#Happiness was payed away with corporate money

[fishoffontaine]

its surprising how little people know about this . Really its the same case with climate change ! The public stays uninformed to the stuff that happens in the atmosphere . Everyone was so confused when the sahel was covered in a sheet of water and when flowers were growing on greenland . It such a shame we can’t see this just when we walk out of the cage that is indoors, so used to a dull sky that once had the splatter of dancing stardust visible to the visible eye .

I think one big reason why we don't consider the stars as important as before (not even pop-astrology anymore cares about the stars or the sky on itself, just the signs deprived of context) is because of light pollution.

For most of human history the sky looked between 1-3, 4 at most. And then all of a sudden with electrification it was gone (I'm lucky if I get 6 in my small city). The first time I saw the Milky Way fully as a kid was a spiritual experience, I was almost scared on how BRIGHT it was, it felt like someone was looking back at me. You don't get that at all with modern light pollution.

When most people talk about stargazing nowadays they think about watching about a couple of bright dots. The stars are really, really not like that. The unpolluted night sky is a festival of fireworks. There is nothing like it.

[what-even-is-thiss]

The reason people don’t want to work is that it’s just normal for them to be in bad work environments.

My issue with working at Walmart wasn’t the work itself I was doing. It was the circumstances around it. The concrete floor, lack of places to sit, having to put up with asshole customers, not getting time off for injuries, and bad pay.

If I had been given shock pads to stand on or a few chairs to rest on sometimes, if they paid me a livable amount of money and I was allowed to yell back at asshole customers, if they had given me any amount of training, I would happily work part time folding clothes all day and telling people where the swimsuit section is.

I’m a creative type. I’m a writer. I’m pretty smart, even. But if I could make a living folding shirts and listening to podcasts in one ear and helping people find the scented candles for 30 hours a week? I would. Leaves some mental space free for me to brainstorm. Lets me catch up on my reading with audiobooks.

But instead I was treated so badly by upper management and customers that I’m like legitimately a little frightened whenever I step into a Walmart now. And I only worked there for three months a few years ago.

I’m a good lower level worker. When I’m treated well. I like finishing tasks. I like being helpful. I like having some time to talk to coworkers and some time alone with my thoughts. I’m a frickin team player. And that’s how I was at my first job. I was treated well by my supervisor. I was trained. They were patient with me. I was so good at being low on the totem pole at that job because I was valued and felt like I was being listened to. I was able to sit still when there was nothing left to do which made it feel less bad when we were on a time crunch. I didn’t mind working hard at that job because it was fun even though I was doing all the low level stuff that the supervisors didn’t want do.

But at Walmart I was like that for all of two days. Then I figured out that nobody appreciated my work and if I worked in my normal people pleasing manner I’d kill myself because their standards were high and the rewards for meeting them were low.

So I slowed down. I started avoiding customers. I started taking a lot longer to get to my breaks and to come back from them. I became worse at my job because no matter how good I was at it there would be no reward, no appreciation, and I’d just be pushed further beyond my limits.

My only level of happiness from that job came from the people who were working with me. The old ladies and my department manager who made sure I wasn’t overextending myself. The one other young man working in the clothing department who always got sent with me to unload the heavy stuff and commiserated with me about the shoulder injuries, the hurting feet we were too young to have.

But none of that was enough to make me stay. We were constantly understaffed. I was constantly abused by customers and not able to do a thing about it. I was not paid much at all. So as soon as I had enough saved up for what I was trying to do and my last semester of college was about to start I handed in my two weeks.

I would have found a way to stay if I liked that job. If I liked that job I would’ve pushed myself to my mental limits to finish college and keep that job at the same time. Heck that job could’ve been a rest from college. A place to get away from it. But I hate that job so I got out as soon as I could.

I want to work. I want enough money to live sort of comfortably. I want to have some tasks to do to give my creativity a rest. I want to be a part of something. But the way that modern corporate run work environments are set up does not give me any of the things I actually want out of a job. And I think that’s the same for millions of people right now. A lot of people would happily spend their lives as a waitress or an Uber driver or a warehouse worker or a farmhand or any other “low skill” job you can possibly think of. But with the way the world works right now those jobs are absolutely miserable. It doesn’t have to be that way. I know because I’ve had a fulfilling part time minimum wage job that I looked forward to going to every week. A job where I was listened to and allowed to sit when I needed to. I miss that job. Especially now since I’ve realized that’s not the standard. It should be. People should look forward to going to work or at the very least not get mild ptsd whenever they set foot into a Walmart.

[idolomantises]

Wasn't sure when it would be the best time to discuss this, but since the ending is drawing near... yes, Bugtopia is ending.

It was a decision I really wrestled with myself for months over it, before finally concluding that letting it end after 40 episodes was the better option. Just to be clear, webtoons did not force me to end the series. They even offered to give me a pay raise to continue the series. It was my decision due to a multitude of personal factors. I'll just repeat what I said on my patreon:

I just want to say, first of all, thank you all so much for patiently waiting for my series to release and for supporting my work as I began developing the series. Bugtopia was a series I genuinely loved and adored and it made me feel so incredibly happy that people were turning their heads towards a series about weird bugs and their natural lives.

However, as you can probably guess, it pains me to say that I am concluding the series after season 1. I had 4 seasons planned with new characters to introduce, but unfortunately, I cannot see myself continuing to work with Webtoons and I want to pursue other projects.

This decision was due to a compiling number of issues with the company, the final straw was when they had a mass layoff, fired my editor that I've been working with for two years, and did not inform me for a week, leaving me in the dark until they randomly assigned me with someone else. My new editor is great and I'm glad I'm working with someone so patient and understanding, but this decision to fire my previous editor, the one who got me the job to begin with, without prior warning made me feel disrespected and disregarded, and it killed all motivation I had for properly completing the series.

I also felt incredibly overworked, I was spending vacation days working on comics and avoiding time with family just so I could get something done for webtoons once I come home. I feel like so much time was being wasted away for a company that paid me so little that I had to work twice as hard building up funds on my patreon. Bugtopia just ate up so much of my time. The pay also didn't make up for it. It's commonly assumed that webtoons authors make about $800 for the episodes they do, but that's not true. In fact, you can make far less depending on the amount of panels expected for your contract. It doesn't help that the artwork i did for banners and promotions were all things I had to draw and didn't get paid for, and the work I gave was either tampered with or scrapped, making me feel like I spent more hours of my day wasting time. There were also comics I had to censor and scrap, likely due to another series being in hot water for its racially insensitive content. But it was just extra work I wasn't being paid for. It also frustrated me because I was seeing other series with far more explicit content getting away with a slap on the wrist (turns out you can't say "fuck" anymore without it being hit with a mature rating, disappointing!)

In all honesty, it just felt like webtoons needed me more than I needed them. I was making more money from patreon in a week than I was making from webtoons in a month.

Personally, while I don't really regret my time with Webtoons and met some great people along the way, I honestly don't think any artist should work with them. You will be severely overworked and underpaid, and will barely be featured in ads unless your series becomes an instant hit immediately. It doesn't really matter how successful you are, you're just a product to Webtoons, put yourself above the corporation.

I have tried my best to provide you all with a satisfying conclusion to Bugtopia, even if some episodes may feel rushed or incomplete, but I completely understand if the conclusion isn't to your liking and I do apologize, but I could not continue working on this series if this was the mistreatment I was going to continuously get. I owe a massive thank you to my editor and assistants for helping me complete the series, I truly don't think I could have ever finished it without them.

Though I am done with Bugtopia, that does not mean I want to stop projects entirely, so please don't feel bad for me. I have a lot of upcoming projects and ideas in the works, and I'm still continuing the Monsters and Girls series.

Will Bugtopia ever return... possibly. I retain complete ownership of the series after a few years, and I wouldn't mind continuing the canvas series (or possibly starting over). Unfortunately I don't think I can continue the Webtoon Original as it belongs to webtoons now, but never say never I suppose!

[anthurak]

One detail in Mammon’s Musical Special that I found rather interesting upon rewatch is the fact that Fizzarolli doesn’t seem to be subjected to or threatened with direct sexual exploitation or coercion by Mammon.

And I find that pretty curious because we generally kind of expect or otherwise assume that sort of thing in these kinds of stories, right? That this super manipulative, abusive boss who’s exploiting his prized performer also personally lusts after them and is privately coercing them into performing sexual acts. Particularly when we consider the whole ‘Sex Robots’ angle and the fact that we’re seeing/will-see exactly this with Valentino and Angel Dust in Hazbin Hotel.

But with Mammon we just flat out don’t see this whatsoever. He never makes any sort of advances on Fizzarolli or makes any kind of direct comment on his attractiveness, even in their private conversations. In fact, I get the sense that Mammon doesn’t even CARE personally about sexual gratification all that much.

The way he off-handedly brings up the ‘sex-robot’ idea in the flashback really gave me the vibe of “I don’t exactly GET this whole ‘sex’ thing myself, but if people will buy it, awesome!” The way he talks about Fizzarolli’s sex appeal and the robots makes it seem like Mammon views sex purely as a commodity he can profit off of, rather than anything he’s personally interested in.

And I find all that pretty interesting because the episode makes clear that Mammon not directly sexually exploiting Fizzarolli DOESN’T make what he’s doing any less creepy, manipulative and abusive. Mammon still comes off as a giant skeevy scumbag because while he may not care about sex personally, it's clear that he’s still happy to cater directly to the ‘sick degenerates’ (as he outright calls them himself) among Fizzarolli’s fans simply because he realized that he could make a LOT of money off them. While being completely uncaring about how uncomfortable Fizzarolli is with this arrangement.

If anything, I think this all may have made it even harder for Fizz to recognize and admit to himself how badly Mammon was treating him. We see in the episode that it seems like the indirectness lets Fizzarolli more easily rationalize away just how uncomfortable it makes him, what with the whole ‘they’re just toys’ comment. It’s not like he’s the one all the creepy obsessive fans are paying to have sex with, it’s just hundreds of robots made specifically to look exactly like him.

It all conveys the cynical, uncaring, exploitative nature of how Mammon really views Fizzarolli, and of course helps to frame Mammon as a stand-in for any number of exploitative entertainment corporations. The kind of morally bankrupt mentality that might not personally agree with some truly awful people, but will happily cater to them if it will generate profit.

Finally in an amusing twist, it also means that even as bad as Mammon is, he’s somehow still beat in the complete and utter scumbag department by Valentino XD

[lelliefant]

If you want to know why the Loki fandom has drifted away, just look at what Disney/Marvel did to him.

He was incredibly powerful—they made him weak and helpless.

He was smarter than everyone else—they made him a fool.

He was a prince—they made him a corporate office drone. They literally put him in a cubicle.

Loki was an alien—they made him an ordinary guy.

He was flamboyant and colorful—they put him in beige. They actually made him act as if he was excited to wear a beige uniform.

The real Loki would never have tolerated a uniform of any sort, much less something so bland. He was never a soldier or a cog in the wheel. Loki is the piston.

Loki was a deeply wounded, angst-driven son with complex motivations—Disney made him an uncaring narcissist who suddenly sees the error of his ways (in one episode) and has a total personality swipe.

Loki was iconoclastic—they made him ordinary.

They took the most interesting and volatile character in the MCU and warped him into an Everyman role, and somehow everyone bought it. Apparently because they used the same actor with the same face—?

Really think about it. If another actor had started playing Loki for the series, they couldn’t have pulled it off. Series Loki is not the same character as Loki from Thor 1, Avengers 1, and Thor 2. He’s as different as the moviemakers in charge of the productions are. (The directors of Avengers 1 and Thor 2, Joss Whedon and Alan Taylor, simply had the grace and humility to take their cue from the original vision of Kenneth Branagh.)

If you don’t actually pay attention to Loki’s character, motivations, logical action, or his history, and you’re only interested in being entertained, I guess it doesn’t matter. This is just a superhero movie character, so who cares if they turned him inside out to conform with a simpler, less challenging archetype?

He’s their property, after all. They can use him however they want to. If they want to chew him up and spit him out as a naive, lovelorn mensch because that’s the Disney protagonist formula, they can and will. If they want to put him into a buddy-cop procedural, as if he were an ordinary human person whose shtick is a magic kit, they can.

A lot of you who are constantly defending the Loki Series are not really thinking about it. Maybe you’re just happy he has a show to his name. Maybe you don’t care; you just want more “content.” Maybe you don’t want someone spoiling your fun.

Maybe you think you’re being the loyal crowd by “defending” Loki. You’re not seeing that Disney did worse than kill him off—they unmade him. They put the God of Mischief into a blender with the Disney formula, audience response data, standard storytelling tropes, a limited range of plot lines, and a great deal of money, and out came this golem with Loki’s face on it.

You might revile me for saying all this because that’s easier than facing the truth or questioning the Powers That Be. There will always be people who can’t tolerate having their beliefs challenged.

I have seen nastiness on this hellsite toward people who question and protest what the majority accepts—but that’s just a reflection of the real world. It’s never going to work out well for those of us who see things differently and who don’t shut up about it. So, why do we keep annoying everyone with our dissenting opinions?

In my case it’s because I actually do care about Loki. I care enough to tell the unpopular truth, as I see it. Because, to me, Loki isn’t just an MCU character. He is representation.

He was a survivor of abuse and scapegoating by his own family. He was an outsider who defied convention and took on great challenges, despite everyone in his world trying to push him down. He shirked the role he was forced to play and chose to define himself instead. He saw the hate and scorn directed at him from all sides and laughed.

He struck out on his own into the unknown—which is incredibly hard to do, even if you had been given the support to believe in yourself.

The Loki Series did get one thing right: Loki is a survivor. He’s survived misinterpretations before, and he will survive Disneyfication. Maybe the public will tolerate a warped mischaracterization of him for a while before they lose interest, but the God of Mischief prevails. Thor1 Loki will always be there, smirking triumphantly from the shadows.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Vino Veritas - Part II

A Destination Wedding Frank x Fem!Reader Fic

Attending the wedding of your ex-fiancé gets slightly better when you meet someone having just as miserable a time as you... Warnings: Nothing too serious holy shit. Cursing. Broken engagement. Nihilism, existential bullshit, copious amounts of sarcasm. Eventual nsfw, not this chapter. Angst. Grump/sunshine trope. Loosely based on the movie but I'm not that smart. Or bitter. 😆 chapter map.

II. The Interminable Fucking Car Ride

“So…what do you do?”

“I run the marketing department for JD Power.”

“The car trophy people?”

“That’s a magazine.”

“Ah. So you’re the grand architect of big corporate’s bid to tell us what to think while slyly taking all our money.”

He snorts. “Only those who are incapable of thinking for themselves. Somehow, that doesn’t seem to apply to you.”

