#like 29 hours at work busy

[grismavessel]

Sorry about the lack of posts! (Work is eating up my life :3)

Have some Grimhilda doodles!

She has social anxiety to the max but also that weird girl vibe that she’ll ramble on and on about the bones she found in the woods to you if she’s cool with your vibe.

She only uncovers her face around friends and family. She’s a little self conscious about her eye scar (Guzma thinks it’s adorable)

[inkskinned]

will it ever be enough? when someone loves you, you feel something curl inside of you, sour and whiplike, angry at being unheard. they don't really love you, they love this facsimile you have ensconced in your rabbit body. they will chop up the bits of you looking for luck and never find the good soul you promise - their love slides off. you're viscera; you have spent a lifetime promising the blood is art.

oh but when someone hates you - well, they're right to. and you'd trip over your little grassknot legs for them. begging them to reconsider. you feel it all knifeedge, spinepoint straight through you. they're the ones who see the real you, after all; and if they can love you, you might finally feel worth something.

but if they do love you in the end, after all of that, after your heart like a fawn opens to gutter under them - you've fooled them, and it isn't worth anything anymore. they've just gone and fallen for it. the love slides right off.

once, you heard a line in a musical about being abandoned. you laughed at the time, unnerved. your voice a keen; too shaky to be candid.

will it ever be enough. will the love ever diffuse through your skin and sink into your marrow. are you even capable of feeling that - of feeling cared for - or are you still waiting, even right now, for the hunter to draw the bow and arrow. if you trust that love, even once, and are wrong, you know exactly what will happen.

and somehow you know - you'll never be able to fix that, once it's been broken.

[gogogodzilla]

day 29, somnophilia

mike schmidt x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, unprotected sex, creampie, free use (kinda), semi-established relationship, neighbor!reader, part 2, part 3 kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

You and Mike came to a relatively simple agreement. You’d watch Abby while he worked nights and he’d repay you by fucking your brains out. He was hot and good in bed, plus Abby spent most of her time in her room. So, you didn’t mind your arrangement much. 

That was until Mike got so busy you hardly saw him enough to receive your payment.

“You know,” you said as you took a seat at your usual spot on his couch, “you still owe me from last week.” 

He sighed and leaned over you, placing a hand on each side of the back cushion, trapping you. 

He pressed a kiss to your lips, “I know. I’ll make it up to you. Promise.” 

You grinned, “I’ll leave the light on for you.” 

Mike surprised you that night when he came home late that night, and you had curled yourself up in his bed, fast asleep. You awoke with Mike pressing heated kisses along your neck and his hand between your thighs. He pressed his free hand against your mouth, muffling the desperate moans that fled past your lips. 

You’d stay tangled between his sheets until the early morning when you’d sneak back across the street to your own home. Ever since that night, you’d tell him that if you wanted him to wake you up like that. The light was on more often than not. 

When he started working nights, things became slightly more complicated. By the time he got back in the morning, it was time to wake Abby up for school and you had to get ready for the day. That was until you had the day off and an idea struck you. 

You were about to head out the door before you turned to Mike, “Leave the light on for me?” 

His eyebrows furrowed for a split second before the corners of his mouth quirked up. “Yeah, of course,” he nodded and you were out the door, grinning. 

You waited a few hours, performing menial tasks around your home before you decided it was time to put your plan into action. Abby was off to school and Mike was asleep soundly in his bed, headphones placed securely on his ears and nature sounds drifting out of them. You slowly crept further into Mike’s room and began to set up the camcorder at the foot of his bed, flinching at the slightest creak of the tripod. 

You knew Mike wouldn’t wake up, but it was more exciting if you made yourself believe there was a chance. You pressed record and giddiness filled you. You made a show of stripping for the camera. You slowly slid off your sweatpants and underwear in one swoop. 

You picked up the pair of jeans he had on the floor and held them up to the camera, doing your best game show girl impression. You picked up your underwear and tucked them in the front pocket, patting it in before setting them at the foot of his bed. Your shirt was the next to go. You faced the camera as you slowly tugged your shirt over your head, revealing your bare chest underneath. 

You trailed your fingers up your torso and circled your fingers around your nipples, causing them to harden under your touch. You leaned your head back to give him a full view of your chest as you pinched one of your nipples between your fingers, gasping slightly. 

You turned and sauntered to his side of the bed where he was sleeping soundly. You ran your fingers gently over his forehead, brushing his hair out of the way, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

He made your job easier by wearing a black t-shirt and briefs and by always sleeping on his back. You threw the blankets covering his form to the side and kneeled beside the bed. Your hands wandered over his thighs before palming him through his briefs. 

You crawled into bed next to him and your hands drifted past the waistband of his briefs. You stroked him, slowly, before freeing his cock from its confines. You pulled his briefs down and over his balls, just enough for you to access everything freely.

You threw a leg over his thigh and your hand wrapped around his cock once again. He had begun to harden in your grasp but you couldn’t quite get enough friction. You slid down his body and turned so the camera could get a clear view of what you were about to do. 

You held him in your hand and swiped your tongue across the head of his cock. You groaned at the taste of him and enveloped your lips fully around him. You swirled your tongue around the pink-hued tip and Mike’s breath caught slightly but he didn’t stir. 

You steadily bobbed your head, gradually taking more of him with every stroke. One hand stroked what you couldn’t reach while the other gently fondled his balls. You pressed your tongue against the underside of his shaft, and Mike’s cock twitched in your mouth. 

You pulled away and licked your lips when the ache between your thighs became too great. You carefully straddled his lap and ground against his cock, spreading your slick. A soft moan left you as the tip hit your clit just right. 

You brought your hand down to where your bodies met and aligned him with your entrance. The whine that escaped you as you lowered yourself onto him was loud and you slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle it. 

You missed his hands roaming your body as you rode him, but there was something so pleasurable about seeing the minute changes in his demeanor as you used him. You dipped down to press open-mouthed kisses against the column of his neck. You clenched at the thought of covering him with hickeys to find later. You leaned down and explored his chest with your lips and tongue. 

You smiled as small red marks covered his neck and chest. You were confident that they’d blossom into the purple marks you desired once he awoke. You began to rock your hips faster against him as one hand drifted down to circle your clit. You used your free hand to knead your breast, pinching and dragging your fingertip across the bud of your nipple. Your legs were beginning to burn and tremble but the familiar heat pooling in your belly spurred you on. 

You leaned forward, and the new angle had you reaching your peak in no time. You spasmed around him as you continued to jut your hips against him, riding out your high. A satisfied moan escaped you as you felt Mike twitch within you and he filled you with his cum. 

You panted softly as you slid off of him. You kissed his lips softly before fixing his briefs and covering him back up. You stopped the recording and quickly got dressed. You tucked the camcorder and tripod under your arm before leaving Mike’s home. In a few hours, you’d bring him the lunch you made him, tucking the VHS tape inside the paper bag. 

You’d hold the door for him, and walk him out to his car, smiling the entire time. 

“I hope you enjoy your lunch,” you’d mention. He’d grin, a knowing glint in his eyes. You’d leave the light on for him for when he came home.

[bayjaruchel]

Underneath The Strobe Light

－－－

Pairing: Mike Schmidt (2023)/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're aware of your feelings for Mike, but you're unsure if he feels the same. A single late-night conversation changes everything. (4.2k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

Extra Notes: Posted October 29, 2023

－－－

You know Mike, sometimes. Mainly in bits and pieces. 

You know he has that poster of Nebraska above his bed; you know he's got a soft spot for terrible eighties cartoons. You know he likes his steak well done. Maybe it's generally useless information — but you've tucked it all away in a dear corner of your brain, in a well-worn cardboard box with his name scrawled fondly on the side in Sharpie. 

He's been busy nowadays, especially with his awful new job at that abandoned restaurant. You've always been there if he needs someone to watch over Abby. It's a strange juxtaposition— spending more and more time at his house, but spending less and less time actually talking to him. But you know he's exhausted, both mentally and physically. 

You don't expect much. You don't need much. Even though Mike's always offered to actually pay you for babysitting Abby, you've always declined. 

However— needing and wanting are two very different things. 

And you want. So, so much. 

Sitting here, on the couch in his living room, your mind always wanders back to him. Abby's a really nice kid, even if she's a little on the eccentric side. Whenever you're sitting with her, watching her draw or watching the television, you can't really focus on Mike. But now, with her safely put to bed … There's nothing to stop you. Nothing to distract you from the empty spot next to you on the couch. 

You blink, already bleary-eyed from the hour. There's some mediocre sitcom playing on the television. It's practically white noise, and you can feel yourself slowly but surely being lulled to sleep. The stubborn part of you wants to fight it. The tired part of you wants to just let it happen. You fumble for the remote instead, switching the channel. 

World News Now? 

Not bad, you think wryly, slumping back into the pillows. You liked the guy playing the accordion and singing about the news, polka-style. Hopefully they'll bring that back. Maybe large broadcasting networks actually do know their audiences. 

Yeah, no. 

You stifle a yawn, tugging your blanket a little tighter. The room's dark, so the only real sources of light are coming from the kitchen and the bluish glow of the television. The only sounds besides that of the T.V. are the occasional car passing by, joined by the gentle chorus of crickets. It's quiet, but not in a discomforting way. 

It's kind of perfect. Like your own little bubble in the world. Untouchable. Not until the sun rises, anyway. 

Your bubble suddenly pops when a car pulls into the driveway, tires crunching on the pavement, and your heart skips. 

It couldn't be anyone else. 

About a minute later, there's the sound of keys turning in the lock. The door swings open and then shuts behind him. Softly. He knows Abby would wake up if he slammed it. Then there's the thump of him setting down his stuff— carelessly. 

The couch cushions squeak a little when Mike sits down next to you. Silently. He's gotten rid of that stupid security vest. 

"Hey," you offer. 

"Hi," he obliges. 

You're sure he's not really paying attention to the T.V. "How was work?" 

It's bland small talk at best, and brutally annoying at worst. But it's the only way to move into interesting conversation territory. And he didn't just trudge past you to go flop down on his bed, so you're assuming he does want to talk. You might pretend not to know, but you're well aware of his social life— or lack thereof. Everyone needs to talk, sometimes. 

"Pretty dull." Rolling his probably stiff shoulders, he lets out a small sound of discomfort. Sheepishly, he murmurs: "I kind of … I kind of just napped, to be honest." 

"Aren't you supposed to be a security guard?" You tease. "That's a really important job, you know. You have to stop all the dangerous teenagers from breaking in and spray-painting dicks on the walls." 

He huffs out something reminiscent of a laugh. "Honestly, the pay's too low to take it seriously." 

"And yet … " 

"There weren't any kids, okay?" Mike shakes his head. When you turn to look at him, though, he's smiling. It's faint, but it's there. "No dangerous teenagers that I had to fight off. It was fine." 

"Fine?" 

"Fine." 

You don't want to let the silence set in. 

"Oh, yeah, we finished the leftover spaghetti earlier. For dinner. I hope that's okay." 

"No, it's terrible," he deadpans. "I hate you." 

"Asshole." 

"Whatever." Mike snickers, and you bask in its gloriousness. "Yeah, it's okay. I know that I probably wouldn't have eaten it anyway. Did you, uh … " He pauses for a split second. "… Did you like it?" 

His tone makes you wonder, but you hastily brush it off. "Yeah, I did," you clarify, "the sauce was pretty great. Was it store-bought, or?" Because if it was, then where can I get it?

"Yup," he replies, popping the 'p'. "Great stuff, for something that's canned. But I always add a little more garlic powder, too." 

"Oh, really?" 

Mike hums an affirmation. "It's like magic, I'm telling you. Doesn't even take a lot to add flavor." 

"That's cool." You rustle with your blanket again, adjusting it more out of habit than anything else. That, and it's kind of cold. "I'll try and remember it for later." 

He's almost cheeky when he speaks. 

"It's life-changing." 

You can't help but snort. "You sound like an addict." 

Incredulously, he glances at you. "To what? Garlic powder?" 

"Pretty much, yeah." 

"I can't believe that you'd say that." He slowly shakes his head, for the second time in the span of roughly a minute. "Especially as someone who's experienced it firsthand—" 

"—you're the one talking about how life-changing it is—" 

"—you can't possibly ignore the irresistible savoriness of garlic powder." 

You look at one another for a moment. The sheer absurdity of the situation sets in all at once. And, well. He starts giggling, and you can't hold it in, either. How could you? Even though he looks at least part zombie, his eyes are still very much alive. Despite the blatant awkwardness and lingering shyness that always follows him around, he's still got a very contagious laugh.  

After you both calm down, he lets out a long sigh. 

"It's getting really late." 

You cling to what little stubbornness remains. "Yeah?" 

"Are you gonna head home?" 

Again, there's something there. Despite his nonchalant attitude, it's almost like— 

—but you're probably overthinking. Wouldn't be anything new. He has to get some rest, and so do you. The drowsiness repeatedly threatening to tug your eyelids closed is a testament to that. Normally, you'd just pass out on the couch or something, and take off early in the morning; before Mike and Abby wake up. But now, it's different. Now, you actually have to make a choice before your sleepy body makes it for you. 

"Um." You rub your eyes again. "I mean. I could, if it's bothering you—" 

"It's not." 

He interrupts you so quickly that it catches you off-guard. It seemingly catches him off-guard, too, judging by the way he promptly averts his gaze and pretends to care about the guy on the television going on about some sort of plumber strike in the city. 

"Oh." You need a second to process. "Oh, okay. Well, in that case … I don't really think that it'd be safe for me to drive right now." You laugh, a little too airily for it to be completely genuine. "I'd probably fall asleep at the wheel or something." At least that's the truth. "I'll just take the couch. As usual." 

"Okay," he says. He's back to murmuring. 

"And I'll be gone before you eat breakfast." Subconsciously, you're fiddling with the slightly frayed edges of the blanket. It's well-loved. "As usual." 

You think you hear him suck in a breath, seconds before: 

"Why don't you stay?"  

Your own breath stutters in your chest. 

"... what?" Is all you can manage, without horrifically humiliating yourself. 

"I mean," he rushes to correct himself, "you come by sometimes because you want to spend time with Abby— she likes you a lot, you know, sometimes I think she likes you more than she likes me . I think—" He's properly nervous now, his knee bouncing up and down. But he's already continuing before you can get a word in. "I think she'd like you to be here in the morning. And you don't accept pay, anyway. You just— won't." 

His nervousness is spreading to you. "Hey, I—" 

"Why are you here, anyway?" 

