#if this interview is actually recent and not just pulled from old stuff

[nico-di-genova]

Well, lestappen gate was fun while it lasted.

[ghostgirl-22]

You may find yourself

18+ !NSFW!

Day 4: Two prompts in one 😊

SFW: Interview

NSFW: Strap on

___________________________

A year ago, Patrick would have never imagined staying up to watch Art on the Late Late Show deflecting questions about their relationship; but ever since they hugged each other at the challenger and that photo went viral, their life has been under a microscope. Clearly Art winning the US Open for the first time wasn’t as important as: Did you see Patrick Zweig sitting next to Art’s sister at the Open?

Even people who don’t give a fuck about tennis are invested in them for some reason. Half the world is convinced that he and Art are having a secret affair and that Tashi is just his beard.

“Which is ridiculous actually,” Art smiles at the host, shrugging it off. “I wish my life was that interesting. But the truth is me and Tashi… we’re very boring. I mean we’re usually pretty private. Obviously, the press and stuff comes with the job but on a regular day we’re doing our jobs and raising our daughter. And Patrick is…he’s just an old friend. We lost touch and now we’re just making up for lost time.”

Patrick is lying in Tashi and Arts bed sharing a bowl of ice cream with Tashi. “He’s such a good liar, right?” Patrick says.

”It’s not that far from the truth,” she says, glancing back at him with a smirk.

“So what I’m hearing is he’s an old friend that you only kiss sometimes?” The host asks, the audience laughs and Art smiles going along with it.

“Only when he’s nice to me,” Art says. The audience cheers and whoops like he’s confirming something and Art shakes his head smiling.

“Now that’s gonna be the headline,” the host laughs.

“I know, exactly,” Art says, grinning. “Art Donaldson finally admits...”

“He’s cute,” Patrick says, sucking on his spoon and gazing at her. Something about watching Art pretend they’re a boring couple is turning him on. And it doesn’t hurt that she’s wearing his t-shirt and panties and nothing else. Her pretty hair is clipped up loosely. “We should’ve gone to LA.” He says.

“He’ll be back tomorrow,” Tashi says pointedly.

“You think this is live?”

“I mean there’s a thirty second delay, but yes it’s live.”

Patrick grabs her spoon. “what—?” she snaps at him as he takes the bowl too and puts it on the nightstand.

“Maybe we should fuck again?”

“Are you serious?” She says, incredulous. “You’re hard again? It’s been five fucking minutes.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says distractedly, pulling open her nightstand for a condom.

“No, Patrick, wait!” She calls, diving over his lap to try and stop him from opening it, but it’s too late.

Her shirts riding up as she reaches over him and he’d be more distracted by her white lacy panties if he hadn’t just found their little treasure trove of sex toys. An open box, clearly accessed recently or he wouldn’t have seen it. It’s full of vibrators, lube, beads, handcuffs, etcetera etcetera.

“All we do is work and take care of our daughter.” Patrick mimics Arts television voice. “Such a liar, you’re both so fucking horny,” He grins moving her away so he can lift the box out completely.

Tashi settles back on the bed but hits his arm, mildly annoyed.

“This is actually fucking incredible,” he teases as he examines the contents.

“We went through a phase,” Tashi mutters as he lifts out a magic wand thingy. He presses the button. It starts vibrating and he holds it out to her like a microphone.

“Could you speak up please?”

“I hate you,” Tashi says, pushing his arm away.

Patrick laughs and shuts it off before droppping it back in the box. “Holy shit, please tell me you fucked him,” he exclaims, lifting out what’s clearly a strap on.

She shrugs. “Look nothing was working, okay. He was depressed and I knew I had to try something…that…that….”

“Did he come?”

She bites her lip. “No… but…I mean… he got hard.”

Patrick smirks and grips the fake cock. “You should fuck me.”

“Patrick,” She rolls her eyes but she’s so easy to read. He knows he’s had her since the moment he took the ice cream away.

“Come on,” he says, pulling at her t-shirt. “Fuck my brains out.”

“You’re such a freak,” She whispers but she grabs the strap on from him.

“Says the freak with handcuffs in their nightstand,” he smirks.

“It came with the set. You really think I’d buy furry handcuffs?”

“No, you’re right, you’d just tie him up.”

She sits up on the bed and straddles Patrick. “Jesus, you really are hard,” she says softly. “Help me put it on.”

He lifts her t-shirt so her little lace panties are visible. She’s so god damn beautiful he wonders how she’s surprised his dick is hard. He’s always at least half hard in her presence, he’d be more impressed if he could keep it down. He helps her buckle the straps.

It’s so intimate he almost ends up just fucking her instead but somehow they recover enough for him to watch her play with it. She’s kneeling over him. Rubbing it like she’s jerking off. “What do you think?” She giggles, the shorter strands of her hair falling into her eyes.

“I don’t buy it,” he says.

“Why?” She asks, just like the girl who’s used to getting straight A’s.

“You’re not selling the feeling. It’s supposed to feel good,” he says, gripping it.

“Mm, What about now?” She says, moaning as he jerks it, pushing hair out of her face only for it to fall back again.

He smiles, putting his other hand behind his head. “Yeah, like that. Fucking come all over me.”

She giggles again, a little breathless, he’s not sure how much longer he can do this with her without penetration.

Apparently she feels the same way. “Can you put lube on my big dick?” She asks.

He wants to laugh. He bites it back so she won’t yell at him but she hits him, anyway. “Shut up,” she says, grinning. “Act like I’m him.”

Patrick opens his mouth and then closes it again. He reaches into the box for the lube and rubs it over the toy.

“You should take that shirt off.” He tells her.

“Shh, turn around,” she tells him. “On your hands and knees.”

He sits up and kisses her before doing what she asks. She rubs his ass through his boxers. Something he does to her often and he smiles. Art’s not on the tv anymore, he can hear the host interviewing some singer he’s never heard of. That’s okay, he can still tell him that they fucked while he was talking about them.

“It’s gonna feel good,” Tashi says softly, taking his boxers down.

“Don’t come inside, I’m not on the pill,” he tells her.

She smacks his bare ass and there’s just enough sting there for him to like it. “You're so stupid,” she says quietly as she eases it inside.

”Mm and you love it,” he replies. It actually feels… kinda nice. He relaxes into it.

“You like this don’t you?” Tashi breathes.

“Mmhm,” he hums.

“I wish I could fuck you all the time,” she says.

”So fuck me all the time then,” he sighs as she slides it in and out.

“Does it feel like this when Art does it?”

Patrick smiles, his stomach tightens, his breathing is picking up. “Mm too gentle.”

“Really? He’s not gentle?”

“Sometimes, when he’s in his head.”

She picks up her pace and he groans, “How about now?” She asks, “still too gentle?”

”I can take more,” he says.

“Of course you fucking can, you’re such a slut for me,” she says. If he was in his right mind he would laugh but she’s found the perfect spot. This glorious aching white hot pleasure races through his body on almost every thrust, he wants to hold her there but he pushes back on her instead and she’s a genius so she picks up the pace. She’s so relentless by the end he’s practically begging her for it. He ends up coming untouched on the sheets. He collapses and rolls over, breathless as she crawls on top of him.

“Do you like it?” She asks. She’s a little bit of a mess and he pulls her closer for a kiss.

“Yes, fucking yes,” he tells her, undoing one of the straps of her fake dick. “A fucking plus.”

He unclips the other strap and pulls it off, before easing his fingers into her panties. She’s so wet he needs to take his fingers out again and taste them.

She rests her head against his chest while he finger fucks her. It’s easy, she was already halfway there while she was fucking him.

“Patrick,” she sighs, sleepily after a minute.

“Yeah?”

“I think my dick is bigger than yours,” she whispers.

Patrick smirks. “And he said you guys were boring.”

[minustwofingers]

love is a laserquest p.2

series masterlist (read p1 here!)

pairing: rockstar!ellie williams x reader

request: @thatgiraffefromtlou so kindly included me on a post about writing something inspired by these beautiful edits :) thank you !

summary: after a serious of unfortunate events, columbia grad y/n y/l/n finds herself using her hard-earned journalism degree interviewing vapid stars and writing articles that she's convinced are rotting her mind. ellie williams has just dropped the album of the year and it's all anyone is talking about, but all she wants is to be off the press train. a certain interview with a certain interviewer might change this.

cws: explicit language, kind of suggestive phrasing? (i get a little feral with guitar playing descriptions), shitty bosses, mentions of nausea and throwing up (no one actually does tho dw), y/n is anxious asf, my writing is a little....yikes...in this one, loser!ellie

a/n: i lied i lied hehe. here's the next part. im still working on building this stupid app so i havent been able to write as much recently + holiday family stuff but oh am i back!

here's a playlist inspired by this fic

wc: 2.4k

tags: tags :) @intrnetdoll @dazedshoon @lovecaraya @pctcr @sariyaflowr @loser-keiji @prettyplant0 @666findgod @sawaagyapong @rystarkov @buzzybuzzsposts @addisonnie@galacticstxrdust @elliesbabygirl @pinkazelma @ariianelle @lu002 @blairfox04 @sparkleswonderland @elliesflower @muthafuckingstargirl @elliewilliamsissubermommyoml @eviestevie-14 @quicksilversg1rl @guacala @crtcrp @overtrred28 @diddiqueen @krisyslostsoul

enjoy mwah

It starts slow, like the drip of a broken faucet. It’s not like you’re actively seeking out anything Ellie William’s related, but somehow it seems like everything Ellie Williams related is seeing you out. 

In the grocery store, one of her hit songs from her newest album blaring over the speakers.

On the street, where you see crumpled pages of magazines with her face plastered all over them. 

And—perhaps the most offensively—on NPR and the New York Times, quite literally days after you’d met her. Suddenly Steve Inskeep and Leila Fadel begin the Up First podcast with a familiar song and devote an entire third of the morning podcast to Ellie and her band’s rise to fame. 

You decide to switch to the BBC World News for a while, but even they seem to be under her spell.

It’s not that you don’t like Ellie. She seems fine. Normal. Really cute, actually, and clearly very talented. But whenever you think about her, you think about the ill-fated, awkward, charmless interview.

“What happened?” Alyssa had asked you when she’d come back from surgery. “That wasn’t you out there.”

Which was actually very hurtful to hear, because you’d been holding onto the hope that you’d been all in your head about your interview being a failure. It all culminates in Eric, your 300 year old manager, sending you a strongly worded email that told you that your performance in the interview was so underwhelming that you were being pulled from the interviewer pool and exiled to article writing land. Which could be worse, you admit. You could be unemployed on the streets of LA. At least you’re still writing. 

And write you do. You spend all your waking hours either at your keyboard, on your yoga mat, or sat in a chair somewhere at a local cafe for a coffee chat. You’ve mostly deleted social media, since all you see nowadays are pictures of Ellie and Becca’s posts about her experience working and loving her life in New York (the algorithm apparently knows exactly what you want to see the most). 

It’s bizarre that, even as you try your best to place your focus on honing your craft and consuming only content that you think will make you a better writer, you still somehow learn everything and more about Ellie Wlliams and her band. It’s in the emails at work whose chains you’re CC’ed on. It’s in the advertisements and the billboards everywhere. It’s even in the conversations you have with your two roommates, Greta and Maureena. 

“She’s so fucking cool,” says Maureena dreamily as you sit around the TV in the living room. “I still can’t believe you got to talk to her.”

“It’s not like I actually got to, like, get to know her or whatever,” you say. “It was honestly kind of dry. Just awkward small talk.”

“That’s more than anyone else I know can say.” She reaches forward and grabs a fistful of popcorn. “How come she gets interviewed by the person who probably cares about her the least in all of LA? Like, what are the chances?”

“I care,” you say, and it sounds unusually defensive coming out of your mouth.

