#door county tours

[doorcountydaytrips]

Website : https://www.doorcountydaytrips.com/

Address : Door County, Wisconsin, USA

Door County Day Trips offers guided day, night, and private tours across the scenic Door County Peninsula, ensuring a comfortable journey aboard a late-model luxury vehicle. With a focus on providing a personalized, small-group sightseeing experience, they navigate through popular farm markets, iconic scenic locations, and lighthouses, ensuring guests can immerse themselves in the best of Door County. The tours, which cater to groups of 12 people or less, include convenient pick-up and drop-off services, and are tailored to the group's interests on the day of the visit, ensuring a unique and memorable exploration each time.

Facebook : https://www.facebook.com/DoorCountyDayTrips

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[chemicalarospec]

.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Antitrust is a labor issue

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me SATURDAY (Apr 27) in MARIN COUNTY, then Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

This is huge: yesterday, the FTC finalized a rule banning noncompete agreements for every American worker. That means that the person working the register at a Wendy's can switch to the fry-trap at McD's for an extra $0.25/hour, without their boss suing them:

https://www.ftc.gov/news-events/news/press-releases/2024/04/ftc-announces-rule-banning-noncompetes

The median worker laboring under a noncompete is a fast-food worker making close to minimum wage. You know who doesn't have to worry about noncompetes? High tech workers in Silicon Valley, because California already banned noncompetes, as did Colorado, Illinois, Maine, Maryland, New Hampshire, North Dakota, Oklahoma, Oregon, Rhode Island, Virginia and Washington.

The fact that the country's largest economies, encompassing the most "knowledge-intensive" industries, could operate without shitty bosses being able to shackle their best workers to their stupid workplaces for years after those workers told them to shove it shows you what a goddamned lie noncompetes are based on. The idea that companies can't raise capital or thrive if their know-how can walk out the door, secreted away in the skulls of their ungrateful workers, is bullshit:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/02/its-the-economy-stupid/#neofeudal

Remember when OpenAI's board briefly fired founder Sam Altman and Microsoft offered to hire him and 700 of his techies? If "noncompetes block investments" was true, you'd think they'd have a hard time raising money, but no, they're still pulling in billions in investor capital (primarily from Microsoft itself!). This is likewise true of Anthropic, the company's major rival, which was founded by (wait for it), two former OpenAI employees.

Indeed, Silicon Valley couldn't have come into existence without California's ban on noncompetes – the first silicon company, Shockley Semiconductors, was founded by a malignant, delusional eugenicist who also couldn't manage a lemonade stand. His eight most senior employees (the "Traitorous Eight") quit his shitty company to found Fairchild Semiconductor, a rather successful chip shop – but not nearly so successful as the company that two of Fairchild's top employees founded after they quit: Intel:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/24/the-traitorous-eight-and-the-battle-of-germanium-valley/

Likewise a lie: the tale that noncompetes raise wages. This theory – beloved of people whose skulls are so filled with Efficient Market Hypothesis Brain-Worms that they've got worms dangling out of their nostrils and eye-sockets – holds that the right to sign a noncompete is an asset that workers can trade to their employers in exchange for better pay. This is absolutely true, provided you ignore reality.

Remember: the median noncompete-bound worker is a fast food employee making near minimum wage. The major application of noncompetes is preventing that worker from getting a raise from a rival fast-food franchisee. Those workers are losing wages due to noncompetes. Meanwhile, the highest paid workers in the country are all clustered in a a couple of cities in northern California, pulling down sky-high salaries in a state where noncompetes have been illegal since the gold rush.

If a capitalist wants to retain their workers, they can compete. Offer your workers get better treatment and better wages. That's how capitalism's alchemy is supposed to work: competition transmogrifies the base metal of a capitalist's greed into the noble gold of public benefit by making success contingent on offering better products to your customers than your rivals – and better jobs to your workers than those rivals are willing to pay. However, capitalists hate capitalism:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/18/in-extremis-veritas/#the-winnah

Capitalists hate capitalism so much that they're suing the FTC, in MAGA's beloved Fifth Circuit, before a Trump-appointed judge. The case was brought by Trump's financial advisors, Ryan LLC, who are using it to drum up business from corporations that hate Biden's new taxes on the wealthy and stepped up IRS enforcement on rich tax-cheats.

Will they win? It's hard to say. Despite what you may have heard, the case against the FTC order is very weak, as Matt Stoller explains here:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/ftc-enrages-corporate-america-by

The FTC's statutory authority to block noncompetes comes from Section 5 of the FTC Act, which bans "unfair methods of competition" (hard to imagine a less fair method than indenturing your workers). Section 6(g) of the Act lets the FTC make rules to enforce Section 5's ban on unfairness. Both are good law – 6(g) has been used many times (26 times in the five years from 1968-73 alone!).

The DC Circuit court upheld the FTC's right to "promulgate rules defining the meaning of the statutory standards of the illegality the Commission is empowered to prevent" in 1973, and in 1974, Congress changed the FTC Act, but left this rulemaking power intact.

The lawyer suing the FTC – Anton Scalia's larvum, a pismire named Eugene Scalia – has some wild theories as to why none of this matters. He says that because the law hasn't been enforced since the ancient days of the (checks notes) 1970s, it no longer applies. He says that the mountain of precedent supporting the FTC's authority "hasn't aged well." He says that other antitrust statutes don't work the same as the FTC Act. Finally, he says that this rule is a big economic move and that it should be up to Congress to make it.

Stoller makes short work of these arguments. The thing that tells you whether a law is good is its text and precedent, "not whether a lawyer thinks a precedent is old and bad." Likewise, the fact that other antitrust laws is irrelevant "because, well, they are other antitrust laws, not this antitrust law." And as to whether this is Congress's job because it's economically significant, "so what?" Congress gave the FTC this power.

Now, none of this matters if the Supreme Court strikes down the rule, and what's more, if they do, they might also neuter the FTC's rulemaking power in the bargain. But again: so what? How is it better for the FTC to do nothing, and preserve a power that it never uses, than it is for the Commission to free the 35-40 million American workers whose bosses get to use the US court system to force them to do a job they hate?

The FTC's rule doesn't just ban noncompetes – it also bans TRAPs ("training repayment agreement provisions"), which require employees to pay their bosses thousands of dollars if they quit, get laid off, or are fired:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/04/its-a-trap/#a-little-on-the-nose

The FTC's job is to protect Americans from businesses that cheat. This is them, doing their job. If the Supreme Court strikes this down, it further delegitimizes the court, and spells out exactly who the GOP works for.

This is part of the long history of antitrust and labor. From its earliest days, antitrust law was "aimed at dollars, not men" – in other words, antitrust law was always designed to smash corporate power in order to protect workers. But over and over again, the courts refused to believe that Congress truly wanted American workers to get legal protection from the wealthy predators who had fastened their mouth-parts on those workers' throats. So over and over – and over and over – Congress passed new antitrust laws that clarified the purpose of antitrust, using words so small that even federal judges could understand them:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

After decades of comatose inaction, Biden's FTC has restored its role as a protector of labor, explicitly tackling competition through a worker protection lens. This week, the Commission blocked the merger of Capri Holdings and Tapestry Inc, a pair of giant conglomerates that have, between them, bought up nearly every "affordable luxury" brand (Versace, Jimmy Choo, Michael Kors, Kate Spade, Coach, Stuart Weitzman, etc).

You may not care about "affordable luxury" handbags, but you should care about the basis on which the FTC blocked this merger. As David Dayen explains for The American Prospect: 33,000 workers employed by these two companies would lose the wage-competition that drives them to pay skilled sales-clerks more to cross the mall floor and switch stores:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-04-24-challenge-fashion-merger-new-antitrust-philosophy/

In other words, the FTC is blocking a $8.5b merger that would turn an oligopoly into a monopoly explicitly to protect workers from the power of bosses to suppress their wages. What's more, the vote was unanimous, include the Commission's freshly appointed (and frankly, pretty terrible) Republican commissioners:

https://www.ftc.gov/news-events/news/press-releases/2024/04/ftc-moves-block-tapestrys-acquisition-capri

A lot of people are (understandably) worried that if Biden doesn't survive the coming election that the raft of excellent rules enacted by his agencies will die along with his presidency. Here we have evidence that the Biden administration's anti-corporate agenda has become institutionalized, acquiring a bipartisan durability.

And while there hasn't been a lot of press about that anti-corporate agenda, it's pretty goddamned huge. Back in 2021, Tim Wu (then working in the White wrote an executive order on competition that identified 72 actions the agencies could take to blunt the power of corporations to harm everyday Americans:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/party-its-1979-og-antitrust-back-baby

Biden's agency heads took that plan and ran with it, demonstrating the revolutionary power of technical administrative competence and proving that being good at your job is praxis:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

In just the past week, there's been a storm of astoundingly good new rules finalized by the agencies:

A minimum staffing ratio for nursing homes;

The founding of the American Climate Corps;

A guarantee of overtime benefits;

A ban on financial advisors cheating retirement savers;

Medical privacy rules that protect out-of-state abortions;

A ban on junk fees in mortgage servicing;

Conservation for 13m Arctic acres in Alaska;

Classifying "forever chemicals" as hazardous substances;

A requirement for federal agencies to buy sustainable products;

Closing the gun-show loophole.

That's just a partial list, and it's only Thursday.

Why the rush? As Gerard Edic writes for The American Prospect, finalizing these rules now protects them from the Congressional Review Act, a gimmick created by Newt Gingrich in 1996 that lets the next Senate wipe out administrative rules created in the months before a federal election:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-04-23-biden-administration-regulations-congressional-review-act/

In other words, this is more dazzling administrative competence from the technically brilliant agencies that have labored quietly and effectively since 2020. Even laggards like Pete Buttigieg have gotten in on the act, despite a very poor showing in the early years of the Biden administration:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/11/dinah-wont-you-blow/#ecp

Despite those unpromising beginnings, the DOT has gotten onboard the trains it regulates, and passed a great rule that forces airlines to refund your money if they charge you for services they don't deliver:

https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/statements-releases/2024/04/24/fact-sheet-biden-harris-administration-announces-rules-to-deliver-automatic-refunds-and-protect-consumers-from-surprise-junk-fees-in-air-travel/

The rule also bans junk fees and forces airlines to compensate you for late flights, finally giving American travelers the same rights their European cousins have enjoyed for two decades.

It's the latest in a string of muscular actions taken by the DOT, a period that coincides with the transfer of Jen Howard from her role as chief of staff to FTC chair Lina Khan to a new gig as the DOT's chief of competition enforcement:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-04-25-transportation-departments-new-path/

Under Howard's stewardship, the DOT blocked the merger of Spirit and Jetblue, and presided over the lowest flight cancellation rate in more than decade:

https://www.transportation.gov/briefing-room/2023-numbers-more-flights-fewer-cancellations-more-consumer-protections

All that, along with a suite of protections for fliers, mark a huge turning point in the US aviation industry's long and worsening abusive relationship with the American public. There's more in the offing, too including a ban on charging families extra for adjacent seats, rules to make flying with wheelchairs easier, and a ban on airlines selling passenger's private information to data brokers.

There's plenty going on in the world – and in the Biden administration – that you have every right to be furious and/or depressed about. But these expert agencies, staffed by experts, have brought on a tsunami of rules that will make every working American better off in a myriad of ways. Those material improvements in our lives will, in turn, free us up to fight the bigger, existential fights for a livable planet, free from genocide.

It may not be a good time to be alive, but it's a much better time than it was just last week.

And it's only Thursday.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/25/capri-v-tapestry/#aiming-at-dollars-not-men

[featherandferns]

daylight - eleven

jj maybank x fem!reader | part 11 of the daylight series | read part 10 here

content warnings: mentions of sex

word count: 1.8k.

blurb: reunited with your best friend from Canada, the two of you talk about Tyler and JJ, and you finally come to a decision.