If you squint, that almost felt like he was paying you a compliment.

“So, what do you do?” he asks in turn.  

You don’t know why you’re almost embarrassed to tell him. “I run an art gallery/gift shop on the beach in Playa Bonita.”

He blinks, those lovely dark eyes fixed on you for a moment. “Of course you do.”

“What does that mean?”

He huffs a little. It almost sounds wistful, but then he frowns, utterly fucking ruining the moment.  “You just look the type.”

You’re not sure why that stings…or why you even give a fuck.

The Fucking Rehearsal Dinner

“I’ve never really understood the point of the rehearsal dinner. Is eating so hard we really have to rehearse it?”

You sense an almost twitch of the corner of Frank’s mouth. They have stuck you together at a table in the far back. The black sheep who they felt they had to invite, but didn’t really want to.

“Not to miss the opportunity to make the groom’s parents spend unnecessary money too?” Frank offers.

“Fair to spread the misery, I guess.”

“Didn’t you sue Keith over this shit?”

“My parents did. They lost thirty thousand dollars in deposits.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. No one should spend that kind of money on a wedding.”

“Strangely, I agree with you now. I didn’t know any better at the time.” You’d been so young, you could hardly even fathom how much thirty-thousand dollars was.

Your parents had been happy at the time with the prospect of marrying you off to Keith. He’d been successful, charming, and outwardly doting on you. They never really thought you had much going on your own, so they probably thought he was the best you could do. The thought still hurts, more than it should.

“I mean,” you blurt, “Did you know who you are or what you wanted when you were 20?”

“Of course not.”

“He was my whole world. When he dumped me. It...it really fucked me up.” You don't know why you're admitting this to this near total stranger. There is just something about his forthright manner that demands honesty. 

“Ah well, join the club. My father tried to shoot me once, if it makes you feel any better.”

You blink. “He tried to shoot you?”

“Yes. With a gun.”

“What did you do?”

“I ran at him.”

“You ran at him? Not away from him?”

“Yeah. Well, I was pissed off. He tried to shoot me again, but I got the gun away from him and hit him with it. Broke his orbital bone. He said I was the accumulation of all his bad decisions. He started to cry and begged me to kill him. I didn’t, only because I didn’t want to fuck my whole life up. The poor bastard jumped out the seventh floor the next day.”

Before you can stop yourself you reach out to place your hand on his on the table.

Before he can stop himself, his long fingers close around yours.

This connection endures for precisely 1.5 seconds before he shakes you off.

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t think your fine.”

“Fine, I’m all fucked up, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

You sigh, sinking down in your chair, embarrassed. Why did you touch him? What were you thinking?

“I guess we’re in the club together,” you answer miserably.

You feel him looking at you out the corner of his eye. There is a weight to this man’s gaze. It’s not unpleasant, just…you feel as though he sees everything.

“I feel like we should get at least decoder rings or something,” he grumbles.

The bride and groom make their entrance, interrupting whatever acerbic thing you were going to say next. You watch as they make their way through the crowd, basking in the glow of being the center of attention. Keith always loved that shit. You hate to admit, that his bride to be is a solid stone cold foxy 10. The kind of woman that men will trip over themselves for as they walk down the street.

You weren’t bad looking but you’d never had that kind of power.

If you wanted to trip a man, you had to do the dirty work and actually stick out your foot.

“Oh, look at us, let us presume to inconvenience you with the ostentatious display of our love,” you mock quietly in a mousy little falsetto.

It actually makes Frank laugh. At least, you think it’s a laugh. Maybe it was indigestion.

He joins in, though forgoing the funny voice, “And we’re conceited enough to think we’re actually different from the rest of the human race, and our love will last forever and ever…”

You’re enjoying this malicious bit of fun, but there is something in the way that he says it that makes you pause. “You don’t think love can ever last?” you ask.

He snorts. “Well, he doesn’t. I heard the prenup she had to sign was brutal,” he tells you.

 “Poor thing.”

“You really feel sorry for her?”

“Slightly?”

“Are you going to say hello?”

You sigh. “I guess I fucking better.”

You slowly make to stand, the chair screeching under you. “Give ‘em hell, kid.”

You flip Frank the bird as you go, and hear that peculiar strangled sound that must pass for his outward expression of mirth.

Dumb ass free shit you would never do on your own

"I spoke to the bride last night."

“Indeed?”

You’ve had pedicures before, but you’ve never sprung for a professional foot massage, and you have to admit it feels pretty good. It totally surprised you to find Frank there, but he’d informed you unashamedly that he can’t resist free shit. You find that amusing, considering he’s obviously comfortable, if not outright rich.

Maybe that’s how he stays that way.

“Yes, and she told me she doesn’t mind that you’re here, and she’s not threatened by you.”

You snort at that, taking a long sip of your iced latte.

“At least, I think she meant you. She’s dumb as a box of rocks, it was hard to tell who or what she was talking about at times.”

You sigh at hearing that. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to soothe my feelings.”

It’s his turn to snort. “Merely reporting facts, I assure you. If you still feel badly about Keith and have not managed to move on to one of the other 8 billion people on this planet, then there is no helping you.”

“Is that your method for getting over a bad breakup?” He makes it sound so easy, you cannot help but roll your eyes at him.

“No, I have opted out of that shit show. It makes me uniquely qualified to offer comment on your own situation.”

You tilt you head in confusion, looking over at him. “You’ve…opted out of what? Dating? Romance? Marriage?”

“All of the above. It never ends well, as I have learned from watching my mother’s train wreck of a life as she blithely stumbled between marriages and boyfriends and suitors.”

“That’s so sad,” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

If you hadn’t already started to learn this man’s gestures, you would have missed the way he stiffened slightly, staring fixedly down at his feet.

“How many times have you been in love?” he asks.

You think about it, and regret the answer. “Just the once.” With Keith, the asshole. Any one who came after didn’t have much luck getting over the wall you built to protect yourself from another heartbreak.

He looks at you then, and you are pinned by those chocolate brown eyes, that for once seem earnest rather than annoyed. “What’s it like?”

The fact that this man, who is at least ten if not fifteen years your elder, is asking you tears your heart into little bits of confetti.  

“It’s like going insane,” you answer truthfully, and he looks back down, frowning.

“I thought so.”

***

You are standing in your inflatable body bumpers together on the sidelines, declining to partake in this insane sport, content to watch the others attempt to inflict cervical injuries on themselves and others.

The question is eating at you, and you decide what the hell. What’s he going to do? Be mean to you?

“So, you’ve never been in love?”

“I don’t think so,” he answers, frowning, though it’s the same frown he’s been wearing for the past hour watching the idiots running around the field.

“Believe me, you would know.”

“Do insane people know they’re insane?”

“Ok, maybe that was a bad comparison. It’s…total surrender.”

“Wow, you’re really talking it up.”

“It is though. You have these special feelings for a person, and you just know whatever they do to you, it won’t matter, because you’ll still care for them.”

“It doesn’t matter, until it does matter.”

“Some people have higher tolerances for pain than others.”

“If you loved Keith you could probably take a Caesar-style stabbing without flinching.”

You’re not sure how exactly to respond to that.

“At any rate. I prefer to avoid pain rather than withstand it. My parents inflicted quite enough. No need to spread it around.”

“Alright, I get it that your parents sufficiently traumatized you, with the failed marriages and the…shooting thing. But doesn’t there come a point where you have to let it go and rise above it?”

“I don’t see any reason to.”

“Think about all your missing out on though.”

“What exactly is that?”

“You know…human connection. The things that make life worth living.”

“Jesus, are you sure you don’t work for Hallmark?”

“Positive.”

“I bet you sell rocks in your shop that have inspirational words carved in them.”

“Of course I do. The markup on those things is astronomical.”

You see him smirk out the corner of his eye.

“I bet you also sell little statues of big-eyed children slinging bible verses.”

“Ohhh, now those are fighting words, sir.” You bump him lightly with your inflatable tutu, making him shuffle a step. For a fleeting moment, you catch a hint of a smile, and it feels like a resounding victory.

Feeling bold, you fix him with an earnest stare. “You claim you’ve opted out of this mess. But what if you meet someone you really like?”

“Then I should probably run swiftly in the opposite direction,” he says, paying you a side-eyed look.

Five minutes later, he does quit the field, though he doesn’t quite run from it. You tell your self that it’s just a coincidence, and that he was just done standing in a polyvinyl orb in this heat.

But deep down…there is the tiniest kindling of something in your heart, and you know you should kick dirt over that shit and stomp on it.

You don’t, and you carry a ridiculous little light feeling with you as you return to the hotel.

It feels like you swallowed a butterfly.

[refigiowen]

Process of Ruin

Chapter 0.11 : Die Unvollendete

The harshest of winds blew into my face, as if it was telling me to give up. The darkest of nights was cast onto the city, obsoleted by the blinding neon billboards and city lights. Nothing in this godforsaken city was gonna stop me in my tracks. I ran and ran, dripping wet from the rain, carrying my son in my arms.

"Father... do you see it..?"

"S-See what, buddy?"

"That ghost right there..."

"Dear, that's just a billboard..! Stay with me, we are almost there!"

And so i told him to not waste more energy as i sped up even more. I ran through crowds after crowds, dodging people left and right. I was set on getting my son to the hospital. He had been sick ever since his first day and had to take all kinds of medicine to simply survive. But despite his frail body his mother and i loved him more than we could ever have loved ourselves. We lived in a shabby, run down apartment as most of our money went to our son's medicine. But despite all that, seeing his frail body and his pale face light up was enough to wash away any and all fears we had. Me and my wife worked at a small office that produced weapons, it didn't pay all that much but it was enough to sustain the three of us. I did not have a good life, no one in this city ever did, and this family of mine was the only thing that i had that was worth living for.

And so i ran. I ran like the world was about to end. And soon i stood before the black and green hospital, the letters that are now forever burned into my mind stood before me:

"Asiyah Association".

I ran inside the hospital, still carrying my son in my arms. I looked like a stray dog with no home, my suit drenched and covering the floor in water. I yelled, begging for someone to help my son. I looked at the woman behind the reception desk.

"P-Please! My son has been sick since birth, p-please help him, i beg you! His medication stopped working! He will die if not treated!" I said and was met with a half assed smile.

"Yes, of course. I will need to ask you to provide your ID to proceed."

I quickly rummaged through my pockets and gave her my ID.

"Mister Reed, Diveroli Workshop, correct?"

I nodded.

"Y-Yes, correct."

For a minute or so the woman began typing things into her computer, looking a little too relaxed given the situation.

"Excuse me, miss.. I don't want to come off as rude but my son is in danger so PLEASE, hurry up."

And no response. I was no stranger to the way these big corporations treat others, i worked for multiple of them myself, but to think that even when a child's life was on the line they would act like this. I was disgusted.

"Alright, Mister Reed" She began, "after thorough inspection of your public profile, i am afraid that i must tell you that we can not treat your son."

My heart shattered into a billion pieces.

"The...fuck..?"

"Considering the state of your son's body, the Asiyah Association has deemed it as not worthy to save your son's life. He may live but will never be able to work like others, as such he is of no use to anyone. The Association may be able to treat him if he was born in a wealthy family but given your background, Mister Reed, that is not possible. Should you have any more questions, i will be happy to answer them for you."

"Y-You can't be serious..He is a CHILD FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" I said as i took a step towards the counter.

"I am aware of that fact, sir. And i have told you everything you need to know. So please, leave at once." And before i could speak another word, i was escorted outside into the rain by the guards. I tried to get past them, to push them away. But it was as if i was fighting a brick wall.

I looked into my son's eyes and began to cry. I apologized for not being able to save him, for not being a more wealthy man. For simply being me. And before i could speak another word of sorrow, his hand reached for my cheek.

"Father... the ghost will take care of me. You and mother have done enough for me..."

And it was almost as if i could see the life leaving his eyes.

"N-No! Buddy, stay with me.. please, i-i will find somone who can help you PLEASE!"

I begged, to no avail. His hand fell down to onto his chest, his body went limp, his breathing stopped. My son had died in my arms, right before the corporation that promises to tend to the weak. The irony was so incredible that i could not help but laugh out loud.

I forgot how much time passed between when i resigned from my job and when my son had passed. So much happened in between that i forgot to count the days. I could not bear the guilt of telling my wife that our son had died in my arms, so i sent her a letter. She shortly hung herself afterwards. I was told to "keep my head up" by my coworkers. It was obvious that no one cared about me or who i was. No one except my only friend the Butterfly. She was a coworker and my only friend. She was there for me when i needed her most and she is the one who threw the idea of resigning and starting anew into the room.

I thought about her suggestion for a while and ultimately did resign. I was paid my final paycheck and said goodbye to the Diveroli Workshop and my past life.

Well, there was not much to say goodbye to. I promised to stay in contact with Butterfly and walked out the door.

The life in this city is bleak and monotonous beyond words. You are a gear in a system that deems you as worthless the moment your performance does not meet the insane standards of the giant corporations. You either die poor, as the next lunatic's meal, or slightly less poor and as a slave.

With my last bit of money i bought a single room apartment near the Outskirts from a small office called Sunny Day Real Estate and decided to move on from my previous life.

I often had nightmares of my past life, of the time i spent with my family, my wife and my son. As much as i tried to move on, all attempts were fruitless. And so i cried myself to sleep night and night again, my health decreasing and my body caving in under the stress. And one night it all became too much for me to handle. I felt the walls of my room coming closer, i had to go for a walk.

Going on a walk was a good idea, it gave me time to reflect on everything in a different environment. I looked around me, the city and it's people were as ugly as ever. Soon, i reached a crime scene. Briah Security forces had already arrived on the scene and had everything under control. A woman had stolen medicine from a Asiyah pharmacy for her husband who suffered from leukemia. She was shot dead while trying to escape by the pharmacist.

The woman was poor, the pharmacy owned by the Asiyah Association. The pharmacist was a free man and the Briah Security Forces took the woman's corpse with them. And it was at that moment that i understood it all. That this is all but a game we cannot win.

I continued my walk until i reached a bridge. I looked over the railing into the deep dark depths of this hell, and i could feel it's gaze on my body. I shuddered. I finally understood that i was not alone. That these corporations had spun a net that would ensure that any and all atrocities they commited could never come to stab them in the back. This world is infested with parasites that feast on the minds and bodies of the people until there is nothing left. Asiyah, Klepto, Briah, any and all corporations in this city are guilty of it. They took my son, my family, they took my happiness, and destroyed any and all things that could have been in another world.

"In another world..." I mumbled to myself.

I felt a sense of longing build up within me. A longing for a distant, far away world where my happiness was still with me. Where these parasites were nothing but monsters under a child's bed. Endless dreams and possibilities flooded my mind, so much that i began to scream. I could feel my NeuraNet-System overload and overheat, i begged for someone to help me.