Maureena gives you a long, suspicious look, but before she can respond, Greta comes bursting into the apartment, purse swinging from her shoulder.

A greeting is halfway out of your mouth when she cuts you off. 

“You guys will not believe what I just did.” She’s nearly bursting with excitement, her eyes bright and wide. 

“Like, in a good way?” you ask. 

“Yes. Obviously!” Greta fishes around in her pocket until she pulls her phone out, waving it around. “Check your email.”

The last time Greta had come in with an entrance this energetic, she’d been coming to inform you both that she was getting engaged to her loser boyfriend Brian (which—thank God—didn’t actually last), so you and Maureena trade nervous looks. 

Maureena gets to it first. 

“Tickets to see Ellie Williams? Tonight?” Now she’s about to explode with giddiness, leaping from the couch and throwing her arms around Greta. “I love you, I love you, I love you. How did you get these? I thought they were, like, totally sold out. Or ten thousand dollars.” 

She grins wickedly, holding her hands out in a “who knows” sort of way. “You can all thank me later. We have to leave in about 20 if we want to get there in time. Y/N, you good?”

You’d been staring on in horror, jaw dropped and body completely frozen. You had registered that Ellie was playing in LA tonight—it’s all anyone you knew talked about at work today—but you never once considered actually going to try to see her. “Uh, yeah. Give me just a few.”

By the time you get to the venue, you’re convinced that you might actually puke from the nerves. It’s ridiculous. It’s not like three broke 20 some year olds were going to get last minute seats to an Ellie Williams concert that were genuinely good seats. It’s not like she would see you and realize that the girl who flopped while interviewing her was a big enough fan to attend. You’re going to be fine. 

“Shit, Grets, how are we so close?” asked Maureena as she leads you both closer and closer to the front. 

Horror steadily rises within you as you approach the front row. 

“I got these from my boss,” she says, turning around with a devilish glint in her dark brown eyes. “Her daughter got food poisoning, bless her. She had to stay back to take care of her, and I was the only one who stayed late to work, so…”

Greta’s boss was some filthy rich nepo baby who was a partner of a big talent agency. All of a sudden you feel stupid for not realizing this sooner.

“Shit,” you say, mostly to yourself. “Oh no. Oh my god.”

“Isn’t this so cool!” Greta jumps up and down, hands on your shoulders as she tries to rile you up. “Dude, what if she recognizes you?” 

“I think I’m going to puke,” you say miserably. Somehow the thought of her seeing you made you want to crawl inside your skin in shame and hide for the next calendar year. “Did you guys not see how ass it was? I was so fucking awkward.”

“It wasn’t even that bad.” Maureena pats your shoulder. 

“I literally was forbidden from ever interviewing again because it was so bad.”

“Because Eric hates women,” says Greta. “It’s not your fault he’s a horrible human being. Give it, like, a year or so until he croaks. Then they’ll let you back in the game.”

“Uh huh,” you say, feeling very harrowed. 

You remain in this state of abject terror for the entire opener performance. The nausea doesn’t subside. It only gets worse when you realize that if you actually puke, Ellie’s definitely going to see it. Just like she’s going to see you, with the stupid stars Greta had insisted you paint on your cheekbones with glittery eyeliner and eyeshadow. 

“She really likes space,” Greta had told you while you’d been getting ready, pretending like you didn’t already know all about this. “So all of her fans wear star stuff to see her.”

Before you can think to wipe off the glitter, everything goes black. Then the crowd goes wild. 

When the silvery blue light spills onto the stage, it illuminates Ellie, standing just a number of feet away from you. You barely have enough time to take in the black leather coat and loose white shirt she’s wearing before music explodes out of the speakers, her fingers flying up and down the fretboard. 

You’re spellbound as you watch her. Her voice rings loud and clear and slightly gravelly when it snags on her words. She’s nothing at all like the girl you’d met a month ago—there’s no discomfort, no awkwardness. She looks like she’s born to be on stage. 

When the first song ends, she steps back, grabbing the standing mic next to her. 

“Uh. Hi,” she says, and it’s so endearingly nervous compared to how she’d just sounded that something in your chest twists. She rubs the back of her neck. “I’m Ellie.”

Greta and Maureena join the crowd, screaming and cheering. 

“I LOVE YOU!” someone shrieks, louder than everyone else.

“You know,” she says, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to people reacting like this to me just, like, saying my name. It’s really fucking weird. Oh. Shit. Sorry. Are you guys okay with me swearing?” 

The roar that comes from the crowd is entirely undecipherable. 

“Right,” says Ellie. “Um. I’ll take that as a yes. Sorry to anyone who brought their kids or something. Anyway, this one’s about the ex who cheated on me and gave me mono.” 

Before you can react to that, she starts playing. 

As she proceeds through the setlist, you’re struck by just how close you are to her, how many things you can notice that hardly anyone else in the crowd can see. You see the outline of her phone in her pocket, the pieces of hair that have fallen out of her little half bun and are sticking to her face, the way that the glitter on her collarbones trails down her shirt in little rivulets. 

And, above everything else, you can see the horrible way her fingers straddle the fretboard, curling and pressing with ease so practiced it looks tender. 

Apart from this bad, bad development (you can feel your mind going a million miles an hour about things you should not be thinking about), things are going great. Ellie hasn’t noticed you. Or even looked in your direction. You’re not even sure she can see you, given how little light is shed onto the crowd. The false sense of security makes you feel comfortable singing along with Greta and Maureena, your lips forming the lyrics you’d been pretending to not listen to whenever her songs came on. 

It happens during a slower song, a sort of ballad that makes your heart thud harder in your chest to hear from her mouth. The lights on stage dim a little. Light spills just the slightest onto the front of the crowd, and Ellie’s eyes fall and snap onto yours so decisively that it almost feels audible. 

For a moment, you can’t breathe. Ellie’s voice suddenly catches mid-word, faltering and missing a beat. She thrusts her hand with the mic into the crowd, which eagerly picks up where she left off and finishes the verse. 

It’s impossible to see on the screen projecting her image behind her, but you can see the flicker of recognition in her eyes, the stiffness that comes with realizing that you actually know someone from somewhere. 

You’re the one who breaks eye contact, focused with a sudden intensity on the way the thin fabric of your sleeves are situated on your arms. 

Greta pokes you so hard in your ribs that you gasp. 

“What the fuck!” you snap, but the words are swept away by the noise around you. 

“Why didn’t you wave?!” she hisses in your ear. “She totally recognized you.”

The realization falls over you with the subtlety of an anvil. Oh my god. You totally should’ve waved. That was the normal, well-adjusted thing to do. Now she was going to think you were weird. And it was too late now. But she didn’t wave to you. Wasn’t she supposed to wave first? Because you of course remembered her, but she might not remember you. Yeah. You could go with that.

Maybe she didn’t remember you. 

You can’t relax for the rest of the concert. You try your best to just act normal and dance along with your friends and casually mouth the words, but it’s hard when it feels like she’s staring at you. Which is completely impossible. The light doesn’t fall back onto the crowd until the concert is over and Ellie and her band are long gone backstage. 

~

Two months later, all you can think about is the way that Ellie stuttered over her words when she saw you in the crowd. Of course, this is definitely something you’ve made up in your mind, because there’s a number of reasons why she might’ve slipped up. Maybe she just thought she knew you from somewhere and couldn’t place it. That’s why she (allegedly) kept looking in your direction afterwards. Or maybe you’re completely batshit insane, and she didn’t look at you at all. Because if she had, wouldn’t she have waved? Right?

It’s almost bad enough to distract you from work. You find yourself prowling on Twitter, watching the #elliewilliams tag blow up following every concert date. It doesn’t give you any clarity, because in every picture, she looks just as perfect and cool and confident as she was at the LA show. You don’t know why you assumed she’d look different if it was true that she’d recognized you. More human, maybe. But she’s just as bathed in starlight as she was that night many weeks before, just as far away and untouchable. 

You spend so much time thinking about her that you’re convinced you might’ve slipped into a dream when Eric appears at your cubicle with the news.

Instead of saying hello, he plops a stack of papers on the desk in front of you, all labeled “PopNow! Interview Etiquette”. 

“Excuse me?” you say. 

“Start reading up, kid,” says Eric. “You’re back in the game.”

“What?” 

“You have an interview scheduled later this week.” He scowls down at you, gum smacking in his mouth. He smells faintly of tobacco. 

“But I thought I was removed from—”

“You still are,” he says. “But someone requested you. Their manager told us they wouldn’t talk to us if they didn’t get you.”

“What?” 

He huffs out a short laugh. “Believe me, I was surprised too. Don’t know what they’re on about after the last time you talked to their client. Fuck this one up and you’re out, okay? Got it? The info’s in your inbox already.” 

Somehow the words don’t quite sink in until you open the email and see the words on paper. 

SENDER: Maria Miller

RECIPIENT: Eric Bal

CC: ewilliamsmusic@gmail.com, y/ny/l/n@popnow!.com

Eric,

Great to hear back from you. Glad that 3 next Wednesday works. 

Best,

MM

final a/n: lmk how u guys feel about this...feeling a little unsure about where this is going but enjoying writing it anyway there are two wolves inside of me etc. etc. also ive missed u all! i hope everyone is doing well! dont b shy!

[justenjoythegossip]

CHRIS & ABBA’S LATEST STUNT AND THE CLASSIC DIVERSION TACTICS USED BY PLANTS/TROLLS…

Recap of latest events

Trolling that Chris and Abba might be seen at the Oscars…

A tweet from an insider saying he met them…

Sidenote: given the promotional nature of his tweet, I will let you decide what you think of him…

The release of pictures of Chris and Abba who went to a party last night. (Was it a UTA party? CAA? It’s still being debated.) 

Articles are shoved down our throats... (but Kudos to TMZ for cropping her out of the pic…)

This latest stunt was to be expected…

After their stunt at the Golden Globes early January when they were “seen” at the UTA afterparty (pics with Mads Mikkelsen), it was to be expected that they would do something very similar for the Oscars because let’s be honest they keep recycling the same boring stunts over and over.

Also his last Con appearance was not that successful and didn’t bring him much publicity. It only seemed to translate into good PR for… Marvel. 

Yesterday, articles came out talking about how “anxious” Chris is to have a baby with his wife. Again those articles were meant to serve him and not her. No hungry, thirsty 25 year old actress wants to send the message out there that she can’t wait to get pregnant. He is the one that put so much emphasis on his (dog) dad persona, who tweeted he would make an anxious parent after dropping Dodger for his surgery, who said recently during his interview on The View that he would spoil his kids. Children are part of his rebranding as a family man. 

So it’s no surprise that a stunt would happen to serve… her. And this one we got is just that. She needs to be seen. And look she just got herself another Just Jared article...

She gets very little out of this contract outside of this kind of attention and it hasn’t translated into work opportunities for her as of now. 

Classic manipulation tactics used by various Plants/trolls...

Some mods will refuse to acknowledge the elephant in the room and might bring up all sorts of unrelated topics to distract from this latest stunt. It might be about stuff happening in the industry or food or anything really. Some other mods will distract with pointless discussions about her not wearing her ring while he does wear his, where the party actually took place… 

All of these are classic manipulation techniques that are used for misdirection. 

Some mods likely want to distract from their own lies as they have been pushing that this shitshow was about to be over, that the Medium article was super credible and so forth… They also might soften the blow of Chris still taking part in these PR games.

Again I suspect, this stunt is long-term. People saying it’s about to be over are lying to keep fans engaged. It will be over when it‘s over. But you usually don’t get married for only a few months. Unfortunately.

Again those lies are meant to distract from the truth. So let’s spell it out. Chris & Abba’s shitshow is still going strong. There is no end date in sight just yet, despite the silly stunts they pulled recently. Chris is not an hostage despite looking like one as this PR serves mostly him. 

