#The age of digital work has changed

[esselte974]

The rise of teleworking and teletravel

The travel sector has been a major driver of change in recent years thanks to technology. It’s in these innovations that artificial intelligence, virtual reality and blockchain have been absolutely central to redefining travel. Platforms powered by artificial intelligence now offer personalized travel recommendations and carry out bookings while guaranteeing an exceptional experience. Thanks to…

[kwyoz]

the arm still bothers me sm, but i refuse to continue trying to fix this.

[expanding-our-channel-lineup]

Why RVR School of Photography is Your Gateway to a Thriving Photography Career

Introduction: Photography as a Career There is a huge market gap and in this gap the art of photography career has come up from being just a hobby to a fully fledged profession. Apart from media and advertisements, photography career  now have a significant opportunity in fashion and social media also. At the RVR school of photography, we focus on the development of such skills and taking enthusiastic photographers as our students, we convert them into professionals. Our students have already worked with TCS, Wipro, Times amongst others. This speaks volumes of our training and the changing perception of the employers towards our students.

1. The Growing Demand for Professional Photographers

It became quite apparent that there is an increased need for photographers not only for social functions or individual projects but rather for the e-commerce, media and fashion industries. As marketing experts seek to impress customers with great product photography, storytelling, and other visual elements, skilled photographers are in high demand. Demand for photographers has exploded virtually with the advent of the digital age. At the RVR school of photography, we take the students through the necessary training, which will encourage  them to built their photography career with all the needs to succeed as photographers in the current market situation.

2. Why Choose RVR School of Photography?

At RVR, we don’t only teach photography; we build photography career. This is what makes us unique:

Comprehensive Curriculum: In our courses, we start with the basics of photography and proceed to advanced editing, lighting, and image processing.

Industry Trained Faculty: Our teachers have more than just teaching as they have been active photographers themselves and know what it means to be in the profession.

Practice: Theory is not enough for us. The program has lots of practical sessions for the learners to further their skills and techniques.

Career Counselling and Job Placement: RVR pays particular attention to all students. Many of our students have received jobs in the companies that qualified them.

3. Courses Offered at RVR School of Photography

Our programs target all  photographers to buit there photography career  at all levels. That’s new photographers who want to acquire basic skills and professional ones who wish to perfect their skills.

 Beginner Photography Course: Photography course for beginners covers the fundamentals how to hold and use a camera, basic light, composition, and how to take pictures. This is an appropriate course for everyone who has never taken a photograph; hence, this course provides a good base.

Advanced Photography Course: In our Advanced Course, some students are equipped with more advanced skills in low-light techniques, portrait photography, and image retouching so that they will be able to manage more difficult work and high quality tools.

Specialized Photography Courses: We have organized specialized courses, such as Fashion Photography, Landscape Photography, and Wedding Photography that let the students develop much interest in the specific field of their choice.

Editing and Post-Production: Our courses on editing and post-production concentrate on industry-recognized tools such as Adobe Photoshop, Adobe Lightroom, and other similar programs. In this digital age, editing techniques are indispensable in content creation, and our students are well trained in those techniques.

RVR School: Paving the Way to Photography Excellence and Shaping the Future of Creative TalentBy Simran

4. Photography Career: Gain Real-World Experience and Build a Stunning Portfolio

In the same mindset, it is quite safe to say that a photographer’s portfolio is their visual CV, one of the most vital components needed to utilize their expertise and up to clients and or employers. At RVR School of Photography, we believe having an impressive portfolio is of utmost importance especially when starting a career as a photographer. 

Students of RVR have opportunities to participate in real product photoshoots, fashion editorials, etc, which are supervised by the instructors. These projects not only sharpen their practical skills but also prepare students to work in the real world where they have to please people, and complete the tasks given to them on time.

Such projects are led by instructors who are experienced practitioners in the industry and have mentored the students themselves through projects. They help the students with their feedback and how to use techniques that will help the students create an artistic identity that is uniquely theirs.

Also we encourage active learning through portfolios and conduct regular practice in fine al placement where students are given constructive feedback on their work. Feedback always highlights where the student is strong and where the student has room for growth so that the end product is always balance and professional.

5. RVR School of Photography Alumni Success Stories

Our students have to achieve great milestones by getting jobs in well-known companies such as TCS, WIPRO, TIMES, et cetera. These milestones achieved by some of our students bring glory to our school and prove that the training we provide has immense value in the field.

Some of our alumni who have been successful are:

Ravi Sharma: Worked with times as a corporate photographer and covered events of the high management.

Sneha Kapoor: Worked in the TCS marketing team and was involved in the creation of visuals for the campaigns.

Arjun Mehta: Worked as a fashion photographer in Wipro showcasing their apparel lines in the most appealing way.

These stories inspire our students and demonstrate the quality of training they receive at RVR.

6. Photography Career Skills You’ll Master at RVR School of Photography

The skills our students achieve go beyond the basics:

Mastering Composition: Composing a frame that tells a story with a thousand visual elements.

Lighting Techniques: Using natural and artificial lighting for accentuation and photography.

Editing Mastery: Students’ skills with tools such as Adobe Photoshop, Light room, and others.

Client Management: How to handle clients and their expectations and how to put them to fruition.

7. photography Career Paths After Completing a Photography Course

A degree from RVR School of Photography helps in getting various types of jobs:

Corporate Photographer: Photograph brand images, teams, events.

Fashion Photographer: Work with Brands, models, and designers.

Freelance Photographer: Own Photography business.

Media Photographer: Creative visual images for stories for newspapers, magazines.

With our guidance, students can tailor their skills to the path that suits them best.

8. How RVR School of Photography Supports Your photography Career

We don’t stop with the coursework only, it doesn’t end there. We help them to bulit their photography career:

Placements: With a reach over leading employers like TCS, Wipro and Times. We place students at the best jobs available. TCS, Wipro and Times

Networking Events: We provide events to the students where they meet potential employers and industry leaders (Photography).

Career Counseling: Counseling for photography career selection, for portfolio development, for interview skills etc.

9. Why Photography is a Lucrative Career Choice

Modern-day photography has reached unbelievable heights and most people have accepted it as an industry that encompasses numerous photography career opportunities. Photography career is self-employment, creativity and self actualization all in one package.

Consistently Develops:There is no industry today that does not have specialization in photography career. Companies reach out to professional photographers in other sectors such as marketing, advertising, content creation and social media. The same expertise is requested for events such as weddings, business meetings or product launches. It creates a continuous search for new talented professionals in detail work and creative design.

Different photography Career Opportunities:Several professional paths are available even when one has selected the field of phototgraphy. People of all skills and preferences: travel, fashion, wildlife, food, event and much more can all find their field in photography. Freelancers have freedom to select jobs, individuals focusing on photography career in occupations have a fixed salary and constant work.

Financial Stability and Growth:Would you consider photography career as an art or a business? For any professional photographer, it’s both. On the one hand, established photographers can offer a large range of services as well as find themselves to have long-term relationships with their clients. For instance, wedding photographers have good returns in each event during the busy season. On the other hand, commercial photographers working for top companies can receive good commissions on their projects as well.

Freelance Freedom:If you are one of those people that does not like having a boss, freelancing enables you to live a different lifestyle. A photographer who works on a one-off basis gets to select what project to work on, when to work, and how to sell themselves. This path of employment also means you can work with brands from a different country which means other markets always exist.

10. How to Apply to RVR School of Photography

Do you want to begin your photography career? The application to RVR is straightforward and needs no additional stress:

Look at our Site:  RVR SCHOOL OF PHOTOGRAPHY

Select the Desired Course: Review the courses we offer and select the course you want.

Utilize the Application to Apply: Complete the provided form with the required information.

Meet Our Team For An Interview: Here we evaluate your interest in pursuing photography career and your vision.

Our admissions team is here to help you through each step.

Conclusion: Start Your Photography Career with RVR School of Photography

Photography is not simply a play of light and chemistry, but rather a story, an imagination, and a moment that strikes the heart of many. A photography career is endless since it can either be an exploration of artistic vision or a stable and rewarding profession. RVR School of Photography offers world-class training that combines sound theoretical knowledge with practical experience to make sure our students are industry-ready from day one.

Our professional mentorship builds students’ technical abilities and the assurance that they can succeed in a competitive marketplace. We help them create a solid portfolio, which is the foundation of every successful Registrant photographer, and we prepare them for different photography career paths from freelancing to working with renowned companies.

Whether you aspire to be a fashion photographer, specialize in stunning landscapes, or focus on corporate and media photography, RVR School of Photography is the best starting point. Our graduates speak volumes about the quality of education we offer, as many have attained outstanding milestones in their photography career.

Keep your passion for photography as a hobby, or let it change your life. RVR School of Photography provides tailored mentoring, world-class infrastructure, and an energetic learning environment to help you make creative dreams a successful photography career.

So what are you waiting for? Take action today, and allow us to guide you in unlocking your potential and creating an enjoyable career in photography. Become a student at RVR School of Photography, and see your passion become a successful professio

[ninakaina]

i was thinking about this today so how long has YOUR JOB existed- not how long your industry has existed, but how long someone has been doing the work you do as a trade notwithstanding changes in terminology and technology. no unemployed option cuz i cant add more answers sorry... tell me about it in the tags

[sirfrogsworth]

I think in this new age of A.I. the general public is going to need to increase their photography and lighting literacy. The response to this photo has just been a shit show.

There are people pointing out perfectly normal edge lighting and misunderstanding how reflections work.

First the plane is parked at an angle. The tail is farther back than the nose. But also that is a curved surface and it tapers. It's reflecting the area to the right of the photo.

And the bottom of the plane is reflecting what is directly underneath. Which is the tarmac, not the crowd.

It should also be noted that photo was shot with a very telephoto lens and everything is super compressed. The crowd appears much closer to the airplane than they actually are.

But then someone who should have good understanding of lighting said this...

And now I'm worried for her clients. Because that's very... wrong.

Well, wrong-ish.

First, let's try to understand why this photo is setting off some alarm bells.

The crowd toward the rear is in shadow, but they are still very well exposed. But then there is also a bright light source creating a strong edge light on them. Looking at this photo with just the context of what is in it, there are some things that seem uncanny.

The information we do not have is the people in the shadow area are inside a very brightly lit airplane hangar.

So they have artificial light blasting them from the top.

But that light is still much dimmer than the sunlit areas outside so they appear in shade. But we are used to shade being much darker than areas in direct sun. So the balance seems off in our brain. We expect the people to be darker because we don't have the context of the bright hangar lights above them.

But the other issue is that the photo was post processed. It wasn't manipulated. The pixels weren't changed. But the exposure balance was altered.

If I were to guess, the original photo looked more like this...

But newer digital cameras can have 13 to 15 stops of dynamic range. And if you shoot in RAW, you can easily lift shadows and bring down highlights. You can balance the exposure so the dark parts aren't as dark and the bright parts aren't as bright. This photographer might have overdone it a bit in this case, but this is a fairly standard edit used to bring balance to photos.

And lastly, where does the edge light come from?

Edge lighting or backlighting or rim lighting (all the same) should probably be called wrap-around lighting if you want to be more accurate.

It comes from a homogenous light source that is larger than the subject being lit. So with my knife photo, I placed it on a large LED panel light.

The light source was bigger than the subject so it wrapped around the edges.

And I'm afraid the airplane is not nearly large enough to create a light source to wrap around everyone in the crowd. It isn't even reflecting direct sunlight. So I'm sorry to say that lighting designer was mostly mistaken despite the confidence.

The light source is... everything.

That entire red area I highlighted is the light source.

As well as everything above and everything to the sides.

And the biggest aspect of that light source would be the sky above. I think people always forget the sky is a light source. If you are seeing blue, you are seeing light. And I guess the plane is included in that, but that entire highlighted red area is so bright, and so filled with sunlight bouncing around, that it creates basically a giant softbox. It becomes a huge single light source for the people in the hangar.

If you look at footage taken from way inside the hangar, you can see the camera adjusting exposure for the crowd inside, but look at what happens to the sunlit area outside.

What does that look like?

A giant softbox.

A single homogenous light source blasting light inside the hangar.

The sun is so incredibly bright that even when it is not directly lighting something, the light just bouncing around outside is enough to overpower the very bright hangar lights.

So, what have we learned from this?

Perhaps people should hire me to be their lighting designer.

Though I'm sure she is actually very talented. She seems to work with stage lights and this is more physics and photography.

Phystography.