And suddenly i found myself within the depths of my own soul. It was a dark, decrepit place of sorrow and loneliness. Yes, it was my soul. Before me was a door covered in thorns. From within the door spoke a voice that sounded like that of my son.

"You have suffered enough, far too much. They tried to trap you in their Net of falsehood and false promises. But you escaped, and for that you shall grant yourself the power to enact revenge on them. Grant yourself mercy, Gabriel. Forgive yourself and become the first to take his destiny into his own two hands. And soon, the city shall be set ablaze by a force only a king could control."

Almost like i was controlled by utter instinct i began to rip off the thorny vines on the door, soon all were ripped off. And i opened the door, a blinding light took me in as i felt my body disintegrate.

I know not what happened to me exactly. But i found myself in a body that i did not know previously. I was taller, i was stronger, and i felt more like myself than i ever did before. Upon my awakening i was given a greatsword. I had never wielded a weapon before, only built them, and yet i knew how to fight with it like it was given to me as a child. It was large, covered in thorny vines from hilt to about the middle of the blade. And in it's blade i could see thousands, millions of worlds. This power i was given was a tool, a weapon for me to use against those who took my happiness from me. I will enact my revenge, build a new world and burn down every corporation in this city, have them all be consumed by my rage.

Shortly after i had begun my crusade, i was given the name "Erlkönig" by the Graycloak Office and classified as a threat to the population. Every major corporation in Eden then began to invest more into their security out of sheer fear.

But their hands will tremble, their skin shall become pale in the presence of a king.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

handyman!jason and reader deserve the world!!!!!!!! the 'love you too'!! oh my god I love them

"Maggie I'm fine," you tell her yawning, sinking into your "spot" in the blue arm chair you'd always liked to snuggle into as a little girl. "It was just a long day."

"You don't have to rush to get a job, you know," she said looking up from her crochet project- a new afghan for your bed with a frown. "I don't mind-"

"I know you don't but I feel like I'm taking advantage of you."

"Honey, if I thought you were I wouldn't have hauled your ass down here. You know you're my favorite-"

"You're not supposed to have favorites, Mags," you tell her, putting your sandals next to your chair and tucking your feet up.

"Mothers and Grandmothers can't have favorites. Dumpy old Aunts with money can do whatever the hell they want," she scoffed.

"You're not-"

"I just want you to be happy," she said waving your protests away carelessly, frowning. "I think I missed a stitch- Anyway. Ever since you were a little girl people tried to tell you to shut up and look pretty. And ever since you were a little girl you showed your teeth and told them to piss off. I was so goddamn proud of you. I still am. You cut a path of your own- I definitely missed a stitch-" She trailed off and started to pull out the row she'd been working on. And you wait. Knowing better than to interrupt her mid-tirade. "Your little Bed and Breakfast was a great idea... Until that bastard went and gambled it off."

You wince at the memory. The boyfriend who help you open it and then lost it all to pay a massive gambling debt.

"You've got moxie, honey. If I had half the balls at your age-"

"You ran with a biker gang at my age," you remind her.

Maggie snorted, "That was to piss off my mother. That wasn't a goal honey. I was headed nowhere fast. The only reason I'm not dead is that I had nice tits and laughed at the right man's stupid jokes. Real dreams take guts. And trying to go after them takes balls the size of Texas."

"Mags-"

"Don't give up and take some stupid job you hate. That's all I'm saying. Rest. Get a tan. Sleep around. Live a little and get your head on straight... Then if you still want to work for some corporate chain, do it. But don't rush on my account. I'm just happy you're here. Even if you are a pain in my ass."

"I love you too, Maggie Mae."

"Go mix me another drink, honey. I'm too sober to do this right."

[nightlyrequiem]

The Other Side of Paradise

6) Bad Things, Worse Things, Better Things

Cross posted from AO3

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6, Ch.7, Ch.8, Ch.9, Ch.10, Ch.11

You try to make the best of your life working at a small bakery in a city with rising cartel violence. One slower day, a man starts harassing your coworker. Despite the obvious threat, you stand up to him anyway. Unbeknownst to you, Valeria just so happened to be there to witness it.

A/N- All chapters containing smut will be labeled mature. The fic is fully written with the whole thing on AO3 but chapters on Tumblr will be posted one a day.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Dual POV, Happy Ending, Plot with Porn, Graphic Violence, Inappropriate Use of a Knife, Masturbation, WLW

Valeria watches her subordinate with narrowed eyes as he delivers a verbal report. There are British soldiers in town.

"...I saw them myself." He continues. "Riding an armored truck with that colonel." Valeria's lips automatically twitch down. Alejandro. She could kill all of his little vaqueros and he still wouldn't cease being a thorn in her side. She has no doubt that he brought them here to try and take her down. Well, he can try all he wants. It's hard to catch someone without a name or face.

"Do you know their names?" She asks. "Descriptions?" The man shakes his head.

"I only saw them; I don't know their names." He says uncomfortably. "I came to tell you about them straight away. One was a white guy with a dumb haircut but the other one..." He trails off. Valeria clenches her jaw impatiently. The other one what? He needs to finish his sentences faster before she just decides he's more useful without a tongue. "He was wearing some kind of mask... a skull, he had a skull on his face."

Valeria frowns. A skull mask? Her nose wrinkles with annoyance. He sounds like an edgy pre-teen boy. Surely Alejandro has higher standards?

'Are you sure they're soldiers?" She asks. The man hesitates before nodding.

"I'm pretty sure they were. They were dressed like soldiers." She sighs, feeling a headache coming on. This is just what she needs. It's always one problem after another.

"Keep an eye out." Valeria orders. She turns and leaves the room. Walking outside to have a smoke.

She lights one and takes a satisfying hit while she thinks. She's going to have to deal with the soldiers. They can't just waltz into her town, her territory. Soldiers are no trouble for her. Nothing but mere pests, really. Valeria's mind drifts to more pleasant thoughts. It's been a few weeks since you and her had gone out to that bar. Since then, you've been speaking almost daily and she's discovering just how easy to read you are. You practically project your thoughts with every look you give her. She can see how much you want her, and who is she to deny you? She just needs to take care of a few things, free up her schedule. Valeria stubs out her cigarette and walks off to her car. Everything will be fine.

Everything just keeps going wrong. Valeria can feel herself trembling with rage. Not only was Hassan and his escorts attacked, but one of her warehouses was raided, the one holding the missiles she only just managed to obtain. Not all of them, at least. Valeria knows better than to keep all her chickens in the same coop. Still, this is a sizable loss for her. Her men were killed, and some of the missiles were repossessed. Hassan made it out at least. The only issue is, she doesn't know who attacked them. The bodies left over were not wearing British uniforms. Valeria didn't recognize them at all.

She takes a deep breath to calm herself down. She'll have to pay the corporal a visit. He's supposed to be a defense against this kind of thing. It's what she's paying him for. Unless someone offered him more money to betray her. An offence she won't take likely, if that's the case. First and foremost, she needs a break. She decides to pay you a visit. You're the only person not actively irritating her. Like always, you're standing at the counter, just waiting for your shift to be over. You look up from the book you're reading when you hear her come in. The easy smile you flash her calms her down a little.

Maybe she can understand why some people in her line of work get married. Going home to someone completely unconnected to the violence and stress must be nice. A buffer, perhaps. Not that Valeria wants to marry you. Not yet anyway. If you prove yourself to be good enough stress relief, she might consider snatching you off the market for good.

"You look stressed." You remark. She is stressed. How kind of you to notice.

"There's been a few... unexpected surprises at work but I'm dealing." She replies smoothly. That's all she's going to say because that's all you need to know. It would be such a shame if you got too curious and stuck your nose someplace it didn't belong. You seem like a good girl though. Good at minding your business.

You lean down and dig around somewhere before setting down a soft round shape. It's a concha.

"I saved the last one for you, just in case you came in today." You beam at her. "I actually took it out of the display case this morning because if I waited, they would've all been bought." You add on quietly. It's not money, or a solution to all of her problems. The last thing on her mind is baked goods. You did something nice for her though, as small as it is, and she appreciates it.

"Thank you." Valeria says, reaching and grabbing the bread roll. Yes, she thinks, she can definitely see the appeal of having someone to return home to after a long day. She sets her free hand down on the counter. As close to yours as she can get without physically touching.

"It's your weekend tomorrow, yes?" Valeria inquires. You shift your hand subtly and it presses against hers.

"It is." You nod. Looking at her expectantly. Valeria has a lot to do and work out, but she's been doing nothing but work lately. No harm could possibly come from spending one night away from the stress. In fact, the one night away might actually add a few years onto her lifespan.

"We should do something then." She hums. Brushing her thumb against your pinky.

"I'm down for whatever." You murmur.

"I know a good club, I'd love to take you there." Valeria lost the desire to go out clubbing as she entered her thirties, but the club she's thinking of is one she frequented often in her younger years. She's feeling rather nostalgic. That, and it's a good atmosphere to for... physical contact.

You smile.

"Sure, that sounds good." You say. Valeria smiles back. She can't rely on work going her way but at least she can rely on you being so agreeable.

"Great, I'll pick you up tomorrow at eight." She hopes it finally goes somewhere. There's an itch she needs scratching. She could probably find someone else to scratch it in the meantime but even though she doesn't care much for relationships she still prefers to have only one person sharing her bed at a time. A night out with you is exactly what she needs to take her mind off of all her current problems.

[atlafan]

based off this blurb...

Why would someone ever want to be a lawyer? It’s three extra years of school, a ton of hard work and memorization, interning for no pay, and dealing with the politics of actually working at a firm. Growing up, there was a lot of pressure put on Blake to become something important. By important, her father meant someone of status in society. Apparently, doctors and lawyers are the only important people out there. Blake is squeamish, so becoming a doctor was not an option. So, her father pushed her into the lawyer  track.

In high school, Blake made sure to take advanced psychology, U.S. history, government, and public speaking courses. For undergrad, she went to Duke. She knew she would end up going to a law school in New England, so she wanted to get out and away for a bit. Besides that, Duke’s pre-law program is one of the best in the country. Blake couldn’t decide what law she wanted to practice, all she knew was that she couldn’t major in criminal justice. Her father told her to stay away from criminal law because, “there’s no money in it. If you’re going to break your back and work 80-hour weeks, at least make some money”.

So, she majored in business with a minor in pre-law. Most corporate high-paying firms deal with business and entertainment. Blake made sure to study public relations and media studies as well. Her father was pleased with her decisions. He was even more pleased when Blake was accepted into Harvard Law School. Three years of non-stop studying and hard work got her to be in the top ten of her graduating cohort. None of that really meant anything, though. Just because she was good at taking notes and applying her studies to cases didn’t mean she would excel at a firm. It didn’t mean she would excel in a boardroom. It didn’t mean shit.

Blake interned at a firm for two years while still in law school. That’s where she first met Harry. He was a junior associate at the time. He was one of the few associates that didn’t treat her like a secretary. It’s a man’s world. She knew that, of course, but it’s still annoying to live through it day after day. Harry never let his eyes wander, he never made lewd comments, and he certainly never crossed any lines that would warrant HR’s involvement. Harry had also gone to Harvard Law, so he was a great person to rant to about certain professors. Blake never minded working late if she was assigned to help Harry.

And of course she developed a crush on him, it would have been impossible not to. He’s funny and sweet and smart. He’s the total package. But Blake couldn’t take it further than friendship. There was a multitude of reasons why. She needed to stay focused. She didn’t have time for a relationship. Getting involved with an associate when you’re just an intern is a major no-no. And the biggest reason was that Harry was in a committed relationship. He was twenty-eight and engaged. He and his fiancé hadn’t set a date yet. He wanted to wait until he was bumped up to senior associate.

Blake never got the chance to find out when that wedding date was. When she entered her second year of interning, Harry had accepted a position at another law firm. He’d be a senior associate on the fast track to becoming a non-equity partner. He couldn’t pass that up. Blake thought of him often, but she didn’t think it would be appropriate for her to contact him just to see how he was. However, she did find it appropriate to contact him three months before her law school graduation when she was applying for firms and she saw that he had, in fact, become a non-equity partner at a firm she really wanted to work for. She had his personal email, so why not?

Harry remembered Blake…just barely. But he recognized her name and was happy to see that she had made it through law school. He told her about an upcoming networking opportunity the firm would be having – some sort of “Spring Mixer”. Just about everyone from the firm would be there, including human resources, and it was open to prospective associates. She’d just have to pay a small fee for a ticket. Harry told her he’d take care of that because he knows how broke law students are. He told her to put the money towards a nice outfit, and business cards with her contact information on them.

Blake was nervous for the event. She knew how to network, but the event itself was at a really exclusive, swanky club. She had to spend a lot of money on a proper cocktail dress. Her father insisted on her buying a pair of red bottoms as well. She thought it was excessive, but she also knows that first impressions are everything. Harry gave her his contact information so he could meet her at the entrance. She was relieved when she saw him. They shook hands, and he guided her inside. He pointed out various people she would want to talk to if she wanted one of the open junior associate positions.

“Just so you know, I think you’ll at least get an interview.” He told her after handing her a seltzer with lime. He had mentioned it’s best to make it look like you’re drinking at these events. “Diversity, equity, and inclusion are hot buzzwords right now. You’re a woman and you’re Jewish, so you’re the perfect diverse candidate.”

“I’m a white woman, that’s not exactly diverse.” She muttered.

“No, but a lot of these old shits will think so. They’ll think they’ve done their part to meet their quota. It sucks, and I’m not a fan of it, but it’s something you’ll want to play up right now to help yourself stand out.”

Blake understood what Harry was saying. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out. She worked her way around the room, speaking with various equity partners and management partners, giving out her business cards and making herself look good. She dropped Harry’s name a few times, which many people smiled at. Harry even told her she could use him as a reference for when she applied. She didn’t take that lightly. She didn’t take any of the night lightly.

When she got home that night, she immediately took out her blank cards, and wrote Harry a thank you. She wrote a number of thank you cards, but she made Harry’s much more personalized. These little things go a long way.

She applied to various law firms, but the only one she wanted to hear back from was Langley, West, Monroe, and Associates. That’s where Harry worked. And she wanted to work in their entertainment law division. It’s what she was most passionate about, but she also mentioned that she has expertise with business law as well.

Two weeks before graduating from Harvard Law, Blake got the call she had been waiting for. An interview. The interview led to a second interview, the second interview led to an offer, that offer led to negotiations, and the negotiations led to an acceptance of that offer.

Her father couldn’t have been more proud.