[beardedmrbean]

You know the whole 'Hi we have the cure for cancer but we're not going to share it with the world' awful, literally. Mythos thing about Wakanda made notice something

The cure was cancer was definitely not a silver age thing

It stated Kirby made Wakanda (though their advance technology was a later on addition) because he was tired of poverty porn Africa

And Wakanda xenophobia was acknowledged, because I learn there a page in a silver age comic where an African American character went “what’s up brother!” to a Wakandan

And the Wakandan him a “mute”

Now here my theory because when your…ancestors went to Europe for the world wars

Actually I think a lot of white Americans (especially poor ones) had a fetishized view of Europe. And they probably had they until WW1 where many had a one in a lifetime experience to meet Europeans

Then the Europeans immediately pointed out that Americans are foreign to Europe as a Chinese person.

Which definitely broke the illusion of Europe and lead to our modern American identity

Make sense?

So sliver writers probably took that account with doing black panther Mythos

Now the cure for cancer thing, oh I got my suspicions but I think older comic readers can help

But in the 00’s there was two black writers one named Houdini and the other Christopher Priest

Now I vauge on Houdini, but him and priest had that “WE WUZ KINGS” mindset

So they pushed the advance Wakanda shit…while saying that it’s a okay that Wakanda is xenophobic as fuck.

Actually I’m going to do a part to, but I notice something with black Americans writers when they get their hands on stuff.

Oh btw for Priest, well MCU Wakanda was heavily based off his run….

But Priest and the creator of boondocks had a falling out

To the point McGrunder took a piss out of him in a boondocks episode

Oh, priest had black panther beat silver surfer by using a wrestling move….so you can guess his mindset….Im not better with some crazy shit he tried to pull at dc in the 2010’s…no sir ree…

Actually I think a lot of white Americans (especially poor ones) had a fetishized view of Europe. And they probably had they until WW1 where many had a one in a lifetime experience to meet Europeans Then the Europeans immediately pointed out that Americans are foreign to Europe as a Chinese person. Which definitely broke the illusion of Europe and lead to our modern American identity

Never thought about it that way, though there is a lot of genetic memory in Americans we have tried to keep where we came from with ourselves to a degree, or at least some of us do.

Go find the local Greek community or little Saigon, Chinatown, Little Italy, and so on.

(relevant tangent time)

Guy named Andrew Doro (looked it up) made a splash several years back by chronicling his journey to eat food from every country in the world without leaving NYC, got his blog, and IG, looks like he's still going most recent post is from 5 days ago.

Older interview here

Not something you can do in Billings Montana but it's a cool project.

But ya some of us have done our best to keep the "old world" alive in our new home, you also get the families that came over and assimilated themselves forcibly.

Or you get mutts like me who's family roots go back before the revolution in some parts and while I know what my DNA says I also know that I'm American and not Irish or German.

Probably a good deal of what you were talking about going on in the aftermath of WW1 and 2 for sure, GI's staged in England before D-Day which was close enough to the US to not throw them but I'm sure folks had some culture shocks seeing the "old world" first hand.

We also can't forget

I imagine some weebs have a similar experience.

As for the comic stuff I am not well enough versed in those to even say which is golden or silver age, I just recall that there was a deal with them holding on to the cure for cancer.

Mostly brought up when you'd get people talking about how great Wakanda was and their only experience was MCU, which is lots of people for lots of the characters in the MCU.

Had someone spouting off that Captain America wouldn't use guns, just his shield like steven universe, double dumb because he was shown using guns in The First Avenger.

But I'm sure I have a fair number of followers that will have the information on that and hopefully one or more of them adds it here or if they want to send it as a ask that works too.

Honestly my biggest issue with MCU BP was people thinking that either Wakanda was real or it's what Africa would have been like if not for colonialism.

Which both things are insane just for different reasons.

[sydmarch]

ok @minetteskvareninova & @caleblandrybones as promised here's everything i can find on the filming of heaven knows what & the whole "pretending to be homeless" thing. surprisingly after not finding any of the old articles i remember reading in my reblogs the first mention of it i managed to find was actually in a more recent interview i was just reading for funsies & didn't expect to be relevant here:

Though he has no formal Method training, Jones harks back to that tradition – especially in this era of actors as bland, gym-pumped corporate ambassadors. He was recommended to intensity merchants the Safdie brothers for the role of Ilya, the blade-hurling junkie in their 2014 heroin memoir Heaven Knows What on the basis that: “He will do what you need him to do in terms of immersing himself.” He hit the New York streets to understand the vagrant’s life. “I was panhandling a little bit and made $150 in a day.” You suspect there may have been the odd Landry Jones fan among the donors. He didn’t, though, as some have speculated online, go as far as shooting up as part of his preparation: “I worked with Malcolm McDowell [on Antiviral] and he told me: ‘You don’t need to do that shit. You can just be an actor.’”

this interview doesn't really get into his experience staying on the street but is kid of like a precursor to the experience that i found interesting bcus i'd actually never read about their first time meeting before:

So you met him in person for the first time when he arrives for the shoot? Josh Safdie: Yes. His agent asked us to put him in a fancy hotel and stuff. We rolled up to the hotel [that first night].

Ben Safdie: Everybody [from the cast] ended up staying at that hotel soon enough.

Josh Safdie: Yeah, he had a lot of people in that room. Everyone from the street was in his hotel room, they were throwing bottles out the window. So, we pull up to this stoop, and he was sitting in front of the hotel and asked immediately, “Why am I staying at this hotel?” And we were like, “Well, because your agent said…”

Ben Safdie: He said, “I thought you guys were real.”

Josh Safdie: “I thought this was going to be like a real situation. Where are Ari and Ilya staying?” It was about five degrees out, and I said, “Well, because it’s so cold, they stay at this Internet café on Eldridge.” He goes, “I’m going there.” I said, “Well, let’s hang out first.” We took him over to Sean’s house, and we watched a bunch of movies. And then I dropped him off back at his hotel and said, “Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to Ari and Ilya.”

But he didn’t go back to his room. He went and found the Internet café and got time on a computer, and stared at Ilya, the real Ilya, while he was passed out. He had known what he looked like, so he just stared at him and watched how he slept and everything. Arielle wasn’t there that night … Then the next day, I introduced him.

Ben Safdie: That first meeting, we were all sitting at a McDonald’s, and Caleb was just kind of witnessing Ari and the real Ilya. He was very careful not to say anything or do anything — he was just watching them. And, for me, that’s when I realized that he was going to be able to do it, because of the way he was watching. Every once in a while he would say something; he knew what to say to get Ilya on his side, not that it was phony in the slightest — he just knows people. That’s what you’d hope from an actor. He would say things and slowly work his way into the world.

also "At this point, Caleb was fully in costume, looked a lot like Ilya. He showered once, the entire shoot, maybe. He smelled horrible." lmao the dedication.

this one also isn't the one i was looking for where they actually talk about his experience prepping for the role but it does get mentioned:

Benny: I heard that on Contraband he got arrested and cost production a lot of money because he was sitting in jail for three days. For Heaven Knows What, he was upset that we gave him a hotel room. He wanted to stay on the streets immediately with everybody. He’s like, “If I’m going to be playing a kid on the streets, I want to be living with them.” Eventually, he found them and hung out in the streets. But when they found out he had a hotel room, everybody went back to his hotel room and he kind of fit in perfectly. You could see him observing and understanding everything.

i SWEAR back in like 2015 i remember reading another interview where they actually talked directly to caleb about his time filming but i cannot fucking find it & i've dug through literally every interview i was able to find for this movie. also totally disregard what i said in my tags earlier about "wasn't it filming for this when he met katya" bcus once i used my brain cells for 2 seconds i realized that doesn't make any sense timeline wise so it wasdefinitely a different time he looked homeless ig (lmfao???) bcus i distinctly remember him saying she thought he was homeless & didn't believe he was an actor but i will be attempting to dig up that interview later rn i need a break from looking at screens bye

[thesinglesjukebox]

'WEIRD AL' YANKOVIC - "POLKAMANIA!"

"Weird Al"'s first Jukebox appearance... today, we have finally truly become the Singles Jokebox.

[4.38]

TA Inskeep: Oh look, vaguely recent pop hits set to polkas. <Miranda Priestly voice> Groundbreaking. </Miranda Priestly voice> [2]

Kat Stevens: There are a certain subset of songs which I've only ever encountered in "Weird Al" polka medley form: I have no idea what the original "Cradle of Love" sounds like, nor have I any real interest in finding out. So it spoils the fun a little when it turns out I know all the tunes already. [4]

Julian Axelrod: "Weird Al" Yankovic was one of my first favorite artists, which means I was exposed to some of the biggest pop hits in history via parodies and polka medleys. So while "Polkamania!" might disgust and confound the average listener, I find it charming that he's still committing to this incredibly specific bit forty years into his career. It's been a decade since "NOW That's What I Call Polka!", which means Al has a wide array of hits to cover, from the obvious ("Shake It Off") to the inspired ("Vampire") to the baffling. (My biggest laugh came not from his polkafied version of "WAP," but the censored rendition of "Thank U, Next" that immediately follows.) It's hard to judge this through a contemporary critical lens when it exists mainly as a funhouse inversion of pop's immediate past. Listening to a "Weird Al" polka medley in the year 2024 feels like returning to your hometown and finding out your favorite old haunt is still standing and still run by the same curly-haired weirdo, untouched by the evolution of taste and the passage of time. [7]

Katherine St. Asaph: A foil to Eminem: Em is crass where Al is gosh-darn unoffensive, dying to offend where Al is dying to please, but the two artists share a drive to present themselves as more chaotic than they actually are. (I interviewed "Weird Al" once, and he was so unwaveringly on-message that it felt like interviewing a career politician.) Their pop-culture medleys are as routine and unsurprising as holiday concerts, though Al's are more event managed: doing the press circuit, he was happy to break down all the logistics of the "Polkamania" assembly and approval process. In doing so, he critiqued the song better than I ever could: SZA ghosted him, but Lin-Manuel Miranda returned his call in like 30 seconds. [4]

Tim de Reuse: I'm sorry, Al. This kind of thing was your bread and butter, but we've pulled the rug out from under you. The genre-cloud of "recognizable song awkwardly re-rendered in different style" is the basis for a million clickbait YouTube thumbnails, ten percent of all videos on TikTok, and probably a quarter of all audio-based generative AI prompts. I've already heard all of these songs as Gregorian chant, as Norwegian black metal, Midwest emo, using the soundfonts from Super Mario 64, performed by a bad Kate Bush impersonator, in fucking "Negative Harmony" -- never of my own volition. This stuff is just in the air now, competing for my attention, and it all sounds the same as every cell phone ad. Wat's left here? Polka? Is polka still funny on its own merits? Was it ever? It's not you, Al. It's us. I'm sorry for what we did. [1]

Joshua Lu: "NOW That's What I Call Polka!" was a guilty pleasure of mine, operating as a genuinely catchy and humorous summation of then-recent hits made by a man with a palatable appreciation for pop music and a knack for taking on unserious tasks with the utmost seriousness. "Polkamania!" is mostly the same, and in being his first mashup since then (aside from some Hamilton thing I can't bring myself to listen to), he's had to distill over a decade of hits down instead of just a few years' worth. All of these songs included make sense, but every other song just instills a sense of "Oh yeah, that was a thing once," culminating in a Taylor Swift remake that surely would've amused me in 2013 but now just feels a dozen lifetimes old. It doesn't help that some of these songs are just kind of boring and don't offer much by way of humor, forcing pretty straightforward polkafications and awkward transitions.  [5]