[unexpectederawhilesubmitting]

WARNING: DOCTOR WHO SPOILERS EXPLAINING REGENERATION SHENANIGANS

-------------------

okay so I was kind of not on board with the concept of bi-regeneration, mainly because of how it seemed like all of the Sad and the Trauma that the Doctor had undergone got kind of handwaved away? i'm all for ncuti's Doctor being sort of a fresh start/jumping on point for new viewers, but i didn't get how that could work if like, literally 40 minutes ago he was David Tennant being a sad wet puppy dog of a man

however, after rewatching it, i've realized what i think happened there, and it goes all the way back to something introduced with the 4th doctor's regeneration that was never explained: the Watcher

^this spooky guy

so, for those that don't know (or haven't seen every episode of a show that is over half a century old), the Fourth Doctor regenerates at the end of a story called Logopolis (he falls off a satellite dish, but that's not important right now). all throughout the episode, this weird figure, The Watcher, stands off in the distance, and even intervenes slightly by saving the Fourth Doctor's companion. there's not much given in the way of an explanation until the Fourth Doctor regenerates, saying "it's the end. but the moment has been prepared for..."

the watcher walks up, and gets absorbed in a super rad 1980's digital effect (never change doctor who), while his companion just gives us the not-super-helpful-for-lore statement "He was the Doctor all the time!"

then, in a crossfade, the Doctor goes from Four to weird-powder-man to Five

canonically, the Watcher is explained as a future version of the doctor that comes about in sort of a weird overlapping thing with the doctor's timeline, it's very wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey.

-------------------------

SO what does this have to do with biregeneration and satisfying character arcs/moving on from trauma?

Well, remember, Fifteen said this, about Time Lords doing rehab out of order:

so, here's the thing: Fifteen is the Doctor AFTER Fourteen (duh, I know?) But to be clear...Fourteen lives out an entire lifetime with Donna and family, gets to a ripe old age, and then, when his lifetime of healing is over, he gets yeeted back through his own timestream just to zoot himself out of David Tennant's chest.

Remember, his first words to Fourteen (after popping out of his chest) are "So good to see you! So good!", not the RTD classic "what?". He greets himself like he's almost expecting this, he then says "does anyone want to tell me what the hell is going on here?" which only makes sense if he's coming from a different point in his own timestream (remember, when two doctors interact, memory gets really weird, 10 and the War Doctor don't remember the events of Day of the Doctor until they live through them as 11).

SO TO BE CLEAR: Ncuti Gatwa is playing the Doctor AFTER he has spent years healing from his traumas. His Doctor is fine because Fourteen takes the time to rest and work on himself.

tl;dr: I didn't like biregeneration at first because I thought it looked like this:

In actuality, it looks more like this:

[odinsblog]

🗣️THIS IS WHAT INCLUSIVE, COMPASSIONATE DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE

Minnesota Dems enacted a raft of laws to make the state a trans refuge, and ensure people receiving trans care here can't be reached by far-right governments in places like Florida and Texas. (link)

Minnesota Dems ensured that everyone, including undocumented immigrants, can get drivers' licenses. (link)

They made public college free for the majority of Minnesota families. (link)

Minnesota Dems dropped a billion dollars into a bevy of affordable housing programs, including by creating a new state housing voucher program. (link)

Minnesota Dems massively increased funding for the state's perpetually-underfunded public defenders, which lets more public defenders be hired and existing public defenders get a salary increase. (link)

Dems raised Minnesota education spending by 10%, or about 2.3 billion. (link)

Minnesota Dems created an energy standard for 100% carbon-free electricity by 2040. (link)

Minnesota already has some of the strongest election infrastructure (and highest voter participation) in the country, but the legislature just made it stronger, with automatic registration, preregistration for minors, and easier access to absentee ballots. (link)

Minnesota Dems expanded the publicly subsidized health insurance program to undocumented immigrants. This one's interesting because it's the sort of things Dems often balk at. The governor opposed it! The legislature rolled over him and passed it anyway. (link)

Minnesota Dems expanded background checks and enacted red-flag laws, passing gun safety measures that the GOP has thwarted for years. (link)

Minnesota Dems gave the state AG the power to block the huge healthcare mergers that have slowly gobbled up the state's medical system. (link)

Minnesota Dems restored voting rights to convicted felons as soon as they leave prison. (link)

Minnesota Dems made prison phone calls free. (link)

Minnesota Dems passed new wage protection rules for the construction industry, against industry resistance. (link)

Minnesota Dems created a new sales tax to fund bus and train lines, an enormous victory for the sustainability and quality of public transit. Transit be more pleasant to ride, more frequent, and have better shelters, along more lines. (link)

They passed strict new regulations on PFAS ("forever chemicals"). (link)

Minnesota Dems passed the largest bonding bill in state history! Funding improvements to parks, colleges, water infrastructure, bridges, etc. etc. etc. (link)

They're going to build a passenger train from the Twin Cities to Duluth. (link)

I can't even find a news story about it but there's tens of millions in funding for new BRT lines, too. (link)

A wonky-but-important change: Minnesota Dems indexed the state gas tax to inflation, effectively increasing the gas tax. (link)

They actually indexed a bunch of stuff to inflation, including the state's education funding formula, which helps ensure that school spending doesn't decline over time. (link)

Minnesota Dems made hourly school workers (e.g., bus drivers and paraprofessionals) eligible for unemployment during summer break, when they're not working or getting paid. (link)

Minnesota Dems passed a bunch of labor protections for teachers, including requiring school districts to negotiate class sizes as part of union contracts. (Yet another @SydneyJordanMN special here. (link)

Minnesota Dems created a state board to govern labor standards at nursing homes. (link)

Minnesota Dems created a Prescription Drug Affordability Board, which would set price caps for high-cost pharmaceuticals. (link)

Minnesota Dems created new worker protections for Amazon warehouse workers and refinery workers. (link)

Minnesota Dems passed a digital fair repair law, which requires electronics manufacturers to make tools and parts available so that consumers can repair their electronics rather than purchase new items. (link)

Minnesota Dems made Juneteenth a state holiday. (link)

Minnesota Dems banned conversion therapy. (link)

They spent nearly a billion dollars on a variety of environmental programs, from heat pumps to reforestation. (link)

Minnesota Dems expanded protections for pregnant and nursing workers - already in place for larger employers - to almost everyone in the state. (link)

Minnesota Dems created a new child tax credit that will cut child poverty by about a quarter. (link)

Minnesota Democrats dropped a quick $50 million into homelessness prevention programs. (link)

And because the small stuff didn't get lost in the big stuff, they passed a law to prevent catalytic converter thefts. (link)

Minnesota Dems increased child care assistance. (link)

Minnesota Dems banned "captive audience meetings," where employers force employees to watch anti-union presentations. (link)

No news story yet, but Minnesota Dems forced signal priority changes to Twin Cities transit. Right now the trains have to wait at intersections for cars, which, I can say from experience, is terrible. Soon that will change.

Minnesota Dems provided the largest increase to nursing home funding in state history. (link)

They also bumped up salaries for home health workers, to help address the shortage of in-home nurses. (link)

Minnesota Dems legalized drug paraphernalia, which allows social service providers to conduct needle exchanges and address substance abuse with reduced fear of incurring legal action. (link)

Minnesota Dems banned white supremacists and extremists from police forces, capped probation at 5 years for most crimes, improved clemency, and mostly banned no-knock warrants. (link)

Minnesota Dems also laid the groundwork for a public health insurance option. (link)

I’m happy for the people of Minnesota, but as a Floridian living under Ron DeSantis & hateful Republicans, I’m also very envious tbh. We know that democracy can work, and this is a shining example of what government could be like in the hands of legislators who actually care about helping people in need, and not pursuing the GOP’s “culture wars” and suppressing the votes of BIPOC, and inflicting maximum harm on those who aren’t cis/het, white, wealthy, Christian males. BRAVO MINNESOTA. This is how you do it! And the Minnesota Dems did it with a one seat majority, so no excuses. Forget about the next election and focus on doing as much good as you can, while you still can. 👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿

👉🏿 https://threadreaderapp.com/thread/1660846689450688514.html

[teaboot]

TOP 10 PERSONAL FAVE MOVIES TO WATCH WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE ASS

I don't like movies that stress me out because life is already stressful but I DO love catharsis comedy found family friendship fantasy and violence so here are my top 10 movies and series to have a good time watching

Numbered for convenience but not in any particular order

John Wick 1 and 2: An ordinary man grieving the loss of his wife gets dragged back into his past as a shadowy, invisible world of international killers for hire is slowly revealed to be living among us. A love note to set design, lighting, and choreography. My favourite part is fixating on the symbolism. DO NOT WATCH 3. 4 is okay. DO NOT WATCH 3. There is a dog death in 1 that will make you cry so skip that part if you have to. DO NOT WATCH 3.

The lord of the Rings, all 3, extended edition best watched if you're on the couch with the flu and expect to fall asleep OR if it's your day off and it's raining outside OR if you have like 5 people lounging around in pajamas

Six Underground: Essentially an hour and a half long car commercial music video with found family and a fresher take on acommon plot. Ryan Reynolds essentially writes and directs a Michael Bay movie where 6 independant criminals gather together to overthrow a violent foreign dictatorship. You show up for a dumb heist and walk out ready to build a guillotine. TW for violence, car crashes, chemical warfare, and genocide. A very cathartic ending. Does unfortunately do the whole "vague, impoverished middle-eastern country" thing but the citizens are actually show as human beings which is a nice change of pace and oh wow that's depressing isn't it

The Princess Diaries 1 and 2: A sort-of-a-loser teenage girl, played by a 2001 Annie Hathaway, learns that her late father was a king of a foreign nation and must become a confident and responsible leader for his people. There is a scene in the rain where you will experience emotions. Best watched with snacks. 2 features an enemies-to-lovers type deal with Chris Pine.

Ella Enchanted: A shrek-style semi-musical fantasy romance in which a young woman is cursed at birth to do everything anyone tells her to do. Features several Queen songs and dance numbers sung by Annie Hathaway and that guy who plays the sad dog guy in Hannibal.

Stardust: A huge loser travels from 1800s England (?) to a magical world in order to fetch a fallen star for the insufferable love of his life before she marries a massive douchebag. The huge loser? Charlie Cox. The star? A living person. Also a whole bunch of princes are ALSO looking for them as a race for the throne while discreetly killing each other off. And also a bunch of witches want to eat her so they can be young and sexy. 11/10. I used to watch this 10 minutes at a time on a YouTube channel that posted it in chunks filmed on a digital camera in their living room

The Last Holiday: Queen Latifah, playing someone played by Queen Latifah, has been working an underappreciated minimum wage job for years, living a safe and conservative life trying to lose weight and save money. Then she finds out she has months to live, and decides to finally quit her job and blow it all on one massive luxury holiday vacation complete with five-star dining, making friends and finding love and confidence along the way. It's definitely corny but it makes me so happy thank you Queen Latifah

Zathura: It's the plot to the original Jumanji but in space instead of the rainforest. But listen to me: There's a twist reveal at the end that you need to pretend isn't there. It is vitally important when you get to that part- and you will know what part when it happens- that you pretend it didn't. Otherwise, a fresh and enjoyable adventure for any age!

Redacted cause I haven't seen it in a long time and it may be worse than I remember, gotta rewatch

Bullet Train. You go in expecting a ham-fisted find-the-mcguffin style action comedy and are blindsided by excellent narrative symmetry and genuinely likeable characters. Fresh takes on old themes and creative action sequences. My little brother said "It's good", and he's a man who once sincerely argued that Lord of the Rings could have been better. It's fun and punchy violence with just enough smart stuff to not let your brain get bored

[clitorphosis]

DOLL PARTS

Death Island Leon S. Kennedy x reader | 18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, KIDNAPPING, DUB CON SEX, SMUT, female reader, age gap, abusive relationship, guilt tripping, Stockholm syndrome, dumbification ig, rough sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, choking, creampie, finger sucking, bruises, implied physical violence, internal conflict, teasing, guilt, implied obsessive behavior(Leon) i think, dirty talk, pet names, degradation.

Summary: There is a deep desire to hold onto his past, on the part he is close to lose after every birthday date. And you are perfect for this. For him, to kidnap you is to save that part. Cause life goes on and without him, but yours can’t go on without him now. Of course you don't understand.

notes: this is a mess I fear, but I had a blast writing this tho so idc LOL!!! Also thanks @writingwisterias for letting me bother you with my rambling and my indecisiveness with kidnapper leon（╹◡╹）I don’t condone anything here in real life. :3 uhm, reblogs, asks or comments and any kind of feedback are really appreciated!

tags: @melanchol1cs

Clocks are ticking, not only in real time but in his mind - a disturbing reminder of how at his age Leon wasn’t even able to settle down. Tick - tock. Of course, men can always find a young woman, and two or three times of unprotected sex would be enough to impregnate one. Still, Leon doesn’t believe that applies to him - alcohol is not only a boner killer but also of fertility. Neither does he crave babies, he can be considered a dad to Sherry, also they would only show how time flies. She is enough of a reminder, no need for more.

He found you on the dating app - Sherry suggested he try, as a joke, probably not expecting him to follow the advice.

