#manufactured home inspection

[investingdrone]

How to Meet Conventional Loan Home Condition Requirements?

Found your dream home? Congratulations! But before you pop the champagne, there are a few hurdles to clear, especially if you’re financing with a conventional loan. Unlike Government-backed loans, conventional loans don’t have super strict requirements for the house itself. That might sound like good news, but it also means understanding what kind of condition your future home needs to be in to…

[hasinspections]

Manufactured Home Inspection in Florida

Thinking of settling into a manufactured home in the sunny state of Florida? Great choice! But let's ensure that your mobile dream home is as perfect beneath the surface as it looks on the outside. H.A.S. Inspections specializes in manufactured home inspections in Florida. We peek into every nook and cranny, ensuring your mobile home is safe, sound, and worth every penny.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Plotting Serpent.

A Sorcerer in the Sands seeks something far bigger than himself. Freedom, sweet freedom.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

Bundled up in several layers, Jamil makes his way down a twisting path and into an open market.

The ground crunches softly under his boots. His breath is chilled, turning into a fleeting fog as he exhales. He retreats to the comfort and safety that his bulky coat provides, watching bales of white lazily drift down around him.

Snow instead of sand—imagine that.

The market operates straight out of the town square. From a vantage point--his temporary housing upon a hill--he can see the entirety of it, all the stalls forming a circle. The market is, by no means, large—but it has the spirit of something grander. The banter, the bartering.

Not so different from the bazaars at home.

Jamil ducks in, taking his time to pace around to each vendor. He’s agile and bright, like a child first viewing the moon and rushing to catch it in his palms.

Most sellers—and most customers—are elderly, gnarled like the roots of a tree. The cold colors their rounded cheeks the same red as many of the apples on display.

There’s pink and yellow and green too, and other fresh produce. The majority of it, he is told, is grown in Harveston. Others are foraged from Mt. Moln—nuts, plants, berries, and mushrooms.

Other stalls offer already manufactured goods. Scarves and gloves to protect against the winter, steaming apple drinks and sweetly spiced snacks, toiletries lovingly handcrafted with botanical oils.

His eyes light up with interest. He stops to inspect a row of shampoo and conditioner bars.

Feel free to touch and smell! says a sign at the stall.

He does, testing the weight of a bar in his hand. It is light and has an easy slip to it, and gives off the faint aroma of apples. Slightly tart and juicy.

It'll be good to have on hand, especially when it weighs less than liquid variants. The sign says these bars are made with apple seed oil, an ingredient that treats split ends and dryness while restoring a shine...

He absentmindedly feels the ends of his hair. The locks are normally dark and glossy, but the cold has not treated them well, leaving them slightly dry and brittle.

That's the cost of travel. It can be difficult to predict how my skin and hair react to different climates.

“Excuse me,” Jamil calls out to the stall owner, “I’d like to buy one of these shampoo bars, please. One in the conditioner bars as well."

“Sure thing!!” The owner wraps up the bars and slides them over. As Jamil hands him a few bills, he pipes up. “Say, yer not from ‘round here, are ya, sonny?”

“Yes. I am but a traveler.”

“Traveler!” The owner’s eyebrows shoot up. “Real fancy livin’ ya must have."

“No, not at all. I try to live humbly and travel light.” Jamil indicates his backpack, the one piece of luggage that follows him wherever he goes.

"That so? Not many young folk visit these parts." The owner strokes his rounded chin in contemplation. "I figured ya must be on yer way to the city. A lot more for youngins to see 'n do there."

“I beg to differ. The village has shown me incredible hospitality during my stay. Delicious foods, friendliness... I can enjoy Harveston's natural sights without worry. I'm content with just that."

With each word that leaves his lips, he feels the weight that has been on his shoulders lifting.

Jamil, you're free, the wind seems to whisper. The realization is intoxicatingly sweet and crisp, the first bite taken from a forbidden fruit.

"Aww, that warms mah heart ta hear ya say," the owner beams. "Yer a good kid, yer parents would be proud of ya."

