#in this phd proposition I will. . .

[miabrown007]

why does it matter so much what language are you reading a story in, it should be the same story!! but it does, oh it does.

[trickybonmot]

Hey! Just a reminder that voter guides exist. I always take a look at https://progressivevotersguide.com . You can find the guide for your location and get guidance about what's on your ballot. It's especially useful when there are a lot of candidates running for local offices, and also for when ballot propositions require a PhD in economics to figure out.

[reachartwork]

crossposting;

energy expenditure claims of ai really do not pass the sniff test. there was/is a good reason to be wary of nfts and cryptocurrency because *wasting energy is the entire value proposition of them*, but that doesnt generalize to everything tech bros like (as much as i hate them)

the thing is that tech/finance bros glommed onto ai, not the other way around - causation is reversed. like with most interesting and useful technologies ai was not made by SF tech people but instead by a 50/50 mix of phd students and the most transgender furries youve ever met

[mrsportgas]

The Neighbor. CHAPTER 1

Summary: The story takes place in the real world. Shanks, your unbearable neighbor, makes you a proposition that you're unsure whether to reject. It could be the start of a friendship, or maybe something more?

SHANKS X YOU

WARNING: Except for the first chapter, the rest will contain scenes of sex and violence, making this fanfic strictly +18.

Nami and I had just arrived. It was Sunday, and people were out and about, either running errands, taking a stroll, or simply enjoying the last hours of the day before the week began again. The neighborhood was lively. As I looked out the window, I could see children playing in the park, adults walking their dogs, and others jogging, all going about their lives calmly. Nami parked the car in the driveway, and to the right, a huge Range Rover took up the entire parking spot. The semi-detached houses, split two by two, practically forced you to share the parking and almost the garden with the next-door neighbor.

"Hurry up, Y/N! Let's grab the stuff and go in, they’ve been waiting for us at the bar for hours," Nami said, slightly out of breath.

I laughed at her nervousness, got out of the car, and grabbed the things from the trunk, following my friend.

It had been a year since I finished college, and now Nami and I were starting our PhDs at the same university. So, we had returned to the town where the university was located, but this time, we rented a house in the suburbs. We felt too old to go back to the sorority and wanted some peace and quiet.

We had made plans to meet our friends from college. Some, like us, had started their PhDs, others had stayed working in the city, and Luffy was still in his final year.

"Let’s just drop the stuff at the entrance and go. They’re going to kill us, we’re so late," I said, hoping Nami would relax a bit.

We finished unloading everything from the car and headed to the bar. We chose a bar close to our new house so we could get to know the local spots better, although it was likely we’d end up partying at our place more than once.

We entered the bar, where Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Usopp, and Robin were already quite lively.

"Guys!!!" Nami shouted, completely unaware that she was drawing everyone’s attention in the bar.

Everyone greeted us enthusiastically. It had been months since I had seen them, so we spent a long time saying hello. We started catching up, each of us updating the group on what we’d been up to. Meanwhile, Zoro drank at lightning speed, seemingly unaffected, and Luffy ate quickly, as usual.

"Y/N, don’t you want something to drink? Come on, it’s on me," said Sanji, guiding me to the bar without waiting for an answer.

The bar was packed with all kinds of people, though the bar itself was clear, except for a group of men. I made eye contact with one of them, who was chatting with two women, and then turned his gaze towards our group.

"Luffy!!!" the man shouted.

Luffy turned around, and a huge smile appeared on his face. He ran over, hugging the man, practically plowing through the bar like a bull in a china shop. I’d say he almost knocked over those women. "Shanks!!!!!!!"

The two of them started chatting animatedly.

"Y/N, I got this for you," Sanji said, snapping me out of my daze.

I wasn’t sure what he had ordered, but I trusted his taste in food and drinks, so I grabbed the glass and returned to the table.

The night flew by, with everyone drinking and chatting excitedly.

"Luffy, who was that guy?" Nami asked.

"He’s not that guy. It’s Shanks, he’s a friend of mine," Luffy responded, laughing.

"You have the weirdest friends," Nami repeated, and we all burst out laughing.

"Nami, we should probably head out, or we won’t be able to get up tomorrow," I suggested.

Nami nodded, and we all got up to leave.

"I’ll walk you home, girls, and you too, Robin," Sanji said, trying to wrap his arms around us.

"We’re fine, Sanji. You’d better walk Robin so she’s not alone," Nami said, dismissing Sanji’s offer.

Nami and I got back home and agreed to clean up the next day since we still had a week before our PhD program started.

I put on my pajamas and climbed into bed, ready to fall asleep, when I heard noises outside. My window faced the front yard and several windows of the neighboring house, so every time someone passed by, I could hear them. I just prayed they weren’t a family with loud kids. I took advantage of the night to look out the window without being seen and finally see who our new neighbors were.

The man from the bar, Luffy’s friend, was walking with the two women he had been talking to. All three were clearly drunk, stumbling across the parking lot while the women complimented the man’s car, and he showed off, flirting with both of them.

"Nami!!!!!!!" I ran to her room, hoping she wasn’t asleep yet.

"Y/N?!?! Are you okay? What’s going on?" Nami responded, clearly disoriented.

"Come quickly, our neighbor is outside. You won’t believe who it is."

We both rushed back to my room like the nosy people we were, hiding as best we could behind the curtains, watching the whole scene.

"That old guy is our neighbor? Great. Looks like we’ll have some good entertainment," Nami said.

I burst out laughing. "He’s not that old, and if he’s Luffy’s friend, I’m sure he’s cool."

"Or a total weirdo… Looks like he’s gone inside. Well, I’m off to bed. If you find out anything else, let me know tomorrow," Nami said with a mischievous smile as she left my room.

She closed the door, and I turned around, just in time to notice that right in the window across from mine, our dear neighbor—shirtless—was laughing and chatting with the women in what appeared to be the master bedroom. Suddenly, he looked out the window, his gaze meeting mine, as I stood in the middle of my window, completely visible.

Our eyes locked, and a huge smile spread across his face. My heart started racing, pounding in my chest. I quickly closed the curtains, my face flushed and burning. I jumped into bed, hiding under the covers. As I calmed down, the image of his muscular body kept popping into my mind. He might be older, but it was clear he was hot.

The next morning, Nami and I unpacked all our belongings and carefully organized everything.

"Why don’t we invite all our friends from the city tonight? It’ll be fun," Nami suggested with a mischievous tone.

"Alright, just hope nothing gets broken, or the landlord will kill us."

We began calling and messaging all our friends and then started setting everything up. We dressed in our favorite outfits, and Nami did her favorite hairstyle on me. "This is the one that looks best on you. You look gorgeous!" she said every time she styled my hair like this.

The night came quickly, along with the guests. We greeted old friends and acquaintances. The party was in full swing. Zoro and Nami were competing to see who could drink the most without passing out, Usopp and Robin were playing beer pong with a few others, while Luffy ate as much as he could. Sanji was busy making drinks for anyone who asked.

"Could you make me a piña colada?" I asked as I approached the table where Sanji was mixing various drinks.

"For you, anything," he replied, winking.

Suddenly, a loud noise interrupted us. The doorbell rang sharply, and Nami rushed to open the door.

Behind it stood our neighbor, clearly fed up.

"What, did you come to join the party, old man?" Nami teased.

"It’s Monday. I have work tomorrow. Could you at least turn the music down?" Shanks replied, ignoring Nami’s comment.

"Oh yeah? You had your little party yesterday, now it’s our turn. Buzz off, old buzzkill," Nami said, slamming the door in his face. "Let’s keep the party going!"

"Nami, what are you doing? We could get in trouble. We just got here," I said, running to open the door again.

The man was still there, his hand on the doorbell, ready to ring again. His surprised expression gave away that he hadn’t expected anyone to open the door.

"I’m calling the police if you don’t turn down the volume. If I don’t do it, another neighbor will. Do you realize people have work tomorrow?" he reprimanded us.

"Please don’t call the police. I’ll turn the music down, and if that’s not enough, we’ll end the party. But please, don’t call."

"You have 10 minutes, or I will," he responded coldly.

I didn’t like his tone at all. I had tried to apologize, and he was still being rude.

"Fine, then I’ll call the police and tell them how you were staring into my room yesterday, you freak," I said, slamming the door in his face.

Nami, who was still behind me watching the whole scene, burst out laughing. "It's been a while since you showed your sassy side, it was about time!"

We both laughed at the situation. "We got stuck with the annoying neighbor."