For him, you looked like a doll. Almost a godsend. Pretty, young, and easy to manhandle. Almost drooled at the prospect of having your legs wrapped around his waist. He should feel guilty or disgusted at the idea to fuck you… at the images of the material of your panties clinging to your hips, wrinkling up with every movement before his fingers would curl under it to tug them down. Right? No-no, he is only 38 years old - at his age men are already bald, Leon is having an easy time here. He has a chance, always had.

While he was unsure what to do, was a simple ‘hello, how are you’ enough for you? Or would it be too simple? Or repulsive? Why is he even worried about that, you probably matched him on accident.

You texted him first, something he didn’t expect from a young woman - even women of his age don’t text him first, they are dry and uninterested. Like sex with them.

“hiii ^^” This forces a smile out of him. Again, three dots appear. “You didn’t swipe me as a mistake, right?:3”

He hesitates, his thumb floats on the digital keyboard for a moment. No, it wasn’t a mistake, still, he needs to gratify his ego. “If it was, would it get you sad?”

“yep, actually, very big big sad!”

That was it. Easy and quick to get closer to you. He expected more obstacles, maybe times changed indeed or you are into older guys. All he needed to do was to open his wallet, be nice enough, and show how a ‘real man’ should treat a woman.

Leon knows a lot about you. He knows too much information - where you live, your college, and where you work. Not in a creep-like way, no-no. You were the one asking him to drive you there. Maybe your youth is the only problem to blame on - you were a chatting box endlessly and easily sharing anything with him, maybe things you should not have to. Somewhat, this only attached him to you.

There are always some subtle hints and hidden alarms, no one usually gives a shit about. Also, understandable, to ask anyone who knows him - hard to find someone with a bad opinion of Leon.

“He is okay”

“A hero. Not everyone is capable of saving the president’s daughter” or a simple shrug.

Outside his work, Leon is… just a guy most of the time. Yes, of course, not the luckiest one with the ladies, but it is unlikely someone would describe him as the type to kidnap a girl. No one understands how middle age crisis is going to be hard to handle, he is pushing 40, surely enough it is already waiting for him at the edge of the doorstep - and Leon had enough of bullshit in his life, a pretty and young woman is the panacea for this. The godsend pill to erase his problems.

And finally.

Finally, the tremendous loneliness will disappear, leaving it behind him like a bad dream. The feeling that everybody in the world is doing something without Leon. He can’t stand this ever-consuming loneliness to spread anymore, today IS the day.

He can let himself be selfish just once. Right?

To reach his goal, there is a small step though, a sacrifice to make. That’s why he set a date, in a good and expensive restaurant too.

And today is the day. This shouldn’t be forgotten. The biggest day. The most important one. No, doesn’t do the justice. The absolutely, positively biggest day, may be the right choice of words for Leon.

On the spot already, waiting for you. This time he isn’t late. That bad habit since 1998, but for once he didn’t struggle with his punctuality - too petulant about what will happen, checking clocks every second. Almost like a goddamn teenager, shifting the weight from one foot to the other on the spot. Nothing can go wrong, he tries to calm himself, there are so many ways to cover your disappearance. Perks of the job.

He didn’t notice how you arrived here too until your perfume brought him to senses. Your face is soft, your eyelashes flutter and you are so untainted. Your younger frame reminds him of himself your age. 21 years old, 1998. When he was at your age he had already witnessed horrors, you don’t realize they still exist. Leon shakes his head, that memory never brings anything good, but today his mood is not ruined and the memory has only strengthened the urge to keep you close.

Leon needs you, untouched by horrors and he knows much better how life can be terrifying.

“You ready?” He flashes a smile, his mood is more upturned than it has ever been - you can’t help yourself, a grin spread across your face too. It is infectious.

“Mmm, I am” you nod, curling your hand around his elbow, to keep yourself closer to him. And he is ready too, god, he has never been so fucking ready in his life.

“Not late this time,” His heart clenches at your words, and he looks into your eyes with a cocked eyebrow - awaiting whatever you came up with. “not like you at all, should I expect a surprise?”

“Maybe, maybe not” He brushes off with a shrug, a smile is still on his lips as you get closer to the car, but he can feel your excitement.

“A ring maybe?” You giggle. He opens the car door for you to get in, you don’t want to let go of his arm.

“A ring? Already?” He says and shakes his head. No, not a ring, but a different surprise. He kisses your lips in a chaste way, hoping you will not try to harp on this topic. “Patience is a virtue, sweetheart, wait for it”

…

After dinner was different. A drop of temperatures and an easy flow of the air, dull lights of the street lamp illuminating your figures, inhaling the air in your lungs for the last time. The street is empty; no drivers, no smell of cigarettes, just you and him. And… silence fell upon you both.

Until his hand presses a tissue around your nose. It is suffocating; your nails dig into the arm, trying to worm out.

“Shhh, sweetheart, easy there” His voice brushes against your ear, soothing and intimate. The one he used when he fucked you. “Don’t make it worse for yourself...”

The warm body pressed against your back and kept you close until your body became pliant in Leon’s embrace on the silent night.

Tied up and unconscious. He is considerate enough to not let you experience the narrow space of the car trunk. With heaviness in his chest and like a scaredy cat, driving to his apartment - guilt shifts to euphoria in no time. You wanted this, no? Why would you stay with him after all? It doesn’t matter anymore. He was successful, finally. It worked. Today is his luckiest day, it should be highlighted on the calendar.

While this is the uncomfortable memory of your last date.

…

Every time you are alone, there are little things to do - you could have done some projects for college, maybe talk to friends and go to clubs. To catch a pretty guy, to have sex in the bathroom of the said club. Or fall in love with a guy of your age. It fills you with love and excitement like your hypothetical phone is going to ring as if you aren’t forced to be in Leon’s apartment.

Leon says you are a doll. Not those plastic bimbo dolls you see on social media with plastic acrylics that are longer than their eyelashes. Those reeks of cheapness by trying to be expensive, Leon has explained the difference to you. You are not Barbie or Bratz, those are ones you’d probably played with in your childhood, for Leon, you are another kind of a doll.

He is the one controlling you, making those dumb rules you’ve never memorized and you aren’t really going to. His grip around you is tight and your skin blooms with darker colors after playing with you.

Pretty, that word lives rent-free in his mind, almost becoming the most used of his. Favorite word. Your presence urges him to dress you up. A glance into the closet, most of it contains dresses and other items he has bought you. To take care of you, Leon almost emptied his wallet entirely for you a lot after getting you. It excites him. Admiring outfits he put you in and the same night, he is the one raising the fabric of your dress - two fingers or a dick inside you are enough to make you busy with moans and squirm.

He loves it, oh, he adores it. And your pussy is the best. It calms him, centers him - being someone’s center of the world is delightful, the only one time of the day in which he doesn’t feel insane. You make him feel sane, on the days when your mouth doesn’t run free.

From your point of view, he looks like he is trying to play house with you. In a wrong way. Playing house didn’t include tears or forced silence. Or forced participation. It should be fun, usually, it had been, at least in your childhood. Leon acts like this is normal like he didn’t just kidnap you during your date and force you to be here. He is still sweet, still spending his money on you (even though he doesn’t care about your preferences now), there is food on the table too. During the dinner, the silence is filled with stories from his work - names of people you don’t know. They don’t know you either, you aren’t the most famous captive girl on the planet after all. This is the bare minimum.

What’s more to ask for? Freedom, you are full of his shit actually, you would have preferred ignorance to be bliss cause his farce makes you feel insane. More unanswered questions flood your mind, they stick to your mind like a leech on the skin after a fresh swim on the summer day. You need to wash away this feeling, the only way is to question him. Right. First, you played nicely, still pitying him and holding him dear to your heart.

“What are you talking about, sweetie?” And a confused expression was his answer. He doesn’t even process what you said, just moves on. This didn’t work. Nothing fucking works here.

Now you prefer to poke those facts at him - like a harsh whiplash, a cold water against his face to bring him back to reality. You shouldn’t live like this alone.

Under your flesh there is a hidden hole filled with turbulent waters, almost tearing you apart - suffocating you with confusion. You wish hatred was the only reason to keep you sane, but the deep affection towards him still emerges like a bad dream. His tired eyes with loving and sweet nothing words come from his mouth, peppering your body and face with kisses when everything is right. The memories of nights with him flash in your mind: he is nice enough not to break you, while your body reacts in natural ways. You get wet, you feel pleasure, and his fingers know just the right spot to make your back arch.

This tears you apart, it confuses you too. Maybe there is something you don’t catch on, something missing. Conditioning? You aren’t a mindless idiot, nor a Pavlovian dog, but your body reacts like one. Maybe that’s a lie to reassure yourself. Still, you can’t drive yourself close to orgasm when he is not home. Your fingers aren’t enough anymore, almost with tears trying to get yourself off. To feel like your own person without him.

But something. Is. Always. Missing. You are incomplete.

…

It is already late, really late. Leon is a busy man, at least his job seems to be really important - so important, that he has always refused to tell you, avoiding the topic like the plague and switching to that honeyed tone, talking to you like a dumb puppy. Maybe it is some government shit job, something dirty - suitable for him.

But when he is late, many hopeful scenarios emerge, the most common is his car crushing to death. Good girls get gifts, their wishes get accomplished also, and they end up in heaven too - Leon told you that and to him, you are a good girl. Corny shit. Could he be right though? What if your wish was heard finally? Then remained trouble in your life would be to get out.

And the same dreams are crushed every time the sound of the car engine goes off, the jiggle of keys reaches your ears. You know it too well, you can recognize these little details and they fill you with dread. The sound of his steps, they are so different from others. The sound of his car doesn’t sound like those outside his house. Maybe you are insane, but everything he does is so recognizable it makes you sick.

And Leon is back.

His face is the only one you see, even in your dreams. There is nothing changeable in it. Light stubble, but still him. Shaved and it is still him. Different cologne. And still him. Leon sickens you, this little play often pushes your buttons, urging you to break this act and get yourself into trouble. Maybe the remains of hope are to blame, maybe Leon would change his mind and stop this.

He plops down on the couch, drawing your attention to him - impossible to ignore, if you did, you wouldn’t stop hearing the end of his complaints. His black shirt strains across his muscular body, the fabric is not shy to outline his big chest. Black suits him, but Leon looks good in everything forcing more dread stir in your chest.

“Finally, home” Leon sighs, his hand creeping up to pull you into his lap, acting unbothered. Your legs straddle his hips, facing him. Don’t forget, you are captive. And this is the part of the routine. He is going to watch those old movies from his childhood, or work silently(maybe he will nudge his cock inside you, to keep himself warm) and then he will fuck you. A tearful routine.

“…yay..!” You try to smile, forcing it to please him. Ignoring conflicting feelings in your body, anticipation to feel his dick mixed with dread. A yearning for change. Leon kisses your forehead.

His blue eyes feel heavy on your face, making you feel so little. “I missed you” Leon cooed with a honeyed tone, pulling you even closer. That light smell of beer coming from him forces your skin to crawl. His fingers pinch your cheek, tugging it briefly too. “My doll felt lonely today, right? Without me?”

Again, that mocking sweetness. The one you’d use for puppies. You nod with a hum “Mmm”

“I had a bad bad day today, those reports dried my eyes, god” he groans, his head tipped back, rubbing his eyes as to emphasize his words. But still gripping your waist. You don’t have the mood to be nice to him, his smile and relaxed expression stir dread and hate towards him. And yourself.

“You look like you had a bad day and not me” Leon comments, raising an eyebrow before his thumb tugs on the corner of your lips - smile. You had a bad day forever, your day can’t be compared to whatever he had today. His voice is sweet, but condescending, like he knows what is better for you. Leon doesn’t know shit.

“I don’t think you have reasons to be upset, huh? Your life is easy, baby” He snaps his fingers. Like an order. “pretty smile for me, no one likes grumpy girls”

“You are fucking sick… you know that?” Words spill out quickly and mindlessly, ignoring his distorted expression - you just want him to be in pain. Like you are. There is a hint of fear in your voice, subconsciously aware of what is going to happen after your words. “… you KIDNAPPED ME and you want me to play along with this act?…” A bittersweet pause. Adrenaline rushes through your blood, like after a good shot of vodka. “That’s fucking smart… asshole”

A hard swallow, trying to ignore the growing lump in your throat. Anxiety. This time, your voice is much quieter, you feel so small. Involuntarily shrinking away to shield yourself from what is coming. “I hate you”

There is an uncomfortable silence and his face is not blurry anymore - it is the only thing you can see right now. There is no slap, which is worse, silence is much scarier than a reaction cause you need to know what is going on in his head. You should have stayed silent instead, maybe Leon was right - you can’t stop but back talk and try to get yourself into trouble. You got yourself into this, not him.