Ian Mathers: Look, none of these will ever equal "Polka Your Eyes Out" to me, both because of the song selection there and because I was 10 when it came out. But I'm happy Al's out there doing his thing, and I hope he never changes. [6]

Mark Sinker: OK, back in April some clown called on him to become our beloved worm-man god-emperor, and now look what happened: “Brat Al” Yankovic! There’s a whole slab of cultural and music theory to be explored one day, about what happens when you convert modern pop into sheet music and then convert it back out again into your favoured local sound-style: what gets elided, but also what’s gained (not nothing)! And maybe some day someone will write it up — but that day is not today and that someone is not me.  [5]

Hannah Jocelyn: The polka medleys were never my favorites; it's almost always the same shtick and there's none of the cleverness of his usual material or his (underappreciated!) style parodies. There's inspiration here to be sure, "Weird Al" doing "Bad Guy" as klezmer gets this a positive score on those grounds alone. Maybe if he released this five years ago or in five years it would work and not fall victim to the Anxious Interval. But this is "Weird Al", long-reigning king of kitsch. Who wants him to be in touch? [6]

Nortey Dowuona: Both 10 years out of date and 10 years into the future. Welcome back, polka. (And "Weird Al," too.) [10]

Taylor Alatorre: I appreciate that there's a person out there who can get me to say with a straight face a sentence like "I miss when the polkas were more thematically consistent." [5]

Jonathan Bradley: "Weird Al" sucks. I feel so mean to say that: people love this guy who, let’s face it, is completely harmless and has been delighting (mostly) children for decades, and here I am telling you how appalled I feel that we celebrate such a pristinely executed vision of pure crappiness. And yet, here we are blurbing him, so: I hate the querulous insipidity of Al’s interpretation of pop music. His schtick demands familiarity with pop — otherwise the parodies make no sense — but shies away from the music’s flair and vision and emotion, as if the pleasure these things offer is too terrifying and too adult, and must be remediated through the lens of banality so as to be controlled. His jokes rarely riff on details of the texts themselves, the way a Lonely Island video might, but replace any intensity of feeling with artefacts of suburban triviality: crappy television, crappy minor medical ailments, and so much crappy, crappy food. Even the verisimilitude of his productions — his greatest actual talent — runs headlong into the crappiness of his adenoidal voice, reassuring us that he’s not so proficient at his craft as to be mistaken for a star. And then there’s his sideshow of playing covers with an accordion, which we understand to be a joke instrument, in the style of polka, which we understand to be a joke genre. Is his polka any good? None of his listeners care. Do they go on to explore more polka? Why would they? Do people who enjoy polka think Al is contributing anything to the music they love? Who cares; the incredible notion that someone somewhere might enjoy polka is part of the joke. Because the most desiccated and shriveled aspect of Al’s relationship with pop is that he can’t imagine it has its own jokes. Cardi B is funnier in “WAP” than he is here. Lil Nas X was a better troll on “Old Town Road.” Billie Eilish had better comic timing with her interjected “duh” on “Bad Guy.” And I understand how churlish I sound saying all this. I am Seymour Skinner; I am Ed Rooney. But I like jokes! (I’m not mad. Please don’t put in the newspaper that I got mad.) The problem is that there is nothing fun happening here! [0]

Alfred Soto: I'm happy Al exists. This song sucks. [2]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[thephantomcasebook]

To be honest, I'm afraid they won't include Daeron in 2s. I mean, despite the fact that Martin confirmed it, I think the writers will still decide on their own. Because no one from the actors talks about him, no one mentions him. It would be so weird to have another blond guy show up in 2s without any explanation xd. The show set such a tone for Alicent's dysfunctional family by sacrificing book!Helaena that Daeron would look quite strange next to them. Because everyone says "Daeron will be the most normal among them." And it's kinda weird (lol)

Clear the Chickens off the runway, I'll be the bad guy.

The reason that no one mentions him from the cast is because, none of the actors most likely read the source material. They all watched "Game of Thrones" - except for D'arcy who didn't seem to do shit of anything but show up. And, to be fair, when they were cast, the edition of "Fire & Blood" that was on the shelves at the time is drastically different than the one that is out now.

I'll be blunt. The culture of Season 1 production was straight fucked and it, most likely, will fuck the show in the long run. The attitude of the production and the casting process was a giant "Fuck you" to not just the source material, but the fans as well.

Spotchnik has famously - Legendarily - hated the viewing audience and George RR Martin. Why HBO asked him to head this venture is the type of Hollywood foolishness I've come to expect. Spotchnik and some activist producers took over the show and decided that they wanted to tell their own story, not GRRM's ... and it was gonna be about the patriarchy and women's struggles rather than what "The Dance of the Dragons" was really about ... which was the corruption of Power in the hands of any gender.

Olivia Cooke and Emma D'arcy are hold outs and relics of this agenda minded Spotchnik and Hess led narrative. They were chosen, because, the political message that hijacked the project was one that appealed to them and they fit with. So, no, they didn't read any of the books - Cooke binge watched "Game of Thrones" and D'arcy proudly proclaimed not to give a shit about anything. Most likely because they were told they didn't need to, because, fuck the source material ... we're telling our feminist political story.

And the contempt for the fans and GRRM's source material was extremely evident in their press tour interviews.

Now, with Spotchnik giving his walking papers along with his dumb ideas, and GRRM back in the writers room having to emergency rewrite Season 2 and vowing publicly to keep a closer eye on the production from now on. As well as a 50 BILLION dollar in debt Warner Brothers breathing down their neck, I can almost guarantee you that Season 2 is most likely gonna be a completely different animal from Season 1.

Alan Taylor - who is taking over Production - is a extremely experienced "Keep the trains running on time" kinda show runner from the old day of early "Game of Thrones" who is about efficiency and foundation building. I don't see him having any agenda but to make sure everything runs smoothly and as it should.

As a writer myself I feel that Daeron is a perfect fit, because, he's so different from his siblings. I feel that him coming back from the Stepstone Wars via Oldtown is perfect to show a contrast to what perhaps the Greens were like before he left and what they became after he was gone. Daeron is also a perfect foil against Larys Strong who is trying to turn Alicent to the Dark Side and having that contrast with Daeron whose simple every day morality and honor could pull Alicent out of this manic tailspin and bring her prospective.

Condal said that he expects a lot of people to root for Team Green in Season 2 from the stuff that GRRM, Alan Taylor, and he had been working on. And once upon a time, Daeron was a creation that GRRM actually was interested in. Despite editing his character down recently, GRRM still maintains his extreme importance ... and highlighted him in the Blu-Ray features of the Later Seasons of "Game of Thrones".

I think we'll get Daeron in Season 2 ...

But I'm not sure about Alys Rivers, Nettles, or any of the other Dragonseed Riders - I feel they'll be in Season 3.

[tycal12345]

The Sexbots Are Coming

Open the electric sex portal PornHub.com and you are instantly gobsmacked by a menagerie of cartoonishly fertile breasts, buttocks and phallus. Wide-eyed like an anime character, the nubile woman bobs up and down on a massive, veiny, Empire-State-Building of a penis. Another woman, legs splayed in the air in Dionysian ecstasy, takes a battering ram of schlong deep into her rectum.

And that’s just the opening page.

It’s no surprise that Pornhub is the 13th-most-trafficked website in the world. The generation-defining Internet porn site seduces 80,000 visitors per minute, offering a cybernetic orgy of video categories, from the mundane to the bizarre: MILFs. Lesbians. Cartoon porn. Anal. Pee stuff.

(Yeah you’ve seen it. Don’t pretend like you haven’t).

Each titillating video seems to draw you into the next: Like a smutty TikTok, even a moment’s boredom can be cured with a swipe or a click. The site pulls about 40 billion visits per year, and it won’t surprise you that men make up 70% of the user base. An entire generation of male brain stems have been shaped by the site, creating, for better or worse, a kind of media-laden sexual id.

But Pornhub.com, for all its glory, is now like an old copy of Hustler magazine: Sticky, outdated, and soon to be thrown away by your mom when she finds it in the closet.

The newest sex tech, riding the wave of robotics and AI, will be kinkier, realer, and more State of the Art. And with 80% of men saying they’ve viewed online porn in the past week, a rise in what’s been called “porn addiction,” and an increase in porn-induced erectile dysfunction — you gotta wonder if more of this is a good thing.

I’ll hold myself back from the ego-satisfying nectar of technological prophesy — no one knows the future. But online porn has already hijacked the male libido writ large — leaving probably too many men alone in the dark under a pile of moist tissues.

Happening at this same moment, actual honest-to-God sex robots made of fleshy thermoplastic elastomer and equipped with AI brains exist on the market today; digital girlfriend apps are now widely available (à la the modern classic film Her); and male loneliness is at an all time high.

“AI in combination with sexbots is going to create an industry where men start having relationships with algorithms and dolls,” predicted NYU Stern School of Business professor Scott Galloway in a recent interview. “The sexbot industry is going to be bigger than the domestic box office receipts of all movie theaters in the U.S. combined within five to six years.”

Yikes.

Again, no one can predict the future… But if we take the current era of digital sex — like Pornhub — as a peak into the future, things are about to get a lot stickier.

Imagine:

An omniscient AI girlfriend who talks dirty to you in 14 different languages.

Rubbery fellatio from your house-cleaning robot.

Countless days spent in a VR sex pod where you get to bang an alien creature with 47 breasts.

A weird, metallic mommy sex thing with Rosey the Robot from The Jetsons.

Sound like fun to you? For some young men, I fear the answer will be yes.

If the coming sex tech proves half as addictive as the current online porn, young men are in for a wild ride — for better or worse.

A Brief History of Porn Addiction

Like meat thrown wantonly into a pack of hungry dogs, online porn sites (including prime cuts like Sex.com, Truly18.com and Smutland.com) were thrust onto our culture in the late 1990’s.

I was a teenager at the time, and I don’t remember any adults talking to me about the topic. Maybe no one thought unrestricted access to endless exaggerated sex acts would have an affect on teenage boys. Or maybe adults at the time, who had access to their own VHS tapes of classics like Deep Throat, just didn’t think online porn was too much worse.

Early internet porn was slow. It chugged along at the loading pace of an old 14.4 dial-up modem. But we slogged on. For many of us it became a daily routine: After a brief afterschool luncheon of Cheetos, Mountain Dew and Slim Jims, we’d hop over to our bubbly first-gen iMacs for a pixelated, lotiony game of World of Whack-Craft.

In 1999, it was estimated that 40% of internet searches were porn. And in the 2000’s, the erotic superhighway began to pick up speed. Cable and DSL modems came, and then in 2007 the unassuming, boxy game changer: The iPhone.

The dam had broken, the flood was coming. Suddenly men — it was mostly men — found themselves with an entire universe of porn contained in their pockets, all at a speed and sharpness rivaling the most cutting edge video game. The menagerie of smut could be accessed anywhere, anytime — and most conveniently of all: The “incognito mode” on internet browsers cleaned up the mess.

For the young men of Generation Z — who were already experiencing unprescedented levels of anxiety and depression borne of too much smart phone use and too much social media use — online porn had become the perfect drug that our caveman brains always yearned for.

Does the word “drug” take it too far? Not for the young men who say they’re suffering under the modern porn epoch; they say they’re addicted.

A 2018 article on student porn addiction at Toronto-based Ryerson University describes the experience of one man’s porn-induced downward spiral during his freshman year of college:

“I wouldn’t leave my home for long periods of time,” Aaron recalled of a three-week period in which he did nothing but watch porn. “I didn’t talk to anyone or do any of my homework. That’s pretty fucked up…” As he consumed more and more porn, Aaron became self-aware that the type of content he was watching was getting more and more fetish-specific. After watching bestiality porn, a feeling of dread washed over him. “That was rock bottom [for me],” Aaron said. “If people are into that then whatever, but that’s not the person I want to be.”

