#Tax Professional Tips

[lukesmithinsights]

7 Benefits of Hiring a Tax Professional to Prepare Your Return

[tfincareer]

The Case for Mutual Funds: Why They Could Outshine ETFs in Your Portfolio

Mutual Funds Could Outshine ETFs in Your Portfolio Investing can be perplexing, particularly when choosing reasonable alternatives for your portfolio. Two well-known choices are shared reserves and exchange-traded stores (ETFs). Whereas Mutual Funds and ETFs both can offer assistance in developing your cash, there are great reasons to consider ordinary stores. Let’s see why shared saves might be…

[finlotax]

Essential tax tips every small business owner should know to maximize savings

Tips for tax savings

1. Deferring income/expenses

As a small business owner, you can consider deferring incomes or expenses based on business conditions. If business for the year has been slow and profits are lower than expected, you can consider deferring expenses and increasing income for taxation purposes. However, such a step should only be adopted if you are anticipating higher profits during the following year. Income growth is accelerated by speeding up cash collection before December 31 while simultaneously deferring the payment of expenses till after the new year. This will result in the income received during this year being taxed at a lower rate, while the expenses carried forward to the next year can be useful to set off against the higher income of the new year. On the contrary, if profits are expected to be high this year, you can consider deferring income to the next year and increasing expenses in the current year to reduce the taxable income for the year. This can be achieved by paying some of next year’s expenses in the current year.

2. Qualified business income deduction

If your business is structured appropriately, you can claim a Qualified Business Income deduction under the Section 199A. As a small business owner, you can avail of a 20% deduction in qualified business income when calculating federal taxes. However, this deduction is applicable on “pass-throughs”, a process where the owner pays the tax on the business income rather than the business itself paying the tax. That tax break is scheduled to expire after 2025without changes from Congress, which could affect millions of filers. Consult a tax professional to know if this deduction is applicable to your business. 

3. Resourceful tax planning

If you have a fairly good idea of how your business is likely to perform during the next tax year, you can prepare for the possibility of higher taxes by creating a cash reserve that can be used to pay the IRS. This will ensure you do not face liquidity problems when it is time to pay your taxes. Another way to meet your tax liabilities for the year is to pay estimated taxes based on the tax paid during the previous year. So, if your business did not do well the previous year, you would be required to pay a relatively low amount of estimated tax for the current year which would preserve your liquidity. Ensure you pay at least 90% of the tax estimated for the current year or 100% of the tax on your return for the previous year whichever is lower, to avoid being penalized. The balance would be due at the end of the current year. These figures should be worked out with the help of your tax consultant or accountant.

4. Use your car for business purposes

Using your car for your business can have several tax benefits for your small business. Car expenses are permitted as deductions from taxable income. Deductible car expenses are calculated at a standard mileage rate of cents per mile or actual expenses are considered. Eligibility for this deduction will depend upon taxable income. 

5. Create a retirement savings plan

Creating a retirement plan secures your future and helps reduce the tax rate on your income. Individuals and businesses can contribute to a SEP IRA or 401(k)-retirement plan. Business owners can set up retirement plans for their employees and the cost of setting up and administering these plans can be claimed as a deduction.

These are just a few ways in which small businesses can reduce their tax liability and increase liquidity. These steps to reduce your tax liability can be adopted in consultation with a tax professional based on your business size and organizational structure.

Finlotax: A professional accounting and taxation firm in CA

We are Finlotax, a prominent bookkeeping, CFO and taxation firm based in CA. We take care of all your complex bookkeeping and financial needs at affordable prices. We can help you save on taxes with our tax planning and consultation services. Just reach out to us at 4088229406 and talk to our experts.

[breelandwalker]

Professional Witch reporting for duty with U.S. tax tips!

If you made enough to declare it on your taxes, even if it doesn't change your income bracket, it may result in a smaller return or a bill for unpaid sales tax. (Had to deal with this last year, it wasn't fun.) You'll likely receive a 1099 tax form from whatever service you use for transactions if you made enough to qualify.

To help offset possible charges, you can and SHOULD declare any expenses related to your business on your tax return. And yes, this works even if you're a single-person operation without an Inc or an LLC or a brick-and-mortar retail space.

Here are some examples of things you can deduct:

Supplies - If you deal in physical items, you probably had to order stock or supplies. Anything that relates directly to your merch or your operation is fair game, whether you shipped it to yourself or directly to a customer. (See Also: Postage and Mailing Expenses)

Equipment - If you had to purchase things to assist with your creation process, your retail space, or live events, these can be deducted. Table, chairs, and canopy for a summer fair? Deductible. New computer or specialized equipment for the business? Deductible.

Postage and Mailing Expenses - If you ship your wares anywhere, any costs for postage, packing materials, or PO box rental qualify as deductible.

Hosting Fees and Marketing - If you pay for website hosting or buy adspace or contract someone to create a site or a logo for your business, all of that is deductible.

Event Fees - If you attended any live events, you can deduct your table fee or space rental payment, the fuel you used to get to the venue, any tolls incurred on the road, parking fees, and any meals you purchased on the day. This also applies to any fees associated with vending at virtual events.

Rent/Mortgage and Utilities - Yes, you read that right. If you have a home office or dedicated workspace, you can deduct a portion of your monthly rent or mortgage and a portion of your internet and electricity bills. If you use your phone for your business, even if it's just for app purposes, you can deduct a portion of that bill too. You'll need to calculate the total square footage of your home and the room you use for your workspace. Find the percentage of the overall space that room takes up and that's the portion you can deduct from those bills.

To put it more simply, let's say I have a 1000 sq ft apartment and I use a 10x10 room for my workspace. That room is 100 sq ft, which is 10% of the overall space. So I can deduct an amount equal to 10% of my total rent, electricity, cable, and phone bills for the year for having a home office. (It's worth noting that if you own a home, you can deduct the interest from your mortgage too.)

Professional Service Fees - If your business requires the services of a professional (i.e. contractor, consultant, repair tech, financial advisor, legal counsel, tax preparation, etc.), any fees directly associated with your business or workspace may be deductible. Double-check on this if you're not sure whether the services rendered qualify as deductible.

In conclusion, SAVE YOUR RECEIPTS! If you're not already keeping a record of your sales and expenses, start doing it NOW and do as much retroactive recordkeeping as possible. Trust me, it will save you so many headaches.

Good luck, witches!

USA Witchcraft Reminder

(probably applies elsewhere)

If you made money from your witchcraft in 2023, you may need to declare it on your taxes!

Now, I know this is tumblr and people seldom make enough to shift them into another tax bracket, but this is something you need to think about (and perhaps talk with a tax professional) if you use witchcraft as part of your income.

[jwanniie]

Can u do gp assassin minji x reader where minji was tasked to take down an important person but as she was observing he

Pairings: G!p Assasin Minji x f!reader!

Warnings: dub-con, somno,slight non-con at first, Assasin minji, knife play, degrading, pet names, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t be silly wrap your Willy), slight breeding at the end, cervix fucking, mention of pregnancy, kinda kidnapping at the end, not proofread, just filthy smut!!

Word count: 1,6k

Jwans note: huh😮‍💨 after a month of not posting, it was difficult to actually start writing and I felt ashy and dry.🫣 but my long ass summer break started, so I will be posting more (yayy), I’m going to a trip with my friends in few days so YIPPEEEEE😍😍I’m so excited (uwu)👁️👅👁️

—————————————————————————

Minji was good at her job, or that’s what she could say, extremely good. Don’t you get fooled by the sweet plump lips, gorgeous smile that made everyone forget about their worries or the eyes that stared at you so delicately. To say that at first when you meet her you’d think she’d work on those cat cafes, kindergarten teacher or a major that inquired art would be an understatement.

The plot twist is that the most innocent and dreamy looking people turn into the most twisted and full of secrets individuals. The ones that you’d look at and think ‘no way they would do that?!’. But like the famous George Eliot said “don’t judge a book by its cover.” applied in most situations.

Minji worked as a professional assasin, she took 47 people down without an ounce of effort, the police tried to investigate those cases, but the outcome would always be a hair gripping disappointment. Nonetheless the only hope the police always had was the small ‘Mj’ that was slowly tatted into the victim’s skin with probably a dagger or an extremely sharp blade. They tried to see possible nail scratches, DNA, fingerprints, they even tried to look at the security cameras but there was no sign of anyone entering or leaving, it was like she appeared out of nowhere and disappeared into thin air.

Minji did not like the idea of being under someone's authority or taking orders from anyone. She preferred to work for herself and to be her own boss. However, on occasions, she would consider offers that came with a filthy payment. And that’s what happened with you.

There was this guy who came to Minji and told her he will give her a horrible amount of money if she can take you down. From what she heard from that guy is that you were some really famous and wealthy man’s daughter, and an only child. Your father had a company and by that company he hid his illegal business like money laundering, drug producing, tax evasion and bribery. And to what she also heard is that your dad had stolen money and refuses to give it back to the guy who came to her and that’s why he wanted to get a revenge from your father.

Minji has figured out your schedule with her ways and planned a day when you'll be very busy and tired, so you'll go straight to bed. This will make Minji's job much easier.

Minji wore baggy jeans and a long sleeved black shirt to avoid any suspicion. She let her hair loose to make her features appear more unrecognizable and she had black mask in her black tote bag to wear once she’s in your apartment and in case you’ll wake up.

She tip toed to your apartment building. The building was very minimalistic compared to what she heard who your dad was and how filthy rich you are. She expected a whole apartment building just for you to live in. But it turned out that you lived in an apartment which had families, students and office workers, like any apartment.

She pressed the elevator button and soon she stepped inside. She looked for number ‘12’ and soon she found it. The elevator was pretty fast and it wasn’t long till she was in her desired floor.-Her eyes traveled to all of the doors, in search for the apartment ‘47’. She later stood in front of the door, the lock getting destroyed by her and the door opening. A dark hall getting exposed to her eyes. She timidly and slowly walks in, taking in every little detail.

The hall was soon done and she was met with a closed door by her right, this was where your room could be since all of the other doors of the apartment were open and this was the only door closed.

She quietly opened the door being met with a laying figure, blanket draped over your thighs and lower abdomen while your upper body was exposed to cold air. The moon shining through the window making a dainty and delicate silhouette appear on the wall.

You were in a deep void, so out of this world, too deep in sleep to wake up anytime soon. Your breathing was soft and almost soundless while your chest was inhaling and exhaling slowly.

She was so fascinated by the sight she almost forgot her mission, she felt a rush of blood down her member, her pants feeling way too tight for her liking. She was ripped back to reality when you changed your position, now laying on your back.

She walked closer to your bed, admiring you now from so close. Taking in the little details, she couldn’t adore from far there. She noticed how the cold air made your nipples poke from your silky black night gown. The way the blanket was so down that your thighs were bare till the knees.