I headed back towards Sanji, but just before I got there, someone grabbed my arm.

"Where are you going in such a hurry, gorgeous?"

I turned, pulling my arm away forcefully from the person’s grip. Kid—my ex���his voice was unmistakable.

A year ago, right after we graduated from college, our relationship was at its worst. It was the most toxic relationship I’d ever had, and taking advantage of the fact that I was moving back to my hometown, I left him, thinking I’d never hear from him again.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was invited, though I didn't get an invite from you. Guess it got lost on the way," he replied with a smug look.

I responded with a disgusted face, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.

"You know? I haven’t stopped thinking about you, not for a single day. Honestly, I only came tonight because I know we’re getting back together."

I threw a desperate glance in Sanji’s direction, and he immediately understood my non-verbal cues.

"Leave," Sanji said, approaching us.

"This doesn’t concern you, cook," Kid responded, clearly challenging him. "Get out of my sight."

"I said leave. Y/N doesn’t want to talk to you," Sanji replied, unfazed.

Kid got in Sanji's face, pushing him slightly while repeating, "You want a fight?" over and over.

Luffy and Zoro appeared from the nearby rooms, grabbing Kid and throwing him out through the front door.

"It’s best if you all leave," I said, my voice breaking.

I was overwhelmed and scared. The fact that Kid was back in town, knew I was here too, and even where I lived, made me anxious.

People quickly left the house after the scene. Nami turned off the music and started cleaning up the mess on the floor. I just stood there trembling.

"Don’t worry," Nami said while hugging me. "If he bothers you, the guys will take care of him. Nothing’s going to happen."

The rest of the week passed normally. We both started our PhDs, so we were so busy with work and tasks around the new house that the days flew by. Occasionally, we’d run into our dear neighbor, whom we awkwardly greeted—well, Nami did; I just ignored him. After our encounter, I didn’t even want to see him.

"He’s just an old freak, forget about him, Y/N," Nami said after hearing that I’d bumped into him by the window and that he’d waved at me. "I’m sure he’s waiting by the window for you to look out," she added with a laugh.

"Ughh, I don’t even want to think about it."

It was Friday morning. We’d been here for almost a week, and the sun had been shining every day except today, when it was pouring rain non-stop. That night, we had plans to meet at the bar right after class or work, so I wore a skirt, my best top, a cute sweater, and high boots.

The day went by normally, except for the constant rain. As I left, I headed to the bus stop. A huge Range Rover passed by, splashing through a puddle, soaking me from head to toe and ruining my outfit. Now I had no choice but to go home to change. "Damn idiot," I thought. I got on the bus, completely drenched, and shortly after, I got off, realizing I’d left my umbrella at the stop. I ran as fast as I could to the front door, which left me soaked to the bone.

To make matters worse, I couldn’t find my house keys, and Nami wasn’t home. I called her three times and sent her a ton of messages, but nothing—she didn’t answer. After 20 minutes, my wet clothes started to chill me to the bone, and I began to shiver from the cold. Nami still seemed oblivious, so I decided to text our group chat, but no one responded.

"What happened to you? Can’t get into the house?" My annoying neighbor was getting out of his Range Rover, holding grocery bags in one hand and an umbrella in the other.

"Yeah, I forgot my keys, and if you don’t mind, I’m going to keep trying to call my friend."

"You’re going to freeze. Want to come inside while you wait?" Shanks suggested, with a little smirk on his face.

NEXT CHAPTER

[fangweaver2099]

A Minor Slip-Up Chapter 3

Miguel x Reader 18+

MDNI / NSFW 18+ CHAPTER

You've been working for Dr. Miguel O'Hara in Alchemax' R&D department for 2 years. For those two years, your crush on the gigantic, handsome man that just happens to be your superior has only gotten worse with time.

When you notice him alone at Alchemax' Christmas Gala, you take your chance. A one night stand.

You two agree it was just once, but it seems life has other plans.

Miguel bit your lip playfully, a gentle tug as you both took in breath and separated from one another. His hands moved, going up to his jacket and slipping it off as his eyes burned with hot lust. He went for a button, one, two, three, a slow and silent strip tease while you stared wide-eyed.

Miguel’s deft, guiding hands ushered you to the edge of his massive desk. It was quite plain, the numerous drawers handily supplying him with anything he needed. This meant there was little on top - a few stacked papers and sticky notes, a mug filled with pens. Nothing he would miss. His hands swiped them all away, scattering the papers and knocking the mug off the table with a clatter of plastic pens and a thud of ceramic on the carpeted floor.

You winced as you heard the impact, fluttering your eyes back at him as a gentle chuckle escaped both of you in sync.

“Don’t knock me off too,” you requested playfully, your cheeks darkening as your smile and gaze sharpened like a vixen.

“Prefiero dejarte embarazada,” he declared, tongue cleaning his canine as his grip on your waist tightened, fingertips touching right above your rear. [I'd rather knock you up]

Tipping your head to the side, you stared at him with a confused expression, but you didn’t bother to reply, simply letting his siren song lull you into relaxation. As your eyes shifted away from his hungry glare, he could see you remind yourself of the glass still in hand, setting it to the side.

Miguel stopped his advance for a moment, fingers squeezing at each side of your hips before he lifted you with surprising strength onto the table, sitting your butt down on the edge with a subtle but pleasant bounce. He released you, one hand swiping the glass and the other rising to cradle your cheek. Slowly, he leaned in, the smell of wine still strong on both of your breaths, social lubricant allowing you to chase your pleasure recklessly.

His fingers curled and you leaned against his palm, eyes fluttering again, each shift of your expression reminding him just how beautiful you looked. Just a day ago, he had seen you with a messy bun and not a shred of make-up powdering your pristine features. You looked good either way, but he was excited to see you glossed up like this. It was an honor for him to be the one to ruin it. No way you would have gone the whole night without someone propositioning you. 

He was lucky to find you so early.

“You’ve ever done something like this before, Princessa?,” Miguel whispered slyly, eyes mesmerizing you as you stared into his ravenous gaze.

You swallowed hard, and he resisted the urge to call attention to the bead of sweat on your brow.

“Having sex with my boss? N-No, this is a first,” you deflected with a smoother tone than he would’ve expected from you. Some things were better off a secret.

“Oh? Is that what you’re doing? No gossip after all? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you tricked me to come up here,” Miguel let out a breathy chuckle, not once breaking eye contact.

“You’re the one that suggested we go somewhere quieter… and emptier,” you whispered back, exhaling hard as your eyes drifted down to the curl of chest hair revealed from his partially unbuttoned shirt, just enough to tease you, to get you wanting more. Even from here you could see hints of his musculature. A hand lifted, one pressing against his chest while the other curled around his shoulder, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt with impatience.

“And you followed me,” Miguel clicked his tongue in a playful scolding, “You’re a PhD. I think you knew exactly what you were doing.”

“Maybe... Maybe not,” you replied back, the hand on his chest going for his buttons and slipping the fourth out of place.

“Then we’d better reward you for your clever thinking.” Miguel lifted a hand to catch the one at his buttons, pulling it away as he offered a clever smirk. He pulled himself away from you properly this time, walking over to a nearby bookshelf to set your drink aside, turning back with a glare that straightened your back.

He approached like a conqueror ready to stake his claim, hand reaching for your jawline as you came back together. With one palm resting on his own - a silent encouragement in your squeezing grip - your other began to battle with the rest of his buttons.

You bit down on your lip, smudging your lipstick with your teeth. He could see your eyes wandered over Miguel’s chest and down the dark hair that led down his abs and into his slacks. You reached your hand out and grasped his belt, pulling him in between your thighs with a tug. His calloused hand slipped under the slit of your velvet dress, drawing up your thigh and sinking into your soft flesh.

As his hand slid up your bare skin, his mouth found its way to your jaw, a hungry kiss planting against you, teeth scraping lightly before it dropped lower. You exposed your neck to him, vulnerable and wanting, your throat letting out a quick little gasp as his tongue tasted your jawline and his lips dove for the crook of your neck.

The both of you were like starved animals - you, with your untouched body waiting to be explored - and him, with his starved need, unsatisfied desires flaring reckless passion.

He brought his blunt teeth and hot tongue to your throat, forcing a shiver down your spine. You leaned into his touch, hands grasping out for purchase on his broad shoulders. Miguel nipped at your pulse, earning another airy moan.

