

When you get home, you open your JMK app again, looking at the assigned dominant screen in hopes you made a mistake. But there it is, clear as day, ‘Tommy Miller’. You lock your phone in frustration and toss it onto your unmade bed. Why would he do this? You’re sure that everything in the limits and waivers menu would have been a yes if Joel was your dom. But Tommy? Not that there’s anything physically wrong with Tommy. He’s definitely attractive, but he’s not Joel and you thought you made that perfectly clear. 

After you shower you've decided you’ve cooled off enough to continue in the app. Tommy is still not Joel, but you want this for yourself, right? And it’s not about pleasure or attraction, it’s about the escape, and more importantly, it’s about having someone to push you and help you grow.    

You click the ‘Limits and Waivers’ menu, a whole quiz comes up where you can rate your interest in different sexual and non sexual acts on a scale of one to five, and secondary checkmark if you’ve already done those things. You scroll through the list, this would be easy with Joel, all fives, all ‘highly interested’, or so you think. As you scroll through the list you get some real fetish level stuff - diapers, feet, scat play, being hung from hooks. You know enough not to kink shame anyone, but none of that interests you. As such, you rank them as a one, not at all interested.

You scroll back up to fill in all the stuff you’re more interested in. 

Spanking, five. 

Whips and Crops, five. 

Paddles, five. 

Nipple Clamps, five, fucking five hundred at this point. 

Bondage, another five hundred. Vibrators, five. 

Butt Plug, three - ya, that one surprised even yourself, but it’s Tommy, not Joel. 

The little box to click if you’ve done those things remains unchecked. You aren’t a virgin, but the small handful of college boys you’ve entertained had the same two or three moves, all of which left you unsatisfied. 

Odette bangs on your door, and you jump as your phone goes flying from your hand as she barges in. “Let’s get ready! Repeat twenty one, baby!”

You scramble off your bed to grab your phone before she does, one of your hands in a death grip on your towel, “Fuck, you scared the shit outta me.”

“Oh god, you were watching porn again weren’t you?” She laughs as your cheeks flush crimson. She wanders to your closet and opens the doors, “We gotta find you something real hot for tonight, you need to get laid.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” you sing nonchalantly, wandering to your vanity to run a brush through your wet hair.

A few hours later and you’re all ready to go. Jamie and Laren came over to pre-drink and do their hair and make up. The four of you blasted nineties Shania Twain while drinking rosé and doing shots of cheap tequila. You pick a floor length black dress with a slit that goes almost to your hip and drips low between your breasts and leaves your back bare. You leave your hair down, curling it loosely before applying minimal makeup, flirty false lashes and a vibrant matte red lipstick. The packaging says that it's guaranteed not to smudge for up to twelve hours. 

“We’ll test that tonight on drinks and men,” Laren says as she steals it from your hand and puts it on her full, pouty lips.

Jamie surprises you with a limo. Before getting in you swipe your JMK app open and save your half-finished preferences. Tonight is not about Joel or Tommy; tonight is about you, and you deserve to be celebrated.

The table Jamie managed to secure for your birthday is perfect. You’re just off the dance floor, but raised up so that you can see the entire club. The music is loud and the room is dark, dimly lit with light pinks and purples. As you settle into the booth a young icy haired blonde girl in small black shorts and a lacy bra wanders in. “Hey babes! I’m Jade, let’s get these bottles going! Here’s the menu.”

Her eyes fall to you as she hands the bottle service menu and you both freeze. It’s her, the girl from Joel’s desk. The thump of the music fades and all you can hear is her moans and cries, the squelching of her pussy as Joel finger fucked her hard and deep. Shit, fuck, why me. She smiles at you, “Oh hey! Good to see you again.”

A chorus of, ‘again?’ and ‘how do you know each other?’ comes from your friends, all of their wide eyes staring at you.

“We don’t really,” you rush. “Just a mutual acquaintance really.”

Luckily, she gets the hint and just nods along. “What are we getting to drink ladies? I’ve heard it’s on the house so pick something expensive!”

You pick a bottle of Clase Azul tequila, Jade saying she can make different cocktails with it so you’re not all just doing shots. After a few rounds you find yourself alone in the booth while your friends go to the bathroom. Jade sits on the black leather seat beside you. 

“Look, I just want to say that I’m sorry for what you saw the other week. Joel sort of forbade me from seeking you out, but if you’re in my section at the club I work at then I’m not really breaking any rules.” She’s even more beautiful up close, no fucking wonder Joel wants to give you to Tommy. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. But you see it now, why he’d pass you along. You can’t compete with a woman like her, and from the sounds of it Joel has more than one gorgeous, tall, slender blonde at his beck and call. 

“No, it’s ok. I’m actually learning to be a sub soon.” You smile at her, trying to tamp down the jealousy that’s threatening to choke you.

“No way! Joel is amazing, I only see him like once a month now but you’re going to love it.” Suddenly your entire body feels like an open wound, and the lime and salt left on your hands from tequila shots burns through you. The back of your eyes burn, frustration and jealousy don’t mix well with Rosé and tequila. You blink a few times to stop the tears. 

“He actually set me up with Tommy,” you croak, “Said I’m more his type.”

Just as she opens her perfect pink lips you hear the unmistakable opening to your all time favourite Shania Twain song, and as if your friends appeared from thin air the four of you yell, “Let’s go girls!”. The icy blonde pats the top of the table in your booth with one hand and holds her other hand out for yours. You climb up onto the table, your friends getting on the chairs. 

Every insecurity dissipates from your body as you sing loudly with your friends, swaying your hips to the music. You surrender yourself to the genius that was Shania Twain and Mutt Lange. As you break into the chorus for a second time, a glint of silver across the club catches your eye. Standing on the other side of the dancefloor, leaning against the bar top, is Joel Miller. 

His eyes are locked on yours; he’s wearing brown dress pants and a white short sleeved button up shirt, the top few buttons are left undone and it pulls at his biceps perfectly. He looks so sexy and casual, hair pushed back as he swirls the amber coloured whiskey around in its glass. He smiles devilishly, shaking his head jovially at you as you put on a show for him. As the song ends he crooks his pointer and middle fingers at you, silently calling you over. The simple motion of his fingers makes your pussy flutter, wetness slicking your thighs since you decided to forgo underwear tonight. Risky choice with the high slit of the skirt but suddenly it’s feeling like it’s the best decision you’ve ever made.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper to your girlfriends as they help you off the table. They call for more shots and you refrain from all out sprinting to Joel. 

“Quite the show you put on up there,” he says, grabbing your bicep like he did at the poker game and pulling you gently along with him.

“You didn’t seem to mind.” You twist your arm out of his grasp and stumble. You’re definitely well on your way to being drunk, but you don’t want him to know that.

He grabs for your waist to steady you. “Careful, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not. And even if I was, I’m celebrating, so I’m allowed to be drunk. Not allowed to be your sub, but allowed to be drunk.” His eyes darken and you know you’ve crossed some sort of undrawn line, but you’re at that reckless sass point in your tipsiness and you really don’t care. A saccharine sweet smile crosses your face as you plant your hands on your hips.

“You sure you wanna play this game, sweetheart?” He practically growls.

“I’m not your sweetheart, I’m Tommy’s,” it comes out poutier than you expect. You spin on the balls of your feet and head back to the dance floor. As always, you can feel his eyes on you as you walk away. When you approach the dance floor you see a handsome man about your age looking at you. A quick glance over your shoulder confirms Joel is watching, you grab the hand of the stranger and say, “Let’s dance.”

As all young, drunk boys do, he obliges. You spin and press your back in this body, grinding your ass into him and keeping your eyes locked on Joel. How did he find you here? Why would he be out at this particular club, unless of course he’s keeping an eye on the icy blonde woman. She confirmed they only see each other once a month though, so why? Is he following you somehow?

The boy's hands move to your hips, traveling up your abdomen. You wink at Joel, pulling your hair to the side and tilting your head so the boy behind you has access to the same spot on your neck that he had in his office. Just as his lips start to lower Joel snaps. Got him, you think. He takes a few long strides onto the dance floor, pulling you away like you’re some sort of toy, like he’s a caveman coming to take what’s his. You let him pull you, yelling an apology to the boy on the dance floor.