“Mimsy?” 

When your best friend smiles at you, you wonder if you’re hallucinating. It’s only when she’s flying off the bed, squealing as she tackles you in a hug, that you’re sure she’s here. Here, in Kildare County, North Carolina, instead of Vancouver. As the shock subsides, your arms coil around her before squeezing like a python around prey. 

“Oh my God,” you mumble, nestling your face in her shoulder. She smells like home. Like childhood and make-believe. It makes your eyes water. “Mimsy.”

“Surprise, babes!” she sing-songs into your ear. 

Pulling back, you take her in. “How…When…How?”

“Darren, of course,” Mimsy replies with a cheeky grin. She parts from you and laps your bedroom leisurely, as if she’s as familiar with it as you. “I told him about your wacked out voicemail and he offered to buy me a plane ticket. All I had to do was let him put it up my butt.”

“Mimsy!” you screech. 

She turns to you, shrugging. “What? I wanted him to.”

Shaking your head, you begin to laugh. It’s easy to forget how much you miss someone until you have them back. Having Mimsy in your company again felt like how a child might when they rediscover their favourite teddy bear that had been missing for months. The Pogues had been great friends to you since moving to Kildare, but like a substituted cuddly toy, nobody had come close to matching Mimsy, let alone replacing her. Having her back felt like coming up for air after hours underwater. 

“So is Darren here too?” you ask. 

“Nah,” she says. “Left him in Vancouver.”

“Well, how long are you here for?”

“Just a week. I’m thinking that’ll be long enough to set you back on your path. Bestow some wisdom on you and all that,” Mimsy says. She makes her way back over to you. “I took your voicemail as an S.O.S type situation.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, ditching your bag. “I think I screwed things up pretty wonderfully.”

“Men are simple. He’ll come crawling back,” Mimsy assures, but you’re not so convinced.

Wandering over to your pinboard, your eyes land on JJ’s beaming face. “I don’t know,” you mumble. “I don’t think JJ’s like that.”

Mimsy hums thoughtfully. She joins you by your side, presumably following your gaze. “He’s cute.”

“I know,” you chuckle. 

“He a good kisser?” Shoving her shoulder jokingly, Mimsy lets out a laugh. “What!? I’m just asking the important questions here.”

Shaking your head, you head to your bedroom door. “Wanna go check out the area? It feels wrong wasting a good day cooped up in here.”

“Sure thing,” Mimsy easily agrees.

She follows you down the stairs and into your car, and chatters the entire drive to the harbour about all the gossip and drama you’d missed in Vancouver. It felt like a series recap that came at the start of ‘a very special’ episode. It also worked well as a distraction from thoughts about JJ. That boy had crossed through your mind so much recently, you wondered whether your brainwaves might be permanently altered. 

Your tour of Kildare starts with Heywards and the Wreck before venturing towards the stretches of beach. Once Mimsy has gawked at the surfer bros for about fifteen minutes, you manage to drag her to the marsh-land area. Point out some fishing spots that JJ had introduced you to. Provide vague directions to the Pogue’s houses. After a brief lap of Figure Eight, the two of you swing by a taco bell before pulling into a look over. 

“So,” Mimsy says as she chews a churro. “What the fuck happened?”

“With JJ?” you check. She nods. Your eyes drift over to the view. Green-leaved trees form rivers, and concrete roads and housing estates become the stones of the estuary that was Kildare County. “We got in this dumb fight when I was at his to watch a movie. After that incident a while back, I still haven’t let him go down on me or anything, and he got all confrontational about it. Took it personal and stuff and…I bolted.”

“The incident being the thing about your hoo-ha?” Mimsy checks. You visibly cringe. 

“Please, do not call it that,” you mumble. 

“If you get to wear a shirt about fishing, I get to call your vaj whatever I so please,” Mimsy shrugs. She offers you a churro after as if she didn’t just say the most heinous thing you’ve ever had uttered in your car. You accept. “But is it?”

“Mhm. I’m just scared that it’ll happen again,” you say. “It was embarrassing.”

“For like a minute,” Mimsy says. “But didn’t you say JJ was really chill with it.”

“The first time, yeah. But what if it’s a recurring thing? He’s gonna start thinking it’s because of him,” you explain, calming your worry with a chocolate-drenched doughnut stick. 

“And you’re sure it isn’t?”

“No!”

“Alright!”

Sighing, you shake your head. “Sorry. I’m just…I think it’s Tyler.”

“This again?” Mimsy's tone isn’t angry; it's more concerned. “Babes, when are you going to let that whole thing be in the past?”

“I think I’m starting to,” you assure. “Maybe I didn’t deal with it when it actually happened but I had this conversation the other day and sort of...ended up burning all of his old stuff.”

Mimsy quirks a brow, squinting with just the one eye. “Bit melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“Shut up. It helped,” you reply, smiling smally. It fades away like the setting sun. “I think the whole thing has just made me nervous.”

“In what way, babes? Like you can’t trust another guy again?” Mimsy wonders. 

You chew the inside of your cheek in thought, brows furrowing, and something dawns upon you.

“I don’t think it’s that I don’t trust others. I think it’s more that I don’t trust myself. I mean, I stayed around with Tyler for so long, even when I knew I shouldn’t. Even when everyone was telling me it was bad news. That it wasn’t normal to feel the way I was feeling in a relationship. I just let him bleed me dry, and went to all that effort to try and win his attention and his affection, just for it to all mean nothing. I don’t know,” you sigh, breaking away from your rant. “I guess I just don’t trust my judgement anymore. JJ’s fine now but so was Tyler, when I first met him.”

“Okay, not true,” Mimsy quickly disagrees. Your head darts up from your twiddling fingers. “Tyler was a prick from the start, you just didn’t want to see it.”

“As delicate as a sledgehammer, Mimsy,” you mutter. 

“Second,” she continues. “From the things you’ve told me about JJ: he’s nothing like Tyler.”

That was true. With Tyler, you begged to receive compliments and even then, they were few and far between. But JJ was generous with them. Casually commented on your outfits, or your photos, or yourself. Tyler seemingly needed alcohol to remember that you existed whereas JJ came to you sober, drunk or high. Whilst your ex teased you for your fears and hopes, JJ listened and understood. Knew just how far to push the line of joking without becoming mean. 

“Can I tell you a story?” Mimsy asks. It brings you from your mental comparison. Crossing your legs in your seat and pinching another churro, you nod. 

“Sure.”

“Okay, well, it’s not exactly a story but I think it applies to this situation,” Mimsy self-corrects. “You know that show BoJack that I watch?”

“Yeah?” you wonder, unsure as to where she might be going. 

“There’s this character, Wanda, who dates BoJack for a while. At first things are perfect. Sunshine, rainbows, that whole pile of crap. But after a while, his true colours show and she can’t keep moulding him into the guy she can see he could be. Eventually it all falls apart and she says something that I think encapsulates you with Tyler beautifully. She says, ‘it’s funny: when you look at someone through rose-coloured glasses, all the red flags, just look like flags’.”

The two of you sit in the quote for a moment, eyes locked. Mimsy starts to smile, sympathetic and sweet. 

“I don’t think you’re gonna make the same mistake you did with Tyler ‘cause he ripped those glasses right off you. I think you’ve learnt your lesson once and once was enough.”

Pursing your lips, you try to keep the brimming emotions at bay. It feels like lately all it takes is a pin to prick you and you begin to cry. 

“I think it’s hard 'cause I never got the closure that I wanted. Tyler never explained why or helped leave things amicable. Or apologise, even.: not properly”

Mimsy scoffs almost sadly. “Would you have even wanted him to, though? He was a fucking pro at saying sorry.”

“Mm, that’s true,” you muse. “Maybe it would have made me feel good for a minute, in the moment, but after…”

“Yeah,” Mimsy quietly agrees, somehow hearing your unspoken words. She picks out another churro whilst you pick yours apart. “I don’t think closure’s a real thing, though. Sometimes it is, sure, if you’re really lucky, but most things aren’t like the movies. You don’t get this picture-perfect coffee-date to clear the air and stuff. Most of the time, people just leave. Like my dad. I don’t even remember what the last thing I ever said to him was, and then he was gone for good. I guess not having closure at all is sometimes closure enough, if that makes sense.”

Her words make you take pause. Half-amused, half-smiling, you take in your wonderful best friend. “When the fuck did you get so wise?”

“Oh, after you left,” Mimsy jokingly replies. “I had to read some self-help books to get me through it.”

Snorting, you toss a piece of churro at her. Her advice melts into that of Barry’s, and the cathartic bonfire from the other night serves as a catalyst for your decision making. Maybe everybody’s right. Maybe it’s time for you to remember that all people are different people, and one man’s careless actions don’t emulate anothers. JJ can’t read your mind. He can’t understand the layers of emotion and history behind one small action, and he can’t decipher what you want through your wordless actions. You need to talk to him. You’ve kept your cards close to your chest for long enough. 

“Alright, enough about me,” you say, popping a piece of churro into your mouth. Your grin brightens up the car, lightening the mood. “Tell me about Darren.”

“Oh, baby, I thought you’d never ask,” Mimsy giggles, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “So it all started at this house party…”

And just like that, you listen happily to Mimsy's rambling and allow yourself to enjoy life that tiny bit more once again, with a bookmarked thought to talk to JJ sooner rather than later.

read part twelve here!

taglist:

@princessuki21 | @psyches-reid | @heybank | @avengersgirllorianna | @rrosiitas | @yourmumstoy | @jjsfavgirl | @void21 | @fictionalcomforts | @gsp420 | @redhead1180 | @wearemadeofstardust0 | @mrs-jjmaybank | @ifilwtmfc | @heybank | @lilyw1235 | @belle101200 | @maybankskiss | @lillell467 | @belle101200 | @charchartumb-lr | @bootyjiggler | @dreamingofyeo | please tell me if any tags aren't working - I've never done taglists before!

[sunlightmurdock]

Can you do a cozy blurb with rhett abbott

-ˏˋ. actions / scenarios ˊˎ-

⋆ going to a carnival / fair

the fair | Rhett Abbott

warnings: none!

Rhett is actually the one to first suggest a trip to the county fair. It’s half to do with the slight guilt he feels about not being able to take you out more — money’s tight sometimes, and he’s often just so exhausted from work. But, the other half of his desire to take you out comes from the nostalgia of those places.

He’s holding back a grin like a little kid, his fingers laced through yours as he leads the way across the green-grass field. Ahead of you are stretches of neon string lights and whirling fairground rides, sounds of cheering and laughing.

Maybe it’s the noise that he likes best. It’s always so quiet out at the ranch, silence for miles and miles. It makes you learn to listen, learn to jump and get tense at the slightest sound.

There’s no chance of that way out here. The sounds all blend together, a happy kind of hum that makes him feel just a little more peaceful.

All of that combined with you, who seems to live to get under his skin in the best way, and still somehow manages to make him feel more settled than anyone in the world ever has.

Crisp leaves under your feet, the chill of the Wyoming winter creeping in through the end of autumn catching at your knuckles. One of Rhett’s old Carhartt jackets sits around your shoulders, a proud proclamation to the entirety of Wabang of exactly who you’re here with.

He’s leading the way confidently, brunette curls tucked under one of his trucker caps, boots crunching across the grass and brush. Wabang County Fair hosts an array of vendors every year, a lot of them local.

Homemade hard ciders from the Marsh family farm. Chilli from the pastor and his wife. Fresh, buttered popcorn sold by the elementary school teacher who had expelled Rhett as a kid.

She greets him with wide, cautious eyes and a stern hello. He grins as you giggle into his side.