The question sounds like it's been a long time coming. He's demanding you now, brow furrowed and eyes sparking with emotion. "Is it out of pity? Do you feel sorry for me? Do you feel sorry for Abby? Because if you do, then— then you can just—" 

"It's not!" You exclaim. 

Immediately, you realize that there's a sleeping girl not too far away, and shamefully lower your voice. 

"... It's not, I promise. I just—" It takes a little while for you to gather the right words, and when you do, you don't drop your gaze from him. All of his previous frustration is all but gone, replaced by a slightly wide-eyed expression that's making your heart ache a little. "I genuinely really like spending time with Abby, okay? She's really sweet, and creative, and just a really great kid. And I—" 

You stop yourself. 

"And you what?" Mike asks, gently. 

Might as well, huh? 

"And I really like spending time with you, too," you admit, finally unable to meet his eyes and focusing on your lap instead. 

There's an incredibly tense beat, in which you swear your life flashes before your eyes. 

Then: 

He's barely audible when he speaks. His knee has stopped bouncing, but he's playing with his thumbs. Clearly, your confession— vague as it was— resonated with him, in some way. You hope he understands what you meant, because you couldn't possibly put it all into words in a way that would make sense. 

"Feeling's mutual," he mutters. 

Your head almost snaps up at that. Maybe you had expected it, deep down— you're not oblivious, duh— but it's one thing to have a hunch, and another to have that hunch proven. And out loud, no less. 

"Yeah?" You dare to ask. 

Slowly, he looks up. He meets your eyes. 

"Yeah," he repeats breathlessly, like the wind's been knocked out of him. 

You let your blanket fall from your shoulders, and it slides all the way onto the floor. 

You reach out. 

He lets you lace your fingers through his. 

Mike's palm is sort of clammy— and he's shaking a little— but he still squeezes your hand. On instinct, you guess. It still makes you smile. He doesn't return it, but his lips are parted a little, and you really, really like that. More than you probably should. You like a lot of things about him more than you probably should. 

You scooch a little closer, and he doesn't move away. You let your gaze drop back down to his lips again, making your intentions clear. Still, you don't know if it's clear enough. You lean in, just barely. 

"... Can I?" 

His reply is almost instantaneous. 

"Please."  

You swallow all of the witty quips you could make, and kiss him instead. 

He's very tentative at first. Like he hasn't done this for a while. But you ease him into it— and before long, he's got one hand on the back of your neck, the other somewhere near your waist. He tastes like coffee and something else you can't really put your finger on. It doesn't really matter, though. Because you are kissing him, damnit! 

His eyes are still shut when you part— with a soft smack — but they flutter open after a second. You're not sure if you're supposed to say something meaningful. Luckily, he leans in instead, and your thoughts are immediately transported elsewhere. 

You kiss like this for a while. It's really nice, and you know he needs it. So do you. 

However— when you start losing track of time, lost in the moment, he makes a noise. 

It's quiet, definitely. But it's nothing like the little hums and sighs he's been making so far. It makes you shift closer, pressing more insistently into him. And he responds, enthusiastically wrapping his arms around you, closing the little distance between your bodies that there was. You can practically feel his heart jackrabbiting in his chest when you slip your tongue past his already kiss-swollen lips. 

He moans.  

You indulge yourself. For a little longer. And Mike chases you when you part. 

"We shouldn't do this in the living room," you whisper, nearly panting. "The couch is a little—" 

"Okay," he whispers back, already sounding wrecked. "Okay." 

You've been in his room before. You've sat on his bed— you've even laid on it before. But you've never straddled him on it before. It's a position that makes your head spin a little, and you occupy yourself with kissing him again. His hands fit perfectly on your hips, but they don't stay there for long, tragically— they trail upwards, up your waist, to your back. To your shoulders, and then back down again. It's as if he just can't get enough. You can't either. You need more. 

So, you tug at his shirt. He gets the message right away— hands scrambling to pull it up and over his head. He's still rather slim, but with a slight softness, mostly located in his midsection. There's a light dusting of dark hair on his chest, as well as the provocative happy trail leading down from his navel. You drag your eyes downward, admiring him, and then decide that you're wearing too much clothing. Your top comes off, dropped onto the floor near his. 

Mike takes more time to admire you when your torso is completely bare. His hands are warm on your bare skin, and slightly rough. Like before, he's hesitant at first, but when you encourage him— either literally or with physical indications— he grows bolder. His stubble scratches gently against you when his lips find your collarbone. 

You squirm a little, not even realizing it— and you feel him. Simultaneously, you both gasp. He's not fully there, but he's at least half-hard— and it can't be comfortable in those jeans. 

"Should I—" 

"Yeah—" 

With steady fingers, you unbutton his fly, and then unzip him. It's a little awkward when he shimmies out of the jeans, and when you wriggle out of your bottoms— you both snicker a little, but he's back to comfortably breathless when you settle back onto his lap. Under normal circumstances, you would tease him again. And yet, you can't bring yourself to. Not right now, at least. 

All you want to do is keep going. 

You roll your hips, testing the waters. His breath audibly hitches, and his hands fly up to settle back on your hips. He looks up at you, eyes already half-lidded— and they close when you grind down again. And again. His lips are clumsier this time when you kiss him, but he still reciprocates all the same. The sensation of him directly underneath you like this is intoxicating. You can feel every little twitch and every little jolt. 

"Fuck," he breathes, long and drawn-out, " God, I can— I can see the spot on your—" 

"Yeah?" You encourage, grinding down again, drinking in his answering groan. "You like that?" 

  "Yes —" 

"You want me to take 'em off?" 

Mike's pupils are blown wide, even though his eyes are already dark as is in the dimness of the room. He nods, once, then twice. "Yes," he murmurs. "Please," he adds, for good measure. 

He stares openly when you get off him, just enough to peel off your last remaining layer of clothing. And when you sit back down, well. It's obvious that you'll have to give him a second. "Can I," he says, finally, "can I touch you?" The way he's looking up at you again is just so sweet, so needy, that you consider saying no. Your throbbing core quickly shuts that idea down. 

"Go on," you encourage. 

He helps you move so he has easier access, and—  

His fingertips find your slit, already wet for him.

"Look what you did to me," you murmur. 

He visibly flushes— and then carefully works one finger into your slick heat. The feeling, combined with his thumb brushing against your clit— it's relief that you've needed this entire time, and you can't help but let a quiet sound escape your lips. It's apparently enough incentive for him to quicken his pace a little. Deliberately, he continues massaging your sensitive nub in a firm but easy pattern as he gently pushes a second finger inside you. 

Mike may be out of practice, but evidently, he still knows what he's doing. He peppers kisses up and down your neck, some more open-mouthed than others. Crooking his fingers, he maintains his diligent rhythm. A thought floats through your mind, unbidden— he must have strong hands, if he's been able to keep up like this—   

Two becomes three, and you're spreading your thighs a little wider for him. He's still transfixed, but speeds up at your urging, breath hot against the divot between your neck and shoulder. You chance a glance down, and you can see the visible outline of him through his boxers. You did that to him. He's desperate— for you. 

"Mike," you gasp, "nnh—" 

"Yeah, c'mon," he mouths, against your neck, "c'mon—" He's not letting up in the slightest, and when you tell him to, he speeds up again. He needs to see you cum just as much as you need to feel it. Your needs and wants are rapidly blending into one. You squeeze your eyes shut, but open them to look at him. His dark curls are a mess, his hand working tirelessly between your legs. 

  "Mike —" 

He says your name in return, like he's the one in the vulnerable position. 

"Mike , 'm gonna— 'm gonna—"  

"Please," his breaths are ragged, debauched, "cum, please, c'mon, lemme see it—" 

"Oh —" 

The tension snaps, and you spasm around his fingers. Your hips twitch, and you moan, your mouth falling open as you ride out your orgasm. You're rising— falling — molten honey pooling in your core, before flowing throughout your body. And Mike keeps going throughout it all, letting you enjoy the sensations until you're fully satisfied. 

Nearly boneless, you sag backward. His fingers, soaked with your glistening release, slip out of your cunt with a wet noise. He doesn't waste any time in bringing them up into his mouth, cleaning them off with his tongue— at the taste of you, he groans, even though it's muffled. Your mind takes a moment to catch up again with the world, but another thought manifests itself— how would he react, if you let him use his mouth on you? How would his head look between your thighs? He would be noisy, wouldn't he? Enthusiastic, pliant, and—

Your desire, although it waned for a short minute, comes back tenfold. But you take one look down again and— you can do that later. Right now, you want him inside you. 

Mike lets you tug him down for another kiss. He lets you feel the worn fabric on his thighs, almost playfully. When you palm him through them— he hisses through his teeth, hypersensitive even though you've barely touched him yet. You're going to fix that, though. Hooking your thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, you tug them down. 

You were right. He's desperate. As soon as his overheated skin meets the cool air, he lets out another quiet hiss. And when you take him in hand— 

"Mmh —" A firm stroke from base to tip, and you've already got him. He's average in length, but a little girthy. You know he'll be perfect. There's a little drop at the head of his cock, and you resist the urge to lick it off, focusing instead on warming him up a little. He whispers your name, once, when you pump up and down, twisting your wrist. 

"Got a condom?" You ask, stilling for a second. His eyes snap to you. 

"Oh my God, " he quickly mutters under his breath, before raising his volume, "uh, yeah, I think so. Lemme—" And he's already scrambling off the bed, opening the drawers of his nightstand with speed, but somehow simultaneously managing not to make much noise. He rifles through them, but soon emerges victoriously with what he was looking for. It's a little funny, how he doesn't waste any time in ripping it open and tossing the garbage into the mostly-overfull pail near his bed. Hastily, he rolls on the condom. You think he's expecting you to lay back or get up on your hands and knees so he can fuck you like that— you wouldn't be entirely opposed to it— but that's not what you want right now. 

You place your hands on his chest and push him back down so he's sitting against the headboard. He goes without complaint, even shifting when he understands what you want to do. He's flushed almost down to his neck. 

When you sink down on him in a smooth slide, still slick from earlier, you both moan. He sounds strained— he's biting his lower lip, squirming until he finally bottoms out. You have to take a moment to catch your breath, too; the fullness is just how you imagined, but it's so, so much, especially because of your lingering sensitivity. 

"I'm not—" He audibly swallows, hands tightening on your waist when you move just a little, "oh, fuck, I'm not gonna— I'm not gonna last long." He's babbling a little. "You're tight, fuck." 

You rock back and forth, once, and it's enough to force a choked noise from his throat. You watch his face, observing every little twitch, the clenching of his jaw. You can't hesitate for much longer, though— so you begin lifting yourself and dropping yourself down on his cock. Just in little movements at first, so you can get used to the feeling. His eyes squeeze shut— 

"Look at me," you demand, and he does. He doesn't try and thrust up into you when you really start to move. Up and down, up and down, with lewd plaps that accompany your sounds; his grunts—  you swear you hear him whimper .  His eyelashes flutter open and closed, as he struggles to follow your command, wanting to be good. For you. Even though you can see his thighs flexing as he holds everything back. You ride him for all you're worth. 

True to his words, you can tell when he gets close. Maybe he's been on edge this entire time. You thread your fingers through his hair— he buries his face into the crook of your neck, maybe out of embarrassment. You can feel how flushed he is, a thin sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies. Your muscles are aching, but you're determined to make him cum. You're determined to do this for him. 

He says your name, but it's more of a whine. "Please — I'm gonna— I can't — "  

"Go on," you pant, "you can. Don't hold back." Your arms are wrapped around his neck, now, holding him tight; just like his arms around your waist. The contact is almost too much, but somehow it's still not enough, despite him being inside you. "Go on," you repeat, after he whines again, the sound sending white-hot heat straight to your core. "Cum." 

Mike twitches, and you can feel him pulse— the sound he lets out is high-pitched, muffled into your skin. You slow your movements— the aftershocks of his orgasm last longer than yours. It might've been a little while for you, but it had definitely been longer for him. 

He doesn't let go, even after his breathing's slowed down. 

Gently, you pull his head back so you can look at him. He looks up at you with slightly wet eyes. The kisses you press to his cheeks and forehead make him scrunch up his face. 

"Hey," he rasps, "I gotta throw out the condom. Hang on." 

"Yeah, okay." 

When he slips out of you, you both sigh a little. With unsteady fingers, he ties up the condom before chucking it into the pail. 

The sheets are cool on your skin when he pulls them over you both. The room reeks of sex, but both of you are too exhausted to care. When you turn to lay on your side, he's behind you, throwing an arm over your waist. Tugging you closer. Almost absentmindedly, there's a kiss pressed to the back of your head. 

"Thank you," he mumbles. 

You stare at the far wall, unable to close your eyes just yet. 

"For what?" 

"For—" A pause. "For everything, I guess." 

The awkwardness is back. But you let it in. You smile. 

"You're welcome." 

He doesn't respond, but shuffles nearer, chest pressed up against your back. It's not long before you're both fast asleep. 

[astrow0rldx]

PAC: Who you are to this person in their life, mind & fantasies

૮ ˶︶^︶˶ ა🧸🐇<3

We are all just different concepts, roles, and versions to everyone in our life.

Pile One

Signs: Worshipping you. So Anxious - Genuine. INTJ? ENTJ? ENTP? xNTx. Dark Feminine, Unavailable Feminine vibes. CEO/office siren energy. Nonchalant/Distant. Self-Assured/Focused. Independent! One of you could have Scorpio/8th house placements or Earth sign.

They look at you as a strong mf. Very strong, physically but especially mentally. Your no one to be fw. Your extremely smart, and clever. Probably less naive. They see you as a confident, overcoming person who is loyal and committed to things you value and goals you set your mind to. Your courageous, intellectual, logical, and can be really good analyzer and straight forward. They think of you as whole, complete and someone that can guide them, teach them. Give them wisdom and hope.

Their feelings for you is very primal. Really Sexual or Thrilling. For some of you this person your asking about is a masculine energy between 16-29? You have a very powerful, transformative effect on them. A thirsty dog with their tongue hanging out. Ready to be satisfied, and you satisfy them. Your a satisfaction for them, kind of like someone they wish they had might literally be their type. They could be obsessive, tied to you. Possessive over you and just very demonic/low vibrational in their feelings, because its so intense. Its so exciting, and adrenaline inducing to them. About how they feel towards you, very chaotic. A lot rooting from desire and the root (action) chakra.