Maybe an apology… wouldn’t it be late? Would it save? God, you MESSED this up. There is no way back.

His eyebrows furrowed, looking down at you with a clear discontent painting on his face, his fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks - uncomfortably keeping you still. This time being pretty and batting your eyelashes like a dumb doll is not going to save you.

“You are so spoiled. No one likes ungrateful bitches like you” Leon shakes his head, not giving a space to you to talk back again. “I buy you pretty things, I spend my time and money on you… and you repay me like that?”

He tilts your head, the grip is bruising, almost. Leon doesn’t give you flowers, but bruises look like them quite enough. His words hit you like a slap, making you feel like there is something tremendously wrong with you, not with him.

“Is it so hard to play nice and stay pretty for me?” He adds with a raised eyebrow. His thumb caresses your lower lip, playing and tugging it down, before pushing the digit past your soft and tender lips.

“And quiet.” He tsked, feeling warm saliva clinging to his thumb as it pressed down onto your tongue. Lucky for Leon, one of his wishes is accomplished - you can’t really talk, only muffled words, while your mouth is occupied with his digit. He keeps the grip on your jaw, before replacing it with two fingers. Pointer and middle finger. You are so pretty when you keep your mouth shut or around his fingers. Or dick. The latter is much preferable.

Your mouth is always warm, inviting, and wet. Hard to hide how such act affects you, your breathing catches in your chest, as his fingers keep rubbing the front of your tongue - messy and slick, not wetter than your cunt right now. Your mouth can not be compared to your pussy though, it has much more pros than disadvantages, the only con is the lack of wetness sometimes. Not something unfixable at the end of the day, a spit or lube (if he is in a good mood) can fix anything.

Your eyes are closed, feeling his other hand keeping your head pointed up where he can see you. To be honest, you don’t really know if you are just trying to illude yourself and hide from the truth - both options are useless, they bring you back to him. Every time his fingers are in your mouth, keeping you quiet and forcing you to suck on them - your pussy gets wet quickly like it is connected to your throat. His fingers delve deeper, moving in and out slowly. You can’t help yourself. Your clit throbs uncomfortably, urging you to do something about this, and your inner walls flutter around nothing - your mind reminds you of how good his dick feels. You probably look so pitiful to him, your eyes reflect well what your body begs for while drooling around his fingers.

Your thighs try to snap close, to rub them together and get that sweet-sweet stimulation, but they end up straddling his hips tighter - feeling the outline of his hard cock press against the damp and thin material of your underwear. It isn’t a big obstacle right now, the burning heat can be felt easily. A choked whine escapes from your mouth, realizing that his pants are still on him.

“Uh-huh, you want my attention?” Leon asks, not trying to be subtle with his tone, laced with mocking sweetness. His fingers leave your mouth with a wet pop, leaving a trail of droll connecting you both. It is so empty without him filling your senses. His eyebrows curl up, glaring down on you like at kicked puppy. He mocks you, another squirming heat crawls in your cunt. Embarrassingly wet, dripping, and staining his jeans with your slick. God, you ARE getting off when he is being patronizing with you. “You ruined my day, baby. Do you really think you deserve anything right now?”

Your mind is screaming at you to do something, you need that relief. His cock. Anything that will fill the emptiness inside you with pleasure. You shiver when his fingers brush across the hem of your underwear, clearly amused by how wet you are. They push aside the fabric, already wet by your saliva - slowly stroking your drenching folds. So warm and puffy, even the light touch of his fingers on your clit makes your body jolt like you are in pain.

“Leon…” Your voice sounds cloying, it goes straight to his hard dick, as you look under your eyelashes at his face - it makes you feel dumb. Any sentences or words are thrown away into the bin under his glare, he doesn’t even try hard to make you feel like that, there is no need cause you are dumb. And you ache for his cock, ignoring alarms in your head. You are just a dumb, aching doll.

And his. He told you that.

“What?” Leon pressed, already withdrew his fingers from your cunt, wanting to see you more desperate. Your hips try to grind against his hard cock, to get a light stimulation. You stay silent, words aren’t enough to formulate what swirls in your mind. Somewhat, his presence and words are always tied to that deep feeling of owing him something. What? Not clear, but it is still here, even if his cock empties your mind.

You are still his after the dramatics you pulled, right?

You swallow hard, the sight of his unmoving hand on the belt makes your cunt painfully ache, ignoring your mind screaming at you to hit him. You don’t deserve this, it whispers. The guilty part of your brain won a long time ago, it overwhelms that soothing reminder - canceling it completely - you need to hurry up him. You are at fault, it whispers. “…Please…” Forgive me, I need you.

You gasp as in rasp motion he changes your position, shoving you and you end up with your back pressed down flatly on the soft material of the couch, while Leon hovers over you. And he kisses your forehead, with the same tenderness and affection he has given you before - like a couple, married couple on honeymoon. Your mind misses the bullseye with this conclusion, but whatever helps, right? The spot burns hot, as a reminder that you have to please him.

Clink-clink! It snaps you out of your thoughts. The sound of his belt makes your skin crawl, and more slick pools in between your thighs like at the unvoiced command. You try to buck your hips up, only to end up restrained by his hand - it grips tightly your flesh, in a bruising hold, and the signs will bloom into another purplish collection in the morning. His hand pins your hips down, - silently denying the control over your pleasure. Couldn’t be even wetter at this point.

It isn’t really visible, but his breathless sigh signaled you that his hand is, probably, wrapped around his cock. You squirm, to prop yourself to look down and maybe get comfier - again, he pushes you down with a head shake.

Your legs shake when his cock presses up in between your drenching folds, the slick clings to the skin, and his cock head nudges against your aching clit. And this hits so good too, his hard cock slides across your cunt. You can’t help but let your hips buck up back, again - to get your own control on the pleasure. Tsk. Your attempt gets easily interrupted again, as his hand pushes your hips down. His cock gets harder after every slow and agonizing rut, the wet sounds of your slick pressing and smearing his cock is like music to his ears. No wonder it is so easy to get lost, thank god your attempts to worm out of his grip snap him out of that pleasure.

You are so impatient. But for Leon, sex is so much simpler, cause he is a simple man. With age many things change, they get uncomplicated. Of course, Leon likes good stuff; tasty good, keeping you pretty, watching how your tits bounce with every thrust and feeling your flesh under his hands, how you react to him. But the sex isn’t the lovemaking or a way to satisfy you, for him, it would be useless to keep you here then. There is a deep desire to hold onto his past, on the part he is so close to lose touch with after every birthday date. And you are perfect for this. Life goes on and without him, but yours can’t go on without him now. Every time he sees you so confused, depending on him - he can’t lie, it makes his cock jolt. He wants to see every little expression on your face, - desperation, affection, confusion, misery, everything - to etch the sight into his memory.

“Baby, you don’t know what’s good for you..” Leon says, there is no answer from you and he doesn’t really need one. His eyes are focused on his cock nudging your hole before slowly pressing in - now watching your spasming and drenching hole swallows his cock. And you gasp.

Without fingers, without any preparation, but wet as hell, you still feel tight as sin. It is easier to get through though. The velvet softness of your fluttering cunt is addicting as your walls clench around him in a vice grip with every inch pushed inside.

It is dizzying how your mind empties together with your body, any remains of conflict regarding this situation is gone. Focusing on how his cock stretches your walls, leaving you breathless and trembling at the slow-filling sensation in your cunt. Your hands creep to rest on his shoulders to keep yourself steady.

His cock pushes through, until its tip presses against your cervix - he is deep inside, his hips nestled right against your ass - and your pussy is so overwhelmingly full, for a moment you forgot how to breathe.

“That’s okay” Leon cooed again. His hand brushes across the skin of your collarbone, caressing it. Burns and you are hot, to the point his touch felt cold. You shiver, his hand is always pleasant to feel, but at the same, the feeling of it is accompanied by something else, you can’t ever catch it. It is brief but always gives you awareness.

Your chest rises up and down unsteadily, looking probably pathetic right now as his hips start moving. Already overwhelmed without a way out.

“Awww, you are just a dumb thing, not knowing anything better” Leon drawls with an amused smirk.

The pace is set, rhythmically rocking against you, using your cunt like a toy. You want to roll your own hips back, to do something but today isn’t your day. You already forgot about your earlier lash-out, as the only sounds reaching your ears are flesh-hitting ones mixed with your moans. His lips are parted on a soft stream of pants.

“N-no..” This attempt of protest slips out easily from your mouth, without giving too much thought into what may happen. Your nails dig into the flesh of his shoulders. His hand creeps higher, to rest on your neck in a loose grip, a silent warning perhaps. Pretty faces don’t need to do anything other than being pretty, but tonight you let your mouth slip out too often.

The hand on your hip pushes it down again, the grip hurts actually. Feels like there are already bruises forming and he is clearly not pleased with you. He isn’t at all, your comments ruin his fun. They distract him from your tight pussy, how hot it is, and engulf him, begging him to thrust ruthlessly and fill you.

Unspoken rule, you should be silent and let him use your cunt without other noises than incoherent moans.

“Oh, no-no” Leon mocks you, a sharp, unexpected thrust, his cock head grinds against your cervix. To punctuate his words his grip on your throat tightens. Or you are imagining this? Another thrust, snapping you out of your thoughts. His hips start dragging his cock out of you, then he pushes it back deep inside. “I know what’s better for you.”

Every deep thrust into your spasming cunt, your thighs shake, and muscles in your body flex every time your hips connect. And his hand squeezes your throat, you can clearly feel the outlines of his fingers on the skin of your throat. God, is the grip getting tighter? Is he trying to cut the air? This fills your body with panic; it writhes even more, ignoring the painful grip on your hip and becoming more aware of the one that’s getting tighter around your neck.

Yeah, he is angry at you.

“Doll, you brought this… on yourself” Leon whispers breathlessly, watching your expression twist with a mix of pleasure and fear. Your hands travel from his shoulders to his wrist, nails dig into its flesh. “don’t resist”

His hand angles your hip better, losing the rhythm of the pace as his cock pounds into you in quick and deep thrusts. It hits your g-spot too, but the lack of air is the biggest of your worries right now. Your cunt flutters, getting tighter with the less air incoming, and more tingly wave of sensation rides over your body. The tips of your fingers feel weird, and your entire body starts to drown in numbness. It is weirdly pleasant but at the same time scary. Deep down you like it, not realizing it.

“Come on,” Leon grunts, his grip on your neck doesn’t lessen, and you try to focus on something else other than the possibility of passing out. Your walls clench around his dick tighter, and your mouth opens uselessly as a dumb fish trying to speak, but the only sound coming out is a muffled one.

“If you are so smart… fuck…” He moans, you feel so good, your walls clenched tight around his dragging cock and your body is so easily letting him use your pussy. He can get drunk on it. “…use your big mouth”

His grip tightens, and another choked moan tries to drawl out of your mouth. Nothing comes out other than a quiet, pathetic mewl. It feels like you are going to die.

“Use your filthy and smart mouth” He taunts again, the corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. His hips thrust into you in rough and hard movements. It feels like just his presence is overfilling you. Maybe the lack of oxygen is to blame. “or you can only use it for my dick.. huh? Like a whore, not a doll”

“A…m, S-s” I am sorry. You try your best, but it is hard to do multitasking when your head is so lightheaded and his dick inside you feels so good. Your body feels numb like it doesn’t belong to you anymore, writhing and squirming every time his cockhead hit your cervix - a pang of tingling mixture, something so new and pleasurable, but at the same time foreign, with the hint of pain. But it is a delicious kind of hurt, toe-curling one.

You are going to pass out, trying to swallow down the saliva pooling in your mouth and your nails dig into the skin of his bicep - begging, unawarely your eyes sprinkle with tears. “S-..sor-r—” This is your best attempt.

Orgasm has always been different with him, it is warm, still keeping your turmoil. This time it is crushing, but feels shorter than it was actually. It hits your body unexpectedly, filling to the brim with the feeling of his cock spouting cum inside you, while every patch of your skin is numb and burning hot.

Confusing your mind more when his hand slipped away, so close to pass out and the quick rush of air fills your lungs almost choking you, overwhelming the pleasure of your own orgasm. You are so sensitive, at the brink of tears - not having any strength to keep them in, they easily well in your eyes, blurring even more the vision before rolling down. It doesn’t hit like it should cause you are too focused on the fading numbness and shaking while inhaling the air - unreasonably afraid(to Leon) that he is going to take it away again. Breathing feels much better than sex, right now at least.

He pulls out his dick, and his cum slowly oozes out of your hole, while you are still recovering. Not hiding where his gaze is directed. It is hypnotizing, urging him to shove it back into you with his fingers and keep his cum inside you for a little bit longer. You snap him out of this trance with your sobbing and incoherent words.