Since she already came all the way here, why can’t she have you at least once or maybe twice and then murder you? It would be fast and beside who can stop her, you are asleep and even if you did wake up. Would you fight her back? You can’t. She can just end you with a second. You were basically under her mercy.

She placed her bag on the nightstand before hovering over you. Her legs straddling your thighs. She slid down her slacks before tossing them across the bedroom. You had easy clothing, fast to remove or even rip. She took the hem of the night gown and lifted it till your breasts. She groaned at the sight, you had no panties on, just so easy and beautiful to use. Your perky mounds were soft and so plushy begging to be sucked and worshipped. While the hips to waist ratio was absolutely perfect.

Fuck, she had to kill such a precious and beautiful doll.

Her length was at this point so upwards, the tip angry red while spilling creamy white substance and her balls heavy and almost purple-ish.-Without any prepping or anything she slammed herself in, immediately groaning at the suck of your cunt. Your walls hugging her so tightly, almost too hard to move.

Her both hands went to your breasts, cupping them, while the pad of her thumb started toying with your nipples. Twisting and squeezing the hardened bud.

Your cunt got wetter with every thrust of her hips which made her pace pick up even more, her tip kissing your cervix with every single thrust.

The uncomfortable feeling in your lower region made your eyes flutter open, slightly contemplating is this a dream or the reality. But with every passing second the feeling got even more real and you were getting conscious back again.

When you were fully aware. You were going to let out a bloody scream but before you could even open your mouth, her hand found it way above your mouth. She didn’t stop her hips movements instead, getting even more faster.

Her other hand went to the nightstand, she was rummaging through her back and you were trying to see what she was trying to find. Your curiosity was soon replaced with fear when you saw what she was looking for.

She was looking for one of those kitchen knives in every typical horror movies.-There was soon a sinister evil smile across her face. Her dark eyes looked at your fear full ones.

“I’m not stopping doll, so you better also enjoy this, don’t cause me trouble and if you do..you know your faith.” She said while the tip of the knife was running across your skin. Hard enough to make a small scratch, but not hard enough to let out blood.

Her movements were in halt but soon she started again. She was ramming your insides, you hated to admit that it felt good, way too good.

She was pounding you like there was no tomorrow, well it kinda is true. Her hands let go from your mouth and you wish she didn’t. Now she has to hear the sounds you let for her. Then she thinks you are enjoying this.

With another hit of her tip on your cervix, you let out a loud moan, a pressure on your lower abdomen lingering there.

She chuckled darkly at the sound her tip taking the knife in her grasp.

“Turned out you were enjoying this, huh? Such a pretty little slut!” The sharp blade was running across your inner thighs the fear turning into pleasure. She slightly made the blade sink into your skin, a small bloody cut was now on your inner thighs.

The pain turned you even more on. The pain making your walls clasp around her uncontrollably. Nonetheless she continued her ramming, her tip was completely out before slamming with full force in. The cycle continued.

With the last womb fucking of her cock you reached your climax. Pleasure running through your body while squirming now underneath her.

Your pussy was squeezing her cock after your release and that made her reach her own high, she fucked you faster and with more passion now that she was close.

Without warning her essence painted your walls white, splashing right into your womb. She fucked harder through her high, you were whining and moving under her, the overwhelming feeling of overstimulation hitting you harder than ever. Her cum was now deeper, leaving you with a risk of pregnancy.

“Maybe I should keep you and just tell them I killed you? You would be my personal fuck doll!” She said before wrapping a tape right on top of your mouth, not even waiting to hear your answer.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Keeping a suspense file gives you superpowers

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

Two decades ago, I was part of a group of nerds who got really interested in how each other managed to do what we did. The effort was kicked off by Danny O'Brien, who called it "Lifehacking" and I played a small role in getting that term popularized:

https://craphound.com/lifehacksetcon04.txt

While we were all devoted to sharing tips and tricks from our own lives, many of us converged on an outside expert, David Allen, and his bestselling book "Getting Things Done" (GTD, to those in the know):

https://gettingthingsdone.com/

GTD is a collection of relatively simple tactics for coping with, prioritizing, and organizing the things you want to do. Many of the methods relate to organizing your own projects, using a handful of context-based to-do lists (e.g. a list of things to do at the office, at home, while waiting in line, etc). These lists consist of simple tasks. Those tasks are, in turn, derived from another list, of "projects" – things that require more than one task, which can be anything from planning dinner to writing a novel to helping your kid apply to university.

The point of all this list-making isn't to do everything on the lists. While these lists do help you remember what to do next, what they're really good for is deciding what not to do – at all. The promise of GTD is that it will help you consciously choose not to do some of the things you set out to accomplish. This is in contrast to how most of us operate: we have a bunch of things we want to do, and we end up doing the things that are easiest, or at top of mind, even if they're not the most important things.

GTD recognizes that you can be very "productive" (in the sense of getting many things done) and still not do the things that you really wanted to do. You know what this is like: you finish a Sunday with an organized sock-drawer, all your pennies neatly rolled, the trash-can in your car emptied…and no work at all on that novel you're hoping to write.

You can't do everything, but you can control what you don't do, rather than just defaulting into completing a string of trivial, meaningless tasks and leaving the big stuff on the sidelines. Organizing your own tasks and projects is a hugely powerful habit, and one that's made a world of difference to my personal and professional life.

But while good to-do lists can take you very far in life, they have a hard limit: other people. Almost every ambitious thing you want to do involves someone else's contribution. Even the most solitary of projects can be derailed if your tax accountant misses a key email and you end up getting audited or paying a huge penalty.

That's where the other kind of GTD list comes in: the list of things you're waiting for from other people. I used to be assiduous in maintaining this list, but then the pandemic struck and no one was meeting any of their commitments, and I just gave up on it, and never went back…until about a month ago. Returning to these lists (they're sometimes called "suspense files") made me realize how many of the problems – some hugely consequential – in my life could have been avoided if I'd just gone back to this habit earlier.

My suspense file is literally just some lines partway down a text file that lives on my desktop called todo.txt that has all my to-dos as well. Here's some sample entries from my suspense file:

WAITING EMAIL Sean about ENSHITTIIFCATION manuscript deadline 10/24/24 WAITING EMAIL Russ about missing royalty statement 10/12/24 WAITING EMAIL Alice about Christmas vacation hotel 10/8/24 10/20/24 WAITING EMAIL Ted about Sacramento event 8/12/24 9/5/24 10/5/24 10/20/24

WAITING CALL LA County about mosquito abatement 10/25/24 WAITING CALL School attendance officer about London trip 10/18/24

WAITING MONEY EFF reimbusement for taxi to staff retreat $34.98 10/7/24

WAITING SHIPMENT New Neal Stephenson novel from Bookshop.org 10/23/24

This is as simple as things could possibly be! I literally just type "WAITING," then a space, then the category of thing I'm waiting for, then a few specifics, then the date. When I follow up on an item, I add the date of the followup to the end of the line. If I get some details that I might need to reference later (say, a tracking code for a shipment, or a date for an event I'm trying to organize), I'll add that, too, as it comes up. Creating a new entry on this list takes 10-25 seconds. When someone gets back to me, I just delete that line.

That is literally it.

Every day, or sometimes a couple of times a day, I will just run my eyes up and down this list and see if there's anything that's unreasonably overdue, and then I'll send a reminder or make a followup call. In the example above, you can see that I've been chasing Ted about Sacramento for months now (this is a fake entry – no plans to go to Sacto at the moment, sorry):

WAITING EMAIL Ted about Sacramento event 8/12/24 9/5/24 10/5/24 10/20/24

So now I've emailed Ted four times. Maybe my email's going to his spam, and so I could try emailing a friend of Ted and ask them to check whether he's getting my messages. But maybe Ted's trying to send me a message here – he's just not interested in doing the event after all. Or maybe Ted is available, but he's so snowed under that he's in danger of fumbling it, and I need to bring in some help if I want it to happen.

All of these are possibilities, and the fact that I'm tracking this means that I now get to make an active decision: cancel the gig or double down on making sure it happens. Without this list, the gig would just die by default, forgotten by both of us. Maybe that's OK, but I can't tell you how many times I've run into someone who said, "Dammit, I just remembered I was supposed to email you about getting that thing done and I dropped the ball. Shit! I really was looking forward to that. Is it too late now?" Often it is too late. Even if it's not, the work of picking up the pieces and starting over is much more than just following through on the original plan.

Restarting my suspense file made me realize how many of the (often expensive or painful) fumbles I've had since the pandemic were the result of me not noticing that someone else hadn't gotten back to me. In essence, a suspense file is a way for me to manage other people's to-do lists.

Let me unpack that. By "managing other people's to-do lists," I don't mean that I'm deciding for other people what they will and won't do (that would be both weird and gross). I mean that I'm making sure that if someone else fails to do something we were planning together, it's because they decided not to do it, not because they forgot. As GTD teaches us, the real point of a to-do list isn't just helping us remember what to do – it's helping us choose what we're not going to do.

This is not an imposition, it's a kindness. The point of a suspense file isn't to nag others into living up to their commitments, it's to form a network of support among collaborators where we all help one another make those conscious choices about what we're not going to do, rather than having the stuff we really value slip away because we forgot about it.

I have frequent collaborators whom I know to be incapable of juggling too many things at once, and my suspense file has helped me hone my sense of when it would be appropriate to ask them if they want to do something together and when to leave them be. The suspense file helps me dial in how much I rely on each person in my life (relying on someone isn't the same as valuing them – and indeed, one way to value someone is to only rely on them for things they're able to do, rather than putting them in a position of feeling bad for failing you).

Lifehacking gets a bad rap, and justifiably so. Many of the tips that traffick as "lifehacks" are trivial or stupid or both. What's more, too much lifehacking can paint you into a corner where you've hacked any flexibility out of your life:

https://locusmag.com/2017/11/cory-doctorow-how-to-do-everything-lifehacking-considered-harmful/

But ever since Danny coined the term "lifehack," back in 2004, I've been cultivating daily habits that have let me live the life I wanted to live, accomplishing the things I wanted to accomplish. I figured out how to turn daily writing into a habit and now I've written more than 30 books:

https://www.locusmag.com/Features/2009/01/cory-doctorow-writing-in-age-of.html

A daily habit of opening a huge, ever-tweaked collection of tabs has made me smarter about the news, helped me keep tabs on my friends, helped me find fraudsters who were trying to steal my identity, and ensured that all those Kickstarter rewards and other long-delayed, erratic shipments didn't slip through the cracks:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/25/today-in-tabs/#unfucked-rota

Daily habits are superpowers. Once something is a habit, you get it for free. GTD turns on decomposing big, daunting projects into bite-sized, trackable tasks. I have a bunch of spaces around the house – my office, my closet, the junk sheds down the side of the house, our tiki bar – that I used to clean out once or twice a year. Each one was all-day, sweaty, dirty job, and for most of the year, all of those spaces were a dusty, disorganized mess.