In their fantasy they could just fight any competition or barrier, win you over, and leave with you. Just start preparing and making plans for actions and next move. Their fantasy is having a choice and decision they have to make with you, a risk they might have to take. "Should I stay or should I go" having that courage!! They desire to hope and pray you guys can come together, celebrate. Be mutual and experience on another. They have so much faith in this. They already done wished upon a star. But their conscious thoughts about you is maybe feeling a little defeated, like a victim. and all up in their feels trying work it out & be emotionally mature about things. understand their feelings. If they aren't feeling defeated or like the victim, they might be like I said in that demonic, low vibration, desire energy where their trying to win you over by any means. they will do whatever, manipulate and be the bad guy on maybe your emotions, your emotional state, your romance, and your caring side.

Girl its half an hour past ten Got me waiting in my bed You’ve been busy in my head Since noon I got to feel you, freak you

come to my appointment

Now I feel the urge, I hope you feel it too Now imagine girl what I'mma do to you Girl the image of your body got me sprung Never felt like this about another one You are killing me girl cause is half past one My body trembles every time my clock agrees

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

Pile Two

Signs: Earth Sign!! City Girl. High-Maintenance. Materialistic. Fashion Junkie. Hustler, Money Motivated. Good with Cosmetic things? Cosmetologist? Business Owner? Real-estate, looking for a home? Present yourself with class & value.

They see you as a very materialistic person, of this world. Someone who is stable, but not stable. Like a hustler. You might be insecure always chasing security or materialistic things. Working a lot, Starting a business. Focusing on home, cars, fashion, and items you want. Stingy with it to. Hoarding or Collector probably too. Just someone who builds the life they want around them, a reality creator, a manifestor.

(You and Pile One (so far) is asking about some people that's definitely ready to fuck) Their feelings for you is they might feel isolated from you, or need to be isolated from you to go within and focus on themself. Figure out what they want, because their stuck on something that they might not have had the time, or chose the time to think about. If they did their overthinking and working it out. But they definitely feel really lustful towards you, a lot of sexual energy. Hit it & quit it energy almost. A fun experience that they intensely desire. But they definitely feel a horny, exciting, drawn pull towards you. Could be intense.

Don't lower your self-worth now, even though it shouldn't be depending on this person anyways. They put you on a VERY high pedestal. Someone who they have to work for. In their fantasies, they will take on any baggage, and hardships for his empress. + The Lovers. which mean they definitely fantasize about loving on you, admiring you, being in a relationship with you. Winning you as a trophy. Their thoughts about you could be that their worried about your security and money and think its killing you, or its killing them. Making them feel inferior. They desire to leave something behind and create this little emotional, vulnerable, cutesy dynamic with you. Rush in and ask you stuff, tell you stuff, confront you on things. Again I'm scared this person is not a loyal, committed person in your life or planning to be but that's only for some.

I'm representin' for the bitches All eyes on your riches No time for the little dicks You see the bigger the dick The bigger the bank, the bigger the Benz The better the chance to get close to his rich friends I'm going after the big man My g-string make his dick stand Make it quick, then slow head by the night stand Like lightning, I wanna nigga with a wedding ring Bank accounts in the Philippines

I make him eat it while my period on A little nasty ho, red-bone but a classy ho Young jazzy ho and don't be scared If you're curious just ask me hoes And yes dick sucking comes quite natural Cause I'm da baddest bitch, what

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Pile Three

Signs: Water sign or Earth sign. Mysterious. Feminine. Have y'all met? New person in your life, from work/school? R&B. Throwback Music.

They see you as someone who might be hard to read. Hard to understand, and quite mysterious and unknown to them. Maybe manipulative, deceptive & delusional. They might even see you as spoiled, or someone who is given good opportunities. Blessed, and for some people its not always blessings from others, but they see you as someone who creates blessings for themself. A stable & grounded Person. But they definitely see you as a person on their own, and independent. Mysterious and Independent.

They feel again, hidden from you. Somethings unknown but they are willing to build with you, and work with you. Even provide for you. They might feel anxiety, nervous and a lot of overthinking limiting thoughts that prevent this connection from growing.

They desire to build some type of stability between you two. But they need to read you, and know something. The moon keeppsss coming out for how they view & feel towards you, but what they want & Desire is this High Priestess. With 10 of pentacles, this can be long lasting, stable. Is this like a job opportunity? Provider, Daddy Dynamic? In their fantasies, having you and being able to just be with you is their wish fulfillment. They want to get everything they wish from you. They fantasize about not being emotionally stuck, and flowing through, moving on, coming to better light. They really fantasize about starting this material project. Study Buddy? Work Project? I don't know but some type of goal and stability they fantasize about doing with you. Your mystery gives them time to fantasize, and in their mind they might daydream, and create these ideas and wishes. They think about letting loose, having fun with you. Being drunk with you maybe. But they might be focusing & thinking about the negative and sad side of the connection & what made them hurt.

Red light, you know I can't make this thing that official Believe, we had a great night but I ain't the type to tell you that I miss you, shit You don't like that, I make this easy, leaving After sexing on the floor Baby, I know you need me like I need you But I'm not the one you wanna love

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [29] - Enticing

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: It’s important to have a plan in mind before certain meetings.

Word Count: 2200

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

Fine, maybe Bucky did have a point.

You were two seconds away from jumping his bones and to annoy you even more, he was so busy with work that you could barely see him.

But thankfully, you had a solution for that.

“Take these home please,” you told your driver as you stepped out of the car, motioning at the multiple bags of lingerie sets on the backseat. “Thank you.”

“Of course ma’am,” he said and you closed the door, then made your way to the building. You took the elevator, then approached Bucky’s office and smiled at his assistant.

“Is he inside?”

“Yes Mrs. Barnes,” she said. “With his father.”

You raised your brows, then heaved a sigh and knocked on the door before opening it. George looked over his shoulder from where he was sitting on the couch and a smile pulled at Bucky’s lips as soon as his gaze fell on you.

“Hey there, am I interrupting anything?”

“Not at all, come in!” Bucky said as he walked to you and pressed a kiss on top of your head, making your heart skip a beat. George smiled at you and stood up as well as you approached him.

“Hi honey.”

“George,” you greeted him back and let him kiss your cheek, then sat down next to him on the couch.

“I was thinking we could have lunch?” you asked and he made a face.

“I gotta meet Nat in half an hour sweetheart. Sorry.”

“About the raid issue?”

George raised his brows, looking between you as if he was surprised that you knew about it, but neither you nor Bucky commented on it.

“Well she also lost half a million,” Bucky said. “Needless to say, she’s furious.”

“Everyone is,” George said. “That cousin of yours is an idiot, Y/N. I mean there’s a difference between being new and being an amateur.”

��Stark called for an emergency meeting,” Bucky said with a smirk. “So did Clint, and I’m guessing so will Nat.”

You tried to keep your expression serene and heaved a sigh. “They will eat him alive.”

“Business talk can wait,” George told you. “How is your day going sweetheart?”

Not retorting to the condescending tone he thought he could hide was rather challenging, but you managed to control yourself. There was a time for everything, and you had to make sure not to look not as interested in just how Ian had screwed up, at least in front of George. You exchanged glances with Bucky who rolled his eyes, then turned to George.

“It’s going good,” you said. “I had coffee with Becca, then went shopping.”

“Oh what did you buy?”

All the lingerie sets you bought flashed in your mind and you bit back a smile as you stole a look at Bucky, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Jewelry,” you said, holding up your wrist to show your bracelet. “And yours, George?”

“Enjoying the retirement,” he said. “Something your father can’t do anytime soon, as it seems.”

You scoffed a small laugh. “He likes the job too much.”

“That’s not the only reason,” he muttered and you shot a look at Bucky who smirked.

“Yeah well, bad choice in heirs.”

“Has he talked to you?” George asked and you pulled your brows together, feigning confusion.

“About?”

“About what he’s going to do now that Ian screwed up in front of people that badly?”

“He doesn’t talk to me about the job,” you said. “But I’d say he made his choice. Now he just needs to train Ian.”

“That training was supposed to have started decades ago.”

You hummed. “And yet here we are.”

“If I remember right, your prenup said your second child would have claim on the territory, no?” George asked with a laugh. “Maybe you two should hurry up, Arthur does desperately need an heir it seems.”

The joke made your jaw clench. Of course he didn’t even consider you just like your father didn’t, but he was more than ready to accept your hypothetical child as the heir.

Anyone but you, apparently.

“Father…” Bucky muttered and George held up his hands.

“Just saying.”

“And that’s my cue,” you said, pushing yourself off the couch and George chuckled.

“Y/N, I was joking.”

“Oh I know, I just think it’s a good idea to see if my dad is alright now that you mentioned him,” you said, shooting him a fake smile before walking to Bucky to peck him on the cheek. “See you at home?”

“Absolutely,” he said and you walked out of the office, anger still poisoning your system.

                                       *

Your father’s assistant told you that he was home today, so you went straight there without dropping by the company. As usual, the foyer and the rest of the house were full of your father’s or Ian’s bodyguards and his assistant was by the study door. You waved at her but before you could approach her, you heard your aunt’s voice echoing in the foyer.

“Y/N, hello!”

You tried not to grimace, then turned to smile at her.

“Auntie.”

She came closer to kiss your cheek. “Arthur is taking a call, let’s catch up in the meantime.”

“I’m actually in a hurry, I just wanted to check whether he’s alright—”

“He is,” your aunt assured you as she gently steered you to the living room. “Albeit a bit tense but you know, it happens.”

“Does it though?” you muttered as you sat down on the couch. She waved a dismissive hand in the air.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about Ian’s tiny little mistake?”

“I haven’t,” you said. “I have heard about the million dollar mistake though.”

She pressed her lips together.

“He is under tremendous amount of pressure,” she told you solemnly. “Running around everywhere.”

You tried not to roll your eyes. “Is that right?”

“And I told your father the same thing, I think he’s being too harsh with him lately.”

“Well, a lot of bosses want his head on a spike,” you pointed out. “I’d say he is being quite nice to him, actually.”

Your aunt shot you a glare but you only smiled, making her heave a sigh and clasp her hands in her lap.

“Arthur says people are pushing for a sit down,” she said. “And that Ian must be there for some reason. I don’t know why he insists on it—”

“Because if he didn’t attend it’d make him look even worse,” you said. “No one would take him seriously after that.”

“He’s not the boss!”

“He’s the heir,” you forced yourself to say. “Bosses can take heirs with them to the meetings. Father has a point, he can’t coddle him especially in a situation like this.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” she insisted. “I’m sure Bucky has made them too.”

“He hasn’t,” you said, aware of the proud tone in your voice. “He was raised for this shit, so he actually pays attention. Unlike Ian.”

She clicked her tongue.

“Well you must talk to him,” she said and you pulled your brows together.

“To Bucky? Why?”

“Ian needs someone in that room that will have his back.”

You tried to stop the laughter threatening to spill from your lips.

“And you think Bucky will do it?”

“He will if you ask him to.”

“Why on earth would I ask him to?” you asked with a scoff and she threw her hands up.

“Because we’re family!” she said. “Ian would do the same for you.”

“Ian would throw me to the wolves if the roles were reversed,” you pointed out with a chuckle. “You know it as well as I do. They’d eat me alive during that meeting and he wouldn’t lift a finger, he’d encourage it.”

“You’re being very unfair to him, Y/N.”

“Maybe you just forgot what your son’s personality is like because you barely spend any time with him,” you said calmly and she narrowed her eyes.

“Careful.”

You dragged the tip of your tongue and held up your hands, gesturing surrender.

“Bucky wouldn’t help Ian even if I asked him to,” you said. “He doesn’t take him seriously.”

“And why is that?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I’m gonna go on a limb and assume it’s because Ian makes mistakes that cost my father and the other bosses millions of dollars.”

“What’s a couple of millions in this business?” she asked with a small laugh. “Nothing.”

You heaved a sigh. “It gives a message, auntie.”

She crossed her legs, sticking her nose in the air.

“Either way, talk to Bucky,” she said. “Everyone says he listens to what you say, so it might be a good idea to put in some good word for Ian before that meeting.”

You arched a brow, but before you could comment on it, your father’s assistant entered the room.

“Y/N, he says he can see you now.”

“Oh thank you,” you said and got up from the couch. “Auntie. Always a pleasure.”

She just shot you a smile and you shook your head slightly, then followed your father’s assistant to his study.

                                           *

When you got back home, Bucky still wasn’t back so you had enough time to put your plan into action. The set you had chosen for tonight was black; the lacy corset matching the garter belts holding your stockings. You were just done with fixing your hair when you heard Bucky opening the front door, so you threw yourself on the bed and grabbed the book on your nightstand to open it.

“Charm?”

“Upstairs!” you called out, turning on your stomach and swinging your legs back and forth lazily, trying to bite back your smirk as Bucky walked into the room, reading something on his phone.

“I have so much to tell you about the meeting today,” he said without taking his eyes off of the screen and went to place his gun on the small coffee table and you hummed.

“What?”

“Nat is furious, and she and Clint actually—” he stopped talking as soon as he raised his eyes from the phone and you looked over your shoulder to see him frozen in his spot.

“She and Clint?” you asked him as if there was nothing out of the ordinary and he blinked a couple of times in complete silence, staring at you.

“Bucky?” you said and he swallowed thickly.

“What the fuck—am I dreaming?”

“Why would you be dreaming?” you asked and rolled over to lean back on your palms, crossing your legs. “We should talk by the way.”

“Oh we’re not talking,” he said, pulling you by the ankle to the edge of the bed and you let out a squeal that turned into a giggle before you pushed at him and got up from the bed. He let out a groan.

“Charm…”

“What?”

“Is this a new way for you to torture me?”

“No, I just think we should talk.”

“I can’t contribute anything to the conversation because I don’t have any blood in my brain right now, it’s all rushing south.”

You rolled your eyes at him and leaned on your hip. “Can you focus?”

“No.”

“Bucky!”

“You’re in a corset and garter belts and you want me to focus?” he asked, taking a step towards you but you took a step back, smirking.

“Calm down.”

“Come here.”

“No because we need to talk first.”

“If this is about who breaks first,” he said. “I broke first, you won, now come here.”

“I’m glad you agree but that’s not it,” you said. “About the sit down, is there a date yet?”

“A lot of people would start with dirty talk—”

“Business talk is my dirty talk,” you stated. “So?”

“Next week,” he said, pulling at one of the ribbons on the corset and you swatted his hand away.

“Ian is going to be there so—”

“Take it off.”

“Good lingerie is wasted on men I swear to God…” you muttered, trying to ignore the way your stomach did a happy flip. “So if Ian is there, I need to be there.”

“Done.”

“The only way—” you batted his hand away again. “The only way for me to be there is if others believe I’m your heir in case of an emergency, because—”

“Done.”

You let out a laugh. “That easily?”

