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billthedrake · 4 months ago

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FAMILY BUSINESS (PART TWO)

The Mazza men chalked it up to the new project that was having them work late, pretty much every night. Mazza and Sons had won the bid for a community center building and had been aggressive in the timeline they could offer. It was part of the son's Anthony's plan to get into higher-budget, higher-profit contract work.

But this was the third night in a row when the father and son looked at each other around 7PM, silently reading the other's expression, trying to feel each other out.

"Feel like Chinese take out, Dad? Or maybe pizza?" Tony asked, looking away from the email he was trying to work through. He did his Crossfit classes in the morning and liked to start the workday with a relatively clean slate, even if it meant putting in extra hours in the evening.

Frank's heart beat a little faster as he took in his son's handsome features. Some fathers were just super devoted to their sons, he reckoned, but with Frank, that love of Anthony took on a perverted spin. He low-key resented his hunky son for getting them started on this little game they were playing, and he loved the kid for it, too.

Maybe Frank would take the initiative tonight. "Why don't we get that other kind of take out first, Tone?" he said with a naughty grin.

That brought out a matching one in Tony. That Mazza smile. "Yeah? I could go for that for sure," he said, leaning back in his chair. He was dressed in professional-casual "contractor" attire of a gray polo and khakis, but even those showed off his muscular, youthful build. "Who ya thinking, Pop?"

Frank knew, but didn't want to seem too eager. It had been a month since Tony showed him the fun of the no-string blowjob from men on the app. In that time they'd shared that experience, generally with the same cocksucker, Ian. They tried out another one but it hadn't felt the same, in part because the Mazza men were nervous about being sussed out as father and son. Ian knew and not only didn't care, but actually encouraged the clear erotic tension between Frank and Tony.

"Ian," the father now said. "He's really fucking good at it."

Anthony smiled. He'd been hoping for that answer. "The best."

Tony messaged Ian. Frank had the guy's cell number and used it frequently on his own, to suck the guy off, but his son didn't know that.

"He'll be here in 15," Tony said proudly as he set down his phone. With a glint in his brown eyes, he looked over at his dad. "You've really gotten into this, Pop."

Frank blushed but gave a nonchalant shrug. "Leave it to my son to show me new tricks," he said. "Besides... I'm 44, not 84... I still got needs."

That made Tony smile. "I think you passed on that sex drive to me, Pop."

"Too much for Becky?" Frank asked. Before this would have been a sore subject, maybe.

His son nodded. "Too much for any chick," he replied.

"You'll find her, Anthony, you'll find the one. I know it."

"Thanks, Pop." He hissed. "Fuck, I'm boned."

This was a new openness too. The Mazzas had indulged guy talk before, sex talk. But now Tony was more open about his cock and his hardons.

His father looked over and tried to see without staring. He'd been thinking a lot of his son's dick. It was a forbidden thought, but the more he tried to suppress it the stronger the urge got. "Promise me something, Tone."

Anthony leaned back in his office chair. "Sure, Pop. What?"

That made Frank laugh a little. "I didn't even tell ya what."

Anthony flashed that killer smile. He certainly inherited a double share of the Mazza good looks. "Doesn't matter. You'd give me the shirt off your back. Figure I could do what you ask."

"Well, when you find your next girl, Tone... make sure she's gonna take care of you."

Antony grinned. "I take it you're talking about more than cooking and laundry."

"That, too," Frank said. "I know you want a traditional wife."

"Yep," the son said, his face getting more serious.

The father took that in. He felt like maybe he'd raised Tony with unrealistic expectations. His ex wife was a good mother, but maybe Tony put her on a pedestal. Frank didn't want to bad mouth her, but he wanted to make sure his son found a woman who'd be more supportive of him than Cathy had been.

Frank was gonna reply, but Tony's phone buzzed with a text. The grin on the son's face was adorable as he looked back up. "He's here. Fuck... I'm horny." He got up and walked over to the door to greet Ian.

Frank felt a flash of embarrassment when Ian walked in. The guy was good looking, not Anthony Mazza good looking. But Frank had hooked up with the gym-built man a few times on his own. He felt bad sneaking around like this, but maybe it wasn't Tony's business if his old man was enjoying his chance at sucking cock.

Ian for his part seemed to relish the naughty secret. Hooking up with both father and son. He had that impish smile now as he walked in ahead of Tony, who was shutting the office door behind them. "Hey Frank," he greeted.

"Hey," Frank said gruffly, more gruffly than he intended. But he was nervous.

Tony's eagerness put him at ease though. Already, he was walking in around Ian and pawing at his khakis. "OK if I go first Pop? I'm so fucking horny."

"Yeah," the dad replied. He hoped the croak in his throat wouldn't betray him. "I can..." he started.

Already Tony was unzipping and hauling out that thick Mazza dick. "You don't gotta. It's not gonna take me long today."

Goddamn, that cock was beautiful. His son's cock, so much like Frank's and yet thicker, more manly somehow. The masculine power of it just made his son's youthful cute handsomeness that more jarring. It was like Frank was fully reconciling two parts of his son's personality. All while he tried to figure out where to look without seeming like THAT much of a perv.

Ian had no hesitation about worshipping the younger Mazza dick. He crouched down and ran his hands up and down Tony's hairy, build thighs. The cocksucker's face was nuzzling against Anthony's balls a second before licking up the shaft.

"Aw yeah, bud... just fucking right," Anthony gasped before Ian took that thick boner into his talented mouth.

Frank could see the tension build and release. Tony wasn't cumming, not yet, but he was relaxing into the blowjob. Instinctively Frank knew how much his son had craved this. It was almost as hot to watch the facial reaction on Anthony's face as it was to see that hard cock being serviced.

His son's eyes lifted up from Ian to meet his Dad's. Not pervy, not ashamed, not accusatory. The gaze was just direct and honest. "He's an incredible cockscucker, right, Pop."

Frank nodded dumbly, which somehow made Tony's smile break out. Fuck, that smile.

With a leer, Anthony looked back down at Ian. "I'm getting close man... you ready, buddy?" he hissed. With a commanding gesture he put his hand on top of Ian's head, which just encouraged the cocksucker to really go for it. Ian's face turned redder as he doubled his efforts. Tony's dick was thick and not easy to take like that, Frank guessed.

Tony's face was getting redder itself as he reached orgasm. "FUCK!" he gasped. Frank had never been so excited in his life as now, watching Anthony cum. It was sexy and beautiful. He felt proud for his boy, and glad for him.

"Damn," Anthony finally hissed as he pulled back. That hardon was doubly attractive slickened with spit and leftover cum. He looked back up at Frank. "Your turn, Pop."

Ian was grinning. And Frank knew why. With Ian, when it was just the two of them, Frank was the cocksucker. But Ian wasn't gonna let on. He sat back on his haunches and watched the father step up and pull out his own erection. Not quite as impressive as Tony's dick, but closer.

It was only as Ian's started going down on him that Frank realized the gay dude was extra worked up to be doing father and son like this. Together, one after the other. That knowledge was hitting Frank, too, deeply. "Fuck!" he gasped, the mouth strokes just adding to the pervy thrill.

Tony meanwhile was acting normal. Or as normal as a dude could be sharing a cocksucker with his father. He'd tucked back in and had walked over to rehydrate with a big slug from a water bottle. His dad's outburst made him turn back around to the action.

"He gonna milk you off quick, too, Pop?" he laughed.

Frank nodded. Ian was great. Greater than great at this. But it was Tone's presence that was gonna get him to the finish line, fast. His hot stud of a son looking on, like they were two fraternity brothers gangbanging some chick together.

Frank Mazza's vision went blurry and white and a burst of wild pleasure jolted through is body. His Anthony was watching him cum. Surprisingly that was as incredible as witnessing his own son's orgasm.

Frank breathed heavy as Ian lapped up the dribbles, his own hand jerking wildly. Frank's paw reached down to creadle Ian's head. Not possessively like Anthony's grip, more encouraging. He had to thank this this gay dude for bringing him and his son together like this.

Ian was on cloud nine, even after he came and cleaned up. "It was a pleasure, fellas. Hit me up anytime," he said. Frank could see the perv had a major bucket list to add to his experiences, and now that the father was in his post-nut clarity he resented that a little.

Anthony was back to his normal bro mode, backslapping Ian as he showed him out. When he strutted back he pulled out his phone. "I may meet my buddies to watch the game, Pop," he said. "See ya tomorrow?"

Frank looked for reproach in his son's face. Or guilt or something. But it was just the look of a young man who'd gotten his rocks off and now was ready to hang out with his friends.

"Sure, Tone. See ya tomorrow."

***

It took two more joint BJ sesions before Frank got the courage. It was Thursday night, guy time at Frank's house, the unofficial start the weekend night for father and son.

Frank didn't have a big cooking repertoire, but he made a mean sunday Italian gravy. Tonight, he did a quicker meal of pasta and meatballs.

"Better than Ma's, Pop," Anthony exclaimed as he pushed his finished plate forward.

"Must have been hungry, Tone," Frank grinned, eating up the compliment.

"You bet. On a bulking cycle at the gym," the son exclaimed.

"You trying to get bigger son?" the father asked with some surprise. Anthony just seemed perfect to him already.