Even though you’re happy to go with him, you can’t let him know that. “Joel, stop it. You can’t kick me out of here too.”

He takes you down a quiet, dark hallway, barely illuminated by the red glow of the EXIT sign. “I own half this place, baby. So I can.”

You twist your arm free from his grip, “You’re the bane of my existence, Joel Miller.”

“Why haven’t you filled out your app yet?”

You scoff, anger and annoyance starting to replace the happy feeling you had when he pulled you from the dance floor. “Are you stalking me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Doms can see where their subs are at all times if they accept the location tracker on the app.”

Shit, all those menus that you just clicked ‘Accept All’ to at the beginning. Of course your dom would be able to find you, depending on the relationship they can control everything you do. “You’re not my dom!” You state.

Joel rolls his eyes. “I know. Tommy told me you hadn’t filled it all out yet and where you were. So, why haven’t you filled out the app?”

You lean back on the railing along the wall and slide your feet from your heels, placing them on the cool tile of the floor to soothe the ache in your arches. Your hands come back to grip the railing. “It’s none of your business.”

“Sweet girl, in this case it literally is my business. The JM stands for Joel Miller.”

This time you roll your eyes and then mumble, “Because I don’t want Tommy. I don’t think I’m going to fill it out anymore.”

Joel leans back against the railing across the small hall from you, pinching the bridge of his noise in annoyance, “Please. For me, can you just fill it out?”

“For you? You made it clear you don't want me. I’m filling it out for Tommy.”

He crosses his arms, biceps bulging even more against the tight fabric of his short sleeved button up, if he’s not careful he’s going to go full incredible hulk on that shirt. Not that you’d mind.

“That’s not what I’m sayin’ and that’s also where you’re wrong. You’re fillin’ that out for you. If you’re fillin’ it out for anyone else, then you’re doing this for the wrong reasons.”

You let out an unimpressed sounding huff, “I’m not.”

His lips press into a tight line as he considers his words carefully; Joel is old enough to know not to argue with a twenty-one year old who’s had tequila. “Ok, you’re not. So then why do you want to be a sub?”

He watches as your whole body seems to deflate, there’s a shift, almost like desperation in your body. Sadness lines your eyes as they meet his and your voice comes out small and uncertain. “Because I’m exhausted, Joel. I - I spend all day making decisions, and studying, and learning about civil rights law. I’m always having to come up with a plan A, and B, all the way to plan Z sometimes. And then,” your head falls back to the wall as you continue speaking to the ceiling with your eyes closed, “Then I do it all over again the next day. I can’t shut it off, my brain. It just keeps going and going. It's so loud, so constant, so fucking overwhelming and there’s no escape.”

You fall silent and he steps forward, slipping his large hand behind your neck and bringing your gaze to his. You continue, fighting against the boulder that’s forming in your throat, “I don’t think I’m good enough. Or strong enough…Smart enough. I want to see for once that I am, want to see what I can overcome. For once,” you sigh heavily. “For once I just want someone to tell me how well I’m doing.”

Joel’s eyes fall to your lips, his voice a hoarse whisper, “Fill out the app.”

You take a deep breath. You feel lighter after finally getting to confessing all of that to him. That was your plan for his office the other day, but something about him flusters you and you were completely knocked off the rails by that special unknown thing Joel has over you. You whisper, “I don’t want to do this with Tommy. Please, Joel.”

Joel’s forehead comes to rest on yours, you can see the golden flecks in his dark eyes at this proximity. He smells like mint, and that same ash and leather from his office the other day. You should ask him right now why he let you in his basement today, but he speaks before you can. “Can you please, just for once, show me that you can listen?”

“Kiss me,” you hum, trailing your hands up his strong arms.

He stiffens under your touch. “What?” he asks dumbfoundedly.

“Kiss me and I’ll go home right now and fill out the app,” you whisper, inching your lips closer to his. 

“You’ll go home, fill out the app, and you will not touch yourself.” It’s not a question, it’s a deep command.

Now it’s your turn to be confused as you say, “What?”

He crowds his body closer to yours, pulling his face back slightly so he can take you all in. You’ve never seen this expression before, that flash of darkness from the first time you called him Mister Miller in your car has permanently etched itself into your mind, but it’s almost like he’s transitioned into full dominant Mister Miller now. “If you want to convince me to be your dom, it’s not going to be through just a kiss. So prove to me that you can listen, prove to me that you can be a good girl. ”

The wetness between your legs starts to coat your thighs at the sound of him asking you to be a good girl. You clench your thighs together as his forehead meets yours again.

He continues, his voice just as commanding, “If I give you this kiss, you’ll go home alone, you will not touch that dripping little cunt, and you will fill out the app.”

Your pussy is throbbing with need. You should have known better than to sass him so hard tonight. Someone as competent and experienced as Joel would know exactly how to punish his sub when they were acting up. You nod your head and hum in agreement to his demands.

“Ask me nicely.” He murmurs.

“P-please…kiss me, Joel.” Butterflies assault  the inside of your stomach.

You didn’t think it was possible, but he manages to crowd you even more, your entire body pressed firmly against his. Every skin cell is screaming for his attention, every nerve firing off signals making you hyper aware of anywhere he’s touching you.

“Ask me again using that name I told you not to call me,” He knows he’s playing with fire, but at this exact moment he doesn’t care, he fucking loves the way his preferred dom name sounds coming off your lips. 

“Kiss me, Mister Miller. Please?” It’s airy and desperate, your knees feel weak below you and it feels as if you can’t get a full breath in. The anticipation is killing you. 

“Why?” he growls. Growing up you were always afraid of dark spaces, but if there were any monsters in this hallway they’d be running scared at the timbre of his voice right now.

Your back arches instinctively into him. You’re safe here, Joel Miller is your safety. “Because I need you, Mister Miller. Please. Just one kiss…then I’ll do anything. I promise. P-please. I need to feel you on me, Mister Miller.”

Joel bends slightly, his hands come to the back of your thighs and he lifts you, slamming you against the wall. You squeal, arms flinging around his neck as your ankles hook around his waist. He pins you to the wall with his hips and lets go of your thighs. Both of you are practically panting, his cock is hard as steel, pressing against his zipper and your bare pussy. Your skirt is covering you from exposing yourself to him but something about the glint in his eye when your bodies connect makes you think he might know you don’t have any panties on. 

His hands peel your arms from around his neck and he pins them with one hand above your head like he did in his office. You whimper and grind your hips against him. His free hand wraps around your throat, holding it gently. 

“No,” he growls and it takes every ounce of self control you have to stop your hips. “Say it again.”

He watches your mouth hungrily as you lick your lips and you fight back a moan. He can feel your pulse firing rapidly under his calloused fingertips. A needy whisper passes your lips, filling the miniscule space left between your bodies. “I need you, Mister Miller. Please kiss me.”

With that he slams his lips against yours. It’s a desperate and heady mess of tongue and teeth, your moans being swallowed by his greedy mouth. You tilt your head to allow him in more. His tongue devours every inch that it can reach. He nips at your bottom lip before diving back in. He takes whatever he wants from you and you let him. For the first time in years your brain is quiet. No anxiety about the quickly approaching LSAT, no thinking of whatever practice question you’re stuck on. That nagging fear of being rejected from all the law schools you’ve applied to goes silent. The worrying voice that tells you you’re not good enough disappears. Everything you are is replaced by whatever Joel gives. 

You grind down onto him as you flick your tongue against his; he’s so rough yet so very soft. His tongue tastes like mint and whiskey. You can feel your orgasm building, it’s going to happen embarrassingly fast at this rate. You feel light headed from lack of oxygen and the slight push of his fingers into the side of your throat. More, more, more, you yell in your head.

Joel breaks the kiss and puts you down on your feet, holding you steady as you find your legs again. His lips are puffy and even though it’s not the time to be thinking of this, you realize there isn’t a single drop of red lipstick on his face, so it really will last twelve hours without smudging. 

His thumb comes to your face, swiping along your bottom lip gently, “Put your number in my phone, sweet girl.”