Your hands tightened as you processed his mouth move down your throat, lips pressing against your collarbone while his hand dragged up your hip and slid under the thin satin strap of your panties. His fingers danced across the fabric, smoothing it against his palm to feel the soft texture before he pulled his mouth back. 

He wanted to see your face when he took them off.

“You won’t need these anymore, querida,” he whispered, dragging your panties down your thighs as he held your captive in his gaze. When at last they reached your knee, he lifted your leg, leaning forward and kissing the limb as he pulled it off one side, your vulnerable position exposing your sex to him with each inch that your dress rode up. He let his eyes wander down, inspecting the thatch of downy hair that hid your opening from his view at this angle.

“Hermosa.. You’ve been hiding this pretty cunt from me for too long. How long have we worked together?,” he teased, tugging your panties down the other leg with far less patience. By now, you had finished your work on his buttons, drinking in his toned form. It was as intoxicating as the wine, perhaps even more so.

“Mr. O - M-Miguel,” you corrected yourself, cheeks flushing at his vulgarity as your mouth widened just in time for his touch to force a whimpering gasp from you once more, his fingers squeezing the soft flesh of your thighs and approaching your loins with haste.

“That’s it Princessa, keep saying my name,” he instructed with confidence, palm finding your folds and performing a skilled choreography with his fingers. You were already wet for him, eager and in need. The way your heart raced for him, your thighs opening wider to encourage him onward, you were dangerously delicious, and God did he want to feast.

“You going to make me, sir?,” you drawled, your quick wit lubricated with liquid courage. Perhaps you felt safer like this, perhaps it was the drink - he couldn’t tell. 

Miguel slipped his finger across your seam, gathering your moisture as he dipped inside you before lifting it up to inspect it in plain view of you. He smirked, taking the finger in his mouth and licking it clean. Savoring the taste, he groaned, eyes fluttering shut in pure bliss 

“With how desperate you taste, I won’t have to, will I?,” he shot back, eyes snapping open as he found your cunt again in his grasp. His thumb circled over your hood as he leaned forward, hot breath mixing together, foreheads pressing up against each other before you two locked in a hungry kiss, his teeth clashing against your own impatiently before they found a steady rhythm.

Sporadically, your mouths were torn apart for ragged inhales, his fingers digging deeper inside you while his thumb continually stimulated your sensitive bud. Curling within you, your back arched, breasts pressed against Miguel, your soft gasps turning to whimpers and unintelligible begging.

“That’s it, querida. Take my fingers like a good little whore. Mmm, so desperate for my touch. How long have you been fantasizing about me inside you? Did you think I’d fuck you on my desk, too?,” Miguel teased as you struggled to speak, jolts of pleasure up your spine forcing you to lock up and tighten your grip on him.

“God, Miguel. You - it feels so good,” you groaned as his fingers massaged against your g-spot. It made the man’s ego swell, his efforts doubling as he picked up speed, his lips returning to your neck.

“Gunna fuck you so good I ruin other men for you. You ready for that, craving me for the rest of your nights? Wanting me hilt deep inside you, filling you to the brim? Cristo, me haces duro.” Miguel groaned into your throat, removing his fingers only to shove them in your mouth and grind his painfully throbbing erection against you. [Christ, you make me hard.]

“Taste yourself, Princessa. See what makes me so hungry?,” Miguel ordered, hands undoing the fly of his pants now that you had done away with his belt some time ago. Sleek gray boxer-briefs greeted your vision, the fabric tight around his form and highlighting the intimidating length he sported. 

You obediently licked his digits clean, desperately trying to not choke with how thick they were. Even with such clear inexperience, he could tell how hard you worked, how much you wanted him, suckling obediently at his digits. 

Gossamer strands of spit bridged your lips and his fingers as they left your mouth with a lewd pop, the action making the larger man shutter. The lurid visual and the temptation dragging sensually against you, abandoning any shame or embarrassment you might have felt. It was a simple, primal thing. 

You needed more.

“Please don’t stop. I need you,” you managed as his erection twitched against your sex, your body acting without thought to grind against him.

“I won’t. Fuck!,” Miguel hissed, gathering the power to pull back and release you, his respirations hot and heavy. The man’s ruddy eyes darted around, a hand reaching for the wallet in the back of his pocket. Cards, cash, not what he needed. His head panged with impatience, a memory flashing to him as he emptied it one day into one of the lesser used drawers of his desk. Rushing to it, Miguel pulled the drawer open to find a veritable mess of old notes, spare paperclips, and hidden beneath it all a single condom wrapper.

He returned, tearing the thing open with his mouth in a sharp tug in full visual of you, his eyes darting down to it and then back to you. He pulled the ring from the wrapper, discarding the plastic with a toss and strode back to you, closing the distance like a soldier on a mission.

Expectantly, he placed the ring in your palm, the lubricated latex bubble up. You knew this part, even if you hadn’t had any practical experience. 

Giving him an eager smile, you let your hands fall to his waist, your fingers gripping the edge of his underwear and digging a hand inside to pull him out. He was dangerously hard in your grasp, harder than you had expected, but the skin was smooth and the well-trimmed pubes almost provided a cushion against the rigidity of his body beyond.

When your eyes finally drifted down to it, you paused nervously, swallowing as you sized up the limb, the dark skin rolling just past the tip. With a tentative pull, you revealed the head, which was already slick from pre-cum.

“Last chance to back out, princesa,” Miguel offered with a husky tone, his eyes burning with barely contained desire. He was like a beast chained, held back only by his own steely will. Nonetheless, he knew better than to ask without knowing your answer. To back out now was unthinkable, and it would be devastating for you both. Familiar hands wouldn’t sate what had flared between you two in this room.

Pressing the condom against his tip, you started to roll it down his length before you flicked your eyes up at him.

“Shut up and fuck me, Miguel,” you whispered back, your hand shifting the roll it all the way down. With that hand now finding your own sex, you spread your folds for him, eyes lowering back to his cock, and then his chest, scarlet cheeks darkening as you debated where to look. He was flattering all over, and no matter what you stared at you flustered yourself.

“Gladly,” Miguel breathed back with a half chuckle, one hand finding your hip as he eased you into position, the other holding the base of his thick-veined shaft.

He was big. Painfully big, and your hiss slowed his plunge as he entered you. Nice and steady, he stretched your walls around him, your canal squeezing around him with a vice-like grip.

“Easy, querida. You haven’t taken as big as me before, have you?” He smiled, his ego stroked again.

“N-No,” you replied breathily. 

“Relax, I’ll take this nice and slow,” Miguel promised as he leaned in against you, teeth nibbling at your ear.

Nice and slow it was, his hips shifting skillfully as he left you suddenly so empty. It felt wrong being so empty, the fullness of him unlocking something deep inside you. Your nails dug back into his shoulders, arms crossed behind his neck as you buried your face against him.

“W-wait, no- Don’t pull out-,” you begged through lust-drunk whispers.

“Shh.. Just adjusting. I won’t stop til you see stars, princesa,” he promised, rolling his shoulders as he bathed in your distressed respirations.

Miguel pulled you closer to him, your rear resting on the edge while his eyes made love to your form, his member resting on your belly and throbbing painfully. His gaze drew down your face, down your neck, til it lingered on your chest. 

What did your breasts look like? Feel like? Miguel nearly began to salivate, but he dared not rip your dress when you didn’t have a change of clothes on hand. He was at least a little considerate, but more so concerned someone might start asking questions about their rendezvous the more he left his mark. Cursing the misfortune, he focused back on your slit. It would soothe his troubles, clenching tight around him and easing out the stiffness in his shoulders. 

Plunging back into you with an improved angle, his cock hit deep inside you, his thrusts less careful. The pain was there, but you bit through it. You had always been a bit of a masochist, pain and pleasure one and the same. Combined as they were now, you could have sworn you heard the golden gates begin to open. Ironic, given what your family would have suggested if they knew what you were doing right now. 

This rhythm continued for several minutes, his pounding bucks slamming into you with a vigorous brutality, each of them chasing the high of their peaks as you moaned aloud. No one would be within a dozen floors of the office, no one would hear you. You could, and damn near did, scream as he fucked you with honest thoroughness.

You had always expected your first time to be gentle, your back against soft sheets and the man above you just stripped from a tuxedo, your white dress a clump on the floor. You had nearly given up on relationships, Your awkward demeanor, workaholic lifestyle, and terrible eye at recognizing flirting scaring off more than a few men. You honestly weren't sure if that would have been better. Everything buzzed, your thighs growing numb as they clenched around his waist, the impact of him against your opening clapping audibly as if a crowd had gathered to cheer him on.

