#but its not like i can do it to these people

[seahorseduh]

I DID IT. I GOT INTO THE VOID STATE AND MANIFESTED EVERYTHING I WANTED. IM CRYING

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

EDIT: some people were confused about the singaporean language, i just scripted it was real in my new reality its like arabic/hebrew but with a different alphabet

here is the singaporean alphabet:

(credit)

and the country i made called tianmo is actually called neovia in english, i made a google document about it you can find HERE :)

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

i manifested bringing my phone with me into my new reality, so this is how im communicating. im gonna be leaving tumblr now to live my dream life, ill probably reblog stuff and like things every now and then. i was using the distraction method and idk how to describe it i was just in the void, heres everything i manifested!!!

HERE IS THE DISTRACTION METHOD!!!! ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

being able to shift, manifest or go into the void on command

can’t get bullied

desired family (im in the dunphy family from modern family)

moving to tianmo (a country i made before manifesting)

extremely rich

i’m 13 again

i speak mandarin, korean, singaporean, french, german, spanish, thai, welsh, japanese and russian on a native level. Im so good at these languages i can type 200 wpm in each and i know more than most native adults! I cannot forget languages and i will keep them for the rest of my life. Nobody at school knows i know other languages yet.

living my dream life

me and family always safe and healthy

im in a lot of movies

df and db

always healthy

love school and popular 

i’m everyone’s type and i get along with everyone, i have no enemies. 

cousins with celebs

i mog every model

my city has amazing public transit and a metro

i embody the blue junimocore aesthetic

i always smell like gingerbread in winter, tropical in summer

famous grandparents

i have an extremely high spice and pain tolerance 

i always have proof that im related to famous people and people believe me

there’s usually thunderstorms at night

Im the most attractive person in the school

No matter where we travel, me or my family is always protected and safe. Nothing bad can happen to us. We cant die until we are old. I cant die unless i want to and it will be peaceful, i will barely age. My family is and me are free from any disease including age related ones and cannot get severely injured. We will live happy long lives. We can never get in any danger no matter what time it is or where we are.

I can never get hate online or in real life

I can do anything on roblox and not get banned, exploits and anything

I have a huge close friend group where nobody is left out 

I always have amazing and perfect grades, ive had amazing grades my whole life.

On my notion, i have a script for everything and theres an ai that helps me find the one.

Im a master shifter and manifestor. I can spawn things. I always get into the void state and shift if i affirm 3 times

i have an amazing bff with a 679 day streak on snapchat

I dont wear glasses and have amazing vision 

popular at school

i find skincare relaxing and fun, i have all the best korean skincare products

i look amazing in every picture, im videogenic and photogenic

i take the tram to school 

my country has the best high speed rail in the world

Good grades

[elodieunderglass]

Elodie thank you so much for your US-UK translation research but I have to ask WHAT do you mean fried eggs are cooked differently? How many ways are there to fry an egg?

Reference here: https://www.tumblr.com/elodieunderglass/771840932030054400/i-cant-let-you-guys-continue-this-conversation

Yep, I can explain this easily

In the USA, fried eggs are cooked in butter and flipped. If you don’t flip, it’s called “sunny side up.” There is much talk of cooking them slowly. There is a belief, unfounded by any evidence, that there is a way to make sunny side up eggs that have FULLY cooked white and a runny yolk (I don’t think I have ever actually witnessed this, UsAmerican sunny side up usually has some amount of snotty white that you’re just expected to live with, or the yolk is not runny. Sometimes people overcome this by putting a lid over it, creating a steamed fried egg.) for the flipped ones, they are flipped once by spatula and left alone.

In the UK, you start with a pan that has a reasonable volume of hot oil, into which you crack the egg. The idea is cooking it quickly. When the egg has formed its round shape, the pan is tipped and hot oil collected with a spoon. The hot oil is spooned briskly over the whites a few times, cooking them solidly. The yolk may be covered or let alone entirely. People are not offered options in restaurants, this is simply how you fry egg.

The uk fried egg often has a lacy brown crispy edge. They are often thicker. The white has more of a cuttable, solid texture. There is less of the golden-cooked underside that I like though.

Another key difference is that UK eggs are usually stored at room temperature (chickens are vaccinated for salmonella) while USA eggs must be refrigerated (salmonella is considered an unavoidable natural ingredient that can’t possibly be regulated.) This has some impact on their texture and most serious egg people suggest cooking eggs from room temperature. Eggs can also be fresher in the UK. old eggs often wander about a little when cooked , while a very fresh egg stays round.

So the typical uk fried egg is compact, with more white to slice, while a USA fried egg is more thin. (I actually like a thin fried egg more, so USA wins there.)

I don’t have a preference myself. Each has pros and cons. But they are fried differently

[summertimesadnessirl]

Look, I'm sorry. I used to make 7 paragraphs of excuses pathologizing myself because all my friends and family were inconsiderate and thoughtless and selfish, too.

But then I started working for a real estate office.

And I saw how when people think they're going to get money out of someone

Suddenly they understand how to code switch and treat people on an individual basis and learn their signals and remember things that are important to them or make them feel bad.

Sorry, but we're a pack species and we actually are responsible for taking care of members of our pack.

That's why shunning used to be a death sentence before we invented psychiatric hospitals and the repackaged and resale of fringe subcultures and all that.

Because human beings die when you tell them that none of the other humans are responsible for them.

I'm not saying your friends and family should have to read your mind but if they don't actively work to make you feel safer with them the longer that they know you and actively work to notice signs and patterns and things that comfort you and things that indicate that you might not be okay, that's not your friend.

I bet the reason you're anxious is that other people have a long and storied history of expecting that emotional labor from you and not giving it back, and then it got so bad they hired some magazine writers to tell you that your brain is defective when actually it's just that people have gotten accustomed to dealing with you in a one sided way your entire life.

I bet you're real good at figuring out what other people are feeling and thinking and what they need. I bet you do it all the time, like, compulsively, like most anxious people. And I bet they let you do it. I bet it's something they like about you and call a good quality like being thoughtful or caring or conscientious until such time as it means that they might need to reciprocate that level of care.

Sorry. Everyone is responsible for everyone else. That's why it's basically impossible to opt out of society and go live on your own. Even if you manage to not need them, they need you.

If drugs work for you that's cool, if therapy helps, that's fine. But most likely just admitting that other people owe you just as much as you owe them and there isn't something wrong with you will help just as much, if you the people around you will let you get away with it.

Our society is full of people who pretend to be stupid to get out of doing the work of giving a shit about other people and you can decide it's too hard to know that and believe a lie if it helps you, too.

But I want those people to stop believing it, so I have to post about it.

[missarchive]

american jesus ☆

spencer reid

part two

summary; What starts as a seemingly innocent exchange quickly escalates into a game of trust, control, and desire. Spencer offers you more than just financial stability; he gives you attention, adoration, and a connection so intimate it leaves you breathless. From whispered words over the phone to moments of vulnerability, he knows exactly how to unravel you, guiding you to discover sides of yourself you never knew existed.

But with every dollar he deposits into your account and every command that leaves his lips, the boundaries between professionalism and pleasure blur. As you dive deeper into this intoxicating arrangement, you can’t help but wonder: are you just another outlet for his control, or has this brilliant man fallen for you just as deeply as you’ve begun to fall for him?

cw; +18 minors dni, masturbation (f), hints at masturbation (m), nudes, spencer calls reader "little girl" once, phone sex, sugar baby/daddy dynamics, inexperienced reader, pleasure dom spencer, fingering, dirty talk

an; this is the first part in my new series! as always, feedback is greatly appreciated. P.s. this is written with jesus reid in mind <3 xoxo

The idea had been absurd from the beginning—a drunken suggestion tossed out during a late-night study break, your friend’s cheeks flushed from the cheap wine you’d both been sipping.