He tells you their stories with an arm around your shoulder and his lips brushing at your earlobe. The chill in the air has you cuddling closer, but you’re far from looking for an excuse to do that.

You’ve got one eye on the spinning ferris wheel, too, watching the little pods glowing like stars in the darkening sky. Each one filled with smiling families or budding couples, whispering friends.

You bet that Rhett knows their stories too, and you know that he likes being the one not on the receiving end of the gossip for once.

After a scenic tour of each of the booths on the ground, Rhett catches sight of that spark in your eye as you look up at the moving ride. Squeezing you closer to him, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek as he turns and heads for it, with you in tow.

He’s got every intention of behaving on that ferris wheel, too. Sitting on the bench opposite you and taking in the view. You can see for miles up there, right across the stretching mountain ranges to the north. Grass and greenery for miles, the last of it before the season gets real grey and cold.

The ground below looks even more technicolour from way up here, glowing below you, abuzz with excited patrons.

Rhett’s got every intention of being a perfect gentleman on this date. Hell, he’s even planning on walking you to your door later and bidding you goodbye with a kiss on the cheek.

It’s just that right as your carriage reaches the very peak of the wheel, the whole thing comes to an abrupt stop. He can see the cold nipping at your skin, the slight shiver that wracks your body — the air’s just a little bit colder up here.

“It’s warmer over here, you know.” He tells you with a tip of his chin, his knees spreading just an inch further apart as his back settles against the bench behind him.

[konaiiro]

AU if Ian is in the military and Mickey is inevitably waiting for him. 

Started as a sketch then i got carried away. For A.U.gust (Hosted by @gallavichthings). Some accompanying drabble bc I fell in love when drawing them:

The last time Ian Gallagher was back home, he was doing time at Cook County for breaking parole. Only for a couple months, but Micky had missed the man by a week when he had left for another tour. A failed drug test had just costed him more than he was ready to pay. Ian had come to visit him anyways, wore his camouflage gear with badges and all; the security guards always loved a man in uniform. Still, it hadn’t been the same through the glass. So close he could see Ian’s chest rise and fall, his dimples sliding on to his face with amusement as Mickey had ranted on about his cellmate - so close to touch but all he could do was pretend until the fifteen minutes were up. 

This time, Ian hadn’t even told him he was in town - only finding out when he opened his front door with a beer in hand with a singlet and boxers on. “Hey, Mick.”

He knew his face must’ve looked stupid because Ian cracked up before going in for a hug. Micky let him, not giving a shit about his family inside and folded his own arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. He had never gotten changed so quickly, desperate to get Ian to himself, as the man lounged on his bed and pretended he wasn’t watching Mickey by fiddling around with the decade-old kunai knifes. They stopped for booze and a pack of smokes on the way. After a quick makeout against the alley wall, the two of them continued on, pushing and shoving to give each other a reason to touch. It didn’t really matter where they went, as long as it was just them where Mikey could do more than take glances at Ian’s army issued cargos. He looked good - ginger hair shaved on the sides, his shirt fit snug, skin tanned as much his pale Irish genes let it. There was the scar too - a slash across his cheek that won’t fade completely. Ian hadn’t mentioned it, so he wouldn’t either. 

They dumped their haul on a secluded bench and drank a disgusting whiskey-and-orange juice combo. Ian said it was good enough, but Mickey blamed that on the moonshine shit that he must’ve usually had on hand in the middle of trying not to get shot. They didn’t talk about his tours, in the same way they didn’t talk about court mandates or prison or deals gone wrong. The closest was if there was a stupid story to get a laugh out of each other. No point in talking about all the fucked-up stuff in their lives - they’ve only got until Ian has to leave again. The two of them drank some more, smoked a bit, kissed, jerked each other off until Ian turned around, placing the barely alive joint into Mickey’s mouth before bending him over the bench. They had a lot to catch up on. 

Before this last tour, Micky had been in prison. Two tours ago, they had first held each other in Ian’s childhood bedroom, knuckles split and bodies bruised from the brawl with Terry. He tried not to think about how his life was now segmented into pieces by the brief lapses of Gallagher being back in town - even if it was true. Micky thought about the inevitable homecoming party for Ian at the Alibi tonight and tried not to think about how two weeks was not a long time at all. 

[medusapelagia]

06 The celebratory tour

written for @steddieangstyaugust (prompt: Who did this?" ) and @augustwritingchallenge (Prompt: reality show) Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve/Eddie TW: violence, hospital, blood and injuries, dark Eddie Munson, homophobia Words: 1605

When Eddie decided to agree to his manager's proposition and film a reality show about his life he was way too naive.

Steve tried to talk him out of that idea, but Corroded Coffin hadn't released a new album in five years and they were ready to publish a celebratory album with a couple of new songs and the reality show seemed like the perfect way of rekindle their fans' enthusiasm by giving them a glimpse of their lives.

What Eddie hadn't taken into account was that if Gareth and Jeff had lovely families, two children each and a wonderful wife, Eddie's and Freak's relationship status was… different.

Freak was always looking for the right woman, changing girlfriends like they were clothes, and that wasn't exactly a good look. Many feminist reporters criticized Freak's attitude toward women, but that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was that Eddie was in a lovely and fulfilled relationship with another man. And if many of their longtime fans already suspected that the famous Steve, who was always helping backstage, was something more than a good friend, having their relationship filmed and broadcast at eight o'clock in the evening was a huge disaster.

Numerous homophobic parents sent complaining letters to the producer for showing in prime time something disgusting as a homoerotic relationship between two men, and Steve's job as a middle school teacher was deeply affected by the media frenzy.

His principal was very sorry when he told him that he must let him go because numerous parents were worried about having a homosexual teacher in their kids' classroom even if Steve was the most loved teacher in the entire school.

And to make things even worse, Steve never complained. Not to the principal, not to Eddie. He just shrugged and closed himself in his room for the night and came back with a fake bright smile the next day, ready to shoot the second season.

"I'm not ashamed of who I am, and I'm not ashamed of you," Steve told Eddie, while one of the numerous cameras hidden in their home recorded the exchange, "And I won't let anyone let me feel bad about loving someone so deeply as I love you."

That exchange became the most famous clip of their entire reality show series. It was posted on every social media, causing a huge fight between queer rights fighters and homophobes.

T-shirts with the sentence, 'I'm not ashamed of who I am, and I'm not ashamed of you' started to appear at every pride in the County, and some people even tattooed that phrase on their bodies.

Eddie and Steve did their best to avoid the mediatic circus around their relationship, and while Gareth tried his best to move the attention's spot toward himself and his newborn kid, the third and finally a girl for his wife's happiness, but somehow in every talk show sooner or later someone started to talk about them and their relationship, and the circus starts again, and again, in an infinite circle.

Thank god in a couple of days Eddie is going to start the celebratory tour with the Corroded Coffin, and Steve is going to take a deserved holiday with Robin to relax a bit.

Eddie is in the kitchen, stirring the secret sauce Steve's granny taught him, when he hears the door creaking open. Turning his head toward the clock he realized that’s pretty soon, Steve went on his daily run just fifteen minutes ago.

"Did it start to rain?" Eddie asks from the kitchen, stirring his sauce to make sure it won't explode, and stain the entire kitchen with tomato sauce, but Steve doesn't reply.

"Sweetheart?" He tries again, looking out of the window, but even if it's cloudy the streets are dry.

"Steve?" Eddie calls a third time, anxiety crawling up his skin.

Their room's door slams close and Eddie turns off the gas, not caring if it will compromise his sauce, and walks toward their room, knocking softly on the wood.

"Hey Steve, are you ok? I thought you were going for your run."

"Can you leave me the fuck alone for once?!"

Eddie freezes. Steve never yelled at him in a twenty-year-long relationship. Something is wrong. Something is deeply wrong.

"I’m coming in, ok?"

"Don't!"

"I just want to talk and I can't talk with you behind a door, can I?"

There's a long moment of silence before Steve moves toward the door, unlocking it, "Just... don't freak out, ok?"

That sounds even worse, now Eddie is definitely panicking, but he does his best not to slam the door open and rush inside. The room is dark and the only light comes from their ensuite bathroom, where some balls of cotton stained with blood are resting on the counter.

"What happened?" Eddie asks, stepping closer to Steve slowly, not to startle him.

"Nothing."

"Steve..." Eddie calls his name softly, making him turn towards him and he sees it: a big cut on Steve's eyebrow is gushing blood, his right eye is a dark purple and is getting swollen by the moment.

"Who did this?" Eddie asks, grabbing Steve's chin to turn his face and taking in all his injuries.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not fine. Someone punched you in the face and we're going to the ER right now, but I want to know who did it!"

"I'm good. I don't need to go to the ER." Steve replies, tapping some cotton with antiseptic on the cut on his eyebrow.

"Sweetheart, that cut needs stitches, at least three, and you have a history of concussions so I'm not going to take any risk. Now, you can get into the car and let me drive you to the hospital, or you can put up a fight and make me call an ambulance. What's going to be?"

Steve glares at him with the only eye he can keep open and begrudgingly follows him toward the garage.

If there's something that having four, now five, nieces and nephews has taught Eddie is that the secret is to remain calm while comforting the injured part, so he gently pats Steve's knees, reassuring him that they will be out of the hospital in no time with some cool stitches.

"Do you want me to call Robin?"

"No. She'll panic."

"She'll panic anyway. Don't you think it would be better if we call her so she can see you and assess the damages?"

"I'm not an object." Steve snarls back, his face turned toward the window.

"Wanna tell me what happened?"

"Got into a fight."

"With who?"

"People."

"People? More than one person?" Eddie yelps.

"It's fine. I'm fine. I'll get my stitches and everything will be ok."

Eddie nods, parking the car as close to the hospital as he can, and getting to the ER. When the woman at the counter recognizes him he's not ashamed of using his fame to help Steve see a doctor faster without him knowing it.

When the nurse guides Steve on the other side of the sliding doors Eddie calls Robin, telling her what happened and asking her to join them as soon as she can.

He's still wondering what happened when Gareth sends him a WhatsApp, "Is Steve ok?"

Eddie frowns, wondering how he knows it, but his questions are quickly answered with his second message, a link to a blurry video of three men surrounding Steve and hitting him, screaming slurs against him.

One of the men yells that he's disgusted the school let a faggot like him teach to his kid, while he kicks him in the stomach.

Eddie immediately hides the phone when he sees that Steve is getting out. A mild concussion, three stitches, and two cracked ribs whose only cure is a lot of rest and some painkillers.

When Robin joins them, Eddie asks her to drive Steve home, while he goes to grab his medicines.

Steve stares at him as if he knew that Eddie is hiding something, but he's high on painkillers so he doesn't complain too much when Robin gently grabs his arm and drags him toward his car, while Eddie quickly grabs Steve's meds and calls Dustin.

"Can you find me an address?"

"Eddie, it's a crime and…"

"Someone assaulted Steve when he was on his run. I think one of them is the father of one of his kids."

"Oh my god, is he ok?"

"The address, Dustin."

"Fuck. Ok. Tell me what you know."

***

Before becoming famous Eddie had lived in the trailer park with his uncle for years, and even if he never really got into trouble, he definitely learned a thing or two about threatening people and handling weapons.

He makes sure the man is home alone before breaking in from the window and pushing him against the wall, a switchblade at his neck.

"Listen to me carefully. If you or any one of your friends put a hand on my husband again, I'll make sure that's the last thing you'll ever do."

"You can't do that. I'll report you and…"

"And what? Will you admit that you assaulted an unarmed man who was running down the street? And what would your friends think of you if they knew a fucking faggot got you against the wall and threaten you?" he hisses slowly, pressing his blade just enough to make him bleed a little.

The man stares at him with wide eyes, sweating profusely.