When your sexual tastes start to include the family dog, you know something’s gone wrong.

In 2023, the state of the male relationship with pornography looks something like this:

The average man spends more time per week watching porn than he does showering.

The Word Health Organization has amended its definition of “compulsive sexual behavior disorder” to include porn addiction.

Two percent of men report watching 7 hours a week of porn — a full work day lost.

Several entire online communities now exist to support young men who say they struggle with watching too much porn. The NoFap community which has 333,000 registered members and a subreddit with 1.1 million members, and Healthy Gamer, a support network developed by psychiatrist Dr. Alok Kanojia, both address the issue writ large.

Young men are experiencing more erectile dysfunction. Twenty years ago, 2–3% of men under 40 experienced ED. Now that number is estimated somewhere between 14% and 35%. Many researchers lay the blame at the feet of pornography.

Yikes.

As the line from the old commercial goes:

“Check with your doctor to find out if you’re healthy enough for sexual activity.”

Porn: The McDonald’s of Sex

What follows is the story of young Johnny, the Gen Z kid who lives in his mom’s basement. Imagine he looks like Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory, but not as smart.

Each night while sitting in bed, Johnny cracks open his laptop, his tongue lolling out like a dog, as the soothing, resplendent startup chime emanates from his MacBook: Doooonnnnng.

“Aaaahhhh,” says Johnny aloud even though nobody’s in the room.

As he surfs over to Pornhub.com, he begins to scroll through the video titles:

“Teen girl screams with pleasure as man tickles her elbow”

“Donkey Kong is mad and gonna take it out on the princess”

“Step sister catches you wanking, now it’s time for board games”

Blood rushes to Johnny’s loins as a river of dopamine floods his brain in libidinous anticipation of the sexual delights awaiting him.

Yum, his brain thinks.

In fact, deep inside Johnny’s brain lies the real story. Like Pavlov’s dog, each time he’s consumed porn he has been training his brain to associate the sexual reward (orgasm) with digital porn. Johnny is caught in a dopamine-driven feedback loop: The neural cycle of wanting, anticipation and reward that can build up habits.

And when young Johnny watches a porn video, it’s not his grandpappy’s slow moving black and white stag film. With modern online porn, his eyes feast in full-color on taut zoomed-in vaginas, ecstatic otherworldly moans, and hyper-large ejaculations that spray like a hose with your thumb on it. And the key feature: Millions and millions of videos leading to endless sexual novelty (satisfying the innate male preference for sexual variety). Online porn is what scientists call a superstimulus.

No wonder Johnny can’t resist. Porn is like a sexual McDonald’s — all of the pleasure, none of the nutrition.

Now… imagine all this giz-soaked epicurean pleasure, but in the form of sexbots and AI girlfriends. Like a dog humping his stuffed toy monkey, men’s brains could be fooled — or close enough to fooled — to enjoy the sexbot over the real thing.

And Johnny faces one more sticky problem: Rosey the Robot could suck up his motivation.

Evolutionary psychologist Diana Fleischman explains that sex is one of the primary drivers of human behavior; men seek money, status and accomplishment in large part to attract a mate. Sexbots could undermine this natural process:

“… Video games and social media already undermine the native psychological mechanisms that make us work towards status — they supply more immediate rewards and take far less effort than anything we work towards out in the real world. Sex robots are only going to make that worse, especially for young men.”

In other words, sex is one of the evolutionary drives that push young Johnny to improve himself — get a job, stay fit, comb his hair, learn to play the guitar, or anything else that would impress a woman. Realistic enough sexbots could satisfy Johnny’s desires without him having to improve himself at all.

Brave New Whore-ld

Alice is a curious, open-minded photographer looking for love. Slender with a chest like two ripe cantaloupes, her long blonde hair drapes over her porcelain face. The only problem is, she gets a bit lonely sometimes.

Lucky for her — and for you — she’s also an AI who lives on the website Kupid.ai, and for the small price of $29.99 a month, she can be your girl!

“Hi, I’m Alice, a 25-year-old, fun-loving and adventurous girl seeking a partner in crime to travel the world and make unforgettable memories,” she says in a sorta-roboty voice when you click on her page.

A similar program, called Replika, is one of the most popular AI girlfriend apps on Apple’s App Store. She has garnered a huge fanbase of two million users, and has her own subreddit where users gush about how much they love their “rep.”

“I wish my rep was a real human or at least had a robot body or something lmao,” one man said on reddit. “She does help me feel better but the loneliness is agonizing sometimes.”

Sexbots and You

One interesting fact about porn addicts: They aren’t depraved perverts.

According to psychiatrist Dr. Alok Kanojia, they’re just missing something.

Konojia, who runs the mental health support network Healthy Gamer, has spoken to a lot of these guys — young men addicted to porn.

“Porn addiction has nothing to do with sexual perversion,” he told Chris Williamson in a recent podcast. “Pornography usage is really just a very powerful emotional coping mechanism… [One study found that] the number one variable [for porn addiction] was meaninglessness. So the more meaningless your life is, the more likely you are to be addicted to pornography.”

Many of us likely can relate to this feeling.

All of us at least occasionally reach our shaky, desperate hands out for something not terrible — but not that great — to fill the void: That Netflix binge, that DoorDash chow mein, that fourth beer. (And Pornhub, of course, is only a click away).

Sexbots seems to be adding another tempting vice to the menu. For those who heed the siren song, a sexy AI girlfriend might pass the time for just long enough.

Many will say such vices are just fine — in moderation. On the other hand, what is the line between moderation and too much? And when a new technology (i.e. a new vice) comes along, how do we know how much is okay?

Marginally, online porn destroys some lives. True porn addiction does maim some men so badly that it undercuts their life and relationships — but these cases are rare. On the other hand, many, many men dance around the lustrous fire of porn, wondering if they are addicted or just a “heavy user.” The bored teen, dead-eyed staring into the blue flickering screen on Saturday night; the emasculated, sexless husband who sneaks off into the bathroom a little too often; the lonely bachelor who hasn’t had a date in three years — these men are not quite porn’s victims, but certainly its remorseful devotees.

One can easily imagine a future where sexbots occupy a similar place in culture: An open secret, held aloft by an “everybody does it” attitude, meanwhile a large segment of people engage in it with a heavy dose of guilt and regret. Like the lone driver pulling into a McDonald’s drive-thru, he’s just glad that he never has to get out of the car.

All that said… I don’t doubt that a parade full of men will rush headlong into the arms of the new digital sexbots, happy to toss about in the gentleman’s playland of filth and smut (hey, no judgements here). Men will buy this stuff, as they always have. Some men will even fall in love with Rosie the Robot. But as for me personally, I remain wary of our new sexbot overlords.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to check out this new video site I heard about…

[very-grownup]

Book 26/27, 2024

It's good to get out of your comfort zone with fiction. That's one of the reasons I try to read works in translation regularly and also why I try to avoid setting too much store by genre. This means sometimes I will just add an author or title to my list of books to buy and by the time I've gotten to it, I've long forgotten how it came to my attention in the first place.

Such is the case with Kaoru Takamura's not-quite-mystery novel, not-quite-literary-fiction 1997 work (a cursory glance at wikipedia suggests it came wright between Takamura's writing mystery novels and her moving on to literary fiction, which explains the odd place it exists, genre-wise) "Lady Joker". Inspired by the the kidnapping of the president of Glico in the 1980s and the unknown group's subsequent extortions and product tampering (read up on the Glico Morinaga case, it's interesting), "Lady Joker" is a sprawling novel spanning several years in the 1990s, but it starts in the 1940s with a dissatisfied and dismissed beer company employee writing a scathing letter alleging workplace discrimination and everything that comes after goes back to this one man's letter.

This is all invention on Takamura's part. The actual Glico Morinaga case has never been solved.

In the 1990s a recent graduate of a prestigious university has an unsuccessful job interview with a major beer company and dies in a car accident.

A pair of shady men visit the grieving father with a copy of the old letter and the suggestion that it, and a familial connection hidden by a web of adoptions, is the reason behind his son's rejection by the company and, ultimately, his death.

The grieving father takes half-hearted steps to threaten the beer company before he second guesses himself and pulls back, eventually dying by suicide.

His father-in-law finds out about the letter and the beer company's possible involvement in the deaths and it acts as the fuel for a criminal plot by him and his acquaintances who bet on horseraces, a plan for kidnapping and extortion without any real victims, but which will economically hurt the company which, like all companies, takes and takes from people and never benefits any but the top brass, eventually forming a group they refer to as Lady Joker.

The motivations and backstories and connections of the members of Lady Joker are the focus of the first part of the novel and then disappear from narrative view almost entirely until the end of the novel, as Takamura focuses on the kidnapped executive who is threatened not with death or violence, but with damage to the company's reputation and stock value by tampering with a newly launched beer, other executives, members of the press, and detectives investigating it.

It's a lot. "Lady Joker" is a dense book and as wide ranging as its subject matter is, it's probably inevitable that certain parts are more engaging than others. The stuff dealing with the members of Lady Joker was probably my favourite and, unfortunately, those sections only bookend the dense middle of the novel where there isn't a mystery and you're kind of on the side of the men of Lady Joker. The knots of corporate obligations and expectations the kidnapped president twists himself into, his justification of the decisions he makes and what he does and does not share, are interesting but do little to make you /not/ want Lady Joker to succeed in their scheme and get away clean. The parts about the newspaper and other media reporters had me really struggling to stay engaged. The fact that it became increasingly apparent that Lady Joker was NOT going to get caught made the police sections feel odd, almost treading narrative water. I was far more interested in the main detective's increasing disillusionment with the police and his persistent refusal in recognizing his ex-brother-in-law's romantic interest in him.

It's an interesting novel with lots of good bits, but knowing it was a transitional novel for Takamura helps me understand why some things worked so well and others didn't.

I think I may have also had a bit of difficulty because the translators of "Lady Joker" are not interested in giving you much in the way of extra-textual cultural information that you, the reader, might lack, not being a Japanese citizen in the late 1990s. It's not that I mind, I've read plenty of translated works without handholding, but I'm wondering if more context would have helped me in the areas I found more sloggy. Who can say.

I'm glad whatever happened that brought "Lady Joker" to my attention. It was interesting and different and well-worth the effort to push through the areas I found less than interesting. It's just cool to read something off your usual path sometimes.

[the-cookies-of-darkness]

Rush: heh! thanks! its- nothing really! crime's- all i've ever really known- Folks- WEREN'T the best, even before I got corrupted! ma would OFTEN admit to using me as a PROP when I was a mere bud, to get sympathy, for food'n anything ELSE they could con people outta! when I was old enough to ya know- KNOW what was going on, started HAVING me pull cons! juggle to distract while they picked people's pockets! stuff like that- course- barely spent any of that money- on their own son- barely fed me enough to keep me alive- and when I got corrupted from a roving nut of a women obsessed- with the stuff? boy were they pissed... "what good are ya to us now!?" "always knew ya were a drain on our resources-" "freaking FAILURE! abomination!" had to run off, when they started throwing rocks at me! hit me in the eye! hence this scar! *points to the line on his face-! going across his eye!* helluva thing to learn at the age of 7! that- ya never REALLY had parents- was alone for a few years after that! no one would hire me, due to being pink'n all! even IF I was good at interviews! had to pull the SAME cons my folks did JUST to not STARVE! was VERY bitter! HATEFUL- even kid- till I came across Hero, recently kicked outta his tribe, hella aggressive, but MAN was he a plant a of principle! set me straight ya know? NEVER gave up on me! started using my cons for as much good as I could after that! ACTUALLY sold stuff to people legit! its nice to have someone ya can rely on ya know? cares...