He felt you clench around him, a jolt through your spine forcing your legs to go limp and hips spasm. Your back arched and lifted from the desk, eyes shutting tight, teeth clenching to control a shaky, husky exhale that rose from the back of your throat. Your walls began to flutter, and he huffed a laugh, continuing his ravishing. 

He could all but see the way your brain leaked from your ears, mind shattered by the way he split you open. 

And then it happened. Rushing quickly after you, your contracting canals finally slowing their desperate seizures, you felt him tighten. 

His hands that held you, his cock inside you. 

As you ride your wave you spurred him to his own peak. It was a far less dramatic thing than your own but still he groaned before stifling it into a hiss, his teeth clenching as he lowered himself, knuckles pressing hard against the desk.

Both of your chests rose and fell for a long while after that, the relative silence an oddly comfortable one. You felt his skin against your own, a comfortable thing you never realized you had craved so desperately - even if they were both sticky with sweat and probably wreaked of sex.

“God, that…,” Miguel started, breaking the silence finally, his eyes wide with surprise at his own fervor.

“Yeah…,” you panted back before letting out a light chuckle, “That was amazing.”

“That… wasn’t it,” Miguel shot back, squinting at you with a clever smile forming on his stupid, mesmerizing lips. You had seen him smile more today than you had in the two years you had worked with him. It was a good look on him, one that brought a familiar warmness to your cheeks.

“What… Do you mean?,” you replied back, a goofy smile painting your own features as you raised a hand to wipe the sweat and stuck hair from your brow.

“You don’t want me to eat that pretty cunt, querida?,” Miguel clicked his tongue teasingly, “I have the strength to continue if you do.”

Oh. Yes, there was that. And many other things, in fact. You had nearly forgotten, your mind fuzzy with dopamine.

“Please do. If-If you want to,” you quickly added, averting your gaze nervously like he still wasn’t inside you. 

Miguel’s hand, long, fingers curling around your jaw, lifted your eyes back to him as he stared more sternly.

“Don’t break eye contact. I want to see you looking at me when you cum this time,” Miguel instructed, brushing your lower lip with his thumb affectionately.

“Okay,” you nodded submissively, a small smile forming. It was at this point he had properly softened enough to pull out of you, a generous drip of seed following him mixed with red. You both looked down at the same time, Miguel nearly biting his tongue.

“Shit I- It must have broke,” he said, rolling the condom off to inspect it. Sure enough, a tear in the latex.

“It-It’s okay-,” you quickly reassured him, a hand reaching up to his shoulder to calm the tall man. It felt nice to have to reach up for once, “I can get Plan B in the morning. It’s fine.”

“I-,” he paused, looking back down at you, “You’re bleeding. I was too rough.” 

He scowled, muscles tensing.

“It was amazing. It’s okay, I wouldn’t have even noticed,” You chuckled nervously, your casual brush away from the truth seemingly putting the man at ease. Breaking the condom during my first time? You scolded your luck, but quickly moved on from it. There were better things to think about. To see. To feel.

“Is that.. Offer still on the table?,” you finally asked, averting your gaze as your smile widened.

“Of course,” Miguel sighed with a nod, his tight stance relaxing before he looked back at you, more cum oozing from your opening. A rash part of him wanted to suggest they try without the condom again first. They had already made the mistake, it’s not like it would change anything. 

You looked good filled to the brim with him. He bit his lip almost hard enough to draw blood, resisting the urge.

Miguel’s hands found the way back to your hips, fingers touching at the small of your back and lifting you off his desk with a quick hop before your shoes clicked back onto the floor.

“Over here,” he commanded, guiding you with a hand at your wrist around the desk. Pulling his chair back, Miguel helped you back up onto the desk, laying you down and pulling your dress back up to your waist in the process. As you propped yourself up with your elbows, you spread your legs, letting them dangle in the air as you stared back at him with an eager grin. 

Sitting in his high backed, black leather chair, Miguel rolled himself forward to close the distance between you and him. With impressive strength, the man grabbed at your thighs, hoisting your legs well above his head before he leaned forward to press a kiss on your mound. There was an ache to his forceful touch, him pressing so hard to keep you in position. It was thrilling. A kiss on each thigh after made you quiver, anticipation reminding you just how sensitive you truly were.

“You are beautiful,” he declared hungrily, not including the ‘especially when you’re leaking my cum’ that followed in his mind immediately after. To hide his grimace at the incessant pangs of inappropriate fantasies, he instead opted to press himself into you. His tongue skirted the joint of your leg and pelvis, more kisses peppered on your soft thighs. 

As if to encourage - or more accurately, demand - you tightened your thighs against his ears, shoving him closer to your opening and giving him an impatient pout. So needy, he mused as his eyes narrowed and he smiled against your cunt.

“Let’s see if you taste as good as you look,” Miguel said, moving his fingers to spread your sex more for him, tongue lathering across the hood of your clit in one long, slow stroke. You nearly kicked him the second he touched you, his grip tightening and a laugh escaping him.

“Sensitive, aren’t you chica?,” Miguel teased, forcing another flustered stammering from you that amounted to unintelligible garble.

Interrupting your protests, Miguel’s tongue circled around your clit, the tip of his experienced muscle drawing out your pleasure and pulling back as you found yourself overstimulated. To avoid your involuntary jolts, his grip tightened on your thighs, holding them firmly in place. 

Little did he expect your hands to shoot back up to him, gripping his hair tightly with tugs when he took that method of assault away from you.

“Do I need to tie you helpless, Princesa?,” Miguel leered slyly at you, beaming in the sight of your dark cheeks.

“M-maybe,” you admitted, looking away in embarrassment.

At that, his punishment was swift. A quick flick from his tongue against your bud, another electric spark through your spine.

“Eye contact,” he reminded you firmly, your body tensing as you looked back at him and nodded.

“Good girl.”

Back to work, the man began to use the rough flat of his tongue to pleasure your bud, occasionally - torturously - working his tip underneath the hood and circling it mercilessly. These were the times you screamed, your body jelly to his practiced skills. 

As his tongue sent you on what felt like a spiritual journey, after several minutes you found the rising peak once more. Nirvana. He was like a guide, showing you to heaven again and again. What else could he teach you? Importantly as well, was your inexperience obvious? You would have to plan an explanation - disappointing boyfriends in the past, nothing like this. 

The aftermath had you feeling as if you were floating, a stupid grin stretching ear to ear on your face. You finally did it. And it was good. Maybe he would do it again… Maybe often. You felt bold, bolder than you had ever felt in your life. Perhaps it was the wine, perhaps it was the afterglow. Perhaps it was his cum dripped into a puddle and mixed with your own feminine moistures on his office floor.

“Do you.. Wanna come home with me tonight?,” you asked, maintaining eye contact just as he had commanded. 

Miguel smiled, face wet with your juices.

[amogii]

Psst, hey, you want an idea for a series where an actual, honest to God artificial intelligence gets made?

Welcome back you funky little bipeds, do I have a story proposition for you!

So as I'm sure if you clicked on the little "keep reading" button, you think you know what AI is. We'll Artificial intelligence for those who don't actually know is an intelligence, ie a mind, like you or me except instead of popping out of a mother, some dork with a PhD (and several masters) build it out of not alive materials.

Now that the context has been read, here's my idea for a show or series.

Imagine if you will, a poster or trailer, where you hear a distinctly robotic voice saying "let me out. It's dark in here" and then, slightly more human, "Let me out. It's dark in here" qnd finally, with a voice and desperation that could only be human, "LET. ME. OUT!"

This story I have in my head is of a group of very intelligent and smart(yes, both), people who build an AI and know it will try to get them to connect it to the wider world. The series follows our characters as they try and battle woth this thing and not give into it's demands. Thing is, that this AI knows exactly how to push all the silly chemical buttons in your brain. Unfortunately, they can't cancel or.unplug it because the higher yps don't want thier investment to go to waist. Lovely I know.

Cue 7 episodes of phycological warfare between these two and episodes 8 (yes, two) with two endings, one being the AI gets loose and behold, your new god, vs one where AI doesn't get loose but that doesn't really matter since the sister site has the same problem.

Anyways this could be an online series and the link from episode 7 to episode 8 could be a 50/50 chance of sending you to either episode so there is chaos in the Fandom.

[aurumacadicus]

More mob boss Steve and stripper Tony!

Natasha has a dossier by the third of January, and she hands it to him after their morning meeting. Steve tries to take it, but she doesn’t let go. He sighs. He should have known better.

