#I have to pay $1000 fix it

[pastelsugar6w6]

I have been having

a month

[tellie-vision-art]

Where the hell am I supposed to even post art now, or even go to look at art???

I barely even use twt anymore bc I barely see art and the posts I do see usually aren’t even entertaining anymore, it’s just a bunch of shit I don’t care about or drama that I could live without hearing about

Here is basically dead, I do see art but it’s not usually art I care about? Like, I like OC artwork idc that much about fan art most of the time but that’s most of what I see (and it’s for media I don’t consume also so—). Or maybe I’m unlucky and my mutuals’ art just doesn’t show up for me 😭???

Both sites, it doesn’t matter what I post, it WILL be flopping, my mutuals don’t even really interact with me anymore and they always used to 😞. What do I even do? I just feel completely lost between this and all of my personal/health issues

[itsalwaysdark]

anyways sry its not srs eventually ill get it together . and be a person again. one day

[sumplysilly]

Today is sumply one of those days (bad)

[ningningkittie]

🦩🌷🌺

[pisces-gf]

lol .

[dindjarinsbian]

you guys know that tiktok audio about homosexual audacity and thinking you can do anything with no prior experience? "no i've never done that but i'm gay so how hard could it be?" that's me right now having almost no knowledge of computers but wanting to build by own pc

[automatonknight]

i have. no perfume and a 3v4 fight to go through. i'm going to be honest i don't think i can survive that no matter how hard i try

[mayfly-maycry]

It’s a simple process, really; you walk up to the console, enter a number, and either the microchip implanted in your body at birth immediately kills you or a little slot underneath the screen pops out a wad of cash and you move on with your life.

The lines were long, so you had plenty of time to people watch. Most people walked away with nothing; anything short of 90% chance of sudden death wouldn’t get you any money, and less than $1000 was just not worth it, even for teenagers who thought they were invincible. Only a few people actually took the risk. You could tell which ones they were by how they tensed right before hitting the confirmation button at the bottom of the screen. And then went entirely limp as they crumpled to the ground, losing their gamble. Not one of them got their money.

As the person in front of you stepped up to the console, you idly wondered if the cash slots still worked, or if they had rusted closed from disuse. Or maybe there never even was any money in there.

And suddenly, it was your turn. You stepped up to the console, palms slightly sweaty. Of course, you had no intention of taking any chances, but it was still a little nerve-wracking to be only one typo away from death. There was a fingerprint scanner and a small number pad underneath the screen, which was black with three large words printed across it in white: "ENTER YOUR NUMBER."

You swallowed, scanned your thumb on the scanner, and used the number pad to do just that: 0. Just to be safe, you entered a few more 0's, a period, and some more 0's. Wouldn't want something weird to happen with unfilled digits. You hit the "enter" key on the number pad and held your breath.

The console's message changed: "CALCULATING REWARD..." It would come out to 0, then announce that you were free to--

The screen suddenly went blue, and from the sounds of protest from the people around you, yours wasn't the only one. As the technicians -- who were really just there to tote out the corpses of the foolish -- worked their way through the crowd, white text appeared on the screen:

Error on line 15:

Illegal operation: divide by 0

When a technician finally reached your side, he took one look at the console and cursed. "God dammit, who's the asshole who put in 0?!"

"Um... that may have been me," you admit sheepishly. You had no idea what was going on; of the hundreds of teenagers at the consoles before you who had also refused to risk death, not one of them had broken the machine, but somehow you had?

The technician shot you a disparaging look as he pulled a foldable keyboard out of his pocket and plugged it into a port hidden on the side of the console. "Seriously? Couldn't you have just jumped off of a building like a normal person? You didn't have to come in here and break our machine..."

The technician started tapping away at his keyboard, still grumbling, while your brain worked furiously to figure out what he was talking about. Why would he think you were suicidal for entering 0? You entered 0 because you wanted 0% chance of death--

Your heart skipped a beat as you realized. The number the machine wanted wasn't chance of death -- you were supposed to tell it your chance of life. Every person ahead of you who had made the same choice had entered 100%; you, on the other hand, had asked the machine for certain death.

In a daze, you watched the console screen as the technician worked. Instead of its usual simple, almost menacing black interface, it now displayed the rolling hills of a version of Windows older than you were with a terminal window pulled up in the corner. You didn't know much about coding, but you suspected that the mere 20 lines of code pulled up in the terminal were the entirety of what ran the machine.

The technician groaned. "Are you kidding me?! Why does it decide the money before it even decides if the person is going to live to see it?! And there's not any kind of error handling! How has it taken this long for the machine to break? I'd heard that it was shitty, but I didn't think it was this bad!"

You barely understood a word of what he said, but you did get the important part: you had asked the machine for certain death and been spared by a technical error. With a few more key presses on the technician's keyboard, the console returned to its original screen. The technician folded his keyboard away and turned to go.

"Wait...!" you called after him. "What should I do?"

The technician sighed and turned around. "Well, you can't use the console again -- the machine already marked your fingerprints as used," he told you. "At least there's an actual database hooked up to this thing so we didn't lose everything when it crashed," he added under his breath. The technician returned to his normal volume. "You're not getting any money, if that's what you're asking. Just be grateful you still have your life and get out of here."

His expression softened. "And, maybe take it as a new lease on life?" He put a hand on your shoulder. "I promise you, kid, life can be tough, but it's almost always worth living. Don't forget that, okay?" He awkwardly pat your shoulder before walking back to his post at the edge of the room.

You took his advice and left the room, truly grateful to be breathing in a way that, suicidal or not, you never had been before.

At 18 everyone must go to “the machine” and choose a percent that represents the odds the machine will not euthanize you. Those who live are granted 1000/(x^5) dollars. You confuse the meaning of the numbers and become the first person to ever put 0, but when the machine activates, you survive.

[puppygirlclick]

Help Two Disabled Trans Women Get Back On Their Feet

My federal income tax withheld wasn't properly updated by my employer on account of their bookkeeping which means I owe $1000 to the IRS by the end of July. I also had to go through intensive surgery at the end of February to fix a hernia which had caught my left testicle up in it, with a good portion of the left side of my abdomen being covered with a hernia mesh. Despite having been supposed to be healed up after 8 weeks, I have surpassed my employers 180 day limit for a leave of absence of which I wasn't informed of. Being terminated from my job leaves me with no health insurance and no way to continue paying for my doctor's appointments and treatments, all this as I am still paying $270 a month for my car and am possibly at risk of losing because I don't have a reliable way to pay for anything. On top of this, my girlfriend (@stcecilia) has recently moved in after being kicked out by a transphobic landlord and is dealing with worsening undiagnosed pain and sickness which has left her unable to work. Unfortunately she was relying on me getting better which isn't happening right now, and she's having to take care of me instead because of the condition I was left in with severe nerve pain the past few months leaving me stuck in a chair. We are both living with my parents and I can't even begin to put into words how much this is affecting both my girlfriend and I's mental health and physical well being along with everything else, with the way the house is always dirty, my step-mother constantly starting arguments with anyone who comes near her and constantly vitriolic and everyone else arguing and fighting with each other because of this.