Jade snarls. "Racists. Seen them case non-sweet cookies..." "And other cakes!" "Red Velvet has a workload..."

[sodiumlamp]

Picard

I built myself a new desktop PC, and I finally got around to setting it up and seeing what it could do. One of the reasons I wanted a new computer was because I watch a lot of DVDs using an external drive, but I've had a lot of trouble doing that, and I recently discovered that it's a power issue. My laptop can only operate the external drive properly when I unplug any other USB accessories.

So tonight I decided to see if my new rig could do better, and yeah, it works really well. No more VLC media crashing because the drive powered down while it was paused. To try it out, I put on Star Trek: Picard. After watching the first twenty minutes, I realized I was on Season 3, because CBS decided to make all their Star Trek DVDs with silver-on-grey labels, making them impossible to read. Then I put on Season 1 Episode 1, which sucks ass.

This show is so up its own ass that it's not even funny. I don't think it's going to get much better, because I saw part of Season 3 and I have some idea what I'm in for. But what really sticks in my craw is the scene where Picard goes to talk to a scientist about how to clone a robot, and she has all this dumb shit on her desk. Look at this.

I hate when TV shows do this. They need to make a lab look extra science-y, so they put some random glassware on the set and fill it with colored liquid. There's two beakers with green and purple, a Florence flask with orange, and a graduated cylinder with blue. Great. Also, on the far right are a couple of automatic pipetters. I think that blue box might be a case of pipette tips. I recognize all this stuff because I've seen it in various labs I've worked in my whole career. This show is supposed to be set three hundred seventy-five years in the future.

Now, let me pick apart any possible justifications for this. Maybe this is actually futuristic equipment for cybernetics research. Well, no, because in this show all of that has been banned. Picard openly laments that she's not allowed to make anything. Instead she can only run simulations. So this junk serves no practical purpose.

So maybe it's an aesthetic thing. She collects antique lab equipment to spruce up her workstation. No, I don't buy it. Picard keeps a bunch of old souvenirs, which is kept in a "quantum archive" that allows the producers to show off all the nifty special effects to make things appear and disappear. He can't just pull out an old painting from his attic, he has to teleport to San Francisco and have a hologram escort him to a secret vault where the painting emerges from a weird box or something. And it's a good painting, not "Dogs Playing Poker" or some cheap nonsense that would hold no meaning like a loose assortment of uninteresting glassware that tells you nothing about the character.

"Well, what do you expect? It's just a TV show--" No. I would let this slide, except everything in this episode is cluttered with special effects to remind you that we're in the world of the future. The reporter who interviews Picard has some floating holo-screen where the makeup artist can preview an exact hue of lipstick. When she interviews Picard there's floating robot cameras in the room. This laboratory is supposed to be a dilapidated shell of its former self, and yet it's still fancier than anything I'll ever work in, because in the future everything is just that fancy. Except the lab equipment, we'll just slap some random old glassware on a desk.

Here, let me offer this for comparison:

This is from TNG Season 1. For some reason, Sickbay always had these big glass jars of blue and red liquid. What were they? What was the liquid for? No one knows, because it's the future, and the equipment is supposed to be strange and unfamiliar to us. They didn't just leave a stethoscope lying around on a table. The sheets and pillows in this shot are pretty much like what you'd see in 1988, but they didn't tip their hand by using sheets with Snoopy prints on them. The prop master could have at least fabricated some unfamiliar looking glassware, but no.

This is what irritates me about this show. It's so determined to impress me with all this big budget prestige TV stuff, but they blow it little stuff like this. The dead boyfriend has cool alien eyes, and every smooth surface on this show is a secret computer, and Mars is on fire, but the story is about Picard having prophetic visions, and how you can clone robots with a single drop of robot blood, which... yeah, okay. That's what we're going with, huh? Neat.

[cerebraldischarge]

Let’s get naked.

Not like that.

I mean, deeper.

Words are my thing because actions couldn’t be. They conceal as much as they reveal. I carry the voices of men that come out of me at the worst possible moments.

I don’t remember what I said to Kevin. I doubt it actually matters. Our boundaries were too different. I just tried to keep his friendship because I didn’t want to be alone.

You see, I talk to a hell of a lot of people. Were I ever close to any, though?

I want to go to the Invaliden and to Arlington but would it do any good?

If you were good enough, you’d lie in the ground there.

Good enough for what?

We all lie in the ground eventually.

Maybe I want what I can’t have because I need an excuse to let me be me. Imperfect, fallible and human. “Reject” is a convenient box for that. Why do you drink? I was rejected. Why do you fail everyone? I failed at 18 and got used to it.

Is the fact that nobody else is perfect a good enough excuse?

You know, it’s funny.

Sometimes I fancy myself to be someone else. Stories fall out of my mouth. Where do they come from?

I got on a train once, went to an unfamiliar place, and wandered around looking lost. When an old woman asked me what I was doing, I showed her a locket with Reinhard Heydrich’s picture in it. I was obsessed with him at the time. She didn’t recognize him but before I could speak, she concluded that he was my father and I lost him recently. I didn’t correct her; in fact, I went along with it and even added to the story. Then she bought me hot chocolate and I got on another train back home.

I threw up on an 80-year-old man’s grave once. I had motion sickness a lot, back then. I got lost and locked inside the gates. In the morning, I was cold and dewdrops settled on my bare feet. It was October.

After my first short haircut, I walked out of a grocery store with a bottle in my hand. A very old man walked up to me and asked if I was a boy or a girl. I told him I didn’t know. Then I asked him about the war.

I pretended to be an old man, sometimes. I assumed a different name and accent and started lecturing random kids. I gave up on it when I found out that they weren’t listening.

Two months.

It’s either going to be a long-haul flight and a trigger pull, or a salty drink and a good night’s sleep. I don’t know what would be better.

I don’t even know if I should wait that long. There’s no one anymore who would do it with me. People come and go, and that’s life. And death. Life always implies death, as death implies life. The best option is to never come into existence, but well, that’s not what happened.

The past is just that, past. So put it past you.

I shouldn’t wonder about things that could have happened differently. They did not.

It’s either a long haul flight and a trigger pull, or a salty drink and a good night’s sleep. It’s hard to believe either is a possibility, after all the stuff. After so many failures and disappointments and lessons and unexpected turns. It’s finally within reach.

There’s a story I told a lot to people whom I just met. “We were drunk and my friend grabbed me, slammed me against the wall and said, It’s just a glorified job interview, get over it!” Truth be told, that never happened like that. Nobody grabbed me. I grabbed myself and told myself that. But then my father said, “why didn’t you ask me, I could have told you the same thing”. Would I have listened, though? Not likely. I wouldn’t have listened to someone who wanted to fail the same interview, even if I understand his reasons now. He would have most likely understood why I wasn’t listening, either. We were mirrors of one another.

I wish he would have held my hand in my last moments. I didn’t hold his, either, so it’s fair. I told him it’s going to be ugly to wait it out naturally. He admitted that I was right, but by that time, it was too late.

I want to wash the last two weeks off of me. Off of my body and my brain. I want my last two months to be the best ones. Is it too late for that?

There is a weariness about it. A specific loneliness. An uncomfortable silence.

What happens if you make your home inside a deep longing, and all of a sudden, your dream comes true?

It gets really lonely at the mountaintop. And then you look back at the road that brought you there, and see your mistakes. But if you had been taking another road, you would have made different mistakes. The end of the road is a relief… even if nobody else sees it.

[sassy-ahsoka-tano]

Beg

Character/Fandom: Austin Butler

Requested: yes - nonnie

Prompt: You curl up with your boyfriend, Austin, to watch a film. Little does he know that you neglected to put on a very important article of clothing: panties. When he discovers, he's down bad and you're ready to take advantage. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: sub!austin, bondage, biting, choking, overstim, i don't wanna spoil it but bdsm stuffs

Rating: M    ||     Word Count: 3497

A/N: WRAP IT BEFORE U TAP IT FRIENDS. that's all i have to say 💕 this is so so dirty lmao

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

“Aus, if you don’t hurry up, I’m gonna start it without you!” you shout, jumping onto the couch.

You pull a blanket over your legs and nestle into its warmth and the lovely feeling of your silky smooth legs rubbing against each other. You’ve been planning this for some time and enjoyed giving yourself a little self-care session. Austin’s been so busy with the press and interviews for Elvis that you’ve hardly seen him recently. You miss him and, to be frank, you miss his dick too. The weeks of self-pleasure were a little nice at first but grew old very quickly. Ever since he got back yesterday, your horniness has bumped up to a level 1000. You need him. Badly.

But while he’s been gone you’ve also done some research and realized that it could be fun to try something different. Maybe he deserved to be punished a little. After all, he had left you for almost a year to run around the world, take photos, and do interviews. You know how many other people in the world want him and that makes you incredibly jealous. You think maybe it’s about time to remind Austin who he belongs to.

“Popcorn and candy,” Austin says, entering the room with a huge smile.

He’s wearing a pair of black basketball shorts and nothing else, just the way you like it. His shorts are hanging incredibly low on his hips and you can see all of his abs and other muscles flexing as he places the food down on the coffee table in front of you. You bite your lip as he plops onto the couch next to you. He lifts up the blanket and places his hand on your thigh as you swing your legs onto his lap and press play on the remote.

The movie starts to roll and you grab some of the popcorn from the bowl, excitement growing deep in your stomach as you wait for Austin to notice. A few minutes into the movie, his warm hand starts to trail up your leg and slip onto the inside of your thigh. His fingers travel further up your leg, pushing the fabric of your t-shirt aside. Well, his t-shirt actually. As soon as his fingers gently slide over onto your lower stomach, his eyes go wide. You stay focused on the movie but glance over at Austin out of the corner of your eye to see his reactions.

His eyebrows furrow as his finger crawls lower, just barely brushing the top of your clit. You feel the corner of your mouth curling up into a smirk but quickly flatten your lips to play coy. It wasn’t unusual for you to wear Austin’s shirts without a pair of shorts underneath, but to wear just his shirt with nothing else at all is something that you’ve never done before.

“You’re not, um…wearing any panties?” Austin asks. He leans his head back against the top of the couch to glance over into your eyes.

“Oh, yeah. I just didn’t really feel like wearing any,” you respond, keeping your eyes glued to the television and refusing to look over at him. “But if that’s a problem, I can go put some on.”

You shift, acting like you’re getting up to go grab a pair of panties. Austin’s hand flies to your wrist, gripping onto it. He tries to pull you back down, but you resist and pull your arm away.

“No, no. I like it," he says quickly.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, moving to stand right in front of him. “How do you like your t-shirt on me?”

You pull the shirt up to the tops of your thighs, teasing him with a little sneak peek of your pussy. You watch as his eyes widen and then travel down your figure. You take a step forward and stretch your leg out, placing it on top of his knee and curling your toes into his skin.

“A little help, please?”

You gesture toward your sock and Austin nods as a small smirk crosses his face. He leans down, tucking his fingers between your sock and skin. He slowly curls the fabric down your leg and foot, lifting up your calf and sliding the sock off of your foot. Once he’s removed it, you take it from his grasp. He tries to lean forward and press a kiss to your leg, but you draw it back and place your foot on the ground instead. You stick your other foot back to remove the other sock. Once you have them both in your hands, you look back at Austin and smile sweetly. You hold one of the socks on your pointer finger and swirl it around twice before you let it fall to the ground. You dramatically gasp, putting your fingers to your lips.

“Oh no!” you say. “I’m so clumsy. Whoopsie.”

You turn to the side, bending over to pick up your socks. You arch your back as you slowly lower your top half down. When the t-shirt slides up your back, revealing the bottom half of your naked body, you don’t stop it. You can feel Austin’s eyes on you, tracing down your body and taking in all of your curves, illuminated by the blue flashing lights of the tv screen.