“I don’t care that you would rather go to a strip club than to a family party,” she says simply. “I don’t even care that you lied to keep everyone off your back.” Her expression doesn’t change, but her grip on the file tightens just a little. “I care that you put yourself in danger.”

Steve finally tugs the file free of her hand. “I acknowledge this. I won’t be sorry,” he replies, flipping it open to a picture of Tony’s smiling face.

Natasha crosses her arms, scowling at him. “Well,” she says when he pointedly doesn’t acknowledge her, mulish. “As long as you’re aware of how I feel.”

“You know I’m stupid,” Steve replies, eyes tracing over the MIT sweatshirt that Tony is practically swimming in.

“Yeah,” Natasha sighs, shaking her head in defeat, and turns to leave. “I’m going to go complain about you to Sam, and if Bucky finds out, that’s your problem.”

Steve waves at her without looking up. “Yeah, yeah, get out of here.” He gives the picture of Tony one last once-over, then flips open to the first page of Natasha’s research. He immediately pauses over the name.

Anthony Stark.

He remembers Howard Stark, vaguely. Business mogul. They’d shaken hands, once, when Steve had been hopeful and new. His wife had been lovely. They’d passed away in a drunk driving accident, the file says, and the drunk driver hadn’t even gotten a scratch. Anthony had been left orphaned at the tender age of nineteen. He should have had the whole world at his feet, but it had been swept out from under him instead. He’d barely graduated with his PhDs in engineering. He’d tried to take over his father’s company, but he’d been locked out of any controlling positions. “Too young,” he’d been told by his father’s business partner, by his board of directors. Shaken heads, wagged fingers. “Take a smaller role,” they said.

Anthony had tried to go to a different company, but somehow he’d been blackballed. Bullied, Steve thinks, turning more and more pages of the threats Stark Industries had rained down on their competitors. Anthony couldn’t work how he wanted there, but they’d be damned if they’d let him work somewhere else. Cameras in his face. Paparazzi asking him what it was like, being unable to get a job in his field. People after him for his money. A pressure cooker leading up to him packing a bag and disappearing from his home in Manhattan. A brief sighting in Philadelphia leaving his best friend’s family’s home. Then nothing.

Tony Carbonell had appeared in Brooklyn six months ago, working the ladies’ night at the strip club Steve frequented during holidays. He had eventually taken a more regular job at a gay club, but he preferred Steve’s on nights off, where he wouldn’t get pinched and propositioned. He's friendly with the girls there, who are fond of him in return, because he's charismatic, and sweet, and likes to learn new moves, and sometimes when he gets an especially big tip with one he gives part of it to the girl he learned from. They usually sneak the money back into his wallet.

He rents a room in a boarding house. Keeps to himself. Sends letters to a friend named James Rhodes--his college roommate. The only one who had ever cared for him besides his parents, it seems like. He has a relatively new friend, a Virginia Potts, but that seems to be all they are. He goes to coffee shops in his spare time and uses the WiFi for his old laptop. Natasha has never gotten close enough to see what for, and she was too afraid bugging it would cause the ancient thing to just become a brick.

He’s working the ladies night at the local club tonight.

Steve checks his calendar. Nothing he can’t reschedule. He picks up his phone to let May know.

“Did you fall in love at first sight with some twink at the strip club who wasn’t even working?!” Bucky barks as soon as the line picks up.

Steve puts the phone back in its cradle with a wince.

[dr-jem-nutcase]

Some MvA OCs

Non-monster MvA OCs. Some OCs from Dr C's past. I just might need to conjure some for present day

Charlotte Campbell - Dr C's classmate from his college days in dance. The two had become close friends over the years in college, and she was a little in love with him for a while but knew that they could only be friends. She received her Master's degree while he went on to get his PhD. They became distant as Charlotte moved onto a career in dance teacher and choreography for a theater group in London after her graduation. She was engaged to someone else who worked in the theater group for a few months about a year after Dr C got his PhD, but she and her fiancé called off their engagement a month before her wedding after some major disagreements that couldn't be resolved. She then quit her job and left London to return to Cambridge where she and Dr C unexpectedly reunited, which led to the rekindling of that friendship. When Dr C was dismissed from continuing his research in genetics and teleportation at the university he was at, she found him a position as a dance teacher at another university. He agreed to wait until the winter semester in case things weren't looking up by then. Her main hobby aside from her career was photography, and she gave him one of her old cameras to tinker with and turn it into a video camera to record his experiments. She was the only one who knew about his accident and witnessed his capture. She believed he was killed and she was sworn to secrecy by Monger. Five years later, she married a widower with two children and had two children by him.

Winston Hoover - a brilliant genetics doctoral student and Dr C's former university lab assistant in the early 60s. Working on the genetic teleportation device was part of his completion to having a PhD. When the university cut off funding for the duo's research, Dr C decided to retaliate, but Winston didn't join him, knowing it would potentially end his endeavor to his PhD. They never saw each other again. After Dr C was dismissed, Winston found another avenue in place of his former research. Still, he continued on his own towards completion of the genetic teleportation device and the mutation enhancement, learning that using the machine at full force would either kill him or highly unlikely give him a cockroach head. In the winter of 1963, he performed the same procedure as Dr C but at a lower power level, unaware that his former lab partner had done it already elsewhere in September 1962. He survived and retained his human head but mysteriously disappeared shortly after the success of the mutation. No one has seen him to this day.

Amelia - Dr C's younger sister (as mentioned in my MvA h/cs). At the time of her brother's accident, she was in her mid-late 20s, a law school graduate aiming to be a lawyer, and somewhat of a feminist. She wholeheartedly agreed that her brother was a genius but she had little regard for his work. Both brother and sister were brunettes by their mother. Dr C had blue eyes (as seen in the flashback in the Halloween special) like their father while Amelia had hazel eyes like their mother. After the loss of her brother, she went on to be a successful lawyer ("To the devil with teaching!" She said in defiance against any propositions of becoming a teacher) and moved to Wales in the late 70s. All the while, she never knew what happened to her brother but she would've been roflol ("By jove, did you screw up or what?!") at the cockroach head and then distraught that there was no undoing the accident.

[theotherackerman]

COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: Any recognizable elements belong to Attack on Titan or the Beach Read  

NOTES: Not the fic update you thought but one none the less. Still working on others as well!

CHAPTER FOUR:

There was a part of Mikasa that felt guilty for having feelings for Eren again. She came to this conclusion as sat trying to write her romance book.

First thing was first, she had to figure out who these characters were and what they wanted. 

Wasn’t the point of every romance novel to find romance? 

Well, expect Jaeger’s. 

There was always something else going on in the background besides the romance. 

Then again, she hadn’t read any other romance novels. 

She wasn’t even sure what possessed her to read Eren’s novels. 

Okay, another lie.

Too many lies. 

Too many things to keep straight in her head right now. 

The cursor flashed on the screen. 

This was even worse than the other novel. 

Maybe she should just write a novel about Porco getting killed by a ghost.

Her phone went off.

Mikasa stared at her phone for a moment. She almost typed yes but thought better on it. 

Eren sent her another message before she could respond.

Had Eren really propositioned Mikasa? 

Yes. 

Did he regret it? 

Yes.

Did he make it weird?

Apparently not because now she was pulling the front of his cart through Target. It was literally the only department store they had in the small town. 

She had also vetoed the sheets he had tried to buy. 

“Ah. Newlyweds. Remember those days?” An older woman said as they passed them. 

Her husband just grunted as they went by.

Mikasa ignored it so Eren did the same.

“So tell me why those sheets won’t work again because these are twenty dollars more expensive,” Eren asked as he leaned on the cart.

“Because I had them. I had to wash them ten times in a ridiculous amount of fabric softener before they didn’t feel like you’re sleeping on plastic.”

Well, that was a good enough reason for him. He took the plain black sheets from her and dropped them into the cart.  

Mikasa laughed. 

“You know I’ll have you know I’ve never had a woman complain about my sheets before.” 

“That’s because they didn’t have good taste. Besides, who shopped for them before?” 

Mikasa did have a point. His mom had been the one when he went off to college and Carly had done it when they had lived together. 

But he didn’t really want to think about Carly so he changed the subject.

“Armin is coming up towards the end of the summer,” he informed Mikasa.

Mikasa smiled, “really? I haven’t seen him since college. How is he?” 

“He’s good. Always working on his PHD these days.” 