“Sweetheart you could ask me for all my possessions including the company right now and the answer would still be yes,” he said, making you let out a laugh as he wrapped his vibrainum arm around you and easily lifted you up. He carried you to the bed to drop you there and got rid of his shirt, letting you see his muscular before he got on top of you, his lips finding yours. Your eyes fluttered close and a happy sigh left your lips when he pulled back to look down at you.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

You could feel the fire warming your cheeks and a giggle escaped from you before you pushed at him slightly so that you could straddle him. He quickly pulled at the ribbons holding the corset together and you tilted your head.

“So I win?” you asked again and he nodded, grinning.

“You win babe.”

You smirked, then let him pull the corset off of you to throw it somewhere in the room and leaned down to kiss him again.

Chapter 30

[itsdannycragg]

Hi Tumblr!

I logged da fuck off at some point and will continue to be very much so not on social media! Believe me when I tell you life is better on the other side.

I do want to pop in with a life update for the curious!

I'm out here in Durham, NC, and three years after moving here with Shelby and Brian, I can confidently say there isn't a place in the world I'd rather put my roots down.

I never knew what actual community looked or felt like until I came here. I'd made friends in town everywhere I'd lived, of course, and we would go out to eat or on a vacation, visit a gallery or something, but in Durham it's just different. Looking out the window during a car ride, chatting with a stranger in a grocery store, checking out a thrift shop or going to the library, I find myself declaring "I love living here..." the same compulsive way I tell my partners I love them. Durham isn't just a place I live, it's where I belong.

I've been calling myself an ex-cartoonist, and preaching the nightmare of trying to make art for infinite-profit focused megacorps. It's not that I didn't love making cartoons, it's that I did. It may not be that way for everyone, but for me, working a job I loved meant I was working every second of my life. Being an artist is a core part of my heart and soul, and near the end, I had become so burnt out I would spend hours just trying to start doing the work I used to fly out of bed excited to do.

So I did some of this and that, worked a retail job that fucked my hands up so bad that I had to have double carpal tunnel release surgery. 29 years as an artist and I get carpal tunnel from hefting around boxes in a warehouse!

Since then, I've pivoted into building a career as a graphic designer. (And I'm learning web dev too!) I'm getting involved in the local nonprofit scene, meeting so many incredible people and finding so many cool and exciting opportunities to focus my design work on community awareness, nonprofits, small businesses!! I didn't expect that to be so viable for a Graphic Designer. I had the misconception for a long time that I'd have to put my creative sensibilities aside for more dry, sensible corporate phooey. But there's so much more. Graphic design is truly a delight and a challenge! I have always enjoyed thinking critically about all forms of human creation. Why am I so drawn to this book cover? What makes that building so weird? Why do these casserole mix boxes piss me off? Why does that person's outfit look so fucking awesome?

Taking those thoughts and using them to inform how I approach design is an entirely different beast from animating and illustrating. I'm fighting for my life out there formatting text, morphing vectors and and scooting things around a comp until it works. A picture's worth a thousand words, but you don't have space for a thousand words in a graphic design. Condense! Condense! It's challenging, and a lot of fun.

Working as a cartoonist was my dream come true, and I am forever proud of and thankful for the part I have played in the history of animation and queer representation in entertainment. I had the privilege of having the life crisis I had at 21— "I never thought I'd get this far. What more could I want? What do I do now?"

Well, a decade later I confidently know what comes after having my dreams come true. I get older, and I experience new things, meet new people, struggle paying bills, endure all kinds of misfortunes and problems, and come out the other side astounded and proud to have survived it. Grow closer to my family friends and community as the years deepen our history together, and just be amazed and thankful that I made it this far, over and over.

It's funny being called old by my younger friends, because I have never felt so young in my life! I JUST cracked 30. There are so many things I haven't done yet, and so many things I don't know that I don't know yet. And I have the power to take ALL of this and to create art about it. Hopy shit!

Speaking of making art and sharing it, one of the reasons I'm excited to be learning web dev is so I can carve out places online where I can share anything and everything I want to. Media Crit, comics, essays, comics, illos, however I want to present it. I'll share it when I get the site running. Or maybe I wont and you'll have to find it by chance.

And of course, I'm still actively writing Neokosmos with Shelby and Brian, and doing other little things here and there. :) See ya when I see ya, Danny

[yourheartonfire]

"Hello! If you are receiving this, [medic] has missed their daily deadman switch check in. All client information will be released in 12 hours."

For a second villain stared dumbly at the text on her phone. Then she bolted from her desk towards the door. It was 10:17 - a taxi would be faster than the metro at this hour to get to midtown -

"Hey!" their coworker said, pulling out her airpods. "Where are you going?"

"Medical emergency," the villain snapped and slammed out the office door.

A precious 29 minutes later the villain arrived at the medic's apartment to find a motley gathering of capes and masks shuffling and looking suspiciously at each other in the hall. There was an air of a 2am fire drill - few supers operated on daylight hours, especially not the low to mid-powered supers the medic took on as clients, and the whole event had the awkward feel of meeting your neighbors in their pajamas.

The vigilante wore their normal black of course, but in the daylight the denim was faded and the jacket obviously cheap pleather. On the villainous side there was that grimy little clown themed duo in plain white face paint instead of their full make-up. For the heroes there was that kid goody-two-shoes try-hard - of course she'd rolled up in full uniform, minus the normal tracker camera the Hero Agency mounted on all its people now. And hero, the villain's nemesis, was there too, having jammed on the cowl and gloves over his t-shirt and jeans, just like villain had over her business clothes. He was standing in the doorway, and visibly sighed in relief as villain turned the corner.

"Oh thank God you're here," hero said and wasn't that terrifying that he had nothing flirty or snarky to say about villain's suit.

The goody-two-shoes did a double take. "Her?!" she snapped, even as she rocked her weight nervously from leg to leg. "You were waiting on her?"

"We sure weren't waiting on you to do something useful, cupcake," the female gremlin drawled from where she slouched against her partner on the hall floor, flicking her knife through her fingers.

"Yeah, didn't realize medic was a pediatrician too," the male gremlin giggled.

"Knock it off." The hero stepped aside, opened the door. "I kept them out, kept the scene clean for you."

The goody-two shoes groaned, buried her head in her hands. "This can't be happening."

"Quick, did someone bring a pacifier?" one of the gremlins stage whispered.

The vigilante pointedly stepped over the two clowns, forcing them to jerk backwards or take a combat boot to the face. "We're assuming this is about us," they breathed to the hero and villain. "What if they got hit by a bus? Dropped dead of a heart attack?"

"No reports from the hospitals or morgues of unidentified persons matching medic's description," Villain said curtly. "Checked on the way here. No communication to or amongst medic's friends and family about an emergency."

Goody-two-shoes blinked. "You... know [medic]'s real identity?"

"And that is why we were waiting on her," hero said patiently. "Now everyone shut up."

The villain curtly nodded acknowledgement, stepped into medic's apartment though it would not be necessary. The medic had disappeared from the street, at some point after they'd used their debit card to buy their usual black coffee at 7:04am and at some point before they'd failed to badge in at work by 8:15am. Still, the villain did a quick scan. The little homemade exam/treatment area had been freshly cleaned, the trash emptied. The tablet and laptop were missing from their docking station, but the go-bag was still in place under the desk.

"Y'all are gonna give me a minute with [medic] when we find them," the male gremlin drawled. "This 12 hour deadline is bullshit. They said we'd have 24 hours if they missed a check-in."

"You're not getting shit," the vigilante growled around the toothpick they were chomping.

"And they shortened the deadline because I told them to," villain said, breathing in the smell of antiseptic and bleach. She'd also told the medic to set the deadman switch to every 8 hours, not every 24, but the others didn't need to know that.

"You what?!" said the gremlins and the goody-two-shoes in unison. The vigilante choked. Even hero looked startled.

"I advised them to consider how long they could hold out under torture to reveal the abort protocol," said villain, using a tongue depressor to lift a latex glove from the kitchen trash. "I'd say medic was pretty generous. Speaking of generous, I've seen enough." She pointed to hero. "Last person you referred to medic and when?"

Hero tilted his head, realization blooming. "You," he said to villain. "Nine months ago."

One of the gremlins pointed to vigilante. "We did you! We did you last Arbor Day!"

Vigilante sighed and jabbed a thumb at goody-two-shoes. "The kid," they sighed. "I dunno when. Summer?"

The goody-two shoes swallowed. "Um," she said very quietly.

As one, the group turned to the kid. She froze, eyes going wide behind the mask. "It was - I didn't mean to!" she cried, backing up. "Just - he noticed the scar and realized it wasn't sanctioned medical care and I - and I - !"

"Okay, slow down," said hero gently, shooting a warning look to the gremlins who were both holding knives and on their feet now. "Who did you tell?"

The goody-two shoes' shoulders collapsed. She looked miserably at her toes. "Superhero. Yesterday."

Everyone flinched.

"You idiot," the vigilante breathed.

"We're going to kill you," the female gremlin said to the goody-two shoes. The male cracked his knuckles. The hero took a deep breath and pushed the goody-two-shoes behind him -

"Save that for 12 hours from now," villain said briskly and dropped the glove back in the trash. "We've got just under 11 hours to find where Superhero's got medic stashed and mount a rescue before our identities and medical records are splashed all over the internet. And frankly, I think it's going to take every single one of us to meet that deadline."

The six of them looked at each other in the shadows of the hall. The hero mustered a grin. "That's why we're all here, right?" he said. "Instead of hiding or running. Medic's saved all of us- now we save them."

"They didn't save me, I wasn't dying," one of the gremlins muttered. But no one walked away.

"Right," said villain. "Let's do this."

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Hihi! I went on anon cause my main blog is strictly sfw, but I promise I'm an adult(29). Anyways, I had this idea of Ascended Astarion teasing Tav/Reader in front of a mirror. He can't see himself, but loves the way Tav/Reader shudders under his touch and them getting more and more embarrassed because all they can see is themselves getting riled up by seemingly nothing, but when they look down, ofc they see his hands working magic across their body.

Lol ty for the clarification and ask! I've been needing some nsfw practice!

Ascended Astarion nsfw under the cut, 18 + warnings. Like this is not implied smut. It is smut, graphic. Possessive, obsessive, manipulative, bad vampire man who loves you. As much as he's capable of. Morally gray human Tav from the start to here. It's only downhill from here baby, m/f angle. But if that doesnt fufill the dream let me know and I can make a gender neutral/ gender nonspecfic no prob! And probably less intense too because this is angsty~~~

Like I went ham, this is a whole ass fic now💀

You frowned at yourself in the bedroom mirror, adjusting your hair for the umpteenth time. It still didn't look right, despite what felt like hours of practice that you'd put into the intricate style.

You sighed as let one of your braids fall down, dissatisfied with what you saw. You didn't exactly look the part of an all-powerful vampire's consort, or at least not with the company you've recently been keeping. But it turned out a significant part of taking over Baldur's Gate was trenched in politics, meetings, balls, social events created for the sole purpose of mind games.

It was exhausting, or at least it was for you. But Astarion seemed to take to it like a duck to water. This life suited him, one of power games and subterfuge, and more often than not, murder. Not that you minded. You were just happy that he was having fun. That he was finally free after all of those years of torment. Even if he was using that freedom for… less than savory ends.

But despite his goals, you had sworn to him that you would never stray. And you intended on making good on that promise.

You just wished that he didn't insist on you being there for all of his "business". You hadn't realized how literal he had been about the whole sitting in his lap plan. It had taken a half-hour conversation to even convince him that no, you would not be doing so in the nude. He still hadn't given up on convincing you off that plan, but you highly doubted that it would help with your current level of heightened insecurity.

Maybe you were worrying for no reason. It wasn't Astarion who made you feel out of place. Well… it was, but not because of anything he did. Just… who he had become. He was so different now, so much colder to everything and everyone but you. More calculating, less forgiving, and just perfect for working with the most dangerous individuals in the mortal plane.

You seemed to be the only living thing he could relax around anymore, the only person who could soften him. It was strange really. You used to remember his softer side, before the ritual. The way his heart would hurt for children and animals alike, despite his failed attempts to hide it. His soft spot for Karlach, those who were brave and brazen, always willing to do the right thing despite the risks. The kind smile he used to have, reserved for beautiful things like the sunrise, the sunset.

Gone, all of it. It was a fact that you didn't like to think about. What you both gave up, things could have been; there was no point to it anyway. It was over. You gave Astarion the choice, this is what came of that. So here you were, obsessing over your appearance in preparation for a meeting with a high-ranking devil.

How things had changed.

You had no idea if you would ever find a way to match up with the company he kept around these days. Maybe it was your own fault for surrounding yourself with otherworldly creatures, but it was hard not to feel inadequate.

It didn't help that whenever you even slightly alluded to that insecurity, Astarion was more than ready to remind you of your… "options".

"You can join us whenever you'd like my treasure," Astarion would say with a creeping grin, "Just one bite, and we can be sure you'll be mine forever. Would that be so bad?"

It was a tempting offer, one that you kept insisting on refusing. You loved Astarion more than anything. But… you wanted that love to stay your choice. An obligation you maintained of your own free will. It's not that you didn't trust him… but to be a spawn had too many implications for you to handle.

"What has you pouting sweet thing?"

You startled when hands suddenly settled on your hip, gripping through the thin fabric of your nightdress. You looked back, relaxing the slightest bit to see Astarion smiling down at you, amused at the fact he'd managed to sneak up on you through the mirror.

"You said you weren't going to do that anymore," You whined as you leaned back into him, your eyes turning back to the mirror. You could see the fabric of your slip indented under his hands, ghost-like without his actual image reflecting back.

"I lied," Astarion said simply, leaning down to breathe you in from the crook of your neck, "Now what are you thinking about pet? I can tell something's on your mind."

You bit your lip, debating for a moment if you should tell him or not. But it's not like he would let it drop, and he was way too good at being able to tell when you were lying. Might as well come clean.

You sighed, "I don't…I don't know if I'm cut out for this."

You expected him to huff at you, maybe even laugh. But instead, the grip he had on you tightened, hard enough to make you gasp. You could feel his fangs scraping against your delicate skin, scratching hard enough to cause pinpricks of blood to bead out.

"And why would you ever think a thing like that?" Astarion asked, his voice harsh and low, "Where else would you be if not by my side hm? Please, enlighten me."

You gulped, your heart rate starting to pick up. You hadn't meant it like that, "That's not what I meant-"

"Then what else could it have meant?" Astarion shot back, his hands digging into you, surely ready to leave finger-shaped bruises. Suddenly he was using that same grip to drag you backward to the bed, effortlessly settling you between his spread legs.

