#and had no access to my old apple account

[rigelmejo]

Impulse driving right now. Tempted to buy clozemaster lifetime just cause. I really do like their premade X thousand frequent words in sentences, for lots of languages. And i love radio mode cause its basically my preferred study (audio in target language then translation audio) so i can just fucking study by turning it on and doing it while i do other stuff.

Like. Ive been listening to old glossika chinese (which i WILL review when i eventually finish) but i know it only foes up to 3000 words, possibly less. And clozemaster includes different conjugations and filler words like soshite dakara mochiron which are actually super fucking common but glossika takes forever to get to.

Tempted to lifetime cause. I hate monthly suvscriptions. I have bad memory. Id kind of like to buy lifetime so i own it forever and can use it whenever i want then forget for months without an unexpected bill. Ugh

Mildly related: i wonder if satori reader has lifelong membership purchase option. Cause that has so much good reading practice...

[ssruis]

Going through a straight up comical amount of irritating situations to get the stupid 4* guaranteed ticket from the welcome to sekai campaign. It Will Be Mine.

[neilfinnaesthetics]

I found these in an old photo album. I printed these off at school in art back in 2014.

[subjectsix]

I don't know I'm not done talking about it. It's insane that I can't just uninstall Edge or Copilot. That websites require my phone number to sign up. That people share their contacts to find their friends on social media.

I wouldn't use an adblocker if ads were just banners on the side funding a website I enjoy using and want to support. Ads pop up invasively and fill my whole screen, I misclick and get warped away to another page just for trying to read an article or get a recipe.

Every app shouldn't be like every other app. Instagram didn't need reels and a shop. TikTok doesn't need a store. Instagram doesn't need to be connected to Facebook. I don't want my apps to do everything, I want a hub for a specific thing, and I'll go to that place accordingly.

I love discord, but so much information gets lost to it. I don't want to join to view things. I want to lurk on forums. I want to be a user who can log in and join a conversation by replying to a thread, even if that conversation was two days ago. I know discord has threads, it's not the same. I don't want to have to verify my account with a phone number. I understand safety and digital concerns, but I'm concerned about information like that with leaks everywhere, even with password managers.

I shouldn't have to pay subscriptions to use services and get locked out of old versions. My old disk copy of photoshop should work. I should want to upgrade eventually because I like photoshop and supporting the business. Adobe is a whole other can of worms here.

Streaming is so splintered across everything. Shows release so fast. Things don't get physical releases. I can't stream a movie I own digitally to friends because the share-screen blocks it, even though I own two digital copies, even though I own a physical copy.

I have an iPod, and I had to install a third party OS to easily put my music on it without having to tangle with iTunes. Spotify bricked hardware I purchased because they were unwillingly to upkeep it. They don't pay their artists. iTunes isn't even iTunes anymore and Apple struggles to upkeep it.

My TV shows me ads on the home screen. My dad lost access to eBook he purchased because they were digital and got revoked by the company distributing them. Hitman 1-3 only runs online most of the time. Flash died and is staying alive because people love it and made efforts to keep it up.

I have to click "not now" and can't click "no". I don't just get emails, they want to text me to purchase things online too. My windows start search bar searches online, not just my computer. Everything is blindly called an app now. Everything wants me to upload to the cloud. These are good tools! But why am I forced to use them! Why am I not allowed to own or control them?

No more!!!!! I love my iPod with so much storage and FLAC files. I love having all my fics on my harddrive. I love having USBs and backups. I love running scripts to gut suck stuff out of my Windows computer I don't want that spies on me. I love having forums. I love sending letters. I love neocities and webpages and webrings. I will not be scanning QR codes. Please hand me a physical menu. If I didn't need a smartphone for work I'd get a "dumb" phone so fast. I want things to have buttons. I want to use a mouse. I want replaceable batteries. I want the right to repair. I grew up online and I won't forget how it was!

[sincerelyverena]

Can you write for sub!Oliver? I'm so desperate seeing him squirming and whining😮‍💨

⟡⁺ RUN, BUNNY, RUN

oh hi guys its been a while ! never thought id manage to get this out but here it is, n i hope u all enjoy. ive missed each n every one of u (sorta) (joking). anyways im planning to lean in on the more multifandom aspect of my account, so youll be seeing a few different fandoms scattered around. nevertheless, give it a read! mybe itll be ur thing :] ty anon for this request, much love <3

. . . OLIVER QUICK X FEM!READER ‘beautiful, violent, vulgar.’ @ajs-222 @michael-loves-chickens @surazim @soocore @fedyascoffin

inbox is always open to requests!

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒oliver got what he wanted at a price.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒smut ﹐sub!oliver﹐dom!reader ﹐y/n catton﹐reader is a cougar ﹐oliver just cant get enough﹐reader is implied to be a shorty ﹐elspeth is a hoe﹐cunnilingus ﹐degradation﹐orgasm denial﹐marking kink ﹐lowkey blackmail ﹐farleighs there too!

ON THE HUNT FOR BETA READERS! MSG ME <3

He reminded you of a bunny, an animal.

Oliver Quick was reticent compared to the hearty, high conversation around the table that night. He was stuck out like a sore thumb in contrast to the Cattons, a family line of the prestigious. High on the grace of themselves and each other. Blissfully unaware of anyone or anything past what they offer to their inflated egos. And who were you, to make such unprincipled claims against family? Against blood?

Mother  – Elspeth, as she insists all the children call her – had always made snide, discreet digs at you. Shielded with a manipulative curl of the whoreish pinks of her lipstick. Underneath those sly comments is a white-hot grudge, directed toward her only daughter of blood and the Catton heiress everybody just seemed to have forgotten about.

‘You only think of yourself.’ She says. 

‘You only believe you’re superior because you abandoned the only people who’ll ever care for you.’

But they never cared for you. Not in the slightest.

You were the only descendant of the new-age family line that didn’t reside under the roof of Saltburn, causing waves in the circles of old money when you took your trust fund (and dignity) in a single palm and vanished to New Mexico. 

Nevertheless, to maintain access to the trust fund, you have been spending the entirety of every summer with your bloodline you inherently disowned. Money was the bottom line, the bottom line of every transaction you make with your parents. Which wasn’t a problem in the slightest, considering in their eyes, how much you were worth was the only thing cardinal about you.

You had stayed summers long enough to recognize the twisted, Catton-branded pattern your brother, Felix, had fallen into. In your eyes, he wasn’t fit to be claimed the bloodline heir. His blood is unsavory and debilitated. During the presidency of his birth, Elspeth had been participating in affairs with men who would’ve directly tainted both the reputation of the family name. As well as the bloodline.

The crimson redness of your dagger-shaped nails clinks along the side of the thin wineglass in your palm. Those morals of clean blood had been hammered into your head for decades, no matter how much your mother preached her modernized values.

Elspeth was still the same harlot she was all those years prior. 

The exact reason why instead of disturbance, thinly veiled amusement is masked between your hues as you witnessed Elspeth’s conversation with Oliver. The wrinkle of her eye crinkled furthermore with maliciousness, masked with honeyed words. Oliver reacts in a manner especially foreign to you. The apples of his cheeks pinken as Elspeth momentarily offers a palm toward the muscle of his arm, a singular touch as Oliver’s lips clamped together. Unable to respond for a beat of a moment. The cogs behind Oliver’s eyes turn and work soundlessly, having to be coorused by Elspeth herself to respond. 

Oliver was a stark difference from Felix’s past pets, brought to the household each summer for the entertainment of all. You observe him thoroughly, without shame. Nobody would question you anyway, especially the Catton children. The food chain of the bloodline stands unquestioned with Felix toppling all competition. But you were there first, and the force of that power still stands. 