Anthony grinned. "You know how it is. The chicks like 'em big and strong."

Frank felt his crotch grow tight.

"What about you Pop? You're looking pretty fit these days."

Forget muscles, Frank thought, those puppy dog brown eyes and Mazza smile were gonna be what made a woman put out.

"Just do enough to keep it up, ya know," Frank replied. "Nothing like you, Tone."

"You do all right, Pop," Anthony grinned. "So... you getting out on the market again?"

Frank blushed. He didn't know how to be honest with Anthony, or with himself for that matter. "Nah, not yet," he replied. "Guess I'm not ready for that..." Frank blushed as he realized how fucking stupid he sounded. "I mean, sex is one thing Tone, but women my age, divorcees, they take some work."

Anthony smiled. "I get it Pop. After Mom, you don't want another princess."

Frank gave a shrug, in a wasn't-gonna-say it kind of way.

His son laughed. "At least Ian is a good consolation prize, right? He tells me you've been hitting him up a lot."

"Yeah?" Frank gulped. God if that guy told Tony that Frank sucked dick, well, Frank didn't know if he'd be more angry or mortified.

"You don't need to be embarrassed, Pop. I'm the one who urged you to try out guys. Didn't think you'd take to it like you have, but it's cool."

"Ian gonna spoil you, son?" Frank had to ask.

Anthony answered in a way that made it seemed like he'd been asking himself the same thing. "It's certainly nice to have someone very willing and able, ya know? Ian's not the only cocksucker I have in my contacts, but he's the best."

Frank's crotch was beyond tight. The man was full on boned. "You deserve to have your needs taken care of, son," Frank said. Then immediately regretted it.

Thankfully, his son didn't seem fazed, more amused. "Yeah? Well, you too, Pop." He got that telltale smirk. "I was gonna take a night off but what do you say we hit Ian up again?"

Frank nodded, not speaking in case he gave away how eager he was. He watched as Anthony pulled out his phone and sent a few texts.

He finally put it down. "It's wild you're so open minded, Pop," he said. "Kind of cool."

Damn, that Mazza smile was gonna get Frank in trouble. At least they add Ian as the focus and excuse for Frank's pervy state.

Frank actually felt bad at how much they were taking Ian for granted, but when he showed up at the house, he had a very eager grin. Frank was the one to answer the door, and something about the gay dude's excited smile made the 44-year old more relaxed. "Good to see ya, bud," he said patting Ian on the shoulder as he showed him in.

"Man," Ian replied in a whisper. "I'm not gonna turn down a chance with you guys. Ever."

Frank gulped. But he was getting turned on by the incestuous tension of the scenario. He'd given Tony his space once, then the next time he'd watched against as Ian sucked his stud of a son off. "Yeah."

Ian leaned in. "You should go for it today," he said.

Frank knew what he meant. "I dunno."

"I'll set it up. I'll be fucking hot."

Ian maybe meant hot to watch but it would be hot to do. He just didn't want to cross that line. Or he did, and didn't know how the fuck he could do it. This was his Tone they were talking about.

"Hey bud," Anthony greeted as they walked into the living area. "Dad and I were having a beer... can I get you one, or you want to get right to business?" he laughed. God, it was crazy how easygoing Anthony could be about sex.

"A beer sounds good, thanks," Ian said, a twinkle in his eyes.

Frank was surprised, but he watched as as Ian sat next to Frank on the sofa. "This is gonna work, trust me," Ian said.

Frank wasn't so sure. But it was almost like normal, sitting and having a beer with his son and their mutual cocksucker. Frank felt a little bad he didn't know shit about Ian, not really. But Tony kept up a lot of the conversation. Hell, they were talking about the Yankees season for christsake.

Finally Anthony gripped his crotch and stood up. He was still wearing his polo and khakis from the work day but somehow with his youth he made the unofficial uniform seem like it was made to show off his body. "All right, I'm pretty horny," the 24-year-old said with a goody grin. "You ready to take care of me, buddy?" he asked Ian as the young stud walked over to the couch and began undoing his belt.

Frank gulped. He was sitting right there with a front row seat. Watching just two feet away as the gay dude helped his own son pulled out that big thick dong. Ian ran his fingers up that hard length, watching it get harder. And watching Frank see his own son's erection in process.

"Nice," Ian hissed then leaned forward to start sucking Anthony's cock.

It was just beautiful, Frank thought. Ian was very skilled and now very comfortable with Tone's big meat. But his Anthony was what made him horny beyond belief. Seeing his son in full sexual hardness, being taken care of, a total stud. He looked up at Tony's face and expected awkwardness. But his son was mostly looking down, watching Ian work toward some deep throat action, before he turned to look at his dad.

"You got the best seat in the house, Pop," he chuckled. But there was something behind the joke, behind the playful grin.

Frank felt it. Maybe that's what gave him the courage once Ian pulled off, lapping at the tip teasingly. That Mazza dong was veiny and spit-wet.

"Wanna closer view?" Ian asked quietly. For Frank's benefit, though of course Tony could hear it too.

Frank's face burned hot. He didn't have the courage to look back up at Tone, he just kept his eyes focused on his son's throbbing cock and scooted in.

Ian's eyes were on Frank now, in a challenging way, as he opened up and swallowed Anthony again. All the way down, slowly, then all the way off. Then again. Showing off for Frank. "Your son has an amazing cock."

"Yeah, he does," Frank admitted. It was wrong and pervy to say, but it was the truth. Quickly, his eyes darted up to meet Anthony's. But instead of disapproval he saw a simmering, quiet lust in those puppy dog brown eyes.

"It's OK, Pop," came Tone's words, soft and deep. "If you want."

Frank thought judgment day would come and that hell would open up beneath him. It didn't though. Not even as he leaned in and pressed his nose against Anthony's prick.

"Fuck," Ian gasped quietly, his hand holding the base of Anthony's meat still but otherwise pulling back to watch.

The first contact of Frank's tongue to his son's dick gave his whole body and electical jolt. Then again. And again. Frank started lapping Anthony's thick prick and working his way up. His son wasn't stopping him.

When he opened his mouth and felt that Mazza cock press in between his lips, the father was in heaven. He was so glad he'd practiced on Ian and even now was doing his best to copy the cocksucker's technique. Lots of spit, then some suction, up and down, not too hard, undulating a little. Milking his own son's prick with his warm wet mouth.

"Good god, Pop...." Tony hissed. "You're fucking good at this."

Ian was now kissing along Tony's balls while Frank blew him. Then licking along Frank's neck and ear. The guy was thrilled to be witness to an honest to god incest blowjob.

Particularly as Anthony got close. "Just a little more, Pop... a little slower actually... yeah, that's it... fuck, that's gonna get me right there... right fucking there... aw yeah... you ready to make me cum, Dad... gonna suck my cum out... fuck yeah... here it comes, Pop. Oh fuck oh fuck oh FUUUCKK!"

Frank prepared for the worst, but it turned out to be the best. The sensation of having his mouth and gullet flooded with his son's cum, that Mazza seed, briny and thick, a million of his grandkids being force fed to him as Tony got a little wild with some mid-ejaculation thrusts that knocked his cock head an extra inch down Frank Mazza's throat. Frank coughed a little but adjusted just as suddenly.

Ian couldn't take any more. He stood up. Frank had no idea when the guy had pulled out his own dick. Anthony didn't know either for that matter. The 30-something dude flogged wildly to get to the finish line, aiming his prick toward the constractor's face.

The first shot his Frank's cheek just as he was finally pulling off Tony's dick. The second one caught him in the eye as he turned toward Ian. Instinct took over and Frank latched his mouth on that spurting dick, catching at least half of Ian's load.

Frank regretted it. It was hot and all but he wished nothing was pushing the taste of Tone's cum off his tongue now. Still, he swallowed then leaned back, embarrassed.

"Whoa," Anthony said, sighing as he tucked back in. "That was fucking hot."

"Yeah," Frank admitted. He was rock hard in his jeans but the emotional side of what had just happened was hitting him hard and fast. "It was."

His son actually gave his dad a sly wink and looked at Ian cautiously before turning back to Frank. "I actually should get going, Pop. Got an early workout tomorrow."

"Yeah," Frank said, trying to act nonchalant. He wished he could be like Tone. Get his rocks off and split. He stood up.

"You don't gotta walk me out, Pop, I know the way," Anthony said with a laugh. "Besides I think Ian needs to take care of you, right?"

Ian smirked. He knew or least thought he picked up on Anthony's drift. The Mazza kid was a little freaked out his dad was a cocksucker too. Still, Ian wasn't going to pass up the chance for the dad's load. "Sure," he said.

Frank and Ian had barely heard the front door close when Ian was in servicing position for Frank Mazza, pulling out that dad cock and bobbing up and down. It took ten whole seconds to get Frank to cum, hard.

"Thank you," Frank said as he helped Ian to his feet.

"I like sucking you man, you've got a nice dick," Ian replied.

"No, I mean about earlier," Frank clarified.

Ian gave a smile. "Dude, that was a total bucket list thing... dont' worry, I'm not gonna tell a soul. But that was incredible."

The man's assurance helped calm Frank's apprehension. Somewhat. He showed Ian to the door and said he'd reach out again sometime.