A month ago, I added a new daily task: spend five minutes cleaning one space. I did the bar first, and after two weeks, I'd taken down every tchotchke and bottle and polished it, reorganizing the undercounter spaces where things pile up:

https://www.flickr.com/search/?user_id=37996580417%40N01&sort=date-taken-desc&text=tiki+bar&view_all=1

Now I'm working through my office. Ever day, I'm dusting a bookshelf and combing through it for discards to stick in our Little Free Library. Takes less than five minutes most day, and I'll be done in about three weeks, when I'll move on to my closet, then the side of the house, and then back to the bar. A daily short break where I get away from my computer and make my living and working environments nicer is a wonderful habit to cultivate.

I'm 53 years old now. I was 33 when I started following Getting Things Done. In that time, I've gotten a lot done, but what's even more relevant is that I didn't get a ton of things done – things that I consciously chose not to abandon. Figuring out what you want to do, and then keeping it on track – in manageable, healthy, daily rhythms that bring along the other people you rely on – may not be the whole secret to a fulfilled life, but it's certainly a part of it.

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/2024/10/26/one-weird-trick/#todo.txt

[writers-potion]

I'm writing a sci-fi story about a space freight hauler with a heavy focus on the economy. Any tips for writing a complex fictional economy and all of it's intricacies and inner-workings?

Constructing a Fictional Economy

The economy is all about: How is the limited financial/natural/human resources distributed between various parties?

So, the most important question you should be able to answer are:

Who are the "have"s and "have-not"s?

What's "expensive" and what's "commonplace"?

What are the rules(laws, taxes, trade) of this game?

Building Blocks of the Economic System

Type of economic system. Even if your fictional economy is made up, it will need to be based on the existing systems: capitalism, socialism, mixed economies, feudalism, barter, etc.

Currency and monetary systems: the currency can be in various forms like gols, silver, digital, fiat, other commodity, etc. Estalish a central bank (or equivalent) responsible for monetary policy

Exchange rates

Inflation

Domestic and International trade: Trade policies and treaties. Transportation, communication infrastructure

Labour and employment: labor force trends, employment opportunities, workers rights. Consider the role of education, training and skill development in the labour market

The government's role: Fiscal policy(tax rate?), market regulation, social welfare, pension plans, etc.

Impact of Technology: Examine the role of tech in productivity, automation and job displacement. How does the digital economy and e-commerce shape the world?

Economic history: what are some historical events (like The Great Depresion and the 2008 Housing Crisis) that left lasting impacts on the psychologial workings of your economy?

For a comprehensive economic system, you'll need to consider ideally all of the above. However, depending on the characteristics of your country, you will need to concentrate on some more than others. i.e. a country heavily dependent on exports will care a lot more about the exchange rate and how to keep it stable.

For Fantasy Economies:

Social status: The haves and have-nots in fantasy world will be much more clear-cut, often with little room for movement up and down the socioeconoic ladder.

Scaricity. What is a resource that is hard to come by?

Geographical Characteristics: The setting will play a huge role in deciding what your country has and doesn't. Mountains and seas will determine time and cost of trade. Climatic conditions will determine shelf life of food items.

Impact of Magic: Magic can determine the cost of obtaining certain commodities. How does teleportation magic impact trade?

For Sci-Fi Economies Related to Space Exploration

Thankfully, space exploitation is slowly becoming a reality, we can now identify the factors we'll need to consider:

Economics of space waste: How large is the space waste problem? Is it recycled or resold? Any regulations about disposing of space wste?

New Energy: Is there any new clean energy? Is energy scarce?

Investors: Who/which country are the giants of space travel?

Ownership: Who "owns" space? How do you draw the borders between territories in space?

New class of workers: How are people working in space treated? Skilled or unskilled?

Relationship between space and Earth: Are resources mined in space and brought back to Earth, or is there a plan to live in space permanently?

What are some new professional niches?

What's the military implication of space exploitation? What new weapons, networks and spying techniques?

Also, consider:

Impact of space travel on food security, gender equality, racial equality

Impact of space travel on education.

Impact of space travel on the entertainment industry. Perhaps shooting monters in space isn't just a virtual thing anymore?

What are some indsutries that decline due to space travel?

I suggest reading up the Economic Impact Report from NASA, and futuristic reports from business consultants like McKinsey.

If space exploitation is a relatiely new technology that not everyone has access to, the workings of the economy will be skewed to benefit large investors and tech giants. As more regulations appear and prices go down, it will be further be integrated into the various industries, eventually becoming a new style of living.

[sgiandubh]

The door faces North

This has been, by far, one of the most complex investigations I have ever done in this fandom, and I am truly sorry for the long wait I had to inflict on many of you & for the uncharacteristic radio silence in DMs and comments. During this peculiar journey, I checked, double-checked and cross-checked as many details as I could and I carefully considered at least two different theories, of which I still think they do not exclude each other. I am now confident enough to make not only an educated guess, but also a daring bet on SRH's next whisky move.

Also, sorry for the length of this post. Truly sorry - think of the completely pulverized night sleep I had to give up, in order to bring this to you.

But first, a word on Marple's obvious PR tip on the Hopetoun Estate refurbishment and distillery old/new project. I am fair game enough to tell you the obvious: her overall recounting of the principals is roughly correct, spare perhaps one or two minor details. Correct, but dry - she limits herself to the technical documentation submitted by Golden Decanters and The Hopetoun Estates Trust to the West Lothian Council for approval. She correctly points out that S is not a visible part of the deal, at this point in time and she does a decent summing up of a very, very, VERY plethoric amount of bureaucratic information. She concludes, and I think she is partially right, that he might be interested in becoming an investor (I am taking things a bit further, though). But in doing so, she focuses on the development phase of the project only: the possible connections with SRH and his own spirits business are less, if at all, obvious.

I am going to give you my view of all this charade and, if I am going to mention (and probably repeat) some things already found by her, I am going to focus on the people: this is where the whole story starts to become remarkably interesting, at least to me. After all, I remember promising you some more clarity. Here's an honest, fair play take.

Little did I know, when I started to write about that (now defunct) company, Midhope Castle Distillery, Ltd (https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/748597198794670080/the-info-provided-above-is-correct-but-outdated?source=share), that my investigation would turn to this:

... for it was to be just an almost random layer of a juggernaut matryoshka of defunct or still active companies, featuring roughly the same people and no less than 6 different name combinations centered around Midhope, Hopetoun, etc.

The following pics will give you an idea - feel free to open them in a separate tab, for clarity . I preferred this synthetic approach, because otherwise you will curse the shite out of me. But it had to be done, with or without Depon, Advil's Greek cousin (and before you ask a graphologist, this is my handwriting, and nobody else's 🙃):

The only explanation for the whole almost frantic Midhope/Hopetoun crisscross/hopscotch (LOL) combos I can think of is two people trying to secure one (several?) credit lines or to attract significant investors for their project and ultimately failing to do so. But I might be wrong (although I doubt that, thank you). Out of this entire maze ( I swear I now have a migraine), there are only two active companies remaining: Golden Decanters Ltd (renamed GD Spirits Ltd, in April 2022) and Midhope Ltd (renamed Skosk Ltd, in July 2023). It is on them I am going to focus my gaze.

GD Spirits Ltd was incorporated in Berwick-upon-Tweed, England (just across the Scottish border), probably for tax reasons, on March 11, 2015, the nature of its business being listed as 'wholesale of wine, beer, spirits, etc.'. It started with a team of two women: Julia Mackenzie-Gillanders and Ann Medlock, whose names we are going to see over and over again in all the eight corporate avatars. Later down the timeline (LOL for three decades and a half), on January 30, 2018, they were briefly (until July 19, 2018) joined by two very interesting professionals: Mrs. Margaret Boswell, an attorney at the very prestigious international law firm Gide Loyrette Nouel (Paris and London offices)...

...and Ken Robertson, former Corporate Affairs Director at Diageo Whisky, a subsidiary of the international Diageo group, one of the major players on the world spirits' market:

The second company, Skosk Ltd, was incorporated in August 2021, in Perth, Scotland, its nature of business being listed as 'distilling, rectifying and blending of spirits', with the clear intention to align with the exacting criteria prescribed by the 2009 Scotch Whisky Regulations:

[ Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scotch_whisky - sorry, I don't have time to wax lyrical on this, and neither do you]

This time, we only meet again the two distillerettes, Gillanders and Medwick. Up until now, at least, nobody else (attorney, former sales executive, whisky expert) has joined the platoon - TBC? I would not speculate and leave all options open.

There is little to 0 transparency on Skosk's financial situation, at the moment and to be honest, it looks very much like S's co-star (hehe)'s Irish business venture...

... but I was a bit more lucky, and the numbers more chatty, as far as GD Spirits was concerned:

Paging all shipper chartered accountants out there, but to me, it doesn't look great, at the moment. Cash is ridiculous, the net worth is hemorrhaging and the current assets are negligible, compared to 2020, when I think they managed to secure one or two credit lines, but not nearly enough for what they needed. Just enough to pay themselves and their external consultants and cover the operating costs, if you ask me.

The revised Planning Statement, of 8 February 2024, posted first by Marple, echoes my initial guess (COVID blew it up, see link to the first post) and the above assessment:

Mark this: 'Discussions are now proceeding with investors and there is a realistic prospect that work will begin in the near future (2024/2025) to implement the permission.' Given that they will start with the road and parking rehabilitation and upgrading, probably overlapping with the distillery building, it would make sense to begin this autumn at the earliest, with the most urgent: access to the site itself.

The initial Planning Statement, dated 9 July 2020 and re-posted on March 21st, 2024, tells a more detailed story. This is part and parcel of the current project as well, since the revision is just pointing out the changes operated, not the entire rest, which remains unchanged. You be the judge:

Also keep in mind this tiny, tiny thing: the Business Plan is 'submitted (...) under Private and Confidential Cover'. See where I am looking?

The initial plan was (and still is) for GD Spirits to produce their own booze, using Midhope's own barley (this is very important for the rest of my theory!). They even offer an overview of the real impact of their project on the local economy:

20 to 38 initial new job creations for a £ 15 to 30 million investment is not 'huge', madam Marple. Cumbernauld is huge. This? This is rather modest, if you ask me. But hey, what do I know about the labor market, right?

That initial Statement tells also the story they want to tell about the genesis of their idea, the scouting for the right location and a couple of other interesting details:

So they are telling us they started to look for the perfect location in 2018 and oh, hello, they found the Hopetoun Estate rather quickly, already starting the pre-planning application consultations as early as July 2019 (don't get me started, please):

If so, then why did they incorporate not one, but two different companies clearly linking them to the Estate (Hopetoun Estate Distillery Ltd and Hopetoun Estate Whiskies Ltd) the same day and as early as May 23rd 2017 (and both dissolved in December 2022), as my above penciled timeline (LOOOOOL) shows? Who is really behind this project and why this entire ballet? It's like me pre-emptively looking for rental properties in (let's randomly guess) Lisbon, when it's just wishful thinking, heavily projecting and with 0 guarantees I will be posted there, right? I mean, I adore and deeply know Lisbon and I would be thrilled to go there. But I am not currently looking for any rental property, just like that, because that would be a #silly, rookie mistake. In their case, I think there's a different situation - again, you be the judge.