All that you knew was that Oliver would be at the very bottom. A stark, white rabbit amongst the lions and wolves. The sheep's clothing they wear? Deteriorated. 

And you’d die for a chance to snap your jaws around his neck.

Even though you were barely a decade older compared to the other descendants of the Catton name, your tastes in sexuality had simmered. You have had your fair share of flings, basking in sensual attention like how your younger relatives are receiving nowadays. 

You’ve made the stark assumption that only a few strains of men and woman could cause that familiar warmth to unfurl within the depths of her core. But you were solely mistaken, as the cobalt hues of Oliver Quick met yours. They withheld the sweetest traces of caramel that caused something to stir. Something that caused the top of your bare thighs to squeeze together absentmindedly.

Oliver’s once-pinkened cheeks redden once again. He was the first to look away.

Run, bunny, run. The words bounce around your skull aimlessly, as if the density of your head were hollow. Your only set intention was the young man across the cherry-wood table, and how your lips curl upward at the thought. 

An unmistakable atmosphere of tension ridged itself between the two. Unmistakeable enough for Oliver to virtually scramble from his chair with a lowly hinged creak as soon as the black-tie dinner was to be dismissed, disappearing into the estate’s foyer without another word. In the process, silencing the remainder of the table as they escape the metaphorical weight of their chairs.

‘Someone had to go.’ Farleigh snarks, expression feigning boredom.

Elspeth offers a scoff in turn, though the weariness of her hues twinkle with stuffed amusement. ‘Don’t be silly, Farleigh.’

On the other hand, Felix’s brow wrinkles. You tune out the roar of masculine voices and a battle of ego as the two relatives bicker over the treatment of their guests. The hypocritical bounds and leaps of their voices were enough for your meal of fancy, fickle steak and fluffy, mashed potatoes to churn in your stomach.

As much as Felix preaches for his adoration of Oliver Quick, the entire household – even the thinness of the estate walls – knows that he’s only a temporary fix to his hunger for the disadvantaged. Viewing himself as a saint, veiling the sin that reverberated inside. Even Felix is willing to slip unsavory words about Oliver’s history before their friendship, especially his mother’s drug addiction. 

You shortly realized you were the only one who hadn’t uttered a single word about Oliver. Yet, at least.  You were the only person under the Catton's roof. You’ve maintained formality, and politeness in the scarce cases of passing the salt along the length of the table. But there was nothing polite in the way the relentless azure of his eyes bored into your own, obstructing every value and moral you’ve ever known.

They always said curiosity would eventually kill the cat. The claws of your nails threaten to dig into the hitch of your thigh, deep to the point of drawn blood.

You needed to know about him.

The soles of your crimson-sheathed heels click against the top of the blemishless floorings. The space between your shoulder blades bur without missing a beat, bound to be from the hawk-eyes of Elspeth Catton and her descendants that followed. Nevertheless, you push past the judgment and persevere forward toward the same foyer Oliver had vanished into.

The double-storied entrance room was as grand as the rest of the estate. Dark 

strains of oak are the main attraction, revealing the old-money origins of Saltburn. Jars of incense sticks decorate the occasional corner, the passionate white musk filling the atmosphere, tickling the back of your throat as you inhale.

The peace-brimming silence is sliced with a stressed rummaging from the door placed offside, shielded behind the wood-trimmed stairway. You prided yourself on minding your own business, but you couldn’t help but shuffle a tad closer. Enough to catch a glimpse of a singular bead of light, trickling out of the gap the door had made.

You cursed the thrum of your heels as you ventured closer. Hand strained against the top of the engraved door, sending strained words to the universe as you threaten to inch it wider and wider open.

All that secrecy disappeared from your body at the sight of Oliver Quick. It took you a few, prolonged seconds to recognize the young man amid the shadows. The sight of his scruffy, pale knees pressed against the ground. A crown of wavy, brunette locks shielded the focused curve of his eye as he rummaged through something. You couldn’t help it, fingers curling to widen the door a little more.

Creak.

Nothing could prepare you for what you witnessed before you. Even the panicked alarm that flares in the cobalt of Oliver’s hues goes ignored as he virtually snaps his head toward you. Amid his hands, various Catton heirlooms have gone untouched. Useless to some, priceless to others, and you guessed Oliver had made his mark on that.

‘What in the world are you doing with Aunty Start’s Apollo earrings?’

The words escaped you in a rush. Who knew that that your snow-white, innocent bunny had nefarious means within the Catton family? You exaggerate aunty’s last name, a slight teetering edge of glee trickling into you at the sight of grieving recognition that filled Oliver’s eyes.

 You stepped fully into the doorway.

‘I wonder what Farleigh would think about that.’

Oliver didn’t take the threat lightly, notable by the slight shake in his voice. “You wouldn’t.” He insisted. His hands scrambled, and the box propped between his fingers slipped and clattered across the oak of the storage room’s grounding.

The sole of your heel slams against the bottom of the door, widening it entirely. You entered the room with a click of the underside of your shoes, reverberating throughout the suddenly too-cold, too-hollow room you found yourself in. The only sense of illumination is the light from the foyer, trickling into the suddenly too-compact expanse.

You crouched down. Knees hitting the base of the flooring similarly to Oliver’s own, barely a foot or two away. You could hear the tameness of his breaths. The sharp, panicked gasps and swallows that only made your lips twist upward. The threat was there, looming over Oliver’s head, choking him by the throat.

‘Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. You decide, Ollie.’

‘How–’

The length of your fingers curled around the curve of his cheeks, pressed into the slight hollowness that would follow. Silencing him in turn. The splinters of illumination from the doorway behind them manage to offer an iridescent glow toward the plumpness of Oliver’s lips as you squeeze half of his alluring face. 

You hadn’t expected the first, proper interactions with Oliver Quick to wind up in his manner. But you have no intention to stop. The fashion in which his eyes bore into your own, gaze hawk-like as he stared down at you. Eyelashes fluttering. Pupils dilated.

A wave of awareness rolled through you at the sight. Those same splinters of warmth unfurled in the base of your abdomen.

‘What are you doing here, Oliver?’

Your digits eased around the sides of his face to allow him to speak. The cheeks you once grappled somewhat pinkened once more, face glowing under your undivided attention.

Oliver’s breaths grew slower and slower. As if your touch drunken him.

‘Felix invited me,’ his words were borderlining a whine, scrambling to explain himself. ‘For the summer.’

The base of your eyebrows drew together darkly. The amusement reverberating in your eyes dissolved into a slight annoyance. Your fingers traveled toward the curve of his chin, taking it into your possession in a rough matter it sends Oliver’s eyes to rounden in response. He was a sick, sick liar.

He corrected himself, in seconds. ‘For revenge.’

‘Revenge?’

Despite your concentration, you hadn’t realized the lack of distance placed between you and Oliver. The proximity is intoxicating. To the point in which you felt the soft exhale of his breath fan across the form of your painted lips. His scent disturbed the twist of white musk and dust in the air, catching you off guard.

You dipped your head further upward. A single breath away from his own. 

Oliver’s words scrambled from his parted lips, each syllable trembling. ‘Revenge.’ He confirmed with a singular breath.

That singular breath that was virtually snatched away from him as you captured those plump lips with your own. A warm hum of pleasure buzzes throughout your body, sensations setting your nerves on fire as your mouth brushes across his.

You retreated into yourself momentarily. Ears perked up as Oliver drew in a sharp intake of breath, eyes half-lidded and glazed over with a glimmer of euphoria. He inched forward. A small movement that confirmed the lust that sparks behind his hues. 