****

Anthony either skipped his workout or finished early. Frank had just finished his breakfast when the doorbell rang.

"Tone," he said when he opened the door. His son was already dressed for work, hair freshly showered and gelled.

"Pop. Ok if I come in?"

Frank nodded. He'd barely slept the last night. Thinking over everything. Worrying about everything. "Yeah, come in," he said.

He sat down and expected Tony to, but instead his son stood and said simply. "I don't want you sucking Ian's dick from now on, Pop. His or anyone else's."

Frank blushed deep red and nodded. "I'm sorry Tone, I...."

Anthony cut him short. "Don't apologize, Dad. I'm just telling you how it is, OK?"

Frank didn't quite follow but he just looked up at his son, feeling more emotionally vulnerable than he'd ever felt. God if he fucked him the relationship had with his Tone, he'd never deal with that.

Time seemed to stop as Anthony undid his khakis and unzipped. "I want you only taking care of me, Pop."

Frank gulped. That big Mazza dong plopped out. Not fully hard but getting there.

"Got it?" Tony asked. With authority but a lot of love.

Frank looked up, misty eyed. Turned on. Something clicked for the middle aged divorced father. This felt right. "Got it, son."

With that, he leaned in and started going down on his Tony.

#drakestories

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littlemssam · 1 year ago

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Follow Up Info

Hey everyone,

hope, you are all having a great Day!

This is a follow up Post to my Personal Info Post:

"...So my Plan is to separate Addons or alternative Versions as their own Project Pages. This way it will be much easier to use the App to install & auto update my Mods, and to choose which Addons to install & auto update. My lms-mods.com Website will Link to the Main Project Page of a Mod, and within the Mod Description, i will Link to the Addon Project Pages to find them easier..."

I did rework the first two Mods, which are now in seperate Projects on CurseForge:

Small Laundry Overhaul:

All Mod Parts on CurseForge:

No Auto Laundry in Hamper

Put (Laundry) in Inventory

Put Laundry In Inventory On Community Lots when changing Clothes

Doing Laundry On Community Lots Costs Money

No Sparkling Effects on Sims who wear Pristine Clothes

No Idle Animation

Better Hamper

Small Buff Changes

Auto Put Away Clothes

Auto Start Dry & Wash Clothes

Washtub Less Puddles

Washtub Vampires Are Faster

Higher/Longer Payments/Royalties:

All Mod Parts on CurseForge:

Apps & Games

Paintings

Books

Songs & Lyrics

DJ Mix

Lifestyle Brand

Music & Video Production

Payments Only Friday

More will follow step by step.

Regarding optional Addons, i did talk with the CurseForge Devs and they told me a new Feature will be released soon, hopefully. They plan to add Support for additional Files in the App. This might be perfect for my optional Addons. So i will wait and see how this Feature work, before i decide, if i will add my Addons as addtional Files or as seperate Projects.

Thx for reading ;)

Take Care!

LMS

#littlemssam #sims 4 mods #info

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tommyssupercoolblog · 1 month ago

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lmao bc u keep putting it on my dash (/aff) can u pls explain the d&p stuff to me?

Dan and Phil are vlog YouTubers (although they did start a gaming channel) who were REALLY famous in the 2010s and then started popping off again recently.

They became online friends first, ✨ through the magic of the internet ✨ and then at some point in 2009 Dan boarded a train to come see Phil, and then just kind of...never left? He went to college but it was near Phil's house and he spent more time at Phil's house than his dorm, with most of his stuff there. It started as him coming by regularly to "do his laundry" in Phil's washing machine but then he just kinda. Latched onto him like moss

According to a more recent video when Dan went on his we're all doomed tour, the longest that had been apart before then, SONCE 2009, was like a week. Girl.

Anyways they started doing videos together and eventually became one of the BIG YouTube channels , and also started getting shipped under the shipname "Phan". Far from being repulsed by this, they went out of their way to stalk Tumblr tags and read fanfiction in their videos, even featuring well done fanart. Even outside of Phan, like, they had a thing where for a bit every video would feature a drawing where someone drew Phil naked and they called it "today's draw Phil naked". That being said they regularly claimed to like women and be straight.

There was also some truthing and harassment with some of the more disrespectful Phan shippers who didn't follow the rules of RPF, because a lot of people didn't really know how to go about it back then and also there were some genuine assholes. So that was less fun then the normal shipping.

They launched a gaming channel at some point in I think 2016? And also released a book and a tour, which is available on DVD also.

Then they went on hiatus, and it was radio silence for YEARS .....UNTIL ......

THEY BOTH RELEASE COMING OUT VIDEOS AND COME OUT AS GAY.

Dan also talked about how it was "obvious that we're more than just friends" and everyone knew it, because. Yeah. And says that they're also more than romantic- SOULMATES, destined to be together, put on this earth so they could meet online and become Dan and Phil. Okay girl

They regularly make references to loving each other but refuse to specifically, in plain terms, tell the press they are dating, because of privacy reasons. Some people think it's a "we only want the people who get it to get it" situation, some people think their relationship is actually queerplatonic or something, but regardless there's something queer going on and they aren't hiding that anymore, nor the fact that they are life partners, but wether or not they apply a traditional "boyfriend" label to it is something they refuse to answer. Which is honestly ICONIC???

They designed a house together, had it built, and now live there together in their lovely phouse, and have also started adding the prefix "ph" to things to denote that they're Dan and Phil or Phandom related, something the Phans have also picked up. The regularly make jokes about Phan and also about not just having sex, but even their specific dynamic? Phil is apparently a pillow princess who Dan doms. Like. Okay.

They're notoriously co-dependent, they go everywhere together, if one person opens their phone the other will also look because everything they own is shared and they just use apps together like that? Like. Phil will get a text or vice versa and they'll BOTH LOOK and respond. They also tag all their posts on Instagram as shared like, basically ever since that's been a feature.

They bicker a lot and it's so silly,,, poggers

They ALSO are well known for dropping massive bombshells on their fanbase or being chaotic to them for fun. Tormenting them back for the phanfiction, as it were.

Anyway. In 2015 there was a famous Tumblr heritage post called "but seriously imagine it" where someone said this

Today marks the 15th anniversary of Dan and Phil's first meetup, that fateful day when Dan got off that train and first saw Phil in person....but it ALSO is, wildly, a day where later tonight in American Time (so most people farther up will be asleep), all of the bands in this post are performing on the same stage.

Dan and Phil have REFERENCED THIS POST recently in the leadup to this and even brought a cardboard cutout of Gerard Way out at one of their shows, so the phandom is BUZZING because of the possibility of some stunt related to the post, AND the fact it's also ON THEIR PHANIVERSARY.

this has kicked off the Phantoberfest/Pharmageddon where everyone has the same profile picture, and also lots of edits celebrating 15 years, lots of memes, and general shit posting and panic as everyone anticipates whatever shit these guys are about to get up to next.

#asks #phan #dan and phil

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spidahwebz · 9 months ago

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(taking a step back to Sugar Daddy Price™ because i didn't do it right the first time :/)

Sugar Daddy Price: who obviously spoils you to no end. Whether it be money, food, words, or actions. All love language is his love language, doesn't matter what.

It could be one random afternoon when he's on deployment and right after you both settled the terms of your sugar dating. You're minding your business, maybe cleaning because you feel like he does so much for you and it's the least you could do.

You don't hear or feel his usually heavy footsteps make their path to where you sit on the soft sofa. A white tee in your hands as you nod your head softly to the music flowing through your expensive headphones— courtesy of him.

You fold and tuck the piece of fabric, making sure that it sits nice and neat on top of the other identical white shirt. Your sweet hums sound across the otherwise quiet room to his ears before you reach into the laundry basket to grab another piece of clothing.

A large, rough hand wraps itself gently around your jeweled wrist. Despite every ridge and cut, burn and callouse, he still manages to hold you with such a soft care. Despite every horrible thing he's seen on and off the field, he still holds you like you're the one thing keeping all of the bad out.

You jump slightly, not because it was him, just because it was unexpected. Never because it was him.

A smile makes its way across your features, almost instantaneously. Your whole body lights up. Your face, your posture; your hands even fiddle with the shiny ring on your thumb. Again, him.

"Oh, I didn't hear you come in. How are you?"

You'd tried to calm the grin on your face as he sat himself beside you, not letting go of your wrist. Instead slinking his fingers between yours and, with his free hand, holding onto your waist. You turn towards him.

He doesn't say anything at first, just holds your body close to his.

His hand moves from your waist and to the nape of your neck. His hand so large, it could almost wrap comeplety across your neck if he really tried. He presses your body flush to his and takes a deep breath in, inhaling your scent. He releases the breath by burying his face into your neck. Laying soft kisses and nips across the curve.

"John... I-I gotta finish the clothes.." Your voice dies out by the end of your sentence, too engulfed by the feeling of his body heat colliding with yours.

"Mm-mm, just give me a minute." His voice is rougher than usual. Raspy, gravelly, almost hoarse. Not unwelcome, but different. His kisses and pecks get longer, and with longer, they get sloppier. Traveling up the curve of your neck to the shell of your ear, whispering sweet everythings.

"Jus' give me a second, yeah? Wanna feel you... So pretty and put together, just for me." He wisps into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

The hand previously intertwined with yours is now groping your hip, soft and slow. For now, at least.