All while managing to still be right in sight of the mirror. You could feel your cheeks redden as his hands started to wander, unceremoniously tugging down the straps of your nightdress to reveal your chest. That was another thing about life after the ritual that had been a surprise, just how different Astarion's sex drive was. It's not like he was a prude before, far from it, but now he was insatiable. Always ready and willing to touch you whenever the urge struck him. Often enough for you to eventually come to the thrilling, if not slightly disturbed realization, that… he was training you. Training your body to always want his touch.

And tonight was no different. You could already feel yourself getting wet, and he had barely done anything yet. But then suddenly he was pinching your nipple harshly, hissing in your ear, "I expect an answer when I ask you a question darling."

You bit back a moan, trying to remember what you were even arguing about as he started to play with your breasts, "I-I didn't mean it like that. I just… I don't want to embarrass you."

It was humiliating to admit but it was true. Not many people of Astarion's caliber insisted on a singular lover. There were so many people after him now, people with more power, more beauty, and grace. You didn't match up. You couldn't.

"Nonsense," Astarion dismissed, his hands wandering down to tear off more of your clothing, "Look at you. You were made for this life. Made for me. You're gorgeous."

The compliments mixed with the harsh feeling of his hands ripping your nightdress in two was quite the experience. You could feel his own hardness pressing into your backside, twitching as he threw your ruined clothing to the side.

Then he was gripping your chin, forcing your head back up to stare into the mirror in front of you, "I said look."

You obeyed, eyes widening at what you saw. It was so strange to see yourself like this, fully exposed with your legs spread apart, flushed and panting. It nearly gave the illusion that your very image was what was causing the wetness between your legs, instead of the invisible man toying with you.

You swallowed, your throat dry as Astarion's hands wandered lower, a feather-light touch tracing up and down your slit, "You are everything. The sole reason that I'm the man I am today. There is nowhere else you should be than right here."

"But-" You gasped, your words interrupted by a sharp slap to your inner thigh. You could see your skin start to redden in the mirror, a perfect imprint left in it's wake.

"Darling, are you questioning my judgment? What on earth made you think that was a good idea?"

You frantically shook your head, moaning when his fingers delved deeper, playing with your slick folds, "I-I'm not. I didn't- I'm sorry."

You whined as he roughly pinched your clit, his other hand moving upward to do the same to your heaving chest.

He was starting to grind his hardness against you, a tease of more to come as he murmured in your ear, "There's my good girl. Was that so hard?"

You shook your head, gasping as he finally dipped his long fingers into your cunt. You were already so sensitive, humiliatingly close in a matter of minutes.

"So gorgeous," Astarion sighed, staring straight ahead to the sole image of you, whimpering as he finger-fucked your pussy, "So needy. Can you see how wet you are pet?"

You could, you were leaking around his fingers, that needy, intense feeling getting more and more intense by the moment. It was so embarrassing seeing yourself like this, enough so that you snapped your eyes shut.

A bad idea. Astarion tutted at you, landing another sudden and hard slap to your thigh, "None of that. I told you to look. Or else."

You snapped your eyes back open, watching yourself whimper and gasp as you were played with, the harsh movement of his hand jostling your breasts. You weren't going to last much longer, not with the image of you being taken apart, the feeling of him inside you, the mean edge to your love's words.

"You're such a silly little thing, aren't you?" Astarion growled, fucking you harder and faster. You were so close, but you weren't stupid enough to come without permission. Not after what he did the last time, "Doubting me. Do you really think I don't know what's best for you? What's best for us?"

"No," You whimpered, your hips arching backward to rub harder into his erection, "You're right, I-I'm yours. C-Can I come now? Please?"

"Beg me and maybe I'll think about it," Astarion meanly laughed, relishing in the gush of slick his harshness coaxed from between your legs, "Beg and apologize. Apologize for doubting us. For doubting me."

You could barely get the words out through your own gasps, tears prickling in the corner of your eyes, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean it!"

"Good girl," Astarion huskily laughed, using a clever thumb to rub over your swollen clit, "Now tell me you love me."

"I love you," You said easily, meaning every word, "I love you more than anything.

"Tell me you'll never leave me. Ever."

There was something else behind that promise. An obvious implication that your fucked-out brain was too distracted to see.

"Never," You promised, reaching back for you him. You curled your fingers into his hair. pulling his head down to press his mouth against your throat. An open invitation, "I'll always be with you."

Astarion groaned against your skin, his fangs so close to piercing, "Precious pet, how could I ever want anything else? Come darling, you've earned it."

Then he was biting you, the brief flash of pain the perfect trigger for you to fall over the edge. You came with an embarrassingly high-pitched whine, slumping back into Astarion as he drank from your throat.

You looked as much of a mess as you felt, the stickiness between your thighs glistening in the light. You watched yourself, whimpering as Astarion slipped his fingers out. Just to tap them against your lips, forcing them into your mouth to suck on.

You moaned around them, light-headed as Astarion popped off of your throat. You sighed as he licked at the wound, enjoying the brief moment of rest. You weren't naive enough to think that you were done yet. Not when Astarion was still hard, his cock pulsing against you.

"See?" Astarion huskily laughed, licking the blood off of his lips while he played with your tongue, "You're perfect. Perfect and mine."

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The moral injury of having your work enshittified

This Monday (November 27), I'm appearing at the Toronto Metro Reference Library with Facebook whistleblower Frances Haugen.

On November 29, I'm at NYC's Strand Books with my novel The Lost Cause, a solarpunk tale of hope and danger that Rebecca Solnit called "completely delightful."

This week, I wrote about how the Great Enshittening – in which all the digital services we rely on become unusable, extractive piles of shit – did not result from the decay of the morals of tech company leadership, but rather, from the collapse of the forces that discipline corporate wrongdoing:

https://locusmag.com/2023/11/commentary-by-cory-doctorow-dont-be-evil/

The failure to enforce competition law allowed a few companies to buy out their rivals, or sell goods below cost until their rivals collapsed, or bribe key parts of their supply chain not to allow rivals to participate:

https://www.engadget.com/google-reportedly-pays-apple-36-percent-of-ad-search-revenues-from-safari-191730783.html

The resulting concentration of the tech sector meant that the surviving firms were stupendously wealthy, and cozy enough that they could agree on a common legislative agenda. That regulatory capture has allowed tech companies to violate labor, privacy and consumer protection laws by arguing that the law doesn't apply when you use an app to violate it:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

But the regulatory capture isn't just about preventing regulation: it's also about creating regulation – laws that make it illegal to reverse-engineer, scrape, and otherwise mod, hack or reconfigure existing services to claw back value that has been taken away from users and business customers. This gives rise to Jay Freeman's perfectly named doctrine of "felony contempt of business-model," in which it is illegal to use your own property in ways that anger the shareholders of the company that sold it to you:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/09/lead-me-not-into-temptation/#chamberlain

Undisciplined by the threat of competition, regulation, or unilateral modification by users, companies are free to enshittify their products. But what does that actually look like? I say that enshittification is always precipitated by a lost argument.

It starts when someone around a board-room table proposes doing something that's bad for users but good for the company. If the company faces the discipline of competition, regulation or self-help measures, then the workers who are disgusted by this course of action can say, "I think doing this would be gross, and what's more, it's going to make the company poorer," and so they win the argument.

But when you take away that discipline, the argument gets reduced to, "Don't do this because it would make me ashamed to work here, even though it will make the company richer." Money talks, bullshit walks. Let the enshittification begin!

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/22/who-wins-the-argument/#corporations-are-people-my-friend

But why do workers care at all? That's where phrases like "don't be evil" come into the picture. Until very recently, tech workers participated in one of history's tightest labor markets, in which multiple companies with gigantic war-chests bid on their labor. Even low-level employees routinely fielded calls from recruiters who dangled offers of higher salaries and larger stock grants if they would jump ship for a company's rival.

Employers built "campuses" filled with lavish perks: massages, sports facilities, daycare, gourmet cafeterias. They offered workers generous benefit packages, including exotic health benefits like having your eggs frozen so you could delay fertility while offsetting the risks normally associated with conceiving at a later age.

But all of this was a transparent ruse: the business-case for free meals, gyms, dry-cleaning, catering and massages was to keep workers at their laptops for 10, 12, or even 16 hours per day. That egg-freezing perk wasn't about helping workers plan their families: it was about thumbing the scales in favor of working through your entire twenties and thirties without taking any parental leave.

In other words, tech employers valued their employees as a means to an end: they wanted to get the best geeks on the payroll and then work them like government mules. The perks and pay weren't the result of comradeship between management and labor: they were the result of the discipline of competition for labor.

This wasn't really a secret, of course. Big Tech workers are split into two camps: blue badges (salaried employees) and green badges (contractors). Whenever there is a slack labor market for a specific job or skill, it is converted from a blue badge job to a green badge job. Green badges don't get the food or the massages or the kombucha. They don't get stock or daycare. They don't get to freeze their eggs. They also work long hours, but they are incentivized by the fear of poverty.

Tech giants went to great lengths to shield blue badges from green badges – at some Google campuses, these workforces actually used different entrances and worked in different facilities or on different floors. Sometimes, green badge working hours would be staggered so that the armies of ragged clickworkers would not be lined up to badge in when their social betters swanned off the luxury bus and into their airy adult kindergartens.

But Big Tech worked hard to convince those blue badges that they were truly valued. Companies hosted regular town halls where employees could ask impertinent questions of their CEOs. They maintained freewheeling internal social media sites where techies could rail against corporate foolishness and make Dilbert references.

And they came up with mottoes.

Apple told its employees it was a sound environmental steward that cared about privacy. Apple also deliberately turned old devices into e-waste by shredding them to ensure that they wouldn't be repaired and compete with new devices:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/22/vin-locking/#thought-differently

And even as they were blocking Facebook's surveillance tools, they quietly built their own nonconsensual mass surveillance program and lied to customers about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Facebook told employees they were on a "mission to connect every person in the world," but instead deliberately sowed discontent among its users and trapped them in silos that meant that anyone who left Facebook lost all their friends:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/facebooks-secret-war-switching-costs

And Google promised its employees that they would not "be evil" if they worked at Google. For many googlers, that mattered. They wanted to do something good with their lives, and they had a choice about who they would work for. What's more, they did make things that were good. At their high points, Google Maps, Google Mail, and of course, Google Search were incredible.

My own life was totally transformed by Maps: I have very poor spatial sense, need to actually stop and think to tell my right from my left, and I spent more of my life at least a little lost and often very lost. Google Maps is the cognitive prosthesis I needed to become someone who can go anywhere. I'm profoundly grateful to the people who built that service.

There's a name for phenomenon in which you care so much about your job that you endure poor conditions and abuse: it's called "vocational awe," as coined by Fobazi Ettarh:

https://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2018/vocational-awe/

Ettarh uses the term to apply to traditionally low-waged workers like librarians, teachers and nurses. In our book Chokepoint Capitalism, Rebecca Giblin and I talked about how it applies to artists and other creative workers, too:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

But vocational awe is also omnipresent in tech. The grandiose claims to be on a mission to make the world a better place are not just puffery – they're a vital means of motivating workers who can easily quit their jobs and find a new one to put in 16-hour days. The massages and kombucha and egg-freezing are not framed as perks, but as logistical supports, provided so that techies on an important mission can pursue a shared social goal without being distracted by their balky, inconvenient meatsuits.

Steve Jobs was a master of instilling vocational awe. He was full of aphorisms like "we're here to make a dent in the universe, otherwise why even be here?" Or his infamous line to John Sculley, whom he lured away from Pepsi: "Do you want to sell sugar water for the rest of your life or come with me and change the world?"

Vocational awe cuts both ways. If your workforce actually believes in all that high-minded stuff, if they actually sacrifice their health, family lives and self-care to further the mission, they will defend it. That brings me back to enshittification, and the argument: "If we do this bad thing to the product I work on, it will make me hate myself."

The decline in market discipline for large tech companies has been accompanied by a decline in labor discipline, as the market for technical work grew less and less competitive. Since the dotcom collapse, the ability of tech giants to starve new entrants of market oxygen has shrunk techies' dreams.

Tech workers once dreamed of working for a big, unwieldy firm for a few years before setting out on their own to topple it with a startup. Then, the dream shrank: work for that big, clumsy firm for a few years, then do a fake startup that makes a fake product that is acquihired by your old employer, as an incredibly inefficient and roundabout way to get a raise and a bonus.

Then the dream shrank again: work for a big, ugly firm for life, but get those perks, the massages and the kombucha and the stock options and the gourmet cafeteria and the egg-freezing. Then it shrank again: work for Google for a while, but then get laid off along with 12,000 co-workers, just months after the company does a stock buyback that would cover all those salaries for the next 27 years:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/10/the-proletarianization-of-tech-workers/

Tech workers' power was fundamentally individual. In a tight labor market, tech workers could personally stand up to their bosses. They got "workplace democracy" by mouthing off at town hall meetings. They didn't have a union, and they thought they didn't need one. Of course, they did need one, because there were limits to individual power, even for the most in-demand workers, especially when it came to ghastly, long-running sexual abuse from high-ranking executives:

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/25/technology/google-sexual-harassment-andy-rubin.html

Today, atomized tech workers who are ordered to enshittify the products they take pride in are losing the argument. Workers who put in long hours, missed funerals and school plays and little league games and anniversaries and family vacations are being ordered to flush that sacrifice down the toilet to grind out a few basis points towards a KPI.

It's a form of moral injury, and it's palpable in the first-person accounts of former workers who've exited these large firms or the entire field. The viral "Reflecting on 18 years at Google," written by Ian Hixie, vibrates with it:

https://ln.hixie.ch/?start=1700627373

Hixie describes the sense of mission he brought to his job, the workplace democracy he experienced as employees' views were both solicited and heeded. He describes the positive contributions he was able to make to a commons of technical standards that rippled out beyond Google – and then, he says, "Google's culture eroded":

Decisions went from being made for the benefit of users, to the benefit of Google, to the benefit of whoever was making the decision.

In other words, techies started losing the argument. Layoffs weakened worker power – not just to defend their own interest, but to defend the users interests. Worker power is always about more than workers – think of how the 2019 LA teachers' strike won greenspace for every school, a ban on immigration sweeps of students' parents at the school gates and other community benefits:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/23/a-collective-bargain/

Hixie attributes the changes to a change in leadership, but I respectfully disagree. Hixie points to the original shareholder letter from the Google founders, in which they informed investors contemplating their IPO that they were retaining a controlling interest in the company's governance so that they could ignore their shareholders' priorities in favor of a vision of Google as a positive force in the world:

https://abc.xyz/investor/founders-letters/ipo-letter/

Hixie says that the leadership that succeeded the founders lost sight of this vision – but the whole point of that letter is that the founders never fully ceded control to subsequent executive teams. Yes, those executive teams were accountable to the shareholders, but the largest block of voting shares were retained by the founders.