“You should totally do it,” she’d said, her voice a mix of mischief and daring as she scrolled through her phone. ��It’s not like you have to… do anything. Just talk. Flirt a little. Get someone to pay for your coffee—or your rent. What’s the harm?”

You’d laughed it off then, brushing aside her suggestion with a half-hearted joke about the kind of people who used those sites. But now, with your landlord’s polite but insistent emails piling up, along with the crushing weight of tuition bills and credit card debt, her words didn’t seem so laughable.

Desperation, you’d learned, had a way of reshaping your boundaries.

So, against every instinct that told you to slam the laptop shut and find another way, you clicked the link she’d jokingly sent that night.

The homepage was a garish blend of pink and gold, its polished glamour doing little to mask the transactional nature of it all. The tagline—"Where connections are made"—was a cruel euphemism for what this really was: a marketplace. A place where companionship, or at least the illusion of it, had a price tag.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time before you finally typed in a username: laceandliterature.

The flood of messages came almost instantly.

@ hungandrich; Hey, beautiful 😘

@ olderseekingyounger; I can show you the world 🌍💎

@ MrNaughty4U; $5k a week to be my princess. No strings attached 💵

It was overwhelming, a cascade of propositions ranging from saccharine to predatory. Some were masked in politeness, others made no effort to conceal their intentions. Your stomach churned as you skimmed through them, the realisation sinking in that you were just another product on a shelf.

And then, just as you were about to close the browser and pretend this had never happened, a new message pinged.

It was short, direct—refreshingly so:

[new chat from: @ thefourthdoctor]

@ thefourthdoctor; Intriguing profile. Shall we talk?

No emojis, no extravagant promises. Just a simple, confident statement.

You hesitated, your heart racing as you clicked on the profile. The picture was blurry, as if taken in haste, but it revealed enough: dark, wavy hair that framed sharp, intelligent eyes behind a pair of glasses. His bio was sparse but intriguing, mentioning books, travel, and a keen interest in "meaningful conversations."

Something about it—about him—felt different. Not just the lack of overtly transactional language, but the quiet assurance in his words.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

This was a bad idea. You knew it was a bad idea. But against your better judgment, you typed out a response.

@ laceandliterature; I suppose that depends on what you want to talk about.

The reply came almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting.

@ thefourthdoctor; Anything but the obvious.

The words were simple, but the subtext was unmistakable: he wasn’t here for what everyone else seemed to want. Or maybe he was just better at hiding it. No sleazy innuendos. No dick pics. No hollow promises of private jets or weekend getaways. Not even the tired clichés of "Hey, gorgeous" or “What’s your body count?”—just a question.

It was startling in its simplicity, almost disarming. And for that exact reason, it made you pause. The absence of the usual vulgarity felt almost like a trick, a trap designed to lure you into a false sense of security. You had learned the hard way to be cautious online. Yet, despite yourself, you couldn’t help but be intrigued.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you glanced at his username again.

A click brought up his profile, your curiosity outweighing your skepticism. The photo was blurry, clearly taken without much thought to lighting or angles. It wasn’t like the polished, professional headshots some of the other profiles sported. Still, you could make out the basics: slightly messy, long curly dark hair, intelligent eyes framed by glasses, and an awkward sort of handsomeness that felt... real.

The bio was brief—almost frustratingly so.

"Bibliophile. Traveler. Interested in meaningful conversations and unconventional connections."

It lacked the arrogance and ostentation of the others you’d scrolled past, the ones who listed their wealth or their penchant for “petite brunettes.” Instead, it was vague, yet oddly specific in its sincerity.

Your chest tightened, a strange mix of apprehension and curiosity tugging at you. Was this calculated, or was it simply honest? And why did it feel more dangerous than the others?

Still, you typed.

Your heartbeat quickened as you debated your next move. The smart thing would be to leave it at that, maybe even block him. After all, you weren’t here for emotional entanglements. This was supposed to be transactional—a simple trade: your time and charm for their money and attention. A means to an end.

Yet, against your better judgment, you stayed.

@ laceandliterature; The obvious is easier to avoid than you think, but meaningful conversations? That’s a tall order here.

There was a long pause, long enough that you started to wonder if you’d misjudged him. But then, the reply came:

@ thefourthdoctor; It depends on who you’re talking to.

You stared at the screen, the simplicity of his words sending a ripple of unease through you. There was no bravado, no performance. He was direct, confident, and—most dangerously—intriguing.

The seconds stretched into minutes as you debated what to say next. This was different from the other messages. He wasn’t dangling wealth in front of you like a shiny object or trying to buy your interest with empty promises.

And yet, the very absence of those things made you wonder what he wanted. Because he wanted something���everyone on this site did. That was the nature of it.

@ laceandliterature; Okay. What do you want to talk about?

His reply was immediate, as if he’d been waiting for you to ask:

@ thefourthdoctor; Tell me what brought you here.

The question hit like a dart, sharp and precise. Your stomach tightened as you read it again, the blunt honesty of it stripping away the thin veil you’d been hiding behind. No one had asked that before—not like this.

Most of the messages you’d received had operated on unspoken rules: you pretend this is normal, and they pretend they’re just being generous. But this man wasn’t pretending. He was asking you to be real in a space built on pretense.

And for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you felt compelled to answer.

Your fingers trembled slightly over the keyboard. What could you even say? The truth? That you were drowning under the weight of your bills, your student loans, your own stubborn pride? That desperation had led you here, to a website where relationships had price tags and intimacy was commodified?

But what stopped you wasn’t the shame of your situation—it was him. The way he asked, as if the answer mattered. As if you mattered.

The tension in your chest twisted tighter as you typed.

@ laceandliterature; The same thing that brings everyone here, I suppose. Necessity.

You hit send before you could overthink it, before you could soften the edges of the truth. The reply came quickly.

@ thefourthdoctor; Necessity takes many forms. Which is yours?

You stared at the screen, his words pulling something loose inside you. This wasn’t idle curiosity. He was pushing you, peeling back the layers you hadn’t even realized you were wearing. And damn it, you wanted to push back.

@ laceandliterature; Does it matter?

You wrote, the edge in your tone slipping into the words.

The pause before his reply was longer this time, long enough to make you wonder if you’d misstepped. But then it came, and it was nothing you expected.

@ thefourthdoctor; It matters if you want it to.

The simplicity of his words sent a jolt through you, more potent than any overture of wealth or charm could have been. There was no condescension, no judgment. Just quiet, unnerving confidence.

You leaned back in your chair, running a hand through your hair. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. These conversations were supposed to be easy—shallow exchanges where you could slip into a version of yourself that didn’t feel the weight of real life pressing down on her. But with him, there was no slipping into anything.

He wasn’t letting you.

@ laceandliterature; What about you?

You typed, throwing the question back at him, daring him to offer you the same vulnerability he was asking of you. 

@ laceandliterature; Why are you here?

His reply was immediate, almost as if he’d been expecting the question.

@ thefourthdoctor; Curiosity.

You frowned at the screen, the single word both frustrating and enticing. It was vague but deliberate, leaving just enough room for interpretation to keep you hooked.

@ laceandliterature; Curiosity about what? 

The next message sent a shiver through you:

@ thefourthdoctor; You.