His movements are so slow and languid, nearly ignoring your whines and pleas for more. Then, he licks a stripe from the nape of your neck to your jaw, sucking a hicky where ever he thought necessary.

"Ahh- Please. I need you now." Your sweet words mixed with your even sweet whines only beckon him on.

"Askin' so prettily for me, makes me wonder if you'll be this polite after I fill you up."

-♡

LIA MY LOVE💞💞💞💞💞

Literally- What do you want??? Money??? Head??? BECAUSE BIIIIIITCH

Everytime I come to this app you've always got price in my inbox😭😭 AND I LOVE IT💞💞💞

The voices are speaking and they're all chanting Sugar Daddy Price💞💞

Been swamped with midterms so this made my day thank you lovie💞

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #i just wanna be his sugarbaby #sugar daddy price #john price #price modern warfare #○•lia my love•○#○•he speaks•○#○•ask keon•○

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heckcareoxytwit · 2 years ago

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A preview of It's Jeff! #1

IT'S JEFF! #1

JEFF THE LANDSHARK STARS IN HIS OWN FIN-TASTIC COMIC! Since his very first appearance, Jeff the Land Shark has flooded our hearts like an adorable tidal wave! Now the ingenious, the extraordinary, the unbearably innocent Jeff embarks on his own adventures across the Marvel Universe! You thought it was safe doing laundry or going for a leisurely swim in the pool…but no activity can protect against Jeff’s cuteness! Collecting the hit Infinity Comics series from the Marvel Unlimited app, this one-shot features a brand-new cover and tail…we mean tale!

Written by: Kelly Thompson Art by: Gurihiru Cover by: Gurihiru Page Count: 44 Pages Release Date: March 29, 2023

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caplanbuckybarnes · 1 year ago

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Songs4Caplan Challenge

(I located an older song fic challenge from a deleted blog I had that had this graphic on it. LOL)

Rules:

Tag me in the authors notes & send me a message with yuor fic once it's posted! (along with the hashtag so I know which Masterlist to place the fic when I post it)

Please tag the proper warnings before the fic

Can be ANY CHARACTER YOU'D LIKE!!

More than one person can write for the same prompts

RPFs are allowed

If you’d like to write for more than one song, please make them separate fics

the songs are randomly picked from my playlist, so don't judge lol.

Can be however long you’d like the fic to be, however, please be considerate to the folks using the app and place the 'keep reading' feature on your posts!!

PLEASE tag the fic as #songs4caplan so i can easily find your fics!!!

Addicted to you simple plan

Africa Toto

All downhill from here new found glory

All for you sister hazel

All summer long kid Rock

Alone together fall out boy

Amnesia 5 seconds of summer

Animals maroon 5

As it was Harry styles

as the world caves in Sarah cothran

Ashes of Eden breaking Benjamin

Attention Charlie put

Bad guy Billie eillish

Bad things jace Everett

Beautiful mistakes maroon 5

Beautiful soul Jesse McCartney

Before he cheats carrie underwood

Before you go Lewis capaldi

Beggin maneskin

Better than me hinder

Blue ain’t your color Keith urban

Burn usher

Car radio twenty one pilots

Church fall out boy

Climax usher

Come & get it Selena Gomez

Count on me Bruno mars

Criminal Fiona Apple

Deja vu Olivia rodrigo

Delicate Taylor swift

Diary Tino Coury

Dirty laundry Carrie underwood

Dirty thoughts Chloe adams

Don’t call me up Mabel

Downtown lady a

Drivers license Olivia rodrigo

Easy on Adele

End of me a day to remember

Every breath you take the police

Every morning sugar ray

Everybody hurts r.e.m.

Fall for you secondhand serenade

Fallin Alicia keys

Fast car Tracy Chapman

Flowers Miley Cyrus

For the first time the script

Forever young alphaville

Forever and ever amen randy Travis

Fuck it Eamon

Fuck you bitch wheeler walker jr

Ghost of you Justin beiber

Glimpse of us Joji

God gave me you Blake Shelton

Hate (I really don’t like you) plain white tees

Havana Camilla cabello

Heart attack Demi lovato

Heartbreak anniversary giveon

Heaven Kane brown

Hello darlin Conway twitty

Hold on, we’re going on drake

How do you sleep Jesse McCartney

Hurt Johnny cash

I fall apart post Malone

I miss you blink 182

I see red everybody loves an outlaw

I wanna be your slave maneskin

I’m not the only one Sam smith

I’m the only one Melissa Ethridge

I’m yours Alessia Cara

In my blood Shawn Mendes

It ain’t me baby me Johnny cash

Jealous nick Jonas

Just one yesterday fall out boy

Just the way you are Bruno mars

Keep Holding On Avril Lavigne

Killer queen Queen

The last of the real ones

Leave the door open Bruno mars

Leavin’ Jesse McCartney

Let her go passenger

Like I can Sam smith

Lips of an angel hinder

Little do you know Alex & sierra

Little Talks Mumfords & sons

Mama's broken heart Miranda lambert

Man down Rihanna

Misery Maroon 5

My Boo usher & Alicia keys

Needed Me Rihanna

Never gonna be alone Nickelback

New Rules Dua Lipa

Not Over You Gavin DeGraw

Obsessed Mariah Carey

One Call Away Charlie Puth

One More Night Maroon 5

Our Song Taylor Swift

Picture KidRock & Sherry Crow

PillowTalk Zayn Malik

Please Don’t Leave Me Pink

Red Taylor Swift

Remember the time Michael Jackson

Rolling in the deep Adele

Say My Name Destiny’s Child

Say So Doja Cat

She’s Got You Patsy Cline

Shower Becky G

Smokin out the Window Bruno Mars

Someone You Loved Lewis Capaldi

Stay With Me Sam Smith

Take a Bow Rihanna

Take Me to Church Hozier

Take You Dancing Jason Derulo

There’s Nothing Holdin Me Back Shawn Mendes

Title Meghan Trainor

Too Good at Goodbyes Sam Smith

Too Little Too LAte JoJo

Trip Ella Mae

Trouble P!Nk

True Love P!NK

Unfaithful RIhanna

Unholy Sam smith

Unsteady X Ambassadors

Uptown Girl Billy Joel

Wait For You Elliot Yamin

Walk Me Home P!NK

Walkin After Midnight Patsy Cline

Want U Back Cher Lloyd

What a Man Gotta Do Jonas Brothers

What Ifs Kane Brown

Wolves Selena Gomez

Would You Go With Me? Josh Turner

You Found Me The Fray

You Had Me @ Hello A Day to Remember

You Need to Calm Down, Taylor Swift

#songs4caplan #writing #writing prompt #writeblr #nanowrimo 2023

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beardedmrbean · 1 month ago

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Mark Zuckerberg’s Meta has sacked a number of staff after they abused the company’s $25 (£19) meal scheme to order household goods such as toothpaste and washing powder.

Almost 30 staff in the company’s Los Angeles office were dismissed after they were found to be routinely using takeaway credits to order groceries and cosmetics, employees said.

The sackings included high-paid engineers earning six-figure salaries, according to posts on the anonymous chat app Blind.

Meta, which is currently worth $1.5 trillion, provides staff with free breakfast, lunch and dinner at its larger offices.

Those in smaller offices without staff canteens instead receive vouchers for delivery apps such as Grubhub, which they can use to order food when working at the office.

However, Meta recently discovered that some employees were using the $25 vouchers to order household items from stores that feature on the apps.

In some cases, staff were using the scheme to buy wine glasses and laundry detergent, according to the Financial Times.

Meta and other Silicon Valley companies have long offered free food in their offices, which are seen as an incentive to come into the office instead of working from home, or in the case of breakfast and dinner, to encourage longer working hours.

Staff initially received warnings about abusing the meal voucher scheme but those who continued to do so were sacked last week.

The news came as Meta also laid off a larger number of staff across WhatsApp, Instagram and its virtual reality unit on Wednesday.

The company said it was restructuring certain departments, and moving some staff to other areas.

The redundancies are not believed to be as widespread as the mass layoffs in 2022 and 2023, when Meta cut tens of thousands of staff in what Mr Zuckerberg called a driver for “efficiency”.

A Meta spokesman said: “Today, a few teams at Meta are making changes to ensure resources are aligned with their long-term strategic goals and location strategy.

“This includes moving some teams to different locations, and moving some employees to different roles. In situations like this when a role is eliminated, we work hard to find other opportunities for impacted employees.”

Meta has cut down on perks introduced to encourage staff into the office in recent years, scrapping “to-go” boxes that allowed employees to take food home, as well as benefits such as laundry services.

#nunyas news

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staridust · 1 year ago

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★ DO NOT USE/REPOST WITHOUT MY PERMISSION. NO MINORS.

Repost from bird app, here’s a few doodles and tidbits of the Sunlight ship!

Open for more!

Starting off with the first one, I have this headcanon that Jack plays songs for Artemis (any pronouns/preferably they/them) that he needs to practice on or are still in the works.

This one features the use of his signature the Sleepytime Serenade (which I totally spelled correctly), which ultimately makes them fall asleep on his side.

And yes, he’s singing Drift Away, I love the Omnichord cover. :)

——

Laundry Day!