Blake and Harry work in the same division, often working on some of the same larger projects. Harry works one on one with quite a few sports agents. He helps the agents and the players go over their contracts. It’s simple stuff. He also does a lot of work with copyright and fair use laws, helping artists get their money, those sort of things. Blake usually helps with those. She loves getting to combine business and entertainment law. And thanks to all of her study skills over the years, her brain is like a search engine. She can whip out cases left and right to help her clients. The junior and senior associates usually all hang out together, some even live together. The only times Harry and Blake are at the same social gatherings is if there’s an event for the entire firm, or there’s business to be done. And since there’s always business to be done, neither of them have the time to talk about things in their personal lives when they’re working together. No, Blake saves those chats for her fellow associates over drinks and dinner. She’s made some good friends at the firm. She’s grateful.

{READ WHEN YOU'RE READY ON PATREON NOW}

[thewritetofreespeech]

Can you do a Buddy Daddies imagine where Rei has to act like a couple with his crush for a job?

Rei Suwa + Reader - Fake Date

“Your table is right this way. Please follow me.”

“Thank you so much.” Though you beam a smile at the waiter, you also have to practically drag Rei by the arm to get him to follow. Luckily, they were already linked in this ‘lovey dovey couple’ act you had going on.

The job this week was to get information on a corporate billionaire, out to dinner with his mistress. Not an interesting or newsworthy element of the job, as everyone knew he cheated on his wife, but who else he was having dinner with was. 2 chiefs of staff, a liaison diplomat, and the rat that put this all together, each with their on rent-to-own bimbo for the evening; financed by their gracious host in a blatant display of corporate malfeasance.

You had been hired to collect intel on the event and report back to the client. A competitor, or the actual government, you weren’t sure. So long as they paid you didn’t ask questions.

The problem was that this restaurant was too posh and expensive to go to alone without being conspicuous. So you have reached out to Rei and Kazuki for help. Kazuki had been happy to assist, even getting out his trusty spy gear for the cause. But at the last minute he got a nasty cold. Making it impossible to go on the mission as, aside from his raging fever, his coughing would blow your cover immediately.

So Rei, reluctantly, stepped in.

“Can you try not to act like this is the end of the world?” You asked through a gritted smile once the waiter left. “You’re out to dinner with a beautiful woman at a 5-star restaurant. There are worse ways to spend an evening.”

“I’d rather be playing video games.”

You sigh, and put your chin in your hand. Pretending to look dreamily at Rei, while your ring camera was pointed at the target table a few rows over. “I’m sorry I had to drag you out tonight. I’ll make it up to you.”

“The mission is important.” He said. Finally sitting up straight.

The waiter came over with your menus, and you had to pull your camera away from the targets. “Let’s just get drinks and dessert. If we drag it out then it won’t raise alarm, and we can get you home in time for late night streaming.”

“Are you gonna play?”

You look up over your menu at Rei, who was looking up over his menu at you as well, and smirk. “Of course.” You could see him smile, just a hair, behind the ornate leather before he ducked his head back down.

Ordering champagne and oysters, neither of which Rei touched, you continued to monitor the targets casually. “How much intel do you have to get?”

“I don’t know.” He was clearly getting antsy sitting here doing nothing. Rei was a do’er. A triggerman. The nuances of espionage, let alone corporate espionage, were not his forte. “I’ll know it when I see it.” You sip your champagne and pick at the ice on the oyster tray a little more.

Suddenly, one suit leaned into another, and then the second leaned into the big boss and passed him an envelope. “Seen it.” You make sure to take some extra still pictures with the camera hidden in your clutch of the deal for security, then put it away as you turn to Rei with a smile. “Ok. We can go now.”

“Finally.”

Rei called the waiter over and paid for the check before coming over to the other side of the table to help you from your seat. Like a gentleman.

“I’ll pay you back for the meal.” You told him, once you were out of the restaurant and far enough away from any potential eavesdroppers. Certain you weren’t followed. “With these babies I’ll be able to pay you back ten-fold.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You look over at Rei, his shoulder slumped again and hands in his pockets. “Aww…that’s sweet. And here I thought this was just a pretend date.”

“It’s not like I need the money.”

You chuckle at little as you continue to walk. Silent, save for the sound of the cars driving by now & then. “Are you coming over?”

“I thought you wanted me on the stream. I can’t really do that if we’re on the same consol.”

“We can do teams battle instead.”

You grin at Rei and step closer to link your arms again, like you did in the restaurant. “Sounds like my kind of date.”

[harryleatherfit]

Poker Face🃏|| 7.5k

Joel Miller (no breakout! au) x F! Genius Reader

1980’s Vegas Strip, late night in the Bellagio Hotel, smoking and waiting on some poker with your friend Margaret, infamous Corporate Litigators walk in for a game to play, sitting at your table comes Joel Miller, little do any of them know that you have a photographic memory.

warnings: gambling, mentions of bullying, women’s life in the 80’s, asshole men, p in v sex (wrapped!), clit stimulation, doggy style, squirting (but she doesn’t know), f oral receiving, fingering v, alcohol consumption, smoking, RICH JOEL, etc etc

word count: 7.5K

One Shot Playlist

Rush- Troye Sivan

Million Dollar Man- Lana Del Ray

In My Feelings- Lana Del Ray

Family Tree- Ethel Cain

Vegas strip, Bellagio. 1982.

Late at night, the bottom floor of the bellagio hotel was usually filled to the brim. The massive room is predominantly packed with businessmen , hookers, CEOS, average folk and tourists. You weren’t any of the above but you were special. Nobody knew your secret, nobody knew that the girl at the corner of the Poker table would always win, and this made you a gem. Not a tourist. Not an old rich white man. Not a hooker. Out of all the possibilities from the Vegas stript you were a fucking winner.

On multiple occasions, men from every block of the room would try to buy you a drink, lure you to the top floors of the hotel, bring you into private rooms, intrigue you with money and sex parties. But they always failed, mens tactics could never work on you.

You had to take it, accept that this was how you would always be viewed, not a woman but a body. After this, nothing felt better than taking their fucking money on the casino floor untouched.

Starting from this, Every weekend you would follow your friend Margaret to her job at the Bellagio, she was a dealer for poker, and got called in on very busy weekends. You didn’t mind tagging along all these years, she knew you would have fun too.

Margaret always wanted more for you, she would show you guys that she thought would be good for you. Slightly talking to them to make her happy. But never being satisfied with their answers.

Single and rich in vegas? Shit.

Were you average? Not particularly.

You were sitting back at the corner of the table on a hot summer night, studying the cards. It was earlyish in the evening, a live jazz band playing in the corner of the room. Welcoming people to stay in their hotel and stay a while for a game. Maragaret was setting up her table and drinking wine.

You understood the game of poker, it intrigued you, cards considering your future fortune. Poker was the game all the men wanted to play. Night after night of studying the game and the cards, you would eventually study the men, profile them and figure all the money they had to give from their pockets.

“What’s your plan tonight, you smart bitch?” She asks, moving around her chips and taking a sip from her glass. She opened her cigarette container, handing you one and giving you a light. She would always buy a carton for the both of you to smoke through.

She was dressed in a tight long black skirt with a backless wine red top. She was limitlessly beautiful and you couldn’t understand why she wasn’t taken, but then again you were best friends for a reason. You were wearing a black slip on silk dress, in the 80’s on the vegas trip, nobody would have cared how much clothes you wore.

“Hmmm, I’m thinking of making enough money for the both of us to go away for a while… I was thinking about New York.” You wink, “I hear it’s an up and coming city, c’mon we stay for a while and see what happens.”

“Maybe, depending on how much you make.” She laughs.

“1,000? 2? Maybe 3?”

“Don’t test your luck hot shot, you don’t even have a thousand to give, and then the moment you lose how would you pay them?”

“I’d find a way.” You grin, you point at your head.

“Mhm photographic memory will always beat the penis owners in here.” She giggles.

“I’ll drink to that Marg.”

Your ‘gift’ was the reason why you would win, after visiting Marg at her job and participating in some games, luck wasn’t your factor in winning every game. It was your memory.

You could see the cards the way Margaret would shuffle them, you would remember where they were placed in the deck, slightly peeking at the cards from your opponents.

When you would leave the strip with cash spilling out of your purse, it was a rush you couldn’t describe, a euphoria you never wanted to share with any other man. It was all for you, you did this all on your own, you were your own person and you never had to make a man happy.

You tried to act dumb, you tried to shade it off everytime you won, everytime you knew what cards the men around you had you had to play it off with a nice smile.

Growing up, you used this to your advantage, you flew through school and college. Growing up in the 60s-70s and being smarter than all the boys in your class was practically unheard of. But this, this was a challenge for you. Practically gambling your life away, just on your memory was a thrill you thought you would never experience. Using your looks and your brain to use men made you feel powerful.

You thought of this as your night job, but you worked for a place that invented math. It was quiet and secluded, but in the 80s, something was always being invented. Margaret always asked you questions, always wondered how you had the storage for this in your brain. You couldn’t believe it yourself, but you studied the philosophical part of math, why more things needed to be invented. This was never important to you, but it did pay well.

“There’s supposed to be a group of men from a bigger company coming in tonight.” She nudges at you.

“And…” You drag.

“Who knows…they come over here, play a game with you. You find a man that will sweep you off your feet and marry you!”

“Hell nooo, no marrying.” You shriek, “No long term commitments please, I owe myself at least that. But if they’re rich then maybe some rounds.” You smile.

New York was smelling real rich right now.

“Of fuck… look they’re coming in now, look, look!”

You flip your body around the chair, looking down the pathway from where the concierge meets the casino, a group of men cascading down the carpet.

It was a group of 5 men, all dressed in suits, hair tassel elegantly, black dress shoes shined with not one smear. You could practically smell them from a mile away. You could tell they were talking under their breath, laughing.

You and Margaret practically ogle them, you haven’t seen men like this before.

They had a style of fashion, you could tell they had money, and you could tell they weren’t from here.

You whisper, “Do you have any idea of what company?”

“No, I was just told there were important men coming in tonight and be prepared to see lots of cash tonight.”

Fucking hell.

They come closer to your side of the room, they pass the jazz band, pass all the food and side sushi restaurants, they weave through all the smaller gambling games coming over to the poker and black jack side.

You knew it.

“Look away, look away, if you look at them they’ll wanna come sit here.” You blow smoke out.

“That's the point!.” Marg whispers under her breath.

Not many tables were full, but there wasn’t an almost completely empty table for all of the men to fill. You knew they would sit with you, it was as if this night was planned.

They walk closer to you, feeling the breeze of all of them brush past you, standing at the game, observing the two girls in front of them.

“Is this table taken?”

You turn around again, drawing in your breath as you do so. The men standing in front of you were beautiful, but one in particular, you had to double take to make sure he wasn’t Burt Renolds. The man you suppose that asked, was the most godly creature you’ve seen.

“Not as long as you all would like to play some rounds with me.” You smirk.

They chuckle and eye you, taking a draw out of your cigarette. You move your jacket and purse from the table beside you, Marg moves her things from the table and reap through the cards.

“Mind if I sit next to you?” The man asks.

“No, please. I’m delighted.” You don’t miss your opportunity to realize how tall he is.

“Ready for some Texas Hold’em?” Marg asks.

“Giddy up horsey!” One of the men opposite from you chuckle, they all seem keen with each other, delighted that they could play together. He waivers down a server for alcohol, getting a bottle and glasses for the group.

“Darlin, would you like some?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” You mumble. Prim and proper was all you had to be. At this very minute you were mindlessly going through the combinations of cards when Margaret was shuffling the cards. You could hear the stifling of the suits falling in place within her hands.

The man next to you hands over a glass, “What’s your name sugar?”

“So we’re on a first name basis now?” You tease, “What’s yours handsome?”

“Mhm I’m handsome now?” He shakes your hand, “ I’m Joel.” You see his skin, you scan his hand. His fingers are really fucking big. He had massive rings on a couple of his fingers, but noy any on his ring fingers. Your hand slips through his, not going unnoticed, the veins starting at his palm, his finger nails trimmed, cuticles cut perfectly.

You give him your name, looking the other way to get the last drag out of your cigarette.

He whispers your name to himself, like a soft prayer.

“Next to me is my brother Tommy, that's James, Tyler, and William.”

“Nice to meet you all.” You say, grabbing another cigarette out of Margs carton, cupping the light with your hands.

“Where you from?” He asks in a southern drawl. You can tell he’s not from here.

“I’m from Reno, grew up in Nevada my whole life. What about you Joel?”

“My brother and I are from Texas, I don’t ‘bout those yayhoos but we just recently moved to New York a couple years ago for our jobs. We’re all corporate litigators.”

“Corporate Litigators, impressive.” You chuckle.

He pauses, “ What do you do for a livin?”

What did you do for a living? You couldn't tell him.

“Well Margret and here, we're best friends, we work for each other.”

“You work for each other, in what way?” Tommy asks, Joel studies you.

“This one here can get you in trouble, watch out guys.” Margaret fills in, you roll your eyes laughing, you have to be careful how you start the night off with them, you can’t immediately believe you’ll win.

“Who wants the small blind and big blind?” Marg asks.

“No worries Joel and I will take it, wouldn’t want the lady and you hooligans having to pay immediately.” Tommy bellows.

You smirk, how kind of you.

“I’ll bet 20, what about you Joel?”

“100.” He blurts.

“Slow down, cowboy, don’t wanna scare off beautiful over there.”

“You’re not scaring me off, the night just started Tommy.”

Joel gets a wad of cash out, handing Marg a 100$ bill and her eyes avert to his cash, looking at you and winking. She passes out your 2 cards for the preflop round.

“What are you boys doing here in Vegas?” You ask.

“We’re just in town on a court case, profiling who we’ll be dealing with next week.” William replies.

“And to get some nice nights out.” James adds, his pupils were blown practically blown looking at you but there was no interest. He looked greasy and grimy. He looked like he was your age but he looked small and puny, begging for pussy without doing anything to earn it. Pathetic.

“Sugar, mind passing me a cigarette?” Joel asks.

You don’t falter giving him one, obediently doing as you're told. Fuck, this is not how you wanted this to go, but this was so much fun you couldn’t help it.

Your hand skids his again, begging for more. You give him a light and his Disneyland eyes thank yours.

Checking your cards, Queen of Diamonds, 10 of Diamonds you’re lucky you got the same suit. Not too bad, that means there’s a ⅖ probability someone would fold, would it be Joel?

“K sweets, you’re next to the big blind, what do you pick?”

You ponder, “I’ll call.” You shove in 100$ worth of chips, this is a test to see if anyone will twitch. If someone did you’d know they’d fold.

“I like that pretty girl.” Joel rasps.

Fucking hell.