Your breath caught. One word, and yet it felt like he’d reached through the screen, pulling you closer, tethering you to him in a way that was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

You hesitated, the heat rising in your cheeks as you considered how to respond. This wasn’t the typical transactional banter you’d anticipated when you signed up. He wasn’t offering money or promises of luxury. He wasn’t trying to seduce you with extravagance. Instead, he was drawing you in with something far more dangerous: attention.

And the worst part? You wanted it.

@ laceandliterature; Careful. That kind of curiosity can be expensive.

This time, the pause felt deliberate, a beat of silence meant to let your words settle. When his reply came, it was sharp, confident, and devastatingly effective.

@ thefourthdoctor; I don’t mind paying for what I value. Isn’t that what this is about, anyway?

Your breath hitched, the implications of his words hitting you like a shockwave. This wasn’t flirtation—it was a proposition. But not the kind you’d grown to expect on this site. He wasn’t offering to buy your time or affection outright; he was telling you that he saw something in you worth pursuing.

And that made him infinitely more dangerous.

Your heart raced as you stared at the screen, torn between the instinct to pull back and the magnetic pull of his presence. This wasn’t just about money anymore. This was about control, power, the careful dance of who would give and who would take.

You sat frozen, his last message glowing on the screen like an unspoken dare.

"I don’t mind paying for what I value."

The words reverberated through you, sharp and calculated, leaving no room for misinterpretation. This wasn’t a line meant to charm or impress. It was a statement of intent—a declaration of control.

And it was working.

Your chest tightened as you typed, your fingers moving before your brain caught up.

@ laceandliterature; Value is subjective.

The moment you hit send, you regretted it. It felt flippant, like you were trying to undermine the weight of his words. But maybe that was exactly what you needed to do—to wrest back some semblance of control in this conversation that was starting to feel far too intimate.

The reply came after a pause that felt excruciatingly long:

@ thefourthdoctor; It is. But I’m a man who knows how to discern.

Your throat tightened, the confidence in his words striking a chord deep within you. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was setting the rules. And despite yourself, you found it maddeningly enticing.

@ laceandliterature; Discernment is rare here. 

You replied, leaning into the dynamic, testing the boundaries of this strange connection.

His next message came faster this time, as if he’d been waiting for you to lean in:

@ thefourthdoctor; So is honesty. Tell me, how rare are you?

Your breath hitched, your cheeks flushing as you stared at the question. It wasn’t what you expected—not here, not from someone you’d never met. And yet, it was the kind of question you couldn’t dismiss with a coy quip or vague answer.

@ laceandliterature; Enough to know my worth. 

You typed, surprising even yourself with the boldness of your response.

His reply came swiftly.

@ thefourthdoctor; Good. Then you’ll understand why I won’t insult you with empty offers. Tell me what you want.

Your pulse quickened. There it was—the shift you’d been waiting for, the moment the conversation turned from hypothetical to concrete. But this was different from the others. He wasn’t throwing numbers at you, wasn’t dangling luxury in front of you like bait. He was putting the power in your hands, asking you to decide the terms.

It was intoxicating. And terrifying.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind. What did you want? Money was the obvious answer—wasn’t it? That was why you were here in the first place. But now, with him, it didn’t feel so simple.

@ laceandliterature; That depends… What are you offering?

The pause before his response was agonizing, each second stretching longer than the last. And then it came:

@ thefourthdoctor; Time. Money. Attention. Answers, if you’re brave enough to ask the right questions.

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy cloak. He wasn’t offering material things, at least not yet. He was offering something far more valuable—and far more dangerous.

You swallowed hard, your palms damp as you considered your next move. He’d shifted the power dynamic yet again, pulling you deeper into a game you weren’t entirely sure you knew how to play.

@ laceandliterature; And what do you want in return?

The question leaving you more vulnerable than you cared to admit.

His response was immediate, his words a quiet, commanding echo in your mind:

@ thefourthdoctor; Exactly what you’re willing to give me.

The simplicity of his answer hit you harder than any declaration of wealth or desire could have. It wasn’t just about money or power or control—it was about you. Your choices, your limits, your willingness to engage in this careful, intoxicating dance.

And that realisation sent a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, you stared at the screen, your pulse thrumming in your ears. You could walk away now. Close the laptop, block his profile, and pretend this never happened. But the truth was, you didn’t want to.

Because for the first time since you’d joined this site, you felt seen. Not as an object, not as a commodity, but as a person.

His words clung to you, each syllable daring you to define what you were prepared to offer. He was turning the mirror back on you, forcing you to confront not just the situation but yourself.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t playing by the rules you expected, and that made him unpredictable. Dangerous. But it also made him irresistible.

@ laceandliterature; That’s a clever way of saying nothing. Ambiguity suits you.

The reply came quickly, almost as if he’d anticipated your deflection.

@ thefourthdoctor; Clarity can be earned, if you’re willing to play the game.

Your breath hitched. There it was again—that quiet, assured confidence that pulled you in despite every warning bell ringing in your head. He wasn’t offering platitudes or empty promises. He was offering a challenge, one that was as maddening as it was magnetic.

@ laceandliterature; And what game is that? 

The pause before his answer felt deliberate, a calculated silence that only heightened your anticipation. When his message finally appeared, it sent a shiver through you:

@ laceandliterature; The one we’re already playing. You just haven’t realised it yet.

Your pulse quickened, your palms damp as you stared at the screen. He was toying with you, but not in the way you’d experienced before. This wasn’t about cheap thrills or transparent power plays. This was about control—subtle, seductive, and entirely in his hands.

@ laceandliterature; I don’t recall agreeing to any rules. 

The sharpness of your words masking the unease curling in your chest.

His reply was swift, the confidence in his words cutting through the haze of your thoughts:

@ thefourthdoctor; You didn’t have to. You agreed the moment you responded.

The audacity of his statement left you momentarily breathless. He was right, of course, and that infuriated you. But it also thrilled you in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

@ laceandliterature; You’re awfully sure of yourself

You shot back, your fingers trembling as you hit send. The response came almost immediately.

@ thefourthdoctor; Confidence is the privilege of knowing what you want. Do you?

Your chest tightened, his words striking a nerve you hadn’t expected. What did you want? It was supposed to be simple—a means to an end, a way to solve your financial problems without complicating your life. But now, with him, it felt far from simple.

You hesitated, your mind racing. This wasn’t like the other conversations you’d had on this site. He wasn’t just offering money or gifts; he was offering an exchange of a different kind. One that blurred the lines between power and vulnerability, control and surrender.

@ laceandliterature; I think you already know the answer.

@ thefourthdoctor; Good. Then we’re getting somewhere.

You exhaled sharply, the tension in your chest both exhilarating and suffocating. He had you cornered, and he knew it. But the worst part? You didn’t want to leave.

@ laceandliterature; And where exactly is that? 

The question both a challenge and a plea. His response sent a chill down your spine.

@ thefourthdoctor; Where we figure out if you’re ready to trust me.

The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and inescapable. Trust. It was a loaded word, especially here, in a space where every interaction felt transactional. But with him, it didn’t feel like a demand—it felt like an invitation.

You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling as you typed your response:

@ laceandliterature; Trust is earned, Doctor. How do you plan on earning mine?

The pause before his reply was excruciating, every second stretching longer than the last. And then, finally, his message appeared. 

@ thefourthdoctor; Patience. Honesty. And just enough mystery to keep you coming back.

Your breath caught, the sheer confidence of his words leaving you momentarily speechless. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was rewriting the rules, pulling you deeper into his orbit with every word.

And despite the warning bells ringing in your head, you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting more.