Sharing an apartment means you go through twice as many towels. Sounds like someone should be at fault here!

Or rather, he’s about to be!

Maybe one of these days he won’t forget the most important day of the week.

This drawing is cropped! Though non-sexual, I’m not risking putting Artie’s cheeks on blast on this app, but you can see them here.

——

Failing at Life (But together, so it can’t be all that bad!)

Artemis, the astronaut that can’t get off the ground.

Jack, the musician that can’t get his notes in the air.

Honestly, failing at your dreams can hurt even if you haven’t given up. It’s okay to cry sometimes, but it’s not okay to cry alone. Life is a comedy, laugh at it and if it doesn’t make sense, then make it make sense.

——

See You Next Week, Starlight.

Ah the astronaut endurance test, the notoriously hard physical that determines if you will get into the next program of Astros.

And unfortunately, the very last part that holds Artie back because they can’t pass.

Thankfully, you can take it as many times as you can until you pass! Though they aren’t the type of person to quit, and maybe that’s their problem.

—

That marks the repost of this doodle dump, til next time! ★

#Sunny Day Jack #SDJSunlight #SDJSunnyverse #Artemis and Jack are up to bullshit #More bird app reposts

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deadboyfriendd · 1 year ago

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Cochise Il: Mudsill

Summary: The morning after his first day reaps a certain morosity with it. After a gruesome shootout with a grisly outcome, he vows not only to protect this town, but you as well. In more ways than one. The second part of Cochise. Sequel to Nellie.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Outlaw/Doc Holliday!Eddie Munson x Reader, wild west/Tombstone AU!, Sherrif!Steve (he has a mustache), guns and gun violence, death of minor original characters, period-appropriate death, suggestions of lynching and public execution, drug use, angst, fluff, save a horse (the horse watches in this one), ride a cowboy, smut included, death of a spouse discussed in this, blood and wounds (gunshots), minor unintentional self-harm, unprotected p in v, creampie

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 6.1k

Author's Note: This is for Drac <3 thank you for beta reading! And also for dealing with me going, “now what?” every fifteen seconds, and also for being my nepo goth mommy and being the only reason I get reads on this godforsaken app and also for indulging me in this fantasy and also for ominously looming over my docs because the performance anxiety makes me write better and more consistently.

Find the series masterlist here!

Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed

In one self place, for where we are is hell,

And where hell is must we ever be.

The morning is nonetheless blistering, no qualms of early warmth and birds singing. Here, the sun meant silence, this world turned itself over to the night and reaped rest by the break of dawn just to escape its harshness until winter. Not all would make it. By five the blossom of the night-blooming cereus will have shriveled away, and by six the earth would begin to heat.

The sun does not rest, only lies in wait. Remnants of it settling in the sand beneath him.

He awakes with a groan and a pulling sting that blossoms across his neck and face at the first stale movements of wake. He could hear the vacant crunch of footsteps against gravel, hollow and softened by the fine sand beneath them. A shadow overtook him, one that granted a relief like the sour sting of white chocolate against the prevalence of melting.

“Well, good morning, Edward.” His eyes nearly crossed to look up towards you, attempting to make out any of the features of your face. They were too backlit from the sun and his eyes were still too sensitive. A basket for laundry sat firm against your hip, emptied. Above you, there is a line strung from one ironwood to the next, a washbasin several feet away with suds still running down the sides.

He bears his senses, pulling his mind away from that celestial body it rested in the previous night. He tried not to think of your supple nature in front of him, the way your silken skin felt beneath his fingers or the way the ends of your hair tickled against his belly within his dream. It was up now, twisted into braids and tucked unto itself.

His face and neck are red, you aren't incredibly introspective, and you can’t tell if it is a blush or the beginnings of a sunburn. You waited to wake him, washing and hanging your laundry before the break of dawn. He seemed tired, but leaving him out in the sun seemed downright cruel. You ‘d think of him in the same respects as the rattlesnake– the one who cooks from the outside in when it sits in the sand too long.

You offer your hand to him, and he takes it. You are much stronger than your body implies, taking on the weight of him with a pull, hands calloused from housework and the general husbandry that comes from western living.

“Couldn’t sleep?” You asked behind a grin, by now his eyes had adjusted and settled on the whites of your teeth and the upturned fat of your face.

“Apparently I was the only one that wanted to.” He was sore from the ground, though he couldn’t quite tell if his tailbone hurt from the sand or the train to Tombstone. He watched you in stride, taking a few of your smaller ones ahead of him.

You giggled softly, and it sounded like church bells. You looked over your shoulder at him, and he couldn’t bring himself to watch your eyes, instead, settling on the way the flesh of your neck folded at the crease. He counted the moles to ground himself, “The west never rests, Edward.”

He followed your stride for a few steps, his long strides becoming staccatos in comparison to yours. He looked down at his feet, avoiding rocks beneath him in his still-weary state and watching the dust kick up from beneath your heels to collect on the front of his boots.

The gold of your earring refracted a light that brushed across your cheek, had Eddie not been staring so intently, he would have missed it. He’s glad he didn’t. “Steve already came ‘round this morning. Said a telegraph came in for you. Trains’ delayed ‘till ‘bout tomorrow.”

The confession hit him like a shot to the chest, and he could help the dramatization of the groan that escaped him, “Christ.”

“Got something important on that cargo train?” You raised a poignant eyebrow at him, more motherly in nature. It questioned the dramatics more than his personage.

He shook his head, unable to stop himself from chuckling at his own bad luck, “Only my horse… and everything else.”

“I see.” You nodded back in repose, turning your body back to face him. Your hands still clutching the laundry basket braced over your hip, “Well, let's see if we can’t scrape up some fresh clothes for you to wear then.”

You reach your hand out towards him in invitation, his own forbearance of politeness and handshakes prompts him to reach out, though, you don’t seem to let go. You don’t notice the rouge of his cheeks or along the tips of his ears in schoolboy embarrassment beneath his sunburn. Your hands aren’t soft, not like the other women he’s touched. Your hands have been kissed with the calluses of men’s work. Ropes on horses and hands on guns. His memories reel back to your husband, the slack you were forced to receive in his absence. You wouldn’t have to pick up any slack on Eddie, he didn’t plan on dying soon. Not if he could help it.

You use your hand like a reign, pulling him towards the wrought-iron staircase within the bar that led to your home. The staircase rocked with each footstep – a solid structure that seemed not-quite fixated to its endpoints.

He looked around at the corridor, modest, but nevertheless a home. The dark wood on the floors closely resembled the mahogany excessiveness of The Grand Hotel, though, the expanse of it was limited to the flooring. A pale Mexican plaster covered the vast expanse of the walls, rounding the corners and archways into a smooth texture.

He noticed the boots by the door, covered in dust and much too large to be your own. It filled in the gaps where the empty spots on the wall still lie bare, and where the second dining chair had remained tucked neatly beneath the table. Though this place resembled a home, it was not. Instead, it housed the ghost of your husband. He laid in bed at night next to the shell of grief that resembled you, the decanter on the table filled with tears of loneliness and guilt.

You opened the thin door in the corridor, and he realized that all of your husband’s clothes had been moved here. He tried not to picture you pulling them out of the dresser they resided in, tried not to imagine the tears streaming down your face as you buried it within the fabric just to smell him again. Just to feel like he was close enough to touch one more time.

The garments were well-starched. A white high-collar shirt, black vest, black pants, black cravat. He was a man after Eddie’s own heart, that was for sure. You excuse yourself towards the kitchen, allowing him open access to the dressing room to change.

When he slipped through the door, loose on its hinges, he met your eyes– pressing and cold in nature. It wasn’t intentional, at least, not in the sense that your coldness was directed towards him. At an instant, your hands had found his chest, and he peered downwards to watch them, intently. It was a force of habit, righting a missed button and an off-set pattern on the vest. Once you corrected it, you laid them flat against his sternum.

He thought back to last night, the pressing warmth of your hands against his chest and the soft brush of your hair that tickled against his belly. He thought back to the purely pornographic sounds that resounded off the walls of The Grand Hotel in his dream. Though, you’d felt more human now, with the hurt in your eyes that dragged like a trunk you couldn’t rid yourself of. Your eyes carried a grief like granite, pulled from the quarry chipped into the mountain of your life and heavy on your soul.

He thought back to what The Sheriff had said to him, about picking up the slack when your husband died. Who had been there when you were grieving? Surely the sheriff, but he had said it himself. You had your pick, but had never taken another lover. He wondered if it could be him.

There is an ex-cathedra bass crescendo that reverberates against the dainty backing of tenor melodies in the bar at night, long after the dust has settled beneath the feet of the common folk. You never understood why the people here still chose to do their bidding during the day, when the sun casted an itching burn across the delicate cutaneous layers of exposed skin like lye.

It was not Christmas, and yet you’d found pieces of words in fragments of memories beneath your breath as you hammered against the keys with clumsy fingers. You grazed your tongue against your bottom lip, still in search of the remnants of sugar from the dried Christmas fruits you’d been given as a child.

There is a sombering solidarity in this aloneness, and in the way you no longer search for the feeling of your husband’s fingers against the cold ivory. It was just that now: cold. That emptiness would always linger, but that coldness of keys was now not for the absence of his warmth. They just were.