William immediately folded, he looked embarrassed with the cards he got. Tyler calls with another 100$, James puts in 100$, and Tommy puts in 80$ to make it even.

600$ dollars itching to be touched.

“When you’d learn how to play poker darlin '?” Joel sits up.

“Well this until 3 years ago but I loved playing card games in college, an easy way of entertainment.”

“Entertainment huh? What’s entertainin’ to you?”

“Lots of things Joel. People, money, men, dreams, Vegas.” You trail off.

Marg giggles, “She’s a gem if you didn’t know.”

You smirk.

“That’s okay, gems make it big in this world, I’m here to experience one.” He shifts his hands to slightly touch yours.

You studied his face, his scruff looked enticing, his mustache making your mouth water. You haven’t felt anything this pungent for a man in years. You couldn’t control yourself. He looked years older than you, he wouldn’t want a girl your age? He could have anyone in this room, Margaret for fucks sake, not you.

But his hands, his arms bulged in his suit, his thighs expanding on the seat below him, his black shoes against the red of the carpet, the glow of the dark room coinciding with his skin, you needed to drink him.

“Princess we’ve been wavin to you, it’s your turn.”

Marg put down the 3 community cards.

King of Diamonds, Jack of Diamonds, Ace of Diamonds.

What were the fucking odds.

Tommy bet 100, Joel bet 100, not it was your turn to match or fold.

“100 in.” You murmur. Tyler folds.

“I’ll put in 150$.” James swindled more chips. You, Joel and Tommy did the same. Fucking arrogant asshole.

With Tyler and William out, 4 cards discarded that must have been bad, you, Joel and Tommy must have somewhat reasonable hands, you’d put that they’d both have some royalty after seeing the community being shown. James probably thinks he has the best hand. You wouldn’t walk away without a fight tonight.

“What’s it like in New York City, I’ve never been.” You slip on your drink, letting the warmth of the alcohol spread across your body. You could practically feel the heat radiating off of Joel's body, you would do anything to be alone with him.

“It’s fun, it's a big city, so much to do, so many different cultures, definitely better than farm field Texas.” He replies. “The night life there is a whole different world.”

“Better than here?”

“Darlin, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” He says.

You shuddered in your seat, rearranging your legs to burn the heat in your lower abdomen.

“We got some strippers last night, best night of my life.” James stammers.

Of course you did.

“You did dipshit, not us you fuckin pig.” Tommy reprimands.

It’s the turn round, Marg flips the fourth community card, 7 of Clubs.

Half the deck is still left, 4 on the table, 4 discarded with William and Tyler, 8 between the rest of you 4. All the 2’s must have been in the deck, a chance of Tommy having a 7, Tyler or William could’ve had 8s, leaving James and Joel with Kings.

Tommy keeps James busy, as Tyler and William are talking to Marg.

“How old are you honey?” Joel pips up, letting the smoke fog away from his mouth.

“I’m 24.”

He hums, “Just turned 40 this past month, feels weird but I guess it’s the prime age.”

“40’s perfect for a man, emotionally mature, physically at his best, life already put together. Don’t you agree?” You stare.

He ticks his jaw, peering into your soul, “I agree with you sugar, you can already read me like an open book.”

“Married?” Please say no.

He gets closer to you, “Divorced, but don’t tell the town I’m a divorced old fox.” He smiles.

“Why?”

“We both weren’t happy, it was a mistake to start with, our parents liked us for each other but our first night after being married we both knew it wasn’t going to work. After a year we separated and secretly got divorced. Parents freaked out but they’re dead now.” He shrugged.

You move sideways in your chair, moving your head to the side to study him, “I’m sorry, that must’ve been hard. Love is hard, finding people is hard. But I’m glad you’re out of it.”

“Ah darlin, long time ago but thank you.” He shucks a smile and his teeth were pearly white, he was perfect. No fault about him yet, and you hoped you wouldn’t find one. “Are you busy after this?” His eyes glare at you.

You glare at him, “No…I can be.”

“Good.” He hums.

“Ok 150$” James puts in his chips.

“I gotta fold man, can’t risk this.” Tommy holds up his wallet.

“150$.” Joel shoves in his chips.

Your turn.

“150$.” You follow.

“River round everyone.” Marg cheers. She eyes you, can you do this?

Yes. You blink.

She flips the last community card, 8 of Clubs.

“What about you? Married? Relationships?” Joel shifts.

“Single, I’m not the dating type. Never have been. She is though.” You point at Margret.

She puts her hands up in shock, playing along with you. “In High School I wasn't really the boys type. I wouldn’t do anything for them if you catch my drift.”

“Well sugar those are high school boys, boys then are always mean. Some still are now.” He hums looking toward James. “They’re cruel, and demeaning, fathers never teachin them right.” With his free hand he dances it around yours, delicately touching your fingers.

“Were you taught right?”

“I don’t think so, but I learned.” He clears his throat.

“Our dad was in the war when we were growin up, so we had our Ma and each other.” Tommy informs.

Now it makes sense.

“I’m gonna raise it to 200$.” James riggles his eyebrows, staring at you.

“I’ll fold, it’s been a good game.” Joel slumps back into his chair.

Just you and James now.

“200$, all in.” You grin, your breath slows.

All you can think about is Joel, he’s in your peripheral vision. All you can think about is how he looked walking down the hallway. How meticulous he’s been with his questions and answers. What his life has been like. His hands. His hair, his umber hair. You race your mind trying to think if you’ve ever seen him before, where has this man come from?

You swore off men from the hotel, only money. But he must be an exception, you have to let yourself have him. Your brain could turn off for one night.

“You think you can do this pretty girl?” Joel whispers, pretty girl.

You nod your head, putting out your cigarette and leaning closer to the table.

Joel places his hand on your thigh, giving you a squeeze of reassurance.

Fuck, if you stood up you could see a ring of wetness with your black dress, you knew it.

“Ok flip your cards.”

James goes first, he has 10 Hearts and 9 Spades.

“7 club, 8 club, 9 spades, 10 hearts and Jack hearts… there's a straight honey.”

You chuckle, you couldn’t believe he thought that was good enough. You thought he had cards like you but…

“10 of Diamonds, Jack of Diamonds, Queen of Diamonds, King of Diamonds, and Ace of Diamonds,” You pause, “Royal flush.” You pop.

His face loses all color, and Joel gets out of his seat cheering for you. Marg starts yelling and Joel picks you up, not believing what his eyes had seen. His hands lay above your ass, holding your waist in the most comfortable position.

“That’s my girl, “Joel whispers in your ear.

“A girl beat you James, what are you gonna do about it? Whimper you little cry baby.” Tommy teases.

Joel sets you down and you take a snapshot with your head, how tall he really is against you, you beating this whole group of men, Margaret screaming of joy for you. She pushes all the chips towards you, way over 1000$.

“Well boys, that was a good game,” You seductively smile, “How ‘bout another?”

They groan, sitting there in defeat.

“I’m gonna go to the club, if you boys wanna join. Don’t bring the bitch with you.” James huffs.

You look at him with disgust and Joel grabs his suit jacket, pulling him back.

“What’d you call her?”

“A fuckin bit-.”

“Okay guys break it up, James fuckin leave man. You’re too drunk for a club.” Tommy gets up with William and Tyler, hauling James with them. Joel stays back looking at the table with you and Marg.

“I’ll go uh cash this in for you, call me later?” Marg asks.

You nod your head, mentally thanking her that she’s leaving you with him, you have the feeling he couldn’t be much worse than James, but much better.

“I’m sorry Darlin for him, he’s always been a pain in the ass. M’boss thinks he’s a great addition to the team but he’s gonna get locked up one day.” He growls.

You grab your things, “It’s okay Joel, I’m used to it. Happens a lot around here, told you I was trouble.” You smile.

“You’re gorgeous, but you could never be in trouble.” He holds his breath, not knowing how to continue with you, but you for sure would be busy with him all night.

“Walk with me?” You give him your hand. He follows you like a lost puppy.

“I barely know you Joel but I trust you, what do you do with a woman's trust?”

He laughs, “You harbor it, caress it. Take care of her trust. You listen to her, do as you're told.”

“Hm, good.” You walk ahead of him, hand in hand, praying he’s looking at your ass. Swaying your hips in your dress. A male's gaze never feeling this good before. You’re in a quieter area of the Casino, jazz band farther away, out of the poker room near the concierge.

“What does Joel do in his free time?”

“Well, study on cases, he works out, he eats well, travels.”

“Typical.” You giggle,

“What do you do in your free time?” He asks.

“You won't laugh?”

“I invent math.”

“What?”

“Well earlier I was playing with you with my friend, we do kinda work for each other, but I invent theoretical math.” You confirm. “I guess in my free time.”

He stops in his tracks, holding onto you, staring.

“What?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t know that was a thing.” He huffs.

“Who do you work for? Mr Corporate Litigator?”

“Miller law firm.”

You stop in your tracks, “That’s right,” You tut, “I knew it, you’re Joel Miller. I’ve seen you in a newspaper before.”

“You have?”

“I have, I recall you win a lot.” You play with him.

“I do, I win everything darlin.” He hums.

You’re near the elevators of the hotel, practically begging him to bring you up, risking every moral you have in your bones.

“How long are you in town, Joel Miller?” You groan into his chest, your boobs press up against him, his hand slips over your ass.

“Only for tonight, I leave late afternoon tomorrow.”

The elevator dings, he walks in leaving you there, his eyes are dark. He looks helpless and his hair is distressed, every instinct in your body pushes you forward into the car. The door closes, and you practically hear colors.

He turns you around smashing his lips on yours.

You can’t breathe, he's moving so fast, his mouth is intoxicating, your mind is not able to comprehend that his hands are wrapping around your face, pulling for more. The cold of his rings cause goosebumps to crinkle on your back.

“Fuck, floor 36.” He pushes it and resumes, your lipstick is all over his face, but he doesn’t care. His tongue dances with yours, he’s spilling into you.

You break from him, “You’re not scared that I’m younger?” He holds you.

“No, you’re not scared that I’m ancient?”

“You’re not ancient, you’re fucking hot.” You moan into him, kissing his face, moving to his neck. His breathing changes, you have him backed against the elevator, he’s holding onto the railing for support.

You pray no one has to walk in, you only want this moment with him. The elevator dings and needs a card activation before opening, he slips it out of his wallet, and the doors open to a whole suite.

You continue to kiss, he pulls you into the room, illuminating every part of the room. You drop your coat and purse, he chucks his suit jacket on the floor. You stumble to the couch, you both sit, eating eachother alive. His hands lay atop your hips and the weight of his rings are making you shiver.

He drops to your neck and collar bone, exploring your chest. Your dress was cut low enough that he could kiss and suck every part that he wanted.

You weave your hands through his hair, lowering yourself on the fabric.

“Wait, wait. Pretty girl, I wanna go slow. I don’t want this to be a sleazy one night stand.” He pulls back.

“I mean it technically is,” You groan.

“It doesn’t have to be,“ He leans on his couch, shifting to kiss you, “I don’t want this to be my first and only time with you.”

Your heart palpitates, you’ve never had anyone truly want to be with you. He was lustful right now, but you could tell he meant it.

“If you don’t want that then I respect that but I just met you and I-”

You shut him up by kissing him, shifting your tongue to fill every crevice of his face. You pull him on top of you, squeezing him to your body so he can squish you. You want his weight on you, you want his body to be warm and free.

“If you fuck me tonight Joel… I may just have to follow you to New York tomorrow.” You moan.

“First class tickets bought immediately in the morning then.” He rasps.

You flip and immediately switch him to go under you so you’re free straddling his lap. He laughs, holding on to your hips and your dress folds up to your stomach, showing your red underwear.

You grab his hand, slipping his fingers into your mouth, he watches darkly.You moan around his hand, feeling the weight of it all in you, praising his body.

You soak his rings, saliva coating them and you slip them off with your teeth, letting them drop on his chest. His eyes switch everytime you move. You manage to keep eye contact with him until you start grinding on him. The moment you lose all sense of self-control and let spit fall out of the sides of your mouth, not caring if it slides down your face.

You can feel him growing against you, his dress pants becoming tighter as you move your hips. The last ring comes off and his fingers are bare, you wipe your mouth and move your dress higher so his hands can go under the fabric.

He breathes, “You’re beautiful, most beautiful human I’ve seen. Most beautiful woman I’ve met.”

Your heart swells, tears almost at hand. But it’s the first night, he can’t really mean it.

Sex haze fills your brain and you grab the bottom of your dress to pull it off of you, leaving you only in your underwear. You didn’t wear a bra due to the low back, and you couldn’t have cared less.

His jaw drops, and the cold air of his breath hits your nipples, willowing them into peaks. He brushes his fingers past them, gently grabbing them. He almost tickles them, but his touch. Only his touch has made you this hard, this warm.

“Joel, feels so good… so soft.”

“Melt with me baby, so soft and beautiful. I could have you for years.”

The more he talked, the more heaven made sense to you. Strings of music played in your head welcoming you to the land of being complete.

“Fuck me Joel, fuck me like we’ve known eachother for years, don’t hold back. Please.” You stammer.

“Are you sure?” He pushes your hair behind your ear, “We go on your terms, baby.”

“I’m sure.” You confirm, “I want nothing more than this Joel, I want you. I want more in life. You.”

You softly unbutton his shirt, revealing his body, revealing every scar, every hair, every stretch mark. You were going to cherish him like you’ve known him you’re entire life. You shove his shirt down his arms, he admires you with no words, only hums. He sits up.

“Here? Or bed? Or anywhere?”

“Take me to bed.” You plead.

He picks you up, hoisting you to his chest, grabbing your ass to keep you next to him. You get to capture the whole room with your head, and it's the most expensive and nice place you’ve been. He opens the door to the bedroom, the drapes open, the bed frame designed as with wispy pillars. Decor reminding your of Italia Bohemia, he’s really fucking rich. He goes to close the curtains.

“Don’t.” You whisper. “Fuck me here for the world to watch.”

He sets you down, continuously making eye contact with you. He drops to his knees letting you lean against the glass of the window, the stars behind you and the lights of Vegas getting the best view of your ass.

“First,” He kisses your leg, “I want to do something.”

You were scared, usually when you had sex you’d go straight into fucking, and you had enjoyed it. But this, this was different.

He parts your legs, using the backs of his hands to part your legs, you know the ring of your juices have soaked the fabric covering you. He brushes his fingers over your covered entrance, over your throbbing clit. You shudder at his boldness, at his bravery for touching you before you touched him.

“Feel’s good?”

You nod your head, at a loss for words.

“Can I take these off?”