@ laceandliterature; Then I suppose we’ll see how well you play. 

@ thefourthdoctor; We already are.

The message lingered on the screen, a challenge and a promise all at once. And as you stared at it, your heart racing and your mind spinning, one thing became clear:

Here’s the continuation, intensifying the emotional and psychological stakes, as well as the power dynamics:

You could feel it in the way your heart raced, in the way your mind struggled to pull together coherent thoughts. It was maddening. Dangerous. And yet, some part of you craved the thrill of it.

@ laceandliterature; What makes you so sure of that?

@ thefourthdoctor; Because you’re still here.

Your lips parted in a soft exhale, the truth in his words sending a shiver down your spine. He was right—you were still here, still engaged, still drawn to him in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

@ laceandliterature; Maybe I’m just curious.

His response was immediate, his confidence unshaken.

@ thefourthdoctor; Curiosity is the first step to surrender. And you’re closer than you think.

Your pulse quickened, his words striking a nerve you hadn’t realized was exposed. Surrender. The word hung there, heavy and intoxicating, pulling you deeper into his web.

@ laceandliterature; Surrender isn’t in my vocabulary. 

The sharpness of your reply more for your benefit than his.

@ thefourthdoctor; That’s because no one’s ever taught you how to do it properly.

The breath left your lungs in a quiet rush, your body betraying you with a thrill that raced down your spine. He wasn’t just confident—he was audacious, pushing boundaries you didn’t even know you had.

@ laceandliterature; And you think you’re the one to teach me?

@ thefourthdoctor; I know I am.

Your throat tightened, his certainty pulling you further into the undertow. There was no pretence with him, no fumbling for the right words to impress or seduce. He spoke with a quiet authority that was impossible to ignore—and even harder to resist.

@ laceandliterature; You’re awfully sure of yourself, Doctor.

You wrote, the name a deliberate choice, a way to remind yourself that he was still just a man on the other side of a screen.

But his next message stripped away any illusion of simplicity.

@ thefourthdoctor; Confidence is earned. You’ll see.

The promise in his words sent your mind reeling, the tension in your chest building with every passing second. He wasn’t offering wealth or gifts or superficial praise. He was offering himself—his attention, his intellect, his dominance—and it was unlike anything you’d ever encountered.

You leaned back in your chair, running a hand through your hair as you tried to steady your breathing. This wasn’t just a game anymore. It was a collision of wills, a power struggle where the stakes felt dangerously personal.

@ laceandliterature; And if I decide to stop playing? 

His reply came slower this time, each word calculated, precise.

@ thefourthdoctor; Then I’ll let you go. But we both know you won’t.

Your breath caught, the quiet confidence in his message leaving you stunned. He wasn’t trying to trap you—he was daring you to walk away. And that made him even more dangerous.

@ laceandliterature; You seem very sure of my choices

@ thefourthdoctor; I’m sure of your curiosity. And that’s enough.

You stared at the screen, your heart pounding, your mind spinning. He was right—you were curious. About him, about this, about where it could lead. And that curiosity was already pulling you deeper, binding you to him in a way that felt both thrilling and terrifying.

And as you sat there, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, one thought echoed in your mind:

You weren’t just playing his game anymore.

You were losing.

His words were a masterstroke, the kind of deliberate confidence that didn’t demand submission but invited it, coaxed it out of you with unsettling precision. He wasn’t forcing you into anything. He didn’t have to.

You were leaning in all on your own.

@ laceandliterature; Curiosity is dangerous. 

The words meant as both a warning and a defense. You weren’t sure if you were telling him or reminding yourself.

His reply came almost instantly, as if he’d anticipated your hesitation.

@ thefourthdoctor; It can be, in the wrong hands. But I think you know by now—I don’t intend to hurt you.

Your chest tightened, the unexpected gentleness in his response catching you off guard. It wasn’t a dismissal of your fears; it was an acknowledgment, a reassurance that felt disarmingly genuine.

@ laceandliterature; What do you intend to do, then? 

The pause before his reply was deliberate, stretching just long enough to heighten the tension without breaking it.

@ thefourthdoctor; Challenge you. Teach you. Protect you, if you let me.

Your breath hitched, his words striking a chord deep within you. The power in his offer wasn’t in its force but in its certainty, its quiet promise of control without cruelty, dominance without destruction.

@ laceandliterature; That’s a tall order.

@ thefourthdoctor; I’ve never been afraid of a challenge.

The simplicity of his answer left you momentarily stunned. He wasn’t boasting, wasn’t trying to impress you. He was stating a fact, one that resonated with an authority you couldn’t ignore.

@ laceandliterature; And what do you get out of this?

@ thefourthdoctor; The pleasure of watching you grow. The satisfaction of knowing you’re safe. And maybe, if you’re willing, a connection worth more than either of us expected.

Your chest tightened, his words threading through the cracks in your defences with startling ease. He wasn’t just offering a transaction; he was offering something far deeper, something that terrified and intrigued you in equal measure.

@ laceandliterature; You make it sound so simple.

@ thefourthdoctor; It can be, if you trust me. But I won’t rush you. This is your choice.

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling over you. He wasn’t demanding anything from you, wasn’t using manipulation or coercion. He was giving you the space to decide, to choose whether to step into the unknown or retreat to the safety of your walls.

@ laceandliterature; What if I don’t know how to trust someone like you?

@ thefourthdoctor; Then I’ll show you how, baby. Step by step. But only if you’re willing.

The kindness in his words was a stark contrast to the intensity of his presence, a reminder that his control wasn’t about overpowering you—it was about guiding you, supporting you, meeting you where you were and pulling you gently forward.

@ laceandliterature; And if I’m not?

@ thefourthdoctor; Then I’ll let you go. But I don’t think you want me to.

The truth in his words hit you like a jolt, your heart racing as you stared at the screen. He was right—you didn’t want to let him go. You didn’t want to retreat into the safety of solitude, not when he was offering something so intoxicatingly rare.

@ laceandliterature; You’re very sure of yourself

@ thefourthdoctor; I’m sure of you. And I’m willing to wait until you are too.

The words lingered on the screen, a challenge and a reassurance all at once. He wasn’t just pulling you into his world—he was offering to walk beside you, to guide you through the uncharted territory of trust and surrender.

And as you stared at his message, your pulse thrumming in your ears, one thing became abundantly clear. You wanted to see where this could lead.

Your fingers trembled as you typed your reply.

@ laceandliterature; I don’t know where this is going.

His response came swiftly, his dominance tempered by kindness:

@ thefourthdoctor; Then let me be the one to show you. One step at a time.

When the evening settled and the quiet of your room enveloped you, you found yourself sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone. His last message still lingered there:

"Then let me be the one to show you. One step at a time."

Trust. The word had seemed so monumental when he’d said it, and now it felt even heavier in the quiet intimacy of your room.

Your eyes wandered to the package on your desk, the one that had arrived just days ago. The lingerie you’d bought with the money he’d sent—not something you’d ever imagined doing, much less showing anyone. But his insistence had stayed with you.

"This is for you," he’d written. "Because you deserve to feel special."

You’d laughed at the time, unsure how to process the sincerity in his words. But now, with the soft lace spread out in front of you, you felt the weight of his kindness.

On impulse, you slipped it on, the delicate fabric hugging your body in a way that felt both indulgent and empowering. It wasn’t something you’d ever have bought for yourself, but now, wearing it, you understood the quiet confidence it offered.

You caught your reflection in the mirror, your cheeks flushing as you adjusted the straps. The blush-colored lace was intricate and feminine, the perfect balance of modesty and allure. You hesitated, biting your lip as your phone buzzed in your hand.