I don't think the enshittification of Google was due to a change in leadership – I think it was due to a change in discipline, the discipline imposed by competition, regulation and the threat of self-help measures. Take ads: when Google had to contend with one-click adblocker installation, it had to constantly balance the risk of making users so fed up that they googled "how do I block ads?" and then never saw another ad ever again.

But once Google seized the majority of the mobile market, it was able to funnel users into apps, and reverse-engineering an app is a felony (felony contempt of business-model) under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. An app is just a web-page wrapped in enough IP to make it a crime to install an ad-blocker.

And as Google acquired control over the browser market, it was likewise able to reduce the self-help measures available to browser users who found ads sufficiently obnoxious to trigger googling "how do I block ads?" The apotheosis of this is the yearslong campaign to block adblockers in Chrome, which the company has sworn it will finally do this coming June:

https://www.tumblr.com/tevruden/734352367416410112/you-have-until-june-to-dump-chrome

My contention here is not that Google's enshittification was precipitated by a change in personnel via the promotion of managers who have shitty ideas. Google's enshittification was precipitated by a change in discipline, as the negative consequences of heeding those shitty ideas were abolished thanks to monopoly.

This is bad news for people like me, who rely on services like Google Maps as cognitive prostheses. Elizabeth Laraki, one of the original Google Maps designers, has published a scorching critique of the latest GMaps design:

https://twitter.com/elizlaraki/status/1727351922254852182

Laraki calls out numerous enshittificatory design-choices that have left Maps screens covered in "crud" – multiple revenue-maximizing elements that come at the expense of usability, shifting value from users to Google.

What Laraki doesn't say is that these UI elements are auctioned off to merchants, which means that the business that gives Google the most money gets the greatest prominence in Maps, even if it's not the best merchant. That's a recurring motif in enshittified tech platforms, most notoriously Amazon, which makes $31b/year auctioning off top search placement to companies whose products aren't relevant enough to your query to command that position on their own:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/25/greedflation/#commissar-bezos

Enshittification begets enshittification. To succeed on Amazon, you must divert funds from product quality to auction placement, which means that the top results are the worst products:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

The exception is searches for Apple products: Apple and Amazon have a cozy arrangement that means that searches for Apple products are a timewarp back to the pre-enshittification Amazon, when the company worried enough about losing your business to heed the employees who objected to sacrificing search quality as part of a merchant extortion racket:

https://www.businessinsider.com/amazon-gives-apple-special-treatment-while-others-suffer-junk-ads-2023-11

Not every tech worker is a tech bro, in other words. Many workers care deeply about making your life better. But the microeconomics of the boardroom in a monopolized tech sector rewards the worst people and continuously promotes them. Forget the Peter Principle: tech is ruled by the Sam Principle.

As OpenAI went through four CEOs in a single week, lots of commentators remarked on Sam Altman's rise and fall and rise, but I only found one commentator who really had Altman's number. Writing in Today in Tabs, Rusty Foster nailed Altman to the wall:

https://www.todayintabs.com/p/defective-accelerationism

Altman's history goes like this: first, he founded a useless startup that raised $30m, only to be acquired and shuttered. Then Altman got a job running Y Combinator, where he somehow failed at taking huge tranches of equity from "every Stanford dropout with an idea for software to replace something Mommy used to do." After that, he founded OpenAI, a company that he claims to believe presents an existential risk to the entire human risk – which he structured so incompetently that he was then forced out of it.

His reward for this string of farcical, mounting failures? He was put back in charge of the company he mis-structured despite his claimed belief that it will destroy the human race if not properly managed.

Altman's been around for a long time. He founded his startup in 2005. There've always been Sams – of both the Bankman-Fried varietal and the Altman genus – in tech. But they didn't get to run amok. They were disciplined by their competitors, regulators, users and workers. The collapse of competition led to an across-the-board collapse in all of those forms of discipline, revealing the executives for the mediocre sociopaths they always were, and exposing tech workers' vocational awe for the shabby trick it was from the start.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/25/moral-injury/#enshittification

[eyesofshinigami]

Gifts

Rating: T

CW: None

Tags: Established relationship, fluff, minor sexual content

Prompt: For @forgottenkanji "Love is going out of your way to do something you know will make them happy"

WC: 653

Written for Day 29 of @steddielovemonth

He tells himself it’s going to be worth it. Standing here in thirty degree weather, shivering his ass off, waiting for the ticket office to open. Steve can picture the look on Eddie’s face when he shows up on their anniversary with Metallica tickets and that almost makes it worth it.

Three hours he’s been standing out here. The line is getting longer and longer, so he’s glad he made the decision to skip work for the day to come. 

Almost. His toes are still fucking freezing. 

“Hey man, you in the right line?” a couple of guys behind him snicker, and Steve has to keep from rolling his eyes. 

“Sure am. Friend of mine really likes the band and couldn’t make it out, so I figured I would grab tickets for him,” Steve lies smoothly. It’s not really any of these guys’ business, but he’s learned that it’s sometimes the best way to deal with people like this. 

The guys are quiet and one finally pipes up, “That’s kind of awesome, man. Sorry.”

Steve waves them off, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. He checks his watch; eight o’clock, the box office should open very soon. He had felt a little bad lying to Eddie, saying that he was going for a run and then had to get to work early, but he’d make it up to him with kisses later on. 

He hears cheers go up and the line starts moving, butterflies kicking up in his belly. The counter comes into view and the bored girl at the desk pops her gum as he gets the tickets. Middle seats, nothing fancy, but it’ll be enough to make Eddie lose his mind. 

Steve can’t wait.

–

Two weeks later they’re laying in bed, sweaty after sex and full of Jim’s Chinese from down the block. It’s been one of the best anniversaries Steve can remember, and he knows it’s about to get even better. 

“Got you a present,” he tells Eddie, reaching over to his nightstand to pull out the envelope he’s been hiding there for the last two weeks. He can’t wait to see the look on Eddie’s face; it’s going to be worth being cold for three hours and the subsequent runny nose that followed. 

Eddie grins, eyes shining. “I got you one too.” He reaches over and grabs something from his own bedside table. “On the count of three?” 

Together, they say, “One… two… three!”

They each hand the other a similar looking envelope. Eddie opens his first, and lets out a screech of pleasure. “Holy shit!!! Metallica tickets? I thought they sold out!!” He tackles Steve to the bed, kissing his face obnoxiously. “How?”

“Went and waited in line,” Steve replies, because yup, absolutely worth it. “I wanted to get them for you.”

Eddie’s eyes are a little wet and he pulls his hair in front of his face, delighted. “Okay, now you. Then I’m going to ride you into the mattress because I can’t believe you did this for me.”

Heart full, Steve opens up his own envelope, only to find a pair of tickets to go see the Bulls play next Saturday. His eyes go wide. “Eddie, what? You got me Bulls tickets? How-?” 

“Asked that guy Jake at your work and I went down the other day and got them. I thought you would like them.”

“But you hate sports!”

Eddie shrugs, looking bashful again. “Yeah, but you don’t. I thought it would nice, you know? We could go together? Unless you want to take like… Jake or something, but-”

He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence. Steve is pulling him close, kissing him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Their bodies press together and Steve is so ready to show Eddie how much he appreciates him. Repeatedly, until neither of them can move. 

All in all, a pretty great anniversary, he’d say.

[tallulah477]

The Olo’eyktan’s Brat

Kinktober Day 29: Dirty Talk

Pairing: Jake x Fem!Human!Reader

Warnings: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Oral (female receiving), P in V, Brat taming, Size Difference, Restraining holds (holding someone in place so they can’t move), Dom Jake, Sub Reader, Creampie, Belly bulge, Use of pet names (babygirl, princess, little monster), Slight cockwarming at the end

A/N: Credit to @eywaite for finally calling out my misspellings on Na'vi words that I've been misspelling this whole time 😭

Word Count: 3.6K

Summary: You’ve been acting like a brat all day and Jake is tired of your attitude and decides to put you in your place.

Translations:

Skxawng - Moron / idiot

Olo’eyktan - Clan Leader

Jake doesn’t know what’s gotten into you lately.

You don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. 

Normally, you’re not like this. This . . . needy. But Jake has been so busy lately, always busy helping The People, running interference during disagreements between council members, or leading the patrol run along the Omatikaya border to check for security. 

He’s an important man. A great and dependable leader who was clearly born to not only save the Na’vi from the destructive ways of the humans, but also meant to lead them with a strong heart and powerful will to keep them protected. He works long hours, up before the sun most days, his previous marine life keeping him on a disciplined schedule that has him up and around before the first patrol even goes out. He’s The People’s Olo’eyktan from that moment on and, even as his mate, it can be hard to get in front of him during the day.

But after the eclipse settles, the mask comes off and then he’s just Jake. The evening is your time together and he’s made it clear time and time again that he holds his special time with you in his heart. He’s always proven to prioritize your time together: by day he’s Jake Sully, Olo’eyktan of the Omatikaya Clan, but by night he’s Jake Sully, skxawng extraordinaire and the love of your life. 

And you’ve never had a problem with this arrangement before, never felt like you weren’t valued or appreciated as his partner - never felt like you were ignored. 

Until recently.

For the past week he’s been coming home later and later, stuck at work doing whatever clan related business that is apparently so important, it just couldn't wait, and you’re special alone time with the man you love has had to be pushed aside when he comes home each night exhausted and spent from the grueling day he’s endured. 

At first he was apologetic about it, coming home with a “Sorry, honey. Work was crazy.  Y’mind if we just cuddle tonight?”. And you felt so sorry for him, saw the tiredness and unease on his face and nodded sympathetically, offering to give him a nice massage after he ate the nice meal you prepared for him. 

A few times you would test the waters, hoping to tempt him into some playtime with a coy look and a sultry little “Hi, daddy,” but he would just shake his head, gruff voice murmuring a low “Maybe tomorrow,”. He always makes up for it the morning after, waking you up before he leaves your shared hut with a kiss on your shoulder and nuzzling his cheek against your face mask with a sweet sounding “Heading out, baby. See ya later, okay?”

And it was okay for the first few days. Things happen, things pop up and get in the way - you get it. But then it happened again, and again . . . and again. And then suddenly, it’s not okay anymore. He apologizes each time and you know that each apology is sincere. He’s not avoiding you on purpose - he has responsibilities to fulfill and you can’t take him away from that.

But your heart aches all the same. The pang of feeling ignored eating away at you slowly and you miss him so much you feel sick with it. So you go out on the search for his favorite fruit - an elusive variety of yovo fruit that tastes almost exactly like strawberries from Earth. Thankfully, you’re able to find a few, and you head home with a smile on your face knowing that he’s going to be so happy when he sees what you found him.

When you get home, you peel the fruit, slicing it up and carefully cutting them into different shapes, just like your mother used to when you were little. You try your hand at creating new things, using the point of your knife to create little ikrans and direhorses out of the fruit, even managing something that can be considered passable for an atokirina. You nibble on the leftover bits as you carve, lifting up your mask to pop them in your mouth every once in a while, and you display your work on a large fig leaf and wait for Jake to come home - proud and impressed with how everything turned out and knowing he will be too.

Except evening comes and goes, and then night settles over the village and Jake still isn’t there. You know it's stupid, but you can’t help it. You miss him so much and haven’t spent time with him in what feels like forever. And you're heartbroken at the fact that you spent so much time and effort trying to make a nice little gift for him and he’s not even here to appreciate it. 

You crawl into bed angry that night, falling into a restless sleep that only serves to make you more exhausted in the morning. You felt Jake slide into bed beside you late into the night, felt him slip his arm around your waist like he always does and pressed a kiss to your temple. But you pushed him off, brushed his arm from around your waist and scooted towards the edge of the bed away from him. You heard his frustrated and confused “fuck, okay . . .”, but he didn’t push it.

In the morning, he tries to greet you the same as he always does, leaning over to press his lips against your shoulder, but you cover the spot he always kisses with your hand before he can - a silent rejection. You hear him shuffle slightly behind you before his raspy voice breaks the silence.

“Baby, what--”

“Bye,”

Your interruption leaves him speechless. You’ve never spoken to him so coldly before, and part of you wants him to push you, to demand to know what the problem is so he can fix it. The other part is still so bitter about being left alone and forgotten that you just want him to go away. In the end, he sighs and dresses for the day, leaving the tent without another word. 

Your anger stews throughout the day, boiling deep in your chest so hot you feel like you could tear the whole hut apart in your rage. How dare he leave you? You clearly needed him and he just left. He ‘always makes you a priority’ your fucking ass. 

When evening rolls around and the eclipse is setting, he comes home. It’s earlier than he has been and he smiles when you look up at him from where you're mending a rip in one of his loincloths. You return his greeting with a bored look before averting your eyes and returning to your mending. 

Immediately, the grin wipes off his face and his eyebrows scrunch in confusion. 

“Babygirl, what’s the matter?”

“Don’t call me ‘babygirl’,” You snap, gripping the fabric between your clenched fists. 

Normally, the pet name makes you feel all good and gooey inside. But now it just grates against your eardrums. 

“Don’t call you—okay, how have I messed up this time?” 

You throw the loincloth down and stand from your seat, heading for the entrance flap of the hut with an irritated huff. “I’m leaving,”

Jake grabs onto your arm as you pass, blue hand so massive it wraps around the top of your arm and even curls over some of his own fingers. 

“Let me go!” You shout, trying to pull out of his hold, but his grip holds firm.

“What is up with you, woman?”

“LET GO!”

He pulls your squirming body closer to his, dragging you against him.“Hey, calm down--”

“Fuck you!”

His face darkens at the curse, eyes narrowing dangerously as his grip on your arm tightens. And then suddenly you're hoisted up in the air, pressed against the wall of your hut as Jake holds you up with a firm grip just above your elbows. You squeal as he manhandles you up, held high above his head, your feet dangling nearly 7 feet off the ground and unable to move or do anything except hang there at his mercy.

“What have I told you about using that language with me?” He growls, and despite your anger, the sound immediately goes to your core.

The position he has you in leaves his face just inches from your pussy. You can feel his hot breath against the thin fabric of your loincloth, and your body’s reaction to his tone is undeniable, unable to help the whine that falls from your lips at the feeling.

“Only said during pleasure,” You whimper.

“‘Only said during pleasure, what?” 