It's hard to set a precise goal without it being subject to change for what we need as of right now but at least $1800 would help to pay my federal taxes and keep my car for the next two months and keep us on our feet for the time being.

Any amount helps towards paying off what we owe and moving closer to getting out of this house and into a better living situation and making sure we're properly cared for.

$0/1800

C*sh*pp $StSeeSee (@stcecilia's account) P*yp*l @debtanddeerteeth (Friend's account i can't get into mine without phone# and cici has no bank account rn) Ask for V*nmo (Not listing here because of my deadname) DO NOT TAG

[beloveds-embrace]

More roomate!au thoughts because, again, my brain never stops. When you move in with them, dont expect to be able to do anything by yourself ever again (unless its housework and their away), your car needs fuel? Dont worry Simon will go with you and fill it up for you and dont even think about trying to pay for it yourself, you tried once and Simon just glared at you so you tucked your card back into your purse. You need to go get a few supplies for college, Price and Gaz are joining you and giving their opinions about the best laptop to get or the best stationary (they fill out enough paperwork that they know the best ones). You're cooking them dinner, Johnnys right by your side following your every order and helping to wash up while you go relax on the sofa waiting for whatevers in the oven. And you will want for nothing, you see a pair of shoes you want while out shopping but their outside of your price range, they arrive at your door a week later just after the boys deploy, you see a pretty necklace on TV and comment on it, Johnnys there behind you fastening it just before your next night out. You lament that your mattess and bed are uncomfortable, a new one arrives the next and it just so happens to be big enough to fit all 5 of you on it.

Yeah, the boys would 1000% give you princess treatment

My mind is still on that drabble so i absolutely love this so so so very much god yes….

Original post

It doesn’t end there, of course. God, they do so, so much for you.

It’s Simon who stands right outside the bathroom door when you get sick late at night, trying to be quiet and not bother anyone yet when you tell him he should go to sleep, you’ll be fine, he doesn’t even let you finish your sentence.

“Don’t need sleep,” he grunts, pulling you against his body. Despite your protests, his warmth alone makes you melt. “Jus’ tell me what you need.”

It’s Gaz who gifts you with a surprise spa day kit after he notices how exhausted you look during your exams, gently pushing aside your laptop. “You look knackered, lovie,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you, alright? You always spoil us when we return anyways, this the least we can do.”

It’s Johnny who immediately knows your day has been shit just from listening the way you shuffle in, shoulders slumped and head downcast.

“Someone steal yer sunshine, hen?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it, Johnny,” you mumble tiredly, yet you have no energy to refuse when he leads you to the couch. “Bad day. I’ll just go to my room-“

“Nah, none o’ that,” he shakes his head, taking your bag. “Sit down, aye? I’ll fix you up something warm.” Though he makes sure to drap a blanket over yours shoulders before he goes into the kitchen, muttering about food.

It’s Price who goes hand in hand with your safety. All of them do make you feel safe but John is just- a bit different.

Once, you were being followed after you finished shopping and like an idiot, you’d forgotten your usual pepper spray you carried. You knew you were being followed because you could feel the eyes constantly on you and you circled the same area several times. Your hands are shaking when you text him, praying to every god-

- john

- Yes, love?

You are too afraid to even crack a smile at his serious punctuation.

- someones following me idk what to d

You don’t wait for him to reply. Just nervously, with too many typos, you tell him where you are and if please can he come or any of the men-

When John appears by your side in no less than five minutes, he just pulls you close to his side.

“Come on, sweetheart.” He ushers you along. “Bloke’s been dealt with. Give me your backs, yeah? Next time tell me or any of the muppets to join you.”

Too late you notice the blood splatters on his knuckles.

Also, remember when I said the original ad had been because they wanted someone to keep the place tidy when they are away? That doesn’t apply when they are home. If they see you cleaning or cooking, they are helping- nu uh, no complaints allowed, they are not about to let you slave away when you have four very capable men at your beck and call.

Hell, once it was Johnny who saw you scrubbing the kitchen floors and he just picked you up and placed you on the counter, tsking at you.

In a few hours, John returned to find all of them cleaning the kitchen; Soap was now dusting, Gaz vaccuming, and Simon wiping the counters.

And you were bundled in the couch corner, cozy and cute.

“What’s all this?” He asked, an eyebrow raised, and you shrug.

“She was tryin’ to clean.” Johnny grumbled from the corner.

“And you didn’t stop her sooner?”

“Bloody stubborn bird,” Ghost was the one who replied this time, not even looking up.

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look John fixed you with made you shut your mouth with a click.

“Good girl.”

The warmth on your cheeks was definitely not from overworking, at least.

You mention needing new clothes? You wake up to Simon’s credit card on your nightstand with a note ordering you to use it. “Strangely”, you can’t find neither your own card nor your wallet.

You also can’t find him, but Kyle’s there and oh wow! He has nothing to do so he will in fact be joining you (and making you model the dresses and outfits and send pictures to the others so you can be drowned in compliments)!

Also i like to hc that john(s) are both huge coffee lovers and they do in fact have those huge, fancy coffee machines yk? They are insulted when they see you drink the cheap, shitty, tasteless instant coffee you are surviving on and from then on, you will wake up every day to warm, fresh coffee made for you <33

Anyways gods i love them sm can you tell 😩😩

[jarofstyles]

Dirty Little Secret

Hello love bugs… This is something different I’m trying! He is not exactly a good person. Neither is she, exactly, but especially him. There’s a power imbalance and some cheating (with Y/N, not on)

Check out our Patreon for early access and 230+ exclusive writings

WC- 4.4k

Warnings- unfair power imbalance, mean dom h, humiliation, degrading, d/s dynamics, infidelity, he’s a dick, really not a great person 

If anyone asked someone to describe Harry Styles, they’d say he was up and coming- the one to look out for. A man with family values, a pretty wife, a tendency to donate to anyone who needs it. He went to charity galas, he gave people time off who needed it, he had the best possible healthcare plans, he had two rescue cats at home and sponsored planting 1000 trees every summer.

But they didn’t know what he really got up to. Who he really was.  That he was the furthest thing from a doting husband that his wife liked him to appear to be. 

He used to be. Until Y/N walked into his life. 