Finally, you snapped a photo—nothing overly revealing, just the curve of your body hinted at in the soft light, the lace framing your figure. It felt daring, intimate, and, most of all, you felt like his.

With a shaky breath, you typed a caption for the image. 

@ laceandliterature; Thank you. I thought you should see where your funds are going.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, your heart racing as the message left your screen.

@ thefourthdoctor; You’re so beautiful, my little angel.

Your breath caught at the simplicity of his words. There was no embellishment, no flourish—just a quiet, sincere acknowledgment that made your chest tighten.

Another message followed, slower this time, as if he’d chosen each word carefully.

@ thefourthdoctor; Thank you for trusting me with this. How does it make you feel?

His question sent a ripple of warmth through you. He wasn’t just admiring you; he cared about how you felt, ensuring that this moment wasn’t just for him.

@ laceandliterature; It feels… different. In a good way.

The dots danced on the screen before his next message appeared.

@ thefourthdoctor; Good. That’s exactly how it should feel. You deserve to feel confident and cared for.

You smiled despite yourself, the warmth of his words cutting through the lingering nerves. He had a way of making you feel seen, like every action, every choice you made mattered to him.

@ laceandliterature; I wasn’t sure about sending it, I’ve never done anything like that before.

You admitted, your honesty surprising even you.

@ thefourthdoctor; You don’t need to worry. You’re safe with me. Always.

The reassurance in his words settled something deep inside you. He wasn’t just saying it—he meant it, every word carrying the weight of his sincerity.

Before you could respond, your phone vibrated in your hand, his name lighting up the screen. You hadn't expected him to call so soon, but the smile that spread across your face at the sight of his name felt entirely natural.

Your throat pinched, the air suddenly feeling all too warm. Neither of you had ever initiated a call before, what would he sound like? Deciding to push your nerves to the side, you answer the call.

"I was thinking you might not pick up for a moment there," his voice was low and smooth, a hint of amusement dancing through his words. "I hope you know this isn’t just about the photo. It’s about you. What you need, what you want. If you’re ever unsure, tell me. I’ll always listen."

"I guess I just couldn’t help myself," you teased, a slight blush creeping up your cheeks at the memory of how vulnerable you'd felt.

"Yeah? Am I living up to the expectation?" he murmured, and you could hear the laughter in his voice. It wasn’t a mocking sort of amusement, just a quiet acknowledgment that you both knew where this conversation was heading. And that, he hoped, neither one of you would shy away from it.

You laughed, a softness you'd never known you were capable of settling into your chest. There had been something so unexpectedly freeing about the experience—about wearing it made you flush with warmth.

“You could say that…”

“What were you hoping for, when you sent me that photo?”

The thought sent an immediate ache through your body, the suggestion of his touch, of the things he might do to you, sending a wave of desire through you. Your mind raced with images of “him” above you, of his hands pinning your wrists to the bed as he thrust into you. The thought was enough to make you flush, the ache of need between your legs becoming almost unbearable.

"Nothing.” You couldn’t even pretend to feign nonchalance when his words had been so unflinchingly honest, when the promise of what lay ahead was so tantalisingly clear.

"I’ll make it easier for you, then. What are you thinking about right now?" he said bluntly, his words sending a rush of heat through your entire body. There was nothing ambiguous or hesitant about his command; he wanted this, and he expected you to do it. "Tell me what you want, angel. I can give you that."

You twist the fabric hem of the lingerie around your fingers nervously, chewing at the dry skin on the edge of your lips. “I- I don’t know how to do this.” 

He chuckles softly, voice still full of kindness. “Then you don’t have to do anything, let me do all the work, baby.”

You’re quiet for a moment, pondering your options. Before nodding to yourself, deciding you’d have to let go of your nerves for the time being if you wanted this to continue.

“Okay.” You whisper, almost inaudibly. He wouldn’t have been able to hear it if he’d not been paying such close attention.

You took a deep breath, feeling a surge of boldness. "I... I've always had this fantasy of being guided by a man... someone who knows what he wants and can show me new pleasures. I’ve never had that chance before… I was hoping maybe that could be you."

"Oh, angel, you have no idea how much I want to fulfil those desires," He purred. "I can be your guide, your teacher, and your lover all in one."

His words sent a jolt of electricity through your body, and you felt your core tighten with anticipation. "I... I think I'd like that very much."

"I want you to relax and get comfortable for me, can you do that, baby?. Dim the lights, light a candle, whatever you need to do."

Obeying his instructions, you lit a scented candle, filling the room with a soft, flickering glow and a hint of vanilla. You kicked off your shoes and slid under the covers, your heart pounding in your chest.

"That's it, sweet girl," He whispered. "Now, I want you to imagine my hands on your body, caressing your skin, exploring every inch of you. Feel my touch, soft and gentle, as I trace your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts."

As you listened, you closed your eyes, visualising his strong, masculine hands on your body. You imagined his fingers brushing against your sensitive nipples, causing them to harden in response. Soft whimpers escaping your lips as you reach up to cup your breasts, mimicking his touch.

"That's right, angel," he encouraged. "Touch yourself for me. Feel how soft you are, how sweet.”

Your fingers obeyed, teasing your nipples, rolling and tugging at the sensitive peaks. You arched your back, pressing your breasts into your palms, and let out a soft cry of pleasure.

"Do you like that, little girl?" He asked, his voice thick with desire. "I wish you could see what you do to me."

"Yes, Doctor," you breathed, your voice heavy with arousal. “It feels so good."

"Now, slide your hand down your stomach, past your navel, and into the heat between your thighs," he instructed, his voice a seductive command. "Feel how wet you are for me, how your body responds to my words."

Your hand trembled as you obeyed, slipping beneath the covers and finding your way to your core. Your fingers brushed against your wet folds, and you gasped at the sensation.

"Oh, god, baby. You're so wet, aren’t you? I can hear it," He growled. "Rub your fingers along your pussy, coat them with your sweetness.”

You did as he said, moaning as your fingers slipped into your tight cunt. You were so wet, so ready, and the sensation of filling yourself sent waves of pleasure through your body. Taking the phone down your body, you hold it in front of your dripping pussy. Your microphone picking up on the sounds as your fingers slip through your folds.

"What a noisy fucking pussy, that's it, that's my girl," he encouraged. "Fuck yourself with your fingers, slowly at first, imagine it's my cock inside you, claiming your tight little cunt."

Your fingers moved in and out, your pace increasing as your pleasure spiralled. You imagined Spencer's thick, hard length filling you, his powerful body driving into yours.

"Yeah, fuck yourself for me," he urged. "Let go, angel girl. Come for me, and let me hear your sweet cries."

Your fingers worked frantically, your body on the brink of ecstasy. His words, his deep, commanding voice, pushed you over the edge. With a cry of release, you climaxed, your body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you.

"Oh, my sweet girl," he whispered, whispering soft praise over the phone, his voice filled with satisfaction. "That sounded like a lot, hm? You still with me, beautiful?."

"I know that wasn’t easy for you, but it was beautiful to hear." His voice was soft, filled with sincerity. 

You lay there, breathless and sated, your body still humming with pleasure. "Y-yeah, m still here. Thank you."

"You did so good, such a well behaved girl. Check your phone for me, baby. Look what you did to me."