He holds his brand new iPhone Max out to you and you tap your number in with shaky fingers. He sends a quick text when you hand his phone back and then he kneels in front of you, helping you back into your heels. As he stands his hand trails from your ankle, all the way up the slit of your skirt to settle on your clothed hip. “Go get your stuff and go home now, baby. There’ll be a car waiting for you out front.”

He pats your bum gently as you walk on shaky legs back to your VIP booth. You feel like a newborn giraffe as you make your way to your table. 

“Where have you been?” Jamie proclaims, holding up a tequila shot for you.

You wave her off, “I think I’ve had too much. I’m gonna go but I want you girls to stay. Enjoy your night for me.”

It takes a few minutes but you convince your friends to stay and that you’ll be fine and already have a ride arranged. As you exit the club there’s a gorgeous blacked out town car parked in front. An older gentleman in a suit looks at you and nods, “Good Evening, Miss. Are you the young lady Joel Miller has asked me to escort home?”

You nod back, trying to act like this is an everyday occurrence and not the most outrageous thing that’s ever happened to you. As soon as you get home you change into your most unflattering set of pajamas, hoping that if you feel unsexy then it’ll stop that insistent throb between your thighs. Joel was so fucking close again, and this time there was no underwear in his way.

You slide open the app, Tommy Miller is still set as your dom, but you go through the preferences carefully and answer as honestly as possible as to what you want. You try to focus on the questions even though you can still feel Joel's throbbing cock pushing against you, and his warm hands around your wrists and throat. You can still taste him on your lips. You shake the ghost of him off of you and remind yourself again what you want from this, aside from mind-blowing orgasms. 

You fill out every section and then hit save. Just as you are about to lock your phone and try to fall asleep your phone vibrates, the JMK app as a notification.

‘Your Assigned Dominant has changed to Joel Miller’

Your heart pounds behind your rib cage as you stare at the notification, your head feels fuzzy, possibly from the booze, or that kiss, but you can’t believe your eyes. You close out of the app and go back in, staring at where Joel’s name has replaced Tommy’s. Just as it all starts to feel real you get a text message from a number you don’t have saved. You click on the message app.

“No coming until I say so, I know you weren’t wearing any panties tonight. Messy little pussy ruined my pants. Go to sleep now, my sweet girl.”

Next Chapter

[camtot]

There’s still a bunch of stuff available up on my shop! (Including a few things I somehow forgot in the shuffle of photographing everything) I’ve now sent enough stuff with auspost that I’ve got a shipping discount, so all shipping fees are cheaper, for international customers this mainly affects adding multiple items to the same order just because of how the fees work 📦

I’m planning to close the shop probably next weekendish (I’ll update again once I decide) and I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do another shop update til November based on my current market schedule, so last chance for a while!

[livingmybestfakelife]

Birds Of A Feather

Elijah “Smoke” Moore x Annie Moore, Elias “Stack” Moore x Annie Moore (Platonic)

The usual sounds of moaning, cussing, gambling and headboards banging up against the walls were currently being replaced with a Hoover vacuum picking up every crumb, dust and dirt on the Moroccan imported rugs that laid on the first floor of the mansion. A cleaning crew of six went to work as scheduled to freshen up the house. Every Sunday at 8 o’clock on the dot, the men and a few women of Harrison’s Housekeeping had entered L’Étalon to do a deep cleaning of vacuuming, dusting baseboards, sweeping and mopping the hard wood oak floors. Sometimes when bed linens pilled up, they would even take that down to their laundromat and wash them for an extra fee, which was no issue for Miss Annie.

Annie Moore née Walker, had inherited the stunning mansion by her late mother Juanita, who was also a madame. She taught Annie everything she knew on how to run a business like this and how to keep your gigolos and their tricks in check. It wasn’t a career field she’s ever dreamed about, but it’s what she was good at. And the same was said about the Smoke Stack twins. The handsome men and voluptuous woman had all grew up in the gritty Delta that had various ways of survival, and that was either racketeering, hard labor in the fields, scrubbing laundry for rich folks, or turning tricks. And the twins were very good at the first and latter options. Stack especially enjoyed the fucking, that much was obvious, and he thought he might as well get paid for it so why not. That’s when he went into “business” with his dear old friend Annie. Doing four nights in the week, he had a decent amount of frequent customers who paid a generous cut for him to fuck them good into the mattress, it was no surprise that he was one of the fan favorites.

While the rest of the house was being cleaned. Annie was in her en suite soaking in her clawfoot tub. The warm water of the bubble bath heated up her soft skin while the fireplace was beginning to heat up her bedroom. She added some drops of lavender oil within the water, a fragrance she’s loved as long as she could remember. As she scooted herself up, some heavy footsteps made its way behind her. It belonged Stack. He had sat down on a plush cushioned foot stool and began to run his fingers through her hair. She moaned at the feeling, loving the treatment from one of her dear friends. He soon began to separate her hair into sections and took his time to oil her scalp. He never rushed this process, it was one of their bonding moments. He did it for her every other day and she would be the only person he trusted to shave him. Some moments later they began to sing a tune together, it was their song.

“My girl, my girl , don’t lie to me, tell me where did you sleep last night, in the pines, in the pines, where the sun don’t ever shine, I would shiver the whole night through”

He picked up her boars hair brush on the little table next to the tub. It had a sterling silver handle with flowers and vines engraved, a gift from Smoke when they got married. He gently brushed her soft tight coils. The feeling almost made her drift off to sleep. He ended the grooming session with a kiss to her temple and stood up to walk to the mirror in front of the sink to spruce himself up. Today was the only day of the week he got to visit Smoke, the inmates of Haywood Detention Center allowed twice a week visitations and only one person was allowed to come at a time, he used one day and Annie used the other. Stack always liked to look his best, even if it was just to visit a jail. He pulled a little comb out of his sweater pocket and combed his facial hair, he would wait a little while longer for Annie to shave him, liking the slight scruffy look for now. He topped off his own grooming with a few dabs of Florida Water that Annie kept in the mirror cabinet.

“Anything you want me to update him on?”

“No…it’s been slow this week, not much going on”

“It’s because of that new police chief in everyone’s business, scaring off folks from round here”

She sighs at the reminder. Vernon Hanley was steady “cleaning up the streets”, and one of the ways he was doing that was slowly cracking down on the red light district part of Clarksdale. Which was bad for business. He was part of the reason that Smoke was locked up now, though it was unrelated to the hoeing. He got caught up in a racketeering conspiracy which would’ve been five years, but with the help of a smooth talking yankee white lawyer, it was able to be talked down to just a year and four years probation. Which meant Smoke would have to have no parts in his and Stack’s casino business. He was screwed on that part, but it was better than the chain gang and not being able to see his wife and brother everyday

He nods and goes to walk out of the bathroom, but not before turning around and letting her know about the decision he made. Last week Stack had discovered Annie’s emotional affair with one of her workers, Lonnie. He’s been working there for three years and managed to fit in well enough, though Stack never warmed up to him as much as everyone else. Annie tried hard to convince him to leave him be, that she’ll fire him and make him leave town, and most of all, that it never got sexual. But Stack didn’t care about none of that, to him, Lonnie was a threat to the already built in family, he told her that he’d think about it, but that was just to calm her down for a while, he already made up his mind the moment he found out.

“I’m sorry Annie….but he had to go”

She begins to shed some tears, looking at him with the most devastating eyes, deep down inside she already knew what Lonnie’s fate was, but she still wanted some hope, how silly of her.

“Did you make him suffer?”

“Nah, it was quick, don’t worry”

She nods and sniffs and looks in the opposite direction to compose herself, if she saw his face a little bit longer she was bound to get sick.

“Smoke will forgive you, he always did, and always will….I do too, I mean with Smoke been tangled up in this shit you needed a shoulder to cry on, a woman can’t be without her man for too long, it’ll make her crazy”

“Elias, please…”

He walks over and crouches down in front of her, he gently grabs her chin to look at him.

“It was always just us, the three musketeers against the world, you really thought I was gonna let a muthafucka come between us like that Annie?”

“All we did was talk, I was hurting and alone-“

“You come to me then! You talk to me, not an outsider”

He wipes her tears and rests his forehead against hers.

