#Taxi service for women

[semjaapp]

Enjoy a safe and empowering ride with “Pinkky Ponnu”

Coming Soon...

[x-e-n-i-a-nice]

Dᴀɪʟʏ Mᴏᴍᴇɴᴛs - Aʀᴄʜɪᴠᴇ

[toddbarrowcountry]

Looking for good feel music. This album is filled with epic sounds of country. Play it while cleaning the house, at work or driving in your car!

[d3vilcvntz]

local slutboy taken a liking to you ?!?

top male reader x bottom character

you hated yourself for even agreeing with your friends to go into a random town just to get drunk. it will be fun they said, but now you're just dying to go home and lay down on your comfy soft bed. unfortunately for you, you can't just ditch your friends and go home because you came here with their car,no taxi around here either so you're just stuck here, bored as hell. maybe a smoke break will clear your mind a little

so here you are, standing in a random dark alleyway to smoke. well, that's your plan until a random person approached you. he's wearing a hoodie that's definitely too big for him with a face mask "mind giving me some?" he suddenly asked, walking closer to you

you stared at him for a sec before turning away "nah, this shit expensive man. rather not give it to random guy" you replied, looking at him again. he just chuckled at your response "i've never seen your face here before. you're not from here im guessing?" he asked, which you answered with a simple nod, "it's dangerous to wonder around here all alone you know. these people aren't really friendly" he said, smiling at you

"...what do you want from me ?" you responded to him quite harshly, clearly annoyed that someone disturb your peace. "nothing, i just want you" he replied almost instantly. you just looked at him like he's crazy and awkwardly laughed, brushing it off as a joke before he spoke again, "im a sex worker, im quite popular around here. you're lucky that im offering my service to you" he said, getting uncomfortably closer to you

"I'll pass, don't carry cash with me" you responded, turning around to walk away until he grabbed your arm and push you against the wall

"don't worry. i won't charge you much. how about.... you give me the pack of cigarettes and i let you hit? a good deal isn't it ?" you looked at him once again, "tempting isn't it? don't be scared now, i promise that im better than any women you've ever slept with" he whispered to your ear

you'll definitely regret this later but oh well, you've been pent up after all, being single and shit for so long. before you can even say anything, "I'll give you a tease" he said with a smile, before kneeling down and tugged on your pants "i can tell that you're big even from far" rubbing your clothed cock while looking up at you

slowly pulling your pants and underwear down, revealing your half-hard cock. "oh, look! someone's already excited even though he was acting all tough before" he teased you,slightly pushing his mask up so he can kiss the tip of your cock before swallowing it whole. getting head from a stranger in a dark alleyway is not your plan but you are not complaining at this point. i mean, he's not that bad looking now that you can kinda see half of his face, he's quite pretty actually.

he looks up to you before pushing your cock all the way to his throat. he's practically sucking your cock like it's the best meal he ever had "you're getting close?" he asked, stroking your cock

you came all over his mouth and mask after a few minutes of throatfucking him "woah.... it's so thick, you must been pent up this whole time" he said, putting his mask back on properly before standing up again "wanna try my hole next ? all of my customers love it" he teased, pulling his own pants down, revealing that he's wearing nothing under it with his own cock leaking precum "hoodie stays on though, but I'll give you a little teaser" he said, giving you a smile before lifting up his hoodie revealing his nipples piercings

he grabbed your hand to feel his body "do you like it? I've never show my body to anyone else you know" he said, giving you a little smile "anyways, lets get into the good part" he continued, turning around, spreading his cheeks apart, showing you his twitching pink hole

you pushed your cock inside him "you're so big" he moaned. slowly moving your hips to let him adjust to your cock before picking up the pace. you thrust into so eagerly "looks like you like it too" he teased, which made you pick up the pace

he's slowly losing his grip on the wall, knees shaking from your hard thrusts "shit, i can't hold myself up anymore" he said, trying to keep himself up. you pulled out your cock "huh? why did you-" you turned him around to face you before lifting him up "oh, missionary huh? i like it" he whispered to your ear seductively

you pushed your cock all the way in him which caught him off guard, his moans became high pitched and louder than before. his hands grips tightly on your shirt, "shit..the way your cum smells on my mask is so...intoxicating. and your cock too.. fuck, it's so deep"

you know that you're close when you can feel your lower abdomen grows hot, wanting to release all of your cum into him. he's getting close too, with the way he can't even speak any coherent sentences and his eyes are rolled back "please cum inside me, shit.. i need you to cum deep inside of me" you slammed your cock inside him one last time, releasing your cum as he came right after

you let him down and clean yourself up and so does he "i really wish that you'd become my regular now. nobody ever fucks me that good" he said, pulling his pants up "hey, put your number in my phone. maybe we can meet up and fuck in my dorm later on" he continued, handing his phone to you.

you gave him your number and passed it back to him "thanks sweetheart" he replied, giving you a wink. you looked at your watch and realise it's quite late, your friends might be looking for you at this point. don't want to make them suspect anything, "i need to go now, it's great meeting you..." you told him, which he replied with a smile. as he turned around to walk away, you suddenly remembered something and grabbed his arm. surprised, he looks at you and smiled "oh! are you not satisfied with one round?" he teased you before you quickly shoved the cigarettes pack into his hand "here, as we promise" you told him before walking away, leaving him standing there

he watched as you walked away, wanting to pull on your arm and tell you to stay. but he can't, he shouldn't do it. maybe he'll contact you again soon, he's taken a liking to you now ♡

a/n: this shit is inspired by a doujin i've seen lol

[frank-carlos]

Introducing a beautiful collection of carefully chosen sex toys and accessories that are sure to provide women a joyful and thrilling anal experience. And if you want to know more information about how to she must have to enjoy Anal Play, then you can browse "Flat Ride Taxi Fort Sask".

[rbbrbikerthorp]

A New Neighbour Moves In

[Please note: all characters are 18 plus and any reference to boy or girl is purely descriptive or used in dialogue between the characters.]

Mitchell was living the life much like any typical 23 year old male would. He’d graduated university, he had started his career in recruitment for legal and financial services and was starting to earn good monthly commissions on top of his basic salary. He’d used all the money inherited from his grandparents to buy a 1-bedroom flat in a new development, just on the edge of the city centre. Mitchell didn’t have a steady girlfriend – he wasn’t in a long-term relationship place. As he told his mates at the gym, he was a ‘date them and ditch them’ once he’d managed to ‘get them in the sack’ kind of bloke.

It was a Monday morning and Mitchell needed to get to work. First, he had to navigate his way carefully out of the flat where he’d been invited to spend the night. The girl he’d met in the club the previous evening had taken a shine to his blue eyes, rugby toned body and wavy blonde hair. “Another notch on the bedpost,” Mitchell thought as he tiptoed his way out of the girl’s bedroom. Mitchell made it a policy to only meet women in person and he would never exchange contact details. It meant that none of his ‘conquests’ had any idea of how to find him and, as he was enjoying his ‘tom cat’ life so much, he sure didn’t want to be found. He went on his Uber app and requested a taxi. In less than two minutes one had pulled up in front of him. He took one last look up at the window to check the curtains were still closed and the car pulled away from the curb.

He arrived back at his flat in plenty of time to get ready for the day ahead. He shaved his weekend beard growth and then turned on the shower. Whilst the water warmed up, he took a moment to admire himself in the mirror. He loved how beefy his legs looked from the years of playing rugby first in secondary school and then in the university’s first team. His regular attendance at the gym meant he had a well-defined chest and arms. Women loved his bum as it stood out, firm and muscular. Yes, at that moment as he entered the shower cubicle Mitchell was very content with his life, but on this day, things were about to change.