You froze for a moment, your mind struggling to process exactly what you were looking at. And then it registered—the smooth skin of his stomach, the slight curve of his hip. A moment later, you saw it; his cock, flushed pink tip, half-hard and resting against his stomach. A small pool of cum rested near his belly button.. You flushed all over at the thought, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the photo. There was something so undeniably intimate about the image; something that spoke to the fact that he'd been pleasuring himself while thinking of you.

With a final, breathless goodbye, you end the call. Your heart is still racing, your body tingling with the lingering aftershocks of pleasure. His voice still echoes in your ears, warm and commanding, and the weight of his presence seems to fill the room even though he's no longer on the line. You lean back against the soft cushions on your bed, eyes fluttering closed, letting the soft glow of the lamp wash over you.

You let out a slow exhale, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with the buzz still pulsing beneath your skin. There’s something thrilling, intoxicating about the way he’s able to draw you out, make you vulnerable and yet so sure of yourself all at once. But the moment feels almost too surreal, too indulgent, and you try to calm your racing thoughts when a ping breaks through the haze of your afterglow.

You glance down at your phone, blinking at the notification that has just popped up.

$500 has been deposited into your account.

-for my pretty girl

Your breath catches in your throat as your fingers instinctively swipe open the message. You freeze, your eyes scanning the details with a quickness that betrays your curiosity.

"Doctor Reid," it reads, alongside the substantial amount.

For a moment, time seems to stop, your gaze fixed on the screen as your pulse quickens once more. The money sits there, cool and impersonal, yet its presence is anything but. It’s a gesture—one that feels undeniably generous, but also loaded with unspoken meaning. This isn’t just a transaction. This is him, and everything that came with the promise of his control, his attention, his care.

You’ve known that he was willing to give, but this—this feels different. The amount is so much more than what you’d expected. What did he mean by it? What does he expect now?

You glance at the digits one more time, the weight of his name anchoring the moment. It feels strange to see it. So he was a doctor. 

A tight knot forms in your chest, mixing nerves with something else—something like desire, maybe even gratitude. You bite your lip, unsure how to feel. It was just a phone call, just a moment of shared vulnerability between you. Yet the fact that he’s followed through with this kind of gesture makes everything feel so much more real, so much more complicated.

With a heavy sigh, you set your phone down and run your fingers through your hair, your mind racing as you try to reconcile the thrill of the moment with the heavy responsibility that now feels like it’s creeping in.

At least now you had his name, Doctor Reid.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[halalchampagnesocialist]

Almost every Palestinian currently has or has had relatives in Israeli jails. Some are jailed for loose affiliation to certain groups whilst some are jailed for their activism against the occupation. There are many, however, that are jailed "just because." They've committed no crime. If they did, they certainly weren't indicted for any. Even the ones arrested and imprisoned for their activism rarely get indicted or if they do, it's on bullshit charges. Palestinians are also tried in military courts compared to Israelis who are tried in civilian courts. Israel can imprison anyone it likes for however long It likes "just because." This includes children. In the West Bank, Israel is the judge, jury, and executioner. It effectively runs a police state through its occupation. According to Bt'Selem's statistics from June 2024, Israel currently holds over 9, 000 Palestinian prisoners, with over 3, 000 who are "administrative detainees" i.e. held without charge or trial. It gets even more sinister when you consider the conditions inside Israeli jails, how many "confessions" are extracted through torture, how many prisoners are raped and tortured to death. So much of this is conveniently left out or falsely reframed as "innocent hostages vs criminal prisoners" when people call for the release of the hostages. I want the hostages to be home with their loved ones as soon as possible but the thousands of Palestinian prisoners deserve the same as well.

[honestlyitsjustsam]

i can never get tired of Gale infodumping because as someone who had NO clue about dnd and its lore, i have learned so much thanks to him asdfghjkd his autism helped me finish the game

I don’t get why people say Gale’s first romance scene comes across as condescending if you’re a spellcaster. Like, where? I’ve romanced him as a Bard, Sorcerer and Warlock and he compliments your skills during the lesson and has specific compliments for Sorcerers and Warlocks after long resting. I guess they’re annoyed that he’s teaching them at all, but the point isn’t that he thinks his knowledge of the Weave is superior to yours, it’s that he experiences it in a different way and wants to show you what it's like for him

[rheeblogs]

★ — PIT STOP

★ — pairing: trucker!abby x fem!gas station clerk

★ — your boring job brought old men, homeless people, and little kids maxing out their parents cards on candy. but when she came in, your stomach turned inside out. | fyi, i'm aware most trucks don't have backseats or anything 😭, but let's imagine for the plot period

★ — warnings: southern!abby, strap-on sex, car sex, dirty talk

🔖 — moodboard by me :)

The hum of fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly as you stood behind the counter, absentmindedly flipping through a magazine. The little gas station was quiet tonight, save for the occasional car rolling in to fill up. You didn't mind the solitude, though--it gave you the chance to enjoy the peaceful hum of the night.

But that peace shattered when the low rumble of a diesel engine filled the air.

You looked up just as a massive, dusty, semi-truck rolled into the parking lot. Its headlight cut through the darkness, and it came to a halt right in front of the store. Moments later, the driver's door creaked open, and down climbed a woman who seemed like she'd stepped right out of a trucker-themed romance novel.

She was tall, built like she spent half her life wrestling grizzly bears, and had a confidence in her swagger that could stop traffic. Blonde hair peeked out from under a well-worn baseball cap, and her Southern accent was thick as molasses when she spoke.

"Evenin''," she drawled, stepping through the glass door. Her blue eyes locked onto you immediately, a slow, crooked grin spreading across her face.

"Good evenin," you said, smiling politely, though you couldn't help the way your heart skipped a beat. She was... gorgeous, in a rugged, intimidating kind of way.

"Damn," she said, stopping in her tracks as she looked you over. Her eyes roamed shamelessly, lingering a second too long on the curve of your hips and the swell of your tits before flicking back up to your face. "Didn't think I'd be gettin' a view like this at sum' gas station inna middle of nowhere."

Your cheeks flushed immediately, and you stammered. "I--I think you're lookin' for the snacks. They're over there." You pointed toward the aisle, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck.

Abby chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made your stomach flip. "Oh, darlin', I'm not lookin' for snacks. Especially when somethin' as sweet as you is in front of me."

You blinked, your lips parting slightly in surprise. Most of the truckers who rolled through were gruff and standoffish, more interested in their coffee than conversation. But this one? She was relentless.

"I, uh..." you trailed off, not sure how to respond.

Abby stepped closer, leaning an elbow on the counter. The scent of diesel fuel and a faint hint of cologne wafted off of her. "You're a pretty lil' thing, ma'am."

"Thank you," you said, almost too softly.

"It's no problem, honey. You got the kinda face that can make a girl forget she's been drivin' for sixteen hours straight," Abby said, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "And don't even get me started on that body of yours. Lord have mercy."

You couldn't help it--you laughed, a flustered, nervous sound. "Do you always flirt with gas station clerks, or am i just special?"

"Oh, you're special, all right," she said, her grin widening. "Reckon I'd remember a face like yours anywhere."

You shook your head, biting your lip to hide your smile. "What do you want, Abby?"

Her eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "What makes you think my name's Abby?"

"Your truck's got "Anderson's Logistics'' painted on the side, nd' your nametag has an 'Abby' patch in bold letters." You said, gesturing to the embroidery.

"Sharp, too. I like that," Abby said, straightening up. "But if you must know, I came in for a coffee. Black. And maybe your number, if you're feeling generous.

Your face grew hotter at her boldness. "Coffee's over there," you said, pointing to the back.

Abby chuckled again but did you said, sauntering over to the coffee machine with the same easy confidence. She poured herself a cup, took a long sip, and then returned to the counter.