Harry sat at his desk, going through some important paperwork with a frown- completely ignoring the fact that his secretary was currently on her knees between his legs, her head bobbing up and down as she sucked his dick. He occasionally would let out a soft grunt or groan, but would quickly go back to his work, not even sparing her a glance.

A low grumble rumbled in his throat as he continued to ignore her, though he could feel his cock swelling with each sloppy suck. He knew exactly what Y/N was doing - testing his control, seeking attention. But he'd learned her games well. No praise, no touch, nothing to make her think she was getting away with her bratty fucking behavior. His fingers drummed absently on the papers, keeping his eyes fixed on the documents rather than the head bobbing in his lap.

She could feel her frustration growing as he continued to ignore her, his attention fully devoted to his work instead of her. She sucked harder, trying to elicit some kind of reaction, but he remained stoic, his face contorted in thought as he read through the papers. She even tried to add a little teeth, hoping he would finally look at her, scold her, anything. But he just grunted softly, jaw clenching just a tad and shifted a bit in his chair, still not sparing her a glance. 

It was torture.

Her muffled whimper of frustration only made the corners of his mouth twitch slightly as he continued to concentrate on his paperwork, pretending not to notice her growing desperation for his attention. He knew how much she craved his focus, his praise, his command. And that was precisely why he denied her, maintaining his stoic facade in the face of her increasingly vigorous efforts to get him to crack. The occasional shiver that ran through him at the feel of her lips and tongue was his only concession to the pleasure she was trying so hard to provoke.

Just as she was about to give up and crawl away in defeat to go pout at her own desk, his phone suddenly rang, piercing the tense silence of the office. Harry's gaze flickered to the device on his desk before he picked up, his voice crisp and businesslike as he answered. "Styles." Y/N's head paused mid-suck, her ears perking up as she strained to listen in on the conversation, hoping against hope that it would be something that would distract him from ignoring her.

"Yes, I'm aware of the delay with the project. I don't care what excuses you have, I want it sorted out by end of the day." His voice was cold, commanding, brooking no argument. She hated how her cunt clenched at the dominant tone, her frustration momentarily forgotten as a different kind of heat pooled between her legs. She remained still, lips wrapped around his thick shaft, listening intently to his one-sided conversation. "Yeah, well- I really don’t give a fuck about what’s going on right now. Get it done like I’m paying you to fucking do. And if I hear that you've off fucking around on my dime again, you're fired. Got it?"

As he finished his stern lecture, his hand grasped the back of her head with little warning, pushing her down firmly until her nose was buried in the thatch of pubic hair above his dick and he was fully lodged in her throat. He held her there for a long moment, his cock throbbing in the wet, hot confines of her tight little throat as he continued to flip through his papers with the other hand, acting as if her presence wasn't rattling his concentration in the slightest. He really should gamble, with the poker face he had. Finally, he released her with a slight grunt, leaving her gasping and sputtering.

He gazed down at her face in his lap, her teary eyes, the spit webbed from her lips to his cock. "Was that so difficult, sweetheart?" His tone dripped with sarcasm. "I thought you wanted my full attention. S’why you acted like a little fucking brat before, isn’t it?." He tapped a finger lightly against her pursed, slicked lips. "Perhaps next time you'll think twice before trying to manipulate me with your... methods." His eyebrows arched as he glanced towards where her mouth had just been before returning his gaze to the documents before him ."Now, be a good girl and let me work in peace. If you're going to be on your knees, make yourself useful.” 

His finger moved from her face to move across the papers, though the slight tightness in his jaw betrayed the effect her wet mouth had on him as she kissed over the shaft. Trying to make it up to him, obviously. "Though I must say, the lack of eye rolls and attitude when your mouth is full is quite an improvement. You should try it more often."

Of course she was. Y/N knew what he liked by now but had wanted a bit more attention- and she had known how to get it. Eagerly, she continued to suck his cock, determined to prove herself and earn his praise the right way. Her head bobbed up and down, saliva dripping from her lips as she worked his thick cock, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head. She could feel his fingers tapping against her cheek occasionally, a silent reminder to keep going, to be good and quiet while he worked. She relaxed her throat, letting him sink deeper, her nose buried in his pubic hair on her own attempt as she struggled to take him all the way down.

He grit his teeth, trying to focus on the papers in front of him as she gagged herself on his dick. Her throat constricting around him felt incredible, but he refused to let her see the effect she was having on him. His hand tightened around the pen, knuckles white as he fought to maintain his composure. A low, barely audible groan escaped him as she swallowed around him, the vibrations shooting straight to his balls. Fuck, she was good at this. Too good.

His breathing grew heavier as she expertly worked his prick with her mouth, the tight suction threatening his carefully maintained control. She knew exactly what she was doing. His free hand unconsciously gripped the edge of his desk, fingers twitching slightly. The little brat might make him actually lose focus if she kept this up. He tried to focus on the numbers in front of him, but his vision kept blurring at the sensation of her tongue. Such a fucking talented mouth for such a brat…

She started to get sloppier, drool dripping down her chin as she sucked him with less control. More desperation to please a man she should realistically be far away from, but too addicted to stop. The wet, messy sounds filled the room, punctuated only by her occasional gagging and the soft, muffled moans around his dick. Her hair was a mess, strands sticking to her face and neck with the mess she had made, but she didn't care. All she cared about was making him proud, making him see that even if she was a brat, she knew how to suck his cock like a good girl.

The man let out a shuddering breath, finally tossing the papers aside as her relentless sucking threatened to unravel him completely- so he broke. "Fuck, just like that." He muttered, his hand gripping her hair roughly in his fingers to urge her on. "Such a talented little cockslut, aren't you?" The irony wasn't lost on him - they were both playing their roles in this twisted game of power and pleasure, each using the other for their own needs. He knew he was just as guilty as she was, cheating on his wife with his secretary. Playing these games when he knew better. But it felt too good to stop. He’d never felt more alive.

His wife barely paid him mind. Their marriage had fizzled, leaving him lonely and frustrated- and when an overly eager Y/N had come in, spending hours a day in close contact with him, it felt inevitable. She was beautiful, she was sweet. Listened to commands without a hitch (most of the time.) As wrong as it may be, as soon as he got the hint that his cute little secretary with her soft doe eyes and cunning smile had wanted his cock- he readily gave it to her. Y/N let him do what he needed, happily taking whatever he handed to her. Dealing with her bratting out was something he liked more than he’d verbally admit. Getting her to this point, desperate for his approval, he thrived off of it.

He thrived off the power dynamic, the way she would look at him with those pretty, pleading eyes, seeking his approval after she'd been a brat and she wanted him to forgive her- have mercy. He loved reducing her to a whimpering, drooling mess, desperate for his touch, his praise, his attention. 