As Mitchell locked his front door, he noticed piles of boxes outside the flat next door. As he turned towards the lifts, he ran into a large man. He barely stopped as he fell into him. Stepping backwards he said, “I’m really sorry, I didn’t see you there.” As the guy regained his balance, Mitchell noticed the man’s shaved head, jeans with bleach marks with tall black boots with white laces tucked into them. Even though he thought of himself as a tough, well-built guy, he stuttered feeling inadequate and intimidated by this stranger. “I…I…I’m Mitchell,” holding out his hand, “n... n… nice to meet you. So, you’re moving in next door? I… I… always wondered who my new neighbour would be? It’s been vacant for ages.

The man smiled, “I’m John and yes, it was quite a steal really. Apparently last owner had been shacked up with his fiancé for the last few months and they were about to get married. I made an offer a bit less than what they were asking for, but, because he needed to put money down as a deposit on a new house, he had no choice but to accept.”

“Well,” Mitchell replied being polite, “I… I… I’ve got to get my bus.”

“Yes, I can see you’re dressed for an office. As you can probably see I’m not a suit person myself.”

Mitchell laughed nervously. Why was he feeling so unsettled by this guy?

“Look, why don’t you drop by when you get home from work. I always like to get to know my new neighbours.”

On the spur of the moment, Mitchell couldn’t think of an excuse not to accept the invitation, so he said, “why not? Must go!” As he walked away, he could sense the man was staring at him. He shouted, “good luck unpacking” and then lowered his voice a little, “weirdo.”

John couldn’t help admiring his good-looking young neighbour’s physique, and he shook his head hearing Mitchell mumbling that last word. He began to create a mental picture of what Mitchell might look like wearing less formal clothing. Tattoos were common on young men of a similar age these days, so John wondered if he had acquired any ink yet. He was sure to find out later when Mitchell would drop in for a chat and John would explain was his lifestyle was all about. John set about unpacking so that he could prepare for his young neighbour’s visit.

It was around 7:30 in the evening when John heard a knock on the door. He opened it to find Mitchell had changed out of his work suit into a t-shirt and sports shorts. “Come in.” It felt more like an order to Mitchell than a pleasantry.

“You got everything unpacked I see.” Mitchell said trying not to stare at the many pairs of tall lace-up boots all lined up by the door; taking in the various bomber jackets hanging on the coat rack and the skinhead themed pictures and posters on the walls.

John noticed Mitchell’s “That’s nothing lad, I’ve got way more kit in the bedroom.”

Mitchell really didn’t want to know any more about what might be in John’s bedroom, “takes all kinds I guess,” he thought as John handed him a beer. The two men chatted, but as Mitchell sipped away at the beer, “wow”, he thought, “this stuff has a real kick.” He found himself becoming more relaxed and more willing give direct answers to John’s questions; about his job, his personal life, his family and friends. Mitchell was hoping that by dressing as though he was going to the gym and John would bring their chat to an end and let him go on his way. Mitchell was starting to fidget as you do when you’re about to stand up. However, John had different ideas, “stay right there lad, and I’ll get us another beer.” Mitchell suddenly found himself wanting to stay and slumped back into the sofa.

“So wh… wh… what do you for a living?” Mitchell asked with a slight stutter and slur as John handed him another glass of beer.

John smiled, “I’m glad you asked. To put it simply I change people.”

“Change people?” Mitchell asked thoroughly bemused.

“Yes, I change people. I take ordinary people, with very traditional upbringings and boring lives and I change them into whatever takes my fancy.” You, young Mitchell are just the sort of person I look for to mould into something more, hmm, you know ‘out-there’.”

Mitchell had downed half the glass of beer at this point.

John continued, “maybe I’ll slowly take them from the lives they are currently leading and over a few hours, a few days, maybe a few weeks transform them. They might end up as a…”

John could sense Mitchell’s fear about what might happen to him but continued, “The next person I change may end up as filthy mohawked punk, a dirty greaser biker, a Leatherman, a goth, a rubber slave. Who knows? It’s whatever takes my fancy at that moment. After a time, I get bored and need a new challenge, so I sell them on to people into the lifestyle and I move on to my next…”

Mitchell couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He opened his mouth to challenge what John was saying but he discovered it wouldn’t move. His heart was pounding, his anxiety levels were on the rise – no matter how hard he tried he was unable to form any words.

“Mitchell, I want you to calm down! Mitchell is such as pompous name, so from now on you’re gonna be called Mike. Now, I will carry on. John pulled out an amber charm which he swung from side to side, glowing eerily in front of Mike’ glazed eyes. When I combine this fine-looking stone with a special ingredient I have – oh you know I added a few drops into your beer, my victims become more… open to the changes I want to make to them. More compliant.” Mike’ eyes were affixed on the stone. “That’s right, just follow the stone, from side-to-side, follow the stone, transfixed by its glowing beauty/” John was comfortable in the knowledge that Mike would soon be his personal boy toy. “Isn’t that the most striking, bright and coloured stone you’ve ever seen Mike?”

He tried to open his mouth in one solitary second of defiance, but all he could managed was a barely audible squeak. His independence, his free will, his ability to fight and think freely had departed. There was no resistance left in Mike. His mind was now mush, the lad could only obey and conform.

John pulled Mike to his feet and dragged him to the bathroom. Once there, he placed him in a chair. “Right Mike, I’ve been thinking all-day about the life I want to give you. How do you fancy being my skinhead son? I’ve always wanted someone I could call a son, but being gay it was never going to happen, and I think you will make the perfect skinhead.” John didn’t wait for Mike to reply - he couldn’t; he did however see the confusion and distress in Mike’ eyes. He chuckled to himself.

John walked over to the bathroom cabinet and took out several items: some electric clippers, scissors, a pack of Mach 3 razors and a can of shaving cream. Turning his head to look at the boy, he smiled, “Only real men have hair. So, yours needs to go Mike. I’ll start on your legs and then your chest, all of that lovely blonde hair on your head and not forgetting the parts in-between. I’m going to enjoy getting rid of that wavy blonde hair. When I’m done, you’ll have a perfectly smooth bonehead.” John cut through the lad’s t-shirt revealing a well-defined torso. Staring at the blank canvas and thinking what he would do to it, he couldn’t help but squeeze one of Mike’ nipples. John detected the tiniest of yelps, so he squeezed the other nipple. There was no reaction this time, Mike’ mind was lost. He continued to stare into the  amber jewel that was hanging in front of his face.

John turned on the clippers, starting with the boy’s left leg. Hair started falling in clumps on the floor. Once the left leg was done, he moved on to the right one. Soon John was wiping them down with a cloth, applying a astringent lotion so that the smooth skin shone in the bathroom lights and after a few more applications, regrowth would never be a problem. Then it was onto the chest. Although Mike was only in his early twenties, he’d already got quite a covering of fur, which John’s clippers made quick work of. Mike’s arms were also denuded of hair. John turned off the clippers and, with the same cloth, applied more of the special lotion to the recently clipped areas.

John stood up and smiled. He paused for a second, “this is the last time there will be any hair growing on your head.” He pressed the on switch, and after hearing the familiar ‘clack’ he began ploughing all the way through the boy’s golden locks. In no time at all Mike was motionless sitting in the chair with a zero-grade cut. John picked up the can of shaving cream, squirted it into his hands and rubbed it copiously all over Mike’ head. He took the necessary time to ensure all the fuzz was removed and Mike’ head felt like a cue-ball. In no time at all there was a shiny hairless skinhead son sitting in front of him.