A first answer, as to who is really behind that project, was given by the UK media, back in 2020:

How odd, when we know that both Mrs. Boswell, the well-traveled attorney and Mr. Robertson resigned from GD Spirits in July 2018. Do they still say hi to the two distillerettes? Do they quietly keep an eye on the project? Are they silent partners? Business angels? Shareholders? Time to remind you that under UK law, there is 0 visibility on the shareholder's structure of a company. You just see the officers (Director, Secretary, etc), on the Company House website. On an umpteenth, last- second cross-check, it became apparent that Mr. Robertson remained involved in another company of the distillerettes, Hopetoun Estate Whiskies Ltd (yes, the one mentioned above), until its voluntary strike-off, in December 2022.

Their best laid plans do mention OL, and how could it be otherwise? But all this £ 15 to 30 million hullaballoo for 20.000 people only (who counted them and how?), on a seasonal basis?

High-end restaurant, luxury B&B, event spaces, you name it. Interesting, to say the least.

And, for the people in the back, who still think SRH has a 100 years lease at Midhope (Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, the stupidity!):

This is why he commented as a 'member of the public'. At face value, there is no public involvement into that project. Yet. But it is my belief there is a vested interest in all this, justifying the comment, the visit, those papers rolled in his fist, etc. At first, I thought that was a visit to Lallybroch by the Exec Producer of OL's Season 8, to discuss technicalities - and shared that privately with a wonderful friend only. I mean, why not and still perfectly possible. But then, as I could not sleep tonight and felt guilty to have you all waiting, I started to connect some tiny dots.

Like this one, for a start:

Yes, I know, Marple told you that FIRST, I would not dare say otherwise, because if I did there would be a transcontinental screech. That trademark application was filed at the US Patent and Trade Office in September 2023 and I thought (and still partially do) it was a potential rebranding solution to The Sassenach's EUIPO nightmare (much exaggerated by the fandom's toothbrush experts):

But you also know I am an idiot and I always check people's CVs, when I follow a thread. This morning, the one Distillerette I am particularly interested in is Mrs. Julia Hall-Mackenzie-Gillanders (née Scales) and not like *urv would be.

Her LinkedIn profile is exceptionally talkative, too:

... and a BA (with Honors) in Fashion Design, class of 2005, at the Northumbria University.

The Financial Times article 'From packing boxes to wine deals worth millions', you can read on her LinkedIn page, tells a very interesting story. It is the story of a shy underdog (lots of temple bells clinging, at the moment), who made it by sheer persistence. It starts like this:

'When a painfully shy young woman contacted a fine wine merchant and said ' I have no qualifications- can I help?', she got the job and today is signing deals worth millions of pounds.'

It obviously did ring a bell and if SRH knows she exists (she is married, *urv!), and I dare to speculate he does, it must have struck a deep chord. Would I do business with her? I wouldn't speculate, although I am not very sure. Would he? He'd probably listen very carefully to what she has to pitch, for a start.

And what she has to pitch is also very interesting, in his world. A brief look at the Golden Decanters' website shows a first high-end single malt sourced collection of 4 exceptional expressions already sold out:

And when they mean high-end, they mean gold leaf labelling and all the tralala:

And, some last minute news, too:

Remind me, because I am an old woman, after this white night: wasn't The Sassenach (no comment, we agree to disagree and I am very skeptical), a blend?

We have these dots, then:

Bold Underdog ->spirits business->high-end collection of single malts sold out->business partnership with owners of Midhope Castle, fictional Lallybroch in OL, including a distillery and whisky production with Midhope/Lallybroch barley -> visit by the male lead and spirits entrepreneur (also the fictional Lallybroch laird) to Midhope/Lallybroch and vested interest in the estate's most recent business project....

What if The Sassenach would be included, for a start, in that new Blended Collection? And could it really be fanfic to imagine a future high-end, limited edition, Lallybroch whisky produced at Midhope, with Midhope/Lallybroch barley? It wouldn't be the first time, would it: after all, they did it with that limited tequila batch.

As I said, because I am (remember Someone? LOL) a 'silly cow', I was hoping he wouldn't do it. But my guess is he might very well do exactly that, with those people and under that label.

It's half past eight AM, local time and I need a strong, black coffee.

I rest my case (and I am bracing myself for the screeching). I will answer Anons later, after I come back from the hairdresser's. Appointments must be kept at all costs. Thank you all for your patience.

[raineandsky]

#127

The lock on the door is an easy pick, and with one final touch the door clicks open and allows the villain inside.

Now, the villain is usually well above petty crime. He’s done his fair share of thieving. He’s pick-pocketed, he’s robbed, and yeah, sure, he’s broken into places here and there. But his life is actually fun now, thanks to a villainous promotion and some less of the dirty work, and so stealing ended up rather low on his list of fun weekend activities.

It’s not a weekend, though, and it sure as hell isn’t fun either. This is business, and goddamn if the villain isn’t a professional.

He glances at the screen of the phone in his hand, checking and rechecking the picture he took of the supervillain’s instructions. If only the supervillain wasn’t trained to be a doctor, his handwriting might be somewhat legible. He is though, unfortunately, and the villain is wishing he’d just typed up the words when he had the time before.

I’ve had a ‘tip’ on [Hero]’s address. The villain can just about make the words out. It’s like a word puzzle, which he is notoriously bad at already. I have reason to believe she’s got some important documents in there. Infiltrate, find her stash of secrets, and bring it in.

Easy enough. The fun part of stealing was usually finding the most expensive object, though, and the villain has an inkling that some paperwork won’t exactly make him a millionaire. He tucks the phone into his pocket, taking a moment to adjust his eyes to the darkness before shutting the door behind him and exploring.

He finds a living room, a bathroom, a kitchen, the fridge, ooh she has good taste. The villain plucks a punnet of grapes from the fridge and tosses one into his mouth. The supervillain has him on late nights—he doesn’t have time for dinner at the moment. The hero will have to survive without her grapes.

The office feels like stumbling across a mine of incredibly boring, inexpensive gold. The villain takes to rooting through the piles of papers mounting on the desk. All plain, civilian problems—bills, taxes, a newsletter from the mayor. Nothing exactly incriminating.

“What are you doing in my house?”

Who the hell is awake at three in the morning? The villain wasn’t that loud coming in. He turns dramatically, expecting to make his first introduction to the hero, but he isn’t faced with the hero. He isn’t faced with a hero at all.

An old lady is standing in the doorway, her glasses perched wonkily on her nose and a baseball bat in her hands. The bat is kind of menacing, at first, but then she has to awkwardly adjust her glasses and the illusion is gone.

The villain’s mind is short-circuiting. That’s not a goddamn hero. What the hell has the superhero gotten him into? What the hell is he meant to do with a bat-wielding civilian?

“You’re deaf as well as unlawful,” she adds drily.

“No, no.” The villain's cool demeanour is slipping too fast. “No, I can hear just fine, thank you.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“What question?”

The bat taps pointedly against the woman’s palm. She’d probably injure herself trying to swing it at him. That thought alone is vaguely comforting. Only vaguely, though—she’s still wielding a baseball bat.

“What are you doing in my house?”

“I am here,” the villain starts slowly, “to rob you blind.”

He doesn’t know what else to say. He didn’t expect to run into anyone, much less a civilian, much much less a little old lady. He’s running on a bank of prewritten sentences he used in his thieving days, and for some reason the least helpful one is the one that wants to be said.

The woman’s face scrunches up in an emotion the villain can’t read. At first he thinks it might be distress, or perhaps fear, but then she raises the bat and he realises that, oh, no, that’s actually unbridled rage.

She brings it down in an arc and the villain just about dodges to the side. She doesn’t seem to mind the fact the bat absolutely annihilates her desk in his stead. Jesus Christ, is that thing made of steel?

He may be a villain, and villainy may require a certain amount of balls, but this is where he draws the line. The old lady swings again, crashing into the glass cabinet a hair’s width away from the villain’s face, and he decides that no, he’s not dealing with this shit tonight.

He scrambles for the window, throwing himself out onto the fire escape stairs with his new nemesis in tow. She makes one last swipe at him as he takes the stairs down two at a time.

“I’ll bash your head in next time!” she shrieks after him.

It’s only when the villain is safely on the other side of the building that he slows down. He pulls his phone out, sucking in a deep breath, and unlocks it to look at the superhero’s note again. Really scrutinises it. Then it clicks. He sees the problem.

That’s not a 6. It’s an 8. He was on the wrong goddamn floor.

He stares blankly at the screen for a moment. He’s too old to be putting up with this shit.

He shoves his phone back in his pocket, heaves a age-old sigh, and lets himself back into the building for round two.

[mortarpestle]

ortolan

Short piece with professional chef!sukuna and younger kitchen porter reader. Title taken from the very brutal and illegal French delicacy of the same name, which one must hide their face to eat.

word count: 1.7k

*no curses au, age gap (chefkuna is in his 30s and reader is in their early 20s), employer-employee power imbalance, petnames ("kid", "brat"), Sukuna is intense, reader smokes right off the bat and is…a lil grim and unexpectedly Freudian?? Idk what happened here, suggestive themes ahead.

An angry red flake falls off the tip of your cigarette. It sways and loses some of its brightness on its way to the ground, succumbing to a puddle next to your feet. There's a couple more puffs left before you inevitably reach the filter, maybe double that amount if you're frugal with it. A few stolen breaths to catch until dinner rush.

You hate this fucking job.

You also know that by the time you clock out and return to your apartment, you’ll collapse on your bed with the prospect of a new shift working your nerves into a frenzy. Talk about an abusive relationship. Effectively stockholm syndromed by cutting boards and sous vides—and your boss.

Sukuna seems to have that effect on people.

Behind you, the back door creaks open. Heavy footsteps stamp down the stairs, coming to a stop by your makeshift ashtray. For a few precious seconds you’re content with counting the flour spots staining his black clogs (expensive brand, sleek, better than yours). He smells like his food; spicy, complex and a little smoky. The perks of working 14 hour shifts at a restaurant with high end cuisine and an even higher tax bracket among its customers, is that you’re afforded the luxury of smelling like a human being. No deep frier mystery oil notes clinging onto skin and clothes for you and especially him. You stifle a rather unsavoury thought about his cologne and inhale bitter smoke.

"You'll fry your lungs with that shit, kid."

Despite the distance, he sounds closer than you’d like, closer than you can handle having him. You don’t mean to shiver. Or for him to notice.