You nod, his fingers pull at the sides of your underwear leaving you bare in front of him, your heart rate pounding, scared he won’t like what he has in front of him. This was always the scariest part. You hold your breath, if he left right now you wouldn’t even cry, it felt too good to be real. You had hair, it was a thing to shave but you decided to keep what you were given. You didn’t care about being bald since you never were fucked anyways. Who cared, because you didn’t? Men were never the object to attract, if they didn’t like what you had, then they don’t deserve what you can offer.

He drops your underwear, helping you step out of them and you can only see his eyes as he stares at your pussy, eyeline with your bottom half. He observes you, refreshens you.

“A real true, beautiful fuckin woman baby.” He slurs, “This fucking pussy is perfect… look at ya.” His hands wander your lower abdomen, following up to your boobs again. You picture his hair, the exact shade of brown to remember. Your favorite color, the ruffles on his scalp. He could’ve never guessed about your memory, but this would be with you forever.

“Can I taste?” He asks.

You nod again, he shoves his tongue into you, licking a long wide stripe on your pussy lips, lingering to gather your slick. He takes a second to soak it in.

“And that was all for me darlin? I’m a fucking lucky man.” He growls.

He shoves his tongue back inside you, moaning at the sensation of this. He’s eating you out and he’s okay with it? It feels so good you can’t control your arms, you grab onto his head, relishing in the newness of it all.

“Joel…what is this… why does it feel.. So… so fucking good?”

“Good.” He pops off from your cunt, “When it feels too good pull harder.”

He instantly shoves his face again in your cunt, lapping at your pussy. The more he sucks on you, inside and out, the more liquid keeps oozing outside of you. Your stomach almost giving out from the heat your body is radiating.

“So fucking wet, so sweet, sweetest thing alive. Crafted just f’me.” He mutters into you. “You’re just human to me, the most perfect one alive.”

You’re practically moaning uncontrollably, his words mixed with his devil tongue has the world crashing down on you, the world from below able to slightly see him tongue fucking you into oblivion.

“Can I touch you..” He pulls his hand to your nub, exactly where you would rub. Another place you’ve had to show a man, never knowing the exact pressure point that would make you scream. “Here?”

“God… how did you… already feels…feels like… fire.”

He kisses your mound, moving slightly above your stomach, “Because… I’m quite older than you…” He kisses, “And I’ve learned….” His index finger lays on your clit, then fastens his pace drawing circles.

Never in your life has a man done this to you, never have you had this light of intimacy. As he circles your clit, he places his tongue back at your entrance. Your pussy is practically coaxing his tongue to breach you.

“Fuck!” You scream, tightening your hold on his hair, you can feel sweat accumulating between your back and the window.

“Louder, be fucking lounder.” He gasps for air.

“Joel… keep going please…. Pleaspleaspleas…” You mewl. And he switches to sucking your clit and shoving his fingers inside you. It was a new sensation, your gasps sound animalistic, begging for air to relieve your lungs. His fingers are reaching depths you haven’t felt in years. Being stimulated in two areas made your stomach fluctuate.

“You like that pretty girl, soaking my fingers, dripping all down my arm… look at you.” He mutters.

You look down, and see him. The glow of the moonlight reflecting on his sweaty hairline, the smile spread across Joel's face, the slightest of dimples. He’s bent on the floor to make sure you cum first, your back arched.

You could feel yourself leaking out on him and it made you give out, not able to stand anymore but his weight keeps you up.

Your atomic brain couldn’t keep up, couldn’t take enough mental shots, but you knew this would be with your forever. He kept going faster, and finally a peak was hit, eventually getting higher and higher until the mountain itself avalanches into beautiful boulders.

“I’m fucking cumming… fuck. Joel your fucking fingers!” You scream.

“See those eyes, pretty girl, cummin all over me like such a good girl, keep going.”

Eventually you had to slide down the window, Joel not able to keep up your dead weight. No atom in your body is able to process what happened.

“Joel…” You huff, “If that was… fuck… then how will I handle your-”

“We go slow, and build up to the pace of your liking.” He answers.

“I told you,” You breathe against his chest, “I don’t want slow. I want to be fucked.”

He looks into your eyes, he cups your pussy. Rubbing off the remnants of your orgasm. Extremely fresh.

“Then get on the fucking bed. Go.” He growls.

You do as you’re told. Excited with his change of tone. You lay back on the fresh bed, the sheets made and you spread your legs for him. You can hear your leaking pussy make a sound and he smirks.

He unties his dress shoes, throwing them into an abyss, unbuttons his dress pants. Leaving him in his boxers. This was the moment.

He pulls his hands at the hem, and you choke on your breath.

He drops them, and fuck. At least 7 inches drops in weight. You could feel him the entire time, but fuck he was wide. He was hairy too. His whole body made you feel comfortable. His veins. His beading tip with pre-cum. His cock was your most prized possession at this moment. Your eyes already felt heavy, you knew his cock would reach a world inside you, that no one could explain.

“Like what you see, smart girl?”

“Do I like what I see?” You repeat.

“Yeah, I see those eyes. Remembering everything. Analyzing. Very, very smart girl. You don’t have to tell me now, but you’re something.”

“So you know?” You whisper. He comes closer to you, fitting himself between your legs.

“Knew once you won the game, I watched your eyes. Invents math. Too smart for your own good. That head of yours is gonna kill me darlin.” He grabs his dick, tapping it on your clit. You seethe through your teeth, then he slides his cock down to your lips. Teasing you, but not giving in just yet.

“You don't know anything about me Joel.” You tease.

“I know enough, pretty girl.” He grunts. He leaves you, a cold draft hitting your lips. He rumages for a condom in his wallet.

“Always this prepared?” You nod your head.

“Wouldn’t be smart to cum in this sweet pussy the first night now would it?”

“Maybe… maybe not.” You drag.

He chuckles, slipping the condom onto himself. He’s purely oozing pre-cum. You wish you could lick it all up, drink every last drop of him. Watching every move, he comes closer to you rubbing his ick at your entrance again and slipping himself inside you, hefting his big thumb to your clit, rubbing your nub into insanity.

“Gonna cum on my cock baby? Gonna get cock crazy? Get obsessed with my fillin you up? Fuckin tell me how it feels.”

He reaches the end of you and pulls out, stretching to the brink of space in your cunt. He was so big you thought he wouldn’t fit. Then he goes over and over again, hitting you at a different angle every time.

“Joel, you’re… so fuckin…. Feels so good.” You squeal. “Biggest cock I’ve ever felt.”

“Fuckkk baby girl, pussy so warm. Gonna kill me.” He groans. His weight on top of you felt heart shattering, he leaned down to kiss you, his mustache still wet from eating you out alive.

You cry, the pressure of his dick so new, your stomach completely full. “It’s fuckin your cock now.”

You mewl, your cock. Yours. “Faster Joel… fuck my pussy, ruin me.” You plead. The faster he goes, the better your pussy will bottom out. He rubs your clit faster, his hand feeling like the sentence of god.

“I saw you across the casino, and instantly knew.” He thrusts, placing his hands on your nipples. Pinching them harder, “Magnetized to you. Such a fuckin pretty girl, knowin how to win poker.”

“And when I won?” You groan, peering into his hooded eyes. You place your hands on top of his knuckles. “Did that turn you on?”

“When you won,” He slows, “I fell in love sweetheart.” He cusps your dropped jaw with a deep kiss and he quickens. Your legs wrap around his back and he fucks into again, and again.

You scream at his pace, unable to reprimand his cock dividing you into two. He hits a spot, a spongy spot inside you.

“Joel… fuckfucfuck I’m gonna cum Joel… it’s too much!” You scream.

Immediately he pulls out and unwraps your legs, flipping you over on all fours and pussy sprayed out for him clear as day. He fucks into you again, doggy style. He pushes his hand down on your back to make your stomach flat with the bed.

“Your pussy’s so pretty and open for me. My perfect girl. Whole life I’ve needed you.” He whimpers. You could feel his growing harder and harder inside of you, draining the life out of him.

You grab a hold of the sheets, your brain plummeting, “Just a Vegas pussy, just a… fuck.. A whore… for you Joel.” You cry.

“Not a Vegas whore y’hear?” He growls, “Could never be a fuckin whore… but this pussy will always be fuckin mine. Are we clear?”

You nod your head for him to know you understand, he grabs whatever his hands could hold, ass bouncing on his dick. His fingers slipped to your love handles, feeling your pussy lips sliding on and off him like a glove. His cock was fucking into you for an ecstasy you couldn’t fathom.

You never thought sex could feel this good with a man, but here you are… about to explode from Joel’s dick. You don’t care if he didn’t see you as a whore. You were beyond greatfil he saw you beyond that, but you would be his fucking Vegas whore a million times over.

“Gonna cum baby? Gonna cum if I play with your fuckin clit and fuck you?” He mewls.

He slithers his hand under you both, rubbing your clit, and that’s when it hits you. Not only the double stimulation, but being full and being played with killed your insides, you were tightening up and you couldn't tell how much longer you could last, for real this time. You were always oozing, and globs of liquid were flowing out of you.

“Joel… my stomach…I’m gonna pee.” You wail, but he doesn’t stop, he’s not scared to see what comes outside of you.

“C’mon pretty girl give it to me… show me how good I make you feel. Make it fuckin rain.” He slams harder.

“Mmhm Joel… I can’t… fuck..”

In almost a miracle you had time to pull off of him and let a stream fall from your cunt, exploding of water onto the bed and all over his stomach, he bent down to drink it. He collected it in his mouth, then spit it back at your pussy, continuing to lick you off. You were so tired, moaning like a tired athlete, screaming to get your breath back.

“If you do that again… you’ll kill me Joel.” You crouch on the bed like a cockroach. He moans in confirmation to your pussy, squirming from the aftershocks and his soft tongue… licking you to normalcy. Cleaning what’s his. He peers up your back to kiss you, laying on top, finding his way to your lips.

“Have you ever done that before?” He asks.

“No, I can’t describe it but it felt like I couldn’t control it. My stomach was imploding on itself. I’m sorry I got you wet” You whisper.

He kisses your neck, “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve seen, and I did that to you? I would watch you soak my cock over and over again if I could… takes a lot of power from what I can tell.” He says.

“I know,” You wriggle your ass, “I told you… I like it fuckin rough and fast, and here you are. Giving me exactly what I want.” You could feel his covered cock laying on your back, still hard.

“What about you, we didn’t-”

“Shhh baby girl.. Tonight wasn’t about me… this was your prize for winning.” He chuckles. “For that brain of your’s for being so smart.”

“Fuck Joel.” You shiver, “Don’t let it end.”

--------

9:46

You wake up, looking at the slide cock, you were still in his bed, he was getting dressed again. When he sees you’re awake he rushes to you, giving a kiss.

“When you fell asleep, I booked your ticket. Hope you’re still okay with that.”

Now you’re fully awake, reliving the whole night and realizing what you’ve committed to. Not only a commitment but something you’ve been searching for your entire life, a man that has made you feel more than what it’s like to be a woman in the 80’s. Last night, you were his equal. He cared after you, cared more about you feeling the interlinked connection of your orgasm than his. His words coaxing your orgasm first. He was the only man you needed.

“Do you have any clothes I could possibly wear for the flight?” You smile, looking into his honey abyss.

“I’ll call my assistant and have a closet ready for you when we get there.” He replies.

You scurry from the bedsheets, letting the duvet fall from your tits.

“Well Joel… then New York, here we come.” And he captured your lips, not only that but your heart and life in a sum of 12 hours.

——

so i don’t know how to play poker, tried my best to watch video and figure out basic logistics of a game but like this royal flush would probably be one a mil to get, but it’s a one shot so like…… this is the longest thing i’ve written and i’m pretty fuckin proud of it. BE LOUD TELL ALL THOUGHTS!! love you all🎀🎀

barbenheimer weekend was amazing. i’ve seen them both 3 times in theatres. worth every damn penny.

[enderwolf91]

☆彡彡 A New Start ミミ☆

synopsis: life has become dull working your office job, unable to go out and enjoy yourself anymore. upon opening a letter your grandfather left to you after his passing, you find yourself on a bus to a new life, hoping to find that spark you so craved for in life.

word count: ~2.6 k

warnings: none!

notes: rewrite of this. the first part to (hopefully) a good series. this is the first fic I've written for an audience in a long time, and I want to put a lot of effort into each chapter, so I apologize if updates to this are slow. I also apologize if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes, English isn't my strongest subject despite speaking it my entire life lol. Enjoy!

“Three more? I just got done with the two you gave me yesterday!”

“I'm just here to give you your assignments, if you have problems take ‘em to the boss, Daniel.”

A loud scoff comes from the other side of the cubicle's wall, the sound of papers being taken with an aggravated force. “Whatever…”

A few moments later, a short figure takes up the opening to your cubicle, a man you're unfortunately familiar with as he holds out two Manilla folders with a bored expression. “Your next assignments for the week.” He speaks as if on the verge of yawning, casually glancing around the small, gray box at the minor number of decorations taped to the walls.

“Thanks, Paul,” you respond, less than enthralled to see more folders to join the stack on your desk. “I'll get started on them tomorrow morning.”

Turning back to your computer, the lines of words and numbers on the document you've been writing have started blurring together. But the looming presence still in the doorway of the cubicle draws you back to Paul, who's still looking around at the papers and photos you've taped up and the cliche cat poster the company gifted everyone last year that's started to wear and tear at the edges.

“Is there… something I can help you with, Paul?” You question him, biting back a grimace as his ears turn a light red as he finally looks at you.

“Hm? Oh! Actually, yeah, I wanted to ask if you were free tonight? There's a… bar nearby if you want to get drinks after work?” He fidgets with the stack of folders in his arms, shifting from one foot to the other as he can't seem to meet your eye.

It's the third time he's asked this month.

“Paul…” You sigh, “I appreciate the invitation… but I can't. There's stuff I need to finish by the end of the week, and with more work being piled on top of that. I just- I don't have time to go out.”

The disappointment is evident in Paul's expression as he gives a tight-lipped smile, “right. I'll… let you get back to work then.”

“Yeah…” You drift off, slowly turning back to your computer as Paul shuffles to the next cubicle, his voice notably less energetic than before.

Sighing, you go back to typing away on your computer, the hours of the work day passing by without you. Though, your own words keep echoing in your mind and distract you from work.

I don't have time to go out.

It's an unfortunately true statement. Ever since you got this corporate job for Joja Mart, you just haven't had time to spend on anything else. Oftentimes staying late at the office to finish a report, or taking the work home when the janitors eventually had to lock up the building for the night. Though the mountain of work does come with a generous pay, enough to pay for your rent and groceries and then some. Money saved up for the off chance you did get time to go out, go to the mall or a bar, but that day has yet to come.