"Not bad," she said, placing a couple crumpled bills on the counter. "But I think this place just became my new favorite spot. Couldn't imagine why."

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. "Whatever, Abby."

"You wanna take a ride?" Abby asks you abruptly, gesturing to the door.

"In your truck?" You asked, a sly smile creeping on your face.

"Sure, that too."

----

"God, honey. Your body fits my lap perfectly, huh?" Abby teases, as you adjust yourself on her muscular thighs, the friction from your jean shorts making you eager.

"You do this every pit stop?" You ask, your hands placed on her shoulders to hold your balance.

"No ma'am. I told you, you're special, darlin'." She tells you, looking you deep into your eyes, hers a piercing blue. "But enough talkin'. I got sumthin' in my back seat, if you're down for that kinda thing."

And with that, you climb out of her lap and into the backseat, your cheetah print thong peeking out, following a smack to your ass from Abby.

She damn near tears your tanktop off, leaving your chest clad in your matching cheetah print bra, and the shoulder tattoo with words 'Angel' black and bold, close to your collarbone.

"Angel, huh?" Abby says, biting her lip.

You nod, tilting your head, giving her access to you neck. She starts to kiss it slowly, taking in your scent of woody vanilla, getting sweeter everytime she works her way up or down.

"You smell s'good, honey." Abby says, easily lifting you back onto her lap. Her hands fly to the back of your bra, unclasping it with ease.

"Fuck, Abby. You're s'strong." Her hands are on your hips, forcing you to grind on her lap, making your pussy wetter by the second.

"Lay back, honey."

----

Abby's kisses are tender, yet demanding. She kisses with so much passion, like you were the only girl she needed in her life. Who knew a pit stop would make her this crazy?

You're laying in her backseat, leg propped up over her shoulder, as she grips your thighs and sloppily eats you out.

"Pussy's sweeter than honey, darlin'." She says, her voice sending chills into your clit, the vibrations stimulating you more than she was alone.

"Mmm..--just like that, Abby, fuck." Your manicured hands scratch her scalp, the semi-neat braid coming undone in the process. Abby makes eye contact with you, gripping your thighs tighter.

It's almost as if Abby learns your body quickly, the way her tongue thrusts in and out of your pussy, leaving your legs quivering after every movement.

She stops, leaving you confused.

"Under the seat, that box. Grab it." You look around for a second, spotting a black box covered by a jean jacket under her seat. You move the jacket and open the box--revealing a seven-inch clear strap.

"It's new, I promise. Haven't gotten a chance to use it yet."

You look at the strap and back at Abby, who has a very convincing look on her face.

"Then, fuck me with it, Abby."

----

Abby secured the harness around her waist, trying to make sure not to hit her head on the roof of the truck in the process. It was veiny, girthy, and looked like it could absolutely ruin you.

She grabs your hips, letting you hover over her lap, watching you let your panties that originally were pooling at your ankles, fall to the truck's surprisingly clean floor.

"You wanna' ride this shit, honey?" She says, still holding your hips steady.

You nod your head up and down, and slowly sink onto her strap.

"Yeaaaah... sink on it, darlin'. Just like that." Her praises were making your head spin, and the way her strap felt so deep inside of you almost felt like it was attached to her.

Abby jerks up, letting the rest of her inches sink of inside you.

You grind against her, the pleasure almost bringing you to tears. Your rhythm steadies, the rocking of your hips sending Abby into orbit. The base of the strap is hitting her clit, causing her hands to grow tighter around your ass.

"Fuckin' me like you mean it, huh baby?" Her voice. Her accent. Her everything. You were so close, beginning to go from grinding to practically jumping on her dick, feeling your stomach start to heat up.

"Mmmph.., I'm--fuck, Abby.. close." That's all Abby needed to hear. She takes a firm grip on your hips, and roughly fucks her strap inside of you.

"Yeah, angel. Take this fuckin'.. dick," Abby starts, throwing her head back as the base of the strap hits her pussy just right.

"I'm--Abby.." You manage to moan out.

"All over me, honey. Fuckin' cum on my shit." She pounds into you, the both of you gushing, all over her lap.

"You truly are an angel, miss." Abby says, holding you close as you catch your breath.

You put your clothes back on, checking your phone's time. Twenty minutes. Not too bad.

"I really gotta get back on the clock." You say, giving Abby your phone to insert her number in.

"I understand, darlin', so do I. I had a great time." She smiles, fixing her tight white tee to put her jacket back on.

"I did too, Anderson." Abby leans in to kiss you, almost as if she could get used to doing this more often. You climb out of her truck and make way back into the gas station.

"Drive safe, Abby."

"Oh, don't you worry about bout' me, honey," she said, tipping her hat slightly as she started the engine. "I'll be back here soon enough. Just don't go breakin' hearts in the meantime, alright?"

"I'll call you after my shift, Anderson."

"Perfect."

And as the roar of her truck faded into the distance, you realized you were already looking forward to her next pit stop.

🏷️ — @rosemariiaa, @d3arapril

[skateisawesome]

i really dont want this to come across as homophobic but i have lifelong issues with tone so if it does can someone tell me and ill fix it!

so i have spent the last 4 years of my life coming out as a straight person. sounds stupid.

but basically i have had so many dating rumours surrounding me and my friends that i used to get asked at least once a week if i was gay. i dont know what im doing thats making everyone think im dating my friends but apparently i do it to everyone. i have been the queer awakening for several of my close friends who fell in love with me and through that discovered that they liked girls.

all of that is fine and i can deal with it. im happy to keep correcting people and i've been working on being less flirty with my friends and putting effort into it. what's been pissing me off for the last year or so is the ongoing assumption that i am gay and i just dont know it yet.

i have been outright told by people "one day im going to kiss you and youll discover you like girls"

it made me feel uncomfortable and weird and im gonna be so honest here. i just dont think i like girls that way. i really thought about it and i dont. but i would (and still am) getting told by my close friends that one day when i 'eventually come out' they are all gonna sit around and say i told you so.

but i also wanna say that if i ever was to discover that i was not straight, it would be pretty hard to come out to any of those people, to any of my friends. theyd be so aggressive and constantly tell me that they knew or that it was old news. and so it kinda feels like even if im questioning things, ive been forced to reiterate that im straight so many times that being queer doesnt feel like an option anymore. its like i was forced to decided gay or straight when i was twelve and then people have harassed me ever since and now im not allowed to change what i chose even if i was to be seriously considering not being straight.

to me that feels really fucking toxic and its just upset me for the longest time.

and at this point i dont know what to do. like i cant really retaliate or say anything without people thinking im homophobic (which i swear to you i am not and my intention is not ever to harm that wonderful community in which so many people i love exist). i never want to hurt anyone but like what the fuck do i do!

im so sick of this. its also so weird and i kinda doubt that anyone else has really had this problem lmao.

i would love some opinions. look idk why im posting this. i dont care. i want people to tell me im justified but i also want people to tell me why they think im not. i want someone else to tell me what to do because i dont know.

[batcavescolony]

Katniss is such an unreliable narrator. She says "Then something unexpected happens. At least, I don't expect it because I don't think of District 12 as a place that cares about me" girl you deliver strawberries to the Mayor, you hunt and trade for the district, when you fell at Prim being chosen someone caught you, when you went to Prim people parted for you, when you volunteered EVERYONE stopped. Idk how to tell you but I think you're a pillar of the community.