"That's the plan."

Every word coming out of your mouth makes you more conscious of your worldliness. Primarily your lack thereof. Speaking to your boss never ceases to make you seem like a peevish child in comparison. The little nickname he insists on using just for you doesn’t help either.

Sukuna doesn’t reply and your stomach churns.

"You don't smoke...why are you out here." You continue, painfully aware of your appearance.

"Don’t get it twisted. I should be the one asking you that. I can think of ten different things you should be doing before traffic picks up instead of getting cozy by the trash.”

The buildup sweat from the kitchen stovetops is slowly settling over your skin. Seated on one of the plastic crates left by your local produce supplier, you feel like a proper rat. What a picture to paint for the man singlehandedly responsible for funding your life.

Getting back to work is the lesser of the two evils you’re presented with. Still, one more smoke before shift's end sounds like a dream. You slip a stick out of the tobacco case tucked inside your apron pocket, taking his silence as permission to light it between your lips.

You smile.

"What's your vice, boss?"

Sukuna clicks his tongue. "Wouldn't you like to know."

He doesn't seem too offended. After working under him for nearly a year you've come to find that Sukuna is a man who is hard to surprise and equally as tricky to offend. Good at hiding it too, when he wants to. Which is why you ask again, be it a bad idea or not.

"Everybody has one. I've never met a professional chef without a few loose screws, so what is it?" Maybe you could've phrased that last better. You're too tired to care.

He mulls over your question without really giving into it. He’s awfully compliant today. Normally he would've chewed your ear off at the second cigarette.

Something’s off.

"I trust you include yourself in that crowd you speak of."

“Not really. I’m not a professional.”

(Ash stings your fingertips, but you refuse to let go.)

"You've got potential." He says, low and succinct.

You choke on your spit, laughing in earnest, "Sure.” Potential for cutting vegetables and cleaning after other people’s messes, maybe.

"I mean it, kid."

Sukuna leans against the railing, arms folding over his chest. One long glance out of the corner of your eye grants you with an intimate view of his tattoos. All these months you've been catching glimpses of the full design, unable to tell where it ends beneath the black fabric. Not a single hair is out of place. His uniform is rolled up just above his elbows, exposing tanned skin with tiny burn marks littered over hard muscle, no doubt from his early training years. He wears them like medals of honour.

The first thing you did after landing a position in his kitchen was googling his name. Ryomen Sukuna is fifteen years older than you and begrudgingly, the only thing standing between you and quitting as soon as tomorrow.

You’re no stranger to unwanted urges, the occasional intrusive thought. It’s human, you are human and therefore unjustly robbed of any sovereignty over your unconscious and its whims. You don’t think much of it. Even when you take your rare bathroom breaks outside peak hours, only to find that you’ve soaked through your underwear just from glances and strict instructions thrown your way. What does that say about you as a person? You don’t intend to figure it out today.

It's a classic case of treating the symptoms and not the source of your disease. Pretending he doesn’t exist outside of the physical place you both work at won’t get you very far. It won’t take long for the tide to turn over. Sukuna doesn’t play with his food. Only with the people tasked with preparing it.

You tug at a stray piece of lint on your chest, playing with the cotton ball over the flame of your lighter.

"If boss says it."

"Don't call me that." he all but sneers at you over your shoulder. His voice is grating when he wants it to be. You don’t flinch, not even when you turn around to catch the stare he’s drilling into your slouched back. On a second thought you don’t think he’s taken his eyes off of it since he he stepped out to join you. His stare is violence. He makes you want to crawl out of your own skin for comfort.

Working within a kitchen hierarchy is much like having a father; you get used to raised voices and empty threats whether you like it or not. With Sukuna creeping around the counters, you also learn to not talk back if you know what’s best for you. You consider yourself lucky to have never stood on the receiving end of anything more severe than a scolding. Then again, you’re not important enough in the grand scheme of it all, and you make a point to take advantage of that as often as you can.

"Are you not?" you sneer back.

"I'm quitting," Sukuna bares his teeth at you, "Expected to be gone by next week."

You bet he’s enjoying the look on your face. Surprised stupid.

"Pick your jaw up off the ground, s'not a good look on you."

You collect your thoughts and try to convince him that this doesn’t change everything for you. "Can I have your knives? The fancy Japanese ones you keep inside the office safe."

"You better keep your mouth shut and listen to what I have to say before I change my mind you brat." His voice commands you to look at him, "I'm not retiring. I'm opening my own joint and I want you to join me."

You feel nauseous.

"Why."

You've never been one to count your blessings, mainly because it's not worth doing so when you can do it on only one hand. Everyone says your early 20s are hell, the trenches of adulthood. No second-hand warnings and half assed attempts at lukewarm life lessons could've prepared you for the slump you hit after graduating college. Money is tight as it's always been, only now you've got twice the amount of problems and half the support.

The job advertisement was a beacon of good luck amidst a sea of bad decisions.

You had to fight tooth and nail to get through the first week (hell week, objectively the worst time in any hospitality job) without any power or warm water in your apartment after missing the payment deadline. Sukuna noticed—not like it was hard to, given that you looked like shit fresh into your employment—and slid you an early paycheck tucked inside an envelope on lunch break. A week's worth of dailies in an employment contract that only guarantees monthly wages.

You could cry.

(You did. In front of him.)

(He looked so distraught he almost snatched it back.)

"You're good, honest. Smart yet a little stupid, but even that's necessary to get by in the business. Like I said you have potential and I want you in my kitchen when you see it through."

"I think," you start.

Sukuna gives you a sly smile, mumbling a barely audible “Is that so” with his eyes narrowed down to slits.

"—You're only doing this out of spite. Stealing Gojo's staff is dirty work."

"Started that sentence on the wrong foot. You think I’d sabotage my own shit just to get back at that fraud? Most of the guys he's got back there working for him don't even know how to grill chicken without fucking up."

Yes. Yes, you do believe he’d do that, but opt to keep the thought to yourself. You’re sure Sukuna would kill the guy if he were guaranteed to get away with it. Gojo is an angel investor in name and nothing else.

"I'll give you a week, no more no less. Sit on it, let it marinade in that little head of yours and have your answer ready by morning shift." He pushes off the railing to take his leave. Halfway up the steps he backtracks to reach you, snatches the cigarette out of your fingers and takes a long drag, draining the leftover tobacco inside the poorly rolled paper. After he's done, he licks his lips and kisses his front teeth to taste your saliva, humming in satisfaction.

Kicking away the crate, you get up on baby fawn legs, half numb from being folded over yourself for so long. They tremble, a blink and you’ll miss it movement. Sukuna’s limp hand twitches by his side.

He’s about to leave for good when you speak again, moving towards him.

"You never answered my question.”

What's your vice?

Sukuna stumps your cigarette on the brick wall next to your head. His words are low, barely audible over the commotion slipping through the open door.

"Be good and I might just show you in practice."

[paper-mario-wiki]

I don't know if you've talked about this elsewhere already but was the break from streaming intentional and/or are you planning on returning to streaming some time in the foreseeable future? no pressure, I just miss your silly antics :o)

felt very burnt out from being someone who people are always lookin at all the time mostly! (and also a lot more reasons)

got a new job that pays just as well as streaming (which is enough to pay for rent in seattle with roommates, buy food for myself, and sometimes buy yet another japanese gamecube via online auction), and have been enjoying the feeling of not relying on anonymous teenagers and young adults who are just as poor as me on the internet for my income. It's something i was extremely grateful for, but it's not only a very infirm way to generate revenue on a reliable basis, but also i always felt an ever-present sense of guilt for it. like, instilling within other people who i know are in my tax bracket (one that is below the poverty line) the idea of "hey if you dont tip me for doing this free service, the quality of which is damningly subjective, I will be homeless. but no pressure haha" is something that i was never able to shake.

also like. performing is quite draining for me! the way i portray myself in my streams is EXTREMELY extroverted while, in my personal life, i prefer to spend 8 to 14 of my waking hours every day by myself in my room with my dog. i like the quiet, and i feel at peace most when i am not being perceived by other people.

lastly, i really dislike having inordinate levels of social power. for a several reasons. like, SEVERAL reasons. this is the longest section of this post.

8 years ago, i got way more famous than any 16 year old should ever be when i got tens of thousands of followers overnight for doing undertale shit. and i think it really fucked up my ability to make friends at a time where my only experience meeting new people was at school or at church, and i lived far enough out in the woods that i couldnt just go outside and hang out with the neighbors cuz the neighbors lived a mile away. my socializing skills in general are way more stilted than i'd prefer for someone my age. in private settings ive got my foot in my mouth a lot. and sometimes in public settings too! im sure if youve seen streams ive been on, youve seen plenty of "chase you really shouldnt have said that" moments. and youre probably right, i probably shouldnt have! my moment-to-moment gauge for what i should and shouldnt say is very slow to catch up cuz ive got like. advanced mental illnesses. like, im not joking when i say ive been formally diagnosed several times over by different doctors with shit ive never heard anybody ever talk about, online or otherwise.

i dont think that's an excuse to say heinous or cruel things by any means of course, but i also think that i should not rely on a job where there's constantly a microphone in my hand and an audience listening intently to what i say. im not at all pulling the "its okay that i say mean things because im mentawy iww" card. as a matter of fact i think it's not okay that i say them! and i feel very embarrassed when i do! the filter that separates "normal healthy thoughts" and "intrusive unhealthy thoughts" is thinner and more flimsy in my brain than in others.

ive only gotten this far because i surround myself with very smart, patient, and kind people, and by trying to be understanding and patient with others too. and ive begun apologizing to people a lot more. i dont like it when people are mad at me, and i dont like that for a long time i had professionally painted myself into a corner where im typically always the "heel" in comedy settings, because the "heel" is the guy everyone shits on all the time. i got this reputation not because i actively enjoy being mean, but because i learned to adapt to the aforementioned "clinically unreliable intrusive thoughts filter" by realizing i would say things that came across as mean, and in real time exaggerating that it into a character that people could shoot back at without feeling guilty while still having fun. theres nothing that ruins a good time quite like someone who is constantly apologizing for doing something wrong, and then continuing to do that wrong thing anyway. dont misunderstand, i absolutely adore dunking on weenies when everyone can get a good laugh out of it (like tumblr anons, who i think should be classified as prokariyotic invertebrates and not people (no offense)) but even though it's a joke it still feels very bad when that's expected of me when i walk into a room. because if i walk into a room, and everyone expects me to be an asshole, everyone is on the defensive before i say anything, and sometimes they take shots at me when im not trying to "play". even worse, if im a heel in a setting where it's expected of me and someone cant really keep up with "the bit" then that just means im being an asshole to someone who cant or doesnt have the energy to fight back. and not just any asshole, an asshole who has had nearly a decade of professional experience being a paid asshole.

if im being frank, i dont know if i'll come back in a full capacity. i might! im not ruling that out! and you'll probably still see me pop up in my friends streams, because i did LOVE what i did for a very long time! but after i took my "break" in december after being more stressed than ive ever been, and i knew it was no longer financially necessary for me to livestream, i had the thought "i will go back to streaming when i find within myself a desire to do so" and ya know what? i havent yet.

and DO NOT FUCKING BOTHER MY FRIENDS ABOUT THIS. if you post a fucking "hey have u heard what chase said" message in their chat or in their DMs or anything, im not joking when i say you are actively being the kind of person i changed my career to avoid! fuck you, for real! stop trying to interface with them to get some new piece of information or opinion about me you fucking weirdo! they'll talk about me if they want to, but going to someone who is doing their own thing and asking them to instead comment on someone else it is ALWAYS fucking annoying. if you want to think about me, do it by yourself! or ask me directly! or do it in the comment section of a video im in! or write a fanfiction about me and then throw it away!

but if ur not that kind of person then ur cool dont worry.

anywho! im sorry if this is a bummer to read. but that's the full skinny.

im still posting regularly on twitter (clown_depot)! and if i DO go live, either on my twitch channel or on a friend's stream, it will be posted there!

thanks for watching :^]

im not goin radio silent, im just gonna turn off the electric window that lets people see me for a while.