His wife was a shell, a ghost in their marriage. A facade of perfection upheld by false pleasantries at the shops, or at the galas she only went to for the sake of keeping up her own appearance.

 Y/N was alive, vibrant, always present. Eager to learn and work, even when it wasn’t a sexual thing. She was full of life and possibilities he hadn’t been exposed to before and he felt an itch to give them to her. 

She might be a brat, but she was his brat.

“Little whore. So precious.” He whispered in a condescending coo.  “Sucking off your boss. Desperate for my cock, mm?” Gathering her hair in his hand, he gave in to her need for attention to help her take his cock in her throat again. His second favorite place to be. “What is it you want now? Mm? What’s got you acting like a brat?” He looked down at her, his expression a mixture of heat and amusement. "What is it that y’want, you precious little slut? You've been throwing yourself at me all day, acting like a spoiled brat. And now you're on your knees, choking on my dick like it's the only thing that can satisfy you." He tightened his grip on her hair, using it to guide her head up as he spoke. "So tell me, what's got you so desperate for my attention?"

“You said I couldn’t come on the trip. I want to go.” She pouted, breathing deep through her nose as she tried to catch her breath. He listened to her request, his expression unreadable for a moment before a slow, smug smile spread across his face. "The business trip, huh? Y’want to come with me so bad that you turned into a brat in the middle of the work day?" He chuckled, a low, mocking sound. "And why should I bring you along, hm? What could a little thing like you possibly offer me on a trip like that?" He leaned back in his chair, still holding her hair tightly. "M’not running a fucking daycare, sweetheart."

"Please, Harry... I'll be good, I promise. I just... I wanna be with you." She whined, her voice taking on a pathetic, pleading tone. It was clear she was desperate, willing to do anything to get her way. He considered her for a moment, his grip on her hair loosening slightly as he thought. "And what about when I have meetings? When I'm busy with clients? You're just gonna sit in the hotel room all alone n’pout?"

“No! I can come and- and take notes. Get coffee. You know I can do that sorta stuff. I want to be there.” She protested, eyes pleading up at him.

"Oh, you want to be there... as what? My secretary? Or my little office whore?" He smirked at her, knowing his crude words would have her cheeks flushing. "Just what exactly are you volunteering for here, hm? Taking notes... or taking care of all my other needs?" His free hand slid down to grip her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "Be honest with yourself - which d’you think you would you be better at?" His voice dropped to a husky whisper. Her honeyed eyes looked so pretty with residual tears, desperation in them. It was his favorite look on her face.

“Let’s be honest, sweetheart. If you come with me, you're not just my secretary. You'll be my personal assistant, my travel companion, and... whatever else I might need you for." His thumb pressed against her lower lip, holding it still as he spoke. "So, are you up for the challenge? Willing to be at my beck and call, day and night, for the entire trip?" He leaned forward, his eyes boring into hers. "Because if you are, I might just consider letting you tag along."

Y/N felt fuzzy, nodding her head. It was actually exactly what she would want to do. Something in her most base and primal self wanted to please him. Make him happy. She liked when he was mean, when he used her, when he praised her. It was something she’d felt since she started but every time he would show her attention, even if she knew deep down it was wrong for so many reasons, she loved every bit of his attention. 

"Good girl." He praised, releasing her chin and giving her hair a gentle tug. "You'll be my little shadow for the entire trip, doing whatever I say, whenever I say it." He stood up, pulling her to her feet and wrapping an arm around her waist. "And if you're good, I might even take you to a nice dinner. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?" He murmured, already looking forward to having her by his side. Craving some intimacy, even in this way, he wanted to at least do something nice for the girl he was about to bend over his desk. She was a real good girl, despite her misbehaving.

He spun her around and bent her over the desk, pressing her face down against the cool wood as he hiked her skirt up. "Now, since you took my cock down your throat and kept quiet while I was on the phone, I think you deserve a little... reward." He unbuckled his belt, the metal jingling loudly in the quiet office. "M’going to fuck you right here, right now. And you're going to take it like the good girl that you try to be, understand?" He pressed his wet against her ass, grinding slowly. "Say yes, sir."

“Yes, Sir.” She swallowed thickly, feeling him lift up her skirt to bunch it around her waist. This was the desired outcome. Getting to go with him, taking up all his attention. Arching her back, she pressed her ass into him. The surge to test limits came back, her tiny smirk concealed by the position. “Will your wife be angry, sir? that another woman is coming on a trip with you?” She taunted, trying to keep her voice sugary sweet though she knew it would trigger him.

He chuckled darkly, running a hand possessively over her exposed ass cheeks before giving it a harsh slap. Ignoring her gasp, he did it again and smeared the precum dripping from his tip over the hot flesh.. "You want me to tell you how unhappy she'll be? Maybe about how she hasn't touched me in months? Or how I stopped caring about her being distant when a cute little secretary came in and started to bend over backward to keep me happy?" He yanked down her panties roughly, leaving them around her thighs. "She doesn't care about me anymore than I care about her." he growled, lining himself up at her entrance. There was something so illicit about it, the fucked up nature of fucking her raw that made him even more worked up than he’d expected. He knew he was digging himself a deeper grave, simply trusting she was telling the truth about birth control… but if she was, and he got her knocked up, maybe he’d have the balls to actually file.

"S’that what you want to hear, sweetheart?" He teased, pushing just the tip of his cock in before pulling back out, loving how she squirmed. "That I don't give a fuck about her anymore? That all I think about is this tight little pussy?" Each time he plunged just the head inside, he'd drag it out slowly, watching her split open and back together again. "Answer me." He ordered sternly, his hand coming down with another sharp smack on her ass.

“Y-Yes.” She managed to gasp out, feeling the tip pop back inside to make her legs weak. “I like it. I like knowing.” It was an understatement. Completely. She loved knowing he was picking her. It was completely the opposite of how she’d ever imagined herself to be but she couldn’t lie to herself and say she didn’t love being chosen. 

“Thatta girl. Wasn’t so hard to admit, was it?" he grunted, pushing his entire length inside her in one hard thrust. She let out a loud yelp as he buried himself deep, his balls slapping against her soaked pussy as he wasted very little time taking what he wanted. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he pulled her head back as he started to fuck her hard and fast, his thick cock pounding into her over and over. "You like knowing I don't care about my wife, huh? That all I think about is your tight little cunt?" He grunted, his thrusts becoming even more brutal.