Honeyed heat circulated throughout your body as your lips locked with his own. Threads of that same heat were found within each movement of their mouths. Your cheeks burnt with stuffled anticipation. 

A soft, strangled noise reverberates toward the back of Oliver’s throat as your hands enter the proximity of his caramel-like locks. Soft to the touch, feathery. The pads of your fingers curled against his scalp. Curling. Tugging. Kisses growing with heat and passion, further and further until Oliver was a mess between your two palms.

Oliver virtually whined as you pulled away. The lipstick you had carefully applied the hour prior smeared across the edge of your oh-so-swollen lips.

The pad of your thumb ran across the form of your mouth, the crimson red dirting the length of her digit. She pulled a single finger along Oliver’s lips, smearing the remnants of the lipstick.

‘And what are you doing with my family’s heirlooms?’ You inquired, words soft with sensuality. Masking it with a casualty as you press onward. Thumb pressed immensely into the dimple of his cheek, ruddiness staining the ivory of his skin.

Oliver leaned into her touch. ‘I was just curious, that’s all.’

You knew that there was a nefarious nature in his intentions. You removed your hand entirely and raised to your feet on two heels. The sound of your soles meeting the oak floor echoes out, bouncing against the walls as you approach an ancient, traditional desk. Draped with a translucent cover. It was considered to be as old as the estate itself, yet you had no problem sitting all over it. 

Oliver watched in the process. Eyes rounded a remnant of a bashful doe. A spark of recognition appeared behind those eyes as you inclined a singular fingertip toward the space before you.

‘On your knees.’

You took a bound of pleasure watching as Oliver dropped before you. Those knees strained against the ground. Trickles of arousal unfolded in your abdomen, nerves set alight and anticipation fluid within you as he came eye-to-eye with the satin fabric that shielded your cunt. And it was hard to miss the stained wetness.

‘Y’know what? I don’t think Felix would be too happy if he–’

‘You can suck off my brother later, but you’re serving me now. Or everyone will know whatever betrayal you’re planning against them.’

Oliver choked back any other remaining protests. Witnessing as your undergarments rolled down your hips, down the curve of your thighs, sliding along your calves, and dangling from the top of your ankle. Exposing your womanhood entirely to him, your legs widened a little further. 

At the sight, Oliver leaned forward. Willing to comply. A foreign, almost animalistic thirst reflects in the light of his hues. Only halted by a singular palm. Your fingers propped atop the strewn locks atop his head, restraining him from reaching the wetness he yearned for. 

‘I’m gonna ask you this again, and this time you’re telling me the truth, bunny.’

Your words were slow. Diligently pronounced and purposeful with each syllable.

‘What are you doing with the heirlooms?’

‘I just need–’ His words escaped in fluent gasps. Your skin prickled as Oliver’s trembling breaths fanned your womanhood. ‘I just needed some dirt on Farleigh.’

‘Oh yeah?’

The length of a singular leg of yours gradually intertwined around Oliver’s shoulders. Your hand eased up as you nudged him closer toward you. He willfully allows you to guide him, nose practically touching the top of your mound. 

His words continued with a shuddered puff, eyes virtually glazed over.

‘Something that’ll disappoint your parents.’ Oliver dwells upon his reasonings further.

‘And Felix?’

He nods.

‘You dirty,  dirty dog.’

Those words only fuelled Oliver further. And before you could even consider knowingly degrading him once more, the searing heat of his tongue is pressed against the slickness of your folds. He works his mouth against your cunt, movements growing sloppier and sloppier as he basks in the sexual validation he receives. The length of your fingers find themselves in his hair once more, fluffed, brunette strands coddled around your fist as you squeeze your legs around him.

The pleasure that you receive from his mouth alone is indescribable. Honeyed, warm ecstasy maneuvers throughout you. That familiar space between your thighs aches, even as Oliver’s lips latch onto them. Merely fuelling the fire that runs hot underneath your skin, alighting your nerves on fire.

“Fuck…” You can feel him grin around you.

A finger shortly accompanies the consumption of his tongue. And Oliver’s fingers are undeniably long, pale fleshed worked down to the knuckle with the force of a few pumps. He adds another. Then another. Stealing a moan or two from the depths of your throat, forcing you to clamp your lips shut. If anyone walked in. Your cheeks burn at the thought.

You bucked your hips into his fingers as Oliver worked you open, curling into you without faltering. Plunging his digits into you, again and again until you were breathless. Calves curled around him, guiding him further and further toward your sensitivities. Welcoming his mouth back onto you once more.

Oliver’s lips latched longingly onto the little pearl lining your entrance. He murmurs sweet nothings into you, fingers easing their pace until you can only hear the subtle quickness of your heaving breaths. And his whispers. Whispers of how wet you are, and how much he longs to quench that thirst. Again and again. On his knees, basked in his most vulnerable state.

Just for you. Oliver both in time, curls his fingers and squeezes your bud. Unleashing a wave of fire that takes you by the throat, walls squeezing around the length as you come undone. Shockwaves virtually gripping you. Tremors guide you back from your high as both grunts and moans of approval escape you.

Oliver glows under the attention. He peers up at you, through the intensity of his thick lashes. Doe eyes blinking occasionally, innocently, as he pops those fingers into his mouth where he once tasted you. Suckling. Tongue flittering around the pad of his digits.

‘You’ve done that before, haven’t you?’ Your words were more of a statement than an assumption. The pulsing of your newfound arousal doesn’t show in the slightest, only glimmering behind the intensity of your eyes.  You weren’t done with your bunny, not yet anyway.

Oliver’s fingers escape his lips with a reverberating pop. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

You reach downward briefly. Taking the lace of your panties with a single hand, guiding the garment around the base of your heels. Abandoning them on the dust-soaked floor. Those same heels meet that same grounding.

‘I didn’t take you for a fuckboy, bunny.” You practically spit, taking pride in how his eyes wobble slightly at the force of your filthy, filthy words. A short snap fills the room as you indicate your hand towards the oak tiles. 

‘On the floor.’

Oliver doesn’t say anything less, finding his body sprawled out before you. Essentially submitting himself to you in the process, something that ignites that oh-so-familiar heat in the pit of your belly. You stand over him, relinquishing in how he stares up at you, willing for you to do anything to him.

‘Pants off.’ Your words are snappy and insistent. You almost feel like that spoiled little one you used to be as a child, one who would get anything you would desire. ‘You don’t need them.’

Oliver’s fingers work to untangle his belt, loosening the dark fabric of his pants.  The material rolls down his hips, his hardness is immensely visible through the thinness of his boxers. The bulge accompanying the arousal that burns throughout your entire body, abdomen unfurling with that oh-so-familiar heat. 

You drop down toward him, legs clamped down on either side of Oliver’s thighs. You are squeezing them somewhat. The curve of your palm cups the fabriced nature of his manhood, causing a soft moan to escape him. 

‘[Y/N]...’ The broadness of Oliver’s hands grapple the frame of your hips, the warmth of his fingers curling around you. He virtually buckles up into you, against your bareness. A motion that causes your lips to curl up into a lazy smirk. 

‘Repeat my name, bunny.’ The pad of your fingers tease the rim of his boxers.

Oliver’s breath shudders. ‘I’m begging, [Y/N].’

A gradual, mocking roll of your eyes overtakes you nevertheless as you tug the thick material down. They roll and crinkle along the bottom of Oliver’s thighs, allowing for him to spring out for full reveality. For you and you alone. A low whistle fills the emptiness of the room as you observe his girth. Oliver is virtually trembling under the intensity of your gaze as you curl a fist around the length of his shaft, taking delight in how he buckled into you.

‘Be patient now.’ The words escape you with a scoff as you feign annoyance.