Looking down, John smiled as Mike’ identity lay on the floor in clumps. He looked up at Mike who was sitting perfectly still, with the same glazed eyes and dazed expression on his face, oblivious to the changes being made without his consent. He took the cloth, poured some more lotion into it and rubbed it into his son’s head.

“Stand,” John ordered. Mike complied, happily obeying his skinhead master. The sports shorts were pulled down over the now smooth legs and John stood back as he grabbed the clippers. “Now boy, I need you to get nice ‘n’ hard so I can make sure I get all your hair… down there...” He watched as slowly but surely there was movement in Mike’ groin. John grinned as in no time at all full mast was achieved. “Very nice boy,” John said out loud, “I bet you were popular with the women. Is that six, possibly seven inches? Good and think as well. Unfortunately for you, you’re not going to have much use of it as my son, but it will look amazing with a thick gauge PA, and a Jacob’s ladder.”

‘Clack’, John turned on the clippers and began the removal of the last remaining hairs on Mike’ body. He had to hold himself back as he rubbed the special lotion into the skin around the groin and on the mounds that had once been covered in thick hair. When he was satisfied the boy was as smooth as the day he was born, John left the bathroom to get something from his bedroom. When he returned Mike hadn’t moved, he was still lost in the stone “Now here I have the perfect thing to complete you. Now stay perfectly still.”

Later, John walked into the main room of the flat dressed in full skinhead gear. As he gazed at his newly denuded skinhead son, he felt his manhood straining inside a pair of skin-tight bleachers, which were turned-up and touching the top of a pair of 30-hole red ranger style boots. He was looking lustfully at the 23-year-old standing to attention, still wearing the expression, he had when the amber jewel turned him into the compliant vessel he now was. “It’s time for the next stage in your transformation lad.” With that John walked over to a cupboard an opened the doors.

The cupboard contained piles of skinhead gear from boots to bleachers to braces to bomber jackets. First, he instructed Mike to put on a yellow jockstrap. “You’ll be wearing this non-stop for a few days – it needs to get in nice ‘n’ ripe.” Then he passed the boy a t-shirt, which Mike willingly slipped over his head. “These are your bleachers; they’ve got two zips – front and rear – you’ll soon find out why,” he grinned, “slip them on.” Mike pulled up the tight-fitting jeans that had been liberally splashed with bleach. Mike didn’t take any notice of the fact that they’d been cut off just below the knee and turned up so that they would show the full extent of the boots he would almost always be wearing when he wasn’t in his work gear. John walked across to Mike carrying a pair of red braces which he attached to the bleachers, pulling them right up his bum crack – so much so that Mike let out a little groan. To finish this stage of the transformation, John handed Mike the left boot. It was black with 20 eyelets and partly laced. John talked Mike through how to ladder lace the boot tightly and perfectly. John fitted a padlock at the very top of the boot before handing over the right one. When John was happy with the way that one was laced, he fitted another padlock. “Stand!” Mike stood up. “Turn to look in the mirror, see the Skinhead son I’ve created. This is what you are now a proud skinhead and my skinhead son.

“Now, we can begin your training. Kneel!” Mike complied. “I know your tongue will still be a bit tender, so I’ll be gentle. Open!” John commanded, and with that he slid his cock into Mike’ open mouth. “Move your tongue slowly, showing how much your love the bottom of your skinhead dad’s cock. Make sure you keep your lips tightly closed as I don’t want you to spill anything.”

He sat back as his cock was held between Mike’ virgin lips and soon found himself about to cum as the hard stud, he had introduced to the lad’s tongue work its magic. The combination of it all and the sensitivity soon had John unloading his massive load. “Swallow!” Mike swallowed quickly trying not to “spill’ as he had been instructed. John soon slid from the lips of his new son and quickly zipped up his own bleachers. “Yes,” John thought, studying the boy who, in addition to the tongue piercing also had a stud in each lobe and four more studs all the way up each of his ears. Mike would serve him well as his skinhead son, but first he needed to complete the lad’s transformation. “Right son, let’s go – I need you to see a friend of mine.”

With that John grabbed a green bomber jacket with orange lining and threw it to Mike, “put it on,” he instructed. Mike slipped on what he would get to know as an MA1 and followed John out of the flat. Right away he found it strange walking in heavy soled, tightly laced boots, but he didn’t complain – he couldn’t.

The skinhead and son waited a few minutes at the bus stop before one came along heading in the direction of the city centre. They alighted just before the main shopping area. It was an area that would be unfamiliar to Mitchell, but Mike was oblivious to everything now. He obeyed his skinhead dad, just as any good son would do. The two skinheads walked side by side into a small industrial estate. One of the units had a sign saying, ‘Anaconda Tattoo Studio and Piercing’. John walked ahead of Mike, as they got to the door, John walked in but for a second Mike hesitated. John knew this sometimes happened, especially with all the distractions of the outdoors. He pulled the amber stone out of his pocket and held it in front of Mike. “This way boy,” he ordered. Mike complied; his eyes once again completely transfixed on the glow of the jewel.

Once inside the tattoo studio, John turned to Mike, “stand here son. I need to talk to the owner.” Mike waited as instructed. Despite tattoos being made popular by the countless athletes and celebrities who adorned their bodies with intricate permanent markings, the old Mitchell would have never crossed the threshold foot into a tattoo studio. But here was Mike waiting to submit to whatever his skinhead dad was discussing with the owner.

John came out of the back office followed by a hulk of a man who was wearing tight leather trousers, a black vest, which exposed his muscular arms covered in tattoos, shaved head with long unkempt beard and on his feet were heavy biker boots. “Son this is Griff, he’s going to give you some more piercings and your tattoos. But first, you are to strip down to your jockstrap. When you’ve done that, go over there and sit in the chair. From now on you will do exactly what Griff tells you to do. He’s going to give you your first marks to show the world that you’re a proud skinhead. After you’ve got your first ink, he’s going to give you some more metal. I’m going to leave you for a bit, but I’ll be back to see the finished work.” Turning to Griff, John said, “he’s all yours.”

Griff walked over to Mike wearing only his jockstrap  sitting obediently in the chair. Since John had already removed all the boy’s hair, Griff simply wiped clean the areas to be tattooed and then laid the first outline template on the skin. His machine was then started up, some ink was added, and the needle started to buzz.

He then began applying the needle over the site of the first tattoo, Mike felt a dull pain but didn’t flinch. Once the first tattoo on the boy’s left arm was completed, Griff went on to add the other tattoos as instructed by John. He started work on a full sleeve on Mike’s right arm, which would take four or five visits to complete. Then he added a bulldog to the rear of the lad’s right calf. Finally, two swallows were added to the back of the each of the lad’s hands. Griff whispered into Mike’s ear, “that’s all I’m doing now lad. John has booked half a dozen more sessions, so you’ll be coming back to get your neck, back and chest inked, and I can finish off the full sleeve. Now stay still. There’s a couple more things to do. Griff pushed away his tattoo cart and returned with another.