You whine, squirming against the wall as you feel wetness start to pool between your thighs. “Only said during pleasure, daddy,”

“Good girl,” He praises, amber eyes focused upwards to look at your face. “Now, you wanna tell daddy what’s going on?”

His voice is so soft when he asks, the deep timbre caressing your eardrums. Tears well in your eyes at the tone, the tone that screams ‘you’re safe’ and ‘tell daddy what’s going on so he can fix it’, and the emotional dam that’s been brewing in your chest snaps.

“You left me,” You cry, and Jake’s eyes fill with surprise at the admission. “You’re never home anymore. I never see you,”

Guilt flashes over his face and he nuzzles his face in your bare stomach. “Aw shit, baby. M’sorry. I know I’ve been busy lately. But you’re still my best girl. You know that,”

Your fingers itch to touch him, to run your fingers along his toned shoulders and chest like you’ve been denied this past week. But you can’t with the position he still has you in, and your legs swing slightly, kicking against the wall. 

“Missed you,” You whisper. “Missed you, daddy,”

Jake smiles at the addition of the intimate title and he knows he’s at least temporarily forgiven. His large amber eyes meet yours as he says, “Missed you too, princess,” and you have just a second to let the happy smile stretch across your face at his words before he’s digging his flat nose into the front of your loincloth and breathing in deeply. “And I missed you, too,”

His eyes are dark as he looks back up at you, heat swirling in the beautiful golden irises. Your breathing hitches when his teeth latch onto the front of your loincloth, sharp canines tearing through the fabric like it’s nothing until it falls from your body and to the floor in tatters. 

He attacks your pussy like a man who’s starving, face pressing into your folds and licking up your slit, groaning like he’s been dying of thirst for days and your juices are finally his saving grace. 

You moan loudly as his lips suction onto your clit, head thrown back in pleasure, and your legs try to wrap around his back but the position is too awkward and you have no leverage to use to get you there. 

He growls against your cunt, your arousal sliding down his chin as he pulls back just enough to speak. “You taste so good, doll. Gonna keep being a good girl for me while I eat your pretty pussy?”

“Mhmm, yes, daddy,” You whimper. “Feels so good, daddy. Please keep going,”

Jake chuckles, the vibrations shooting through your sensitive clit. “Oh, now you wanna be nice? Just a few minutes ago you were cussin’ me out,”

You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s eating you out again, warm, textured tongue dragging along your swollen nub and quickly ushering you towards orgasm. Your hips do their best to rock against his face, and your arms are starting to become numb from Jake’s iron hold and being forced to support your weight, but you don’t care. Can’t care. Not right now, not when the coil in your belly is heating up, threatening to snap any second. It feels like forever since you’ve gotten to have this, forever since you’ve had him here, with you, between your thighs, where he belongs. And you're desperate, so desperate that you can’t breathe, can’t get enough air into your lungs and the wet sounds your pussy is making as he completely devours you makes your face scrunch up in unrestrained pleasure.

He’s desperate, too. You can tell in the way he’s aggressive with you, hands bruisingly gripping your arms as he mumbles into your cunt. “Tastes so good, babygirl. Come on, ride daddy’s face.”

With another final harsh suck of his mouth around your clit, you cum, eyes squeezing shut as stars shoot across your vision. Your orgasm hits you explosively, and you shake and convulse against the wall as you cum on Jake’s relentless tongue. Your legs are beginning to feel like jello and you can do nothing but hang there, legs scrambling against the onslaught of your orgasm wanting to squeeze shut, wrap around his head, do something.

One of your knees bend, foot pressing hard against the wall you're pressed against as your pussy pulses in its aftershocks. It doesn’t stay for long though because Jake growls and sets you down on the floor, and your shaking limbs can barely keep you upright. But it doesn’t matter because he rips his loincloth off, large cock slapping his belly as it’s released from its constraints, and he’s lifting you back up against the wall, arms held tight in his grip and his tip nudges at your entrance. 

He rubs against your leaking hole, a back and forth motion that has you keening in his hold. He smirks, face glistening in the low light of the hut, as you whine a desperate, “Please, daddy. Please, please fuck me,”

“Aw, does my little brat think she deserves to be fucked?” Jake teases, fangs peeking out between his lips as he grins. 

“Yes! Yes, daddy,” You whine, hips trying to bear down on his cock. “I need it! Please, please,”

“You were being so naughty earlier,” He teases. “So disrespectful, and now you think your needy little pussy deserves daddy’s cock?”

Tears fill your eyes at his words, frustration bubbling inside you from how hard he’s pushing at your patience. You waited for him all week. You’ve been good - so good, so understanding and helpful and fuck - all you want him to do is put his thick, blue alien cock into your tight, drenched pussy and fuck you until you can’t breath and he’s being mean.

“I deserve it! I deserve it!” You cry, wriggling hard in his grip. Your cunt slides against his hard length as you struggle, coating it even more in your arousal and Jake’s nostrils flair just a little, picking up the scent. “Need you,”

“Look at you,” Jake coos. “So desperate for daddy. My little whore. You just missed me, huh? Feeling a little lonely and didn’t know how else to get daddy’s attention?”

“Yeah,” You breath, air catching in your lungs when the tip of his cock nudges at your entrance. 

“Missed daddy so much you decided to be a brat, hm?” He doesn’t push up into you. Instead, he lowers you down, your back sliding against the wall as he presses you down onto his cock. You whine, desperate and pathetic at the pressure and stretch of his thick head at your clenching hole. “Knew that would get daddy’s attention. You know how much I love to put my little slut in her place,”

You moan, loud and needy, as he breaches you. He lowers you down carefully, and you stop breathing when the mushroomed tip of his cock spears you open, pressing inside you insistently despite his mindful movement. “Fuck, daddy. Yes, yes, yes!”

Your small body swallows him whole, tiny cunt wrapping around his cock like it was made for him, welcoming him into your depths as he lowers you down further, inch by agonizing inch. There’s a bulge in your belly when he bottoms out, and you look down at it in glee as your hole flutters around his length.  

“Couldn’t even try to talk to me about it,” Jake’s voice is nothing but a gruff growl as he draws you back up, hands gripping tightly on your arms as your walls drag along him until only the swollen tip is left inside you. “No, you had to jump right into being a brat. Just had to fuck around and find out, didn’t you?”

You whimper as he slides you back down, length filling you up again, the bulge once again making an appearance in your stomach. You bite your lip, trying to hold in another needy whine. You’re partly successful, the sound breaking from your throat nothing more than a cut off squeak. But as he moves you again, and again, lifting you off his throbbing cock and slamming you back down, moving your body the way he wants like you’re nothing more than a ragdoll - his own personal fleshlight - you can’t keep the blissful grin off your face as you eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Shouldn’t even be fucking you right now,” Jake grunts, the tip of his cock barreling into your cervix with each thrust. “I’m just giving you exactly what you want. Rewarding you for being such a little monster,”

“D-daddy, f-fuck,” You moan. Your legs are shaking from where they’re hanging below you, tingly and useless, swaying slightly in the motion of Jake’s movements. 

When your eyes refocus, they lock onto Jake’s intimidating stare. His eyes are blown wide, his normally wide yellow eyes have been taken over by piercing black, pupils like blackholes threatening to swallow you whole in their intensity.

“Should take you over my knee instead,” He breathes, hot breath fanning over your mask and fogging up the glass a little. “My princess needs punishment to keep her in line, right? A firm hand to properly remind you who’s boss around here. Teach you to show your Olo’eyktan some fucking respect,”

His words shoot fire through your veins, the looming threat more like a heartfelt promise in your eyes, and the coil in your belly tightens as you feel your orgasm approaching. You keen, nodding frantically as your fingernails dig into your palms. “Yes! Yes, daddy! Need you to punish me. Put me in my place - ah!”

He tilts his hips slightly, cockhead rubbing perfectly into that special spot that makes you see stars. He chuckles as your mouth falls open, eyes widening as you stare at him, gaping like a fish as you fight through the pleasure. “Do you have something to ask me, babygirl?”

“P-please,” You grit out, whines and moans ripping from your throat as you try to get the words out. “Please, d-daddy. Please can I c-cum?”

“Aw, my pretty girl wants to cum? You wanna cream all over daddy’s cock? Squeeze it nice and tight with your pretty pussy until daddy fills you up?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, please? Daddy, please, can I?”  

Jake grins, sharp canines digging into his bottom lip. He stops moving you on him, holding you firm against the side of the hut as his hips piston into yours, setting a brutal and unforgiving pace as he mutters a gravelly, “Go ahead, baby. I want my princess to cum on my cock,”

You scream, eyes squeezing shut as the coil in your stomach snaps and your orgasm tears through you. Your legs shake uncontrollably, heels banging against the wall of the hut as they unconsciously kick out, and your fingers curl into unknown signs as you gush around Jake’s pounding cock. 

Through your giddy, fucked out haze, you can feel Jake’s hips stutter against you. He groans, low and guttural as he presses in hard against you, and you let out a content sigh at the feel of him cumming inside you, shooting rope after thick rope of release inside your greedy pussy and painting your walls white  - filling you up so good you think you could sing songs of praise to Eywa about how amazing it feels.

When he’s done, he doesn’t pull out. Instead he stays lodged inside you, hands moving from your arms to wrap around your waist, pulling you away from the wall and cradling you in his arms. He turns and lowers himself carefully to the floor so as to not disturb you so much, and holds you against him, one big hand rubbing soothing circles on your back while the other supports your head. 

“Y/n, you alright?” He asks, nudging your head gently.

You hum, exhausted, but do your best to nod your head anyway.

“Baby, I’m sorry I haven’t been around that much lately. I can see how it’s affecting you. I want you to know that you’re my number one priority, so I’m going to do my best to cut off duties early enough so that I can come home and spend time with my special girl. You deserve that,”

You let his words wash over you and tears once again prick at your eyes, this time with overwhelming emotion. “I’m sorry I was such a brat,”

“You’re not a brat,” He says, fingers sliding gently through your sweat slicked hair. “You’re an angel. My angel,”

He takes a deep breath, eyes cutting across the room to the small wooden table with the fig leaf cradling the various carved up pieces of fruit.

“I saw the fruit by the way. They’re adorable, just like you,”

You don’t say anything, but there’s a small smile on your face as you press your cheek snugly against his chest.

**Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife @erenjaegerwifee @f-cklife

[literalite]

marlo velasco for @rainymoodlet's rock of love!

hii formally introducing marlo after showing them in cas first lmao i'll stick all their info and some bonus pics under the cut :3

they're filipino, nonbinary (using they/them pronouns), and androsexual- for simplicity's sake they sometimes just say they're gay

traits: erratic, hot-headed, creative likes: alternative and metal music, competency, a good discussion, wellness, getting everything just right, being praised(.......), a good visual contrast, travelling, friendly competition, hard workers, vintage artwork, and of course tattoos fhgjhkjkl dislikes: modern decor, elitism, people who lack drive or who follow tradition, being told what to do, stupid questions, green eyes, makeup, phones or cameras or honestly most modern technology, softening their tone in any way, uncomfortable shoes

quick well that was a fucking lie bio:

only child to two very conservative parents, had a very testy relationship with them both throughout their teens and young adulthood. currently no contact with them both

learnt how to tattoo in their teens and joined a tattoo and piercing shop as an apprentice at 21. they met both their ex husband and their current best friend, risa there

married their ex at 25, was truly in love with him despite being deeply unhappy in other aspects of life

came out and began transitioning at 29, which strained their marriage as he tried and failed to accept their true self as opposed to the "woman" he had signed up for

he convinced them to try for having a kid in order to save their relationship shocker, that did not work so mickey was born

after three years they divorced- admittedly marlo was not a stellar parent and left mickey mostly in her father's care while they moved on from working at the original tattoo shop, eventually seeing their kid for only a weekend per month

at 35 opened their new shop Purgatory Tattoos with their best friend risa as co-owner

two years ago, they got a call in the middle of the night, from their ex who immediately started shouting down the line at them for "corrupting" their 11 year old into thinking that she's a girl. they immediately drove the few hours to go pick mickey up and filed for custody the morning after

marlo's relationship with mickey was initially understandably pretty rocky, with marlo being really awkward around their own daughter and mickey obviously being distrustful of them. in years since, they've grown a lot closer, with marlo now really appreciating the work it takes to raise a kid. they're still very anxious about being a "good" parent though, having totally lacked for any role models

has sort of dated around since breaking up with their husband, but hasn't been able to commit to anything serious what with their focus on keeping their business running and the residual sting of a long and painful loss both emotionally and financially from their ex

signed up for this at risa's insistence and also thinking that it'd be nice for mickey to grow up with a more stable and loving environment than they did

fun facts:

they're pretty much tone deaf but nevertheless enthusiastic about karaoke much to their neighbours' detriment

for their employees and apprentices, they're known as kind of a hardass, especially in comparison to risa, but being under their guidance improves skills x10

lactose intolerant but im not wasting a trait slot on that LMAO

used to have piercings, but took their facial ones out years ago because they'd all been done by their ex- all the holes have since closed up

has pretty much no social media presence aside from their shop's instagram account, on which they've got no photos of themselves, not even a candid in the background of a shot. doesnt know wtf a tiktok is even though mick keeps begging them to do dances with her?

can't imagine moving away from tomarang even though they love travelling overseas. a big goal is getting enough money together to take mickey on a big holiday abroad

here are some pics of them and their daughter, mickey! she's 13, trans, she/her pronouns. due to their long estrangement, mickey calls them "lo" instead of any other term

[jrow]

May Prompts (28)

Day 27 here. Start from the beginning here. Day 29 here.

Empty

He stares at the empty box.

Sherlock isn’t saying anything.

Sherlock opened the gift a good two minutes ago and still hasn’t said a word.

He watched Sherlock for the first minute or so, and saw only a blank expression. So now, he stares at the empty box because he’s terrified about what that blank expression means.

God, he had been so relieved that this was finally happening. His plan coming to fruition. He wanted to wait until Rosie was having her nap for obvious reasons but the past few hours have been excruciating. To be honest, it had taken quite a bit of will power not to thrust the gift in Sherlock’s face the second they arrived at Baker Street.

The hopeful glances from Molly this afternoon hadn’t helped.

But, he made it. And a few minutes ago, Sherlock removed the paper, opened the box, and pulled out the silent violin, various accessories and case. And then said nothing.

So, John is staring at the empty box. He was wrong, the wait this afternoon was a cake walk compared to this.

Finally, after another minute of silence, he looks up tentatively. He lets out a quiet sigh of relief at what he sees.

Sherlock, standing perfectly still, staring at the instrument in his hand.