Oliver quietens in your demand. Alas, as you position yourself above him, you can still hear the raspiness of his breaths and the pleasure you take in the stink of desperation high in the air. He buries himself into you with a singular thrust, merely forcing a soft groan at the initial discomfort at he fills you. Stretches you out. Your hips slap against his own as you buckle up and down across his length, Oliver mimicking your movements to a tee.

You arch into him, soft noises of pleasure escaping you as he manages to claw ecstasy from you with every singular thrust. Your inner walls clutched around him, causing Oliver to drop his head back, gasping your name out as if it were a prayer. As if he were on the verge of life and death.

‘[Y/N]?’

‘Yes?’

It’s odd how the two of you presented the conversation as if you weren’t rutting your entire life and soul into him. Onto him. Oliver continues to writhe around some more, arching himself into you, again and again. The whiteness of his cheeks is notably flushed with arousal.

‘I’m about to –’

You slow down your pace until you’re merely mounting him, the lack of movement causing a groan of sexual frustration to claw from Oliver’s throat. The side of your thighs squeezes around his hips for extra exaggeration as you proceed to speak, merely unphased, even as you are reaching your release.

‘Jesus, Ollie, don’t be so fuckin’ greedy.’

You scold through hitched breath and hushed moans. His girth is warm inside you, and something about that is so utterly pleasing.

‘You aren’t to come unless you’ve pleased me enough.’

The demand causes Oliver’s head to loll back with esteemed annoyance, but he doesn’t say anything. It merely prompts the width of his hands to press into your hips, beginning to rock himself into you. It steals a moan out of your lips, but the sight of his desperation is a sight of see indeed. You arch further into him as he ruts against the exact spot that causes you to see stars.

The length of your hand folds around the back of his neck. ‘Right there, bunny, oh, you fuckin’ beast!’

Closer now. Closer now.

‘Say my name, [Y/N].’ Oliver heaves with strained breath, holding back on his orgasm has done numbers on him.

You wack him across the back of the head.

‘That’s my line, dickhead.’

Alas, the words barely escape your lips as the boiling and bubbling dam within you snaps and crashes. You dissolved into nothing but pure pleasure. Nevertheless, whatever you had said, Oliver’s name played on your lips in something that bordered screams. Tremors of ecstasy fill you as Oliver continues to pound into you, guiding you throughout your orgasm in your most vulnerable moment.

Aftershocks spark within you as you go limp, pulling yourself together with heaved breath and glazed eyes.

‘Have I pleased you enough, then?’

Oliver’s voice is hoarse, tearing you out of your orgasm-fuelled trance.

‘It’ll do, bunny.’

But before, Oliver can even consider his release. You rise from your previous position, his girth sliding out of you with ease, glistening with your slick. You tug the fabric of panties around your hips and back in place, glancing in a dust-covered mirror as you adjust your appearance. To make it seem as if you haven’t spent the past half hour having the life sucked out of you.

‘[Y/N] –’

Oliver’s protests rise in the air, falling upon deaf ears as you proceed to exit the room itself. The bottom of your heels thud against the wood-slicked tiles as you reenter the dining room, hope in hand. Your wordless wishes are fulfilled at once at the sight of Farleigh, who is window-watching, wine in hand.

‘Farleigh, thank God, I found you.’

Farleigh turns his head, bringing his glass to his lips.

‘What now?’ He’s waving away your presence entirely, it is clear.

As much as you despise this half of the family, you maintain a clear mind.

‘Oliver was rummaging through your mother’s heirlooms. I suggest you go, now. Heed my warning or not, I don’t care.’

A look of suspicion flashes across Farleigh’s face. His lips part momentarily in question before he thinks otherwise. Smart boy. Setting his wine down and immediately dashing past you. A yell or two sounds out a moment later, and your painted lips quirk upwards in pleasure.

You knew what Oliver was up to. It was clear from the first day you laid eyes upon the household’s guest. But no. It wasn’t up to Oliver to wipe out the Cattons from existence, even though he’d be doing the filthy work for you. It was admirable yes.

But it was your job. A job you strived to complete.

You slip your hand into the slight pocket in the fabric of your dress. Pulling out a small capsule. Your eyes narrow down on the glass of wine, vacant on the table. 

Starting with Farleigh. 

WORD COUNT: 4K MASTERLIST REQ ME!

[turnin9pag3]

NO WAY IM BEING CONDESCENDED TO OVER APPLE SUPPORT TEXT BY A MAN NAMED FUCKING RAMOY.

“This is why a backup of your device is important.”

“So out of nowhere all the notes have disappeared?”

“Okay, I'm confused you're contradicting what you were saying.”

tell me ts is not condescending asf. like bruh. don’t tell me abt the importance of backing up my iPhone when this is not a problem of mine. you cannot try and shame me for my lack of preparation on an incident that was unprecedented and entirely apples fault. not mine. sure i should’ve backed up my device but why is bro trying to pin that on me when it was the company he works for that fucked up causing me to encounter this issue to begin with. i did not contradict shit in my messages he’s just a fucking numbskull who doesn’t believe me. then he wants to ask me stupid fucking questions as if i haven’t been trying to find my notes FOR FUCKING HOURS. AS IF I HAVENT DAMN NEAR SOBBED OVER THIS SHIT. AS IF MY ENTIRE LIFE WASNT IN MY NOTES APP. AS IF I DIDNT ALR TRY THIS SHIT. i am torn to shreds over this and it has completely ruined all motivation i have to write or read anything. so ofc i would think to check recently deleted and no, no one else has had access to this device and yes i tried searching key words from the disappeared notes on all accounts. im not a fucking idiot but also i have no control over if my phone is backed up or not CUZ IM A FIFTEEN YEAR OLD FUCKING GIRL GOING MANIC IN HER BEDROOM DELETING EVERYTHING FROM MY PHONE FOR STORAGE WHILE I PRAY THEY REAPPEAR. I DID NOT PURCHASE THIS PHONE NOR DO I PAY FOR IT. this is apples problem. not mine.

and ramoy whoever u are. count your calendar cuz ur fucking days are numbered.

[not-poignant]

Is it just me or is censorship all across social media getting really bad lately? Pinterest just removed a whole bunch of my pins for sexual content - they were all fully clothed queer men and women showing vague intimacy, nothing overtly sexual at all. Like one they removed was literally just two men's heads leaning on each other. That's wacko right??? Have I missed something big going on?

Tbh it's been getting increasingly terrible for a long time, anon, it's not a lately thing, it's been since before the Tumblr purge, and it is at least in some part due to the SESTA/FOSTA law that got passed in the USA, and the increasing passing of laws in many countries that are specifically concerned with removing net neutrality and treating all of us like 3 year olds.

It will get worse, not better. And you've probably been missing a few big things! It sounds like you were most directly impacted by what happened with Pinterest, so you've just noticed it. Many of us noticed it around 2018 with the Tumblr purge. Some of us have been impacted by elements of it way earlier, due to Livejournal's Strikethrough which necessitated the invention of Dreamwidth and helped to really get AO3 off the ground. And this was back even before we now have many laws that scare a lot of big companies into removing adult content.

Steve Jobs famously hated / loathed pornography and was on a mission to literally try and remove it from the internet, and part of that mission was to - as much as possible - make it nearly impossible for apps that have it to get listed in the Apple store. This is partly why AO3 doesn't have an app. This is why Dreamwidth doesn't have an app. This is why the Tumblr Purge happened - so they could continue to have an app. And while some sites don't get targeted, as soon as you do get targeted by the Apple store, it's either 'provide your legal identity to prove that you're the age you say you are' to access adult content or it's 'goodbye adult content.'