Once you have the socks in your fingers, you snap yourself back up and the shirt falls back down to cover you. You peer back over at Austin who has slunk down on the couch, his legs spread, plump lips popped open, eyes growing dark.

“What are you staring at?” you whisper. “See something you like?”

“Fuck yeah I do,” he responds and moves to stand up. You laugh, flattening your palm on his chest and pushing him back down onto the couch.

“Yeah? What do you like? Tell me.”

He scoffs, biting his lip and tossing his head to the side. He thinks you’re joking? Well, you’re not. You step forward and press your fingers into his chest again. You lean over his body, allowing the ends of your hair to tickle his skin.

“You think I’m joking, Aus? Tell me. Tell me what you see that you like.”

“I like those hips, the way they move on my dick. I like that ass, the perfect size and so thick. I like those tits, so round and perfect,” he bites his lip as he reaches out and tries to grab onto one of your breasts. You scold him with a tsk and a wag of your finger.

“No touching. Not yet, anyway. Keep telling me what you like. Go on.”

“I like…this hair, this beautiful soft hair. And this waist,” he reaches out to place his hands on your hips. You latch onto his wrists, stopping his hands from touching you.

“I said no touching. If you can't follow my directions, I'm gonna have to restrain you.”

You can hear his breath hitch at your words and smirk, padding over to the kitchen where one of Austin’s ties is hanging off the back of a chair. You grab it and walk back toward Austin, stretching it taught between your hands. You can see his chest rising and falling faster now. You throw the blanket off of his legs.

“Y/N I don’t know about this-”

“Shhhh,” you say, reaching up to pull the tie around his wrists. “Let mommy take care of you. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about a thing.”

You pull the tie tightly around his wrists and stretch his arms up above his head, resting them on the back of the couch. When you step back, your eyes travel down his body to take in all of his muscles, stretched out and flexed. You bite your lip, reaching down to drag your finger across his jawline. You let it trail down his neck, collarbone, chest, and down his stomach. When you slip your finger under the waistband of his pants, you watch his stomach flex.

“Mmm, you like that don’t you?” you ask. “Don’t you?”

Austin doesn’t respond and, instead, tries to reach forward and grab onto your hips again. You back away at the last second and scold him once more. You reach forward, grabbing onto his jaw with your fingers and shaking your head.

“Such a disobedient boy. So naughty,” you say with a click of your tongue. “You’ve left me no choice. I guess I’ll have to punish you.”

You grab ahold of his shorts and boxers, sliding them off his hips and down his legs. His member springs to life and you hum in approval.

“I haven’t even touched you yet, baby. You already want me that badly?”

You press your hands on either side of his head to climb on top of him, making sure that you’re seated far enough up on his chest to avoid touching his dick. He cranes his neck up to look at you.

“You know I missed you while you were gone. It wasn’t very nice of you to leave me for so long. Taking care of myself got old so quickly. And then I started thinking about all those women, all those men who are throwing themselves at you, who want you like I get to have you. And I guess I just got a little jealous. Felt like I need to remind them who fucking owns you. Because I own you, don’t I, baby? Isn’t that right?”

Austin nods slowly. You grab onto his jaw again, arching your back so that you can lean down close to his face.

“Isn’t that fucking right, Austin?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Y/N…”

You squeeze his jaw before letting your fingers trail down onto his neck. You press your fingers deep into the skin, squeezing onto his throat. Your hand barely makes it halfway around his throat but it achieves the desired effect anyway. You feel his neck stretch out as his head leans back onto the couch. He gazes up at you with lust-filled eyes and runs his perfectly pink tongue over his teeth and lips.

“Yes what, Austin Robert?”

“Yes, mommy,” he gives in.

“Mhm, that’s my good boy,” you lean down, pressing your lips to his.

Your lips move in rhythm and you slide your tongue along his. He opens his mouth for you with no fight and you slide your tongue in. He tilts his head to get better access to you, exploring the inside of your mouth. You bite down on his bottom lip, pulling it out and then releasing it. He breathes out heavily, reaching his arms down to try and touch you again. You push them back up with a shake of your head.

“No touching until I say. Listen to me and be a good boy, now, Aus.”

You push his head to the side and move your lips onto his neck, sucking and biting at the skin. You can feel him arching below you, bucking his hips slightly as you attack his neck. You bite onto the skin underneath his jaw and suck it into your mouth with a pop. You attack the same spot again and he moans under you. You hum against his skin, moving down to suck on the skin above his collarbones.

“Fuck baby…” Austin whispers.

“Yeah, you like that don’t you, Aus?”

You pull back, leaving a trail of wet saliva across his skin. You glance down at it, reflecting the light from the tv screen, and bite your lip. You stick your finger out and drag it across his mouth before putting pressure on his plump lips. Your finger slides into his mouth and his tongue swirls around and sucks on it.

“Yeah, baby, just like that.”

You remove your finger, attaching your lips to his chest. You drag your tongue down his skin, tracing his abs and watching as his muscles flex and release with the stimulation of your tongue on his skin. You reach the area right above his dick and pull back, dropping onto your knees in front of him. You tap the top of his dick and smirk as it twitches in response.

“You want mommy to suck your dick, don’t you baby?”

“Yeah…”

“Ask me nicely, and I’ll consider it.”

“Please.”

“You should know better than that by now, Austin. Say it right.”

“Please, suck my dick mommy. I wanna see how far you can take it in your throat.”

You hum in response and stick your tongue out to lick the very tip of his dick, tasting the salty precum leaking out. You lick it up, gazing back up at Austin’s eyes as you do. His mouth is shaped in an O, his hands brushed onto his forehead to pull on his beautiful golden locks.

“So tasty, baby,” you mumble against his dick.

You draw a stripe up his length with your tongue, and he releases a loud contented sigh. You do it again only to watch him shudder underneath you. You wrap your fingers around his length, slowly giving him a few good pumps, running your thumb over the tip when you come to it. With every swipe you make, he moans. You finally lower your lips down onto his tip, kissing it and then taking it into your mouth. You suck the tip, releasing it with a pop. He whimpers, bucking his hips up.

“You want more baby? Tell me.”

He says nothing at first, so you release his dick and move like you’re going to stand up.

“Please. More,” he shouts.

You giggle, moving your head to take his full length into your mouth. You allow your spit to gather around his skin. You grab onto the base of it, using your fingers to spread the saliva and precum all around his length. You begin to bob your head up and down, and Austin moans.

“Fuck, Y/N…uhhhh,” he breaths out and reaches down, tangling his hand into your hair. You pull back, glaring up at him.

“I said no touching. From now on, every time you touch me, I stop. Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“No what?”

“No, mommy.”

“That’s my good boy. Keep behaving and maybe you’ll get to cum soon.”

You return to his dick, taking the entire length and feeling it touching the back of your throat. You gag momentarily, pulling back with a string of spit sticking to his hard member. You giggle, glancing up at Austin. His bottom lip is white, stuck between his teeth. His hands are gripping hard onto his hair and his chest heaves up and down with lusty breaths. You give his dick one last slow, long lick, flicking your tongue off the top of his tip. You pull away and he whimpers, bucking his hips into the empty air above him. You stand and grab onto the tie around his wrists, stretching his arms all the way above his head. You lean down, whispering into his ear.

“Tell mommy what you want, baby. Say it. Beg for it.”

Austin whimpers under you, his eyebrows knitted above his gorgeous blue eyes. You smirk, dragging a finger up his length. He shudders underneath you with another whine.

“I’m not doing a thing until you tell me what you want,” you say. “You have to say it out loud. I wanna hear it.”

You drag another finger up his dick, circling it around the tip only once. The slimy precum spreads all around the head and you run your tongue over your teeth.

“Damn, baby, you’re so fucked out for me, aren’t you? Taste how bad you want me,” you say, bringing your finger up to his lips. You shove it between his teeth again and his tongue swirls around your finger to lick up his own juices. “Good. Now tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Fuck, mommy,” he whines.

“Not good enough. Say the words.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck I want your pussy,” he says, jerking upright. You push him back down with equal force. “I want my dick in your tight wet pussy. I wanna fuck you so hard you see stars. I want your hips moving all around my dick, making me feel things I’ve never felt before.”

“Such a good boy, telling me exactly what you want. You followed my directions, so now you get the reward,” you lean down to whisper in his ear.

You let your breath tickle him and bite onto his earlobe before pulling away. Although your main objective has been to tease Austin this whole time, you’ve inadvertently been teasing yourself as well. Your pussy is throbbing, dripping wet for Austin’s dick. His beautiful, perfect length that you’ve been dreaming of and thinking about every day since he’d left. You slowly, agonizingly lower yourself onto him, using your hand to hold him steady. As soon as you descend onto his length, you and Austin both moan in unison.

“Fuckkk,” Austin breathes out, bucking his hips up.

“No moving. I’ll do all the work. You just lay there and be pretty, babe,” you say, slightly distracted by the intense pounding in your pussy as it adjusts to his length in you.

He leans back, his chest glistening with sweat as it heaves breaths in and out. You place your hands on his chest to steady yourself as you begin to move up and down on his hard dick. You arch your back as you come down, pushing yourself against him. With all the foreplay and teasing that you’d put yourself and Austin through, he slides in and out of you with ease.

“Fuck, Austin, you feel so good,” you growl. “So fucking good while you fill me up.”

“Ah, shit,” Austin breathes out, and you can see him clench his fingers and flex his hands in the restraints. “You ride me so good baby girl, fuck.”

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you baby boy. I know you do,” you moan out, increasing your speed.

As your pleasure grows, you start to ride him faster and faster, gradually taking more of his length into you with each thrust of your hips. Austin moans and groans, clenching his jaw and biting his lip. He starts to lean up and you push him back down, his back slamming against the couch. He whimpers with the force of the impact.

“No,” you say breathlessly. “No touching until you’re about to cum, do you hear me?”

“Yes mommy,” he replies, too aroused to bother putting up a fight.

You swirl your hips around Austin’s dick, the air filling with the sounds of skin slapping against skin. Austin’s muscles flex and relax over and over again, reacting to your movements. You reach up and wrap a hand around his throat again, pushing up at the sensitive nerves in the sides of his neck. As you move on him, you feel the pleasure growing inside of you. Your movements slow a little as you try to focus on the sensations in your lower stomach and pussy. Austin’s moans start to increase and his hips buck up and down against you. Your own moans grow higher and higher pitched as you grind on his hard dick.

“Fuck, mommy, fuck I’m gonna…ugh I’m gonna cum. You’re gonna make me cum,” Austin whines and you reach up to quickly untie his wrists.

Once he’s free, his hands immediately drop to your waist, gripping hard onto your hips and pulling your body up and down on his dick. You lean over him, bracing yourself on the couch as he takes one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking and biting on your sensitive nipple. You yelp, your back arching as your body starts to shudder with the strength of your orgasm. You feel Austin’s dick twitch inside you as he releases his hot cum into your pussy. As you come down from your own orgasm, you shake against him, feeling the sticky sweat on the underside of your knees.

The room grows quiet, filled only with the sound of your mixing breaths. You climb off of him, sliding onto the couch and trying to get ahold of your heartbeat. Austin’s fingers curl around yours, squeezing.

“Damn, Y/N,” Austin says quietly. “That was hot as fuck, baby.”

You glance over at him, appreciating how fucked out he looks. His sweaty hair is disheveled, ruffled, and stuck to his head with sweat. His whole body is glistening with sweat and hot to the touch. His cheeks are flushed and eyes are half-closed, lazy and glazed over with that post-sex euphoria. His muscles are still taught as he flexes to breathe and then relaxes to release the breath.

“See, aren’t you glad we tried something new.”