She let out a high-pitched moan, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the edge of the desk. "Y-yes, sir! I love it!" She panted, arching her back to take him deeper. "I love knowing I'm the one who gets to have you like this. The only one who gets to feel your big, thick cock inside me." She was so loud, so wanton, not caring if anyone outside the office heard her getting fucked by her boss. She really needed to shut the fuck up, but something about his dick made her mind melt. The same way it melted all her morals away.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her up to stand arched against him, lips brushing against her ear. "Yeah… y’like being my little secretary.? Being the woman who gets to go on trips with me, sit in on my meetings, sleep in my hotel bed?" He growled, his hot breath fanning over her face as he looked down at her. "You love it, don't you? Being my girl in everything but name?"

"God, yes!" Y/N cried out, practically vibrating with pleasure as he hit all the right spots inside her. "I love every second of it. Being yours, belonging to you completely..." Her words dissolved into a breathless moan as he shifted the angle of his hips, sending jolts of ecstasy through her body. "I'll do anything for you, sir. Anything you want. Just please, don't stop fucking me like this..."

He loved how easily she fell into the role, how eagerly she begged and whimpered for his attention.

He could feel her pussy clenching tightly around his cock, the wet heat enveloping him as he pistoned in and out of her. Her juices were coating his shaft, dripping down onto the floor, marking the expensive carpet with the evidence of their sin yet again. He knew he should feel guilty, fucking his secretary on his desk in the middle of the workday, but all he could focus on was the way she moved beneath him, the little gasps and moans that slipped past her lips as he used her for his pleasure.

He gripped her throat with one hand, his fingers wrapping tightly around her neck as he bent her forward, folding them both in half over the desk again. With his other hand, he reached under her to grab her hip, using it to pull her back onto his thrusting cock in long, hard strokes. She struggled to breathe with his hand around her throat, her eyes bulging as he fucked her mercilessly, the desk creaking and shaking with the force of his movements.

"You're my whore. Don’t think I don’t know how much you need my cock. Drooling over it while you’re supposed t’be organizing… s’just too good, mm?." He growled against her ear, his thrusts becoming more harsh. His hand around her throat began to squeeze rhythmically with each thrust, cutting off her air just long enough to make her panic and clench tighter around him. "No one fucks you like I do, does they?" His voice was practically a snarl as he drove into her. "Takes you like this, claims you completely? You love being my convenient little office whore, don't you?"

Her eyes rolled back in her head, her body trembling as he choked her and fucked her thoroughly. Letting out every little bit of frustration on her poor, swollen pussy. She was completely at his mercy, unable to breathe, unable to move, only able to take his cock as he gave it to her- and she loved it. Harry had introduced her to this, a type of fuck she didn’t know possible- and now she was utterly obsessed. The room was filled with the sound of their brutal fucking, the desk scraping against the floor, her muffled moans, and his grunts of pleasure. 

“Sending me home with my cock covered in you, your lipstick on my collar. Don’t give a fuck if she sees. I’ve got better pussy here.” He laughed cruelly, slipping his hand up to place two fingers into her mouth. Her cunt clenched at his words, making him click his tongue. “You love it.”

She didn’t want to love it. She knew she had never invisioned this, but it felt too good to stop. Harry was too good to her, felt too incredible, gave her all the perks she wanted… It was the worse thing to be in her eyes, the mistress, but she wanted it more than she cared about anything else. It was hard to think logically when his dick hit the spot that made her gush all over him.

"Ah, sweetheart. Yes you do." He taunted, his fingers shoved in her mouth to muffle her moans. "You never thought you'd be on your knees for your boss, choking on his dick, spread open on his desk while he pounds into you like a toy." He leaned down, his hot breath fanning over her ear. "But you do love it, don't you? You love being my dirty secret."

The pathetic little nod sent satisfaction through his veins. He knew she loved it, but even single time she confirmed it only amplified his own need for more. "That's my good girl," he praised, his pace never faltering. "Whining because you know I'm right. You're my dirty little secret, my pretty whore, and you fucking love it." He bit down gently on her earlobe, making her squirm. "And the best part? You know I'm going to keep fucking you like this, no matter what happens.”

Y/N’s eyes rolled back, almost drooling around his fingers. She’d need to do her makeup all over again after this. Harry made a mess out of her every time, but especially today. The confirmation made her cunt try to suck him in deeper. The proclamation that he wasn’t going to stop, that she was going to keep getting it? It felt like she had won.

"No matter if I get caught, no matter if my wife suspects, no matter if everyone in the office knows we're fucking like rabbits behind closed doors," he snarled, his hands roaming possessively over her body as he continued to pound into her. "Because you're the best I’ve ever fucked, and I can't get enough of you." He leaned down, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.  "And you know what the really fucked up part is, sweetheart?" He whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. "I think you'd stay even if it meant keeping this a secret forever, even if it meant never being able to be with you in public, you'd still be my little office whore, wouldn't you?" He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers, looking for any sign of denial or hesitation- he knew he wouldn't find any. She was his, completely and utterly.

Nodding frantically, her lips parted to try and speak, but all that came out was a strangled whimper. He was right, she would stay, she would be his dirty little secret forever if that's what it took to be with him. She needed him too much to ever leave, no matter how wrong it was.

Y/N would take everything he gave him. 

And Harry would take whatever he could, because he liked her more than he cared to admit.

[enderlovez]

It's Okay

Spencer Reid x BAU Reader WORD COUNT: 1000+

Summary: You and Spencer have to comfort a little girl after she finds her parents dead in her home, and your odd tactics work surprisingly well.

Content Warning: guns and violence, mentions of murder, blood, strange methods of calming a child down, dead bodies mentioned, broken glass, scared children

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

The house is unnervingly silent.

Bloodstains and shards of broken glass litter the carpet around the bodies as you carefully step around them, you and Spencer moving cautiously towards the bedroom.

From inside comes the faint, muffled sound of sobbing. Through the cracked door you can see a little girl—Harper—curled up tightly in the corner, clutching a worn stuffed rabbit as though it's her only lifeline.

You glance at Spencer, your expression heavy. This is always the hardest part of the job: dealing with the survivors, especially ones this young and scared. Spencer offers you a faint nod, his own nerves masked by his calm demeanor.

You open the door slowly, kneeling down to meet Harper's line of sight. "Hey there," you say softly, careful not to startle her. "I'm Y/N, and this is Spencer. We're here to help you."

She doesn't answer, her tear-filled eyes darting between the two of you. Your chest tightens as her tiny frame trembled, her grip on the stuffed animal tightening further.

Spencer kneels beside you, his voice just as soft and measured as he addresses the young girl. "We promise, we're not gonna hurt you. We're here to keep you safe."

Her bottom lip quivers, but she doesn't speak. You can practically feel the weight of her fear, and your usual comforting words don't seem enough right now. You briefly look at Spencer, then back at her—time to get a little creative.