We've also had an increasing rise of morally panicked, puritanical TERF-informed anti-shippers who believe that their emotional reactions to fictional content they find troubling are firstly valid moral judgements, and secondly, a valid reason to abuse, bully and send death threats to real people. And these people basically work hand-in-hand (often without realising) with extremely powerful Evangelical Christians who have government influence and a lot of money in the USA and literally work to change laws to make it reflect an extremely puritanical vision they have of the future. You know, the homphobic, transphobic, misogynistic, racist, kinkphobic, bigoted, antisemitic etc. etc. etc. one. (It's highly ironic and tragic that most antis are young and queer and just extremely uneducated).

I'd say people notice based on what impacted them directly. So some of us realised in 2007. Some of us realised again in 2018. And since then there's been a lot of blows from a lot of sites. In a way, Pinterest is joining an already very bloated bandwagon of sites cornered in the manner. The reason why people say 'unalive' these days instead of suicide, or 'r@pe' these days instead of rape is because of Tiktok censors. The reason so many folks moved their adult fanart and art accounts off Instagram, or they've gone dead, is because of Instagram censors. The reason so many adult writers on Patreon are very careful about what explicit words they write directly onto the site is because of Patreon censorship.

After all this, it's possible that Pinterest has a bug and are implementing a new AI algorithm for detecting adult content, and it's just broken. In those cases, reporting and appealing actually often does help. When Tumblr first implemented their algorithm, it wasn't very well trained yet, and like, pictures of fruit etc. were being banned because the AI algorithm was still figuring out what to do. Tumblr was in a rush in order to keep the app in the Apple store (over 70% of their income is from app users, the site would have literally died if they didn't act quickly), and so they ended up with an extremely overzealous and initially broken (and still sometimes broken x.x) algorithm.

If Pinterest is going through something similar, either with the app store or with having to address a sudden legal change, they may be having algo problems, and reporting will help them train the algorithm better.

Trust me, there will be people behind the scenes - staff at all of these websites - who hate the changes as much as you do, even if they can't say so for professional reasons. But even the new owner of Tumblr got pretty close to saying 'it fucking sucks but we have to do it if you want the site to exist' (which honestly made it a lot more...possible to handle the change, because it's not usually the sites you have to hate/resent, but the laws getting changed around you. Also if anyone here is an adult and can do so - please vote!!!)

[nickgerlich]

Can't Get A Dial Tone

This is one of those days in which my Daily Blog topic falls in may lap. I already had something lined up, which I will delay for a day. There’s a much bigger thing happening right now, and if you are on AT&T, you might just not have any functionality with your phone.

I awoke to a text message from Oldest Daughter in Dallas, alerting me to the outage. Since she was still at home, she was on wifi, which is as good as having a cellular signal. But that’s where it ends.

As she was walking out the door to head downtown to work, she texted, “I’m at 0 bars of SOS.”

After she made way to her office, she had already discovered two major inconveniences—and dependencies—that can happen in this digital life.“Dang, it’s been annoying today. I had to go to a parking garage because I could’t open the QR code to pay, and then I couldn’t order Starbucks ahead of time so I have to wait in line. LOL.”

“First-world problems,” everybody said in unison. But they are problematic, and if service stays down for long, it could have a major effect on not just daily lives, but also business. In our increasingly cashless society, not to mention madly-in-love status with tap-to-pay, it could make dining out and shopping difficult.

For anyone using two-factor authentication to gain access to sensitive sites, you are similarly out of luck. And speaking of luck, I am in Albuquerque attending a conference, and my phone is working fine. Otherwise, I would not be able to use DuoPush to get into WT Class.

Then there’s banking, something that most of us do remotely these days. I use facial recognition to access my accounts. If you’re traveling, you won’t be making reservations on your favorite hotel app. For that matter, if you’re flying Southwest, you won’t be able to check in to your flight. Just get ready for that dreaded middle seat the C boarding group gets. If you’re driving, no Google or Apple Maps for you. And if you’re walking, biking, etc., there won’t be any music or podcasts in your buds.

I could go on, but I’d rather you hit the comments with your observations. We have become so dependent on our phones, and mostly for non-talking tasks, that it can be crippling to go very long without service. It reminds me of that hour two summers ago I experienced driving US 2 across Montana. I was on a reservation, and had zero bars for what seemed an eternity.

You don’t realize how important something is until you don’t have it. Here’s hoping the problem is resolved soon, because folks are going to have to figure out how to do things the old-fashioned way: Face-to-face and with cash. In God we trust, but technology we need.

Dr “Oh, The Tragedy” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[mygainyear2024]

I will call this day 0 otherwise I’ll confuse myself, so 1 April in Europe can be Day 1, except I fell asleep while trying to edit this last night, so I will confuse myself posting it on 1 April!

I feel very well equipped for this solo trip and future ones. I bought Keely’s old iPhone. This is the first phone I’ve owned! I’ve just had the work one, fearing I’d lose a second one! I have a portable mobile phone charger that appears to work well, AirTags attached to 3 items (as I did leave my new Apple Mac on a seat at the gate at Brisbane Airport last year)! I researched neck supports, and it was quite effective, and given the weather looked a bit rubbish in the Algarve on the advice of friends I raced out to MacPac and got a vest and I also invested in a Travelon cross body anti theft bag.

Today is a travel day. Brisbane to Dubai to Lisbon. Interestingly both Emirates Lounges were so quiet, as was Dubai airport mid morning. Is this cozzie lives? I asked a staff member in Dubai if it was due to Ramadan and he said no.

I met the lovely Tracey from seat 31D during the first flight. We were both up the back drinking cups of tea and stretching. She lives in Australia, originally from the UK, travelling back to Bristol to see her dying 62 year old sister 😢 She had an interesting story about terrible bosses, sea changes to Port Macquarie from Sydney and now due to her partner’s redundancy, three weeks after he achieved residency sponsorship from his employer, they are having several sea changes around Brisbane house and pet sitting while their place in Port Macquarie is listed on airbnb.

It gave me an idea about options for when I return as the beautiful 21 year old Anna, from the UK, has just signed the lease to rent my room for 3 months from 14th May 🤩 She’s studying forensic science and has a project at UQ. I have a feeling her and Rose are going to enjoy each others’ company.

I’d like to consider exploring house sitting locally and build up my references ahead of some potential overseas options💡 Any offers? Preferably modern, well appointed, comfortable, no pets and no gardening 😂

Now onboard the 7.51 hour flight to Lisbon. The lovely Calisa (flight attendant) came to my seat and welcomed just me back on board 😂 She said “let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your flight more comfortable”. I was too slow to say “upgrade me?” or “can you remove the crying babies and toddlers” This flight is very full.

Back to Netflix while I have access to my daughter’s account to download stuff. Just finished season 3 of Dead to Me, about to watch the last episodes of One Day. And started season 3 of Emily in Paris.

Usually I’d navigate public transport straight up but decided to order an Uber to the hotel and it worked really well. Felipe, the driver, was very surprised at how bright I was after all the travel.

I’m staying at Masa Hotel & Spa (it has a free gym which was great to use to shake off hours of sitting), near the airport (luckily flight didn’t start until around 6am) for 2 nights before heading to “home” in the Algarve for the rest of the month.

[rumbelleshowdown]

Author: onelastedit

Prompts: Wrong hotel room. Snowball fight. Nymph, nature, storm, tease.

Group: D

-

Love is a Battlefield

It was the perfect snow day. All around the park lay a crisp blanket of snow, freshly fallen the night before. The sunlight twinkled on the snowbanks and the covered branches of the fir trees above. Occasionally a refreshing wind would come through and douse them in a mist of snow, and Belle would laugh with delight because she had never before experienced a proper snow day. That was the problem with being born and raised in Australia; sure you had gloriously sunny days, easy access to adorable koalas, and white sandy beaches - but no snow. 