Eddie kicks him the balls for good measure, before leaving from the window to get back to his husband.

The celebration tour will have to wait.

[stvolanis]

Don’t Wanna Grow Up.

( one shot )

PAIRINGS: Rockstar! OC X Mean! Jim Hopper

WARNINGS: guys Hopper is really mean in this, small plot, OC is in a band (corroded coffin), she’s Eddie’s best friend/step-sister, age gap (OC is 19 and hops in his 40s), dubcon, drinking, usual rockstar things, OC is also kinda an asshole,nice jim at the end, hop being a cop (that rhymed lol)

NSFW INCLUDES: anal play, degradation (slut, brat, bitch), spitting, (hard) slapping, hair pulling, breeding kink, breath play, power play, size kink, manhandling, choking, oral (m receiving), praising (if you squint), heavy sir kink, humiliation, public sex (parking lot), p in v sex, overstimulation, cum eating, SORRY IF I MISSED ANYTHING<3

Istg I got horny while writing this so I hope y’all enjoy !!<3

please lmk if you guys are interested in a part 2!!

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

the night was lively and booming in the small town of Hawkins, Indiana. It was a big contrast to the usual boring nights that the locals were used to, and it was surely a huge difference for on-duty chief of police, Jim Hopper.

Rowdy teens were one thing, but full grown adults plus teenagers being loud and obnoxious was not how hopper wanted to spend his night. Of course the big commotion would only mean one thing, lots of paperwork and phone calls.

It was a Tuesday night. A school night. A work night, even. What could have possibly caused all this up roar in the town? This much disruption and constant noise complaint phone calls from a small, quiet and local bar were unusual. But, nonetheless, the chief loaded up in his cruiser and made quick work of heading to the busy bar.

Jim could hear the faint blaring music from down the road, much to his dismay. As he pulled in and got out of his car, slamming the door shut, he quickly took notice of the locals stumbling out of the bar drunkenly, hollering only god knows what as he watched one fall into a bush. It was gonna be a long night.

Hopper walked into the noisy bar and was instantly met with the smell of strong alcohol and must coming from the sweaty bodies dancing around in the crowd. Unfortunately, he could also smell the lingering remanence of throw up, cause his face to crinkle up in disgust. Suddenly, the bright stage that was flashing every color under the sun caught his attention.

Of course she would be what was causing all of this nonsense.

Blood red hair sticking up in all kinds of directions bounced up and down while singing wildly. One of her dainty, fishnet covered hands in the air as her other held a microphone. The deep red lipstick she was wearing was slightly smeared, as was her eyeliner and mascara. Her honey brown eyes peering over the crowd with a wicked smile dancing on her lips at the mess she’s stirred. The lead singer of Corroded Coffin, Cherrie.

A Highschool drop-out who was on the upcoming charts with her band, soon to be leaving the small town to start touring across America for a hefty price. A delinquent since she became friends with the Munson boy, who she’d met in the 5th grade after she stabbed him in the thigh with her pink pencil.

Cherrie was a force to be reckoned with, and Hop can’t even count on his fingers anymore how many times she’d spent the night in the county jail either high out of her mind or drunk on gin. She’d spent her whole life in and out of the system, till Eddie Munsons uncle, Wayne, decided he’d take her in. Her love for music started when she’d stumbled across Eddie’s massive music collection. Once Eddie got his guitar and she had a microphone in her hand, the rest was history.

The band started off as something they did for fun with their friends, but then it turned into something they couldn’t even imagine. Once their producer released their first album, it went flying off the shelves after about a lingering week of nothing. Before they knew it, they were ushered to go on tour in 2 weeks times. Cherrie always felt she was destined for more than the small town had to offer, but she could never quite place it till now. She had wanted an escape for as long as she can remember, and now that she finally had one, she wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon.

The small town she lived in seen the worst in her, even the ones who were much worse than her. The difference between them was that she wasn’t afraid to show it. She didn’t need to put up a facade for people, because they’d always just see her as the burnt out Highschool drop out. But when she was on stage, it was like she was on top of the world. For once, the people who’d whisper terrible things about her and spread ugly rumors were looking up at her and cheering their hearts out. It was a nice change. It was a euphoric feeling.

Cherrie was no stranger when it came to the male gaze, as she’d dealt with it since she was only about 14. It’s always made her uncomfortable, for sure, but after a while she’d learned how to use it to her advantage. So it was no surprise when she’d tried attempt to seduce Jim Hopper a few months prior when he’d threaten to lock her up for good. She’d ended up spending the night in a jail cell. Ever since then, Jim’s felt uneasy around the ball of fire. Almost afraid she’d pounce at any moment on him.

But right now, it was almost as if he was in a trance as he watched her body move enchantingly. The lighting made her deep olive skin appear more vibrant, and hopper could see the sweat dripping down her chest and into her open cleavage. She wore a tight strapless corset that was laced and a small mini skirt that was so short, he was sure if she turned around he’d be able to see her ass. The fishnets that adorned her arms and legs had skulls embroidered onto them, but hopper could still see her colorful Paul Stanley star-man tattoo on the side of her thigh.

The choker she wore had protruding spikes on it and the chains she wore along with it complimented her slim neck. Hopper instinctively locked his dry lips as he stared at her for a moment longer before their eyes connected, and he felt the hairs on his arm stand up and his back straighten.

Cherrie watched Hopper walked to the side of the stage with furrowed eyebrows as he unplugged Eddie’s amp and the strobe lights, effectively making everyone let out noises of confusion and annoyance. Cherrie rolled her eyes and groaned as she dropped the mic onto the ground angrily before hopping off of the stage, pushing her way through the crowd to get to Jim. Eddie was hot on her tail, trying to calm down the fire he could’ve swore he saw in her eyes begin to spark, but he was soon lost in the crowd as he called out to her.

“What the fuck are you doing, shithead?!” Cherrie yelled out as she stood in front of Jim. “Doin’ my job, Cherrie. But you always gotta make it harder f’me, huh?” He huffed out with annoyance as he pushed past her towards the crowd of rowdy people.

“Everyone out! Right now, unless you’d like to spend the night with me at the station.” He yelled to the crowd, who quickly dispersed. Many sending Hopper ugly glances, but he was too over everything to care. “No, this is my scene, why’d you have to come fuck it up?!” She said with a groan as she stood chest to chest with him, though she was much smaller than him.

“Noise complaints, from multiple people.” He replied dryly. “Why can’t you just stay out of trouble for 2 fuckin’ minutes, is it that hard?” He added with a scoff. Cherrie didn’t process what happened as she felt her fist connect with his cheek, wincing as she rubbed her knuckles before slowly looking back up at an angry chief.

“Shit—Wait—” she muttered as she tried backing away from him, but Hop wasn’t having it. He harshly gripped her upper arm before slamming her front into the wall. “Cmon, yknow I didn’t mean to.” She said as she tried to wiggle free from his tight hold. “Shut up, brat.” He replied through clenched teeth as he snapped his cuffs onto her wrists.

“Ow!” She shouted as the cuffs tightened around her wrists painfully. Hop ignored her please as he dragged her out of the now almost empty bar. Eddie was by his van as he watched Cherrie get taken out in handcuffs with a shake of his head and a frown. “M’ sorry, Eds!” She shouted to him across the parking lot with a shrug of her shoulders. Eddie sighed as their band loaded up their belongings into his car.

Hopper pushed her forward towards the car. “We ain’t stoppin’ for chit-chat.” He grumbled under his breath. Cherrie merely rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Asshole.” She muttered under her breath. Hopper gripped her wrists in the cuffs tighter and he watched as she winced in pain. “What was that? Hm?” He muttered lowly in her ear.

She could feel his warm breath against the shell of her ear, and that’s all it took for her body to feel like it’s on fire. His grip on her wrists and the way she could feel his crotch area brush against her ass as they walked to the car from how close they are had her body on edge. She bit her lip as he opened the backseat door for her before roughly shoving her in and slamming the door shut.

Hopper got in his seat and fumbled with his keys with a huff before starting his cruiser. “Yknow you’re kinda hot when you’re mad to me, chief.” Cherrie giggled as she batted her lashes. Hopper eyed her through the rearview mirror, his eyes briefly trailing down to her open cleavage that was now free of sweat before rolling his eyes and adjusting the mirror to see better behind him, but really it’s just so his boner wouldn’t further harden from the sight of her in cuffs in his back seat.

Cherrie giggled lightly as she made herself comfortable in the backseat as Jim began driving to the police station. And then an idea hit her. “Yknow, I always thought you were a pretty shitty cop.” She said aloud as she looked out the window with a smirk. “Excuse me?” Hopper said, taken slightly aback.

“You heard me. I don’t even know you you became chief—I mean, aren’t you always drinking on the job? Yet you wanna make me seem like I’m the worst person ever.” She scoffed out with an eye roll. Hopper slammed on the breaks, making Cherrie hurl forward, hitting the head rest with a loud ‘thud’.

“Shit—what the fuck, Hop?!” She yelled out with furrowed brows. Jim’s breathing was erratic and hit fists were white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. “Yeah? You think I’m a shitty cop? Alright, y’little bitch.” He muttered with a dark chuckle as he drove into an empty parking lot that was some what hidden behind trees.

“What’re you doin? you aren’t gonna kill me are you?” Cherrie giggled, feigning fear. Hopper didn’t respond as he parked the car and swung his door open, quickly opening Cherries too. “Hey—” she started, but was cut off when hopper gripped her upper arm tightly, yanking her out of her seat and onto the ground. Cherrie sat on her knees in front of the cop, looking up at him through her thick lashes.

“Y’gonna hurt me, Hop?” She challenged with raised brows and a taunting smirk. Hoppers hand harshly made contact with the side of her cheek, roughly slapping her, making her head spin to the side as a stinging pain overtook her cheek. Cherrie whimpered lightly, making Hopper chuckle. “Thought this was what you wanted, brat.” He said tauntingly as he gripped her hair, making her look up at him.

“Now here’s what’s gonna happen—” he started . “Y’gonna suck my cock like a good girl n then I’m gonna fuck that tight little cunt until I’m through with you, n maybe your ass if I feel like it. You’ve been a little bitch all night so don’t expect to fucking cum, y’hear me?” He stated as he peered down at her. Cherrie felt her pussy begin to ache with need, but this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She wasn’t supposed to actually want him the way she does now.

Cherrie nodded and Hopper slapped her once again, but on her other cheek. “Words, slut.” He spit out. Cherrie moaned at the slap, making hopper chuckle. “Yes, sir.” She muttered as she bit down on her lip. Jim groaned at the name. “Good girl.” He praised as he began to unzip his pants, letting them fall to his knees.

Cherrie could see his large bulge and a small wet patch where his tip is that’s seeping through. “M’gonna teach you how to suck cock properly, little girl.” He said as he let his hard cock spring free, long and so thick. A vein ran along the underside of it and Cherries mouth watered at the sight, but she wasn’t gonna let up so easily. “S’ not gonna fit in my mouth. Don’t want it to.” She said.

“I don’t give a fuck, you act like a brat n’ you get treated like one.” He said as he slapped his cock against the side of her cheek with a smirk. He soon forced Cherries mouth open with his thumb and shoved his throbbing member down her throat without warning, making her gag aloud. Cherrie could feel her eyes watering as his cock hit the back of her throat with no mercy. It was getting hard to breathe, and it didn’t help when the mean man above her pinched her nose shut as he held his cock in the back of her throat with a loud groan.

After a few seconds he let her nose go and she released his throbbing dick, gasping for air, hee chest heaving. “Please—” she begged through breaths of air. Jim quickly shoved his cock back down her throat that was now becoming unbearably sore, along with her jaw. She moaned around his cock as she began to grind her sopping cunt against the chiefs freshly polished boots.