Griff looked at the docile boy in the chair. I think we will start with the nipples. Griff played, stroked and flicked them for a few moments until they were firm. He then slipped a needle through the left nipple, at which point Mike squealed. He then installed a barbell through the hole left by the needle and screwed a ball onto either end. He repeated the process for the right nipple. “No touching lad.” Griff then turned his attention to the lad’s groin and applied a topical cream to the so-called policeman’s helmet (bell-end to others). “Right, we’ll give that a little while to take effect and, in the meantime, we can sort out your nose piercing. This will hurt, but only for a second.” Griff then picked up a clean needle from his trolley and quickly passed it through the front part of the septum. Mike’s eyes began watering, so he knew the boy was feeling the pain from the intrusion of the needle. Carefully he inserted a ring into the boy’s septum, and then said out loud, “That will take six weeks or so to heal, then John wants it swapped for a bigger ring.” Now, the cream should have dulled your senses on your knob so let’s add the final bit of metal you’re getting today. He wiped the area to be pierced with an antiseptic skin cleanser, put a mark where the piercing was to be made, and begin the piercing process. The most painful moment for Mike in the piercing process was when the piercing needle punctured his urethra. One the needle was through, Griff inserted a circular barbell and spoke again, “don’t worry if you feel a bit of discomfort – a dull, throbbing pain that’s to be expected.

At that moment the door opened, and John walked in carrying a large shopping bag. “He’s all done, just as you instructed John. Don’t forget to leave the starter jewellery in for six weeks – no less, and make sure you use the aftercare solution. After that we can do a bit of stretching to your liking.”

As the days turned into weeks. John had started his son on the path to being a smoker. First, he gave him a gum to chew to introduce nicotine into the body, then he encouraged him to vape. When he felt there was an addiction starting, he told the boy to smoke cigarettes, starting him on five a day, and quickly moving onto ten, then fifteen. Within a couple of weeks, he was getting through a pack a day.

Mike also kept up his weekly visits to Griff, as more of his skin was covered with ink. Over the period, the full sleeve was completed, the Union flag was tattooed on the back of Mike’s next, the word skinhead was tattooed in script of his back and the letters that made up the word skinhead were inked on his knuckles and finally a Celtic cross was inked on the left pectoral. On the most recent visit Griff replaced the rings in his septum and PA with heavier gauges. As per John’s instructions, he also replaced the studs in his ears with rings and the ones in the lobes with spreaders. Mike joined his skinhead dad in a new gym, one that was run by an ex-boxer friend of John’s. John made sure to get Mike in the boxing ring so that his pretty boy face could get roughed up a bit. John wanted his son to look a bit freakier.

Mike didn’t look like the sort of person who would work in an office anymore, so he was signed up to work in the city council’s recycling centre – they were always in need of people to sort through other people’s waste. Five days a week he stood by a conveyor belt dressed in dirty Hi-Viz gear, and safety boots separating glass, metal, plastic, paper and cardboard into different bins.

After work, the boy would return to his skinhead dad’s flat, which was much bigger now that the wall had been knocked through joining what was Mitchell’s flat and John’s flat together. This night was special because as soon as he got home, Mike got out of his stinking workie gear he’d be in since just after dawn and into the skinhead gear his dad left out for him. Tonight, skinhead dad would be introducing his skinhead son to the lads in the pub. Mike dressed in his bleachers, a black Fred Perry, yellow socks and red 20-hole boots. Mike was ready in time for his dad to return home. John walked through the door and saw the perfect skinhead son standing there. “C’mon son. You’re gonna meet your skin bruders.”

[girlmostlikely]

I saw a video where someone mentioned a prolific issue with the green checkered cabs in Nashville, TN and that male drivers lock women in cabs and take them to any area except their original destination by threat in order to get more money or far worse. Women have filed countless police reports because of the duress they were subjected to and even both Uber and Lyft have ongoing class action lawsuits for sexual assault spanning years. I come from a very rural background so the concept of taxis and any modern ride service in general are forever outlandish to me. But the fact that there is virtually no safety for women whatsoever be it in public transportation or the taxicab and rideshare industries or just any stop made outside of these vehicles along the way. To think of the women who were unable to see the other side of these last minute rides especially those who just needed a safe and responsible way home after a night out with a few drinks incredibly depresses me. Truly a society beyond repair and redemption.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Temptation Chapter 1

Summary: Father Barnes is devout, steadfast, and undeterred by flirtatious congregants.  So why does this fallen angel tempt him so?  You cannot serve two masters.  Will he choose God, or his heart? Here's the Priest!Bucky x curvy!reader fic! I hope y'all like it. Warnings: eventual smut; religion (yes it's a warning); mentions of past sexual assault

Next chapter

“Father Barnes, I have some unfortunate news.”

Bucky turned towards his senior priest, Father Richards.  “Yes?”

“Constance Y/L/N has just passed away.”

“Oh,” Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed as he processed the news.  “How sad.  I mean, she was getting up there in age but, still, a great loss.”

“Yes, it is.  Her funeral arrangements will be handled by her granddaughter, Y/N Y/L/N.  She should be landing into town tomorrow, I was hoping you would be willing to pick her up at the airport and bring her to Constance’s home, then schedule a meeting about the arrangements and the service?”

“Of course, Father.”

That’s where Bucky found himself now, waiting in the baggage claim area of the airport with a sign in his hand that had her name written on it.  He had no idea what she looked like or knew anything about her.  As he looked around, waiting patiently, a woman came through the door that made him do a double take.  She was beautiful, short and curvy, dressed in a long black dress that she kept stepping on, covered by an oversized, long, black and ripped sweatshirt that read “WOMEN RUN SHIT” in red embroidery, Converse sneakers that peeked from under her dress, with long pointy nails and her pink hair piled atop her head, held up by a black scarf.  She had very little makeup on except for a dark, blood red lipstick that Bucky couldn’t seem to stop staring at.  She looked around until her eyes fell on Bucky, read the sign, and gave him a polite smile as she headed towards him.  Bucky gave her a polite smile back as he tried to hide the panic he was feeling inside.   

“Father Barnes?” Y/N asked as she approached him.

“Yes, Y/N Y/L/N?”

“That’s me,” she flashed him a full smile, making her teeth look stark against her lipstick.  

“Is this all you have?” Bucky asked, looking at the purse and backpack slung over her shoulders and the large rolling suitcase she had.

“Yep, don’t have much.  Thank you for the ride.  I haven’t been to Brooklyn since I was a kid and I just didn’t wanna deal with the hassle of a taxi or Uber.”

“It’s no problem.”

Bucky tried hard to not stare at her or even look at her too much.  He had been a priest at his parish for 15 years, and had never had a moment where he felt like he was being led astray, like he’d always been warned about during his seminary years.  He felt secure in his promises and covenants to the church and to God.  And yet here was this woman, who just waltzed into his life on a chance, who he was feeling something very strange towards that made him question his life.  And he didn’t even know her.  Sinful.

“So what do you do for a living?” Bucky tried to break the ice as he drove silently, weaving through the New York traffic as best as he could.

“I’m a traveling photographer,” Y/N said as she watched the buildings and bridges fly by.  

“Really?  That’s interesting.  How did you get into that?” he asked.

“Um, it just kinda fell into my lap, I guess,” Y/N answered, giving him a glance.  “I grew up in Brooklyn, went to the church and everything with my grandmother, but at 16 I decided it wasn’t for me and went through a bit of a rough patch for a while.  Started taking pictures as I went from place to place, posting online, and gained a following.  Here I am, 16 years later, getting paid to go places and take pictures and give travel advice.”

“Wow,” Bucky breathed.  “Where’s your favorite place you’ve been?

“Well, traveling as a plus sized person has its challenges,” she started, shifting in her seat.  “The place that I felt most comfortable was the Leeward Islands, so Bora Bora, Tahiti, those areas of French Polynesia.”

“Very tropical,” Bucky commented.

“Ha, yes,” she giggled.  “A big reason why I loved it.”  She paused and looked at him.  “Have you ever been on a beach like that?”

“No,” Bucky answered.  “A beach at a lake when I was a kid, but nothing quite as pretty as crystal blue waters,” he glanced at her, giving her a lopsided smile.