Now that she lived in Storybrooke, Maine in the good ol’ U.S. of A. she was treated to all of the seasons Mother Nature had to offer; brutally cold Winters with frequent snowstorms, breezy Springtime’s fragrant with newly blossomed flowers, sweltering sunny Summers the air heavy with salt from the nearby seaside, and Autumns as crisp as the apples that grew in the town Mayor’s own backyard. 

However, this snow day was special for Belle because she had two very special people to share it with. In the five years she had lived in Storybrooke she never actively enjoyed the gift of a day when almost every store was closed on account of snow, and the local school allowed the children to stay home, effectively unleashing them on the town’s park. Sure, she had curled up with a cup of tea and a good book occasionally gazing at the snowfall through her window, but she’d never been out amidst the joyous chaos it created. There were little snowsuits sporting rosy-cheeked children running joyfully around the park screaming with glee as they pulled each other on sleds, made snow angels, and, of course, had snowball fights! 

Bae yanked on her mittened hand to get her attention. The precocious eight year-old had his arms crossed and a very serious expression on his face. Apparently, snowball fights were no laughing matter. But Belle had a tough time suppressing her giggles as the mop of curls on his head bounced merrily in the wind as he gestured to their “battle ground.” 

“Are you listening? This is important. It’s your first snowball fight and it would be totally humbling if you got ‘out’ in the first five minutes.”

“I believe you mean ‘totally humiliating,’ Bae.” His father, Alexander Gold, came up to him and handed him a small hot chocolate from the carrier in his hand. He turned to Belle with a twinkle in his eyes, clearly just as amused by the boy’s General-like behavior towards a simple game. 

“I got you a coffee. Thought you could use something bracing before the big battle.” He murmured, giving her a quick wink.  Belle snorted into her coffee and Bae leveled them both with a chastising look. 

“I’m not five - I can tell when you’re teasing me. Emma is ruthless when it comes to snowball fights and she always wins!” Emma Nolan, a feisty eight year-old with bright blonde hair, was Bae’s best friend, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t do everything she could to claim victory in a fight of any kind. Apparently it was true, all really is fair in love and war.

Belle leaned towards him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. She understood what it was like not to be taken seriously. She’d been a very studious kid and had always wanted to talk about the books she was reading, but had always been brushed off by her father and her teachers often being told to go play with the other kids her age - the problem was, the kids her age didn’t want to talk about Treasure Island, or The Secret Garden, or her favorite book Her Handsome Hero. So if Bae needed her to treat this winter-time game as a serious exercise in battle tactics, well…she would. 

“I’m sorry Bae. You have my full attention and I will do my best to have your back. Now, show me where our basecamp is again.”

As she listened attentively this time, it struck her just how much he was like his father. Sure they had the same soulful dark eyes and dark hair, but their personalities seemed worlds apart. Alexander was cautious and an introvert - almost painfully so - he was caustic with most of the town’s people and was such a creature of habit that Belle sometimes wondered if there was an underlying medical diagnosis that could account for it. But Bae was animated and outgoing - he loved meeting new people and would chat your ear off if it was physically possible. His emotions lived on his sleeve. Sometimes, to Alexander’s horror, he was a daredevil of the highest caliber; diving off the highest board, trying to grind his skateboard down the longest rail, and sneaking off with his surfboard to the choppy waters on the other side of the cove. 

However, as Bae told her his battle plan, everything about him reminded her of Alex. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he told her about his cunning plans and his meticulous attention to detail was surprising for a young kid. He was calm, calculated, and knew a great deal about his ‘enemy’s’ weaknesses. The apple truly didn’t fall far from the tree when it came to the business of winning. 

As they waited for Emma’s army to arrive, a tall figure clad in a red ski suit came bounding up to them. “Reporting for duty,” she jauntily saluted to Bae, “I am ready to kick some butt!”

Belle looked at Bae in mock aghast, “You asked Ruby to join? I thought you had faith in me?”

Bae had the decency to look a little bit sorry, and responded that he thought Belle would have more fun if her friend Ruby joined them. Ruby smirked and hugged Belle into her side, “Besides, I have more experience than you, newbie!” Turning to Gold, Ruby gave him a short nod saying, “Mr. Gold I didn’t believe it when Bae told me that you participate in the legendary snowball fights between him and Emma Nolan.”

Bae piped up before Gold could answer, “He’s responsible for artillery!”

“I sit on that bench,” Gold motioned ahead of them, “drink my coffee, read a book, and make sure the snowballs don’t run out.”

“He’s really good at making snowballs! And really fast!” Bae chimed in.

Ruby leaned into Belle whispering, “Sounds like he’s very good with his hands.” Belle turned beet red and nudged her in the ribs. “What? You still haven’t given me any juicy details about him and you’ve been dating for three months!” Ignoring her friend, Belle followed Alexander and Bae to their basecamp. 

Alexander got comfortable on the wrought iron bench and began leisurely packing snowballs. Sidling up next to him, Belle let out a dramatic sigh, “I can’t believe you get to sit while I’ll be running around like an idiot getting pummeled with snowballs by little kids.”

Alex chuckled draping his arm around her like he’d been doing it forever, “Think of it more like frolicking in a winter wonderland, a forest nymph biding her time waiting for the trees and animals to awaken in the Spring, and delighting in the distraction the lowly townspeople have to offer with their silly Winter games. ”

This time Belle let out a genuine sigh. Alex always surprised her with how poetic and romantic he could be. She stilled Alex’s hands as they formed another icy sphere, and without warning cupped his face between her mittens drawing him into a heartfelt kiss. His lips were warm and bitter from his coffee, and as she pulled away their breath created tendrils of steam. She could tell Alex was surprised by the sudden burst of affection; he wasn’t used to people loving on him except for Bae, of course, but this was different. She didn’t care if it took another three years or three decades, but she was determined for him to get used to tactile displays of love - from her. That last part was particularly important. He didn’t know it yet, but she’d recently realized he was the one; the one she would spend the rest of her life with. 

“What was that for?” Alex pressed his forehead against hers clearly a little dazed from her kiss. 

She shrugged, “Nothing. I’m just really glad you got your hotel room mixed up with mine three months ago.”

“Best mistake I’ve ever made, sweetheart.” 

“Hey lovebirds! The game is about to start,” Ruby called out. 

“The battle is about to start!” Bae corrected testily. 

“Oh, so sorry captain!” Ruby stood at attention, “Permission to drag Belle onto the battlefield, sir?”

Bae just rolled his eyes and laughed, finally relaxing now that the fun was about to start. “You better get out there,” Alex whispered, “but remember if you get ‘out’ you can always cuddle with me.”

“I just might take you up on that Mr. Gold.” 