[badathumanemotions]

Hi!! I want to say that your last EllexReader fic was, Oh my God, so good.

I don't know if this is something you'd be into and want to write, but I have to ask (if you don't like it, it is okay, and you don't have to write it). Would you be into writing a smutty transElle, EllexReader fic?

If not, that's totally fine but I needed to ask ;)

Unwinding Together

Trans!Elle Greenaway x Fem Reader MDNI Masterlist Category: Smut CW: Elle has a penis, Smut, Oral Sex (both rec), Fingering, Stress Relief Sex, Vaginal Sex, Doggy Style, Creampie. WC: 2,607 The two of you have a stressful day and need to unwind. (Not Proof Read)

You enter the hotel room, weary from a long, taxing day, and let out a sigh of relief as the door clicks shut behind you. The weight of your bag feels heavier than usual, mirroring the weight of the day's unsolved case and unanswered questions. The room is dimly lit, with a soft glow from the bedside lamp casting shadows across the floor. .

Elle follows you in, her footsteps quiet on the plush carpet. You can see the exhaustion etched on her face, too, in the lines around her eyes and the way she carries herself. Her hair is pulled back into a neat bun, a few loose strands framing her features, hinting at the chaos of the day she's had. She sets down her own bag with a gentle thud, letting out a soft sigh of her own.

You both move to the centre of the room, your eyes meeting in a silent understanding. The air between you crackles with the unspoken tension of the day's events. You've been together for a while now, and you know each other well enough to read the cues. You need this, she needs this. A moment of solace, a reprieve from the dark world you both dive into every day.

Without a word, you start to unbutton her shirt, your fingertips brushing against her soft, warm skin. She leans into your touch, closing her eyes and letting out a shaky breath. You feel her shoulders relax as you peel off the fabric, revealing the simple black bra beneath. Your gaze lingers on her collarbone, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes in and out. The room is quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the sound of fabric rustling as you both undress, shedding the armour of your professional personas.

As the shirt slips off her shoulders, you lean in, placing feather-light kisses along her neck, feeling her pulse quicken beneath your lips. You trace the line of her collarbones with your tongue, savouring the taste of her skin. Her breathing grows heavier, and you can feel her body responding, the tension of the day slowly dissipating. Your hands glide over her shoulders, pushing the bra straps down as you go, exposing more of her to your hungry eyes.

Her breasts spill out of the confines of the garment, and you take a moment to admire them before your hands begin to cup and tease. The soft moan that escapes her is music to your ears, and you feel her cock stirring in her trousers, pressing against your thigh. The sensation sends a jolt of arousal through your body, and you know that you're both ready for the release that only intimacy can provide.

Elle, not one to sit back and let you do all the work, starts to undress you. She unbuttons your shirt, her movements swift and sure. The fabric slides off your shoulders, and you shiver as the cool air hits your skin. She works on your belt, the anticipation unmistakable. When she finally has your pants open, she slides her hand inside, her warm fingers tease your clit. You gasp at the sensation, your hips bucking reflexively.

Now it's your turn to explore her further. You slide your hands down her body, feeling the softness of her stomach, the firmness of her hips. You unbutton her trousers, and they fall to the floor, revealing her black panties. With a wicked smile, you push them to the side, exposing her cock. It's hard and leaking pre-cum, begging for attention. You kneel down and lick the tip, savouring the salty taste. Her eyes widen, and she bites her lip, trying not to moan too loudly.

You kiss along the length of her shaft, feeling it pulse under your lips. Your tongue traces the veins, and you tease the slit before taking her fully into your mouth. The moan she's been holding back escapes her as you begin to suck, building up the pressure and intensity. You take your time, feeling her thighs tense and her hands tighten in your hair.

Elle's taste is intoxicating, and you're lost in the sensation of her in your mouth. You savour her reactions, the way she gasps when you swirl your tongue around the head, and the way she moans deep in her throat when you take her in deeper. You can feel the heat of her arousal, and it fuels your own desire. Your hand wraps around the base of her cock, pumping in rhythm with your mouth.

You know she's close, so you redouble your efforts, sucking harder, taking more of her in, your hand moving faster. The salty taste of her pre-cum fills your mouth, and you swallow eagerly, wanting to taste more. Her thighs are trembling now, and her hand in your hair is pulling you closer, guiding you.

But then, she abruptly pulls you off, her eyes dark with need. "Not yet," she whispers, her voice hoarse. "I want to be inside you first." You stand up, your legs feeling a little wobbly, and let her lead you to the bed. She gently pushes you down onto the cool, crisp sheets, then rids you of your pants.

With a fiery urgency, she takes off the last of your clothes. Your body is now fully exposed to her, and she takes a moment to just look at you. Your heart is racing, and your eyes are locked onto hers as she crawls onto the bed. You can feel the heat of her body as she straddles you, and the sight of her naked form is enough to make you dripping wet.

Elle starts to kiss along your body, her lips leaving a trail of fire across your skin. You shiver at the sensation, the gentle nips and sucks sending waves of pleasure through you. She kisses your neck, then your collarbones, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. Her lips wander down to your chest, kissing each breast before moving lower, her tongue swirling around your belly button. You can feel her breath against your skin, and it's driving you wild.

As she reaches your hips, she pauses, looking up at you with a mischievous glint in her eye. She presses a soft kiss to one side, then the other, before sinking her teeth in just hard enough to leave a love bite. The sharp pleasure makes you gasp, and she smiles, knowing she's found a sensitive spot. You can feel the imprint of her teeth, the slight sting mingling with the warmth of her mouth. She does the same to the other hip, leaving matching marks.

Elle moves down further, she kisses along your inner thighs, teasing you with feather-light touches that make you squirm. You're aching for her, and she knows it. Her hands slide up to part your legs, revealing your wetness. She takes in a deep breath, her eyes darkening with desire. "You're so beautiful," she murmurs, before pressing a gentle kiss to the apex of your thighs.

The anticipation is unbearable as her mouth finally reaches your pussy. She kisses you softly at first, as if worshipping you. Then, her tongue slides out, gliding over your clit in a slow, deliberate circle that makes you arch your back and grab the sheets. The sensation is exquisite, and you can't help but moan her name.

Elle's eyes lock onto yours as she continues to tease and lick, her tongue exploring every inch of your folds. You can feel yourself getting wetter with each stroke, and the pressure inside you builds. She's in no hurry, enjoying the taste of you, the sound of your pleasure. She dips her tongue inside you, feeling the warmth and the tightness, and you buck your hips in response.

And then, she adds her fingers. Two of them, sliding in easily, coated with your desire. You moan as she starts to pump them in and out, matching the rhythm of her tongue. The sensation is overwhelming, and you're lost in the feeling of being so completely filled by her. She curls her fingers slightly, finding that perfect spot deep inside, and you gasp, your eyes fluttering shut.

Her mouth moves from your clit to your opening, licking up the wetness, as if savouring every drop of your arousal. Then she's back, flicking her tongue against your clit again, the dual sensation driving you closer to the edge. You're panting now, your body trembling with need. You can feel your orgasm building, ready to break free.

"Please, Elle," you beg, your voice shaky. "I need you." She responds by adding a third finger, stretching you even more. You can feel your walls tightening around her digits as she crooks them inside you, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl.

Her mouth moves back to your clit, and she sucks hard, her tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. The pleasure is too much to bear, and you're panting, your hips bucking against her face. "Now," you gasp, your voice strained with desperation. "I need you inside me now."

With a knowing smile, she slides her fingers out of you and positions herself behind you. You turn over onto all fours, your heart racing as you present yourself to her. The soft, plush sheets feels good under your knees and palms, and you wiggle your hips in anticipation. The sight of your ass in the air makes her cock throb, and she takes a moment to appreciate the view.

Elle reaches into her bag and pulls out a bottle of lube, the sound of the cap unscrewing echoing through the quiet room. She pours a generous amount onto her cock, watching as it glistens in the lamplight. You feel her hand on your lower back, her fingers tracing a gentle path down to your wet pussy. She coats your entrance with the slick liquid, making sure you're ready for her.

The head of her cock presses against you, and you push back, eager for her to fill you. She enters you slowly, inch by inch, the stretch feeling both delicious and overwhelming. You bite down on your lip to muffle your cries as she sinks fully into you. The tension of the day seeps out of your body with each thrust, replaced by a deep, soul-stirring pleasure.

Elle starts to move, her rhythm steady and unyielding, each stroke hitting that perfect spot deep within you. You feel her hands grip your hips, guiding you back onto her, setting the pace that you both need. It's almost as if she's trying to claim you, to drive away the shadows that linger from the case files and interrogation rooms. You want it, crave it, need her to just rail you.

You push back against her, begging her to go faster, the words falling from your mouth in a desperate plea. "Elle, please," you moan, your voice cracking. "I need you to go harder, faster."

Elle responds immediately, her grip on your hips tightening as she starts to pound into you. The force of her thrusts takes your breath away, each one hitting deep inside you, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. You can feel her cock stretching you, filling you completely, and the sensation is exquisite. It's exactly what you need to escape the horrors of the day.

Her balls slap against your clit with every thrust, adding an extra layer of sensation. The wet sound fills the room, mingling with the squeaks of the bed springs and your increasingly desperate moans. You're powerless against the pleasure, and you can't stop the desperate whines from escaping your lips. Each slap sends a jolt of electricity through your body, making your toes curl and your eyes roll back in your head.

Elle's hand travels up the middle of your back, the gentle pressure building until she pushes down, forcing your back to arch even further. The new angle has her cock hitting a spot that makes you see stars, and you gasp.