“This whorehouse, the casino, none of this shit makes us Annie, we’re bigger than all of that, whatever temptations that come from it we fight through it, we’re all that matters, okay?”

“Okay, yes alright”

He gives her a forehead kiss and leaves for visitation. Annie hasn’t felt this much guilt in a long time, she felt like she could’ve tried harder to keep Lonnie at a further distance, keeping it more professional, no matter how hard he wanted her attention, she should’ve tried harder, but she couldn’t. It was too little too late to turn back now, Lonnie was probably buried in the woods somewhere, waiting to be consumed by whatever type of nature consumes him.

@sinnersappreciation

@childishgambinaax

@uzumaki-rebellion

@browngirldominion

@tforpresz

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

The PledgeManager has launched!

Thank you for bearing with us. We’re happy to say that, as promised, the PledgeManager has officially launched!

In case you missed it, we detailed earlier this week that the publication of the graphic novel has been pushed back from its original July 2024 estimate into Spring 2025 - you can read the full update here. We also want to take a moment to say that we have seen the outpouring of love and support on Kickstarter, and across various platforms, wishing Colleen well in her recovery and the time needed for the graphic novel - a huge thank you from all of the team for your understanding and patience, and for the genuine community and care we’ve seen these past few days. We appreciate you all.

PledgeManager

With this in mind, we think it’s important to underline: though PledgeManager has launched, you do not need to pay for your shipping fees immediately.

The PledgeManager is there for those who missed the campaign to order the graphic novel, and indeed for any backers who would like to upgrade, get some other add-ons, or the new items. You, as a pre-existing backer, should receive an email with information via Kickstarter and/or PledgeManager to inform you that this is now open to you - note, these are sent in waves of smaller batches, so if you don't get yours immediately, don't panic! It will likely take between 12-18 hours to process all the backers.

You are, of course, welcome to pay your shipping right away if you'd like, however we completely understand that you may want to wait until closer to the fulfilment time, or when more solid dates are confirmed, before actioning this.

For this stage, we have compiled a quick FAQ below covering some key questions:

Will the whole project be moving from Kickstarter to PledgeManager? No. This is just for the fulfilment side and logistics - all updates will still remain here.  

Do PledgeManager backers get everything that Kickstarter backers do? No. While the remaining tiers will be made available for those who missed it, with certain stretch goals (e.g. additions to the book, loot boxes, etc), Kickstarter backers have a number of exclusives such as the Good Omens HQ discount code for when the store launches, and the backers only events.  

My PledgeManager address will be different to what is listed on my Kickstarter. Is that fine? Yes. We are handling all logistics through PledgeManager and, as such, that is the only place where we will need your address. If you move or need to change any details, that will be the place to do so.  

Can I change my address? Yes. You can update your address until we are at the shipping stage. We will keep this option open for as long as possible to ensure maximum flexibility around this.  

How are shipping fees calculated? It is based on both weight and the country it is being sent to. We have been working over the past months to streamline processes and bring the costs down from their original starting point.  

Do I have to pay just now? You do not need to pay immediately, but payment will need to be made prior to your items being shipped. You now have a bigger window during which you can make payment. As above, we will keep updating you on the progression of the publication schedule, should you be waiting for firmer dates before doing so.  

What about taxes and import duty? UK: VAT is included in the costs UK backers pay, there should be no extra tax charges. US: We believe (but cannot guarantee) that imports under $800USD in value should not attract import duty, those pledges above may be taxed at import. EU & REST OF THE WORLD: If taxes or duties apply to your pledge, these will need to be paid at time of import into your country. We’ve spent months trying to integrate the costs at this stage, but in having the project open across the globe, it has proven too complex to be able to fully refine and cover all instances and locations, and we’ve been advised that this is the best route forward.  We know a lot of international backers, particularly in the EU – for example – will already be used to this process, and we will keep you all updated on any developments on this front. For all of our backers, we are working hard to make labelling and declaring all of the contents of your pledges as transparent as possible, in order to make taxing and importing as easy and affordable as possible.  

I want to buy the new items, but am waiting to pay shipping. Are they limited? The pins, mugs, notebooks - all the new items specifically added to the PledgeManager are not limited and will be available regardless of whether you get them now, or months down the road. The only limited items are the remaining tiers that have moved over from the Kickstarter (e.g. the Obsidian Tier) that were limited to begin with, and a very limited run of the Alien Parking ticket. Everything else is fully available, in perpetuity.  

Will you be adding extra items to the PledgeManager? No. What is there at launch is all we plan to include at this point - any new items afterwards will instead originate via the Good Omens HQ store.  

Will Kickstarter backers get items first? Yes. We will have a staggered approach for fulfilment: Kickstarter backers, then PledgeManager, then everything that is moving to the Good Omens HQ store will subsequently be made available.

You can also view the more general PledgeManager FAQ at terrypratchett.com.

We will keep PledgeManager and logistical notes present in all the monthly updates going forward, but felt this warranted a dedicated one-off. 

These are available as part of the PledgeManager. Another beauty from our pin designer, Carl Sutton.

Thanks again for your patience. Back in the April monthly update.

In short: :)

The Good Omens Pledge Manager has launched:

those who missed the Graphic Novel Kickstarter: Now you can order the Graphic novel, not all things that were in the original Kicstarter are available but there is stil a lot of options and fuckton of lovely ineffable add-ons! :)<3

those who participated inthe original GO GN Kickstarter: you should an email (Dunmanifestin needs more information to fulfill your reward) with a link that logs you (if not log manually) into the pledgemanager and lets you edit the order (add new add ons) (yep, my wallet weeps :D<3)

The addons:

I mean... how can one resist for example these I do not know... :D

[abimee]

hi i can no longer act coy or hope that a job will come in time so im coming to everyone really embarassingly with my issues

in June I attempted to get fired from/left my job after having a really embarassing public meltdown due to having Rapid-Cycling Mixed Bipolar and the unending stress of that job of 3+ years. I've been struggling to get a job afterwards due to being in CA without a vehicle, and i'm currently working on an overdue commission so could not open up any more.

Soon after, my mother's car imploded, and a series of incidents related to a used engine and taking out a loan with a friend has left her both needing to pay back the loan and still needing to get a new car, putting her thousands in the hole.

my mother has allowed me to not worry about paying rent while unemployed, but now the person living with us is moving out, so it will be on me and my mother to pay rent, upping mine from $300 to $500 a month. I am currently job hunting with good prospects, but I am still in need of some assistance.

I DO NOT WANT TO ASK FOR DONATIONS WITHOUT GIVING SOMETHING IN RETURN, I have a very bad time taking help from people without doing something in return because I do not want people to feel like they Have to give me money or help me, I want to Offer something in return for that money, even in a situation like this, because I want everyone to come out on the other end feeling fulfilled, so I'm offering some (slow) cheaper commissions I can work on in between the bigger comm I owe.

My kofi is always open for donation sketches ---- you can donate the minimum amount (or whatever you prefer) and get a drawing like this of anything as long as you put it into the donation message!

i cant currently take on big commissions as I have one i owe and the commissioner is a very generous person who has been waiting a good few months for me to finish one during this hectic time, but if you're interested in getting something a little higher quality for a donation, a $30-50 USD donation can get you a ''simple commission'' styled drawing --- that is, you give me a prompt and character refferences (ocs or fanart, up to 2-3 characters depending on complexity), and I draw them like below (color complexity depends on price, the higher the amount the more the color).