"My... parents?" Jamil falters at the mention of them.

His parents are back home. His sister, too. Najma had texted not long ago, pestering him about bringing her a souvenir and asking when he’d be back.

His family is waiting for him. And... who else is there?

Jamil's brows furrow. Suddenly, he feels as though someone should be beside him, and he, trailing after them. A hopeless person buying up all the stalls, shoveling new dish after new dish at him.

"Here, try this, Jamil! Oooh, and this! That looks super tasty, have some too! And this cracker!"

"Where did you get all this food from?! There's no way we'll be able to feasibly finish this before it goes bad. Why do you never listen to me, Ka..."

A growl rips from his stomach. Jamil's eyes widen, and his face heats.

The stall owner's laugh cuts through his confusion. "Gahahah! Ya hungry there, son? Here, lemme grab ya somethin' on the house."

"Oh no, sir, I can't accept that."

"I insist!! Won't be long 'fore ya mosey on outta here and move on ta the next place. Eat yer fill while yer here, there ain't nothin' like a homegrown Harveston meal or snack anywhere else in Twisted Wonderland!"

The owner rustles with utensils behind the stall, He fills a container with a generous slice of pie--oozing with apple filling--and fluffy pancakes, plus a few potstickers. Then he pours hot tea, apple cubes bobbing in the spiced brown liquid, into a paper cup.

Jamil gets a whiff of it from where he stands and--against his better judgment, his mouth waters. When the owner hands him the container, cup, and a wooden fork, he doesn't refuse them.

"Remember us ‘n all the fun times ya spent here."

"Thank you, sir." Jamil bows his head. "I will. I'll never forget your kindness."

"Don't 'cha mention it. Go on 'n git now, ya got plenty more of the village to visit!""

Jamil departs with his purchase and his gifts, which he immediately settles into.

Lifting the paper cup to his lips, he sips his tea. It's deep and tangy from the cinnamon and apples it has been brewed with. He pleasantly warms from head to toe.

It isn't long before he downs the rest of the drink, apple cubes and all. They're not fresh, but dried--so when his teeth slices them into halves, they're springy and chewy, with a strong flavor.

Jamil lowers the cup, dragging out a satisfied sigh.

It's then that he realizes he's walking directly into a black wall. He veers sharply to the right, but still brushes his arm against that of the incoming person.

“Pardon me. I wasn't watching where I was going...” Jamil looks back, but is startled to find no one where his shoulder has made contact.

Hm? Was I imagining things?

Jamil glances around the marketplace. The crowd is too sparse for him to miss anyone. There are grandmothers and grandfathers, mothers and fathers, each dressed in thick coats and boots, some wrapped in scarves and others sporting fuzzy hats or earmuffs.

But no one is wearing all black.

He shakes his head.

It was probably nothing then.

Jamil returns to browsing the square, his every stride as light as a feather. He feels as though he is dancing atop the snow.

The cold no longer bothers him.

The wind, carrying a new message that resonates with his heart. It seems stronger now, rumbling like a deadly avalanche.

"Be free, Viper. Be free."

[annwrites]

⸻ a house in hawkins. part three.

· pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader · type: part of a series · summary: billy helps you with homework, you realize you have a crush, & yet another man enters the fold · tw: references to past sexual abuse/grooming of a minor, mentions of drugs, infidelity, implied abortion · word count: 4,458

When Billy enters the house, he finds you to his left in the living room. Or, what is now serving as a poor excuse for one. You’re on the floor, lying on your stomach atop a light blue blanket, legs in the air behind you, waving back and forth as you work on what he assumes is homework.

You glance up to him for a moment, a pencil balanced atop your upper lip which is in a pout to keep it in-place and he smirks at the sight.

He holds up a plastic bag from a hardware store. “Brought you a new doorknob.”

You drop the writing utensil. “Does that one have a lock, too?”

“It does.”

You turn back to the textbook in front of you. “Good. Now you can replace the other one that you broke.”