Fortunately, the company graced you with some paid vacation time for your hard work, allowing you to fly back home for your grandfather's funeral. Long expected but still unfortunate, he was somehow always the optimist, telling everyone around strive for a long life like he had, strive for a happy life like he lived.

And while he gave everyone else in the family small trinkets and heirlooms, you received an envelope with your name written on it and a small note.

‘Open when you want a new start’

The envelope sat heavy in your bag on the trip back, and now sits waiting in the top drawer of your desk, your curiosity of what's inside still hot on your mind as you pull open the drawer.

The envelope sits atop a stack of graphs and old papers, a crimson red seal plastered to the front with an unfamiliar emblem, a sort of peace sign looking symbol you've never seen before.

The note written above the seal calls out to you, ‘a new start’ drawing your curiosity out even more as you pick up the envelope. Using your office scissors, you carefully open the envelope and pull out the paper folded inside.

Seeing the handwritten makes you smile softly, the neat print your grandfather seemed to have perfected being a bit shaky and smudged from his old age.

‘So, my dear, you want to start anew, huh? A change of scenery? Fortunately, I didn't leave you with just a silly old letter while the others got gifts. I own a plot of land in Pelican Town that I'm leaving to you. It's an old farm I used to live on when I was about your age and moved away from home, needing a change in scenery. Take good care of the place for me, will ya? The residents of the town knew me well, I'm sure they'll be happy to hear you're coming to town. The number at the bottom will call an old friend of mine, let him know you're on the way and he'll take care of you. With love, your old pa

Jack: xxx-xxx-xxxx’

It was a stretch, moving to a town that was over a seven hour bus ride away, packing up all your belongings from your apartment and saying goodbye to the company that's paid your monthly living expenses for the past few years; all to live on a farm that would become your only source of income, selling the fruits of your labor and not knowing anyone in town.

The bus wasn't as comfortable as you were hoping, but you could lay across the row of seats since there weren't many other people, and no one who was on the same journey as you're on. It was nice watching the world go by in the comfortable silence of the bus.

The bustle of the city and slowness of the traffic opened up to calm suburbs and residential areas, a park passing by every so often with children and dogs running around with parents watching over them; which all faded to the quiet of the countryside, rolling hills of grass and the occasional spotting of trees, it was then you drifted off to sleep to the lull of the bus driving and lack of bright lights.

The next time your eyes open, you're still driving and now you're going through a mountainous area. There's a few people on the bus again, all sticking to themselves until the bus stops at a town, though not the one you're going to as the doors close and the bus driver heads back onto the road.

It's only when you go through a tunnel and pop out the other side you start to feel like you're getting close. The scenery is starting to clear and open up more, and just as you look out the window you drive past a sign signaling the next stop to be Pelican Town.

Seeing the sign sends a jolt through you, realization of what you're doing settling in as you look down at your luggage stuffed under the seat. It dawns on you, you just threw away the security of the life you had to move a day away from anyone you knew and potentially lose everything you have, all because you couldn't stand your office job anymore.

“Pelican Town,” the bus driver's voice shocks you to focus, seeing you've stopped at a bus stop with the town's welcome sign outside.

“Right… thanks,” anxiety crawls through you as you grab your bags, giving the driver a nice tip before stepping off the bus with a shaky breath.

And before you can change your mind, the doors close behind you and the bus is taking off again. Without you.

Looking around, the bus stop is nice, unexpectedly away from the main town. Instead it's in a nice fenced area, a few trees, benches, and a paved path leading out of the area. It looked more like a rest stop than the entrance to a town.

Even more to your surprise, a voice calls out to you from the paved path. “Hey! I knew I heard the bus come by, you must be Samuel's grandkid, right?”

A tall woman approaches you with a kind smile, her white locks pulled back into a tight ponytail as she brushes off the sleeves of her dark green jacket.

“Uhm… yeah, I am,” you nod shyly, tightening your grasp on your bag as the woman greets you up close.

“I'm Sojourn. Jack said you'd be coming to town soon. C'mon, I'll show you to your grandpa's old place.”

Without saying much, you follow Sojourn down the path, taking a right at the fork and following until you see another fence up ahead and a large cabin-like home comes into view.

“Here it is,” Sojourn hums, opening the gate onto the property. “It's seen some better days, or years, but it's all yours now.”

Your eyes are wide as you take in the plot of land. Trees are everywhere, though not dense enough to make it a forest, weeds and miscellaneous plants fill the ground and leave little room to move around. Large logs and fallen over trees and rocks litter about the area. A large pond near the gate is filled with lily pads and overgrown roots, but would make a nice place for fish to live in once cleaned up.

The only part the seemed to be taken care of was the small area near the gate and house, clear of bushes and weeds and any overgrowth.

“We took some time fixing up the house for you, though most of the old furniture was rotten and broken down so we had to get rid of it,” Sojourn explains. “But, we got you a new bed, dining table, fixed up the fuse box and got you a new TV. It's only the essentials, but we didn't want you left with nothing on your first night.”

“Wow…” You can't help but stare up at the house, seeing it's bigger than your childhood home. “Did… Grandpa build this place?”

“From the ground up, though he had some help,” a man comes out of the house, the door swinging fully open. You recognize his voice as Jack's from when you called him a week ago, the night you had opened the envelope. Jack closes the door behind him, before properly greeting you with a warm smile. “Good to meet you, kid. After I heard what happened with Sam, I hoped he mentioned this place to someone, or at least sold it to someone so it didn't go to waste. Glad to see he kept it in the family though.”

“I don't think anyone in our family knew about this place,” you admit, unable to recall any stories about a farm from your grandfather.

“Sounds likely,” Jack chuckles. “Old coop didn't tell us he had kids, let alone grandkids, until he was too old to make the trip out here. Got his letters about your entire family about a year ago.”

“That's when Jack wanted to start cleaning up this place,” Sojourn adds. “Kept coming out here by himself and disappearing all day. Found him out here all tuckered out from pulling weeds and decided to help him out.”

Jack sighs, looking across the plot of land, “don't know how he took care of this place by himself. Took us a year to just freshen up this much. But he had rows of crops planted year round, and had everything nice and organized. Too bad the old barn and coops all rotted away, the greenhouse took plenty of weather damage too.”

The thought makes a weight sink in your stomach, the anxiety of your situation surfacing again, the realization of your new life coming to light.

Just as you start to look around in a panic, a warm hand lands on your shoulder, Sojourn speaking with a sincere kindness, “if you need help with anything, don't hesitate to ask. Once you've settled into the house, we can introduce you to some people in town who can help spruce this place up. I'm sure Satya and Zarya wouldn't mind planning out a new chicken coop and barn for the future.”

“Torbjorn can take a look at Sam’s old tools and fix them up for you too,” Jack adds with a nod. You look between them, names going over your head as you focus on the fact that there's an entire town of people your grandfather knew, yet never mentioned to your family

“Why don't you settle in for now, get used to the place, work on the landscape if you feel ready for it,” Sojourn suggests to you, realizing you're still carrying your luggage, and have yet to see inside your new home.

“There's a box with some farming supplies inside. For now, don't worry about paying for food, stop by the general store or the tavern whenever you need to eat. Once you start growing crops, you can sell them to the general store to start your income. Just know, you gotta work to get paid, just like your grandpa did. So work hard on your farm, kid,” Jack rubs the top of your head, ruffling your hair up before he leaves with Sojourn, letting you go inside to settle into your new life.

The moment you go inside, you drop your bags and fall back on to the bed, thankful for how soft it is as you sink into the covers. The strain of sitting and laying on a bus seat for so long puts a strain on your spine, the pain easing away as you stare up at the ceiling, contemplating what to do next.

You'd never worked on a farm before, let alone ran one on your own. You had some experience in taking care of plants thanks to your mother and her backyard garden, and your grandfather used to let you watch him make things in his garage, he had shown you how to use his power tools and how to put together pieces of wood. You had the knowledge of what to do, but not the experience enough to make it your lifestyle, your new way of living.

It seemed that had to change then.

Sitting up, you look around the open space, finding the box of supplies Jack had talked about. Inside of it you find old tools; an ax, hoe, watering can, and pickaxe; a large bag of fertilizer, and packets of parsnip seeds.

It's a start, and you manage to carry the supplies outside to the open patch of land in front of the house.

Getting a hold on the tools was a bit awkward to get used to, and having to dig through the lily pads to fill the watering can was a close call to falling into the pond, but by the time the sun began to set you stand in front of a plot of planted seeds, all watered and fertilized to grow fast and well.

And the first call of an owl makes you slouch and yawn, already feeling sore from the extensive physical activity you haven't experienced since taking your old office job. Barely conscious as you shower and change into pajamas, you slide into the new bed, feeling like heaven under your exerted body, the blanket providing a warm comfort as you easily drift off to the sounds of nighttime bugs and critters.

[myloveismineallmine]

Just watched It's a Wonderful Life and I have so many thoughts... it's so interesting to compare it to the modern christmas movies we see. Many are those lifetime romances about a business woman who visits her hometown for christmas and gives up her job in new york/seattle/chicago/LA/ insert some other metropolitan city here so she can marry a more "traditional" hometown man and stay in that community. I've seen some people point out how it feels very traditionalist and almost anti-feminist and I'm inclined to agree.

I think they tried to elicit the themes from IWL but got completely lost in the sauce. The protagonist is a man who had always dreamed of traveling the world and getting out of his shitty small town. But multiple times he is given the opportunity to escape to bigger cities, and each time he choses to stay behind. Not because he personally wants to, he craves a life bigger than he has. And not for anything like romance, either. He stays because the community needs him to stand up to corporate greed and be a leader for them. After his brother comes back from school, he is once again offered an opportunity to escape via putting his brother in his position to run the family business. But he lets his brother move away because he sees that his brother has already started a life elsewhere and is very happy. This selfless action is rewarded for the protagonist when his brother later saves hundreds of lives during WW2 and becomes a national hero. The protagonist sacrifices his own honeymoon money so that the community will have enough money to get by when the bank goes under. He is rewarded by getting a brief ego boost when the villain of the film fails to shut down his company. Even when the villain offers the main protagonist a job with high pay to support his struggling family, the protagonist stands his ground and continues to live a poor life while also being able to help people in his community build houses and businesses. The main protagonist is offered many "outs" to live a better life, and yet he chooses to not take them because he is selfless and knows his community needs him.

This is one of the main differences, I think. Hallmark/Lifetime movies think romance is a justifiable means of sacrificing a "better" life. And maybe it is, though I think the actors should have chemistry if they want that to be true. But despite having romance, IWL is not about sacrificing your dreams to get married in a small town. It's about sacrificing your dreams to help build a community and fight against corporate greed. Which is why IWL feels less like a Christian traditionalist propaganda, despite having religious themes. The protagonist does throw away his lofty aspirations, but it's not just for one person, it's to bring a whole community together and to stand up against an actual evil (monopolistic capitalism.) They even show you how shitty things are when there's no one there to do that!

In short. Modern christmas movies usually miss the mark because they want to sell us a very white traditionalist heterosexual romance celebrating America's most consumerist holiday. Any actual critique on the problems within our society= too much of a risk. Too hard to thinky about. Brain hurty from actual deep topics and not just "love good, small towns good, urbanism BAD!!!"

[hargrove-mayfields]

________

Steve traveled a few hours for this.

Robin and Dustin came with him, taking turns driving since neither of them really liked to, but there wasn’t much choice. They would’ve brought the boys’ mom, but going a few states away isn’t something Claudia can do with her job if she still wants to retire in a month.

She’d entrusted Steve and Dustin with her car and settled for car-pooling with Joyce to work until the boys and Robin got back.

He really appreciated that. This trip is a very big deal to him; a visit to literally the only place left in the country he can visit his decades long hyperfixation. The Rock-Afire Explosion, in all its horribly tacky 1980s glory. Settled today at an independent arcade restaurant.

There’s one closer to home, but it isn’t the right group. Some corporate sellout place that uses digital screens and shit. Another is closed off to the public unless he was going to pay way too much money to see his favorite characters barely functioning. So to West by god Virginia it is.

They made it, and have spent probably two hours straight at this literal wonderland. Robin and Dustin are mostly hanging out in the arcade portion, dishing out little golden tokens into skee-ball games and spinning wheels for tickets. Actual print tickets. Just when he thought this place couldn’t get better.

Steve though, he’s mostly been parked in front of the stage the entire time. A basket of chicken tenders later, even though the place is known for pizza- which Steve in his post ileostomy world can’t eat- he’s still not going anywhere.

Each and every time the show selector board lights up again, he’s wheeling his way over and choosing one from the draw. So far, he’s seen probably half of the whole show tape, happy stimming his way through each song and skit that he’d wanted so desperately to see in person ever since the last Showbiz Pizza closed in Indiana during his early childhood.

This time, when it comes back on to signal the cooldown is over, he’s beat to the draw.

A small boy of about 10 or 11 years old comes darting past in little light up sneakers, on tip-toes to reach where the buttons are mounted up on the wall. He’s got a mop of blonde curly hair on his head, where it’s longer in the back pulled into a tiny ponytail, with the band of some strap-on glasses tucked underneath.

Steve looks over his shoulder to see where the little guy came from, and sees a man who looks almost identical. But not just any. The one approaching him is someone he used to know, an old crush that got away.

Billy Hargrove in the flesh.

It’s been over thirty years. These days, Billy is inked from shoulder to wrist, even more tattoos peeking out from just under the v-neck t-shirt he’s wearing. His hair has lightened, probably from the California sun that darkened his freckles and added more to any uncovered spot of skin. Those pale, almost peachy colored curls don’t do much to hide the dark graying streaks.

Steve is the same way, a whole patch of greyish-brown blooming at the front of his hair, and crows feet by his undercast eyes. Aging hasn’t done him particularly well, not the way it has Billy. That is what he thinks at least, still never quite breaking out of his self-critical shell. His mom says he’s still charming at least.

Being love-sick all these years hasn’t helped though. He wonders what Billy will think of him now.

Billy who, with an absolutely adorable laugh, calls after his boy, “Mackenzie! You gotta wait your turn little dude!”

Steve rushes to insist, “Oh, no, he’s alright!” After all, he’s the grown ass man getting his entertainment from a group of cutesy animal robots.

If that little boy in his cute sneakers wants to have fun too, he’s not gonna be some gatekeeping elitist about it. Not when he sees the wristband on his little wrist that proudly declares his extra 21st chromosome. He recognizes the rainbow infinity on the beaded bracelet beneath that one too.

Steve gets it. Hyperfixations and special interests are pretty huge for him too. Mackenzie being so excited about the band he’s loved for so long is not something Steve would ever dream of squashing out.

Not even when the young boy takes to climbing up the side of Steve’s wheelchair.