You wont have access to revisions to make this as fast as possible, so i HIGHLY reccomend only getting fanart comms of these and to make sure you really like my style!!

this is one of those situations where I DEEPLY reccomend people do not donate unless they want something in return, if you dont wanna ask for a drawing or anything i reccomend going to people in more dire circumstances and helping them out with your donation!!!

but if you want to help me help my mother get out of a bad financial situation and get a little drawing in return, you can do a small dono and att a message of what you want doodled, or you can email me at cyrdrawings@gmail.com your $30-50 donation reciept and what you would like me to draw, and ill try to get them as soon as I can

thank you so much for checking this post out and keep it real old school!!!!! i promise once this is over and i get a job we'll be back to your regularly scheduled art posting

[EDIT: PLEASE DO NOT REBLOG THIS VERSION. I AM NO LONGER TAKING THE SIMPLE COMMISSION TIER. REBLOG THE ADDITION TO THIS POST GIVING AN UPDATE]

[amywritesthings]

writers! do not! owe you! updates!

this is not tiktok. we are not content mills. we are posting our stories -- oftentimes short story or novel-length -- for FREE.

free. adverb / without cost or payment.

you get these stories (not content, they are actual stories people write out of their own blood, sweat, and tears) without having to pay a singular fee or monetary transaction. these authors often have day jobs or university or both. they even have families! children! pets! social lives! if we have other things going on or simply do not have the brain power, then we do not owe you our time nor our energy for updating our stories or wips or ideas we throw onto the dash or ao3.

i am fortunate that i haven't gotten a demanding anon in a minute, but i am so sick of watching my mutual writers get harassed about their update schedules. the ironic part is that you're only making us not want to write said update when you demand more. not ask, not hope, but demand.

learn some empathy, and above all else: learn to be less of an anonymous coward demanding someone's free time for yourself.

[dustedbooksandreadingnooks]

Hrgh.

Hi we(me, @candycryptids , and our other spouse) are $200 in the red because a bill went out today that we weren’t expecting and we are looking for some help. Covered!

We still need help!

Details under the cut so I can keep this short on people’s dashes and update funds as needed.

We’re getting paid tomorrow, but I’ve already had to borrow nearly half my paycheck, and we still have the second half of rent to pay and our car insurance with it. Our spouse’s job has continually cut hours scheduled and we keep coming up short. But in good news….

Our spouse has gotten a new job! That pays well! And is MINIMUM 40 hours!!!! But it doesn’t start until March 24th. *EDIT: We will not get a paycheck until April 17th!!* We do not have the means to survive until our first real paycheck paycheck in over a year and a half.

So I’m doing the only thing I can do at this point which is ask for money(again). I’d love to get $200 TODAY(March 13th) to avoid late fees, but I know that’s an incredibly steep ask. (Taken care of!) Any money given will be wholly devoted to keeping a roof above our heads, gas in our car to get to work, and us and our pets fed.

If you would like to be paid back, the earliest date I can give you is May. Please DM and we can outline a payment plan. I cannot stress enough that I will do the utmost to stick to whatever schedule we set, and with a new job can actually offer this instead of just asking for money! My husband also has commissions open(check their blog!)

Thanks for taking the time to read this/sharing it/donating. Making this post is preventing me from having a breakdown, not because I assume we will get money but because at least I’m doing something.

Cash@pp $Candycrypt

Venm0 @ KEDragonslayer

Ko-fi candycrypt

Dm me for Zelle or PayPal.

March 13th 200/200

THANKS TO AN IRL FRIEND!!!!!

We are ok for avoiding overdraft fees today!!!

I’d still really like to get some more to cover gas and groceries… and. Personal hygiene. We can’t afford to wash our clothes and I’ve actually gotten in trouble at work for this. (We also ran out of deodorant yesterday. And have been out of body and face wash for…. A while. Taking a shower every day isn’t good enough)

280/???? (Last updated 4/2)

(3/13)Thank you for the reminder to add ko-fi 😭 got soap and breakfast/lunch for next week!! And dinner for tonight…. (3/19)Waurgh Thank you to everyone who's donated so far!!!! Definitely going to be able to cover spouse's needs for the new job! (3/21)Thank you for the continued donations TTATT Slowly getting closer to making up for the hours of work that have been cut

(4/2) Got back out of the red (again) and hopefully have enough gas to last us until our paycheck!!

Thank you so much to everyone who's donated!!!

[genericpuff]

Hey y'all, Episode 67 will be out as soon as it's ready. I'm not gonna lie, coming off the back of a crazy holiday season, I was hoping things were gonna get back on track with the update schedule, but the last 2-3 weeks have brought about a whole new whirlwind of issues:

I took our cat to the vet a few weeks ago to get him checked out (esp because he wasn't eating as much as usual and we wanted to make sure he wasn't sick). The usual vet we go to has become a shithole, the doctor we got was extremely unhelpful and every interaction I've had with other members of staff there has been confusing and unpleasant. After an hour of an appointment that was more uncomfortable than it should have been, we were out $700 which was absurd, even for usual vet fees. After I shared the more detailed version of this story with friends IRL, some of them mentioned that apparently this particular clinic (among others throughout Canada) was bought by an American company. So that certainly explains a lot -_-

Car broke down and that cost like $800 to fix. Thankfully wasn't as expensive as the fucks at Canadian Tire quoted us, but it was still another huge expense on top of the vet bill.

Our shop moved locations this weekend, which took a lot of time to both prepare for and finally pull off over the course of the last few weeks. My new booth is at least set up enough to tattoo but there's still a lot left to do to make it comfortable.

Now my cat is potentially developing jaundice (sign of liver failure) which lines up with his blood test results from the vet showing increased liver enzyme levels or something like that (but they were apparently not enough of an emergency for the vet to actually do anything about it). I booked with a different vet clinic but they can't get us in until the 20th. So I booked an appointment for today with the emergency vet up the road. I'm terrified for him, he's an old cat so it was inevitable that his health would start to turn, but other than his increasingly picky eating habits and signs of jaundice, he's still acting like himself and it's breaking my heart that he could be hiding his own symptoms. I really just do not need a pet death on top of everything else that's going wrong right now.

As for the episode itself, it's not even that long, but the set design is pretty detailed and in our attempts to create some 3D models for ourselves, it resulted in bugs that had to be fixed on the fly. Thankfully I think we've finally got it down (and it's a recurring location so it's not like it won't be useful to have again in the future) but overall the episode production just hasn't gone as smoothly as it could have compounded by everything else mentioned above.

None of these are excuses, just reasons that have justifiably required my attention. Depending on how the vet appointment goes, I'll try and stream later tonight so that folks can at least watch some of the drawing progress for this episode. Episode 67 will be out by next Saturday at the latest, assuming I'm not able to get it out in the next day or two.

I know I'm a broken record at this point, but I'm incredibly sorry for the wait and I appreciate your patience with me. I'm begging for things to calm down soon.

[ranchstoryblog]

Update regarding the Guardians of Azuma Earth Dancer Edition goodies

The letter posted below was shared by official Marvelous USA social media accounts:

For those with any issue with reading the text in the image, the text has been transcribed below:

I'd like to share an update with our fans in the Americas. Like othre companies that deal with an international supply chain, the uncertainy of the tariffs situation is creating havoc on our production schedules and there is a chance that the premium "Earth Dancer Edition" of our upcoming Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma release may not be ready in time for the game's worldwide June 5th release.

Specifically, the 'sensu' folding fan is done but has been stuck at our supplier's factory in China for a couple weeks. Trying to bring it over now with the effective tariff rate will cost unanticipated fees totaling over 20% of the suggested selling price, largely due to this item being the most expensive component we have ever produced (with the exception of a figure going into a collector's edition). We cannot pay those fees, and trying to pass the cost on to fans who already pre-ordered at a set price is also unacceptable to us.

In case anyone is wondering why a fan steeped in Japanese tradition is made in China: This is because that was the only option available to us when we started this process almost a year ago, when we were told there was not a sensu manufacturer in Japan that could create our custom fan at the quantities that we needed. Instead, we imported authentic Japanese 'washi' paper to a facility in China where they would be assembled using a labor-intensive process.

There is still a chance that the goods could make it in time for a launch and this message worries everyone for no reason, but I prefer to be open and transparent with our community. Even if the tariffs are reduced or elminated tomorrow, there could be a huge backlog of product in similar situation as ours. What that means is that what would usually haven taken only a day to clear US customs could take weeks - that is how uncertain things are right now with our already delayed schedule.

We will continue to closely monitor the situation and be prepared to provide the product as quickly as possible (such as bringing the sensu fans by air rather than the much more economical ocean freight). We thank you for your support and understanding if even our best efforts still result in a delay.

Ken Berry President, Marvelous USA.