The headboard slams against the wall with each thrust. You know that the sound is carrying through the walls, but in this moment, you couldn't care less. You're lost in the sensation of her filling you up, the feeling of her body moving against yours.

You're so close to the edge, so close to shattering into a million pieces. Each stroke of her cock against your g-spot is like a strike of lightning. You feel your muscles tightening, your body begging for that final push. And she knows it. She can feel it, too.

Elle's breathing is ragged in your ear, her hips slapping against yours in a relentless rhythm that's driving you both insane. Her hand moves to your clit, and she starts to rub in tight circles, her other hand still gripping your hip firmly. The dual sensation is unbearable, and you feel yourself teetering on the brink of ecstasy.

With a few firm strokes of her thumb, she sends you spiralling over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you, your pussy clenching down around her cock as your body convulses with pleasure. The feeling is so intense, it's almost painful, your muscles contracting in waves of bliss. You scream into the pillow, trying to muffle the sound, but it's no use.

Elle watches you come undone with a fierce satisfaction. She feels the pulse of your climax, the way it overtakes your body, and she can't hold back anymore. With a final, deep thrust, she lets go, her own orgasm ripping through her. Her cock pumps into you, filling you with her release, the heat of it adding to the fire already burning inside you.

You both collapse onto the bed, panting and trembling with the aftershocks of your shared passion. The scent of sex fills the air, mixing with the faint scent of sweat and the lingering aroma of hotel air freshener. Your bodies are slick with sweat and arousal, sticking together in the most intimate of ways.

Elle wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer into her side. You melt into the embrace, feeling the warmth of her body against yours. You let out a content hum, feeling satiated and safe in this moment, despite the chaos of the day. The softness of the bed and the gentle caress of the cool air conditioning against your heated skin is heavenly.

With a smile, you lean back and look at her, the sweat glistening on her forehead. "Thank you," you murmur, your voice still a little hoarse from your cries. "That was… amazing." The sincerity in your words is unmistakable, and she smiles back, her eyes shining with affection.

"I know what you mean," she whispers, stroking your hair. "Sometimes, we just need to remind ourselves that we're alive." Her voice is gentle, understanding, and it's clear she's referring to the heaviness of the case that's been weighing on both of you.

You nod, your cheek pressing into the crook of her neck. "Yeah." The word is a mere breath, but it carries the weight of the world. For a moment, you just lay there, feeling the sticky warmth of her cum leaking out of you and onto the sheets.

Neither of you move to clean up, too content in the simple act of holding each other. The room is a mess of discarded clothes and passion-tangled limbs, but it's a comforting sight. The darkness outside the windows feels a million miles away, and the only thing that matters is the warmth of her body against yours.

[bitchesgetriches]

I work in accounting in Canada and over the years I have realized just how many people aren’t aware of all the various government programs they can take advantage of so I was hoping you could post this on the chance someone who it could help sees it. The main one I see people missing out on is the disability tax credit. If you live in Canada and are disabled you may qualify for the disability tax credit. It’s a non refundable tax credit that’s relatively easy to apply for. All you need to do is get form t2201 from Canada.ca and fill out the first portion with your information then you take it to your doctors office and get them to fill out the remainder. Depending on your provinces medical coverage they might charge you a form fee. Once it’s filled out you can either mail it to the address Canada.ca tells you to or you can submit it online through MyCRA if you’ve set up access to it. If you have an accountant do your taxes for you they might be authorized to submit the form for you once it has been filled out by a medical professional. Processing time for the application is 8 weeks. They’ll mail you a letter letting you know if you qualify or not. It’s also available to people with temporary disabilities or illnesses depending on the disability. And if you do qualify that means you can open a registered disability savings plan. I think it’s similar to an IRA but I don’t actually know what an IRA is cause I’m Canadian lol. The registered disability savings plan is an account where you can put money to save for retirement. It’s different from a registered retirement savings plan because with an RDSP the government will give you grants and match your contributions up to a certain amount each year based on income. There are rules about how much you can take out of the account and when you can take it out but if you take the letter from the CRA saying you qualify for the disability tax credit to your bank they’ll help you set up the account and explain all the rules and everything else. Here ends my speech about federal disability benefits. Go forth and take the federal government for everything it’s worth my fellow disabled bitches.

You are doing the lord's work, my dove. Thank you so much for sharing with the whole class. Canadian bitchlings, take note of the above! Especially if you're a person with disabilities!

This might also help for our United Statesian readers:

How to Pay Hospital Bills When You’re Flat Broke 

Did we just help you out? Tip us!

[firespirited]

I can't believe I'm the one to have to say this as I'm not keen on cabaret culture but Le Crazy Horse is not some random gentleman's club or nudie bar, but a prestigious Cirque du Soleil style dance troupe. The dancers are prima ballerina-like athletes who happen to perform near nude. We're talking a-cups and a full 8 pack of abs to even get an audition. It's considered an honour to perform there, quite a few cross over from ballet.

I happen to believe that strippers and exotic dancers are skilled performers who do a physically taxing and emotionally intelligent job so I consider some of the Atlanta strip clubs on the same professional level as a Vegas revue.

But seeing the parisian Crazy Horse described as similar to the red light district Amsterdam Bananenbar feels iffy given the cultural cachet given to getting to perform there as a musician, magician or dancer. It's regularly sponsored by Louboutin and very expensive lingerie brands. I don't mean to insult the Bananenbar ladies either because woof that must take quite some skill but it's not going on bold on your dancers résumé in the same way.

Inviting people to Bananenbar is a bachelorette party/hen night kind of vibe, inviting someone to Le Crazy Horse is considered classy and fancy, especially if you're into dance. I imagine Bananenbar ladies make more in tips but Crazy Horse ladies (it is not a well paid gig at 30k a year) get to cash in on prestige for future jobs.

[deskgoblin]

Do Unto Others, a Professor x Gender-Neutral Reader.

Minors DNI

Word count: 3,252

Summary: An alluring quantum physics teacher finds out his prized student caught him in the act and promptly punishes them.

Frost bit the windows, striking patterns of ice threatening to come into the warm classroom that echoed with turning of pages and a warm voice that cascaded throughout the spacious room. Math equations spread across the chalkboard as the man in front of the class tapped on an equation he scribbled.

“This here is the equation that has puzzled mathematicians for a century, the Riemann Hypothesis. It was first proposed by Bernhard Riemann, a German mathematician. Funny how most scientists and scholars name their epiphanies after themselves, I have yet to see one that was named something much more charismatic or less narcissistic.”

The room was quiet as he paused, as if waiting for laughter or a comment. A toothy smile broke on his face, a soft laugh under his breath. He stroked back his hair behind the reddening tip of his ear, turning back to the chalkboard. His saving grace was anything but his humor, however; the glossiness of his bottom lip, the veins on his nimble hands and the defined slope of his neck connecting with the narrowed chin framed his humor in a wrapped up present for anyone with eyes to rest on.

He adjusted his glasses as he continued speaking, hand flat on the chalkboard and rubbing off the chalk onto his tweed jacket and brown slacks as he rambled. “A man once said that experts are obsessed with prime numbers because they are the foundation of all other numbers. Prime numbers in mathematics are like atoms in chemistry, bricks in the construction industry and ludicrous pay cheques in professional football.” He turned to the audience of students, noticing the soft snores of peppered students in the room sleeping or nodding off.

You smiled cheerfully, pen firm in hand with detailed notes down to his each joke and quote. He cleared his throat, looking down at his tabletop clock and widening his eyes. “That concludes our lecture for today,” His eyes crinkled as he smiled. His voice was soon drowned out by the anxious stepping of feet and bag rustlings. “The final essay is next Friday-“ Doors slammed open. “Remember to take time to review notes, I posted a text log of each lecture on Canvas.”

The room was empty by the time he was finished, painfully silent besides the clock ticking the seconds until the end of his day. You took your time, stealing glances in his direction as you packed your bag.

Notes, pens, and highlighters galore for this course was necessary at least to you. Every other class notebook was thin and organized, but your Physics notebook(s) were ragged and stuffed full of extra sticky notes so thick the spine aches every time pressure was enforced onto it. The handwriting on each page was in romantic cursive, each letter like a swirl around his own tongue that stuttered and wavered at the complex names of equations or if a question was open ended. Papers he graded with notes on them were cut and shaped to be taped in the back of the notebook, even the smallest words or checkmark was scrapbooked into the monument of your adamant success in his class.

To say you were interested in physics to correspond with your detailed knowledge was laughable. Any other lecture that was recorded by any other person was unintelligible, confusing, and not worth the effort watching. After packing your things, your professor perked up at you striding to his desk.

“Your lecture today was wonderful. I heard about the equation, apparently they’re offering 1.6 million as a reward since it has stumped so many mathematicians.” His parted glossy lips curled into a smile hearing you inform him. “Would be much more than my tenure here, that’s for sure. If you solve it, let me know. I’ll take my teacher tax.” Your eyes crinkled from the smile spread on your face, a hint of red dusting them like powdered sugar on the sweetest pastry. “I hope you have a good night, Sir.” He stood up from his desk, quick on his feet to open the door for you. “You as well, (y/n).” He downturned his head either out of the shyness in his eyes or the chivalry he was desperate to show.

The winter was horrible in Vermont, biting winds and blowing snowflakes that clung onto your long sleeve like barnacles on a steamboat. Confound it for leaving your sweater in his class, the only doors and lights on were the library and study hall for the late night study sessions everyone so desperately needs.

Your footsteps echoed throughout the hallway, creeping down closer to the classroom that had a faint flickering light source shine through the small window of the door. No one should be here this late, not even the student graders. Everyone was ready to be with their families and planning their winter break instead of burning the late night oil. Who would be dumb enough to break into a classroom this late anyway? You decided to peak in, holding your breath so the sound wouldn’t alert anyone.

The classroom was almost completely empty yet a soft panting sound was muffled behind the door. At his desk he sat with your sweater gripped through his fingers and shoved firmly onto his face, rolling his eyes back with pleasure. You squinted, recognizing the faded crochet sweater locked in between his fingers and a sparkling pink tip just grazing the drooping sleeve of it.

Each fiber that grazed the base of his cock made him shiver and buck into his hand, as if begging for his release. His shaft was almost as red as his tip, it looked like he had been at it for hours. His once orderly hair now stuck with sweat to his forehead, his glasses pushed to the top of his head with strands daring to escape the barrier his glasses made that dangled in front of his eyes. His chest rose and fell quickly, body shaking then halting to a stop to release his hand off himself. Your professor was a whiny one, you could hardly believe no one could hear him besides you.