“I am so—sorry!” You sob, tugging onto the fabric of his black shirt to pull him closer to you. Seeking comfort in him, you don’t have any other options. He can’t deny this to you, his arm wraps around your shoulders. And even if you had other choices, still you would crawl back to Leon. “I was mistaken… I am so-so sorry. It was a mistake!”

God, you shake like a leaf right now. He huffs as if your words were the most obvious thing. Like the sky is blue or two plus two is four. It is hard to push you away, the trembling and teared-up mess. Leon enjoys that.

“There you are, baby. I got it” Leon sighs, the crease in between his eyebrows deepens. His hand brushes away your hair from your face, to get a better glance of your state. Mistake. Everything is a mistake here - your presence, getting off only of him, texting him first, and letting him take you on dates. Leon can’t help, but chuckle. “Of course. Indeed a mistake, doll”

[cxrsed-angel]

Overtime

pairing: Joel Miller x F!reader

rating: 18+

w.c: 2k

summary: You stay late after work with Joel at his construction office. (I suck at summaries, Joel and reader hookup in Joel's office after everyone leaves).

warning: No outbreak AU, Smut, P in V sex (unprotected), fingering, oral (male receiving), dbf ish!Joel, mention of age difference (Joel is like 40+, reader is 20+). Established relationship

a/n: first fic of 2025 🥳this is just porn with no plot that's been in my drafts sorry not sorry. Posting this in hopes it helps me get over my fear of posting fics on here and my forming hatred of this app. this was proof read by only me so sorry if they're mistakes. happy new year :)

You've been at the front desk all day organizing Joel’s clients for the projects and renovation, replying to emails, answering phones, doing your best to answer the questions you can, or forwarding the calls to Joel so he can explain what you can’t. 

 You’ve been his assistant at his construction office since you started college. Joel is a close friend of your dad’s and he had convinced Joel to hire you until you go back to college in the fall to help him organize and with his schedule. You answer the phone, reply to his emails, get his lunch, and do everyday assistant things. Instead, you found yourself bent over at his office desk as fucked you. Almost every day, after everyone had gone home for the day. 

Once you see everyone else has left and it was just you and Joel. You go to Joel’s office and knock on his door. You slowly open it and see him behind his desk on his computer. You take a second looking at him, the gray hair mixing with his brown hair, the little bit of grey coming in on his beard. You never really had a thing for older guys…until now. You see him looking at his computer through the black frame glasses on his nose. He looks up, noticing you standing in the doorway, taking his reading glasses off and setting them on the desk. 

“You can come in, don't worry. ‘Aint too busy.” His deep voice breaks you out of your thoughts of admiring him. You nod, closing the door behind you. He motions for you to come closer, and you waste no time going around his desk. You see emails and his digital ledger on the screen. Next to the computer, he has a large brown leather book, his physical ledger, because he’s yet to feel the need to go completely digital. 

“You know you could probably make this into a spreadsheet. I could help instead of having this double thing you got going on.” You suggest as you open the old ledger, flipping through it. “How long have you had this thing, the 90s, the 80s, oh my god, since Kennedy?” 

Joel closes it, rolling his eyes at the dig of his age and the systems he currently has. His hands go onto your waist, gently pulling you down to sit in his lap. 

“My system has lasted me this long, so I’ll stick with it. Thank you very much. If it were up to me, everything would've remained paper. Damn, computer is hard to read and makes my eyes hurt lookin’ at it all day.” He turns you towards him a bit, changing your focus away from his computer. You lean down, kissing Joel, feeling the scruff of his greying beard against his face. 

Feeling the blood rush in your body, the both of you have been waiting all day to have your hands on each other. He runs his hands up your skirt, bunching it up further on your thighs. You feel his bulge under you, growing harder as you continue making out passionately. His hands squeeze your thighs harder you feel his hard cock pressing against you. 

“Seeing you in this fucking tight skirt all day was killing me, sweetheart. I just wanted to take you in here and fuck you on my desk.”  

You continue kissing him, his hands moving down to your panties, his fingers tracing over your covered core, feeling your wetness. Joel kisses his neck. 

“So wet already?…” He pulls your underwear down, tossing it with your skirt on his office floor. 

His eyebrows raise, looking at you as his fingers rub along the outside of your folds. You shift, humping against his hand for more relief focusing on how good his finger felt rubbing your swollen and needy clit. 

You whine incoherently, mumbling at his words, words failing to form as you get more aroused. He slowly slides two of his fingers inside you, slowly pumping in and out of your aching pussy; hearing the wetness forming, you melt against him, your back pressing against his chest as he spreads your legs while you're sitting in his lap. 

“This is what you wanted, huh? Wanted me to give this needy pussy attention. This pretty little pussy needed me, I can tell? Wanted me to finger fuck under the desk while I’m talking to my clients?” you moan more as he slides a second finger stretching you out. He feels your wetness coat his finger as he thrusts them inside, curling up and reaching your sensitive spot. 

You cry out more. “Joel Joel, Joel!” moaning out his name, your mouth opens, forming an O as he continues fucking you with his fingers feeling your climax building, but the feeling fades as you feel his fingers leave your dripping pussy. You groan disappointedly as you feel. You pout, looking back at him at the arousal still clouding your brain.

“Relax, relax. I’ll give ya what you want soon.” he places a hand on your shoulder, gently moving you off the familiar seat of his lap. You look at him, your face flush as you feel the room getting hotter. 

He softly kisses you quickly before his hard cock straining through his jeans as you kneel in front of him, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his jeans, and pulling them down along with his boxers. He stares down at you, his eyes full of lust as he watches you spit in your hand before slowly stroking his big cock, teasing him. He rolls his eyes back as he leans in the chair. 

After jerking him off, for a little you place his hard length in between your lips. You slowly insert the tip of his cock in your mouth, sucking on it and tasting the salty precum on your tongue.  

Joel groans as you tease him, not being able to take it anymore. He shoves his dick deeper into your mouth, making you choke. You followed his pace, bobbing your head up and down the length of his shaft, using your hands to jerk off the rest of what you couldn't fit in your mouth. 

“That’s it, that’s it. Attagirl, Take it all. Know you can.” You listen, taking him deeper in the back of your throat, your eyes watering. You relax, hallowing your cheeks; his office is filled with the sound of you gaging around his cock. 

“F-fuck, sweetheart, your mouth feels so good. You enjoy this, aren’t ya, sucking the cock of a man twice your age?”

You nod, trying to agree as he continues using your mouth; you look up at him and see his eyes rolling back closed as his chest heaves, still praising you as you suck him off. His grunts and moans get louder; he starts fucking your mouth for a bit, thrusting his cock deeper before letting you come up to catch your breath, taking his cock out of your mouth. 

“Fuck baby…bet your dad didn’t expect you to be on your knees for me every day after work when he suggested you come work for me, huh.” 

You wipe your mouth as you hear his joke, still on your knees, his hand still on your head, rubbing your hair.  “Just don't let it slip out on guys' night after a few beers. Don't know who he’d be more mad at, me or you.” 

You push the thought of anyone finding out about you and Joel in the back of your mind; you don’t want to think about what your dad will say or how he’ll scold you for sleeping with his best friend and your boss. 

He laughs as he grabs your hand, helping you stand up; he kisses you sloppy, crashing his lips onto yours. Tasting himself on your lips. “Don’t worry, ain’t gonna tell him.” 

 He holds your waist, unzipping your skirt and helping you step out of it. He moves it out of the way before moving you towards the desk; he watches you bend over the desk, can’t resist the urge to stare at your ass, he squeezes it before landing another smack on it. 

“You ready, baby girl?” he asks softly, still caressing your lower back. You nod, looking back at him. 

“Yes, yes, Joel, please. I need you,” you whine, not being able to wait any longer. Instead of giving in to what you want, Joel laughs lightly. 

“Sorry, baby, I couldn't hear you; what do you need?” He taunts you as he runs a finger along your folds, making you whimper as frustrated as his teasing. 

“Joel! Oh my god, just fuck me-” Your snappy sentence is cut short, interpreted by his big cock slowly entering the tip inside you; both of you gasp as he pushes more of his length inside you. 

“You just don't know when to shut up, do you, baby? I told you I’d give you want.” His voice is deep and condensing, which arouses more if you're being honest. 

He moves his hips a bit more, and your moans fill his office. And you feel him bottom out inside you, but he doesn't move, letting you get used to his size. After a minute, you nod, letting him know you could move. He slowly moves his hips, thrusting inside you, and you moan more as you feel him deep inside. 

“F-Fuck Joel, you’re so big. Feel you so deep,” Joel growls as his hips start moving faster; he grips your hips tightly fucking into you more. Joel’s office desk rattles underneath you from the force Joel was fucking you. 

“I know, baby, I know, baby. God, You feel so good. How’re you so tight every time? ‘Feel you clenching ‘round me, sweetheart.” his thrust gets faster. 

“Fuck-fuck Joel right there.” you moan as his hard cock stretches you out. You hear him groan as he fucks you harder after hearing the name. He pushes you down onto his desk, moving his papers and construction plans out of the way, off to the side. You feel his hand grab one of your legs, lifting it up onto the desk. The new angle has you feel more of him deeper inside your sensitive core; the arousal builds as you feel your release building, and Joel can, too. 

“Fuck…Joel…I’m-I’m.” You moan and whine as Joel continues thrusting inside you, helping you reach your release. He reaches a hand in between your thighs and rubs your clit as he continues fucking into you, bringing you closer to your climax. 

“C’mon baby, I feel you squeezing ‘round me. Know you’re close. Cum for me, sweetheart.” 

 You feel the knot in your lower stomach and hold on the desk as you cum around Joel’s cock. Your orgasm hits hard, and closing your eyes, you shudder, coming down from your release. 

“That’s it honey, that’s it. Good girl, fuck baby, ‘m not gonna last much longer, Jesus-.” Joel grunts as his thrust gets more and more sloppier. Joel presses deep inside you. He leans forward, pressing his chest against your back as cums. His warm load releases inside your sensitive cunt. You both let out a moan together before relaxing against his desk. You feel him slide out of him, you breathing heavily. 

Joel slowly pulls out after taking a couple of seconds to catch your breath. He lets out a low groaning “Goddamn.” 

He sits back on the chair. He gently grabs your waist, pulling you into his lap. You turn, pulling Joel into a kiss.

“I love you, sweetheart, but we gotta head out before the alarm comes on.” You nod, kiss his cheek, and then down his neck, feeling his hands on your waist.

“You don’t know the alarm code to your own construction office?” you ask a bit skeptically, but Joel just laughs and hands your skirt to you from the floor. 

“I know the code, smartass, just don't feel like messing with the damn thing.” he explains as he’s cleaning you off with a tissue. You nod before leaving his lap, putting your skirt and underwear back on as Joel adjusts his pants. 

“Oh shit, almost forgot. The Smiths said they want to change the hardwood they chose because they don’t think it matches the new wallpaper and wanted to expand the kitchen..” Joel turns his computer off, grabs his coat, and his hand goes to your waist, leading you out of his office. He listens to you tell him about the client from earlier. Ushering you out the door to his truck. 

“Honey… I don't work after 5 p.m., so you don't work after 5 p.m., come on.” He opens the passenger seat of his truck before getting in the driver's seat.

“I know, I just need to write it down so I don’t forget my boss is a real hard ass.” Joel rolls his eyes at your teasing, as he pulls out of the office parking lot leaving, to take you home.

[joeloverture]

morning cardio | dbf!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | updates blog pairing: dbf!neighbor!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] your neighbor and dad's longtime buddy catches you sneaking back home after an underwhelming hook-up. you want more — he provides. warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!neighbor!joel, age gap (23/50), reader has a bad relationship with her father, reader's father is overly strict, reader hooks up with an oc, dirty talk, soft!dom joel, degradation, praise, thigh riding, 1 spank, titty slapping, daddy kink, exhibitionism but nobody sees, almost caught, heavy petting, misogyny for sexiness that joel doesn't actually believe in since he's a sweetheart [no use of y/n] word count: 3.7k a/n: watch me almost exclusively post dbf joel. watch me. also, mind the tags, they've changed slightly since i posted the teaser. this was supposed to be a series. this is no longer the case bc i'm indecisive. sorry.

Mistake number one: your eyes are crusted shut with the mascara you’d forgotten to wipe off.

Mistake number two: the bed you wake up in is not your own.

Mistake number three: sleeping with your neighbor.

Rubbing your mascara-sealed eyes, you blink yourself into consciousness and instantly regret it. There’s a moment of stillness, time stretching as you take in the room underneath the swelling orange sunlight. The window is cracked just enough to give you a glimpse at the world outside — birds chirping, sprinklers spritzing, cars crunching gravel as they pull out of the driveway. Surrounding the narrow, rumpled bed is a graveyard of orphaned socks. A box fan whirrs in the corner. The room had felt much cleaner past midnight when it was only the yellowed street lamp outside shining through the window. Then you spot the digital clock on the cluttered bedside table reads 6:10, ten minutes later than you’d wanted to be awake for, and time returns to its regular pace.