Hopper felt his end coming near at the sight it. “Look at you— h-humping my boot l-l-like a bitch in heat.” He moaned at through clenched teeth as he watched her mascara and eyeliner run down her cheeks from her tears that he caused. The way she feverishly humped against his boot harder after his comment made him cum down her throat with a groan and a string of ‘fuckkk, just like that’ and ‘so fuckin good’.

Cherries senses were overwhelmed as she tasted him down her throat and on her tongue. Salty, but not bitter. Hopper slightly pulled out and released the rest of his cum on her tongue that was hanging outside of her mouth with a satisfied moan. Cherrie made quick work of swallowing his generous load. “Whaddya say, baby?” He mocked.

“Thank you for your cum, sir.” Cherrie said as she gripped at his leg, her panty covered pussy still dripping on his boot. “Needy little girl, aren’t you, Cherrie?” He asked as he clicked his tongue. She nodded and muttered a small ‘yes, sir’ as he surprisingly, gently pulled her up from the ground. Hopper gripped Cherries throat and pulled her face close to his, just enough to where their lips were brushing against each other.

“‘M gonna fuck you so good.” He muttered, and Cherrie groaned as he lips finally crashed with his. The kiss was messy and heated, and their teeth clashed together as did their tongues. They fought for dominance, but Jim over powered her as his tongue danced with hers. “Fuckkk, y’taste so good.” He groaned against her as his grip on her slim throat tighten just above her spiked choker that he adored so much on her.

He opened her mouth before spitting into it, his boner growing larger as he watched her swallow it obediently. It was just something about making her go from a bratty, loud, rude and arrogant little girl to a submissive, hot mess with not much to say now that made Jim Hopper go absolutely fucking feral. The need to be inside of her hurled into his senses as he dragged her to the front of his cruiser, bending her over the hood.

Jim got down onto his knees, now eye level with her wet, fishnet covered baby pink panties with lace on the trim of it. “So cute, baby.” He muttered as he kissed the flesh of her ass before gripping both cheeks in his large hands. He pressed his nose into her panties and inhaled her scent deeply, his dick throbbing at the smell of her arousal. Cherrie whimpered as his nose brushed against her aching clit as she tried to wiggle her pussy even closer to his face.

Hopper chuckled at his needy girl and licked a long stripe over her panties. Cherrie let out a pornographic moan as he sucked her panty covered clit into his mouth. “Please, sir, ‘m sorry for bein’ a bad girl, need you so bad. promise I’ll be good.” She whined out as her eyes began to water again.

“Since you asked so nicely f’me, whore.” He said as though he were pondering it. He stood up and easily towered over the small girl bent over the hood of his car as he ripped her fishnets big enough to wear he could push her panties to the side. He groaned as he watched her slick drip out of her pussy and down her thighs. “Hop, my fishnets..” she muttered breathlessly.

“I’ll buy you new fishnets, baby, whatever you want.” He muttered as leaned over and kissed her shoulder. He slapped her ass, once, twice, just to watch it jiggle against the impact before spreading her ass once again to get a better view of her pussy. “So wet..” he murmured to himself as he slapped her gently slapped her cunt, making her let out a soft groan.

Hopper aligned his massive cock to her entrance and pushed in forcefully before pausing for a moment to get the smaller girl used to his size. Her cunt squeezed around him in a vice grip, almost painfully as he hissed. Cherrie moaned as she felt him fill her small cunt to the brim, kissing her cervix. She could feel him throbbing inside of her, begging to move.

“Please, sir—” she started, and Jim wasted no time in pulling out just to slam back into her again, causing Cherrie to let out a gasp. Hopper began pounding into the red haired girl, one of his hands gripping her wrists that were still in handcuffs while the other harshly smacked her ass hard enough to leave a deep red hand print, making Cherries eyes water.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she moaned out loud ‘uhs’ each time he slammed back into her. As his pace began to gradually increase, the sweaty sound of skin slapping together could be heard throughout the parking lot and Jim felt like he was on cloud 9. Her cunt was so warm and tight. Almost as if she were a virgin.

Hop imagined her stomach swollen and her breasts enlarged and swollen with milk. How she’d become domesticated and obedient, much to his pleasure. He imagined her whimpers and moans as he’d fondle her nipples and squeezed the bundle of nerves just to watch the milk come out of them.

His hips slammed into hers harder and faster, taking Cherries breath away as her moans were uncontrollable and throat sore. Her mind was blank and all she could think about was the way he was filling her up. “Like the way I fuck you, hm? Stuffin’ this little pussy just the way you like.” The older man said as he threw his head back with a loud moan.

God, she loved how vocal he was. It made her pussy clench around him as she felt her orgasm approaching. “Sir—‘m gonna cum, gonna cum, oh my god—” she moaned out, her voice a higher pitch as she whined at the stimulation. Hopper sounded almost animalistic as he let out a what sounded close to a growl. “I told you you’re not gonna fuckin’ cum, you hear me?” He said through pants. Cherrie could tell he was being serious, but she just couldn’t hold it.

“please, ‘m sorry, sorry, I c—ca—can’t hold it.” She gasped out as her mouth formed into an ‘O’ shape as her orgasm slammed into her. Cherrie squirted all over Jim’s lower body, making him let out a groan. “Fuckkk..” he groaned out again. Cherrie thought Hopper would let up since she’d already came, but it seemed like the man had other plans.

Her pussy was so sensitive as he continued his brutal thrusts in and out with no remorse to her aching cunt. “please—stop, I can’t—“ she begged loudly as she tried to push her cuffed hands against his lower stomach, weakly trying to push him away from her but failing miserably. “No, you wanted to cum so you’re gonna fuckin cum for me as many times as I tell you to.” He said as he watched her ass jiggle each time his hips hit hers.

Hopper moved his hand that was around her wrist to her ass cheek, spreading it before spitting down into her puckered hole. He used his thumb to smear around his saliva before he slowly pushed it in, making Cherrie hiss out in pain. “This is what little girls who don’t listen get. They get their assholes used and violated.” He said with a chuckle as he began to fuck her tight ass with his thumb.

Broken moans left her throat as she felt herself go cross eyed, body shaking at the stimulation of her clit dragging against the hood of the car with each violent thrust delivered to her over-used cunt, paired with his thumb fucking into her ass made her orgasm quickly approach again.

“Sir, ‘m gonna cum, please let me cum, please, please, please!” She yelled out like it was a chant. Hopper bit down harshly on his lip, drawing blood before speaking. “Hold on, ‘m almost there, slut.” He huffed out as his thrusts became erratic and sloppy. “Y’want me to cum in this pussy? Make you nice n’ full? Make you all nice n swollen with my fuckin’ babies?” He moaned out.

“Yes, yes, yes, oh my god, need your cum, please cum in me. Need it so bad.” She moaned out, drunk on his cock that was drilling into her now more sloppy. “Yeah? Fuck , yes. Cum f’me right now, Cherrie. Cum f’me.” He repeated over and over till she squirted all over his cock for a second time, her body shaking and spasming with each dragging thrust he blew.

His hips stilled as his cock stuffed her full, and she could feel him getting soft inside of her before lazily pulling out. Hopper dropped down to his knees again and began licking up both of their release from her hole, savoring the taste of her juices that were now dripping down the starved man’s chin, making his beard sticky. “Oh my god.” Cherrie moaned as her legs shook violently at the harsh overstimulation of him fucking his cum back into her pussy with three of his large fingers.

Jim let up and slapped her cunt a few times for safe measures before he grabbed the keys to her handcuffs and took them off. Hopper put her panties back in place to make sure none of his valued cum can get out of her used cunt. He let her body fall limp against him as he picked her up bridal style as he opened the passenger door, gently putting her in.

“‘M takin’ you to my house, baby. Gon’ take good care of you, Cherrie.” He murmured gently as he kissed her temple. Cherrie nodded and blushed madly at his gentle, loving tone. A tone no one besides Wayne or Eddie used for her.

Maybe Jim Hopper wasn’t so bad after all.

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

[thedroneranger]

Doggone It

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Précis: Jake convinces Mrs. Seresin she needs a furry companion.

Note: I needed a serotonin hit, and dogs make me happy. This piece is an imagine in the To-Do List collection.

Warnings: So fluffy you might die, disabled dogs, inaccuracies around how military working dog adoptions work

Word count: 1.1k

Jake was nervous. Although he thought he was hiding it well, he wasn’t. She knew. She always knew. No one read Jake better than she could. Of course, he found it particularly annoying. Especially if he were planning any sort of surprise.

Pretending to be none the wiser, she sipped her latte and hummed along to the music. The wind siphoning through the cracked passenger window, streaming through her hair felt wonderful. Sun was hitting her face as she stared through her aviators at the passing scenery.

All of Jake’s tells were on display: thumbs thrumming on the steering wheel, knee jumping nervously and he wasn’t serenading her to their shared playlist, but instead mumbling to himself under his breath. 

Finally, he broke the low lull of the music. “We’re headed to base.”

“I know.” She turned from the window to look at him as he shot her a quick glance before putting his eyes back on the road. She continued to watch his profile, waiting for him to elaborate further. 

A breath he didn’t realize he was holding left his body. “We have an appointment,” he added. His bottom lip disappeared between his teeth for a second.

“An appointment?” She prodded, taking another sip of her latte.

“Yes, an appointment. You’ll see when we get there,” Jake finished. Her mind raced as she tried to imagine what would require both their presence on base. Her ID card wasn’t up for renewal. Her vehicle tags were up to date.

Once the truck was parked, Jake came around to the front of the vehicle, hand ready for her to take. They exchanged smiles as their fingers interlaced. Inside the building, nothing appeared familiar as they strode past sterile doors, and the overhead lights glimmered off the well-waxed beige tile.

At the end of the nondescript hallway, Jake pushed open one of the double doors to reveal a gymnasium dotted with dogs and handlers. Her eyes grew to the size of saucers. “You cannot be serious, Jake!” She turned to look at him. 

His expression was guilty yet hopeful. “Serious as a heart attack, sweetheart. We’re here to see which dogs are matches for us.” Her mouth hung open for a few seconds but nothing came out.

For months, she and Jake had been going back and forth about getting a dog. Given the uptick in the duration and frequency of his deployments and tours, he wanted her to have a protective companion around when he wasn’t. Plus, he couldn’t always rely on his friends—their assignments were as sporadic as his.

First, Jake looked at breeders, thinking a purebred puppy would be perfect. Although the idea of a pudgy puppy cuddled in her lap with velvet fur, premature wrinkles and unmistakable breath made her melt, she knew they had to adopt. So Jake changed his attack, sending her adoption events from rescues throughout the county. 

One day, he was on his way to the mess hall for lunch when a flier on the hallway bulletin board caught his eye. A smile curled his lips as he read the details for an upcoming military working dog adoption event.

He captured the information through the posted QR code and continued on to the lunch room. His squadron buddies ribbed him while he filled out the digital forms to ensure they got on the list as soon as possible. 

Jake remembered the day he got the approval email. He’d been incessantly checking. It also took all his willpower not to tell her. So often she did things for him that he really wanted to do this for her.

“Lieutenant Seresin? Mrs. Seresin?” A woman dressed in fatigues addressed them with a warm smile. They nodded in unison and each shook her hand. After introducing herself, she offered them beverages and then took the pair to a small sitting area. Then, she walked through how their application was vetted and they were matched.

“You’re perfect candidates for any of the dogs here,” the woman commended them. They exchanged affectionate looks as Jake slipped his hand into hers and squeezed it. “But there’s a specific dog we think is the best fit for you. Would you like to meet him?”

Jake was out of his chair before the word “yes” left his lips. The soldier smiled at his giddiness and waited for her to also stand. Once all three of them were on their feet, she guided them around the perimeter of the room until they reached another soldier, standing with a brindle Belgian Malinois. “Say hello to Ruck.” She motioned toward the dog. 