Billy intervenes and picks him up right away though, “Hey, hey. We don’t touch that, Kenz. That’s his legs.”

Mackenzie’s slanted eyes get big, his little head whipping towards Steve to apologize, “Sowwy!”

But the little guy was so genuine and curious, there’s no way Steve could be mad about that, “It’s alright! Here, do you wanna push a button?”

Billy looks relieved that Steve didn’t start freaking out on his kid, motioning with a little nod of his head that it’s okay for Steve to take Mackenzie’s little hand and guide it towards one of the buttons.

Together, they choose a blue one. Steve’s already watched this specific show, but it’s one of his favorites since it involves all eight characters. For some reason, he hopes the kiddo really likes it too.

Nothing happens at first- the animatronics have to get air pressure back in them before they can start -so Steve takes the few seconds of delay to roll back to his table. It doesn’t really surprise him when the two friends he’s made join him. Father and son in swivelly red chairs at the table Steve parked beside.

When the lights come up on stage, Steve finds he doesn’t want to look right at the show and stare the way he usually does. Instead, he watches the wonder in Mackenzie’s deep and emotional eyes.

Kids like him don’t do much to hide their emotions, which is honestly a huge inspiration to Steve, who grew up masking and hiding his disability. Pretending isn’t fun, and even though he just met this little dude, watching him just be himself makes Steve happy too.

They’re both letting their hands flutter about by the time the first set is finished, the hiss of air signaling the animatronics are done until the next time.

Mackenzie whips around in his seat and all but shouts at his dad, “Baba, t’ey sang to me!!”

“I heard, buddy! Wasn’t that cool?” Billy enthuses back.

Little Mackenzie nods his head over and over, giggles replacing his words.

Surprisingly, to Steve at least, he then looks to Steve for his opinion too. There is so much trust and adoration in that look. He hasn’t seen that since Dustin was a kid way back when Steve had first been adopted.

Steve gives a thumbs up for some reason, “Yeah, it was awesome!”

He reassures the little boy, but Billy is looking more skeptical. Not judgemental or anything, just aware of the surprised tone in Steve’s voice.

Non-confrontationally, he informs Steve, “Just a heads up.. I might’ve told Kenzie we were friends. I saw you and I panicked.”

Yep. That explains it. The sheepish looks from Billy combined with the excitement from his son.

Steve is actually really flattered that someone he used to think was so cool would want to be his friend.

“Highschool bullshit aside, I always kinda wondered what it would be like being close with the Billy Hargrove.”

“Well I still have the same taste in music.” Billy announces, after a moment to think on important fun facts about himself.

It makes Steve chuckle softly, “This tacky pop is probably painful for you then.”

Billy shrugs it off, “Hey, I heard some Springsteen in there. And the Beatles always get a pass. I can get by on this.”

Suddenly Mackenzie gets impatient with them having their own little conversation, and tries to get Steve’s attention. He taps him gently first, then starts waving and curling his hands into shapes.

Steve recognizes the gestures Mackenzie is making as sign language, but he doesn’t understand a word of it. It’s one of those things he always wanted to learn, and wished he knew, but never sat down and dedicated to. His communication board was way easier for non verbal days.

His confusion must be clear, because before he can even say anything, Billy starts acting as translator, “He wants to know your favorite member of the band.”

“Oh that’s easy! I love Beach Bear. His surfer theme and his curly blonde hair are so cool!” The answer is easy for Steve. He doesn’t mention the part where the character has always reminded him of someone his heart long yearned for.

Mackenzie seems to explode with happiness anyways, butterfly hands going faster than Steve can even finish his sentence. He guesses that’s his favorite too.

The excitement takes over totally, just then Makenzie taking off running unexpectedly.

Billy is up out of his seat so quick, jogging past his little one and intercepting him before he can complete his mission. It’s obvious Mackenzie had wanted to jump onto the stage, instead having to crash into his fathers open arms.

Before the little guy can get upset, Billy turns it into a hug. He’s so gentle, his hold on his boy loose, not crushing like the prone restraints Steve grew up with.

This is teaching through love, not fear. Steve may have just learned something about love himself if the way his heart skips a beat is any indication. He tries not to tear up.

Billy cups his hand real soft on the back of Mackenzie’s curly head, advising him, “Please don’t run off like that, baby. You could get hurt.”

“Sowwy.” Mackenzie apologizes, almost automatically.

Once again, Billy takes action to make sure his son isn’t feeling confronted or yelled at, “It’s okay, bud. You’re doing a really good job today, buddy. Daddy’s proud.”

With that, he carries him back over to the show selector to press one of the buttons that has now since lit up again, choosing a show with help from Steve through a series of pointing and lighthearted laughter from the trio.

They end up picking yet another one that Steve already heard, but Mackenzie clearly hadn’t, so Steve feels okay leaning aside with Billy and chatting while the boy dances and enjoys the show in close range.

“You’re really good with him.” He compliments softly, not just impressed but super enthralled

Instantly Billy’s face lights up with a smile, “Thanks, Steve. It’s just been me and him, I’m trying to fix a lot of shit his mom put into his head.”

Steve is going to say something, but Billy gets bashful, and interrupts it, “Sorry. Trauma dump.”

“No, it’s fine. I definitely get it. My uh.. my mom was the same way, you know.” Steve admits, to make Billy feel less embarrassed about it.

“Here, here.” Billy bumps their shoulders together, a weirdly intimate interaction, one that most people would be too afraid to do lest they break poor paralyzed Steve (not going to happen).

“It’s hard. I love my kid. More than the fucking world. I flew hours to this place just to let him be happy. But goddamn it’s not easy to unravel the shit that was done to me. To him too.”

“Listen, that happy, sweet little boy that ran over to me isn’t afraid. He’s not hurt, or scared, or hiding from anything. You’re doing great.” Steve compliments, all genuine.

His dream of six little nuggets of his own might not be something he’s going to have these days, but he admires Billy for his family. Not just because of his crush either. There’s always been a side to Billy that was so emotional and tender, and he’s amazed at how easily Billy can use that for good.

A lot has changed, but not really. Steve just wonders what Billy thinks of the fact Steve hasn’t made strides in growing a family or becoming some successful mogul.

Apparently he isn’t appalled, because he’s blushing as pink as Steve has probably been all day, as he says, “Thanks, Steve.. I needed that.”

And then there’s nothing left to say. Steve opens his mouth once, then closes it again, too overwhelmed to think of anything. All he wants to do is blab about how he’s been in love with his old rival the whole time.

The pause in conversation isn’t silent, between Mitzi Mozzarella singing her little mechanical heart out, kids laughing about something fun or crying about not getting the prize they wanted, and various machines begging to be played. But it feels intimate anyways.

A moment for just Billy and Steve, in all their nearing middle-aged glory.

It’s Billy who starts things back up, after checking that Mackenzie is getting enough to drink for all the moving he’s doing, “So. D’you really think blonde surfer guys are cool?”

“Maybe.” Steve goes along with it, seeing the opportunity to flirt in the way Billy held onto that one small moment, and tugging hard on that red string of fate, “They definitely get bonus points for having cool tattoos and being good parents, I’d say.”

Billy’s face looks absolutely frazzled, eyes big and smile all crooked and wobbly. And then he laughs, a loud, hearty laugh that has butterflies going through Steve’s whole chest, “Looks like you finally beat me at my own game, H.”

So they have been flirting.

In celebration of not reading the situation wrong, Steve turns it up ten more, leaving a locationally relevant move for Billy on purpose, “Do I get a prize?”

Of course the prize isn’t a stuffed toy or a handful of bubblegum, but rather, a kiss. A sweet, shy kind of kiss that has them bumping their noses together by accident. It’s all they can really get away with, considering where they are, but it’s enough. A thousand words in one chaste press of their lips together. It’s how Steve knows right away this was meant to be all along.

For what could have been several more hours they sat and talked, just the two of them in their little corner of the restaurant, occasionally taking breaks to go play a game, or take Mackenzie to the bathroom. In that time, they go from practically strangers, to having agreed to live together.

See, Billy and MacKenzie actually bought one way tickets. The California cost of living was way too much for single dad finances, and they had plans to settle in a rental trailer park, after a tour of a few states around the area, doing cheap stuff to make it seem fun. Like they weren’t searching for a place to live.

No way was Steve going to let Billy and his disabled kid be homeless in their rental car. Absolutely not.

He sent Claudia a text, and she said instantly she’d be getting Dustin's old room in order to house Mackenzie, and Steve could share his room with Billy. The situation is one plenty of people have already criticized, saying Steve at forty something is too old to be living with his adoptive mother. Adding a alternative queer man and his kid with down’s syndrome to the mix was destined to be the talk of the town, just as it was when Dustin moved out into an apartment with Lucas and Erica.

The fact is, he doesn’t care.

Steve hasn’t done babysitting since he was paralyzed in his twenties, but he’s more than happy to watch Mackenzie while Billy works. As soon as he saw him he felt like family, and Billy agrees Steve and he are soulmates. To him, this is just completing part of him that anguished and mourned and longed for so long.

The three of them together with Steve’s mom and caregiver, sounds like a dream to him.

“Who wants funnel cake!?” Robin appears out of nowhere, two greasy paper baskets in hand. But she freezes, “Wait a second- Hargrove?”

Okay, so there is a lot to catch her up on. Steve is more than happy to tell the story of rediscovering Billy, his beautiful son, and their long-lost love for each other.

_______

[good-wine-and-cheese]

Gambling Apocalypse Tenma AU

As I rewatch Kaiji I inevitably end up wanting to combine show I like with other show I like and stuffing fav characters into show. So here we are.

This was uh going to be a short summary type thing but I accidentally wrote a novella about it sorry

This AU starts off with a much more depressive Tenma. After Tobio's death, rather than immediately pour his grief into developing a robot version of his son, he recedes into himself, psychologically paralyzed, likely turning to alcohol to drown out his anguish.

His mental state is taken as an opportunity within the Ministry of Science to have him ejected from his position; Tenma was never the most well-liked director, and there were those with ambition to usurp him that would jump at the chance. Not that he especially cares in his state.

He's eventually dragged out of his stagnation by Ochanomizu - who, inadvertently, becomes the very catalyst pushing Tenma to develop a robot replacement to his child. This was not what he meant by encouraging Tenma to fill the void left by his son.

...But, well, he is no longer the director of the Ministry of Science. His access to limitless government funds and resources for "scientific research" has been cut off, and this is a project he cannot finance on his own. He can't ask Ochanomizu for help, but...interestingly...a representative of a certain shady organization known as the Teiai Corporation reaches out to him, offering to finance and support his project. A sane and well-minded Tenma might think better of it, but grieving and desperate, Tenma accepts their offer and is able to create a robot in the image of his beloved Tobio. For a while, there's joy in his life.

But the bill, as ever, comes due: Tenma must pay up, and the very resources that had been at his disposal will certainly ensure that he will, or else. Of course, he doesn't have the money; instead, he is given a choice. He can relinquish the robot Tobio in order to wipe out his debt - the child is a sophisticated and powerful robot, after all - or he can participate in a certain illicit event hosted by the Teiai Corporation.

It's nothing major...just a four-hour gambling cruise with a collection of desperate, damned souls that were also swept into debt with Teiai. The conditions are simple: Those who choose to participate are given a chance to clear their debts wholesale should they win. And should they lose...?

Well...no one really knows what happens to the losers seized by Teiai. It's said that they labour away their debts under Teiai's watchful eye and are freed once their work has covered their debts, though it's rumoured that most perish before they reclaim freedom.

There's only one answer Tenma can give, of course; he's not willing to lose Tobio again.

Thus is Tenma's debut into the Gambling Apocalypse, where he must become cutthroat in order to survive; if he wants to see his son again, he must make choices that will doom the hapless to miserable servitude, with a nonzero chance it ends in their death.

He survives the cruise, but of course, it was hardly enough to clear his debt; the cruise was never going to be the end of it. Teiai doesn't let go of its victims that easily. He will be called on again: this is a weight that hangs over him, all while he returns to his son Tobio. The same hands that have pushed innocents into hell must now be the hands that can embrace his child.

He wants to protect Tobio from the truth and enjoy what peaceful moments he's allowed with his son, but it's difficult. It's difficult to be the parent of a child who cannot understand the danger that looms ahead; this "happy" home is not to last. Tenma angers quickly and easily. He turns that anger onto Tobio.

As Teiai's games become more and more vicious and unrelenting, as his conscience holds onto the last vestiges of thread that remain, Tenma even threatens, once, to give the boy in: it would all end, then; the debt would be clear and no longer would he have to endure Tobio's childish annoyances, his ungratefulness.

The next time that Tenma is beckoned, Tobio takes matters into his own hands. He does understand, now; and he would have, if only Tenma had bothered to explain sooner. If it's a debt that needs clearing, he will work. He will help his father clear his debts however he can. Of course, it's difficult to find work as a child; but a circus troupe finds amusement in the idea of a child robot, and takes him in. He is whisked into a certainly unpleasant working situation, but he remembers his father, and what he must be enduring. Tobio, also, will endure.

When Tenma returns, Tobio is gone.

All that held Tenma back from becoming something monstrous has disappeared. All that kept him going has disappeared. When he is called upon by Teiai, there is no knowing what sort of person might come out the other end; whether a monster clawing his way to freedom regardless of what actions he must take, or a desolate husk surrendering defeat.

There is still a light, however dim: Found by Professor Ochanomizu and rescued from the circus, Tobio - now Atom - is able to shed light on the situation which Tenma took great pains to keep hidden from his old friend. With time running out, Ochanomizu and Atom must do what they can to save Tenma - from Teiai, and from himself.

-----

UHHH and that's a wrap!!!! I couldn't quite decide which way Tenma would go after hitting Rock Bottom in this AU, and tbh it would really depend on the kind of mental state he's in at the time. On the one hand I like the narrative of Ochanomizu and Tobio racing to prevent Tenma from crossing a line (actual outright murder probably) - or having to pull him back into humanity (and yknow, his ensuing penance)

But on the other hand having him get sent to Teiai Evil Hell Prison would be interesting because a) there's a lot of narrative potential having Tenma faced with what Teiai is doing with the people that lose the games and b) need him to decimate the foreman at chinchirorin Kaiji style

Tenma's whole character is definitely a much different guy in this AU, he starts off pretty sympathetic, the guy you wanna root for, he just ends up having an inverse character arc where he gets worse instead of better. His conflict with "Tobio" is also kind of reversed, less about being unsatisfied with Tobio as a son and more not being able to handle the fact that he probably has intense PTSD now and isnt capable of coping with it in a way conducive to being a parent (or like, coping at all)

Anyway that's gambling apocalypse tenma!!!