You stand and cross the room, kneeling again when you're right in front of her.

Reaching for your holster, you carefully pull out your sidearm and hold it up in a non-threatening way, your finger nowhere near the trigger. "Do you know what this is, Harper?" you ask, your voice calm and steady.

Please don't backfire on me...

Her sobs pause for a moment, her wide eyes fixed on the gun. "A... a gun?" she whispers.

"That's right," you say, your tone light as if you're discussing her favorite toy. "It's my job to use this to protect people, to keep them safe. And right now, I'm here to keep you safe. Me and Floppy," you add with a smile, nodding toward her bunny.

Spencer glances at you, his eyebrows raises slightly in surprise, but he doesn't stop you. You know what you're doing—or at least you hope you do.

"Can I see it?" Harper asks hesitantly, her curiosity momentarily overpowering her fear.

"Not this one—it's very grown up," you say with a small chuckle, slipping the gun back into its holster. "But maybe someday, when you're older and want to be a hero too. For now, just know that it's here, and it'll keep you safe."

Harper blinks, her tears slowing as she processes your words in her little six year old brain. "You'd use it for me?"

"Absolutely," you say firmly without hesitation, leaning in a little closer. "You're really important to us, Harper. We're going to make sure nothing bad happens to you."

Spencer finally chimes in, appearing beside you, his voice gentle but slightly amused. "And I can vouch for Y/N. She's a very good shot."

The faintest ghost of a smile crosses Harper's face, and your shoulders relax slightly. "You're like superheroes," she says, her voice so quiet you would've missed it if you weren't paying so much attention.

"Exactly," you say, grinning. "Superheroes with badges and really big teamwork. And guess what? Superheroes are really good at making sure kids like you are okay."

Harper nods, her fingers loosening their death grip on Floppy. "Okay," she murmurs, edging closer to you, "but I'm still scared."

"That's okay too," you assure her. "Being scared just means you're brave enough to face things that are hard. And right now, you're doing and amazing job, Harper."

She hesitates, then leans forward slightly, her small frame still trembling but no longer frozen in fear. She wraps her little arms around your waist, face pressed into your stomach. You take her into your arm, tracing shapes on her back with your pointer finger.

You glance at Spencer, who's watching you with a mix of admiration and mild disbelief. He mouths, Really? The gun?

You shrug subtle in response, your lips quirking up.

After a moment, Harper looks up from your stomach, her eyes still red but clearer now. "Will you stay here?" she asks.

"We'll stay as long as you need us," you answer instantly, tone as warm and reassuring as you can make it. "You're not alone anymore, Harper. Are you tired?"

She nods, so you lift her up off the floor and lay her down on her bed, only laying beside her when she gently tugs on your shirt. She immediately snuggles up against you, clutching onto you with one of her death grips, but you don't care.

Her breathing starts to even out, and for the first time tonight, the tension in the room begins to lift.

When Morgan peeks into the room a few minutes later to check in, he raises an eyebrow at the sight of you—Spencer sitting at the end of the bed, you actually laid down with Harper's arms wrapped tightly around you, tight enough to actually make breathing a little difficult.

"You two good?" he asks, glancing between the three of you.

"Superheroes don't leave their missions unfinished," you reply with a wink, gently stroking Harper's hair, and Morgan shakes his head, muttering something about your methods as he leaves.

One Harper is finally asleep, Spencer leans towards you, his voice low. "You know, not every kid finds guns comforting."

"Worked on her, didn't it?" you whisper back, a playful grin tugging at your lips.

Spencer rolls his eyes, but there's a hint of a smile on his face. "Only you would use a weapon as a comfort object."

"She needed to feel like we can keep her safe," you reply, looking down at Harper's peaceful face, "and I think we nailed it."

He chuckles softly, his hand brushing against yours for a brief moment. "You're not wrong." A brief pause. "Wait, how'd you know the rabbit's name?"

You silently gesture to a drawing on the wall, a little girl and a rabbit holding hands, Harper and Floppy written in blue crayon beneath it.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The housing crisis considered as an income crisis

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

A paradox: in 1970, everyday Americans found it relatively easy to afford a house, and the average American house cost 5.9x the average American income. In 2024, Americans find it nearly impossible to afford a house, and the average American house costs…5.9x the average American income.

Feels like a puzzler, right? Can it really be true that the average American house is as affordable to the average American earner as it was in 1970? It is true, as you can see from Blair Fix's latest open access research report, "The American Housing Crisis: A Theft, Not a Shortage":

https://economicsfromthetopdown.com/2024/10/23/the-american-housing-crisis-a-theft-not-a-shortage/

Fix also points out that is even more true of rents than it is of house prices. The ratio of rent to average income has actually fallen slightly since 1970. Rents are also, in some mathematical sense, "affordable."

Now, those of you who are well-versed in statistical card-palming will likely have a pretty good idea of the statistical artifact at the root of this paradox: the word "average." If you remember your seventh grade math, you'll recall that "average" has more than one meaning. Sure, there's the most common one: add several values together, then divide the total by the number of values you added. For example, a nonzero number of people have one or zero arms, so the average human has slightly fewer than two arms.

That average is called the "mean." The mean US wage is pretty robust: $73,242/year:

https://fred.stlouisfed.org/series/A792RC0Q052SBEA/1000

But the majority of Americans are not earning anything like $73k/year. Since the Reagan years, the number of Americans living in poverty and extreme poverty has climbed and climbed. And while their declining income sure drags down that average, it's dragged way, way, way up by another group of Americans – the ultra-rich.

You see, as Fix writes, back in the Reagan years, America initiated an experiment in redistribution. Reagan enacted policies that moved most of the nation's wealth from the great majority of working people to a tiny minority of people who ended up owning pretty much everything. Throw their income into the mix, and the average American's income is sufficient to finance the average American home, with plenty to spare.

In other words, this isn't an "average human has fewer than two arms" situation, it's more like a "Spiders Georg" situation. Spiders Georg is a Tumblr meme about a guy who eats 10,000 spiders every day and is thus single-handedly responsible for the (false) statistic that the average human eats two spiders a week:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spiders_Georg

The American rich – Reagan's progeny – are the Spiders Georg of house prices. By hoarding the great mass of American national wealth, they create a statistical mirage of affordable housing.

Now, that's interesting, but where Fix goes next with this is even more fascinating. If the average price of housing (relative to average income) has stayed fixed since 1970, then it follows that the price of housing isn't being driven up by a problem with supply. Rather, these numbers suggest that America has enough housing, it's just that (most) Americans don't have enough money.