Jake listened so well to her list of must-haves that they were here, standing in front of a retired military dog in need of a home. She looked at Jake with a genuine smile. He thought his heart might stop. She looked so happy, which made him so happy. 

“May I?” She looked at the handler for permission to pet the dog.

“Please!” He looked at Ruck, giving a wordless command. Looking back at her, the handler offered a couple pointers for a successful first impression. Jake listened but watched his wife as she absorbed everything. 

Once briefed, she knelt to Ruck’s level and presented the back of her hand to him. Curiously, he nosed it, eventually nuzzling her palm. She smiled as she began to scratch his jaw, and then eventually behind his ears.

While Ruck warmed up to her, they learned he was a six-year-old that had served two tours in the Middle East and has been to almost all 50 states. The timing could not have been more perfect. As the handler finished with Ruck’s list of accolades, the dog excitedly popped up, rushing forward into her arms, revealing he was short a hindleg. 

Both she and Jake couldn’t help but smile, and the soldiers sighed in deep relief. Usually a hard sell, the pair was unfazed.

Heck, Jake felt his heart melt a little more. 

After a couple hours of socialization, Jake managed to convince the program manager to give a special release so Ruck could leave with them. Usually, they coordinated a home drop-off later, but Ruck had really taken to them. 

While they were outside, practicing commands and playing fetch, the handler came toward her only to be warned by Ruck not to come any closer. A smile crept across her face as she looked at the dog and rewarded him with a pat on the head. The handler and program manager were just as pleased.

On the ride home, Jake had a hard time keeping his eyes on the road as she and Ruck sat in the backseat. Ruck laid across the seat with his head in her lap as she stroked between his ears.

She caught Jake staring at her in the rearview mirror and pouted her lips in his direction. He cocked his cheek as though her kiss landed there and winked at her. 

Jake’s heart was so full, he thought he might burst.

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The Bradshaw Baddie™ Bunch (my taglist): @cherrycola27, @roosterforme, @galaxy-of-stories, @taytaylala12, @malindacath, @violyn20, @awildewit, @potato-girl99981, @shanimallina87, @i-simp-much, @blue-aconite, @djs8891, @linkpk88, @furiousladyking, @daggerspare-standingby, @princess76179, @jstarr86, @hecate-steps-on-me, @chicomonks, @darkheartcherry

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Meredith Lee Hill at Politico:

Vice President Kamala Harris is bringing on a new campaign hire as part of her team’s push to clinch must-win states this fall by keeping former President Donald Trump from running up the score in rural counties. Harris is tapping Matt Hildreth of the progressive Rural Organizing group as her rural engagement director, according to four people familiar with the plans who were granted anonymity to discuss the matter. Democrats have been hemorrhaging support in rural America for years, but making even a small dent in Trump’s steep rural margins could determine the outcome in battleground states that may be decided by razor-thin margins.

Hiring Hildreth, whose grassroots organization is already knocking doors for Harris and Democratic candidates across the country this fall, signals the campaign is looking to seriously expand a resource-intensive ground game to reach rural voters who could swing the election. The Harris-Walz team doesn’t expect the ticket to flip many rural counties. But some of Harris’ top advisers have argued that simply losing by slightly fewer percentage points in these areas could help carry her and down-ballot Democrats to victory. In recent memos, the campaign has argued “the key to decreasing margins in rural areas is to show up and compete everywhere — which is exactly what we’re doing across the country.”

A Harris campaign spokesperson confirmed the hire. The campaign is now looking to ramp up an aggressive ground game from Wisconsin and Arizona to Georgia and other battleground states, to peel away even a few percentage points from Trump’s rural margins. The move comes weeks after Democrats in battleground districts feared President Joe Biden’s debate fallout would cost them another wave of votes, including some of the party’s few remaining rural House seats. Harris’ deputy campaign manager Quentin Fulks helped Sen. Raphael Warnock (D-Ga.) cut down GOP rural margins in his 2022 Georgia Senate win, and he was a key part of organizing Harris and Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz’s recent bus tour in rural Georgia — a rare step for a national Democratic ticket as local Democrats argue the party has increasingly overlooked rural organizing at its peril.

Local organizers also note that the party has a solid opportunity to gain support in some rural communities, especially in pockets of Georgia, North Carolina and Arizona with younger voters and voters of color. The Biden-Harris administration and Democrats have poured billions in federal investments into rural communities, with Biden just this week touting new funding in a largely rural swing district in southwest Wisconsin. At the same time, Democrats in battleground districts have been worried that Harris may do worse than Biden in key rural counties against Trump, especially among older, white voters in the upper Midwest. Biden managed to make some small gains in rural counties, including with Obama-Trump pockets, in 2020 after Trump blew out Hillary Clinton in rural areas in 2016. Harris’ team is hoping that’s where Walz can boost the ticket.

The Harris/Walz campaign’s hiring of a rural voters director is a good idea, as Democrats need to learn how to reach rural voters and cut the margins.

[joannaliceevans-fanficblog]

Evermore: Prologue

A/N: Hi everyone! So this is a first for me. I've written pretty much all genres. But never a like this. It's been a hot minute since I've written anything! So I hope you all enjoy this one!

Summary: Y/N is a mother of a Five-month-old, a preschool teacher, and an army wife to Captain Ari Levinson. Married when they were young, friends since childhood.

Until...

Since childhood, Andy Barber, Ari's best friend, shows up at the Levinson home.

Captain Ari Levinson x Reader

then

Lieutenant General Andy Barber x Reader x Reader

Before I shut up, I would like to thank my dear friend @hollybee8917

for making this beautiful moodboard and editing! love you!

It’s a snowy Saturday, and you are home in your cozy county home on the outskirts of Concord, Massachusetts. Your five-month-old daughter, Chloe, napped in her bassinet in the living room. You had lunch cooking on the stove, a ravioli Soup for this cold, snowy day.

While you stirred the soup, your phone rang, and you knew who it was. Every day, around this time, he would call. You quickly picked up your phone from the counter. A smile formed but this time, it was a video call. You accepted the invite and his beautiful, scruffy face appeared. 

Hi beautiful.

You felt yourself blushing with excitement. For being with a man for over a decade, he still gives you butterflies. You looked at his background and noticed he was in a warehouse.

What are you doing in a warehouse, Ari?

Ari sighed.

I’m about to head out. We need to clear an area and free some hostages.

You knew that was a high-stakes mission. Before you could answer, Chloe woke up. You then turned off the stove.

Honey, want to see your daughter?

He smiled as you took the phone and walked over to her bassinet in the living room. You angled the phone so Ari could better view his wife and daughter. You picked her up and smiled, kissing her chubby cheek.

Oh my god, look at her. She’s getting so big! Hi Chloe, it’s Daddy.

Chloe then turned her head towards the phone and attempted to grab it. But you knew better and stopped her from doing so.

Look, Chloe, it’s daddy!

Both of you were in awe when Chloe showed her gummy smile and famous giggle.

Honey, I have to go. I know it’s a short call, but I promise to call you back.

You never liked having him to go. But it is what it is. Ari can see the disappointment in his wife.

I know, angel, but I promise, okay?

Ari knew you too well.

Okay. I love you, Ari Levinson.

And I love you too, Mrs. Levinson.

And with that, the video ended.

**

It’s been a long day for Andy Barber. He had case files on his desk and just finished a month-long trial, in which he had won successfully. His colleagues had urged him to come to have a celebratory drink as a tradition for any case they won. But just for today, he politely declined and headed to his office, so here he is. Before he turned on his laptop, Andy noticed a picture frame, and he picked it up. A smile formed, and a small memory came flowing through his mind.

The photo had Ari, his wife, and him both in their uniforms. That was the day that his best friend was married.

“It's been a long time, my friend,” Andy said, placing the frame back on his desk. He made a mental note to call Ari when he returned from his tour.

A knock was heard before his hand could even turn on his laptop.

“Enter,”

The door opened, and his secretary came in.

“Sir, you have a phone call on line 3. They didn’t give me a name, but it’s urgent.” She said and left his office. Frowning, Andy picked up his phone and pressed line 4.

Lieutenant Barber, how can I help you?

Lieutenant Barber, this is Major Sam Navon.

Hello, sir; how can I help you?

**

The drive into the countryside of Concord was beautiful. Even with the snow, it reminded Andy of being in a snow globe. It’s been a good five months since he’s been in this town, even if he lived 20 minutes away. But he was quickly reminded as to why he was here. His heart couldn’t take it, but it would be better if it came from him.

Entering that familiar long driveway, Andy entered the Levinson home. He parked his car and sat there momentarily, trying to collect his thoughts. After taking a few breaths, he opened the door to his cat and got out. Walking towards the home's front porch, he approached the front door. With another breath, he pressed the doorbell and stepped back.

The door opened, and he came face to face with Y/N.

“Andy?” 

[allwaswell16]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

Hi, anon! This is very sweet, and I'll for sure pass this on. <3 Here are the five I've written that are my favorites! Now that I see them grouped together here, I think I know why I like these best. The characters are kind of flawed and therefore more interesting to me lol

Looking Through You

Just as Louis and Liam were starting out in the music industry, writing and producing for up and coming artists, a fateful meeting with new pop singer Harry Styles changes everything. Four years later, just as Harry is set to embark on his next world tour, a drunken confession causes a rift between once inseparable friends. As Harry tries to make sense of his feelings for Louis, he begins writing his next album to express them as it may be the only way to break through the walls that Louis has built between them.

When the Sun Won't Let You Sleep

Four years ago, Louis Tomlinson left the UK to live on an Antarctic research station for reasons best left in the past. He’s carved out a life for himself on the ice and has dedicated himself to his research, his friends, and especially the Halley VI research station. He’s less than thrilled when he learns that Harry Styles, a glaciologist from another base who once broke his heart, will be coming to Halley, and he’s definitely unprepared for the upheaval Harry brings with him.

Consequences

Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

An amnesia au

Until

Rural Eagle County, Colorado wasn’t the type of place to find a famous musician or actor. At least not until songwriter Louis Tomlinson showed up with pop star Niall Horan to visit his uncle’s horse ranch, and they just happened to find themselves next door to a reclusive former movie star.

One 

When omega Louis Tomlinson becomes pregnant after an unexpected encounter, he decides his only option is to flee his pack. But Tommy Shelby, pack alpha of the Peaky Blinders, might not be willing to let him go so easily.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Rebecca Roque’s “Till Human Voices Wake Us”

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TOMORROW (Apr 17) in CHICAGO, then Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

"Till Human Voices Wake Us" is Rebecca Roque's debut novel: it's a superb teen thriller, intricately plotted and brilliantly executed, packed with imaginative technological turns that amp up the tension and suspense:

https://www.blackstonepublishing.com/till-human-voices-wake-us-gn3a.html#541=2790108

Modern technology presents a serious problem for a thriller writer. Once characters can call or text one another, a whole portfolio of suspense-building gimmicks – like the high-speed race across town – just stop working. For years, thriller writers contrived implausible – but narratively convenient – ways to go on using these tropes. Think of the shopworn "damn, my phone is out of battery/range just when I need it the most":

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XIZVcRccCx0

When that fails, often writers just lean into the "idiot plot" – a plot that only works because the characters are acting like idiots:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Idiot_plot

But even as technology was sawing a hole in the suspense writer's bag of tricks, shrewd suspense writers were cooking up a whole new menu of clever ways to build suspense in ways that turn on the limitations and capabilities of technology. One pioneer of this was Iain M Banks (RIP), whose 2003 novel Dead Air was jammed with wildly ingenious ways to use cellphones to raise the stakes and heighten the tension:

https://web.archive.org/web/20030302073539/http://www.wired.com/wired/archive/11.03/play.html?pg=8

This is "techno-realism" at its best. It's my favorite mode of storytelling, the thing I lean into with my Little Brother and Martin Hench books – stories that treat the things that technology can and can't do as features, not bugs. Rather than having the hacker "crack the mainframe's cryptography in 20 minutes when everyone swears it can't be done in less than 25," the techno-realist introduces something gnarlier, like a supply-chain attack that inserts a back-door, or a hardware keylogger, or a Remote Access Trojan.