[pumpkinsouppe]

Happy dunmeshi Thursday!! As promised I finally finished this piece jfdksl

As an extra special surprise im actually going to be selling this as 3.25” stickers on my shop 🤭 the plan was to originally open up with physical merch in February but due to a surgery schedule i think im gonna open up with digital merch in February and physical merch in March!

If you want updates for when I open the shop I hope to regularly have updates on my kofi! I have another dunmeshi sticker I plan to post next Thursday!

[honeysorwell]

all of it (all of you)

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x hairdresser!fem Reader

Synopsis of the story + Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Link on AO3

Chapter 5

Tag list: @janeyseymour @italianaidiota @chloeelou02x (and if you want to be tagged too just let me know.)

Warning: no, in my clean era once again.

I'm really sorry for the wait, but this past week I ended up losing all the writing files I created for this story on my computer (ideas for future chapters and also dialogues that I really wanted to incorporate into this story). So I spent the last two weeks trying to remember everything and rewrite what I could to save it and make future updates easier.

But anyway: here it is and once again, thank you all very much for embracing my work with such affection.

Enjoy!

The next few months are peaceful for Y/N and Melissa.

Very peaceful.

The hairdresser always finds a way to make the conversations they shares while she dyes Melissa's hair revolve around the teacher's routine at Abbott Elementary, where she works. It's a good topic, which the Brazilian woman takes advantage of because it's particularly simple to stay on the redhead's good side thanks to how fun children are regardless of their ages.

If Melissa told her that she preferred a quiet appointment, Y/N would honestly be fine with accommodating her request. But the fact that the redhead had never verbalized or even hinted at this was what she wanted, along with the way Melissa felt guilty when she was late for her hair coloring months ago, hammered at the hairdresser's mind in a way that made her feel safe to chat animatedly with the teacher whenever she had to see her at the salon.

In the midst of these conversations, Y/N makes a point of telling stories about some of her child clients back to the redhead, just enough so that Melissa knows she is not talking to herself, but always letting the redhead do most of the talking, in addition to laughing and telling the teacher things she has heard from them while keeping Melissa's haircut perfect, renovating it every three months.

In Melissa's seventh month as a Y/N's client and after many cheerful conversations about children, Janice, a regular client of Angelina, has decided that in addition to her nails, she wants to wash and dry her hair once a week.

The first thing Y/N notices about Janice is that her hair is thin and completely white, worthy of the elderly lady that she is. Since Janice is not at all demanding about the result, she is just tired of washing it at home due to her age and thinks it would be convenient to take care of her nails and hair in the same place, the suggestion of adding her to the Brazilian hairdresser's list of regular clients starts to sound more and more attractive to Y/N.

After an honest conversation with the sweet older lady, the Brazilian woman offers her a $10 discount on her hairdressing service in an attempt to get her as a client as soon as possible. It makes sense for Y/N to base her decision on how her frequency as a client would make up for the lower weekly fee, and when she accepts, they both share a tight, joyful hug.

And even though that's great for the hairdresser, Melissa isn't sure if she shares her enthusiasm.

The trouble starts the following week, when Janice has her first appointment as a Y/N's client. Melissa had already noticed, ever since she was late for her appointment with Y/N ​​almost half a year ago, that the time slot she was scheduled to see the hairdresser on Saturdays was significantly empty for the Brazilian woman, with no clients either before or after her appointment.

It was good. The teacher couldn't deny it even if she tried. The lie would be seen from miles away.

Sometimes she would show up early for her appointment, and find Y/N smilingly looking at her cell phone, watching videos of animals doing particularly adorable things (videos that Melissa told herself were the reason her heart beat faster, not Y/N's proximity when she offered to show them to the redhead). Other times, when the teacher took longer to pay due to the lack of connection on her cell phone, Melissa would notice how Y/N's chair remained empty for at least half an hour.

The first time Melissa arrived early on a Saturday, which should have been like any other and saw that she had to wait to be seen, according to the time that was marked under her name with the receptionist, she found it peculiar.

It was, to say the least, eccentric to watch from a certain distance and among unknown women, who were also waiting for their turn with their respective hairdressers, an unknown face sitting in the chair that only remained empty, as if it were always waiting for her.

But that wasn't exactly the problem.

After all, the teacher knew that Y/N was a wonderful hairdresser and definitely wanted all the clients she could get her hands on. The problem was what Melissa noticed when Janice's presence as her hairdresser's client extended from a single week to every single week that Y/N saw the teacher.

Melissa noticed, since her first appointment, how the Brazilian woman always had a very private conversation with Melissa, prioritizing keeping her voice low so that no other hairdresser or client in the salon would hear what they both talked about so much. And the teacher liked it, found it personal and respectful that Y/N didn't let her matters be heard or commented on by strangers, even though they never talked about anything really private.

But now, seeing how Y/N was with her other clients, she didn't like it as much as before.

After all, the women of the Schimmenti family have always had many adjectives to describe them, but inattentive was never one of them, and that was the key to discovering that Y/N always shamelessly compliments all the women and men in the salon for everyone to hear.

But not her.

Sometimes, they are absurd and caricatured compliments, not exactly sensual, even though Melissa saw Y/N wink at one or two clients before bursting out laughing. Compliments come naturally from her lips, always encouraging others around her to agree with her words. The Brazilian's compliments are also never disrespectful or sexual, just indescribably genuine words that are almost always responded to by her clients with the same enthusiasm.

And she only finally believes what she is seeing after the fourth month of watching Y/N compliment Janice's nails. Over and over again.

But the conversation between Melissa and the hairdresser remains the same. Children. Over and over and over again.

It's not the redhead's intention, but she can't help but get irritated, month after month. And she hates even more the fact that Y/N notices her bad mood like a sailor notices an oil slick in the sea, in a clear and worrying way.

The Brazilian woman is even nicer to her, making even more superficial conversations and offering her tea or coffee while showing her little drawings she received from her clients just to make Melissa smile. Y/N’s favorite is one with a car full of blow dryers and brushes, made by a little shy boy who apparently adores the Brazilian woman, and Melissa can’t help but smile between her lips when Y/N looks so proud.

The teacher feels unstable and absolutely ridiculous. Sitting in the hairdresser’s chair with a frown on her face, month after month, then smiling softly at Y/N’s worried look until someone in the salon compliments some other person around her, reminding Melissa why she’s feeling this way.

Is it stupid to want something like... a friendship? Something bigger than the superficial shell of what Y/N is offering her month after month?

Until she finally understands, when a client in the chair next to her asks Melissa which of the two shades of red would look best on her own hair and sees how the Brazilian woman interrupts the question, albeit politely, saving Melissa from interacting with the other client in the salon.

The realization shines in the teacher's mind as if she were a cartoon character.

Y/N believes that maybe this is how their relationship should be. Professional. Distant.

The Brazilian woman must believe that this is how Melissa wants her to be, and that's why she maintains this pattern of behavior month after month.

The problem, bigger than all others, is that Melissa is not good at asking for things.

She is good at bartering. Being born into such a large family and having so many siblings was a great help.

Her mother always loved to sew, and her father worshiped baseball. So, after her teenage self sneaked out the window on Saturday night to meet up with whoever she was interested in at the time, Melissa would sew with her mother every Sunday after they got back from church until lunchtime, and then watch the game with her father in the late afternoon, cheering for them the same way she cheered for the Eagles, all for a few extra minutes away from home the following week.

Her sister, Kristin Marie, has always been passionate about nail polish. Colors, designs, sparkles, and little gems, all of them fascinated Melissa's sister, and so it was easy for the teacher to simply barter the household chores that needed to be completed between the two of them when Melissa had something to offer in return.

As she grew older, the targets became different, but the way of offering always had the same basis, making Melissa triumph brilliantly in bartering as if she were in the Middle Ages.

Now, asking without having something to offer in return?

Please, Y/N, talk to me like you talk to others around you. And if it’s not too much, compliment me like you do to them.

It was definitely off the teacher’s list of skills.

But fortunately, she doesn’t need to ask for anything. And she only doesn’t need to because a look from her, on a Saturday like any other, is seen by Angelina.

And what kind of friend would she be that wouldn’t open the Brazilian’s eyes?