“Hm,” Y/N watched him, a sad expression flitting across her face.  “That’s too bad.  There’s really nothing like it.”  She paused again, a mischievous grin pulling at her lips.  “A pretty thing like you on a sandy beach in Bora Bora would do wonders with the locals.”

Bucky’s eyes widened at her compliment.  He cleared his throat and swallowed as he tried to relax the blush that filled his cheeks.  “Thank you for the compliment.”

“Anytime, handsome,” she teased him, huffing out a laugh at his expense.

Bucky wasn’t blind to the fact that he had attractive features.  He’d been hit on too many times to count by the women, and some of the men, in his congregation throughout the years.  Some tried harder than others, the idea of a forbidden love or lust-driven “corrupting the priest” sounding appealing.  He’d been able to squash those easily.  He could of course see or recognize when people were attractive, and occasionally had the fleeting thought of “what if?”  But it sounded different coming from her for some reason.  

“I mean really, if the priests looked like you when I was in church I would have paid more attention.”

She said it in such a deadpan tone that Bucky couldn’t help but to fully laugh.  She joined him in laughing as they finally pulled up to her grandmother’s brownstone home.  Bucky helped her hoist her large luggage up the stairs.  Y/N grabbed the key from the hidden spot that the estate lawyer had told her about and let herself and Bucky in.  She wheeled the luggage off to the side as she looked around the foyer.

“Almost exactly the same,” she muttered.

“Y/N–”

“You know, it’s just very strange for me to call you Father,” Y/N interrupted him as she whirled around to face him.  “What’s your first name?”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up.  “Oh, um, it’s James, but I always went by Bucky.”

“Bucky?” Y/N repeated it, looking confused.

Bucky silently reveled in how she said his name.  “My middle name is Buchanan, don’t ask me why,” he joked, making her snort.  “Bucky for short.  I just always went by that rather than James when I was younger.”

“Well is it alright if I call you Bucky?” Y/N asked hopefully.

Bucky really should have said no, that it’s not appropriate for people to call him by his name rather than his title.  Yet he found himself saying, “Yes.”

“Great.  I’m sorry I interrupted you, what were you going to say?” 

“Well, my senior priest, Father Richards and I would like to set up a meeting with you to go over the funeral arrangements.  When would you like to do that?”

“Sure, um…” Y/N got distracted by something in the foyer.  Bucky followed her eye line to the large cross her grandmother had mounted above the door.  She sighed heavily before meeting his gaze.  “How about tomorrow?  10 a.m.?”

“That sounds great,” Bucky agreed.  “Well, is there anything else I could help you with while I’m here?”

“No, thank you.  You’ve been very helpful,” Y/N gave him a tight lipped smile.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Great, see you then.”  Bucky turned away and out the door, unable to handle being in such a close space with her anymore.

As he got back into the parish car and drove back to the church he heaved a heavy sigh of his own.  This is going to be dangerous.

***

The next morning Bucky found himself taking more time to get ready.  He was trimming his beard, redoing his hair in a bun and repeatedly straightening out his Roman collar and his shirt.  He knew why he was doing it but was in deep denial.

Father Richards was waiting in the main office as Bucky went out to the sanctuary to see if Y/N had shown up yet.  When he walked in he easily found her sitting on one of the pews.  Today she wore a long, fluffy cardigan with a sports bra and flowy lounge pants.  She wore no makeup and her hair looked like she’d just rolled out of bed.  

“Good morning, Y/N,” Bucky greeted her as he approached.

Y/N was staring at the large cross at the front of the sanctuary with the statue of Jesus hanging on it.  Her eyes slowly turned to him, a frown on her face that she tried to hide quickly.

“Good morning, Bucky,” she greeted him, her voice sounding scratchy.  “I’m sorry I look a mess, the jet lag is making me feel rough.”

“I understand, it’s alright,” Bucky gestured for her to follow him.

He led her back into the hallways of the church until they reached the main priest’s office.  Y/N paused for a moment outside the office door as Bucky held it open for her, before she inhaled quickly and stepped through the door.

“Miss Y/L/N, my name is Father Richards,” Richards held his hand out, which she stiffly shook.  “I’m sorry we couldn’t meet under more pleasant circumstances.  May I offer my deepest condolences to you.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said somberly.  She sat on the chair in front of the large wooden desk.  Her eyes settled on one scuffed spot on the desk as Father Richards and Bucky sat across from her.

“So, let’s get started,” Father Richards began.  “I’m sure you know your grandmother was a big supporter of the church.  She gave us some of our largest donations over her lifetime.  She had some instructions she left with me but I wanted to make sure everything sounded good to you before I enacted them, or if there was something left in her will that I wasn’t aware of?”

“The will and everything else is stuck in probate court right now,” Y/N answered, her tired eyes trying to focus on him.  “So honestly, whatever she told you is fine.  Doesn’t really matter to me.”

“I see,” Father Richards said, sounding a little annoyed.  Bucky glanced at him.

“Please don’t mistake my indifference for not caring,” Y/N retorted.  “I loved my grandmother, I just didn’t love her religion.  And that caused a rift between us.  I haven’t seen or spoken to her in years, so I was pretty surprised when I got a call from a lawyer in New York telling me she’d died and left me everything,” she continued, her words getting more curt by the second.  “No offense to either of you but me being here is highly triggering.  So is there anything else you need from me?”

“Uh, yes,” Richards tried to recover the conversation, his tone sounding more jovial.  “She did ask that you sing at her funeral.”  

“Absolutely not,” Y/N spat, her eyes narrowing as she minutely shook her head.

“Oh, well, I mean that’s what she wrote here–”

“No.”  

Bucky watched on in concern.  He knew the church came with a lot of baggage for some people, that its history was unclean.  He worried about what this would mean for them as she worked with them for this funeral.

“Hm, of course you don’t have to, but she always said how you had a lovely singing voice–”

“I said no,” she seethed.  “Now if you’ll excuse me,” she stood suddenly, Bucky and Father Richards copying her.  “I need to go.  Just call me if you need something else.”  She rummaged into her cardigan pocket, pulling out a wallet and taking out a business card, flinging it at them on the desk.  “Good day.”

She turned on her heel and hightailed it out of the office.  Father Richards and Bucky exchanged a bewildered look.  “Go,” Father Richards instructed.

Bucky jogged out of the office to catch up to Y/N.  “Y/N, please wait!”

Y/N sighed loudly as she turned back around to Bucky.  “I’m sorry for my rudeness, I just can’t stay here,” she said, continuing to walk away. 

“Hey,” he jogged around her until he faced her.  “Obviously there’s some deep problems you have with the church.”

“No shit Sherlock,” she dodged him, heading towards the front doors.

“And I don’t blame you!” Bucky walked alongside her.  “There have been bad things that have happened in its history.”

Y/N stopped abruptly as she rounded on him.  “To ME!” she pointed a finger towards herself.  Bucky stopped, his eyes widening at her.  She was shaking as she tried to calm herself.  She took a deep breath and a step back from him.  “I appreciate that the church has given you comfort, peace, a purpose maybe, but I grew up here,” she paused, stopping herself from crying.  “Father Carmine was here before you two, right?”  Bucky nodded his head slowly as he watched her.  “He hurt me.”

Bucky felt his heart plummet.  He had met Father Carmine many years ago as he and Father Richards were transferred in to replace him.  He had had an amazing rapport with the community, his congregation seemed to love him.  Now Bucky knew the reason for his sudden retirement.