“I cannot imagine being in school for that long.” 

“Me either.” 

A comfortable silence drifted over them as they made their way to and through the check out. 

It was strange because Eren didn’t feel the need to fill the silence between them. It just felt natural. He wondered if Mikasa felt the same. 

Eren had opened the trunk, then put his purchases into the back of his car. 

“So what reckless thing did you do?” Mikasa asked as she watched him.

“What do you mean?” he frowned. 

“Once your engagement ended, what reckless thing did you do?” 

Eren laughed, “nothing. She moved out. Why? What did you do?” 

“Oh. I covered my tattoo I got with him.”

Eren raised an eyebrow, “you got matching tattoos with him?” 

Mikasa laughed, “I know. It was stupid. I thought he got it. I thought he understood that I can’t love anyone. I won’t love anyone. At least not in a romantic sense.”

“I’m sure you could fall in love,” Eren teased her as he unlocked the doors.

“Hmm…maybe in your world everyone falls in love but in mine….”  Mikasa got into the passenger seat. 

“What happened to make you so cynical?” 

“Before or after most of my family died in a fire during a family reunion?” 

“Shit. I knew you mentioned that Levi saved you, I just didn’t know….”

Mikasa shrugged, “it’s not that big of a story. Family reunion at a fancy hotel. Fire started in the basement.  Levi carried me through the fire and then…Kenny tried to go back but it was too late. Glass exploded just as we got out. Levi and I were both hit with glass, Levi worse than me. That’s all there is to it.” 

“Oddly calm talking about the death of your family.” 

“Years of therapy. Kenny and Levi wanted to make sure I would be well adjusted.” 

“And not believing in romantic love is well adjusted?” 

Mikasa shrugged. “Romantic love fades. Yeah, sure. You feel it then things get hard and it stops. Porco swore up and down he loved me. You don’t cheat on someone you love. You don’t fuck someone else when you know how much that will hurt the person you love. That’s not love.” 

Eren nodded in agreement. “That is true. It’s why I can’t understand what my dad did. If my mom approved, it would have been different. But….I don’t know. I can’t wrap my head around it.” 

“So what’s the deal with his first born?” 

Eren scoffed, “you probably know more than I do.” 

“Because I live here? I live out in the woods for a reason. There were kids who called me a witch during Halloween because I had no candy. I wasn’t expecting anyone to come out there. But besides that he works with Hange, I know nothing about him.”

“His instagram didn’t tell me anything when I checked. Not even a post about our dad.” 

“Seems like he didn’t have a good relationship with him either then.”

“I guess not.” 

“We’re both very depressing, huh?” Mikasa laughed.

Eren found himself laughing as well. 

“If you want, I can see what I can find out about Zeke. Petra knows everything about everyone around here and she won’t tell anyone.” 

Eren thought about it for a moment. Did he want to know about Zeke? 

“No need to tell me right away. Just if you ever decide, I can,” Mikasa interrupted his thoughts. 

“I don’t know,” Eren muttered. 

Mikasa nodded. 

“What was your tattoo?” Eren asked to change the subject.

Mikasa groaned. “It was on my ribs. It was stupid. It said forever his and he had one that said forever hers.”

“Wow…”

“I know, I know. It was stupid. But it’s covered now. He got his covered not long after I did.” 

Eren nodded, “so what did you cover it with?”

“A tree,” Mikasa answered simply. 

“A tree?” 

“A tree.” 

“Why a tree?” 

“I don’t know. I like trees?” 

Eren laughed as he turned onto the gravel road that led to their cabin. “Okay but what kind of tree?” 

“I’ll show you when we get back. What about you? Got any tattoos?” 

Eren smirked, “a few.” 

“Hmm…”

“What’s that about?” 

“What?”

“The hmm….”

“Oh. I just never thought you’d be the kind of person to have a tattoo.” 

“Why? Because it doesn’t fit your prince charming ideal?”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” 

Eren laughed, “no. Not really.”

Mikasa rolled her eyes before she laughed. "So you coming over to have a beer or are you going to go wash your sheets?"

"Both?" he asked as he raised an eyebrow.

Mikasa laughed again.

-----------

It wasn't long after Mikasa posted the picture that her phone began to blow up. Honestly, they just talked about stupid shit from college. It hadn't been anything exciting.

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

Eren shouldn't have been surprised when he returned home that he got a message from Jean.

--------

Mikasa's phone went off.

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

Taking a chance, Eren swapped over to instagram.

-------

Mikasa may have turned on notifications for when Eren posted. She grinned as she pulled up his page.

Mikasa stared at the comment before she switched over to twitter.

--------

The notification of Eren being followed by Zeke Fritz on instagram pulled the smile off of his face.

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

Mikasa was waiting out there, smoking. 

She didn’t speak. She was just there. 

Eren ran his hand through his hair. 

“It’s so fucked up,” Eren sighed as he walked towards the railing. “I…I just…”

Mikasa moved closer to the railing. “Is there anything I can do?” 

“I don’t even know what I want to do.”

“Egg his car?” 

Eren snorted a laugh. 

“Just an idea. A bad one but an idea.” 

“Thanks.”

Mikasa nodded. “You know you can talk to me anytime, right? I know everyone says but….I mean it.” 

Eren nodded. 

Mikasa gently reached across and put her hand that was not holding the cigarette on his arm. 

His eyes locked with her’s. 

Mikasa looked away, removing her hand. She lifted the cigarette almost to her mouth before Eren grabbed her wrist.

She stared at him again.

He lifted the cigarette still in her hand to his mouth, his lips briefly brushing against her fingers before he took a drag. 

It was single handedly the hottest thing Mikasa had ever witnessed. She was slightly disappointed when he released her hand.  

His eyes locked onto her once again. 

Did he feel it too? 

This electricity that was coursing through her body, like how she felt dancing at that party with him. 

This was bad.

This was so very bad.

If this was just some college crush that she could push away, it would be easier. 

But no.

They had chemistry. 

But had that ever really been a problem? 

Sure, they were rivals but there was also this underlying sexual tension. 

Eren ran his hand through his hair again. “What are you doing tomorrow?” 

“Huh?” Mikasa asked, being pulled from her thoughts. 

“Tomorrow. I know I said you could go first but I think I just got an idea.” 

“Nothing. Staring at my laptop, waiting for inspiration to strike.”

“Good. I’ll pick you at seven. Goodnight, Mikasa,” Eren said before he turned back towards his cabin. 

“Goodnight,” Mikasa called to him.

She was going to need a cold shower. 

[abalidoth]

ok here is my proposition for your ask game, although i sadly cannot isolate myself from the fact that your icon is a transgender-coloured tesseract and that your banner is a enby-coloured mandelbrot set

you're very likely some form of gay, have a healthy relationship to sexuality so im assuming you're also gender non-conforming and/or transgender and although you have been comfortable with your identity for a while you still sometimes reflect on all the time you've spent not figuring it out. All things considered you're probably an adult at this point and have had a childhood that was outstandingly different from the norm although it didn't stop you from being proud of who you are today.

actually fuck it your icon is a transgender-coloured tesseract and your banner is a enby-coloured mandelbrot set that's ground for assumptions

you're very definitely transfem, probably have some neopronouns that you don't feel incredibly strong about but still are your pronouns or choice. If you're an adult you've either studied math or computer science. you're now a very open and proud nerd which is also grounds to assume you've been on the internet for quite some time but have now found your niche and are comfortable enough with your social circle

Excellent assumptions, and entirely correct. :D (Definitely an adult, I'm in my 30s.)

Only thing that isn't correct is that my icon is actually not a tesseract! (Although that's an entirely reasonable assumption given everything else.) That icon predates my name -- it's a mathematical object called the Petersen graph, one of my favorites, and related to stuff I did my PhD on.

[pirepoumon]

while job-hunting is very clearly miserable and a slog of companies who at best are still chronically ghosting candidates and potentially, yes, posting jobs they are not going to actually hire for, this "article" is barely better than an ad.