This is an expression he’s seen before—back when he asked Sherlock to be his best man. It’s a sort of far away look that means Sherlock isn’t angry or busy thinking of how to weasel his way out of this conversation. It’s a look that means Sherlock has made a deduction he can’t quite believe.

It’s time to force Sherlock to say that deduction out loud. Make it real.

“Happy birthday, finally. What do you think?”

“It’s a silent violin.”

“Yes.”

“Top of the line. The London Philharmonic violinists use these to practice.”

“That’s what I was told.”

“You like when I play my violin.”

“Very much.”

“And Rosie loves it.”

“Yes.”

“So, this isn’t a gift for when you are here during the day.”

“Course not, you have your Strat.”

“And, if there is no one to disturb, I can play my Strat at night.”

“True.”

“Mrs. Hudson can’t hear it from her flat.”

“Hmmm.”

“I would only need a silent violin if there was someone else here at night. Sleeping.”

“Yes.”

“Your old room—it’s Rosie’s now.”

“Absolutely.”

“We made that decision during the rebuild. A child’s room. She naps there sometimes. Plays there a lot.”

“Yes, she loves it.”

“Your old bed and dresser are gone. The room upstairs just has a little toddler bed and that child-sized table and chairs. And toys.”

“That’s true.”

“Plus the bookshelf Mycroft made but pretended he bought. All the books he filled it with.”

“Yes. It’s the perfect room for her.

“We could fit a little dresser in there but not much else.”

“No. That’s all she needs though.”

“You can’t sleep there. Couldn’t sleep there.”

“No, it’s Rosie’s room.”

“You can’t sleep on the couch in here either. It would have been awful for your shoulder before your fall. Now it’s out of the question.”

“Agreed.”

“If Rosie is sleeping here regularly, I could use the silent violin so I don’t wake her.”

“Yes. Every night.”

“But that means you would be sleeping here too.”

“Of course.”

“You would need to sleep in a bed. That only leaves one option.”

A deep breath. “Correct.”

“Well, two options. But, you would never ask me to move from here.”

“Course not. This is your home.”

A pause.

“People would talk.”

“Good. I’d expect no less.”

Another pause.

“You have assumed I am gay for some time now.”

“Yes. Is that assumption correct?”

“Yes.” A sharp inhale. “I have assumed you are not entirely straight from the beginning.”

“I think that’s a fair way of putting it.”

“You rebuked people when they assumed we were a couple.”

“I did. Years ago. Haven’t for some time now. You said you were married to your work, but that’s not true anymore either, is it?” He knows he needs to push Sherlock, just a bit.

It works. Sherlock shakes his head, as if coming out of a daze. “I … what’s that?”

He blushes. Sherlock has spotted the case. Was that too sentimental? “It’s errr…the case. For the violin.”

Sherlock slowly runs his hands over it. “It’s her handprint.”

“Errr … yeah. I know pink isn’t exactly your thing, but I let her pick.”

“Her hand is so small.”

“Yeah. But soon it won’t be.” He takes a deep breath. “Thought it would be a nice snapshot of how small she was when she moved in. Because I hope we’ll be here for … well, as long as you’re here.” In for a penny. “If you’ll have us. If you’ll have me.” He smiles. “If there’s space for me in the room down the hall. ‘Cause you’re it for me, Sherlock. I think you always have been.” A feeling of relief washes over him. Whatever happens, at least it’s all in the open now. At least the box is empty.

A long pause. “I think I am going to faint,” Sherlock finally says and then promptly crumbles to the floor.

@keirgreeneyes @raina-at @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @jolieblack @phoenix27884 @friday411 @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @safedistancefrombeingsmart @momma2boys @helloliriels @dapetty @quimerasyutopias

[cobaltperun]

Congrats on the 500 love!! You deserve so much more❤️

Can I request a drabble or something really short of Lost!Tara and Reader where Tara is about to pick up the kids from school while R is out of town doing CEO stuff and comes to surprise Tara and the kids at school but all the people are drooling over r cause she is still in her ceo attire but R only having eyes for Tara and her kids while ignoring literally everyone else. (It's alright if this is weird and you don't wanna write this.)

Lost (Side - 2) - School Visit

Tara Carpenter x female Reader (Request)

Summary: After a brief business trip all you want to do is surprise your family and pick them up from school. (Set between Lost 29 and 30)

Lost masterlist

Word count: 0.8k

If there was one thing you absolutely loved about your job, it was that most of it could be done from home, which meant that you could maximize the time spent with Tara and your children. Both you and Tara worked from home, with fairly flexible working hours, so you never missed anything in Zack and Susan’s lives. The twins were so used to having both you and Tara at home that they actually got a bit fussy up until like two years ago when either of you was gone for more than a day when work did demand you to actually go somewhere. So, there were still some occasional business trips you needed to leave them for. This one was supposed to be four-day long, but you managed to get everything done in three, so here you were, fresh from the airport and checking the time as you rushed to the garage.

You still had time to drive to the school and pick the kids and Tara up, as long as you didn't waste time. So, while still dressed up in your navy blue three-piece suit with a white button-up shirt underneath you jumped in your car and got going.

It's been years since Tara drove a car, seeing as you being home most of the time meant she didn't exactly need it, so that meant she wasn't exactly keen on driving for the first time in years with the twins in the car. And they were still just seven, so you picked them up from school, either driving or walking there depending on the weather. And the weather today was great for a walk, but you wouldn’t make it on time if you chose to walk.

When you parked on the school's parking lot you noticed people coming out of the school with their children, so you were just in time. You saw the three of them immediately. Tara, holding Zack and Susan's hands and laughing with them as she listened to them telling her about their day, and you paused. No matter how many times you got to see the scene in front of you, you were always mesmerized, thankful for the family you wished for all your life, though you didn't quite know it until Tara brought it up for the first time.

"Mom!" Zack was the first to notice you and he let go of Tara's hand and ran toward you, with Tara and Susan still surprised to see you walking to meet them in the middle of the schoolyard.

"Easy buddy, watch your step," you easily lifted the boy up and hugged him.

"Mom!" Susan got over her initial surprise and you dropped to your knee so she could run into your arms as well.

"Sue," you went and kissed both of your children as Tara walked over to you and kissed your cheek as you got up with the twins now in your arms.

Tara looked you over, her eyebrow rising a bit. "Baby, maybe you should be more considerate," she smirked cheekily and traced the collar of your suit.

"Hmm?" you tilted your head a bit.

"Let's just say it's good I'm no longer jealous," she whispered, though she still leaned closer, her hand going up and sliding around your neck, just a tiny bit possessively. “Some people are drooling,” she shot glares at several people and she wasn’t subtle when it came to the ones blatantly ogling you.

"Just a bit possessive?" you chuckled and finally looked around. Some people were staring at you, and you guessed the suit you were wearing did show off your muscles a bit more than your casual clothes did. You just didn't notice all the attention you were getting until Tara pointed it out.

Tara did though. Not that she was attracting any less attention, hell, more people were looking at her, seeing how beautiful she was that was hardly a surprise. "Just appreciating what others can only look at," she smiled, winking at you.

"Mommy/Mom!" Susan and Zack complained, making you and Tara laugh, and just like that all the stares were forgotten. It didn’t matter, they could stare, as Tara said, that was the only thing they could do.

"Okay, okay, sorry about that," you apologized.

"How about we take you on a picnic this Saturday as an apology?" Tara offered, it was a bit of a habit the four of you formed, at least once a month you all went out for a picnic and the twins loved it.

They looked at one another before grinning widely and nodding. And with the twins now happy and willing to forgive a tiny display of possessiveness you lowered them down and walked over to the car with your family.

A/N: Come on, you know I had to write a Lost request before most of the other requests, and Anon, you have no idea how thankful I am you requested this! 😁😁💙💙 Also, thanks!

Lost masterlist

Taglist: @alexkolax

[siriuslysmoking]

Meddle About

A/N: I'm contemplating on making this a series, telling me if you want more parts. His texts are in italics and reader's is in bold.

Pairing: Fem!college student x sugar daddy!steve

Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns, alcohol consumption, age gap (R:21, S:29)

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: Working and being a student is tough, you never seem to have a moment to yourself, so when one of you co-workers needs a shift and offers to take your saturday night double, you take it. Finally going out with your friends you encounter a strange man with a strange proposition.

-We only met each other just the other day But you already got me feeling some type of way Now, if I could figure it out I'd take you back to my house So we could meddle about-

You didn't let her take it back, as soon as you saw the text in the waitresses group chat you immediately agreed and texted Mia, your best friend and freshman dorm mate.

You and mia have been friends since your first year in college and now that you're finally in your senior year of college and are living together in a small apartment outside of campus.

She loves to go to bars on the weekends, you enjoy it- well you would if you had time.

You text Mia that you have tonight off, she quickly adds you to her plans.

When you arrive to your shared apartment you see some of your common friends in your living room. They're throwing back shots like it's water, pregaming for the long night.

You walk to your room getting ready for the night. You pull on a long sleeved, over the shoulders, black mini dress. Then you fix up your makeup from the day and strap on silver heels, before changing your jewelry from your day to day simple necklace to your thick small hoops and silver chain wrapped around your neck.

You join your friends on the couch for a couple of drinks before the time hits nine and you head out, walking down the street to a popular bar in town.

You arrive in no time. Joining the crowded bar, you and your friends find a booth to share and Mia goes to order you all drinks from the bar.

When Mia returns all of you quickly down your drinks and a couple head to the bathroom as you volunteer to go get the next round.

Travelling up to the bar you take in your surroundings, you sandwich yourself into a man around your age who you've seen around campus before and an older gentleman in a nice looking suit.

'Hey, can I get another round?" You lean against the bar, gaining the bartender's attention.

"'course." He nods as you motion to your table. You hand him your card, paying for the round. He gives it back and turns to make them.

You drum your fingers on the sticky bar impatiently. The next thing you know your fingers are wet with a sticky liquid that paints itself onto the bar.

"Oh shit- I'm so sorry, honey." The older gentleman hands you a napkin, helping you wipe down your arms.

"Oh! You're completely fine." You finish cleaning your arms with the napkin.

"I'm truly sorry, can I buy you a drink to make up for it?" He asks, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Don't be sorry, I was an accident." You wave him off, "I'm okay, thank you though."

"Alright, then." He nods, sympathy still lingers in his gaze.

"Here, you are darling." The bartender hands you a tray with eight shots on them.

"Thanks," You nod to the bartender then your eyes shift to the man a couple years older than you, giving him a smile.

Sundays were usually their busiest days of the week, families having Sunday dinner together, or business meetings that lasted for hours.

The meetings were the worst and the people usually occupy their table for hours and even though they all have suits and expensive watches on they tip a measly five dollars.

Today had not been going great, a young couple having an anniversary wrote that the tip was $16, but they forgot to put it in correctly when adding below. So, no tip for you.

You're frustrated, you're sweaty, and your feet hurt.

You're ready to go home, but you have one table that just won't leave. It's a group of men, demanding that they are still waiting for their other co-worker. They've ordered twelve drinks in total of the five men. One Whiskey and Coke sits alone without the last man to claim it, the ice has probably long melted.

This tip better be worth your damn time or you might actually quit your job on the spot.

"Hey! Dollface!" He's addressing you, you know he's addressing you even though you had told him your name. But you still plant a smile upon your lips, turn and walk over to the group. "I need a refill."

"Of course." You give him your best smile as you take his drink that he dangles in front of you to refill. You get why the last coworker doesn't want to attend.

"Sorry I'm late." You hear a husky voice from behind you where you stand in front of the bar, grabbing Tony's attention for him to mix another drink.

You hear more from the table but you decide to do some of your side work so you don't have to do it when they leave and be here longer than you have to.

"Here you go." Tony slides the freshly made glass down the bar where you were whipping menus.

"Thanks T'." You nod as you grab the glass and make your way over to the table of men. "Here's that refill of the Old Fashioned. Are you gentleman ready to order?"

They all give you their order, "No Scallops, got it? No scallops."

"Yes, sir, I've got it." You send a sharp smile, writing down the rest of his order. When your eyes meet the last-newest member of the group his golden hazel eyes seem to be perplexed at her existence outside of the bar that they met at last night.

You get finally take in his looks, his slight stubble painting his jaw, his light brown hair that frames his face, the lines that seem to pull his lips into a smile."You get finally take in his looks, his slight stubble painting his jaw, his light brown hair that frames his face, the lines that seem to pull his lips into a smile.

He seems to also be studying her in the light.

You shake his stupid smile off your back as you nod and turn to head to the kitchen.

You take a sharp intake of breath as you enter the kitchen entering the men's orders into your tablet.

The kitchen closes in an hour so the kitchen staff are already starting to clean up the griddles.

They seem to sigh as you come in with your slip of demands.

"They've been here for an hour, they haven't ordered anything until this."

"I hate people." One of the cooks sighs as he takes the paper from your hand.

"You and me both."

The next couple of hours consisted of you refilling drinks, balancing plates to carry to the kitchen and sweeping.

You'd think the men would take a fucking hint that you're close to closing, when you start sweeping and flipping chairs.

Thirty minutes till closing and the men finally ask for their check. You have to hold back a sigh of relief as you nod and ask them if they'll be spliting it.

They are, so when you collect their checks you notice that seven of the men left no fucking tip.

You try not to scream.

There's two men left at the table, the man from last night and the one that is allergic to scallops. It looks like a hushed conversation.

The other two checks left fifteen percent of their ticket. It's something.

You lean against the bar, asking Tony for a drink as you rub your neck- you may have slept on it wrong last night.

When the last two men leave you notice something left on their table.

Underneath sat $200.

On your walk home you typed in the number and texted:

Thank you, you really didn't have to make it up to me

-It's no problem, I'm sorry we kept you from going home.

was I that obvious?

-I don't think so, they're also not very observant.

I may need to work on my acting skills if I want this line of work to work out!

-It may be a good investment. I'm Steve by the way.

You mentally scold yourself for the smile creeping on your lips. You type your name and hit send.

-hey, feel free to block me or curse me out, but I'm in town for three months and I have this banquet thing in three weeks, and I don't know anyone here and I have to bring a plus one.

You don't have any plan to chop me up in itty bitty pieces and scatter me across town so nobody will ever be able to find my entire body?

-That's oddly specific... has that personally happened to you before?

No, I watch a lot of crime shows.

-Ah, that explains it.

You pause before your building, are you seriously thinking about doing this?

Alright, If I agree to this what do I get in return?

-Straight to the point, I like it. I'll pay you a thousand an hour including prep, like dress shopping.

You are upselling me way too much.

-You're downgrading yourself way too much.

I'll do it.

To be continued??

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Likes and reblogs are appreciated