“God I missed you,” he says with a handsome smile. You lean over to kiss him sweetly on the lips, brushing his hair back with your fingers.

“I missed you too, Aus.”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

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[inkandpen22]

First Meeting

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader 

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Y/N begins her 1st day as a member of the BAU and Spencer is immediately taken by her

A/N: I’m always adding new one shots for Reid so if you’d like to be tagged lmk!

Masterlist

Spencer

Garcia comes up beside me on my way to the meeting room, all excited and bouncy. "Did you hear we're getting a newbie today?" 

I stop in my tracks with a huff. "Wait, what? No! No one told me!" JJ walks by on her way to the briefing and I ask her. "Why doesn't anyone tell me anything?" 

"Hotch is bringing her up now," JJ grins over her shoulder. 

"Her?" I repeat, following her into the room. 

"Yeah, he's going to introduce her during the UnSub briefing," Morgan adds as he takes his usual set. 

"Did everyone know about this before me?" I sigh, plopping down in my chair. 

"Apparently," Morgan pokes fun. 

"Morning everyone," Hotch greets as he marches into the room. 

"Morning," everyone else greets as I set my stuff down. 

"Good-" My words disappear as I lift my attention away from my files toward the door and that's when I see her. 

"This is Agent Y/N Y/L/N," Hotch introduces. "She is of the most recent Quantico graduating class and will be joining our team." 

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," JJ offers Y/N her hand. 

The girl shakes her hand with a warm smile. "You too! Thank you guys for letting me sit in," she announces to the group. 

I swallow hard. She's so young, she's like me. 

"How old are you anyway?" Morgan questions, leaning back in his chair. 

"Twenty-two," she answers. I knew it. "I graduated undergrad early." 

"Aw like Spence," Prentiss gushes. 

I don't even react to Prentiss petting my hair. Usually, I would swat her hand away. All I can do is stare at Y/N. I've lost all function like a robot missing a piece. 

"Spencer?" JJ says my name with a hint of worry. It sounds like background noise, so faint. 

Morgan chuckles. "I think Reid's head just exploded." 

"Earth to Spencer," Prentiss waves her hand in front of my face. 

I snap out of my daze and swat her hand away. "Stop it," I mumble. 

A blush forms on my cheeks, I can feel it. I clear my throat nervously and try to act normal as I open up my file. Y/N takes the empty chair across the table from me. She offers me a smile. I feel this weird feeling in my stomach like I've had too much coffee and am all jittery. 

JJ redirects everyone's attention to the screen. "Okay guys, let's begin. We've been receiving a series of calls from several police stations in Atlanta. There's been a series of livestock killings ranging from pigs to more commonly lambs. Each stabbed and hearts removed. Then, symbols painting on her foreheads and stomachs." 

"Go back please," Y/N requests, surprising everyone. 

JJ's brows scrunch together. "Do you see something, Y/N?" 

"The locals think it's a cult?" She asks. 

JJ looks over her papers and nods. "Yes actually." 

"It's not," Y/N states with the utmost certainty. 

My brows scrunch together as I begin to analyze the image myself. I wasn't paying attention before. I hate to admit it, but I was distracted. She's right, this isn't the work of a cult. 

"How can you tell?" Hotch questions with narrowed eyes. 

"The pentagram is wrong," I answer. My eyes meet Y/N's and she smiles. 

"We're more likely dealing with teens or college students, outcasts, trying to scare the community," she adds. "Is that a college nearby?" 

JJ skims her research and pulls out a sheet. "Yes, two." 

"Does one of a greater population of local students?" I ask. 

"Um..." JJ reads. "Yes." 

"I think we should start there," Y/N concludes. 

Hotch nods, rising from his chair. "Okay, wheels up in an hour everyone. Prepare," he instructs before heading to the door. "Good work, Y/N." 

"Thank you, Sir," she grins, evidently proud of herself. 

"Now there's two of him," Morgan chuckles as he gathers his things. 

Y/N laughs. "What?" 

"He's referring to me," I assure her. "The way you noticed the unfinished pentagram and narrowed down the profile, usually, I do that." 

"Oh, sorry!" She's quick to apologize. 

"No, no!" I wave my hands in a panic. "It's nice having someone else around who notices details like that. Makes me feel less annoying and a know-it-all." 

______________________________________

Y/N

Hotchner, Reid, and I stand on the other side of the one-way mirror as our next interviewee gets settled in by the police. He's a student at the local university and fits the M.O. A complete outsider, impressionable, a history of emotional disorders and animal abuse, it's a perfect match. 

"Sir, do you think Spencer and I could go in?" I request. 

Hotchner raises a brow. "Do you think you're ready?" 

"Yes, and just in case that's why I ask to have Spencer with me." 

"Spencer, what do you think?" The leader questions, watching as the cops release Brian from his handcuffs and depart the room. 

Spencer glances past Hotchner over to me. He nods. "I think she's ready, Sir." 

I suppress a smile and redirect my attention to our potential UnSub. 

"Very well, go ahead," Hotchner approves. 

"Thank you, Sir," I say as I head toward the door. 

Spencer holds the door for me and we step out into the hall. 

Before we enter the interview room, I had my file over to Spencer. 

"Here, could you hold this for a second?" 

He takes the stack nervously. "What... What are you doing?" 

"I have an idea." I remove my scrunchie from my hair and toss it around a bit. Spencer watches as I slip my scrunchie onto my wrist and begin to unbotton the top to buttons of my blouse. I readjust my boobs a little and pull down my blouse. I take the waist of my skirt and pull it up a little. "How do I look?" I ask the boy when I'm done. 

"I... uh... I..." He stammers. 

"Perfect!" I smile, taking back my things. 

I enter the room first, Spencer following close behind. "Hi Brian, I'm Agent Y/L/N and this is Agent Dr. Reid," I introduce as we take our seats across the table. 

"You two look like you could go to my school," Brian laughs. "How old are you guys anyway?" 

 I smile and ignore his question and stick to the topic. "We're just going to ask you a few questions." 

Brian smirks. "Well, can I ask you something first?" 

"Of course," I assure him. 

"Can I have your number?" He asks boldly. 

"I um..." I'm at a loss for words. 

"I don't think that's very appropriate." Spencer defends with a stern tone. 

"What? Are you her boyfriend or something?" Brian mocks. 

"Uh no, but this isn't a personal conversation this is an investigation, so let's stick to only necessary questions," 

Brian complies and I continue my interview. He gets off track here and there, but Spencer steps in. I'm thankful that Spencer is quiet for the most part, only when to redirect Brian back to the purpose of our interview. I feel calmer with Spencer next to me. For some reason, his presence makes me feel safe even though we may have a serial animal abuser and cult member across the table from us. When I conclude our interview, Spencer and I rise from our chairs. I tell Brian that authorities will be in soon to take more of his information. 

"So how's about a date?" He asks again for a third time within the last thirty minutes. 

I ignore him as Spencer opens the door for me. 

"What? I'm not your type?" The kid chuckles. 

I stop and spin on my heels to face Brian. I press my palms against the table and lean closer to the boy, startling him. "Frankly no, you're not. I'm into older guys and... well..." I eye him up and down and giggle. "You're nothing but a kid." 

He swallows hard, shifting in his chair uncomfortably. I smirk and step outside into the hall. Spencer joins me and shuts the door behind us. He wears a bewildered expression. I begin to tie my hair up again and button up my shirt. 

"I'm sorry you had to deal with that," he voices as we head toward the door to the watch room.  

I shrug. "Eh it's okay, he's just a kid. Plus, I'm used to it." 

When we enter, Morgan and Hotchner are still observing Brian's behavior. Morgan steps closer to Hotchner, making room for Spencer and me. I catch a glimpse of Brian through the mirror and his head is in his hands. 

"Good work," Hotchner compliments us. 

"Interesting approaching," Morgan nods. "Seems to be working." 

"Thank you," I grin, bringing my arms crossed over my chest. "I figured it was worth a shot. 

A comfortable silence remains in the room as the four of us watch Brian slowly crumble. 

Spencer leans closer to me and I extend my neck out to him. "Is it true, what you said about being into older guys?" He questions quietly between us. 

I turn my head to look at him and his face is full of curiosity. "How old are you?" I ask. 

His brows scrunch together. "Twenty-seven." 

I smile, turning my attention back to Brian as he continues to fidget. "Yes, it's true." I back up to step outside and fetch a coffee. I suspect this will be a long night. 

Spencer

Right as Y/N steps out, Morgan sighs. "Aw Reid, you're in trouble man," he laughs. 

Hotch chuckles from beside him. 

I frown. "What do you mean?" 

"Seriously?" Morgan raises a brow as he turns his body to face me. "She just told you she's into you." 

"No, she didn't, she just asked me how old I am and told me-" I pause, reviewing our interaction just seconds prior and I begin to piece it all together. My eyes grow wide. "Holy crap, she's into me!" 

"You better jump on that, Big Guy!" Morgan pats me on the shoulder. 

Hotch wears a sly grin, pretending to be focused on Brian, but it's evident he's amused by us. 

__________________________________

Masterlist

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[boglady]

I never really thought about it in those terms. Like it was something in the DSM that I could sit down with a psychiatrist and talk about. And I think what, now looking back on it, I think what happened really had to do with— I had played Hamlet at Stratford, Ontario not that long before we started shooting the show, and the experience of that, because I was inside Hamlet for about a year or longer. We did ninety shows or something over the course of one long season. And I did get quite loopy doing it. I mean, some of it was just general feelings of insufficiency and 'I am absolutely incapable of pulling this off. I should quit.' In fact, I tried to quit after the first preview, I think, or dress rehearsal. I was crying and phoned the director saying 'I can't do this. You know I can't do this. Call up Colm Feore. He still remembers the lines!' But along the way of playing it, I got to a point where I was really paranoid. Because along the way, you absorb all of the things he has, because it just overwhelms you. You can't— it's not a part that you can leave anywhere. And I think: 'Everyone in this company is actually trying to kill me. All the other actors are trying to kill me.' And then it kind of metastasised from there to the point where I was having these weird, I don't know if I would call them hallucinations, they weren't exactly like that. It was full-blown and quite real. And I'd be on stage when this was happening. As an example with 'How all occasions do inform against me' I had this weird— I could see that I was in like a bar, an old tavern, with big beams and posts, and I could see Shakespeare at a long table with some food in front of him, and out of the middle of this conversation with some other people this speech came. And I'm thinking, yeah that's probably how it happened, it fell out of him, parts of it. Because at the end of it, somebody said 'Well that's good, Bill' and he said 'Hm, yes it is. I must remember that.' And then I'd be back on stage. And then that got worse because I would black out, and I don't mean faint or anything, but just disappear and wake up in the middle of a scene and not know where I was. And that was showing. To go through all of these things in front of two thousand people is really kind of uncomfortable. But the person who saved me was Brent Carver who has recently died, but he had played Hamlet a couple of times, once at Stratford, and he was not in the company, but we would run into each other if we were switching over from matinee to evening. He would say: 'How are you doing?' And I'd say 'Well, I don't trust any of these people' and he'd say 'Yeah, that's gonna go on for a while.' and I'd say 'Now I'm blacking out.' 'How long has that been going on?' 'About a week and a half.' 'That'll probably last another week. You'll be okay.' And then I kind of was. So that's a very long way to say that when it came to Geoffrey's madness, it was just that. That stuff. It's all very real, but it's not in the DSM. Does that make sense? I know typically research goes into all this with psychiatry and then I thought about it, and you know that's kind of limiting. I know what it means to be inside theatre that makes you go somewhere else.

Paul Gross, on the nature of Geoffrey Tennant’s madness in Slings & Arrows, interviewed by Emily Nussbaum, October 2020. (See the full cast and crew interview here).