“Your redhead is mad at you.”, the Greek woman says with a smile, watching her face contort in confusion.

“My redhead?”, Y/N asks, completely lost until she sees Angie tilt her head toward the salon door, where Melissa can still be seen, walking slowly toward her own car, “You mean Melissa? Mad at me?”

“She looks at the other clients as if they personally offended her every time you compliment them.”, the Greek manicurist explains as she helps her friend clean the counter for the next appointment, who will be there for a haircut in forty minutes.

“You are being ridiculous.”, the hairdresser’s response is said with a smiling but suspicious tone, as she continues to gather her belongings.

“Just pay attention. It’s not jealousy, but discomfort.”

And so Y/N does, only to see as clear as the light of a sunny day how right her friend was.

Melissa looks at her for too long, as if she is studying her, before glancing at the other people in the salon. The redhead looks at her reflection in the mirror seriously before bouncing her foot nervously, absorbing Y/N’s every move like a hawk, but it only takes one sentence to dismantle all her bravado.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”, Y/N says softly as she points to the hair of a client next to them, but makes a point of touching the redhead’s hair at the same time, watching the teacher’s face attentively.

The face of the woman of Italian descent turns as red as her hair, even after realizing that the compliment wasn't meant for her, and that's what turns on all the emergency lights inside Y/N's brain.

"Yeah... beautiful.", she says with little enthusiasm, but still with a small smile on her face, and the Brazilian woman feels so guilty about it that, before Melissa leaves the salon, Y/N hands her a lollipop and justifies the gesture by saying that it's to sweeten the rest of the redhead's weekend.

Even knowing that her own weekend is ruined.

Y/N sleeps little in the following weeks, caught up in thoughts and possibilities.

The Brazilian woman has been attracted to clients before, and she always compliments them shamelessly the moment she notices that they are open to receiving her words. Sometimes, some of them even turn into something bigger and more intense as comfort has settled between them.

But Y/N had been reading Melissa wrong all along, and thinking about how to compliment a client like her was eating her brain day after day.

Because Melissa wasn't like the other clients. The teacher had not only had an awkward moment with her when they first met, but she had also been a dear client of Andrea's, and Y/N deeply believed that she needed to walk on eggshells around the redhead.

Melissa was important. Too important for small talk and silly compliments.

So she thought.

How would Y/N justify, more to herself than anyone else, if Melissa took her behavior back to that first day at the salon because of her words?

Y/N knows she's not one to mince words. The hairdresser knows she's kind and even considers herself more charismatic than most people, but the way her brain works has always gotten her into trouble. If something bothers the Brazilian woman, her reaction in response is automatic, no matter the consequences. Wherever or with whomever, the Brazilian woman receives the information spoken, her mind suddenly processes those words and then creates her response, which escapes between her lips without any warning. Over time, with the maturity of becoming an adult and working with people every day, Y/N managed to tame this side of her soul. But if something went too far, Y/N would quickly act accordingly.

What would she do if her words offended Melissa?

But the teacher's gaze was too obvious.

Expectant, even anxious, even in the midst of discomfort.

And it is thanks to this impulse, in the middle of a calm night watching bad television after an exhausting day of work, that the Brazilian woman realizes that perhaps being honest is the best thing to do.

After all, Melissa is pretty. Very pretty.

The redhead is attractive like those women who change the entire trajectory of someone's life with just a wink. With her leather jacket, sunglasses, and high-heeled boots, it's absolutely impossible not to notice her the second Melissa walks into the salon. So why not take advantage of that to complement her?

Something natural and quick, as if it were an impulse from her own mind or as if she were taking off a bandage. But something that could also be said to any other client without making it awkward, because the last thing Y/N wants is to embarrass herself in front of the redhead.

"It could work.", the murmur leaves Y/N's lips softly towards the television, as if the characters from Survival had the ability to answer her, "What woman doesn't like to be complimented? Especially in a hair salon, right? What's the worst that can happen?"

And wrapped in this wave of courage is how Y/N is the next time Melissa shows up at the salon.

“Have you noticed any difference in the color fading this month?”, she says as she takes the cape that will protect the redhead’s clothes from the dye and gently spreads it over Melissa, touching and moving the teacher’s hair away so she wont accidentally catch it when closing the cape before turning her attention back to her reflection in the mirror.

“No, I didn’t notice anything... Your work made me look like a million dollars in twenties just like the last few times.”, the teacher answers her as she does every time the Brazilian woman asks her this question, with a soft and unpretentious shrug, giving Y/N the cue she needed.

What could go wrong? It’s just a compliment.

Y/N holds a lock of Melissa’s hair, sliding her fingers carefully, as if she were evaluating her previous work, and then holds her gaze in the reflection in the mirror. The Brazilian woman's lips curve into a shy smile at the redhead who watches her through her reflection, before plucking up the courage to answer her, knowing full well that it will be enough to slip through her lips what lives in her mind as naturally as breathing:

"I appreciate it, but I dare say that this is only because of your pretty face, the work I do is just a bonus.", and as Y/N's words are spoken, she misses the button that should close the protective cover around Melissa's neck and, when trying to fix it, ends up gently scratching the pale skin of the teacher's neck.

As an automatic reflex, the hairdresser's fingers caress the slightly scratched spot with loving pressure, but only until she realizes the weight of the silence there.

Melissa has a single eyebrow arched, mouth open in surprise, and watching the hairdresser and her every move like a fucking eagle, but she doesn't pull herself away from her touch. A slight blush rises to her cheeks, and Y/N notices the surprised sigh that escapes the teacher's lips as she feels the skin on the redhead's neck visibly shiver beneath her touch.

With a quick movement, she attaches the cape in Melissa's body with trembling fingers before stepping back.

What Melissa doesn't pay attention to, thanks to how shocked she is watching her own blushing reflection in the mirror after recovering from the light scratching of Y/N's nails on her neck and her warm touch, in addition to her gentle praise, is the speed at which Y/N ​​runs towards the salon's stockroom.

Inside the stockroom and with no idea what to take back as an alibi for having so brutally walked away from Melissa right at the beginning of her appointment with the redhead, Y/N gently leans against the closed door with her right hand precisely on her own chest. With her mind dizzy from a feeling that takes over her, Y/N can feel not only her breathing affected but also her heart, beating hard enough for the Brazilian to believe that it is fully capable of escaping from her chest and running straight to the lap of the teacher who is waiting for her outside.

[echonidae]

✦ COMMISSIONS REOPENING on monday, December 2nd!! ✦

hello there!! i'm a good deal late again (i miscalculated how much time it'd take to get everything ready for this new batch orz), but, i bring news of a new commission batch, scheduled for monday, December 2nd!!

i have a bunch of things to report, which you can read under the read-more (or over on [deviantArt!]) but yes, the important bits:

all commission types available!! regular orders: 12 slots total (3 active, 9 in queue) doodle orders: no limit so long as it's open!! (6 active slots!) pagedoll orders: also no limit!! (2 active slots!) the queue(s) will remain open indefinitely the waitlist for the next batch is unavailable until further notice ✦ digital medium only! the commissioned pieces are all .png files; no physical items will be shipped. ✦ for regular orders, max of 2 SLOTS per person; i'll be working on multiple orders one at a time (the second order will be moved into the queue) ✦ waiting period is 2 months at most! i tend to work fairly fast, and i'll keep you updated throughout the whole process!

here's a link to the commission info website!!

more info on the upcoming commissions + new stuff under the read-more!!

so!! >:3c

a new commission option!! we'ge got pagedolls now!! :"D

they're lil' stylized full-body portraits with transparent backgrounds, clean lineart and flatcolors :'3c i just posted the examples separately, you can check them out [here]!! they have their own queue, like doodles, but function the same as regular orders in terms of feedback and client updates– the different queue is just because pagedolls are faster to complete, and therefore it'd be nice if they didn't take regular-order-slots instead :')c no limit of orders per person, but i will be working on those 2 at a time c':

speaking of full-body, from here on all commission options offer full-body portraits, replacing knee-up!! i feel more confident with my art now to tackle full-body stuff :') with this, i went and changed the nomenclature of shoulder/waist/knee-up to just bust/half-body/full-body, which i reckon better suits how i tend to go about where to cut off portraits (uh... ribcage/mid-thigh/mid-calf-up x"Dc)

portraits can now have up to two characters!! slooowly climbing towards just having multiple extra characters x'Dc but for now, just the two!! prices vary depending on how much of the second character is visible (plus an extra fee if the 2nd character is Very Very Intricate design-wise). more on this below, and on the [website] too :')c

that said, familiars / pets / companions don't count as extra characters!! they have their own stipulations, also described below!!