Y/N scoffed.  “That notch on the desk?  In the office?  That’s from the heel of my shoe,” she took a step closer to him as she peered up at him, a fury in her eyes that made him feel like withering on the spot.  “My Mary Jane shoes, from my school uniform, when I was 15 years old.”  Bucky felt like he was going to throw up as he digested this information.  “So you’ll have to excuse me, if coming here to the place where I was abused and then unbelieved by the woman who raised me who I now have to bury, is dredging up some pretty raw emotions in me right now.”  Y/N was whispering now, her eyes filling with tears as she glared at him.  “Every cross, every Jesus statue, every rosary, every goddamn Roman collar,” her eyes flickered to his neck, “reminds me of that day.  So the fact that my grandmother was willing to still hold her funeral here in this godforsaken place, and then have the audacity to throw her money at me and ask me to sing?”  Y/N shivered violently as she grunted.  “I can’t…”

Bucky didn’t know what to do as he watched her fight off an oncoming panic attack.  “Y/N, hey…look,” he started to take off his Roman collar.  She watched him hesitantly.  “See?  Look, just me.  Not Father Barnes, not Father anything, just Bucky.”  He held his hands up towards her in a sign of meaning no harm.  “Constance was extremely devout, for sure,” Y/N scoffed again, rolling her eyes.  “But that was no excuse for her not to believe you,” he took a step forward.  Y/N’s eyes narrowed at him.  “You deserved to be believed.  You deserved justice, and you never got it.  I’m so sorry,” he took another step until he could reach out and hold her arms.  He lowered his face so he was eye level with her.  “I’m so sorry for what happened to you.  You didn’t deserve it, no one deserves that.” Y/N’s tears finally fell as she shook in his hands.  “And I’m sorry for Father Richards pushing you, he’s a very…no nonsense, regimented kind of guy.  But he should have taken your refusal the first time.”  He squeezed her arms and she took a shaky breath.  “We’ll follow her instructions, get through the funeral, and then you can be done with this place.  And go enjoy a long vacation on a beach in Bora Bora for me.”

Y/N laughed at that, her smile finally breaking the sadness etched in her face.  She wiped her eyes as Bucky dropped his hands from her.  He felt like his palms were stinging from the sensation of touching her.  “Thank you, Bucky,” she sniffed.  

“No problem,” he smiled at her.  “I know this isn’t a great place for you, but I hope you know that I believe you, and I’m here for you.”

Y/N gave him a long look, her eyes roaming his face momentarily.  She nodded and turned to leave, then suddenly turned back around and walked up to him.  She wound her arms around his waist and gave him a hug, squeezing him.  He barely had a chance to hug her back before she stepped away and walked out of the front doors.  Bucky watched her leave, already missing the way she smelled.

**picture if from Pinterest, it's A.I. so there's no "artist" or "creator"**

[mae-gi-writes]

Chef! Jay knows your order by heart by now. He sees you every morning in that pretty little attire of yours on the way to work, and doesn’t even bat an eye to start your morning coffee drink before you even have the chance to order.

“Thank you,” you’d say every single time, still surprised that he gets it right. And on time. Enough that you can make it to work without having to run like a madwoman.

Chef! Jay didn’t really care for you at first because he just lives in his own world; he cooks and people praise him, and that’s that. But everything changed when you stumbled into his restaurant one late evening, heartbroken and on the verge of tears, as you ordered yourself one of the ramen specials.

Chef! Jay’s been watching you since then. At first, out of pure worry because that evening you had cried and cried and cried until you’d passed out on the dinner table.

“Life is unfair.” You’d moan, “i want to die.”

Chef! Jay had to call a taxi to bring you home, with the help of a female employee in ensuring you got there safely. Chef! Jay, who would watch you from the corner of his eye every morning, who can’t meet your eye and thanks god that you don’t remember what happened that night because he himself feels embarrassed for you.

Chef! Jay, who finally musters up the courage to mutter a soft “hello” when he passes you your coffee one day, and blushes red to the tips of his ears when you greet him back shyly.

“You know my order.” You say.

He flushes, “I do.”

“What’s your name?”

Chef! Jay, who finds himself getting smitten with the way you hold your cup (with two hands) and the way you look at him (like he puts stars in your sky just because he remembers your order). Who tell you that the restaurant is “still open” despite the fact that it’s thirty minutes after closing time, who cooks your food with utmost care and can’t help but grin to himself when you seem to enjoy the food.

Chef! Jay, who slowly but surely handles your heart with the utmost care; on your bad days, on days where you feel excited to be alive, on days where living is just tough.

“You know chef Jay, I really should thank you for taking care of me so well.” You tell him one day after service as you watch him clean up his utensils, “and your food is amazing, as always. I’m surprised you haven’t found yourself a wife yet. Women fall at your feet, don’t they?”

“I’m not interested.”

“Oh?” You blink at him, “sorry, I didn’t know you batted for the other team—“

“No that’s not what I meant,” he looks at you then, piercing gaze and hard mouth, “I’m interested in someone else.”

Chef! Jay, who despite feeling embarrassed that night, decides to step up his game when he gets the hint that maybe you like him back, who grasps your hand just as youMre leaving the restaurant only to grin at the blush littering your cheeks.

Chef! Jay, who starts flirting with you when he’s off-service and who can’t help but flush red when he accidentally cages you against the kitchen counter one night. Chef! jay, who tries to search your face for any signs of discomfort only to be taken by surprise when you lean up to press a soft peck to his lips.

Chef! Jay, who decides that your lips taste the best when he cups your cheeks to kiss you one more time, savouring the heat and the taste of you upon his tongue and who shudders upon hearing you whine softly when he tugs your hips closer to him.

Chef! Jay, who realizes that he’s in a bit too deep when you agree to come back for an official date the next day.

[semjaapp]

Happy International Women's Day 2024

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Lute: “Wait- your new name Vesper isn’t in DEFIANCE of your Morningstar hell family, but a MIRROR of it???”

Vesper Bill: (cocking the gun full of heavenly bullets that their uncle Pentious made for them)

Vesper Bill: “Always was.”

Vesper Bill: (shoots Lute’s halo off her head instead of killing her) (like mother like child)

XD this is so dumb i love

behold my version of the chaggie spear baby's full character profile!

NAME: (redacted)bil(redacted)s Morningstar -> Vesper Bill, one word, not ‘Vesper’ or ‘Bill, always ‘Vesper Bill’.

NATURE: Weapon-born demonic Exorcist angel. Mortal. Slow aging.

OCCUPATION: Overlord, supplier for Rosie’s Emporium and Carmilla Carmine’s weapons business, Exorcist slayer and rehabilitator, cowboy grim reaper cosplayer, garden weeder.     

TERRITORY: Hell’s first community garden.

THEIR “THING”: Soul savings accounts and debt forgiveness programs. Killing murderous Exorcists.   - Entrust your soul to them so you can’t be tempted / pressured into selling it to anyone else. They’ll give it back if you ask, but you do have to ask first, and they’re usually good at figuring out some other way of getting what you want.  - Checks in with other overlords to see which sinners owe stuff and pays the debt / kills / scares off the overlord if they can. Then gives an accidentally terrifying visit to the former indebted sinner so they can say their favorite line of: “I’m Vesper Bill, and yours is due…. Never. It’s been paid off. Congrats.” (hands over a flyer about their moms' Hazbin Hotel)   - Their less favorite line is when they only say the first part of the above, right before killing an Exorcist. All resulting bodies are sold to Rosie, the weapons to Carmilla, and the funds go towards the community garden.

RELATIONS: Their moms run a struggling hotel business, all the live-guests of which are their uncles/aunts/grandpa.