Your heart kicks awake in your chest, veins going cold. You kick the sheets off of your sweaty body, roll out of bed, and stumble two steps before planting your feet on the carpet below. Even that isn’t enough to stir your hookup. Dylan Andrews.

It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Both of you were home for spring break. Both of you had flirted at the block party with each other. He was only decent-looking and mediocre with his hands, but you needed a break from spending another night in your childhood bedroom. What better way to do it than with a dick appointment?

Again. It’d seemed like a good enough idea at the time. Sneaking out underneath the nose of your strict, tough-as-nails dad was the easy part. Sneaking back in? Less easy. And to make matters worse, you were already ten minutes behind.

Shit.

You tiptoe across the room, naked as the day you were born, and stuff your underappreciated lingerie into your backpack. Without even putting your panties or bra on, you hop into your shorts and wrestle with your hoodie. By the time you’re out of Dylan’s room, it’s 6:12.

The difference between your dad and Dylan’s mom? She doesn’t give a shit what side of town Dylan wakes up on or how much alcohol is sloshing around in his system as long as he’s safe. You’re not the first girl to do the walk of shame out of Ms. Andrews' generic McMansion house, and you’re far from the last.

She’s downstairs in front of the coffee maker, still wearing her pajamas and doing a Dollar General crossword when you slip past her kitchen unnoticed. The door clangs shut behind you, and you figure she must see you walking down the cul-de-sac.

Your dad always leaves for work at 6:45 after a freezing cold shower and a steaming cup of black coffee for balance. You can only hope his shower ran a little late and that he isn’t at the dining room table already. Cramming two steps into one, you continue with your beeline down the awakening street.

You’re followed home by the mailboxes and flower beds, the pebbles you kick with every step. You’re almost to the property line, prepared to make a mad dash to your front door when you hear the faint call of your name. You skid to a stop, and turn to face the source: the craftsman-style house next door.

And there he is – Joel Miller, sitting on one of the cushioned chairs of his front porch in nothing but his sleep shorts and a t-shirt, legs spread as wide as the chair can accommodate. There’s a smug, knowing look on his face, one that says I’ve caught you. See how you can get out of this.

It’s been a long time since you’ve been face to face with Joel — Mr. Miller. You’d think you’d see him more often, with him being your dad’s buddy and your neighbor, but it’s been since summer. You’re sure he must be having the time of his life by joining your just got laid parade.

“You’re up awful early,” he calls, beckoning you up the driveway with a come-hither movement of his fingers. Leaving your dignity at the curb, you pad up the yard to his porch, climbing one of the stairs to lean against the gutter that feeds into his shrubbery. Pollen and moss is scattered across the wooden deck, surrounding a package that he hasn’t bothered to pick up yet. His guitar is off to the side, propped up against the doorway of the house. You wonder if he’d been playing when he’d seen you walking by.

Joel’s covered for you before, briefly and sparingly. Taken the fall for the half-empty bottle of fireball in your dresser even though he’d never go within ten feet of that shit, blamed it on himself for accidentally leaving it behind after fixing a wheel that had jumped off track for you. Even though your dad had chewed him out for drinking on the job, he’d still managed to sneak it back to you with the wise words of hiding it in a sock next time. You’d been two months past your twenty-first when that had happened, and maybe Joel had pitied you after realizing how authoritarian his friend was.

You aren’t as sure if he’ll pity you now.

“Needed some fresh air,” you defend lamely, hands hanging limp by your sides.

“Needed some cock?” he corrects, and his bluntness makes you choke. He seems relaxed for the words that just came out of his mouth, fingers drumming on his impossibly large thighs, a playful smirk resting on his lips.

You sputter, “No! Jesus, what the hell–”

“I got eyes, hun. Saw you leave that Andrews kid’s place. Clearly he didn’t stick it to ya that good if you’re still walkin’ steady,” he comments. His head tilts.

“Joel,” you hiss, eyes flitting to your dad’s house next door. He seems to read your mind, his smirk widening.

“Wonder what your pops would think. Bet I have a pretty good idea. His little angel, sneakin’ around and whorin’ herself out.” He clicks his tongue at you. “A damn shame.”

Heat spools low in your stomach and down to your unsatisfied center. You wish you’d worn darker colored shorts instead of the flimsy gray things you have on. There’s no barrier of your panties to stop yourself from leaking all over them, and with the way Joel’s looking at you, eyes dark and sly, you’re wishing there was.

“Can’t even imagine what you’re gettin’ up to at that college ‘a yours. Bet you had five guys inside of ya all at once, and I sure ain’t talkin’ about burgers, hun.” He lounges back in his chair, watching you.

You feel yourself gush. Heat burns in your thighs, and they rub together on instinct, seeking to extinguish that brimming ache between your legs. You bunch your hands in the fabric of your sweatshirt and can’t stop yourself from squirming underneath his gaze. It’s not like you’ve never thought about this, this with him of all people when you’re underneath your covers and your hand finds the warm junction between your thighs. Always unattainable. Always just out of reach.

You whisper again, “Joel,” but this time, it comes out as more of a moan. Humiliation warms your cheeks and chest, forming a different kind of pit in your stomach.

“Hmmmm?” Joel hums at you with a raised brow. He’s casual, indifferent, almost. But then his eyes flicker up and down, stopping at the wet patch smeared across the front of your shorts, the way your thighs press tight, tensing before letting go. “Ah. A little slut shamin’ gets you all riled up, hun?” That tears a whimper from you. He does that stupid come hither motion again, and like a lost dog, you listen. Standing in front of him, you feel completely, utterly exposed.

He adjusts himself in his chair, and you swallow the building lump in your throat when you see his bulge hardening. It sends another zap of heat to your core, and then another, more surprised one when his hand goes up to grab at your tit. Your breath catches as he thumbs one of your hardened nipples. A triumphant noise echoes out of him. “Braless, too?” His other hand goes down to your shorts, playing with the waistband. “Prancin’ around in these short, skimpy things, too. Practically giving the whole neighborhood a free peep show.”

His hand slides lower. Lower. Pans over to the crease of your thigh and then his thumb is planting over your clit, rubbing only once before he pulls away. “Messy pussy. Bet you stained the guys sheets.”

You’re quiet, staring at him, his wicked fucking expression, those hands that look like sin itself. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Ah. Poor baby. All this effort and you didn’t even get to come.” He just looks at you. Unmoving. Not doing a single damn thing to get you there.

“Please, Joel,” you whisper, embarrassed by the gritty need already embedded into your voice when he’s hardly even touched you.

And he’s still wearing that wolfish look, that tainted-with-intention gleam in his eyes that tells you he knows exactly what you do want when he asks, “What? What do you want?” He licks his lips, a fleeting moment.

You look over your shoulder, at the rising street. Anyone could have their windows cracked. Anyone could hear you confess on this porch. Still, you murmur, “I… I want you to make me come, Joel.” Your voice shivers a little bit along with the stroke of wind that wisps against the backs of your thighs.

His brows raise together, now. His head tips forward. “What was that? A little louder. You know, my ears really ain’t the sharpest these days…”

Fucking bastard.

“I want,” you say again, fighting to stop your voice from wavering, to keep it not too loud but not too quiet. “you to make me come.”

Joel sucks on his teeth for a second. “Ohhh. Now I don’t think that’s really fair, hun.” He gives you a mockingly sad look.

“Why?” you ask, and you know you sound as whiny as a petulant child. But he’d been correct earlier. You put in all of this effort, sneaking out for a thrilling night that had turned into something more like two sweaty bodies moving together and only one of them feeling good from it. You want to feel good. You’re tired of looking at the right and the wrong. Joel’s sitting in front of you, his thumb still smelling like your arousal; that’s what’s right.

“You’re out here breakin’ all the rules. Shouldn’t be rewarding you for that, sweetheart. Besides, it’s a little fucked up, dontcha think? Makin’ you come all over me while your pops, my buddy, is none the wiser gettin’ ready for work next door?” His vulgarity only weakens you even more, pussy clenching and begging to be filled. You’re about to protest again when he cuts in, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t help ya out.”

Your heart pedals in your chest, eager and wanting. But Joel, instead of getting up and elbowing you inside like you expect, stays right where he is. He pats one of his splayed thighs, the grin on his face only widening. Your face contorts. Joel hears your question before you ask.

“What? Never humped someone’s leg before? With how much of a bitch in heat you’re actin’ right now, I’m surprised.” You can feel the shock on your face plain as day. Joel jerks his head down to his thigh, egging you on. “Better hurry up if you want my help, sweetheart. Pretty sure your dad’s about to get goin’, and I sure don’t have all day, either.”

The rapidly shrinking part of yourself that isn’t consumed with desire tells you to take a step back. That anyone, God forbid, even the Adlers across the street could witness this. Talk about a free peep show.

You think of the alternative: sneaking back into your house with a hope and a prayer that your dad won’t find you, backpack over your shoulder and shoes on, as you climb the stairs back to your bedroom. Open up your Joel-advised dresser drawer of things your dad says you shouldn’t have and pull out your vibrator. Do the same old hassle of a routine, desperately trying to make yourself come. Reach an unfulfilling peak.

Or… take what Joel’s offering you. Risks and all.

You take a tentative step forward, glaring at Joel when he chuckles because of your hesitance, and plop yourself down on his thigh. The pressure against your clit immediately pulls a whimper from you. His big hands fix themselves on your hips, holding tight, but not too tight as to hold you captive against him. There’s still the faint existence of the Joel you’ve always known, considerate and sweet and all southern gentleman, that exists behind the guise of his dominance. 

You nestle your head into the crook of his neck, breathing heavy against him as you get a slow start to grinding your hips on his thigh. Although your movements are tentative, uncertain in nature, your head is already going fuzzy.

“Bet you’re only this wet cause that boy already put a new load in your dishwasher.” You scoff at him in disbelief — both at how much more wet it gets you, and how foul his words are. He chooses then to jerk you forward by the hips. You cry out as your pussy drags along the thick expanse of his thigh, clit catching on the bunched up fabric of your rumpled shorts.

“Zip it, you fuckin’ hussy. Ain’t a damn soul in this neighborhood that wants to wake up to you sobbin’ while gettin’ off on this thigh.” One of his hands drifts back to squeeze at the flesh of your ass. You hear the spank before you feel it, a sting that echoes and sticks right between your legs. He’s effortlessly strung a barbed wire of humiliation around your body. The lack of power makes your thighs clamp down around his, and you can’t tell if you crave more of it or despise it.

Unable to decide which, you loudly, exaggeratedly moan into his ear, still rocking down on his lap. It resounds through the neighborhood, the springboard roofs ricocheting you coquettish noises down the street and through the flowerbeds. A spooked crow lifts off of the power lines behind you, and you hear it squawk as its wings beat and carry it away.

Joel cocks his head at you, brow raised. “So it’s not just your legs that have a problem stayin’ shut. It’s your nasty mouth, too.” His hands migrate up your sides to your tits, which jostle with every flighty movement across his thigh. Before you know what he’s doing, he tweezes at your nipples in a way that makes you melt into him, forehead falling flat against his neck. And then he lands a hard smack across your chest, pleasure with a bite. Your hips jolt. “Behave for daddy before I make you walk next door draggin’ a snail trail behind ya.”

You know he doesn’t mean your real dad. A new rush of heat settles in your stomach, tightening your cunt from an ache to an insatiable thrumming that only Joel can solve. “Fuck,” you almost shout, but end up muffling into his skin with an open-mouthed kiss. He sighs, adjusting under you. The change in angle on your clit makes you whimper, especially when you feel his hardened length smushed against the outside of your thigh.

Your hand goes down to grip it, to participate in the push and pull, the cat and mouse, but he shakes his head, pulling it out of the way. He holds you by the small of your back, urging you to keep rubbing on him. “You’re lucky I’m even givin’ you my thigh,” he spits. “Ain’t gonna let you play chutes and ladders tryna make me come when I know damn well where that hand was last night.”

“Daddy,” you pout at him, lower lip jutting out.

He only shakes his head. “Don’t start.”

Whining in agitation, you manage to school yourself into behaving like he’d told you to. Every grind of your hips welcomes pleasure, beckons it, activates the porch light inside of you that invites it inside. You go limp against Joel as he guides you back and forth, and even limper when he tightens the muscle underneath your soaking core. Your hands anchor themselves on his broad shoulders, nails carving into his skin through the flimsy material of his shirt. He hisses underneath you, a break in his seemingly titanium resolve. You feel yourself getting closer, heat wreathing around your stomach, cunt clenching.

In your house, the foyer light flickers on.

Your hips stall over Joel’s as you see your dad’s backlit silhouette moving around in the foyer. Likely sliding on his shoes, patting his pockets for his wallet and his work phone…. You have two minutes at best.