Eddie watched you from the gap in the glass door to the parlor, smoothing the hairs on his arms down from where the low, deep notes rattled in his coccyx. He let the press of the mesquite against his back keep him tethered to the earth. He’d recognized the song like a ghost, Christmases past like bugs with needle-prick feet crawling up his back in repose. Where your fingers lay heavy against untuned, rattling keys, he found a softness. A delicacy in this world that was anything but. He saw tarantula legs in your spindles of fingers, light and silent as they crawled across ivory.

There was not an inherent evil to the tarantula. Only existence.

Your own existence was different here. You weren’t so on edge now that you figured you were alone. He felt guilty taking advantage of your comfort like this, but your softness radiated light out past the windows and into the sand outside in a warm, golden glow. Your lashes kissed in the corners of your eyes, nursing against the apples of your cheeks as you looked down in concentration. He wanted to smooth out the line forming between your brows. Your hair lay wild, splayed across your shoulders and roused from the removal of your hat.

He adjusted himself against the door frame, the creak against the flooring from behind you sent you reeling upwards, the scratch-key a heavy hand against incorrect and out-of-tune keys. The man in black looming behind you like a shroud. You’d gasped without realizing it. He took a step forward, hand out in gentle appeasement as you whipped around, more startled than afraid. He registered it as fear. Your hand came to your chest in repulse, laying flat and tight against your breastbone.

He takes a few steps forward, quickly closing the gap between you. The echo from the heel of his boot bounced off your body and you convinced yourself that the ringing in your ears was from that alone.

“Woah, Nellie.” He’d said to you, softly, a pressing grin upturning crookedly at the corners of his lips. This was not the first time he’d used the horse moniker, and you’d figured this was not going to be the last. You’d blamed your own spooked nature at the way your breath did not fill your lungs completely and not the way Eddie’s warm hands felt as it picked yours up off of your chest, holding it between his two like a vice in apologetics.

You squeezed his hand under your fingers, shaking it slightly in annoyance, “You scared me half to death, Edward.”

“I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, ma’am.” He’d said in apology, once again, yet the smile pulled across his face further, pretty teeth grazing against the suppleness of flesh.

You raised a brow at him, stern in nature, “When you smile something awful like that, it makes me think you did.”

His smile stretched wider in his face, a laugh coming to fruition in his chest and exhaling through his nose and over your face, “I didn’t. Honest.” Not that you really thought that he did in the first place.

His hand left yours and found itself around your waist, where the tautness of your dresses stretched over the softness of your hip. He grasped for skin beneath the ruching of the fabric over you, warm hand splayed across your back.

He was close — entirely too close to be considered professional or polite, but you welcomed it. You felt the breath from his nostrils, cooling against the bridge of your nose and dissipating across the crests of your cheeks. His lips parted, and the breath changed to warm. You could taste the tobacco that resided against his lips like the sugar you’d searched for on your own mere moments ago.

His weight against your chest is foreboding, and even the bracing from his wide palm cannot stop the soft step back you take. The heel of your own hand presses against a random selection of treble keys and creates an awful, off-putting sound that makes him jump.

You can’t stop the girlish giggle that slips past your lips at the momentary terror that registers in your eyes. You don’t know if it is because of the immediate karmic justice or the fact that he was so startled by the noise he just listened to from afar. He looks back down towards you with a look that mirrored your own previous one, trying to force the smile off of his face down into a scowl.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, honest.” You laughed between syllables, quickly pulling the key cover over the tops of the ivories and resting back against them.

“Well, you’re smiling something awful like you did.”

The air outside was still. Too still. Like it lies in wait of travesty that happened in a near-constant turnstile. There is no one in the streets tonight, the party crowd gathered before the stage of The Grand Hotel to watch tonight’s opening of Faustus.

However, Hell would not just be a frame of mind tonight.

Michael ‘Mudsill’ Doten leaks off the steps of The Grand Hotel in a clumsy choreography of laudanum and drink, pupils blown wide in an opiate tincture waltz. The peacemaker across his hip a metronome of depravity waiting for the subtle fingertip of quarter counts to off-beat.

He howls at the moon, firing one, two shots towards it into the open air. It both draws townspeople towards and away from the scenery. Marshall Milt Kilmer steps off the balcony of The Grand Hotel haughtily, fumbling with the weapon holstered against his side.

From behind the glass at the Whispering Sands, you stand at the sound of gunshots, hands finding your own weapon holstered beneath the folds of your dresses. Eddie’s large palm finds your shoulder, squeezing softly in a promise of not us. His other hand met the stock of his gun, tucked away in the shoulder holster against his waist.

“Michael! Come on now.” You heard Milt start, sound clear despite being muffled by glass. The commotion must have been right outside your window. Eddie and yourself listened from behind the front door, air between your bodies stagnant in wait.

Michael was slovenly, more so than usual, “Well, howdy Milt.” He stumbled, lame as a duck and ten times more disgusting. He wielded his pistol like a bomb with the pin pilled, a travesty in wait.

“Alright, hand those over, Michel.” Milt insists, gun wielded in defense against Michael. The commotion has attracted onlookers that seeped from ant pile buildings in uneasy swarms – the Doten family leaking out and congregating in their own slovenly hive like wasps, “Hand ‘em over!” Milt calls, more firm this time.

Micahel takes a look around, then back at the County Marshall before him. His pupils are blown wide like dinner plates, “Okay, Milt, I’ll hand ‘em over. It’s only fun. Here you go.”

But what are thou Faustus, but a man condemned to die?

There is a split second in which you can see the silver line between life and death, in which you can walk the plane between realms. There reaps a morosity heavy on your heart in the fractions of a second before a man’s life ends. It is entirely too familiar to you, and you crumble under the weight of it all. You don’t hear the crack of the gun, and you don’t see Milt’s body fall limp, but you see the breath that falls from his lips that keeps his soul on a lark. You try to catch it in your hands to force back into his lungs. Running towards his body felt like wading through sand, burning hot and suffocating around your waist. He was dead by the time your hands cupped around his shoulder, but the remnant of his essence felt like a sheet, drowning you in the great planes of the Gila.

“Milt? Come on now.” Michael said, the gun long dropped on the ground. He nudged Milt’s boot with his own, unable to process the velocity of the events that transpired just moments before.

The sheriff is fast to rush Michael, cracking the stock of his own peacemaker across the crown of the man before him, the body dropping heavy against the sand to your left. Heavy, but still alive.

Everything is heavy. The weight that you bear crouched beside Milt’s body, the way Michael slumped into the sand beside you, the crowd gathering around the sudden onslaught of commotion, and the hand against your back that undoubtedly belonged to Edward.

“Get him off the street.” Steve ordered, sweeping his peacemaker around in a circle to fend off the feigning crowd, “Alright, back off.” He said, stern and loud. You’d have half a mind to be afraid of him when he was like this, if you weren’t still in shock.

“Get a rope!” Someone from the town said, stepping down from a nearby patio.

“String him up!”

Edward could sense the rising tension, his other hand coming firmly around the taught expanse of your waist and pulling you back without giving you room to fight. You stumbled backwards in a stupor, hot tears streaming down your face emotionlessly. You were a stone. A puppet in his hands watching the scene before you unfold.

Steve’s face hardened, jaw clenched under cold eyes, “Nobody’s hanging anybody.”

“He just killed a man–”

“And he’ll stand trial for it. Now, get back! Move!” Steve made sure the hammer was pulled back on his gun, serious as sin. You don’t think you’d ever seen him this scary before. You didn’t think he could be this scary at all.

“Turn him loose.” One of the town patrons called from the building riot, stepping forward from the mass. He was a dirty cattle pusher that still carried the grime and anger of a juvenile foal. When Steve gave him a cold stare-down, he spoke up once more, “He said to turn loose of him.”

“I’m not, so go home.” Steve said again, face like a stone.

Another voice emerged from the crowd, “I swear to God, law dog, you step aside or we’ll tear you apart.” He was an older man with a scraggly beard, wiry hair to match his wiry nature, a dust-alden bandana hanging loosely off the skeleton-physique. He wielded his own weapon, pointing it at the Sheriff. He knew he was outnumbered, but wouldn’t back down. You wanted to cry out, to let them lynch Michael. Anything to avoid watching someone you care about die again. Anything to avoid feeling that.

Steve took a step forward, pressing the barrel directly to the forehead of the old man. Hard enough for it to leave an indentation on the skin.

“You die first, got it? Your friends might rush me later but not before I kill you first.” Steve’s eyes had hardened from something stone-cold to something ablaze. His eyes reaped the anger of the afternoon sun, alight with anger. Anger from defiance. Anger for Milt. “You understand me?”

“He’s bluffing, let’s rush him” The younger man spoke up, further trying to entice the crowd. Everyone else was at a standstill, tension so taught, that if that wire snapped, it could recoil and kill both Steve and the other man.

The old man’s eyes went wide, hands splayed out in a half surrender, half heeding motion, “No! He isn’t bluffing. Don’t rush him.” He pleaded, as if he were staring death in the face. By the look of rage and hunger alight behind Steve’s eyes, you were sure he was.