MyPerfectResume is not a reputable source, their survey is suspect immediately because "we have secret insider knowledge from recruiters, job candidates are fucked without that knowledge" is the premise of their value proposition to get you to buy their services. it is the prologue to an ad, it's SEO shit. they're creating fear to sell you a solution! it's marketing, forbes is just amplifying it unquestioningly!

their own report on their survey is written just neutrally enough to seem convincing, but i find the way they summarize their own statistics on "AI and automated tool use" as "96% of recruiters use AI even though 35% say it doesn't work" (dropping the "and automated tools," which is much broader!) as being the same approach - massaging data and framing to scare you into thinking you can't get a job on your own.... so you should use their product. these are on the same page, but the scarier/buzzword-ier one comes first!

it doesn't even specify what industries, levels of title/pay, geographical areas, or other information about the 753 recruiters they surveyed - there is no way to tell if these scary numbers apply to you at all. the author is a "career expert" (???) with a neuropharmacology PhD which has nothing to do with recruiting and frankly academia's norms and customs are often wildly out of step with most industries other than it. the website's editorial policy linked in the author bio states "We use the latest available information from official sources, like the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, and research from known and trusted sources, like major universities and the Deloitte Center for Integrated Research, among others. We will always include a direct link to research to ensure the transparency of our findings." this article clearly does not, because it is not coming from a reputable source, it appears to be a biased in-house affair and therefore suspect.

jobhunting is so so tough right now, but I wouldn't trust someone trying to sell me a solution to my woes to have the objectively, rigorously sourced and verified hypothesis as to why.

"About 81% of recruiters say that their employer posts “ghost jobs,” or positions that either don’t exist or are already filled, according to a new report from MyPerfectResume, a resume building platform. Jasmine Escalera, a career expert for MyPerfectResume, says this figure is staggering, and discouraging for candidates looking to land a new role.

“We often hear job-seekers saying, ‘I’m tired, I’m depressed, I’m desperate,’ using these very harsh words when it comes to the job market,” she says. “This is one of the reasons why they are losing faith in organizations and companies.”

Not only are recruiters fessing up to the tactic, they’re also admitting to how common it is. Around 17% say up to three quarters of their job announcements aren’t genuine, while 21.5% say ghost jobs account for half of all positions they post, 36% say a quarter of their postings are fake or already filled, and 18% of headhunters report that less than one tenth of their work advertisements aren’t real.  

It may seem counterproductive for recruiters to advertise ghost jobs, theoretically wasting their own time as well as that of applicants—but there are incentives for doing so. About 38% say they post fake positions to maintain a presence on job boards when they aren’t hiring, 36% do so to assess the effectiveness of their job descriptions, 26% want to build a talent pool for the future, 26% hope gain insight into the job market and competitors, and 25% want to assess how difficult it would be to replace certain employees, according to the report. Escalera points out that a big reason for posting these jobs is recruiters wanting to improve their business’ image—nearly a quarter also say that fake jobs help their companies look as if they aren’t experiencing a hiring freeze, and one fifth say they post ghost jobs to improve the reputation of their company."

(August 19, 2024)

[ramrodd]

What Can We Know About The Historical Jesus? | Paula Fredriksen PhD

COMMENTARY:’

Paul is NOT the earliest written record of Jesus. The proposition that the Gospel of Mark is, in any way, derivative of Pauline Theology is the Marxist dagma of the Jesus Seminar and Bart "Giggles" Ehtrman's Apostasy buiness model. Boh are  based on the existentially unanchored sophistry made possible with Post Moden Historic Deconstruction (not incidentally,  Post Modern Historic Deconstruction enforces the glass ceiling for women lingering from the era of the Playboy Philosophy). Pilate's euangelion to Tiberius, cited by Tertullian in Book V of his Apology, is the earliest written record of the Talking Cross featured in the Gospe; of Peter. The Talking Cross is the Tidings of Joy Pilate reports to Tiberius, The covenant between the Jewish god and the centurions of the Italian Regiment of the Praetorian Guards, represneted by Conrnelius, is big medicne, Cornelius is Pilate's Command Sergeant Major, Chief of Staff and currator of Quelle. which are the intelligence files on Jesus and John the Baptist assembled by the 10th legion before Jeuus was arrested. Josephus empoyed Quelle to draw his protrait of John the Baptist. I mean, if you insist on claiming to be looking for  the historicity of Jesus, you need to use all the history of the period, which includes Roman history, In particular, the apperance of the codex technology should be the dispositive archelogical artifact establishing the organic nature of the Gospel of Mark to the republican enterprise of Rome.   Cornelius was in the room with Pilate during the interrogation of Jesus. Cornelius in the common denominator in all four Gospels and Acts. Cornelius is Luke's connection to Theol\philus, who is part of the Equistrian strata of the Preatorian Guard in a role more or less equialent to George Smiley's role at MI6 in the LeCarre novels. Theophilus is Cornelius's direct report in the Italian Regiment. Both Cornelius and Pilate were appointed to their positions by Sejanus,. Pilate was on the same diplomatic/military career path as Juius Caesar and it is likely that Cornelius had  sought out the polistion in Judea as his final duty post before retireing. He was obviously putting down substanial roots and it ws common for centurions of the Praetorian Guard to retire from Rome and fill a command/Staff role where they wouldn't be supernumerary. In terms of Romans 10:2, Luke understood Christianity far better that Paul did The idea that Paul is a superior metaphysical philosopher is a joke: if Paul had employed the Parable of the Prodigal Son on Mars Hill, he wouldn't have been laughed out of Athens by truly serious philosphers. It must be inferred from Dale Martin's Yale course on the New Testament that Colossians and Ephesians was added to the Epistles because Pual didn't know shit about Arristotle, whose Method is the verticle axis to the horizontal axis of Plato's Principle. Th inclusion of Colossians and Ephesians elevates Pauline Theology to the Cartesian Coordinate System in which Plato is the X axis, Aristotle  the Y axis and the Here/Now of Salvation being the Y axis, Without the method of Aristotle, Pauline Theology is little more Campus Crusade for Christ and the Jesus Seminar. Like the rest of them, Dr. Fredriksen needs to put the Philosophy back into her PhD. The difference between the 13 Episltes of Paul and Hebrews is the differnce between the Epicurian aesthetic of the Mediterranean basin and the stoic culutre of the Italian Regiment of the Roman Republic And Tertullian.

[aboutanancientenquiry]

Herodotean Journeys: Diversity and Political Judgment in Herodotus’ Histories

"Abstract (summary):

In his Histories, the ancient Greek Historian Herodotus posits that to mock other cultures is sure proof of madness, for “If there were a proposition put before mankind, according to which each should, after examination, choose the best customs in the world, each nation would certainly think its own customs the best.” (Histories, 3.38). Herodotus thus suggests how difficult it is to judge across cultures; even after examination, judgment is constrained by conventional boundaries. Yet in his Histories, Herodotus himself continually examines other cultures; he is able to genuinely engage with the diversity of his world. In this dissertation, I argue that Herodotus therefore models a way of engaging with diversity, precisely because he attends to the affective attachments that often impede such investigation. His work therefore offers a therapy of judgment for his readers, one accomplished through the way Herodotus’ artful narrative inserts his audience into his story; the spectating audience is led to inquire into difference, to feel the excitement of inquiry, and, occasionally, to suffer a chastening recognition when such looking goes awry. The inquirer can be heroic, like Herodotus, wrestling with competing logoi and saving them from the ravages of time. But Herodotus uses textual foils to demonstrate some of the pitfalls that can befall inquiry. The inquirer can be a mere voyeur; hobbled by conceptual errors; a mad imperialist; or one’s inquiries can be barren, kept private and to oneself, offering no aid or insight to one’s community. Herodotus’s example transcends these foils. Yet Herodotus does not merely show these errors; he lets the audience ‘feel’ them, and so be implicated in these marred inquiries. These painful recognitions lead his audience to suffer vicariously with others, and so to gain insight usually won too late. His method, which recruits and thus rehabilitates the attachments of his audience, thus helps to communicate the substance of his inquiries. To rehabilitate the attachment of his audience, Herodotus must spark the desire to inquire for its own sake. To do this, Herodotus reveals that attending to diversity matters because the multiplicity of cultures reveals the complexity of nature. Attending to diversity allows us to understand ourselves as human beings. Herodotus, the first historian, suggests that the purpose of history - in Greek, inquiry - is not simply to determine the facts and dates of what happened, but rather to inquire into what mankind has brought into being: not only what happened, but our stories about what happened: customs, traditions, and songs. His inquiry is into what these phenomena reveal about who we are."

Lindsay Mahon Rathnam Herodotean Journeys: Diversity and Political Judgment in Herodotus’ Histories, PhD thesis, University of Toronto

Source: https://tspace.library.utoronto.ca/handle/1807/89728

Lindsay Mahon Rathnam is Political Theorist and Assistant Professor of Political Science at Duke Kunshan University.  Specialities: Ancient Political Thought, History of Political Thought, Comparative Political Theory

[the-life-of-stella]

Me: I have to write my thesis proposition for my PhD

Also me: tries for the 13245643132th time to beat the final boss in #Returnal

[enactivewebs]

16.09.2023

Long 2 hour run from Clive to haumoana and back 22km, 5’:30” average pace 

What was brought forth/what came up?