His lip twitches. “Yes, ma’am.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

He repeats the statement yet again before heading up.

A handful of minutes later, he comes back downstairs, seating himself on the cushion-less couch. “Done.”

You look back at him over your shoulder.

He lays an arm across the back of the couch. “What? Do you want to inspect my handiwork?”

You go back to your homework. “Not really. And you’re not getting paid, either.”

He chuckles. “I’d say that’s only fair, since it needing to be replaced at all is my fault to begin with.”

Both of you grow silent then and he leans forward, squinting, trying to get a look at whatever you’re working on. “Number four is wrong.”

He leans back again.

You don’t initially respond, telling yourself that he’s just picking on you. Or that you don’t really care if your decimal is in the wrong place, but you keep glancing back to the question. You sigh loudly then and he smiles in response. “So what’s the right answer, then?”

He shrugs. “You tell me, sweetheart.”

You don’t like him calling you that yet again. Scott is the only one who gets to call you by that term of endearment. Joe had tried it once—twice, maybe—and even if he scared the shit out of you, you made it clear that he could call you by anything else but that. He’d agreed easily, since his cock had just been buried in your warm, wet mouth—close to finishing. His mind was occupied with other things at the time than arguing over meaningless nicknames. He’d given you what you wanted—agreement—and then you’d given him the same: an orgasm, which included swallowing, before his wife came home.

You look at him over your shoulder again. “Don’t ever call me that again. Got it?”

He blinks down at you for a moment, the air in the room shifting as he wonders whether you disliked that specific pet name, or pet names in general. And much more: why? “Sure.” He clears his throat. “It’s four point six seven, by the way. Your decimal is in the wrong place.”

You turn back to your paper, erasing and then correcting. You’d known you had screwed up, but had gotten so frustrated that you’d chosen to eventually move onto the next question.

“I hate math,” you mutter.

He props his other elbow up against the arm of the couch, resting his head against his fist. “It was my favorite subject, actually.”

“Can’t imagine why,” you say, filling in number five, hoping you’ve at least gotten it right. You’re sure Billy will tell you if you haven’t.

“What’s your favorite subject? You like to read, so I assume English?”

You bob your head from side-to-side for a moment. “It’s a tie between that and science.”

Ironic, he thinks. The daughter of a meth manufacturer who loves science.

Speaking of, you’d spent last night on-edge, wondering what the hell had gone through your head to think sharing such a secret with a complete stranger to be a good idea. If any of the men found out…‘being in trouble’ wouldn’t even begin to cover it.

You didn’t want to think what Joe would do to you if he found out you’d ran your mouth off to some random that wasn’t even from here, and clearly not a customer, either.

You weren’t sure that the prospect of him never getting to use you for his own personal sexual satisfaction again would be enough to save you.

Thankfully, however, the only cruiser that had shown up last night—which had still made your heart jump into your throat when you’d glanced out the screen door as your dad went out and you saw it—was Travis’. He’d just been bringing his weekly earnings by to be divvied up.

As your dad stood there counting; ensuring that everything was in-order, he’d stared at you, eyes trailing along your body.

You’d not reacted. You hardly did anymore. They all liked to look. But only a select few were allowed to touch. And he had. Twice now. Even if he was engaged. Not that being spoken-for seemed to matter much to any of them.

Joe had been married now for twenty-five years. Longer than you’d even been alive. But whenever his wife went off to visit her sister, or was to be gone majority of the day and the urge hit him…

Travis was different than him in bed, though.

Then again, they all had their own personal…styles.

Joe really liked blowjobs and demeaning dirty-talk, or taking you from behind—honestly, so long as he was fucking you in some form, he was pleased.

Travis, in the two times you’d now been together, had been more on the gentle side, almost like he was afraid of hurting you—it often made you wonder if that was how his fiancée liked it.

Rhett—in the one time you had been together a year ago—had been tender. You tried not to think about the way he had looked at you that night too much. Or the way he looked at you literally each time he was around you after. With longing, and something else you didn’t want to think about.