Joel’s eyes follow your distracted line of vision. His amused chuckle warms the back of your neck. “Oughta hurry up if you don’t wanna get caught. Your old man would be in for a rude awakening, headin’ to work and finding his precious little girl fuckin’ my leg like a whore,” he murmurs.

He bounces his leg underneath you, and you bite back the needy cry that threatens to slip out. It feels so good, too good for you to think about anything other than the haze of arousal and pleasure that hovers over your head like a perpetual fog. You return to grinding down on him, hips pumping with a greater, renewed speed. “Attagirl,” Joel croons at you, and the hand at the small of your back presses harder, pushing you up and down his thigh.

Short, strained breaths of yours meet the morning air, eyes pinned on the rectangular window. It’s a golden-washed reminder of how wrong this is. Your dad would blow a gasket, see red, breathe fire at you if he knew exactly what was happening just a few feet away from his front yard.

But you forget all about that when Joel’s calloused fingers cup your chin, nudging you to look at him. His eyes are all pupil, darkened with something like starvation, something like want. “Don’t look at him. Look at me,” he coaxes, and he bounces his thigh again.

You’re close, you can feel it. He can feel it, too, in the way that your thighs fasten around his, your cunt rocking on him as your fervor makes the whole front porch shake and shudder. Tossing your hips back and forth, you wanted it, but now? Now you need it. Your stomach tightens, your legs shivering below you as your cunt gushes all over both of your shorts. “That’s it, baby, come on me like you were beggin’ to. ‘S alright, nice and easy for daddy, mhm?” He tenses his thigh one final time, and you lurch over that edge. “Gooood girl,” he hums as your cunt flutters against his leg. “You’re a daredevil, aren’t you?” he asks, jerking his head toward your house.

You figure you must be, after what you just did.

You’d planned on staying there, riding it out and trembling against his warm chest. But the garage cranks open. You jolt off of Joel’s lap, damn near teleporting across the porch with how fast you move. Joel smirks at you, crossing his unfucked leg over his freshly fucked one, where you’d rubbed your cum all over his skin until it’d glistened. The sight warms your stomach all over again, but it doesn’t last – nerves spasm in your ribcage as your dad ducks out into the driveway.

You fumble with your shorts, pulling them down and crossing your hands in front of the obvious stain on the gray fabric. Your dad squints across the yard, cupping a hand over his eyes. “Miller?” He calls your name shortly after, and you straighten. “You’re up early, kiddo.”

You open your mouth, on the precipice of a lie that you know won’t be good. It’ll come out unsteady, dishonest, and uneven. 

Joel points at the package at the foot of his doorstep. “My toolbox got sent to yours,” he explains. “Damn postal. ‘Bout as good as the Boston Post Road these days. But your kid’s got me covered. Raised her right.”

For the second time, Joel Miller covers for you. You have no idea where this leaves you, standing under your dad’s scrutinizing gaze. With your cum cooling and sticking to your folds the same way it’s cooling and sticking to his leg, Joel knows your secret. And he’s keeping it.

Your dad only gives a shallow nod, looking between the two of you. “Well,” he hooks a hand back at his truck. “I gotta head off to work.” He shifts on his feet, this time pointing to you. “And you head back inside, kiddo. Too early for you to be up and movin’.” Of course it is.

You stare at the ground, the pollen and stray leaves below your feet. Finally, you settle on a nod. Shallow and halfhearted, much like his. Your dad, satisfied, retreats back into the garage. You hear the truck engine come to life.

“You heard the man,” Joel says. You tighten your fists, moving to step away, but the way Joel’s eyes glimmer has you loitering. He lowers his voice. “See you soon, daredevil.”

That damned nickname. “How do you know I’ll be back?” you retort under your breath.

He shrugs. “I’m sure there’ll be more… ‘packages’.”

You blame the heat in your body on the rising sun, sweat clinging to the back of your neck as you plod off through the front yard. There’s only one thought in your head as your dad pulls out and you close the garage. Mr. Miller can’t happen again.

Mistake number four: thinking you’re telling the truth.

[esselte974]

The rise of teleworking and teletravel

The travel sector has been a major driver of change in recent years thanks to technology. It’s in these innovations that artificial intelligence, virtual reality and blockchain have been absolutely central to redefining travel. Platforms powered by artificial intelligence now offer personalized travel recommendations and carry out bookings while guaranteeing an exceptional experience. Thanks to…

[someone-will-remember-us]

A leaden silence descended upon the courtroom as the videos began to play over three screens.

There was Gisèle Pelicot, the victim in the center of a rape trial that has rocked France, lying on a bed on her side, her arms limp before her, her mouth open. The sound of her snoring filled the courtroom. She appeared to be dead asleep.

In the videos, she did not respond to the touches of the men, who engaged with her body in sex acts.

Ms. Pelicot had fought hard for these videos to be shown publicly in the courtroom because, she said, they were incontrovertible evidence. While most rape victims have only their word and memory of events, Ms. Pelicot has a library of proof in the form of videos and photographs — taken by her own husband.

Showing them publicly was essential, her lawyer Antoine Camus told the courtroom, “to look rape straight in the eyes.”

It was another astounding moment in a trial that for the past month has gripped France as if by the throat and shaken it violently. The case has raised profound questions about relations between men and women, the prevalence of rape and conceptions of consent.

More than 50 men are on trial together. Almost all are accused of aggravated rape against Ms. Pelicot, a grandmother and retired manager at a big company, while she was in an unconscious state. Her former husband of 50 years, Dominique Pelicot, has pleaded guilty to mixing drugs into her food and drink and inviting others into their home, in a village in southern France where they had retired, to join him in raping her limp body.

While Ms. Pelicot, 71, had the right to request that the trial take place behind closed doors, she decided to make it public. She said that she did it not for her, but to protect other women. Shame, she said, must change sides — from the victims to the perpetrators.

The accused men appear to be a gallery of working-class and middle-class French society: truck drivers, carpenters and trade workers, a nurse, an I.T. expert, a local journalist. They range in age from 26 to 74. Many have children and are in relationships. Over four months, their cases are coming before the court in batches of six or seven a week.

All but 15 have contested the charge. Many have argued that they were tricked into coming into her bedroom by Mr. Pelicot, who had offered them a playful trio with his wife. Many say he led them to believe she was sleeping — or pretending to sleep — as part of the couple’s sexual fantasy. Mr. Pelicot manipulated them when they were vulnerable, some of them have said, and directed them in the acts like a stage manager. They said they had blindly followed his orders.

One said this week that he thought he was also drugged, and had no memory from the moment he entered the room until he returned to his car later. Another said he was so terrified by Mr. Pelicot, whom he regarded as a “predator” and a “psychopath,” that he interacted with Ms. Pelicot’s body calmly in order to “not show weakness, so he attacks me.”

“They took a precise line of defense,” Mr. Camus, one of the lawyers for Ms. Pelicot, told the court on Friday. Ms. Pelicot has said that while the men were perhaps tricked into coming into her bedroom, once they got there, she was so unconscious that it was clear that she could not have possibly given consent.

This is where the videos come in. Mr. Pelicot filmed most of the encounters, often with two cameras, and carefully edited and titled them. Over the course of their investigation, the police found more than 20,000 videos and photographs on his electronic devices, many of them in a digital folder titled “Abuse.”

After initially ruling the videos would not be viewed because of their “indecent and shocking��� nature, the judges of the criminal court in Avignon changed their minds after a heated courtroom debate on Friday. Not all the videos would be shown, announced the head judge, Roger Arata — just those videos deemed “strictly necessary” for the “manifestation of the truth.”

A dozen videos and about 10 photos were shown over the courtroom’s three flat screens on Friday afternoon and projected into the overflow room for members of the public, who have continued to line up every day to watch the proceedings and support Ms. Pelicot.

The videos’ titles alone, packed with crude words and read out by the prosecutor, made many observers flinch. Judge Arata said at one point that he didn’t have any “particular desire” to read them out loud any more.

In many, Ms. Pelicot appeared naked, but in some, she wore a garter belt, underwear and white socks. In one, she had a blindfold over her eyes. Her husband told the police he often dressed her up after she was unconscious, and then at the end of the night, he cleaned her and returned her to her nightclothes.

The accused were seen stroking her sides and intimate parts with their hands and mouths. Five were captured putting their penises in her slack mouth. The camera sometimes zoomed in for close-ups. While Ms. Pelicot could be seen moving slightly in some, in none was she seen responding to the touches. She often snored loudly.

The videos played on uncomfortably long. One defendant lowered his face. Many lawyers and journalists stopped looking at the screens.

Thierry Postat, a 61-year-old refrigeration technician who is among those on trial, told the court that he had been involved in swinging and couple sharing since he was 30. He said that in at least three other cases, he had been invited into bedrooms by husbands to have sex with their sleeping wives — only one of whom woke up.

“I trusted Mr. Pelicot,” because most of the time among swingers, Mr. Postat told the court, “it’s the man who organizes things"

But he was pressed by Ms. Pelicot’s lawyer, Mr. Camus: “You really thought you were practicing couple swapping? You see a couple there?” Mr. Camus asked Mr. Postat, referring to the video that had just been shown.

“Yes,” Mr. Postat responded. “The way I remember it.”

Another video captured Simone Mekenese penetrating Ms. Pelicot, while she was lying on her side sleeping.

“You weren’t aware she was unconscious?” asked Stéphane Babonneau, a second lawyer for Ms. Pelicot.

“No,” responded Mr. Mekenese, 43, a driver on a construction site who was a neighbor of the couple’s at the time. “I thought she would participate soon.”

An argument heard repeatedly in court this week was that while they might not have gotten direct consent from Ms. Pelicot, the accused men did not go to the Pelicots’ home with an intention to rape her.

The day before, Mr. Postat had told the court that they might be rapists because they had not received consent, “but we aren’t rapists in our souls.”

After two hours of viewing videos, the court session ended abruptly. People drifted out of the courtroom, and the overflow room, stunned.

“We are in shock,” said Anne-Marie Galvan, 58, a nursing assistant at the local hospital. Her husband, Serge Galvan, stood nearby, tears swelling in his eyes.

“I’m almost ashamed to be a man,” he said. “You could see she was sleeping. It was obvious she was unconscious.”

The couple, and the rest of the crowd, clapped thunderously when Ms. Pelicot passed by, making her way with her lawyers to the court exit. She stopped, looked at the group, and put her hand to her heart.

“We are here for her. We must not let this lady down. We must give her as much strength as possible. It’s important for women,” said Mr. Galvan.

“This,” he added, thinking back to the scenes on the screen, “has to stop.”

[notjustjavierpena]

Gush

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Just pure filth.

Summary: Joel, your dad’s best friend, teaches you how to come with your clit untouched.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (MDNI!), dad’s best friend, daddy kink (yeah it was bound to happen), pet names, innocence kink, age gap, dirty talk, fingering, squirting, only very brief piv sex, unprotected sex

Word count: 1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48494866

Gush

You let out a frustrated groan as you look up at the ceiling, arms crossed over your chest and with the prettiest pout that Joel has ever seen displayed on anyone’s face. He sits on his knees in front of your naked body, cock heavy between his legs but with no intention of using it on you and thus making you even more bitter about the situation.

“It’s not going to happen, daddy,” you say as you avoid Joel’s soft eyes. He rubs a hand over your naked belly, skimming it across the sensitive skin below your belly button. He isn’t going to give up. 

“Well, no, not if ya don’t relax,” he says with a smug chuckle. You try to cross your legs to get him to go away, but he catches you by your ankles and places each of your feet flat on the bed again, “Stay, sweetheart. We’ll keep going until we get it right.”

You’ve been at it for what feels like hours now, but Joel hasn’t made you come yet with your clit untouched but oh, you have been on the brink so many times that your cunt is throbbing and a steadily growing pool of arousal is forming on his bedsheets. It’s beginning to feel ridiculous, especially when he bats your hand away when you try to take matters into your own hands. 

“Daddy knows exactly how you touch yourself, I don’t needa see it again,” he had told you after your third attempt to sneak a hand down to your clit. 

Now, you’ve given up coming anytime soon, but Joel is still determined as ever. He runs his thick fingers through your folds once more to slick up his fingers, then twists his wrist and inserts two fingers into your already stretched pussy. 

“You know,” you say after a soft moan, deciding to look down once again to see his digits stretch you open, “I have to be home for dinner in an hour. Dad’s lighting up the barbecue.” 

“He told me he was getting it out for the first time this summer,” he small talks back at you, curling his fingers inside of you and finding your eyes with his own, “There, yeah?”

He rubs once and you nod, moaning as he starts up a rhythm of his fingers slowly fucking against your g-spot. You shift a little, relax a bit further into the mattress and let your knees fall out to the sides. 