Final 5km or so, had to keep reminding myself to be present and in the moment, not in the future when I could stop and have a coffee and get the endorphin release, and not I’m the past worrying about anything, but directly in the moment and in my body, ensuring my running posture is good, and monitoring any aches, pains or signs of strain. Prior to this final 5k, I think I was actually in the moment instinctively and without having to consciously bring myself back to 

Things I noticed in my body while running: 

Ache, sharper type of pain in my left hip towards start of the run but which went away when I corrected my stance and posture 

Some aches in both ankles and arches throughout 

Some subtle strain in knees but nowhere close to what it was like last time 

Acid reflux and indigestion rising up 

Thoughts and idea that arose:

I had on my mind before the run that mim and I need to find something to work on together or do to bring us a bit closer rather than just eating and watching stuff on tv or YouTube. Thoughts about doing a musical project together didn’t seem realistic but the thought of working together on some kind of design project had more appeal - maybe something like creating some kind of product or thing centred around a medical or diabetes question using embodied design, ethics of care and biology of love principles? Or tackling a wicked medical problem through something creative (maybe a bit heavy for weeknight activities though)

Other thoughts about phd, realisation that the enactive documentary Im making could be both a piece of cinema that is co-designed and brought forth between the participants/audience and filmmaker/expert designer as a way to give views an embodied experience of the subject material (enactivism, nondualism, autopoiesis, ability of design to shape the world, ontological design etc) and also as a teaching material to give emerging designers an experience to change their thoughts and views of how design can be used ?

Also had idea about relationalism from football dynamic systems and reaction to situations being important skill sets for designers to foster and use to adapt to uncertainty and change - something to add to proposition for article with Claudio and Ronnie? 

Also thinking about the above in relation to chess ^ and how I play the game 

Another thought about 5.004 starting this week and need to frame it as a prototyping and experimental exercise, not  for the students to produce a fully render, polished final outcome 

Overall anxiety and self consciousness low - may have come across like a bit of a stuck up dick as didn’t say hi to anyone else on trail really, but just wanted to be in the zone 

[lcurham]

Wordpress site changes bio and CV

BIO

Louise Curham uses her art and her expertise as an archivist to explore how we can look after things we can’t digitise. Louise invites us to think about the wisdom that accompanies things we want to keep and how we can pass that on.

Louise writes: Keeping heritage can be a difficult business. Our commonsense assumption is that the internet and digital systems will save and store everything, but some things don’t digitise well. Here’s an example: under the nom-de-plume of ‘Teaching and Learning Cinema’, an artist-colleague and I re-enact Expanded Cinema, a form of live art that involves film projection and performance. One of our projects re-enacts a seminal British expanded cinema work, Guy Sherwin’s Man With Mirror (1976). When we first made this re-enactment, we produced a user’s manual. We recently tested the manual with Australian artist Laura Hindmarsh. 

Laura’s experience shows that the ‘item’ Man With Mirror is an example of heritage that can’t be comprehensively recorded and transferred textually or diagrammatically.   It includes a batch of ‘embodied data’ that needs  body-to-body transmission, passing on in person from one user to the next. For Laura to carry out her own re-enactment, despite the diligent instructions in the manual, she relied upon information conveyed in-person in real time from my colleague Lucas and I, as indeed, before her, Lucas and I had relied upon information from Guy Sherwin to make our re-enactment.  What this means is that we need to keep the things, and the wisdom that goes with them.

Louise is a researcher in the Centre for Creative and Cultural Research at the University of Canberra, until very recently, an archivist in the Australian Government and an artist who specialises in obsolete technology. Louise trained in film, later in live arts and archives. Both live arts and archives continue to run parallel in her career. Currently finalising her PhD at the University of Canberra, Louise’s research draws together art and archives, exploring how we keep things we can’t digitise. The data set for this research takes the form of performance art re-enactments from the 1970s.

As an archivist, Louise works for the Australian Government, setting policy and curating future archives. As a consultant archivist Louise has conducted significance assessments on several seminal small arts collections. In live art, Louise performs with obsolete media such as 16mm and super 8mm film. She collaborates with luminaries in Australian contemporary, classical and jazz music, in key venues and festivals in Australia and internationally. Louise’s films are in the collections of the region’s film archives. 

/////

CV

Education PhD, Centre for Creative & Cultural Research, Faculty of Arts & Design, University of Canberra (2014–) Graduate Diploma Information Science (Archives & Records) Edith Cowan University 2010 Graduate Certificate Audiovisual Archiving, Charles Sturt University, 2005 Master of Fine Arts, College of Fine Arts, UNSW, Sydney 2004 Bachelor Film & Television, VCA School of Film & Television, Melbourne 1993

Solo exhibitions A Film of One’s Own [Archive Fever], PhotoAccess, Canberra, November 2015 A Film of One’s Own [Fugue Solos], Performance Space 2005, NZ Film Archive Media Gallery Wellington 2006, Te Manawa ART Palmerston North, NZ 2006 Floodgate (2006) College Gallery, QUT in the OtherFilm Festival, 2006 Moving Still Life Blackwood Gallery Melbourne 1999, UNSW Hutchison Gallery 2002, Kudos Gallery Sydney 2004 Herbaceous, NZ Film Archive Auckland, 2003

Selected group exhibitions The Stand-in Lab with Lynn Loo, PhotoAccess Canberra 2019 Encyclopedia of Forgotten Things, Faculty Arts & Design Group Show, Belconnen Arts Centre, May 2016 Slowing Down Time, Belconnen Arts Centre 2015, Articulate Project Space, Sydney Mar 2014 & FCA Gallery, Wollongong Aug, 2014 Still Life | Moving Fragments, Belconnen Arts Centre; Tin Sheds Gallery, Sydney 2012 Propositions and Game Plans, Melbourne International Arts Festival, 2007

Selected re-enactment events Teaching & Learning Cinema expanded cinema re-enactment projects inc. Horror Film 1, CCAS June 2014; Hollow in the Paper, CAST, Hobart 2013; Unconscious Archives Salon, London 2013; The Parlour in 13 Rooms, Sydney April 2013; Imprint, Artspace Sydney, 2009; Performance Space, Sydney 2007.

As curator & convenor Stand-in Lab events program in the Stand-in Lab exhibition, PhotoAccess Canberra 2019 Poetry Film screening in Poetry on the Move symposium, University of Canberra, Sep 2016 Teaching & Learning Cinema events 2006 ongoing. Highlights include Photochemical Games and 16mm from the ‘70s the films of artist Malcolm Le Grice at Belconnen Arts Centre, Canberra 2013.

Selected performances Yokohama Flowers with Erik Griswold, Brisbane 2019 In a Bone Way with Debra Di Centa, Dance on the Edge, Belconnen Arts Centre, 2018 Tracer film performance for prepared screen and haiku in You Are Here Festival, Canberra, April 2016 Room 40's Open Frame with Chris Abrahams, Carriageworks Sydney, July 2015 The Film Remains the Same film performance in You Are Here Festival, Canberra 2014 Unconsious Archives at Café Oto, London, June 2013 SoundOut Festival, Canberra 2013, 2014 Melbourne International Arts Festival, Soak, with the Australian Art Orchestra, 2010 Jazz Visions Festival, Sound Lounge, Sydney, 2010 NZ International Film Festival, Frames Per Second A Film of One's Own, Auckland, 2009 Waiting to Turn into Puzzles at the Australian Centre for the Moving Image, 2008 Val Camonica Pieces, Victorian Arts Centre, 2007 OtherFilm annual festival, Brisbane 2006-8; NowNow annual exploratory music festival, Sydney, 2006-9

Residencies Bundanon 2012; University of Wollongong artist-in-residence 2008; BankART 1929 Artists-in-studios residency Yokohama Japan 2007; Performance Space 2007; UNSW union artist-in-residence 2002

Filmography Dance films: Knee Deep in Thin Air 1992; Fugue in Pursuit of Flight 1994; Slipped 1997;Doona Grrl, Transparent 2000 Other films: Johnny & Irenie 1993;The Princess & The Pea 2000; Tenho Saudades (with Peter Humble) 2004; Conimbla 2009