Back to Roque's debut novel: it's a teen murder mystery told in the most technorealist way. Cia's best friend Alice has been trying to find her missing boyfriend for months, and in her investigation, she's discovered their small town's dark secret – a string of disappearances, deaths and fires that are the hidden backdrop to the town's out-of-control addiction problem.

Alice has something to tell Cia, something about the fire that orphaned her and cost her one leg when she was only five years old, but Cia refuses to hear it. Instead, they have a blazing fight, and part ways. It's the last time Cia and Alice ever see each other: that night, Alice kills herself.

Or does she? Cia is convinced that Alice has been murdered, and that her murder is connected to the drug- and death-epidemic that's ravaging their town. As Cia and her friends seek to discover the town's secret – and the identity of Alice's killer – we're dragged into an intense, gripping murder mystery/conspiracy story that is full of surprises and reversals, each more fiendishly clever than the last.

But as good as the storytelling, the characterization and the mystery are, Roque's clever technological gambits are even better. This book is a master-class in how a murder mystery can work in the age of social media and ubiquitous mobile devices. It's the first volume in a trilogy and it ends on a hell of a cliff-hanger, too.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/16/dead-air/#technorealism

[rhapsodynew]

#classic rock news

#new music

A book with memorable graphics of legendary bands. It is being prepared for publication.

Only 500 copies – such a limited edition will be released the book “Rock Visions: Rock 'N' Roll Graphics From The Print Age”, which is a collection of memorable artifacts of twelve famous rock bands and performers of our time. In this list: Alice Cooper, David Bowie, Elton John, BAD COMPANY, JOURNEY, KISS, LED ZEPPELIN, PINK FLOYD, QUEEN, THE ROLLING STONES, STEVE MILLER BAND and THE WHO.

The book presents their graphic legacy – from original tour programs, backstage passes and concert tickets to T-shirts, posters and record covers.

🌧 It's time for November Rain. November will delight us with a lot of good music. Courtesy of UCR News

November 1st

• The Cure – Songs of a Lost World ❤️

• Elvis Costello – King of America and Other Realms (6CD box)

• T. Rex – Bolan Boogie: The Best of T. Rex (2CDs or 2LPs)

• Todd Rundgren – Arena

Warren Haynes [Allman Brothers Band] – Million Voices Whisper

• Weezer – Weezer (The Blue Album): 30th Anniversary Edition (3CD set) ❤️

November 8

• Beach Boys – The Beach Boys' Christmas Album

• Hawkwind – Doremi Fasol Latido (multiple format reissue, including 3CD/2Blu-ray deluxe box)

• Neil Young – On the Beach

• Paul Carrack [Squeeze / Mike + the Mechanics] – How Long Has This Been Going On?

• Pete Townshend [The Who] and Rachel Fuller – The Seeker ❤️

• Rick Wakeman – Yessonata

• Steve Perry [Journey] – The Season 3 ❤️

• Talking Heads, Talking Heads: 77 ( 3CD/Blu-ray или 4LP

• Widespread Panic – Hailbound Queen

15th of November

• Black Keys – Ohio Players (flying double act)

• Bryan Adams – Concert at the Royal Albert Hall in 2024 (3CD/1 bLue-ray box)

• Burton Cummings [Guess Who] – Some good moments

• Don Henley – Creating the Perfect Beast (original 40th Anniversary vinyl edition)

• George Harrison – Life in the Material World (original edition of the 50th anniversary vinyl record)

• Iron Maiden – The Mighty Slave (original edition of the vinyl record with zotrope for the 40th anniversary)

John Cale [Velvet Underground] – "The Academy is in Danger"; Paris, 1919: Luxury Remastered Edition (VP)

• Linkin Park – From Scratch ❤

November 22nd

• Allman Brothers Band – Final concert on 10/28/14 (3 CD sets) ❤️

• The Beatles – American albums of 1964 in mono format

• Kan–Kan lives in Kiel, 1977

Chicago, I live at 55

• Don Henley – I Can't Stand Still; Cass County (Multi-voice editions)

• The Doors – The Doors 1967-1971 (box of 6£) ❤️

• Judas Priest – Rock and Roll: the anniversary edition for the 50th anniversary (in English) ❤️

• Motley Crue – Dr. Feel Good: Deluxe edition for the 35th anniversary of the group (set of 3 CD) ❤️

• Neil Young – On the Beach (opposite)

• "Smashing Pumpkins" – Aghori Mhori Mei (VP)

• Marilyn Manson – "One Murder under God" ❤️

U2 – How to Disassemble an Atomic Bomb: 20th Anniversary reissue (CD; limited edition super deluxe 5CD or 8LP box; cassette); How to Disassemble an atomic Bomb: Re-assembly edition (extended digital edition)

• Van Zant [Lynyrd Skynyrd/.38 Special] – Always look up ❤

November 29th

• Eric Clapton – Crossroads Guitar Festival 2023 (4CD/2 bLue-ray set) ❤️

• John Wetton – Concentus: The John Wetton Live Collection, Volume 1 (10CD box)

• Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes – Concert at the Capitol Theater, Passaic, New Jersey - December 30, 1978 (series of 3 albums, including yellow marbled edition; Sovenoman Zandt)

• Status Quo - The Path to Glory (reissue in summary, including a limited section of "Autographed Vinyl Records")

• War - CD Collection 1977-1994 (set of 4 CDs)

• Wilco – Hot Sun Cool Shroud ("Cold Sun")

🤘 New U2 track

The song "Happiness" was written during the session for the Irish rockers' 2004 album "How to Disassemble an atomic Bomb" and was included in the new album "How to assemble an atomic Bomb again" along with the Wound inspired songs "Rural Mile" and "Your Photo (X + W)"

The upcoming album will include new, previously unreleased songs found in the session archives of the original album. It will be released on November 22 in the room with the main version of "How to disassemble an atomic Bomb"

Tool Group announces the first ever all-inclusive "Live In The Sand" festival featuring Primus, Mastodon and others

Festification and Tool are pleased to announce the holding of the first ever "Tool Live In The Sand" festival at the luxurious five-star Hard Rock Hotel & Casino and Royalton Resort in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic, from March 7-9, 2025. "Tool Live In The Sand" will bring Tool fans from all over the world to the island

At this unique event, which will be headlined by Tool. There will be two nights featuring some of the most iconic and influential rock bands in the world, including Primus, Mastodon, Eagles Of Death Metal and Coheed And Cambria. The stars also include King's X, Fishbone, Wheel, Cky, Moonwalker, and longtime Tool collaborators Alex Gray and Allison Gray join as special guests.

Scorpions announce a concert in honor of the band's 60th anniversary in their hometown with Judas Priest

The legends of German hard rock Scorpions will celebrate their 60th anniversary on stage with a big concert in their hometown

The "60th Anniversary — Homecoming" event will take place on July 5, 2025 at the Heinz von Heiden Arena in Hanover and will include performances by special guests, including Judas Priest

Recall that as part of the celebration of their 60th anniversary, the legends of German rock will also visit Las Vegas

THE NEW CONCERT ALBUM TEARS FOR FEARS

Songs for a Nervous Planet is a live album that includes four new studio tracks, as well as live recordings by Tears For Fears during the tour and in their best moments. The album includes live versions of such hits as "Shout", "Head Over Heels", "Everybody Wants To Rule The World", "Mad World" and others. Covering all periods of the band's existence from The Hurting to The Tipping Point and beyond, this album will take you on an incomparable sonic journey, which is the Tears For Fears concert and their career to date

[bullet-prooflove]

A Beautiful Widow: Goodie Carangi x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989

Companion piece to:

There's Always A But - Goodie's always been in love with you, but he's never been able to have you.

You make a beautiful widow, it’s a disturbing thing to think at a funeral but it’s true. You dab your eyes in the right places, say the right words but Goodie knows you mourn your husband the same way you’d mourn a feral cat, with a thankfulness that it’s finally stopped stealing your food and shitting in your flowerbed.

The service is long, excruciatingly so. He spends the entire requiem mass sat next to Dwight, his gaze fixated on that elegant silver hair pin holding your delicate strands in place. It’s the one he’d bought you for your 21st birthday all those years ago. He’d scraped every extra penny he had together because he’d wanted you to have something meaningful, something that showed you just how much he loved you.

The fact you still wear it…

He can’t describe how much it means to him.

It’s at the wake he finally gets to talk to you and even then it’s not much talking. It’s needy, desperate kisses that set his entire body ablaze as he fucks you on the counter of the downstairs bathroom, your dress hiked up your thighs, the scent of your perfume flooding his senses.  

“I love you.” He whispers, his thumb chasing over the apple of your cheek as someone pounds on the door, the wood practically vibrating with the force of it.

He escapes out of the window and into your backyard the same way he used to when Alferdo would host his parties, your black thong tucked into his trouser pocket. He straightens the jacket of his suit, smoothing out the creases from where your hands had gripped it, keeping him buried deep when you'd come on his cock.

He lights up a cigarette and finds himself staring at the spot underneath the rosebushes where you hid the gun the night he turned up at your home, broken and ruined because he’d just committed his first murder and he couldn’t get the blood off his hands.  

He steps back inside the house but the atmosphere, it’s suffocating because they all know Alfredo wasn’t a saint but they’re still singing his praises like he was the second coming of Jesus.

“I’m going back to the hotel.” He tells Dwight and he spends the night sitting in the bar wondering what the future looks like for the two of you, if you’ll ever get out from under the thumb of that family.

When he gets back to Tulsa he throws himself into running the Buck whilst Mitch is away on tour with Sunny. He spends his time going through the accounts, figuring out ways to pinch pennies here and there because he doesn’t want to think about you alone out there in New York with the wolves.

He knows how it goes with that family, the estate will transfer over to Alfredo’s brother. If you’re lucky you’ll get an allowance, if not he knows Alfredo’s cousin has always been a little sweet on you. They’ll expect you to remarry and that cycle, it starts all over again.

It’s a month later that the book arrives in the mail and it feels like someone’s pressed a gun to his chest and pulled the trigger as he holds it between his hands.

It’s the Bridges of Madison County and that story, it resonates with him so fucking much because he offered you a new life once and you’d chosen to stay.

“They’ll kill you.” You’d whispered against his lips as he stood on your porch and begged you to come with him. “You know they will.”

You weren’t wrong but he’d been in this twenties, young and desperate because you were getting married the next day and he couldn’t stand it.

“Sometimes we don’t get a happy ending.” You’d told him, your voice breaking and his eyes had stung so fucking much in that moment it was like death by a thousand needles. “Sometimes this is all there is.”

He’d refused to believe it, so he’d stayed too, biding his time until forty years had passed by and then he’d realised that you were right, that dream he was holding onto it wasn’t going to happen so he’d come to Tulsa, started his own new life, one without you.

When he opens the book he sees your handwriting on the first page and his fingertips trace over the cursive loops as he reads the words.

Denny, you’ve written, this isn’t how our story ends, it’s how it starts.

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[trulybetty]

Hangar | Frankie Morales x f!Reader

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (no use of Y/N) Word Count: 2,542 Warnings: No real warnings, mentions of aircraft, a make-out session and a fade to black - but that's about it Summary: Frankie has finally extended an invitation to come take a tour of his base. There's a possibility he may have ulterior motives though for bringing you there. AO3: Linked

A/N: Disclaimer, I tried to write smut but the logistics (you'll see) were giving me a headache and that was a Google deep dive I wasn't ready to go down. Lol, so this is a happy medium?