ENEMIES: Most of heaven and a good part of hell. Their full birth name. Flower pollen. Mint.

STRUGGLES: - “It’s not a phase, moms.” (about their goth cowboy theme) – (tips hat at a lady) (walks into car bc they weren’t watching where they were going) – (coughing and sneezing and voice often sounds rough and terrifying bc they have allergies but won’t stop weeding in the garden) - Having tiny stubby demon horns that won’t grow bigger (covers with hat) (hat was a gift and orinially came from Earth) – keeping their demon tail under control (hides it under their coat).

LOVES: - Their moms, the princess of hell and her former Exorcist angel girlfriend. - The hazbin hotel family crew. - Gardening. - Cowboy stuff. - Being annoying to heaven. - Women who could vaporize them physically or emotionally with a smile or a knife either way.

PROUDEST MOMENT: Successfully infiltrating heaven, tricking Lute with a pretend hatred of their moms, wrecking shit, getting a weapon’s upgrade from their uncle, and leading a handful of now former Exorcists back down to hell with them on the way out.

POWERS: - Angelic resilience. - Demonic strength. - Summoning or banishing anyone who’s soul they have in trust, from or to the place of their choice (within the Pride Ring) (mostly used as taxi service). - Skilled at cutting weeds and brush with a scythe. - Good dancer. - Responsible gun owner and operator. - Kids love them.    

Trivia: Got into their cowboy phase after a brief one-time visit to Earth where they played guardian angel for an actual cowgirl for a day. Thinks about her a lot. Ready to go be a nuisance to Heaven again if she ends up there and wants company- is also trying to grow her favorite flowers down here in Hell, just in case. (also puts on red cheek spots makeup everyday, bc they are Charlie's kid too and PROUD of it)

and that's it, that's my take on the chaggie spear baby idea thing, all grown up!

it's ridiculous. i had so much FUN with it

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) || Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14c (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 15a (Dreams) || Chapter 15b (I Sing A Song of Love) || Chapter 15c (You Can Do This If You Try) || Chapter 16 (Let That Feeling Grab You Deep Inside ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 17A: Never Tear Us Apart

New York City ||| September 1988

I was standing You were there Two worlds collided And they could never tear us apart…