this time i'll be (once again) working on a reduced amount of slots for regular orders (doodles and pagedolls exempt!), in an effort to finish things up in a more timely manner by focusing on a smaller amount of orders, and to then open new batches more often (since the last one was over a year ago). this time around, there will be a total of 12 slots for regular orders: 3 active slots that i'll be getting started on right away on monday, and then another 9 waiting in queue c: again, no deadline for those!!

since it's a small number of slots, regular orders slots are limited to two per person!! so that folks have a good chance of getting a slot :')c and given how it's just 3 active slots, i'll be working on multiple orders one at a time c':

doodles and pagedolls do not have those limits, and i'll just go about finishing them up as i can c: six doodles at a time, and two pagedolls at a time as well, but their respective queues have no slot limit, and folks can order as many as they want at once :3c

in a different note, over the course of the year, i've gone from using Paint Tool SAI to drawing and painting on Rebelle 7 instead, and have since acclimated well enough to continue commission work with no issue– i can now send the finalized files at better resolution too :"Dc yey nanopixel :3c

which reminds me, icons are now sized 1000px square insted of 800px!! minor change but still noteworthy x')c

lastly, cases in which no sketch presented is suitable, and no amount of editing said sketch can help its approval and the client would rather a new sketch be made, i can do so for a flat fee of 35% of the original order's price– this does not impact choosing between sketches and such, or my tendency towards working on more than one sketch for orders, or if the client has presented multiple sketch ideas for the same order :')c the modifications, big and small, of the sketch phase remain entirely part of the process and free of charge!! this is just in case an entirely new sketch is necessary, since the sketch portion of the process is usually the more complicated and time-consuming bit of the commission c': so, edge case, but it's a new thing added in and i want to make mention of it!!

other than that, prices have been updated, and there's been minor edits in wording for the sake of clarity in the terms on the [website], on the forms, and the descriptions of the options and extras c': i've also, as you may have noticed, updated all the examples on the info sheet and on the website to be past commissions!! some of which i have yet to post (orz on my way!!! ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ), but that you can see as well over on the commission-info-place :')c

and that's it for all the new stuff!! :'D

thank you so much again to everyone who ordered last batch (i'm so happy folks like the doodles so much, for one!! they've been a heckin' blast to work on, thank you all again!!), and everyone who reached out and sent messages and stopped by the commission-info-website for orders or to just say hi, i appreciate it tons :')c i'm looking forward to this new batch!! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

thank you again, and i wish everyone a dang nice day!! :"D i'll be posting until then, but cya monday!!

[betterbemeta]

I like the cockroach spirit of posts going around to encourage queer community in the USA during this current time. I think that's valuable.

Where some of them are losing me though is 'do you know how to DIY HRT'? Which is definitely a valuable knowledge to have! You should know all that is possible regardless of what choices you make. But I think we need to have a chat about illegalism. okay.

Illegalism is: "illegal actions, seen through a lens of praxis, ideology, systemic activity."

When you tell someone that they should/must be prepared to break the law for their safety, security, survival, or even just because it's a stupid law, illegalism has entered the discussion.

in the USA, Testosterone is classified as a Schedule-III controlled substance. The penalty for illegal possession and use is not as high as Schedule I or II. But we should still understand what its status means, beyond the concept of 'magnitude of punitive consequences' when we talk about it. Illegalism can help us do that.

Public understanding of illegality is pretty much dog shit where I live, starting in early childhood. We typically are taught early that it's bad to break the law, without a need to know what any laws actually are in detail. Or how they're enforced aside from 'by the police,' or the level of knowledge enforcers have, what the objectives of said laws are, and if you had any say in the process. The idea of 'criminals' is hazy at best, like, 'bogeymen.' Religion definitely pollutes this, like 'a criminal' is a Bad Person, Unlawful, Sinner, Punishable, etc.

But this means many people think of 'crimes' in very limited ways, or don't update this knowledge over time. I think it would be fair to say that it's common to think, 'when it's hard to compete, some people cheat.' It's very popular to believe that it's 'easier' to do illegal, dishonest, illegitimate actions as if these are all the same concept. They aren't.

But that narrative seems to 'make sense' as its commonly applied to a doping scandal. That person couldn't win a sports competition fairly. So they took testosterone, or a steroid. That's easier than 'competing fairly,' isn't it?

No! It's way more expensive, riskier to get and use a prohibited substance than to not do that.

In reality, illegal actions are harder than legal ones. This has nothing to do with whether this is a moral or immoral action, enforcement of the law is only about making some actions harder to accomplish than others.

This is not always enforced by the cop form of violence, the prison form of violence. Sometimes it's enforced by the fine form of violence. Or the 'fee' form-- others are 'allowed' to capitalize on the barrier to access. Scarcity can do the job with years-long waiting lists or every warehouse out of stock of something you're technically allowed to obtain. Inconvenience can be enforcement too: requiring so much time or effort that it's easier to quit than to complete the process... if it even has an end.

Some things are hard to 'successfully' prohibit even by all of these means. The consequences may be enormous and brutal if the police raid your 1950s gay scene, but it costs people very little money, frustration, time to 'go to the same place as other people in your local area.' This is because many non-illegal activities require 'walking around', 'meeting people'-- laws against 'crossdressing' or 'soliciting' are often written to select 'the criminals' out of a bunch of people doing ordinary things.

But can you tell me your plan to DIY some Adderall? Do you know how to make Adderall? Do you know a drug dealer? Can you pay the price they set? Can you protect yourself from that person's level of risk as well as manage your own? Are you capable of giving informed consent about the Adderall you obtain-- if it's just some cornstarch in a pill jacket, do you have a way to test that?

If you answered yes to these things, you probably have more resources than some people who will hear 'just DIY it.' Yes, that includes 'do you know a drug dealer.' Drug dealers aren't 'those things poor people know.' And someone who currently pays nothing for their medication via a govt. program, and loses access to that program, is not going to be helped by The Ability To Buy Weed In The State of Georgia.

So we can now understand that unlike walking, meeting people, 'obtaining restricted substances' is an extremely specific behavior that authorities assume no 'normal' people need to do. Even crossdressing in the 1950s, dresses had to be available for women so the sale of dresses, creation of them couldn't be regulated. Laws are enforced at the stage that 'selects the criminal'-- if that enforcement is absolute, you may not be able to break a specific law at all even if you wanted to. DIY me some Plutonium-239.

But what difference does it make if Adderall, HRT, become simply so difficult to access that they might as well be weapons-grade plutonium even to people who legally could obtain them? That's already true for some people, and if conditions continue to deteriorate could apply to more people. How do you 'DIY' your way out of that? (Hint: it may require...)

"Be prepared to break the laws you can break," is a less attractive statement, isn't it?

It's necessary. But it also admits that some of us may not be able to successfully resist oppression even by illegal means. Or at least not completely, or in all ways. Some of us could just be stuck experiencing the material consequences of losing human rights. The scope of illegal actions some will be capable of will be like, shoplifting laundry detergent. violating a lease, working extra unreported jobs, squatting. Rioting. While not being on T.

[dlxxv-vetted-donations]

Vet link | Gfm: PayPal, Venmo, Google Pay, credit/debit

A great thank you to everyone who pulled together for @dev-tawfik and his family on short notice to buy them food. We hit $7,230 today.

Unfortunately, we now need to focus on his international student fees which we're running a bit of a tight schedule on. I'm also not online for most of today and at the time I write this, Tawfik hasn't made a new post. Also, I've yet to discuss the goal and deadline with him.

Please check Tawfik's account for updates today. We need roughly $200 daily, so donations are very appreciated.