-

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary87

12/7-8/2023

thursday - friday

“Did you say the stars were worlds, Tess?" "Yes." "All like ours?" "I don't know, but I think so. They sometimes seem to be like the apples on our stubbard-tree. Most of them splendid and sound - a few blighted." "Which do we live on - a splendid one or a blighted one?" "A blighted one.” - Thomas Hardy, Tess of the D'Urbervilles

as my girlfriend was hiding from being shot, she was hiding in the dark with her colleague, she checked her email because as people were unsure if the shooting was still taking place, or even that the man had been shot by police, someone who must have had the alert, and had access, to the registry of everyone teaching interdisciplinary studies, their emails, to send this message (credit to roberto lovato on twitter):

she did not receive this email, instead she had received one saying that the landlord is not going to be renewing any leases at this apartment complex, and that we will have to move by march.

the shooter was eventually shot by police, but no one knew for sure if it was multiple people. this was circulating, sent to me by my cousin:

he told me to listen to the police scanner, so i did. they were clearing every room, slowly, it took them hours to get to where my gf was, and along the way, anyone who stepped out, anyone who tried to flee, was pointed at with a rifle, held up by pigs, basically. the terrorism did not ever end for any of them, all at the brink of pissing themselves because they didn't want to scare a police officer and get killed. one of my gf's colleagues had a rifle pointed at him while he was trying to go piss, and they called him a straggler, and told him to fuck off, basically.

there was, simultaneous to the shooting, someone being arrested in a hotel, near campus, this seemed related to people online i think, but i never got a clear vision of what that was. all there is now, is one dead shooter, only attacking the business school building, specifically hunting down faculty after being told they would not hire him. he also sent out poisonous letters, it seems, to faculty of old schools he worked at, and places that also refused to hire him. he posted the content of the letters online. they aren't worth reproducing, i guess, they are wildly misogynistic, at the same rate, he seems to have been driven insane by academia, and pushed towards reactionary tendencies by being useless to help anyone really or accomplish anything in terms of making it not a special kind of hell. he accuses multiple people of fucking their students, he calls himself a genius constantly, he is paranoid of marxists, and on his website he also has a lot of writing re: conspiracy theories, he liked alex jones. overall, he was terrified and disgusted. he believed people he worked with were doing things like seeing child prostitutes in thailand, using work resources for csa materials. i don't know how much of that is paranoia directed at someone who might have been gay (this kind of accusation is common to level at gay people, as we see especially now), he even accused who i assume might have been lesbian coworkers of having their students give them head, or if this is somehow, a little real. i know these things do happen, teachers using their students. favors for sex between faculty, too. incapable of confronting the material causes of the hell we are in (actually dealing w/ marx intellectually/trying to understand) this particular business teacher/economist doubled down on the capitalist fantasy of meritocracies and conspiracy to account for his failings.

there is little sympathy, but there's something unpleasantly complicated about how he got to where he got. he was desperate for work, to cling to a life i guess. he took issue, and tried to kill faculty in the business school.

the police relocated many students out of their dorms, into a giant stadium, i don't know why, i guess to hunt for any potential other gunmen.

we saw my friends last night, after all of this, and we did fun stuff, but this other shit is still here, the unsurety of our housing, the guns, the police, but whatever i guess, right.

it's crazy seeing parts of the world act like this is all unreal. there is a massive amount of faith in the hyperreal, which maintains its existence, i wonder if baudrillard ever mentioned that. i don't recall, but in the semantic processes, the image making, the visions, the map that exceeds the territory, or the map which gifts us our territory, there is massive faith in those laws and processes, the positivity always, a super-ideal reality, there is only the heavensent, and so, tragedy, horror, abjection, are either absorbed as highly intentional events which seek to make something of humanity, or untrue totally. horror becomes either plan, god, or nothing at all.

everything defused, and at the center, the police managing, keep information blurry, they themselves not wanting to believe anything other than the activity they are engaged in is helpful, problems are imagined to keep the policing going, upwards, upwards, upwards. they do not realize it is all death, sinking into static images forever, no great upheavals, even the shooter is under this order, he doesn't realize that this is what he hates.

anyway, anyway, anyway, i don't know.

i don't think we live in a place where people are supposed to be, if you care about anything, there is only a terrible grinding, and not knowing. i've had nightmare about my girlfriend being killed like that. i'm so dependent on her. i don't know what i'd do. i don't like the world, i think maybe, i can admit, i don't like a lot of people. it's awful to say, i think. but everything is going to make me sick. hearing about teachers trying to keep school running like normal are so disgusting, and idiotic. the normal cannot disappear. people dying just has to be normal. there is no war on the public, there never was, new ways to die, urban hazards, there is nothing to see other than antibiotic responses to disease, and it's okay to see it.

the rodeo is in town, as she was taken to the stadium, she was taken thru barbed wire, and led in a snake-shaped path or something by a guy in army gear with an ar15, probably, and ended up somewhere in front of a barbecue food truck. there were cowboys milling around. as people were hiding in the dark i was watching the horses from our window, and the alarm and its robotic voice said words, they weren't even scared of it anymore, no whinnying. nothing.

it woke me up, i didn't think it could be that, my girlfriend told me it was and i didn't even ask if it was what i thought it could be. i don't know. she was in the dark, her colleagues argued, some at least, they were all horrified about this happening. obviously. nothing will happen, though. we are all going to collectively deal with the fact, and forced to act like this is not a fact, creating a quiet misery that we will either forget or use as staging grounds for a horrible kind of birth, of what i can hardly say, tumorous sadness i guess, that we now live in a world where this will never be taken back, and that there is no response possible, at least at the level of each of us alone. together, what could we do, all there is in my heart is the wish for a world wholly different.

i can't get over the email she received, and that we are unsure of what will happen. all either of us have done is live/survive, it feels like some kind of punishment.

i know it's not the whole world, and that landlords are especially shit. it's just extreme, i dunno, it feels like this is reproduced everywhere, on every level. maybe i am just winded and weak.

i am craving some sort of punishment, i just want to be ended but i want it to be funny i guess. that makes me greedy/selfish, i can't stop wanting it though. i just want to be exploded. tortured and left on the side of the road. right now is just that without the fun parts (possibly puking, blood, being connected to my body).

instead i am just distantly afraid.

an intolerable heat, i guess.

yesterday we saw the christmas lights at this chocolate factory. that was nice. it was very pretty, my gf saw these angel ornaments, all lit up and stuff, and she said they're like the ones in fwwm, to take me away, she meant it in a sweet way, but it made me realized all over again what that scene means to me, and how i felt then, just wanting to escape all of this awful stuff. but it's sad, i want to be here for her. i wish we could go away forever. into a life that is not shoved into various unrealities at all times.

anyway, look at these sprites from despiria.

i'm tired, now, so

byebye!!!!!!

[qettleqorn]

Dash Game | Tagged By; @wind-becomes-lightning I totally didn't forget to this. Nah, not at all.

Name: Qettle or Q

Pronouns: They / He / She

Where do you call home: Don't know haven't found it- so I guess where ever I am.

Favorite animal: Dogs? Deer? I don't really have a favorite.

Cereal of choice: Fruity pebbles

Are you a visual, audio, or kinesthetic learner: I suppose it depends on the subject? I don't really have a set way of learning since I get bored easily.

First pet: Oh lord, like my actual first pet? That would have to probably either the goldfish or the three legged geko. Both had terrible ends. Goldfish passed because of my uncle. Geko was taken by my moms roommate. I was heartbroken over them both.

Favorite scent: You'll probably laugh at me but my favorite scents are. - Oil/Gas - Fresh Cut Grass - Oranges & Sea Salt

Do you believe in astrology: No. But I look at it like an accessory. It's a cute little hatpin in the hat of life!

How many playlists do you have on Spotify/apple music: 50 and counting. I lost access to my old Spotify account so I probably have more.

Sharpies or highlighters: Uh, shit, highlighters I suppose.

A song that makes you cry: Don't Forget by Toby Fox

It's from the game Deltarune but I listened to it non-stop after my dog passed. It makes me think of her every time I listen to it.

A song that makes you happy you really like: What You Need by Megan Nicole Dong

From the Netflix series Centaurworld. I just really like it, hits that little part of me that reminds me to take stuff as it comes.

And finally, do you write/draw/create: I do draw and write on the occasion. I actually want to get back into clay creation. But mainly I want to actually write and draw more often again.