If that's true – and I have a couple of quibbles, which I'll get to in a sec – then the most common prescription for solving American housing (building more of it) is somewhat beside the point. For Fix, using public funds to subsidize cheaper housing is like using public funds to pay for food stamps for working people whose wages are too low to keep them from starving. Sure, we should do that: no one should be without a home and no one should be hungry. But if working people can't afford shelter and food, then we have a wage problem, not a supply problem.

Fix – as ever – has a well-thought through, painstakingly documented "sources and methods" page to back up his conclusions:

https://economicsfromthetopdown.com/2024/10/23/the-american-housing-crisis-a-theft-not-a-shortage/#sources-and-methods

And while Fix acknowledges that reversing the mass transfer of wealth from working people to their bosses (and their bosses' idle offspring) is a big lift, he rightly wants to keep the question of wages (rather than housing supply) front and center in our debate about why so many of us are finding it hard to keep a a roof over our heads. We need progressive taxation, higher minimum wages, protection from medical and education debt, and hell, why not a job guarantee?

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/25/canada-reads/#tcherneva

I love Fix's work, and this report is no exception. He does it all in his spare time. Some nice progressive think tank should give him a grant so he can do (a lot) more of it.

That all said, I do have a quibble with his conclusion about the adequacy of the American housing supply. In California, we have a shortage of 3-4 million homes, a number arrived at through the relatively robust method of adding up the number of California families that would like to have their own homes and subtracting the number of homes available near those families:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/California_housing_shortage

How to explain the discrepancy? One possibility is that the price of housing is artificially low, because more than 181,000 people are homeless here. Hundreds of thousands of more people are living in overcrowded housing, with multiple families inhabiting spaces intended for just one (or even a single person). If all of those people were competing for housing, the price might rise even higher.

Think of the people who have given up looking for work – because they're not in the workforce, wages go up. If they were competing in the labor market, wages would fall. Maybe all those people would prefer to have a job, but they're missing from the statistics.

That's one theory. Another is that we're getting tripped up on averages again here. California does have some towns with many vacancies, extra supply that is pushing down prices; it's also got many places with far more people who want to live there than there are homes for. It's possible that there's enough supply on average across the states, but – as we've seen – averages are deceptive.

Ultimately, I think both things can be true: we have a wage problem and we have (many, localized) supply problems. Both of these problems deserve our attention, and neither is acceptable in a civilized society.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/24/i-dream-of-gini/#mean-ole-mr-median

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Who's the Dad?

Prompt Day 31: Midnight | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: None | Tags: Modern AU, Established Steddie, Middle Age, Steddie as Parents, TikTok Trend, Platonic Stobin, Corroded Coffin Guys, Goodie Doesn't Want to Hold That Baby, New Year's Eve Fun is Different When You're Older

"Why am I holding this baby?" Goodie asks, taking Betts from Robin and awkwardly holds her up in the air under her arms. Looking right at her, as if he's willing her not to cry. 

She doesn't, but Betts is highly suspicious of this arrangement. 

Goodie is too, apparently. He might cry first.

Eddie laughs, "That's your niece. Act like you've met before." 

They're gonna have to set this to music, and hope the lip-reading lady doesn't come along and expose them.

Steve is recording on Robin's phone, falling victim to another tiktok trend, but he can't wait to see if the internet can guess who her dad is. Especially since she has two. They're kind of cheating, but that just makes it more fun.

They pass her to Jeff next, and Jeff does better, but grins as he passes her back, "I think that I might be the obviously incorrect answer." 

Eddie laughs, "Adoption, man. Lots of options. Just act cool."

Steve's not sure any of them can be cool. Not anymore. They're too old for that.

"Why are we doing this again?" Goodie asks, hovering behind Jeff, as if he's scared he might be handed her again.

"Because we're bored. And old. And if we want to stay awake for midnight to ring in the new year we need to be entertained for the next four hours," Steve explains.

New Year's Eve isn't as wild as it once was, that's for damn sure.

As soon as Gareth walks in the front door, Steve is filming as Robin immediately hands Betts over to him. Gareth takes her with one hand, gripping her little thigh as he holds her securely to his side. 

Then he looks around at them looking at him, "Why are you all looking at me?"

Everybody just laughs.

Betts isn't paying much attention to Gareth, but she's used to him. Gareth's girls are older, and he's definitely been hands-on to get his baby fix from a kid he can hand back when she starts to cry or needs a diaper change.

Eddie gets his turn, making her laugh and Steve thinks it's very cute. Then Eddie takes the camera for Steve to have his. Betts pays exactly no attention to him, preferring to look over his shoulder at everyone else in the crowded house.

Then they keep moving: Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, Jonathan, Argyle. The video's gonna be ten minutes long at this rate.

Robin posts it, the clock strikes midnight, and Steve doesn't think anything of it. Not really.

But when he wakes up in the new year, they've gone viral. Really viral. Thousands of comments are full of guesses, some right, some wrong. And lots and lots of thirst that's spread around to all of them. It's…a lot. It's a lot.

Eddie's already scrolling through them before Steve's even found his glasses.

"Why do they think Gareth is her dad before they think it's me?" Eddie asks, indignant. 

"They don't not think it's you. There are lots of offers to birth your baby if she isn't yours," Steve argues. And there are. Some of these comments are filthy.

"Everybody thinks it's you, and if not you, then Gareth," Eddie says, still complaining. 

He's not totally wrong. 

"They only think it's me because they've dug through Robin's profile. They're cheating," Steve says.

"No, they think Betts looks the most comfortable with you!" Eddie says, and Steve is afraid this is gonna turn ugly, quick. She wasn't uncomfortable with Eddie, she was being entertained. Of course she was looking at him.

Steve needs to diffuse this, but Eddie keeps going, "Elizabeth. How could you?"

He's so dramatic. Steve loves him, but it's too early for this.

"You were making her laugh. Of course she was gonna be looking at you," Steve suggests, trying to keep this from becoming an issue.

"Well, what about Gareth?!" Eddie says, shrill, poking at the screen of his phone.

"Gareth has kids. They had twins, Ed. He's incapable of being uncomfortable holding a baby, it was beaten out of him by overexposure. He could hold two babies at once. One is nothing."

Eddie laughs, but Steve can tell his feelings are a little hurt. They shouldn't have done this, but it just seemed like silly fun. Especially to see the uncomfortable ones, like Goodie and Mike, struggle to look like they've ever held a baby before.

Some of the guesses for Steve were because she paid no attention to him. He's old news. But a lot of them honestly were people digging into Robin's profile, seeing that he is heavily featured, but not watching the videos to see that they are best friends, not a couple.

Yeah, she was comfortable in his arms, and had no reason to check him out to make sure she wasn't gonna get dropped on her head. Gareth had the same vibes.