The sweater was his saving grace, asphyxiating him with how hard he shoved his nose down into your scent to inhale every particle of ‘you’ that was left. He wanted to devour you, breathe every part of you in and die with his mouth taped close so he could never breathe you out. “Y/N,” He whispered to himself. “Please let me— I’ll be a good boy for you. Let me c—“ His words turned into a pained stifled moan, shuddering from the small drop of pre that dripped down his shaft. “Fuck s— close..” Gasping for air and sitting up more in the chair he shakily grabbed over at the clock, mouthing the number of seconds that went by before lolling his head back in his chair as if his pleasure was agony. “Hah— Okay..” He sat his head upright and spread his legs, the slacks wrinkling around his shaking thighs.

The sweater practically caked his heat in, he removed it and his once white and stiff shirt was practically opaque and disheveled. If one were to shine a light on his skin directly, he’d glow like a starry night lit by the sun instead. You suddenly realized how cold you were, sulking in the dark hallway with the snow melting on your body. No one could deny you were excited, feeling the heat radiate through your body but it just wasn't enough. You desired more, to sweat in pleasure as if you were on a Florida beach. To taste your professors unruly hair as he digs into your neck, vicious, desiring.

You gripped at your clothing, pulling at the fabric around your thigh at the aching desire for friction, to give him what he begged the imagination of you for. He pushed his hair back, standing up and propping himself up with one of his hands. “Yes,” He softly whispered, his hand wrapping around the tip earning a whiny moan and a squeaking inhale of anticipation. “Yes,” He pumped it loosely, his lips parting and his head rolling back slowly. The slope of his neck glowed in the candlelight, he gripped onto the desk again and caved in. His moans were unbearable to hear, mocking sounds to your cold hands that envied the warmth growing between your thighs. “Y/N!” He squeaked out, rhythmic moans that lined up with each thrust into his hand getting squeakier by the moment.

He jumped with shock at hearing the knocking at his door, scuffling to button his pants and throw back on his blazer in an attempt to hide his translucent shirt. “Come- Come in?” He cleared his throat, breathing hard through his nose as he sat down at his desk, shoving out an inkwell and some old graded papers onto his desk. You smiled as you entered, “Sorry for the intrusion.” “Not at all—haha— what ah, what can I do for you?” His eyes could barely meet yours as you entered the room, arm propped on the desk that quickly sought to cover his mouth with his hand. “Ah, my sweater.” You mentioned, sauntering over and grabbing it and feeling the warmth and slight dampness from his sweat. “It is.. damp?” You looked at him, enjoying him flustering and being tortured by your gaze and your question. “That? Ah, so.. Well you see, a window flew open and I was here mopping it up! And ah… I lit a candle so it would dry everything. That’s- That’s why I have it here on my desk. Closest to the candle.” He smiled briefly and nulled the expression with wide eyes and pursed lips. You narrowed your eyes, debating on your next stab. You brought the sweater to your nose, sniffing it deeply just as he had and smile. “Ah, makes sense why it smells wonderful now.” He bit his lower lip, trying to hide his shy smile knowing that you smelled him on the fabric. “Is that all you needed? I need to get back to grading. Sorry..”

You narrowed your eyes, taking apart how his eyes flicked away from your gaze and the way his hands shook. What a shame he was so coy and uncertain. “Hmm. Alright,” You grabbed your jacket, noticing his eyebrows upturn at the sight of its absence on his desk. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow, sir.” Your steps filled the room until he squeaked out a quiet ‘yes, will do’.

That sweater was the best pillow you had now, balled up and pressed against your face at night now lulled you to sleep. The picture of him bent down onto his desk with his eyes shut tight and mouth hung open brought a smile to your face, his desperation was the coldest ice water on the hottest day that you sipped at all throughout the next day. It refilled when you filed into the classroom, his eyes catching yours but quickly fading down to the rest of the students filling their seats.

The professor sketched onto the chalkboard “Heisenburg’s indeterminacy principle”, along with the equation that went with it. Your notes were pure blank today, just a bunch of squiggles and imprinted dots of your pencil as you stared at the professor and the snow that began gathering at the top of a park bench from outside. You took apart last night until each frame of memory was memorized down to the exact detail, nothing could enter your head because of it. It was frustrating. Finals were coming and nothing was satiating the craving your hands feel each time you see him. Your fingers tingled and fidgeted at the sensation his hair would have, tight in your fingers as he wrapped himself in his own. Your hand balled up and you rested your chin on it, staring hard at your teacher hoping the class would end and you could leave something once more. Then of course catch him in the act. The weekend before finals was coming and you needed that itch scratched to score high.

He stacked a few papers together as the students finished taking their notes or conversing with one another. He licked the tip of his finger and grabbed a page seamlessly, laying a graded paper on each desk. Some groaned or sounded pleased with their grade but he saved you for last. He stroked down your arm before softly putting the paper down before you, catching your eyes with his own before heading back to his desk. Peering down you hoped for a note, a heart, a praise for your hard work like how it always was but.. There was only a checkmark. Were you being punished now? You glanced around at everyone else, scribbled notes in red ink and praises were written on everyone else’s grades except your own. Anger and confusion rushed to your head and what was he doing? Rolling up his sleeves above the elbow and leaning against his desk. He peered over at his watch and smiled. “Class is dismissed. If you have any problem with your grades, we can work out extra credit or schedule tutoring before your final exam.” Students filed out, occasionally asking about class hours and being referred to sign up on the door. You debated, then left a scarf on your desk and hurried out without sneaking him a glance.

The moon came out glowing and bright through the windows of each classroom. Almost each and every one looked lived in, ready to teach even in the latest of hours. You hoped one special classroom would glow with yellow light, a candle shining on his sparkling sweaty face again. Echoes of memory and god the sounds reverberated in your head as you snuck your steps quieter than a mouse past the mahogany built doors and walls. Curse the ceiling to be so high up and empty that orchestrated your steps just enough you couldn’t tell if there even was noise coming from the beloved classroom. You peaked, grinning and excited only to see the scarf sat exactly where you had left it, not even the least bit touched. But.. It was the weekend. He would be home, nowhere near the college and —fuck—not you! Your shoulders slumped, eyebrows upturned and you stopped arching your feet to see above the window.

You exhaled sharply, dimmed by the knowledge you’d have to satiate yourself throughout the weekend if you wanted a shred of sanity to stay intact while you study. You heard a soft scuffling, a sharp squeak escaped your mouth when you were shoved to the door. A cold hand pressed to your mouth and warmed slightly from your anxious breathing. “My class hours are way past time, darling. Clearly I didn’t punish you good enough,” You gasped softly as he pushed your shirt up, a hand still clasped over your mouth.

He was most certainly just in the cold, stark shivers violate your body under his cold fingertips stroking your waist up to your chest. You couldn’t take it, the lingering and cold feeling of his hands against you not immediately ravaging you senseless. The teasing was already done over the course of months of the ‘almost’ kisses, the brushes against your hand when he passed out papers or gave you a pencil to borrow when you ‘forgot’ yours.

Muffled you begged, “Professor I-“ His hand forced your head back against the door. You could hear his smile when he spoke, “No, you’re going to wait now.” His fingers trailed down to your pants, rubbing two fingers down your heat and putting pressure on it. His breath against your neck sent shivers through your body, bucking your hips against his hand. His lips curled against your neck, nipping and tugging your neck until it came back a strawberry color. He kissed it, putting a sheet of his love on top of the brutal lust he marked for you. That’s all it really was, yet the sheet hadn’t come down for the warmth he was giving with his hands until he found his way through your clothes.

“Professor, we should go in the classroom, it's not smart to be out in the open..” He grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks hard and pressing his lips onto yours. You couldn’t tell who was cold or warm to the touch, but your fingers finally felt his hair and fulfilled that craving you had today. His tongue shoved in with notes of black tea and a tobacco cigarette he no doubt had earlier. The fingers he used to hold that same cigarette now grazed against your hole, glazed in your heat and dipping in the tips of his fingers to gauge your readiness.

With each flick of his hand he shoved his tongue deeper, using his hand to dip under your knee and cage it between the door and his hips. His fingers slipped in easier now that your pages were spread, he blindly read the braille inside you and tinged against that spot where language and dialogue braided together and shocked your eyes closed. He smiled against your lips, spreading his fingers and closing them together between your whimpers and called out to him to slow down.

He kissed you softly, pressing your foreheads together and whispered, “I want you to come all over my hands, give me something else to hold against me when I come at the thought of you. I want you to empty yourself right in this hallway—please, come on— You’re such a smart bunny. Always my favorite—“ “Fuck, I think I’m—“ “That’s it, doing such a good job. Go on, come for me” He quickened his pace, pushing deeper on your leg to spread more.

He was more than an attuned lover, praising each thing that made your mind run wild and swirl into a mess. His eyes looking down at you were hard to sway from, a deep green that sucked you into a deific space where all he saw was you. Right now you were his religion, his very purpose in this moment was to pleasure you and give you everything you wanted. Hot white spots filled your chest and head, flashing colors as your body was drawing close to an orgasm. Landscapes were painted all around the back of him. Heaven radiated its light through the moon and reflected in his eyes that turned mischievous, an upturned smile made you wary.

He pulled clean out right before your orgasm, and he dropped your leg immediately. You came crashing down onto your knees, a hot wet mess that had tears clouding your eyes from the sheer pleasure you had before but was met with sheer spite and soft laughing above you. “Sorry, dear.” He kneeled down next to you, his hand grabbing a fistful of your hair to force your ear to his mouth. “Next time, don’t interrupt me.” He kissed you like a fucked out trophy then lightly smacked your face before dropping your hair from his now warmed hand. He sucked the fingers clean that were plunged in you a second ago, eyeing you like prey as he stood back up to his feet. “I’ll see you in class Monday~” His steps now were the only orchestra reverberating off the walls and high ceiling, until the doors that opened out to the winter hellhole closed behind him.

[scotisfr]

Welcome to my new Studyblr challenge !

Hey there! I’m currently a student in a secrétaire-comptable program, starting today, training to become a secretary-accountant. But I need some body doubling to keep myself motivated in the long run, so here's a gentle challenge to ease into my new study, with each day the focus on a small progress/win to gain some dopamine boost. I will use it as a flexible guide while streaming on Twitch most morning and some afternoon.

About My Formation

My course covers key areas to prepare me for an office or accounting role: - Administrative Skills: Learning effective office management, organization, and planning. - Accounting Fundamentals: Getting hands-on with bookkeeping, budgets, and understanding financial transactions. - Business Law & Regulations: Navigating the essentials of tax and legal compliance for businesses. - Communication Skills: Developing professional communication for smooth customer and team interactions.

What to Expect Here

-Daily Study Updates: Reflections on what I’m learning, challenges and small wins along the way. - Study Tips and Organization Hacks: Sharing my best tips for productivity, note-taking and staying organized. - Encouragement & Motivation: Posts that keep me accountable and hopefully inspire you too!

Why I’m Sharing This

I’m using studyblr as a space to document my learning process, connect with others and stay motivated. It will make me reflect on my journey so I can be more mindful about what I need to learn still and what I already know.

Let’s support each other as we work toward our goals!