This time, the sheriff went quiet, talking only to the man in front of him, “You aren’t as stupid as you look. Now tell them to get back. “

“Go on, now, get back.” The old man said, hands still upward in surrender. The statement was shaking and quiet, unsure and teetering between tears. “Go on!” He said, louder this time, a plea for his life.

“He’ll kill me.” He whispered, a single salty tear streaking through the fine layer of sand on his face. The crowd dissipated back, the yelling and demands of public execution coming to a gelatinous quiet.

Edward removed his hand from your waist, putting the pistol from beneath his arm. He pulled the hammer back without question, pointing it at the young cattle-hand that started this all.

“And you, big boy, you’re next.” He spoke it like a promise. Like a prayer. If you hadn’t been magnified by everyone's slightest move, you would have missed the way Steve’s eyes met you before he nodded in Edward’s direction.

The train comes by way of Texas Pacific that next morning, long before the break of dawn, and Eddie’s steamer trunk and horse were brought by means of Butterfield’s Overland as the sun was breaking darkness over the horizon.

You don’t remember the sun turning over the next morning until you are blinded by the sudden onslaught of neon orange through the glass of the Whispering Sands. Your eyes feel dry, juxtaposed to the salty wetness of the rest of your face and the bottoms of your dresses, yet you kept scrubbing.

That wretched spot in the middle of the floor that was beginning to divot from where the wood had worn away, yet you swore you could still see the dark coagulants of blood pooling between the grain. Maybe it was your own.

There, where your husband lay dying, where his final breaths sputtered and choked from the blood that congealed within his lungs and escaped the gaping hole in his sternum. Where the unnamed bandolero lay already dead in your doorway, an iron barrel burning a vicious welt into your leg as your hands desperately plunged into the red pool forming within your husband’s chest. That night, the blood of two men covered your hands.

The only evidence that anything had ever happened here was the mild divot on the floor and the blood seeping from your skinless knuckles and you scrubbed salt over the ghosts that resided between these floorboards and in these stools. You haunted this place in search of your husband, who would no longer be found at the piano or behind the bar. You were a ghost in your own rights.

That holy shape becomes a devil, best.

The laundry outside needs tending, and you let the burn from your knuckles tether you to this mortal plane, the unpleasant stick of your wet overcoat sticking ad unsticking from your knees and making them raw as you mundanely schlop wet clothes from the washbasin and pin them to the wire.

You hear Edward round the corner, shrouded in the shadow from the smoky black quarter horse. Though quiet as they try, the equine presence is never quiet. He clears his throat haughtily, though you fail to recognize if it was him or the horse blowing a hefty breath through large nostrils.

“Ma’am.” He started. Your nose was still red and your under eyes were still swollen from the night before, though, he hadn’t originally meant to say anything. Watching a man die was hard, he knew that you would have understood that. You looked like you had died and been resurrected when you turned to face him, hair frizzy and half escaping the braid that hadn’t been touched since the days before tucked beneath your hat, clothes sopping wet and hands bleeding.

“What did you do to your hands?” He asked, suddenly softer now. He reached down to grab your hands, the sides of his calloused fingers scraping the undersides of your own calloused palms.

“Tending to the floors.” You said to him, barely above a whisper. You wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“You're soaked.” He observed, taking a step back to look down the front of your buckskin overskirts. Without a doubt, your underskirt and bloomers clung to your skin beneath as well, no longer dripping due to the warming sun.

He understood what was happening here, the frantic nature in the way you scrubbed the floors matched the way he scrubbed his own body raw from the blood that covered his skin. He knew your hurt all too well.

You mustered the courage to look him in the face as he inspected the outer edges of your knuckles with a tenderness that nearly brought the tears spilling back from your eyes. It was a tenderness that you hadn’t known in so long. It was like you were witnessing him from outside of your own body, through the eyes of a spider. You could count the smattering of freckles across his nose– those akin to a schoolboy, endearing in nature. A scar of what no longer remained. While he looked for signs of infection and wood shrapnel and remaining salt, you looked at the near perfection in which his thick lashes brushed from his lid to his cheek and you understood that God may not have been forgiving, but He certainly was real.

A fluttering, frantic desire builds in your core when you slot your lips against his. This feeling was not akin to butterflies and moths. It was frantic, more persistent. Like that of the hummingbirds that drank from the cactus blossoms in the cooler mornings. You watched them in silence, searching and flying entirely too close. Fast and sure. All you can feel is the dry cracking against softness as his startled breath dissipates across your own mouth.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled to him, only pulling a mere few centimeters away. You were not sorry, but you were polite enough to fake it.

“Don’t.”

He drops your hands, fingers scrambling for purchase against the tautness where your vest is slotted tight over your waist, clutching at fabric in search of skin instead. You reel closer, your own hat bumping the brim of his and falling off your head. It is frantic and sloppy and full of an animalistic reproach. The heat of his skin and lips is no different from the staleness of the desert around you. Your hands find his neck beneath his hair, tacky and slick with the sweat of the already blistering morning. You wanted him to touch you with all of the resolve of your dead lover, you wanted him to take you here in the sand– to make you shake and shiver all of the worries that had plagued you to the bone. To feel close to someone was foreboding, if you wanted to feel close you would have taken another lover. To feel safe with someone was something you clung to like a vice, for you hadn’t been safe since you’d started out west. You buzz like the fat hummingbirds in the saguaro blossoms when he hikes you close against him, aggressive without malaise. Both of his arms entrap you tightly, almost too tightly to be comfortable, and keeps a crushing weight to keep your body taught against his. You whine, all woman and all desperation, as your back braces against the rough stone texture of the brick behind you, his leg slotting between your thighs and casting a desperate friction to fruition.

When you gyrate your hip against his thigh, unsparingly, the broad planes of his hands cling to the valley of your back between your shoulder blades relentlessly. It brings you up towards him instead of away against the wall. You can feel the harness of his braced between your bodies, and it sparks a churning feeling deep in the pit of your belly. You are whining, his tongue funding purchase within your mouth and making a home there. He does not expect you to initiate the act, but when your hands slide down the tautness of his abdomen, and pull his shirt out from his trousers, he is surprised.

There is no sense of familiarity to this. Sure, you had been married. Laying with a man was no unexplored land for you, but this franticness, this panic and desperation was all new. It was risky, and it felt dirty, though, not incorrect. Edward reaches up, pulling the hat off of his head, his fingers turning tender against your waist as he guides you off of the wall and downwards into the sand. It is firm against your back and pleasantly warm.

You are not soft like in his dream. You do not whine or beg for him when you see all of him for the first time. You are relentless in undoing your own buttons and pulling your own shirt off. When you see him, he is tall and lean, there is a scarecrow-like nature to him, the gangliness clinging to him like the naivety of youth, though, just as you were all woman, he was all man. Even in his softness. He is soft in the way he looks down at you, and allows your eyes to skim over him. His awestruck nature forces you to resist the urge to cover yourself.

You are not womanly in the way you disregard the messiness of your hair, the tear streaks that stick against your hot cheeks, or the sand that sticks to your back as he lays you down. When he reaches a hand up to cup the side of your neck, it feels like walking that tightrope again– the one that teeters between the plane of life and death. This was a part of you that you no longer had resolve in. You did not think you would ever feel something that resembled your husband again. Though, as you walked this tightrope, it felt like crossing the threshold of your upstairs quarters again. His hands around you like a foundation and his arms around you like walls.

There is a change of pace as he kisses you this time, unhurriedly and exploring. Your fingers grasp around the thick bone of his wrists, thumbs tethering you to the ligaments of his wrists beneath his alabaster skin. There remains a tackiness on the front of your body from where the lye water soaked through your clothes and stuck to your skin, though, he didn’t seem to mind.

Behind the fast-paced nature and desperation of it all, there lies a sticky sweetness. Dark and slow-moving like molasses against your skin. It finds a resemblance in his lips against your neck that trail your collarbones. If it were a different circumstance, perhaps, this would have been slower. He would have taken you like a lover, something that more closely resembled the way he wanted you in the hazy fog of The Grand Hotel. But you needed him here and now, and he would have to give you that.

He does not have to ease your legs open with reproach like he had to do with the other girls, the ones who hid themselves away in meek shyness. Even in the open expanse of the desert before you, where, on the opposite side of this building, the town was awake and beginning to stir, there was a profound lack of meekness to your demeanor. There would be no begging from your lips, though, you didn’t need to. You had him already. You had him as soon as you’d met him.

He found himself tepid, “Do you still want me to–”

“I want you to fuck me, Edward.” You’d insisted, and he was taken aback by it. Though, he was not going to deny you. Not with the sweat pooling between the valley on your breasts and your curls sticking to your forehead. He wouldn’t have denied you anyways.

“Okay.”

His voice was hoarse, moan rumbling low and deep from the confines of his lungs. He is rushed with feeling– taken aback by the crudeness of your language and comfort with your raw body. This was not what he had dreamed of, but rarely was it ever. The thrill changed quickly from an excited tingle to an aching need. His thumbs pull the hair from your face as he braces himself on his elbows, the soft smattering of hair on his stomach becoming flush with yours.