 - “Never Tear Us Apart”, INXS (1988) [click here to listen]

~~~~~

The taxi glided to a stop in front of the Plaza Hotel. A bellman opened the door before the passenger finished paying the driver. With a quick thanks the passenger exited the taxi, squinting in the early afternoon sunshine, nodding a hello at the bellman and his top hat.

Quietly the man entered the hotel and crossed the lobby.

“Hello,” he greeted the woman standing behind the Guest Services desk. “I’m here to see Colum Laird.”

“Certainly. Your name, sir?”

The man pulled a business card from the breast pocket of his blazer.

Raymond Germain, MD

Private Counseling

New York City

“One moment, please.” The woman dialed a string of digits, speaking softly into the phone.

Raymond waited, glancing around the lobby. A cluster of photographers sat, bored, around a side table. Several young men and women with spiky hair and leather jackets stood in another corner, some clutching record albums and permanent markers. Two women in low cut dresses primped in front of their hand mirrors.

“Dr. Germain? Mr. Laird is ready to see you. Please follow my colleague.”

A man, dressed in a smart suit, appeared seemingly out of the wall. “Right this way, sir.”

Raymond followed him across the lobby, through a set of double doors marked STAFF ONLY, and into an elevator bank.

“The band has booked the entire northwest corner of the sixteenth floor,” the man explained. “It’s configured in such a way to provide total privacy. This elevator is the only way to get up there.”

“I see.” Raymond shifted on his feet, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “How long have they been staying here?”

The elevator arrived, and the man gestured for Raymond to enter. “Three nights so far. From what I understand, they’ve played two sellouts at Madison Square Garden. With the final show tonight.”

The man pressed 16, and the doors slid shut.

“How have they been as guests?”

The man smiled. “It’s hotel policy to not comment on any guest who stays here. But what I will tell you, is that it’s much more sedate than the last time they stayed with us, in ’86. The entire fifteenth floor had to be re-carpeted.”

The doors opened onto a hallway. A short, middle-aged man with shoulder-length graying hair stood in the elevator lobby. A dozen doors trailed away in the corridor behind him.

“Dr. Germain.” He extended a hand in greeting. “Welcome.”

“Mr. Laird. Colum. Call me Raymond, please. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The elevator doors slid shut, leaving Colum and Raymond in the hallway.

“Well, Raymond – thank you for coming. I know getting up here is a bit unorthodox – but it’s the only way to ensure total privacy. Things have been a bit of a zoo this summer.”

Raymond smiled kindly. “I truly can’t imagine.”

Colum sighed, wiping his eyes. “Fortunately it’s been a bit of a quiet morning. The band and the crew are pretty exhausted.”

A crash from behind the closest door. Followed by a man’s voice, and a woman’s high-pitched giggle.

Colum smiled tightly. “Pay no attention to Angus. His only vice is women - he’s had a menage-a-trois going all tour.”

“I see,” Raymond remarked quietly. Not quite seeing at all.

Colum coughed. “Anyway, let me take you down the hall. They’re waiting.”

Dougal MacKenzie had not provided many specifics about Jamie and Claire Fraser. The broad strokes, of course – that both had been patients at The Ridge last year; that his addictions were alcohol and cocaine and women and hers were pills; that they had been married less than two months. That she was a surgeon.

Oh, and that he was the singer, guitarist, and chief songwriter of just about the biggest rock band in the world.

Raymond hadn’t a clue about Jamie’s music. But Dougal had said it wouldn’t matter. And in more than ten years of knowing each other, Dougal had proved to have impeccable instincts.

Colum knocked on the final door in the hallway. Muffled voices – and then a beautiful woman opened the door.

“You must be Dr. Germain.” She extended a warm hand in greeting. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Claire Fraser.”

Raymond took her hand between both of his. “Raymond. And the pleasure is all mine, Dr. Fraser.”

She smiled kindly, surprised. “Claire, please.” She tilted her head, just a bit. “Have we met before?”

Raymond returned her smile. “I don’t think so. I’m sure I would remember.”

Colum quietly stepped away and padded down the hallway.

Claire gestured behind her. “Please do come in.”

to be continued…

[feeshies]

An assortment of cases I studied this semester which I will never forget (they're all for torts)

Guy sees some boys on one of his many sheds so he throws a stick at one of the boys to get him off his shed but he accidentally hits the wrong boy who was sitting on his shed

Guy is upset that a bar is closed for the night so he reacts reasonably by attacking the front door with a hatchet

A woman in a cult finally convinces the cult leader to let her leave, so they sail back to America on his yacht and when they arrive he keeps the yacht in the harbor and doesn't let her sail to shore

A grocery store employee told an old lady “if you want to know the price, you’ll have to find out the best way you can…you stink to me.” Personally, I find this statement incomprehensible. But apparently she found it offensive enough that she sued for emotional distress.

Internet service provider can't get this spam email company to stop harassing its customers with unwanted emails. People are unsubscribing because of them. ISP creates a software to filter through spam. Spam email company makes another software to get around new software. 50K enemies to lovers slow burn.

Guy broke into what he thought was an abandoned house, only to discover that the owner had a spring-loaded shotgun trap set up

Women went to doctor for ear surgery. While under anesthesia, the doctor realized that her other ear was a bigger concern, so he operated on the other ear.

Woman and husband discover that the doctor's assistant they let into their home was "just some guy." (Actual wording was "an unmarried, young unprofessional man." Which is going in my Tinder bio.)

It was the Great Fire of 1853 and this dude's house had to be demolished to prevent the fire from getting worse.

Taxi driver was held at gunpoint but he managed to jump out of the cab but the cab sped off without a driver and hit someone. Also the judge decided to write about it in the weirdest possible way.

Guy went to get a urethral swab done and they had him stand the entire time?

Someone slips on banana

Someone slips on banana

Someone slips on banana

Someone slips on milk

Someone slips on pizza

Someone slips on grapes

Barrel of flour falls from top story window and onto guy's head

Guy carrying package is running through train station and trips, but the package is full of fireworks and the package explodes and the explosion causes a giant clock to fall onto a woman.

A plank falls off of a loading dock and creates a spark that causes an explosion

Oil spills onto the water, but some cotton got onto the oil and that was enough for the oil to go up in flames and burn an entire ship and wharf

Vibrations from an explosion cause a minx to eat her babies

Woman goes to use her outhouse and falls through the floor. Landlord tries to say that she assumed the risk because "she could clearly see the outhouse was in bad condition!"

[sneakerguybln]

2051: The society changed and reproduction is controlled under law. Young guys between 18 and 25 are drawn randomly for vasectomies. For each year there will be a quota to reach. Guys can get a vasectomy voluntarily. If they do so they get rewards. They get $5,000 per month for one year from the government and will qualify for the vasectomy reward system. In addition the city of Liverpool is adding a 5 year membership at a local gym. These 5 friends are going into their voluntary vasectomy procedure today. Will (20, left), Damian (19, second from left), Marvin (19, second from right) and Bill (19, right) are gay and decided to get the procedure. In the center is standing Dennis, the 18 year old brother of Damian. He turned 18 a day earlier. This qualifies him for an additional reward: $10,000 if he's doing it within a week after his 18th birthday. The procedure is consisting of following stages:

Consultation

In this stage the volunteers get the last informations about the procedure and sign all documents. They can stop the procedure at this point. But there are rumours that nearly all people were drawn for mandatory vasectomy after ducking out at this stage. And that would mean that they get the procedure but without rewards.

Harvesting

All guys get a harvesting session before vasectomy. This is starting with a drugged drink. This drink is an aphrodisiac and produces a boner for at least an hour. Then the guys have to get naked and are restrained. They get a cannula into their arms. A milking machine is connected to their dicks and then they're milked until nothing comes out. As this procedure is exhausting a calming drug is injected into each guy via the cannula. The harvested cum is stored and can be bought by women/families for reproduction.

Vasectomy

Then the vasectomy is starting. For that the milking machine is removed and the dick and balls are to be cleaned. After that a numbing spray is applied but the most guys are still in their dream world from the harvesting drug. And some volunteers are describing the vasectomy as if it happened in a dream.

Aftercare

All volunteers are getting RFID chips into their hands. These chips are the proof to get the vasectomy rewards. Then the cannula is removed and the guys will be put into the consciousness room where they wait in a lounge area until the drug isn't working anymore. Then a taxi service is bringing them home. Next day they'll find the first money at their bank accounts.

[noneedtoamputate]

According to this Christian Science Monitor article, 640,000 Bristish women served in the armed forces during World War Two. More than 300,00 American women were in uniform. This doesn't include civilian work that supported the war effort. However, Hanks, Spielberg & Co. continue to mainly show women in regards to their relationships with men.

My grandmother was a WAC during the war and spent her time at Hamilton Field in San Francisco. The Bloody 100th it wasn't, but she was proud of service and loved her time in the army. She worked on the landing crew. You know the people holding the sticks on the ground, telling the pilots where to land and taxi? That was her. Women had all sorts of jobs on base. I was really looking forward to seeing their stories on Masters of the Air , but I guess it's easy for the writers to just put them in bed rather than create a complex female character.

Of course people had sex. And I'm not saying there should be no sex in the show. But the male characters are more than just their bedroom conquests. I wish the female characters were afforded the same opportunity.

[gtlurker]

Finally chapter six of inhuman, unfortunately I couldn't find a way to squeeze any g/t into this chapter, but, new perspective and new characters are introduced in this new addition, enjoy!

Chapter six,

Damien

Im three hours into the thirteen hour flight from venice italy to vancouver canada, and each passing second im more tempted to knock out the pilot, take the wheel and break most of the air traffic safety rules.

It took me ten years to find my sister, and I hired the two most idiotic men to retrieve her. I would've done it myself if it weren't for the fact that I was in Europe when I got the notification that she was still in the same town we grew up in.

I knew my father wasn't an idiot when it came to where he put his labs, he strategically places them in old worn abandoned buildings so that they're not on the government's radar. Unfortunately for him, I'm not as stupid as the government and was able to find isabelle.

Granted it took me ten years, but I know for a fact that she's still alive and not too injured. I know for a fact that she's going to have a lot of changes due to the unique nature of our fathers experiments, but it won't be anything I cant reverse.

I was seventeen when Isabelle was taken to the lab. My mother and father came home that day to tell me about what they had done, and informed me that I was going to be taken there as well. Not for the same reason as my sister though, they wanted me to start visiting the labs so I could learn what I would be in charge of after they passed. Of course when I protested their reaction was not what i was expecting. Instead of the usual violence and threats on my life, they said something a hundred times worse.

They had threatened to use Isabelle for tests that the subjects were not meant to survive.

With how They had gone into detail about the different ways they could make her death slower and more agonizing, I knew I didn't have much of a choice but to force other innocent children into the same sick fate that hundreds have been put through due to my parents. In a way I'm just as bad as they are, I couldn't find another way to save my sister and instead hurt dozens of others just like her, And I don't even know if I truly saved her at all.

Nine more hours into the flight I'm tempted to just grab a parachute and jump out of the plane window.

I refrain however, I don't think the other passengers would appreciate a sudden loss of pressure in the cabin. The last hour of the flight Is always the longest and I feel like now Is worse than ever.

I sigh for what feels like the millionth time since I boarded the plane, and I only sigh louder when the baby I'm sitting ten seats in front of starts wailing once again. Anyone who brings a baby on a plane should at least have the decency to be able to keep it quiet. Yet another sigh escapes my lips as I unbuckle my seatbelt and make my way over to the women holding the baby, my expression carefully folded into an expression that masks the annoyance that is building inside my core.

Once I reach her seat, and see the baby's little face scrunched up with tears running down his face, alongside a clearly exhausted mother who looks like she hasn't gotten a wink of sleep in the last week. I tap her shoulder and her eyes meet mine, the dark circles under her eyes abundantly clear. “Excuse me miss, I don't mean to be rude,” I tell her in my customer service, and I hold out the small blue stuffed bear that I keep with me for situations like this, “but would your child want this to help him calm down?” the baby in question stops its blubbering and begins to make grabby hands at the toy, and his mother accepts the toy with a grateful smile and I leave before she can initiate any small talk.

Once the plane has landed, I waste no time grabbing my bags and calling a taxi to take me to the very odd address I was given by the idiots I hired. Since I was in such a rush to leave Italy, I only packed three bags to take with me. One for essentials, one for my equipment, and one for Isabelle's things that I managed to get my hands on after my parents threw them all out. The cab driver is a young man in his twenties, he seems tired and based on his expression I assume he's not really one of those chatty drivers i hate.

I lean back and pull out my phone, a simple black burner phone that I use to contact anyone involved in my less than legal life. After scrolling through the seemingly never ending list of contacts before finally coming across the one i need. I click the call button and bring the phone to my ear. Once I hear the voice on the other end of the phone, I speak before they have a chance to take a breath. “You have twenty minutes.”