Edit: 08/28 - amended a part that was not inclusive to all readers.

Hangar.

The evening air clung to you both, it was damp still from the day’s rain. Even though the afternoon had brought sun, it had done little to chase off the lingering chill that signalled fall was on its way and that hung around the military base you were being led around. However, the cold was the last thing on your mind; your attention was entirely on Frankie, his hand enveloped around yours, fingers tightly interlaced.

It had always been Frankie coming to you in Seattle on the rare weekends he wasn't tied up in military obligations. This time was different, though. Frankie had invited you down to Pierce County, with the promise of a private tour of McChord Field.

As you walked around the base, Frankie eagerly pointed out various areas that he had grown familiar with in his brief time stationed there. It was clear he enjoyed what he did, you could see it in his enthusiasm that was breaking free from the initial facade of nonchalance he'd tried to maintain since you'd agreed to make the trip down to see him. 

One thing you had learnt about the quiet and laid-back persona that made up in part the man beside you. Was that when he was really enthusiastic about something he spoke with his hands. Despite one of them holding onto yours, his free hand moved around passionately to emphasize what he was saying. 

“Are we supposed to be here?” you asked, peering around nervously as Frankie walked you around the large brick building to the expansive hangar now only mere feet away. 

He had a mischievous look on his face that was really making you question the legal boundaries of your little adventure.

Frankie grinned as he rolled his eyes theatrically. “Of course not, hence the 'I need you to be quiet and keep close' part before we got here.”

“Okay, smartass,” you retorted with your own roll of your eyes.

“Just through here,” Frankie said, pulling you toward a set of thick heavy steel doors. He swiped his key fob; the forbidding red light turned green, and there was an audible click of a lock undoing, permitting you both entry.

The door to the hangar opened with a creak, and you both stepped into the darkness. The door closed with a thud that echoed through the vast space you couldn't yet see. Frankie let go of your hand and you lost him to the darkness.

“Frankie,” you hissed, the darkness blinding you from even being able to see the door you'd just walked through.

“Give me a moment,” you heard him say from somewhere to the left of you.

It was quiet for a moment before the room was flooded with light, rows and rows of industrial lights turned on chasing one after the other revealing row upon row of helicopters and various other aircraft that filled the expansive space. There was a distinctive tangy scent of motor oil and cold metal that filled the air.

As Frankie flicked on the last row of light switches, casting the hangar into a brilliant glow, he stepped back, his smile inviting. Seeing the array of parked aircraft before you, you laced your fingers with his outstretched hand once more. “Here we are,” he said, his voice tinged with excitement.

You continued to look around, admiring the majestic beauty of the warehouse. You couldn't help but feel awed at the sheer scale of it all.

“Wow,” you breathed out trying to take it all in. 

None of this had been your expectation when he’d said he was going to show you around the base. Truth be told, you were four months into whatever this fling was, and his evasiveness around his career had led you to possibly question if Cat’s initial statement had been right. That maybe he really was an in-the-flesh catfish.

“So you've flown in all of these?” you asked, your gaze shifting from one formidable machine to another.

“Most of them,” Frankie answered, his voice tinged with a pride that he was no longer trying to hide.

“Jesus, this is definitely something,” you muttered, trying to comprehend the magnitude of his experience encapsulated in this one hangar.

“Impressive, isn't it.” It wasn’t a question, more a statement. However, you missed that when he said it he wasn’t looking at the enormity of the surroundings you were taking in, he was looking at you.

He walked you further into the hangar, his boots echoing softly on the floor. You passed under the wings of various aircraft, their mechanical intricacies exposed. Frankie would occasionally stop to point out features of different models, explaining their capabilities with a level of detail that made you realize how much he loved his job. When he described a particularly complex maneuver he’d done, his hands took on a life of their own again, tracing invisible pathways in the air. His eyes sparkled in a way that you’d never seen before—his barriers momentarily down, revealing a childlike enthusiasm for flight.

“How many bases have you been stationed at?” you asked, pulling yourself away from the spectacle to focus on him. Wondering how many times he'd been through introductions and farewells.

He shrugged, his eyes lingering momentarily on a particularly imposing aircraft before returning to you. “Honestly, I kinda gave up counting. Will would know, he’s been through most of them at the same time as me. The guy should have been in finance with his knowledge of numbers.”

“So, are you going to show me the rest?” you asked, teasingly, yet eager to continue the tour.

Frankie chuckled at your enthusiasm, and the two of you continued down the rows of aircraft. However, as you walked, you felt him stealing glances in your direction, and you knew that spending any more time with him would only make it harder for you when he inevitably left for his next deployment or posting. However, you pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand: exploring the base with Frankie so you changed the topic.

“So, how many girls have you brought around to your barracks?” you asked, unable to keep your curiosity and to see what kind of reaction you would get.

His face flushed a little, a crooked grin appearing. “What makes you think I have?”

“Frankie, you're not smooth enough to pull that kind of lie off,” you countered with a playful grin.

He shook his head, “Busted,” he admitted, his laughter mingling with yours in the cavernous hangar.

“So, a few then?”

“A few,” he admitted, his smile not waning.

“And did it work?” you prodded.

He looked at you, genuinely intrigued despite a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Did what work?”

You turned around and raised an eyebrow at him, letting the smile play on your lips. “Francisco Morales, I may not be as smart as you book-wise, but I can sense a play a mile off.”

Frankie's smirk widened. “Oh, really? So what’s the play?”

“You tell me you have something special to show me,” you started, ticking off your points on your fingers. “You say it’s on base where you’re not supposed to be but conveniently have full access. You even told me to wear a dress for the occasion. And now you have a ridiculous grin on your face which tells me that I'm right.”

His eyes twinkled, the mischievous glint now more pronounced. “So, did it work?”

You stepped closer, so close that you could feel the warmth emanating from him, could smell the blend of aftershave and engine oil that seemed to be his personal scent. “You tell me, Ace.”

Frankie chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief as they met yours. “Well, considering you're here and you're smiling, I'd say it worked pretty well.”

His fingers gently grazed the small of your back as he led you on. The walls seemed to stretch upwards forever, the lights casting large looming shadows. Rows of helicopters, their blades motionless for the night, shared space with intimidating transport planes and even a few small fighter jets. Equipment and machinery were neatly placed in specific zones, awaiting their use for the next day’s maintenance.

Your tour continued until you realized you were in a more secluded corner of the hangar. And there it was, a smaller helicopter, sleek and polished as if it had been waiting just for you.

“So, this is one of my personal favourites,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as if sharing a secret. “It's not as big or as loud as the others, but sometimes you need a bit of grace among the beasts.”

You grinned at him. “A poet and a pilot? I'm getting more than I bargained for.”

“Well, I try to be a man of many talents,” he said with a wink.

“So, this is a tried and tested maneuver out of the Morales playbook then?” you asked, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. 

Frankie's grin softened into a more subdued smile in response, the tension between you electric but comfortable. “Well, there’s really no playbook anymore,” he admitted sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck, “but that was when I was much younger…” he trailed off with a knowing grin, “You know, fresh-faced Frankie thinking he literally was Maverick.”

You laughed at the image that conjured up, imagining a younger version of Frankie swaggering around in a flight suit, brimming with youthful arrogance. “Breaking hearts left and right?”

“Maybe, younger Frankie was questionable at best,” he admitted, his eyes still fixed on you as he closed the distance between the two of you. His lips met yours, softly at first, but gaining in intensity with each passing second. 

His mouth moved skillfully over yours, as each kiss deepened his hands traced lines down your sides, and you felt your own fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as if anchoring yourself to both the moment and to him.

The chill of the hangar was forgotten, replaced by a warmth that spread from your intertwined lips to fill your entire being. Frankie's mouth moved hungrily against yours as if he was trying to make up for all the time he knew he wouldn't have with you once he was moved onto the next military base or the next deployment.

Before you knew it, he had maneuvered you back against the metallic side of the helicopter he’d brought you to. Its cold surface was in sharp contrast to his warm body as he pressed against you. You heard a soft chuckle escape him when he broke away, just enough for a breath and a sentence. “To be transparent, this had not been a part of the plan inviting you down here.”

Your eyes met his, both of you breathing a bit more heavily than the conversation warranted. “Oh, no? Not sure I buy that. So this isn’t about fulfilling some kind of pilot fantasy? Getting off on making out in an airplane hangar, surrounded by millions of dollars worth of military equipment?”

He laughed a rich sound that echoed in the cavernous space. “Well, if it is, you just made it ten times better.”

Frankie leaned in, his lips finding yours again. His hands roamed along your sides, sending shivers through your body. You felt his fingers grip the fabric of your dress, pulling you even closer as the intensity between you grew.

“You know,” you said, pulling away slightly, a teasing lilt to your voice, “this being a 'fling,' you're setting the bar awfully high for any future casual romances.”

Frankie grinned, and his eyes twinkled. “Well, we might as well make it unforgettable, then.”

You couldn't help but smile at his reply, your heart fluttering with a mixture of emotions. Frankie's hands slid down from your sides to your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, your dress hitching up your thighs in the process.

His lips crashed onto yours again, hungrily devouring you as a primal need for each other consumed you. You didn't care about tomorrow, where Frankie would be sent next or how much time you had left with him. All that mattered was this moment, this heated exchange that sent fireworks through your veins.

“You're so beautiful,” he said between kisses, his fingers tracing patterns over the curve of your waist. “I can't get enough of you.”

The friction between your bodies made your head spin as your hands tangled in his hair. Frankie's lips travelled down your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses that sent shivers down your spine. He nipped at the sensitive skin just below your ear, eliciting a gasp from you.

“Frankie…” you whispered, the name tasting like honey on your lips.

“Yes?” responded before he ran his tongue over the shell of your ear, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. You felt his lips curl into a knowing smile at the reaction, his hands continuing to explore every inch of you.

Your hips bucked against his, and in return, he pushed back against you the pressure producing a luxurious heat that spread throughout. Frankie's hand found your thigh, his fingers moving deftly under your dress and you couldn't help but smirk in admiration at his audacity. Regardless of what he said, it was clear that he had been planning this move all along. His lips were still on yours, his fingers traced circles on the delicate skin of your thigh moving higher and higher building the anticipation that was beginning to knot in the pit of your stomach looking for release.

You laughed, slightly out of breath as Frankie's fingers reached the peak of your thighs. “Is it still considered a part of the mile-high club even if the flight doesn't take off?”

His lips trailed down the curve of your neck and backed up over your jaw, leaving delicious traces of warmth wherever they touched. “I'm sure we can make an exception,” His lips brushed against your ear again and you felt your knees begin to tremble from the sheer intensity of him.

Your hands moved from his hair, down his neck and along his muscular shoulders. You felt him tense at the contact, a thrill racing through you as you explored his body in kind. You sighed in pleasure as the hand that wasn’t moving dangerously close to the hem of your underwear, found its way to the nape of your neck. His fingers a welcome warmth against the chill as he pulled you closer.

“We should probably leave before someone catches us,” you said, his breath was hot against your skin, and you were having a hard time focusing.

“It's the middle of the night Mav, there's no one around but us.”

“But what if–”

“Trust me, no one is coming here.”

You couldn't help but laugh, leaning back as you looked into his eyes. “Is that a challenge Frankie?” you asked, a mischievous glint now in your eyes. 

Frankie looked puzzled for a moment before the double entendre of what you'd said hit him, his eyes widening slightly before a wide grin spread across his face. He leaned in and pressed his forehead against yours, “You know what, maybe it is.”