[disco-cola]

dude my era depression is so bad again at the moment the only thing that would help me is literally someone finally inventing a time machine and then offer like a 30 day free trial in which i could choose to just stay or come back to today completely disillusioned which would at least end my era struggles but otherwise at this point idk what to do it doesnt help to just dress that way and decorate my house that way and listen to the music when it is srsly impossible to ever have my dream life i would have wanted to be in a band or a tour manager or a music journalist or a radio host or vj for mtv when they were still cool and if all that failed i could have at least tried to get a hot boyfriend in a rock band whose music i love and go on tour with them and just hang around the scene somehow and i know i technically could do all of that today but honestly i think doing that would make my era struggles even worse bc i would just compare it to what it was like in the 70s 80s or 90s and what ive read in countless books and articles and even fucking personal comments under youtube videos of people who lived through it (i kinda feel the only people writing about how bad those times were are the ones that are even younger than me who werent there either like as if today is that much better with politics and laws that only go backwards but most peoples accounts of their youth in that time end with i would go back and i miss it) and just still not be happy also i just cant imagine being in or around the music business now with fuckin social media and the internet (i know the internets been around at least in the 90s and was already more accessible then but obvs still not like today) like this and just not being able to forget "these arent actually my favorite bands and im just compensating" would still make me unhappy and i know it might have been very hard as a woman in the 70s and probably 80s too (even tho many women entered the work force back then and started working in fields that used to be dominated by men) and i could not have done what chris o'dell did (she was a personal assistant at the beatles apple in london in the late 60s and then became a tour manager in the states in the 70s for the stones, santana, bob dylan, elo, queen and more...) or not have been someone like debbie harry or stevie nicks or joan jett but i could´ve tried and otherwise could have at least found an escape of a boring hard working class life by going to shows of the bands i love (when they were in their prime, not them being old and some of the og lineup already gone and ticket prices worth a months rent). being around people who are into the same stuff as me because its just whats popular. i cant do that now. i wish i had at least been around and in my 20s for the late 80s and early 90s grunge and metal and hardcore scene bc that at least would have been something new and exciting and even as a woman you could find work and establish a position in the music business (like vanessa warwick, julia valet, both julie browns and karyn bryant did at mtv). i also dont know what anybody could tell me to make it better. the only thing that helps me at this point is people saying they feel the same bc it makes you feel less alone and isolated :/

[zombiemollusk]

things are

not good today

i got a call from a guy saying someone sold him a bag of stuff for eighty bucks that happens to match the description of my bag of stuff (i’m assuming he got the number from the craigslist post i made; that or the number was in the bag somewhere) but he lives more than halfway accross the country and he said he wasn’t sure how long it’d take him to have the time to drive back here.

i suggested putting it in a box and mailing it so it could get here sooner, and he agreed to it at first, but when he found out he’d have to pay forty bucks to deliver it he balked, saying he refuses to spend more money on stolen goods. i kept trying to tell him if there was a way i could cover the forty, but that i needed to know how to go about that (because i don’t have experience shipping stuff so i really don’t know). i guess he took that as me not wanting to pay, because he started getting all accusatory about it.

i was informed via friends and family that holding onto goods you know are stolen, even if you weren’t the one who stole them, can still get you charged, so he’d likely be losing money anyway, and i gave his number to the police so they could get any relevant information from him (and also, in the event he was scamming me and/or planning to use my address for less-than-noble purposes, they’d have a way to track him). i didn’t want him to be blindsided, so i told him this, and he accused me of threatening him. (in hindsight, if he was trying to con me or sell my own stuff back to me, this was probably an incredibly stupid thing to do, but i wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. i don’t even know if money would have entered the conversation at all had i not suggested mail.)

based on his voice, i think he might have been black? so i really don’t blame him for being wary of the police, given their history. but. i need that stuff back now. it has personal, VERY SENSITIVE information in it. like my goddamn home address.

and i can’t use the “find my device” app to track the ipad because that needs to have been set up on the device ahead of time, and it wasn’t, and i didn’t have location stuff activated because i was uncomfortable with the idea of having my location tracked. i’m also waiting on apple to change the phone number associated with the account because it still has my old one and until then i don’t even have access to my icloud storage.

i really. really hope this all doesn’t end horrifically. i have no idea what i should do. all i did was leave a bag in a store and now i’m scared someone’s gonna get hurt because of it. maybe me, maybe my family, maybe a guy who’s just trying to get by and only wanted to help but was limited in his options.

fucking

dammit

i feel sick

[ultramaga]

I remember when everything just used usernames and passwords, and that was fine, then companies realised that they could harvest email addresses and sell them onwards, and everyone had to use an email address suddenly. I provided mine from my local ISP. Which promptly collapsed, killing the email address and locking me out of the game I had paid for. I was not impressed. There was no non-email way for me to contact the company at the time, and they would only use my email as authentication. Recently, my bank has been pushing to close all physical access to currency, and use the social credit system - I mean, phone app - instead. I've been resisting it and it makes them mad. I used to work in tech support, but I did a stint in the financial section of the ISP, and all day long I would deal with someone calling up to say "my internet was hacked and they cleaned out my bank account and the bank says that because you weren't physically transacting, it's totally not their problem, then they laugh and put me on loud speaker so the rest of the staff can join in on the fun". I learnt that Microsoft, and to a lesser extent Apple, and to a much lesser extent Linux, all get hacked. In fact, MS got hacked almost universally at one point, within seconds of being connected to the internet. And yet banks pushed for internet transactions, because that means less tellers, less bricks and mortar stores, and far less responsibility for security. But a user can't get good security on an OS unless they hire someone to write an operating system, or at least learn linux to a fairly high level. It's not realistic. At one point I figured it out. The banks could issue a boot disk -- a cd rom or dvd -- that was secure. You boot from that and you can't be hacked, and you do your banking safely. The banks weren't interested. That was worrrk! And they'd be the ones liable for security instead of you. Things are much worse now. The push to use mobile phones means that Oppo phones, for example, can be hacked by China automatically. The backdoors are built in. I presume there are other brands made in China with the same weaknesses. There's a lot of hackers using wireless access points or USB rechargers to hack phones too. And what is the mantra of the governments and companies? SECURITY IS YOUR PROBLEM, NOT OURS. I don't go for long without seeing the same old headline on TV. "Customer details hacked - criminals now have access to all your personal photographs and a copy to your back door key!"

Honestly, I adore modern technology -- but the security problems are insane, and would have been completely incomprehensible to the financial institutions of the past. "You mean, they build the banks deliberately badly, and when they get robbed, they tell the customers that it's their fault - and the customers believe them? Hot diggitty!!"

[allthenewzworld]

In February 2016, Kevin Hart, the former CEO of Apple computer repair outfit Tekserve, found himself standing inside an Oakland, California vault filled with many millions of dollars in cash. The vault belonged to one of the country's first medical marijuana dispensaries, Harborside, and the cash, derived from state legal medical marijuana sales, was nonetheless considered illegal drug money under federal law.

Hart, who is now the 65-year-old cofounder and CEO of Florida-based cannabis banking compliance company Green Check, was there to help Harborside build a payment processing system.

"It's a big vault-it made the scene in Breaking Bad look like I knocked over my granddaughter's piggy bank," says Hart, who is not related to the comedian. "That's how much money was there."

Hart turned to his host at the bank-the legendary California cannabis activist and entrepreneur Dress Wedding, who founded Harborside in 2006 with Steve DeAngelo-and asked why the hell they kept so much money around. Wedding explained that the dispensary could not get a bank account because marijuana was still illegal at the federal level.

That is when Hart realized that Harborside, and other state-legal cannabis companies, had a huge problem: they had nearly no access to America's mainstream financial system.

Keep reading at the link in the bio.