“Don’t think of anything from now on, just of this,” he says quietly, pumping his digits in and out of you. 

It starts out completely the same, and it’s enough to make you want to cuss at him. You know better than that though, and let out a whine, “It’s not going to work. Just rub my clit, daddy, please. It hurts now.” 

“Shut up, I got something I want to try,” he coaxes your orgasm a little further. It’s the same build-up; something pooling in the pits of your stomach and tugging from inside your womb, but God, you need that little extra thing to tip you over the edge. 

Or do you? Something changes then, and you realize that Joel’s other hand is resting just above your pubic bone. He pushes down gently and gradually speeding up his fingers, creating more pressure and friction inside of you. 

“What’re…?” You let out a gasp that even surprises yourself, your toes starting to curl and your clit starting to pulse as if begging to be paid attention to, “Touch my clit. Please, oh— f— Joel, daddy. Touch it. Keep going, no, touch it.”

“No,” he says, beckoning your orgasm closer with his fingers. He makes a come-hither motion over and over again, keeping his other hand still on your belly until he can feel his fingers moving inside your cunt, “Wanna see that cute fucking clit pulse just for me, ain’t gonna be able to see it if my fingers are on it, baby girl.”

You panic a little when a new sensation starts coming from inside of you. It’s a form of pressure that you’re familiar with but not during sex, and you start thrashing a little to get him off, “Joel! Joel, I swear, I— I’m gonna pee. If you don’t stop, I’ll… oh my God, Joel, I’m fucking serious. You’re gonna make me— make me…”

You come with a high-pitched moan as all the tension in your body snaps. Every nerve-ending in your clit is on fire with sweet contractions of pleasure, and suddenly your whole heartbeat goes straight to between your thighs as your cunt spasms from clit to slit. It wants something more though, because your legs won’t stop violently shaking, and Joel seems to know exactly what that is. 

Without saying a thing, he removes his fingers from you and you fear that you might actually have pissed his bed because, without warning, a wet gush has stained the sheets between him and you. 

His fingers enter you once more, and you’re ready to cry as he causes another gush of clear liquid to squirt onto the mattress. It feels so fucking good despite how embarrassing it feels, climax slowly fading as he repeats the move a few more times. 

You collapse completely when he finally lets go of you with both his hands. You’re panting softly into the bedroom, and he gets the shirt he had worn earlier off the floor to cover the stained sheets. 

“Holy shit, the princess squirts,” Joel laughs as he crawls on top of you, but it’s a laugh filled with wonder and excitement. He looks younger like this, you think.

He hovers above you, reaches down to guide his hard cock inside of your still sensitive cunt. Both of you gasp in unison, but you’ve never heard his voice so cocky, “You, young lady, are the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen when you come like that.” 

It’s enough to make any sense of embarrassment go away, and you can’t wait to ask him to do it again. 

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[graha-stan-account]

Things I learned from Encyclopedia Eorzea III

Do with this what you will, ffxiv fandom.

G'raha and the tower appeared about 15 years after the Flood of Light. Ardbert and team were all already dead. "Our" Minfilia had already dissipated.

At the time, he looked like his normal self. He is described as a Mystel dressed as a mage, so we can assume people knew he was a "Mystel" at the time, vs. later when his appearance is only speculative.

A bunch of refugees clamored to the Crystal Tower when it appeared. He said yeah you can hang out here, the tower defenses will keep you safe.

And then fucked off for 4 years to survey the damage of the Flood of Light.

When he got back he knew shit was really fucked and ASAP started trying to figure out how the hell to get the WoL over for pizza

At some point he figures out he needed to address the WoL verbally for some reason for the summoning to work properly???

It doesn't.

He decides this shit is gonna take 5ever and I'm already having a quarter life crisis. I'm going to bind my aether to the tower. It's the one secret anti-aging trick that has doctors PISSED

It'll be great, like, he'll almost never age.

Downside, his body slowly becomes necrotic with crystal.

More time lost because he has to use aether to discretely animate his crystallized limbs and digits to keep their use.

At some point, early Crystarium dwellers get tired of asking him for his name (he won't give it) and him rejecting the crown they offer him so they start calling him the Crystal Exarch.

Exarch says OK and wheels out some Allagan nodes to help build what would become the Crystarium. Go ham, guys.

Since no one really recalls what the Exarch looks like in present day, G'raha likely began wearing a cowl after returning from traveling Norvrandt, or when his body begins to change. Those who remember are likely dead (age or sineaters) or sworn to secrecy.

The developing crystal, which he did his best to hide, prevented him from truly connecting with the others.

Sometime after this, an infant Lyna falls into his care.

Well technically the Settlement Council (because he was like hey let's have a representative government [not because I grew up in one or anything!]! I'll just be over here.)

But he was very involved in her upbringing.

Probably because he was close friends with her parents.

Who die tragically while serving in the Crystarium guard (Meaning that the guard is at least 30 years old, likely more, as her parents were known to have served in the guard since inception basically and Lyna is 33 in SHB)

G'raha was probably in his mid-eighties at this point, judging by Lyna's age in SHB (33) and that we know G'raha had the Crystal Exarch title for 9 decades + the 24 years he had lived before he entered the tower. (He is likely slightly older due to the intervening time between being awakened in the Bad Timeline and heading to the First.)

He FINALLY gets summoning to work something like 90 years later!!!!! Except it still doesn't! Five years before he could nab the WoL, he nabbed Thancred instead (oops). It took another 2 years for it to successfully transport a soul again.

[ekebolou]

I get that people have complicated relationships with higher education, and that's 100% reasonable, but there's something I want to point out.

when you hear a popular podcast or youtuber or history show or see a popular history book or article say it's 'revealing' or 'uncovering' or 'bringing to light' or 'reevaluating' some story of the past, it's usually doing so off of academic history work done by people in academia.

Journalists and your average YouTuber are generally the worst about not crediting this work,* but it's there in the background, nonetheless.

That work - academic research, particularly of this kind, and the articles, books, and other information it produces - doesn't get done without institutional support. That is, like with everything, sure some enthusiasts will keep at their particular interests hell or high water, and rich folks can peruse to their hearts' content - that's what fueled the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries' ever-increasing investigative output.

And that should be concerning, not comforting.

Not because all of that output was wrong or terrible or misguided - a lot was, but much of it is still essential, foundational, exceedingly rigorous and useful - but because much of modern history work, twentieth century on, has been a century-long battle to correct some of deeply culturally embedded beliefs an almost wholly dilettante pursuit of the past generated. It's kind of a joke in English-language scholarship that the Victorians ruined everything, but like, for real, y'all, the Victorians left us some BURDENS, from fake relics created for ~the aesthetic~ to defaced and destroyed historical documents.

Academic research in itself is not some kind of panacea. we're not shitting on dilettantes (I am very much a dilettante, in my way) and so-called 'amateurs', who are vital and excellent contributors to knowledge. We're also not saying institutions are always perfect and good and don't need to change. I'm saying that robust, diverse, in-depth, careful, broadly reaching, and most of all interesting and new scholarship requires something on the scale of institutional support.

This is not just because that's where your historians live, but because in a very practical sense, that's where your archives live. You do actually need a big building stuffed with Things Of The Past well-maintained and with a core of well-trained and extremely cool (like librarians, all archivists are extremely cool in my books, even if they're kind of assholes, as long as they are good archivists).

Archivists are currently doing a lot with very little support - like a lot of academics and librarians, really - because that's what people do. When they care about doing something, they get along, they scrape by, they suck it up. But they need buildings, they need climate control, they need continuing training and new people coming into the field - if the idea is that we have so many documents from the past extant today because archives DON'T need institutional-level support, then you are severely misinformed about how much of the past has survived to the present day. And if the idea is that we'll preserve the IMPORTANT bits of the past regardless then you're also sadly misinformed about how good we are at determining what's important, and how frequently (and with growing frequency) disasters of various kinds wipe places out (Lisbon 1755, for example), and how robust any of our documentation (often ESPECIALLY the 'important' stuff) is in terms of long-term survival.

There's a theory going around that THIS period - like the 2000s through today and into the future - will produce a 'dark age' for future historians because the digital infrastructure which not only underpins almost all of our day-to-day lives but is how we've decided to 'save space' - by preserving things digitally rather than in hard copy - is so unspeakably vulnerable and weak. Everyday folks have already, for the most part, lost access to things like CDs, which have a lifespan of something like 100 years at the most. Proprietary softwares, black box devices with irreplaceable parts, flimsy modern materials with difficult to preserve features mean a whole of information that drives our lives today will simply become inaccessible in, actually, a very short time.

Archives - vast storehouses under careful supervision full of well-organized stuff that might potentially be important one day - need institutional support, but also, on their own, are kind of... well, let's just say, Historians will also say shit like they 'uncovered' a 'hidden history' in a previously 'lost, unknown' document that some archivist put in a special box on a special shelf and carefully catalogued for prime findability. It's a symbiotic relationship that doesn't always get its due. An archive on its own can be very useful to a local community, an individual business, a specific family, all kinds of things - but to get History out of it, you need some Historians or suitably rabid individuals of other castes. You need both, or you end up with the pseudo-histories of nineteenth-century rich folk that then get to determine what we believe is possible for the future by what we are told of the past. It's a bad scene.

Again, there are further steps to take - not over here defending institutions as they stand. We were, at one point, on our way to accessible higher education, meaning everyone had a chance to go to pursue their interests, before we started seeing Universities not as a social good and social resource but as job training and profit centers and cut social funding as demanded by business ghouls. Higher education and academia as it functions now has done a lot of damage to people's lives.

But institutions are much harder to build than to change, and change is hard enough. Once an archive is defunded, its collections distributed or destroyed, you typically don't get it back. Like certain species of sea creatures with long gestational periods, once you destroy the mid-range of the population - the bit that raises up the next generation - your population collapses and its very hard to get things back on track (historians and other academics who require lots of investment and training and time and experience are like the sea creatures, you see).

You can, of course, start new. We've done that a lot, as a species. It's always possible. But it's a bit like running out of a fire empty-handed instead of grabbing your wallet as you go. Sometimes you just gotta go, and that's always safest - sometimes you just can't think or there's no time to think and you couldn't get to anything useful if you wanted to - but if it's matter of looking at the wallet in your pants pocket and dipping down to grab it (and maybe pants!) while you bolt then yeah, ought to try. Maybe the pants catch fire and you've got to abandon them anyway to save your life. That's reasonable. (This is just an analogy - fire safety generally says to get ye gone with your life and health intact ASAP, just for the record - don't stop for shit and don't go back in).

The point of this is that next time you're enjoying some popular history content (please save me from this word) or learn some cool fact about the past, think about the fact that none of that get down to you without a big chain of people all joined together doing different things. And that big chain needs nice big social supports to exist. The social supports are hard to change, but the chain is easy to lose without them. It's a group effort all the way, even that little fucker who didn't credit the work they used to make fun videos is important.

That content doesn't happen without the structure to support it - or even worse, that content lies to you. Makes stuff up. The stuff it makes up isn't going to be fantasies of freedom and equality, at least going by what's been made up before.

Hate the academy, want it to change, act to reform it - all very good, go for it, no desire to stop you (except maybe the hating part, try to hate more specifically, like individual actions or aspects of the academy, if you're going to hate on stuff, but, like, hate can be unhealthy, get some peace in your life if you can). Things are bad enough without also feeling like you have to take on a crusade to save archives or other institutions - though honestly just participating in your local history scene, giving them time and attention, is really valuable help - so that's not really the call to action here. The call is just asking you to notice the big structures that enable these small joys.

Don't let yourself be convinced that they somehow happen in a vacuum, that they'll just persist somehow like getting Deliveroo at your off-grid mountain cabin. A lot people helped make that stupid podcast about Marie Antoinette's toenail fungus happen - and there's way more than that waiting! If we can just keep letting people make archives, study stuff, fuck off on fruitless searches for things that were never there and instead find stuff we never KNEW was there. There's so much of that to be done! The more the merrier on who should be doing it! But if we want that, we got to figure out how to support it, to keep what we've got, build more of it, or it'll be the same shit about Marie Antoinette over and over and over and over and over because that'll all we'll have to build from.

Anyway, if you've never done it, take a ghost tour. Visit a museum nearby. Pop into an archive and just ask them some stuff. Get on these web pages that do things like recreate Angkor Wat as a virtual tour, go watch a Youtuber do a frothing-at-the-mouth defense of Charles Lightoller, or even better, read this reddit thread about whether Dua Lipa would have survived the Titanic sinking based on her music video. And just think - holy shit, isn't it cool that we have a society, a whole social structure, that could produce such a thing? And it's right here, at my fingertips, ready to disappear.

*there are reasons for this, some related to format and legibility/accessibility that still shouldn't eliminate the need to credit others' work and others cowardly excuses for parasitism