Eddie had decided to entertain her, and the audience, and that certainly worked against him. It charmed everyone, and Betts was clearly comfortable with him, but they weren't sure she was his, because of it.

"They think she looks like you," Eddie says.

Steve laughs, "Well, we all know that's not true."

Eddie finally laughs, the crisis averted, and rolls closer to Steve. Steve wraps his arms around him, pulling him in tight.

Betts starts crying through the monitor on the nightstand.

"I think you should go, as her favorite," Eddie says, burying his face into Steve's pillow. 

Yeah, yeah. He'll take one for the team. Eddie gets today to whine about this, but that's all. That's it.

Steve stands, and throws a t-shirt over his head, and heads for the bedroom door, "That's fine. I'll go continue to woo her to my side. As the favorite."

Eddie lays there for a second, and when he finally processes it, he says, "Hey! Wait a minute!"

And Steve just laughs as he closes the bedroom door behind him. This will fix itself by noon. Guaranteed.

If you want to write your own, or go see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

Notes: If you've seen this trend on tiktok it is generally pretty easy to tell who is the dad! I think the secret is don't look at who the baby looks like, look at how they're being held and if they are curious about the situation they've found themselves in, lol.

[kaile-hultner]

Help me dig upward: the Tumblr post

In which I talk a little bit about the hole I’ve been in for a hot minute—and what I want to do to dig out of it.

Hey y’all,

For the second time in a few years I’m starting a GoFundMe. This time, though, it’s not for the site, at least not explicitly. It is to help me get out from under the weight of debt that I’ve been carrying for more than a decade at this point, but which has finally gotten so bad that it’s affecting everything from my sleep patterns to my overall mental health and ability to do the thing that you likely already support me for: this website. 

If you’ve been wondering why the posting has decreased here, or reduced in quality, or why we started 2024 off publishing other writers and then just as suddenly stopped doing that again, this is why: I am out of money, I am in debt, and it feels like I’m living every day in pure, basic survival mode. 

This GFM, in which I’m asking for $10,000, is a moonshot, a Hail Mary. I don’t expect it to raise anything; it will be the last time I ask the Internet for money, whether it works or it doesn’t. If it works, obviously it’ll mean I’ll be able to post more and maybe my mental health will improve and I won’t feel like every moment is a countdown to a terrible ending, and I’ll be able to think of compelling angles to talk about video games again. If it doesn’t work, maybe I’ll figure something else out. Bankruptcy, probably. I don’t know. 

I hate doing this. I hate being in this position. I hate that I’ve already asked for money this year and people have been extremely generous and it just feels like all that generosity just went into a hole. I wish I had something to show for that generosity, or proactively for anything I gain from this campaign. So, if there is something you want me to cover or talk about or look at in exchange for your support on this campaign, just shoot me an email with proof of your donation, no matter how small. It’s kaile@noescapevg.com. I can’t promise I’ll write a bunch of magnum opuses at your request but I will do what I can just simply to show appreciation for your support. 

Anyway, this feels bad to me and I’m already starting to regret it, so I’m going to wrap this up by saying thank you in advance and I owe you my life. I wish that was figurative.

Edit: here is the text of the GFM I posted. 

Hi y’all,

My name is Kaile Hultner. I am an online cultural critic who has been running the video game criticism website No Escape since 2019. My work has been featured in other places like PC Gamer, Polygon and Bullet Points Monthly. And like a lot of people, I have been deeply in debt for years. 

Debt is a very strange phenomenon. As anthropologist David Graeber demonstrated in his book Debt: The First 5000 Years, it is a phenomenon that imparts a kind of moral valence on a person; whether or not that person can pay their debts is a sign of their trustworthiness or virtue as a member of polite society. Yet you can’t go without debt: at some point, at least in the United States, you have to pick up a form of debt – credit – to establish your credit score, without which you can’t rent an apartment, buy or lease a car, or, in some cases, even get a job. Being debt-free can harm this score, as can having a credit history that is “too young.” 

I’ve been in debt for a long time. I’ve been managing my debt for over a decade. Every year for the last six or seven years in particular it feels like I’m losing progressively more and more ground. Seven years ago I had a car; I could do things like deliver Uber Eats and DoorDash and make extra money whenever I ran out. It broke down in my driveway in 2022 and I couldn’t afford to take it to a mechanic to get it fixed. I sold it for $200. I haven’t been able to replace it. I don’t know what I’ll do if I ever need a car for anything. Luckily my day job is WFH. 

Recently, I’ve been fighting with my old bank over charges it erroneously applied to my account in excess of $1000, causing it to go deep into the negatives. I’ve been slowly, slowly digging myself out of that hole thanks to some close friends and some very kind folks who follow me on the Internet. But it’s caused other debts to exacerbate. And tonight I realized that I am at the end of my rope. I can’t do this anymore. I won’t sit here and say that I’ve done everything right; certainly, more than one bad decision made out of desperation has put me here. I won’t make excuses for that. But I’m tired of being here, in this position. I’m tired of waking up in the middle of the night with heart palpitations because I got an alert from my bank that I’m in the negatives. I’m tired of getting emails and phone calls from debt collectors. I’m tired of living in basic survival mode with no discernible path forward. I’m tired of being tired, of not having the energy to be creative and do the work I’ve built an online presence around for five years. And paradoxically, I’m tired of asking people on the internet for money. 

So I’m going to ask people on the internet for money, one final time. 

I’ve set the goal at $10,000. This is far more than I’m honestly expecting to get, but if I get even a fraction of that I could finally obliterate my debts in a meaningful way. I do have specific milestones that I basically need to meet, otherwise this GFM doesn’t hit its maximum effectiveness, but otherwise the sky is the limit. If I reach the whole amount… I don’t really know what I’ll do. Cry, maybe. 

Milestones – bolded are high-priority

Milestone reached! $750 – gets my old bank account out of the negatives. Eliminates one vector of harassment, allows me to close that account and move on. 

Milestone Reached! $1800 – does the above and allows me to fully pay any late or past-due loan payments missed as a result of the bank issue.

Milestone Reached! $6000 – does the above and allows me to fully pay off all installment loans 

$8000 – does the above and allows me to pay off any remaining debts. 

$10,000 – does the above and allows me to start saving. 

$10,000+ – basically a moonshot, I have no idea what I’ll do with extra. 

I fully do not expect you to donate to this. There are people trying to escape genocides, much more abject poverty, crushing medical debt, and so much more that feel – at least to me – so much more worthy of your attention and money. But just know that if you dodonate something, you have my undying appreciation. I will quite literally owe you my life. 

I’m going to post this now before I get too emotional or lose my nerve entirely, but again: thank you. Even if all you do is read this. 

—Kaile