[sergioguymanproust]

We are told umpteen times when you are ready to die go to the light,don’t waste your last breath on meandering in and around your house seek the light. Well,then we are also told ,don’t worry your relatives, you know your family and friends will be awaiting your arrival ,this in any order according to your culture.Some people believe this is utter nonsense,they do believe you die and that’s all folks! Haaa! Well,each tribe has its own religion although I don’t particularly like this word , because in our lives it is so bloody and confusing,one day they love you ,the next day they kill you and call you an heretic ,while they are the worse cheating and lying in the name of a god. Haaa! I say a god because each tribe ,clan ,in this world still has not just one god but many ,and some none ,respect them all. You must remember that when you decided to sign your contract to come down and be human ,no religion was assigned to you ,you were just a soul without a brand or anything labeling a particular race or belief ,your parents took care of that!Well ,that’s a story for another day.So,recently as we approach the end of another chapter on this planet ,Remember to be clear at the end of your journey,nobody’s perfect ,so stop torturing yourself and just head for the light.What’s at the end of ocean, tunnel,void,or whatever is your wish , well, at the end where the light is shining your new life is awaiting you!And that’s all I can tell you folks .I believe angels ,but then I could be wrong.Words by Sergio GuymanProust.

[littlelightfish]

Funny things I found out playing with language setting in Netflix while looking episode 15:

Chilchuck's scream sounds HAUNTED in brazilian portuguese. Give it a try if you can.

(You can hear it here)

In spanish dub, Senshi says: "tocó mis senos de hombre", which means "he touched my man boobs" in Spanish. And I think that's the best dub line one so far.

[stemmmm]

more people gotta try this shit where bill has not improved and will not change but he's just chilling so its fine probably. its great

[paracosmicessence]

have doodle lol

functionally, i am alive, emotionally?? idk about that work has me crying almost everyday now chat idk if i can do this anymore

[realcleverscience]

here's my personal take on this:

The concern over AI very much IS like past freakouts over major tech breakthroughs, like textile industrialization, the advent of coal and oil, the chemical industry, computers, internet, and so much more. Personally, I'm not persuaded by those concerns that were listed:

"pervade our lives" - we already live in an advanced tech age that pervades all aspects of our lives. all of you are reading this on a computer, possibly on a small phone which you keep in your pocket all the time. AI isn't invading space. It's just piggybacking on tech that's already there.

Error rate: A. I fully expect AI error rates to continue to fall. B. Knowing that AI isn't perfect and may require some oversight - just like humans - allows people to still make tremendously use of its output. E.g. A software coder can have an AI do in 10 minutes what would have taken 10 hours. This is useful, even if the coder will have to look through the result and test it out and work out any bugs. This is all the more the case when this is the expectations we already have for people, and the AI can potentially do things which most people can't.

Plagiarism: I think there are some valid concerns here, but I also think this issue is massively overblown for two reasons. 1) Plagiarism is copying someone else's work as your own. AI typically does not spit out copies of other people's work. Instead, like humans, it takes info its acquired over its lifetime of training and uses that to create its own outputs. So I only see plagiarism as an issue in the niche situation where its outputting other people's texts as its own. Further, I expect that issue to get resolved. 2) This assumes that AI will always be trained on "illegally acquired" data. I'm not at all convinced of that. (E.g. there are already photo and video AIs that are being trained on privately owned image/video content, thereby entirely avoiding the plagiarism issues; and as AI/robots continue to grow, they'll be able to collect and create their own data.) Further, I expect that as AI grows, we'll develop legal structures which make it easier to use public data. (e.g. easier ways for people to "opt in" and get paid.)

Environment: I care a lot about the environment but I'm again not worried about this issue. 1) Most tech companies are already working toward net-zero. If the AI requires a state's worth of energy but it's all sourced from renewables or nuclear, I have no major problem with that. 2) AI is getting much better in every domain, including energy efficiency. Just about every week I read about another breakthrough that will soon massively reduce computing costs. (I have a few examples in a post here.) This is a trend which has been going on for literal decades. 3) I want to see a future where, for instance, everyone can get all the medical care they need. To get there, we could expand the population and train a LOT more doctors or we can improve AI. Of the two options, the AI one is a lot faster and more resource efficient (more on that in a second). 4) AI itself is helping us progress for all three of those previous points. The issue with AI isn't its resource needs (which again, are very low compared to humans). The issue is scale. For instance, let's say we create and AI doctor with a resource footprint that's 1/10th that of a human doctor. That's a 90% resource reduction. Great! BUT, the issue is that now everyone on earth will want their own digital doctor. To put the numbers crudely: If 8 billion people each have a digital doctor with 1/10th the footprint, that's like adding 800 million people to our resource budget. So even though the AI is much more efficient and massively growing it's healthcare output, it's still also massively growing our footprint. The issue isn't the application but the scale of application. And frankly, that's been an issue with most of our tech in modern times. When our species only had a million members, it didn't matter if they felled trees or burnt coal bc it didn't add up to much. These days, even when our processes are super efficient, the issue is that there's literally billions of us. As an example, consider hamburgers. Most of us like burgers and buy them regularly, esp as americans. I'd guess that at least 90% of people who are concerned with AI's footprint also eat burgers - even though burgers are currently much more resource heavy than AI. E.g. The average person eats 50kg of meat a year, with a co2 footprint of 3,000kg. In contrast, today, the average person has an AI-based CO2 footprint of 3.5kg per year. And unlike meat, AI is getting more energy efficient. (I got a cool post with some comparison stats here.) So I think the issue here is scale, but again, I think that will be solved by sustainable energy sources and continued computing efficiency gains.

So it's not that I think these issues aren't important, but that I think they're often overblown, taken out of context, and don't take into account tech trends on efficiency.

Personally, I'm really excited about a future where everyone is fed, everyone is housed, and everyone has healthcare. I'm excited about robots helping people with disabilities or helping to repair the ecosystem. I'm excited for radical advancements in medicine like curing all cancers, healing the blind or deaf, and so many more illnesses. I'm excited for a time when we create art for art's sake and not capitalism's sake. I'm excited for a time when no-one *has* to work anymore. But the only way for us to no longer need jobs is for us all to lose our jobs to AI and to restructure our society toward a post-labor future.

'People are panicking about AI tools the same way they did when the calculator was invented, stop worrying' cannot stress enough the calculator did not forcibly pervade every aspect of our lives, has such a low error rate it's a statistical anomaly when it does happen, isn't built on mass plagiarism, and does not obliterate the fucking environment when you use it. Be so fucking serious right now

[catmask]

does anyone have like an anti aesthetic. like something you look at and can recognize as a complete fashion/interior design/artistic movement and understand it but it makes you shudder seeing it. i am not talking like “its morally bad” “its poorly structured” like just sheerly devoid of joy for you actually invites a repulse response.

[your-werewolf-boyfriend]

Other ADHD motivators:

Food: Some find it easier to stay in the area of work if they set a bowl of finger food in the area. I stick cheez it's bc they're not messy and don't get stale easy

Drugs: yes, drugs. This one is my favorite. I will hit my bowl of weed before I go about my business in the house. I'll even set it in my work area to go back to it and get higher when I lose motivation. I'll supplement w nicotine through cleaning to have a stim

Entertainment: make your TV visible from the space. I've moved TVs just to do this. Other options include music, audio books, radio, some people like stim items like lava lamps and sand timers (added bonus, you can use a sand timer to stim and time rewards for yourself, yes its okay if you just stare at the timer a few times and just reward yourself hanging there in the needed space - the motivation will happen)

Floor time: spend some floor time in the space, maybe use the time to consider what's the worst part of the room and how you prefer to tackle that