You didn’t understand before the softness that lay just beneath the layer of dust that settles over him, the roundness to the apples of his cheeks or the plush of his lips. Though, now that he was this close, it was hard not to miss. His eyes, though you had only ever seen them dark and angry, were now a golden honey against the tan backdrop of the desert. It resembled the waning orange of the sunrise you were too forlorn to watch this morning.

There was a resounding softness in his promises of, “I’ll take care of you” that reverberated with the building of tears that formed against his pretty lash line, though, not enough to break the surface tension and spill over his even prettier face.

There is a relentlessness in the way he rocks his hips against your core, desperate for the feeling of closeness. A single tear buds against the corner of his eye, dripping down his pretty red cheek and on to your chest. You had half a mind to swipe it away with your thumb. He fucks you languidly in the building spring heat. The tackiness of your skin turns to a slide as he works you.

His hips stutter in a pistoning motion, punching a moan out of your core that was not frilly or rehearsed. Please don’t stop’s resounding off of his chest like prayers. He is a little rougher than before, your back arching in pleasure. His voice is broken as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to the column of your throat.

There is a certain inevitability, like you both know that this will need to come to an abrupt end, and you whine with the filthiness of it all. There is a soft soreness that buds from within your core, and from the way he cries out, whiny and vulnerable, you know he feels it, too. There is a reciprocating cry that resounds from both your mouths, and you know he has reached his apex when he spills inside of you, moving slowly and then coming to a stop.

You do not stop him when he drops a heavy head against your sternum, instead resulting in pushing the hair away from his face. His head bobs up and down on your chest as you breathe, his own falling out of sync with yours. There is a resounding whisper that leaves his lips, and you are not sure if you are meant to hear. You reply anyways.

“Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris.” “It is a comfort to the wretched to have companions in misery.”

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deorwineinfotech · 2 years ago

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#laundry app features #laundry app development #laundry

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positivexcellence · 10 months ago

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towwn: don’t call ‘em resolutions! instead, we’re sharing a few long-term goals for 2024:

🏡declutter 🗑️reduce waste 👗make more sustainable fashion choices

that’s where @retoldrecycling comes in. the sustainable startup, recently featured on @sharktankabc, is on a mission to change our recycling behavior & eradicate textile-based landfills. sign up and receive a compostable bag to fill with items you’d like to unload 4x per year. simply send back the full bag to avoid stuff ending up in global landfills. retold sorts + repurposes everything via its partner network – thrift stores, charities, upcyclers + more.

we’ve also learned from our pals + animal welfare experts at the international animal rescue org @fourpawsusa that recycling isn’t just good for the environment, it benefits animals too. four paws’s #wearitkind campaign advocates recycling clothes + textiles to help keep new animal-based products out of the supply chain, as well as avoid pollution & deforestation that destroys habitats. a win for people + planet + animals.

now part of @mcuban’s investment portfolio, here are some key basics about retold:

retold accepts your best stuff (wedding dresses) or very old & worn items, including your dog’s blanket! most clean, dry household textiles/clothes are accepted, but not pillows or cushions. the majority of materials are reused domestically. partners ensure that items sent overseas have value + purpose at their final destination. as bags are received, customers get rewards: promo codes & offers from many sustainable brands, including @paradisperdusnyc, @vitaminaswim + @boody, which fashion ratings app @goodonyou gives high marks for eco-friendly, ethical practices & animal welfare.

by raising consciousness over what we throw away & just starting small – think: a retold bag in the laundry room ready for those solo socks – we can create easy recycling habits that become 2nd nature. subscribe to @retoldrecycling to get a jumpstart on your 2024 eco-intentions + follow @fourpawsusa to learn how you can support the #wearitkind pledge to reduce, refine and replace animal-based fashion with kinder, sustainable choices.

#genevieve padalecki #towwn

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helielune · 3 months ago

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Pls tell me about the perfect app that lives in your head rent free

hello!!!! ok!!!!! i am here to dump all my brain sludge right here now!!

to preface i know there's like a bajillion productivity apps out there with varying degrees of quality so the likelihood of this already existing is very much nonzero BUT i think the possibility of it not existing yet is also very nonzero so here it is!!

essentially, the main premise is that one post, which said 'if thinking naruto would be proud of you for brushing your teeth, then grab that toothbrush dattebayo' or something along those lines.

it's an app that gives you a character to motivate you and work alongside you and celebrate your successes with you and encourage you to get up when you're. currently not up

mockup images!

is this miku? maybe.

anyways so the basic user workflow is that you would open the app (perhaps through a morning notification, if you're into that) and be greeted by your beautiful and supportive character, as well as your daily tasks. then you get to work!

each task or work session you complete will earn you currency! and with that currency you can deck out your character in the shop! think of a picrew. you can change their hair. their clothes. their body type. you can turn them into naruto if that helps you. you can make a whole new character if you want! and then you'll have two supporting characters!! this will all cost you 'work' though.

notes about the to-do list area:

morning routine section. this would hopefully be sort of a built-in feature. it would give you a morning notification to do all this stuff and include an animation of your character doing routine stuff with you so you feel like you have a friend brushing ur teeth with you lol

the tasks all have a label attached but i guess you don't really need one if you don't want one

the little tag that says '25m' on laundry means that you think doing the laundry will take 25 minutes of focus time. if you click on the hourglass icon next to it, it'll take you to a timer for 25 minutes automatically.

if you don't set time it'll just give you the default pomodoro timer sessions, which you can change in your settings. i'm a freak for settings so if this actually gets made you can rest assured there will be enough minute settings to go around

it lets you do 'counter' type tasks too, see 'apply to jobs'. thanks to habitica for that idea

notes about the timer page:

basically it tells you to focus on a single task. if you clicked the timer button for a single task in your list on the homepage that will be the highlighted one. if you clicked the general timer button then it'll just pull the first or a random one or something. but it only shows you one.

unless you click the expand button because i'm not gonna lock you out of viewing your own todo list

you can also 'quick' add a new task! like y'know when you suddenly realize you need to do that extra thing on the side just WRITE IT DOWN instead of getting sidetracked. maybe if i feel like it i'll let you take photos for tasks or speech to text or y'know. just make it easy and quick

during the breaks it plays a little break animation to remind u to drink water or eat something or whatever

i think i need to move some buttons around and stuff but generally this is what so many hours of my life (like years of turning it around in my mind plus the past few days of making these images) has turned into. some other features i would ideally have are screen time checkers so your character pops in when you've been on your phone for too long and says Hey. plus other stuff but this is already long

am i ever actually going to make this? probably i'd only get to a super basic version of it. at least a todo list. but those apps already exist...

there are some super limiting/challenging problems that i haven't really been able to solve. like 1. the picrew. god damn i want to make a picrew so badly but i just do Not have the time or energy. and if i use animations inside this thing to make it cuter than i would essentially be making a whole picrew like FIVE TIMES (FOR THE FRAMES).

and it leads into the next issue 2. the continuous motivation. it's easy to be motivated when you're using a brand new cutesy app and have like a hundred things to buy but what if you run out?? how many things do i have to draw to keep up with the demand and keep it motivating?? especially if the items in the store are hit or miss (which is. inevitable, because no store can be 100% only things that you want to buy) then the pickings get slim REALLY fast.

3. the personalities of the characters. it's one thing to provide a character and make its personality myself (i would do that anyway, a small handful of default characters, because you do need to get started somewhere) but it's another thing entirely to make a billion different lines of text to minutely capture the possible words of encouragement that every fictional character you ever liked would say. so you can have an accurate replica of them in your motivational app for maximum motivational affect. is this actually important to people? idk but i feel like if ur productivity app said smth weird and u went like 'he would not fucking say that' it might break the spell. so

thats the basic rundown if u have any questions OR FEEDBACK (!!!!!!!) hmu if you want to use this app also hmu but maybe don't depend on me making it in full... so some alternatives i found while looking for inspo are

habitica (classic gamification, does a lot of similar stuff including personalization!)

finch (just a supportive buddy, mostly for habits and self care)

otto (it's really cute and basically you take care of a Creature by focusing, but it's only a browser extension i think)

someone on a reddit thread made a feature-heavy gamified habit/productivity browser extension here and it seems very useful!!!

also other resources:

Magic ToDo - GoblinTools breaks tasks down into subtasks for you! it's not always 100% accurate but can be a start :) especially since you can decide how many parts you want

forest (i used this a lot before, it's more of a screen time stopper but it's got a sort of fatal flaw in that you have to actively begin using it each time. sometimes i just need someone to kick me out of a scrolling loop.) (also after they started monetizing the prizes it got boring :( )

my friends used opal before for screen time reasons but it's paid. if u have money that's probably a good choice

'amazing marvin' is another productivity/habit browser extension which is also paid. if you're into paying. heard it's good and super customizable to you too

i once tried cold turkey to break my screen habits and at least i can say it is VERY effective at what it says it does. just be careful with what you block lol

if u made it this far here's an extra miku for ur troubles. i drew it bc. i was gonna make a sprite and then got lost in the sauce. these mockups are gonna singlehandedly make me a master at ms paint mouse/trackpad drawing

btw it's not wednesday september 11 right now unless it is for you in which case how is it living in the Future? or the Past. i don't make the time rules

#thoughts from hel #star signs #if you're an innocent bystander wondering if you should expand this post it does take 2 scrolls on my laptop to bypass. just fyi.#my art

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