He knew what it had been going into it. It wasn’t your problem if he’d hoped for more. You’d been clear from the start.

Sometimes, though, you still felt guilty, knowing that it hurt him each time you slept with one of the other men, or they shared you between them, touching you right in front of him.

And then there was Scott. With him it was just…familiarity. Your bodies simply understanding one another. Wants, needs—they no longer even needed to be talked about. Once your naked skin was pressed against each other—in bed, against the wall, on the bench seat in his pickup, in his garage—it was almost like routine. A pleasant one. Like an old habit that both of you refused to kick. Not that you had any reason to.

Even if, when you fought, it left both of you fuming for days. But the making up was the good part. So, the thought of cutting things off never occurred to either of you. Not that it would last long if you even tried.

You were the only girl he’d bothered to continue carrying on with for so long.

And he was the only man you allowed to kiss you on the mouth.

That was your only rule with the rest of them: they could do, and have you do whatever they desired, but no kissing on the lips. Period.

And then you think of you breaking that rule just yesterday for someone else. But he’d been asleep, so that instance had been different. Or, that’s what you’d told yourself, at least.

You don’t even know why you had done it. Maybe to have a secret of your very own. A new one, that is. Because this house had been that, until he’d showed up.

And now you were back to pretending to be someone else for yet one more man in your life. No more letting your walls down for a few hours and just being a teenage girl with hopes and dreams—playing pretend—even if they dwindled little-by-little as time went on, and you warmed yet one more man’s bed.

He’d ripped that away from you.

You’re broken from your thoughts by Billy speaking again. “I can check your answers once you’re done. If you want.”

“Okay.”

You glance back to him over your shoulder and he meets your gaze with a raised brow. “Need help?”

You study him for a moment, then, “No.”

You turn back around. You’d just been curious as to where his eyes were currently trained at at-present. Because this moment reminds you of a similar one from three years ago, when you’d been fourteen, lying on your stomach on the living room floor, watching TV—you couldn’t even remember what had been on now.

The thing you could recall, however, was Joe sitting on the couch behind you, watching you with hooded lids. When you had turned back to him—feeling suddenly uneasy—you’d watched as he’d adjusted himself over his jeans, making sure you’d seen.

You’d felt sickly after, and hadn’t understood why.

Out of all of them, he’d always been your least-favorite. You had many reasons for that. Perhaps because he was the worst, even if he thought he was the best.

Once you’ve finished, you stand, coming to sit beside Billy, resting back on your calves as you watch him look over your paper.

You study him for a moment, noticing a bit of oil near his brow, and you lick your thumb, then reach toward him to wipe it away.

He pulls back, staring at you. “What’re you doing?”

You don’t reply. You simply clean him up, resting your palm back against your thigh. You wonder if he likes you touching him.

They usually do.

He stares at you for just a moment longer—you can swear that he blushes—before looking back to your paper. “Nine is wrong. Like, way off, kiddo.”

He hands it back to you.

You snort at the nickname, taking it from him. “What is it, then?”

He crosses his arms. “You tell me.”

This again.

You shrug, standing, bending over to put it back in your backpack—you can feel his eyes on your rear. “I can live with one wrong answer.”

He lays his head back against the couch, rolling his eyes. “The correct answer was B, not D.”

You smirk then, pulling the paper back out, quickly correcting it, then putting it away again.

“Never going to learn if I just keep telling you all the right answers.”

You turn back to him then, shrugging. “I’m used to getting what I want.”

He shakes his head lightly.

You sit down again, back pressed against the couch’s other arm, knees bent, feet pressed together in front of you. You break the silence this time.

“So, you went to Hawkins High, too?”

He nods. “Mhm.”

“What were you like? The way you are now?” It seemed to you that most men never grew out of being boys.

He smirks. “No. I was a completely different person.” He rolls his head to the side, looking at you. “Honestly, and this is just going off of a hunch, but I think you would’ve fuckin’ hated me.”

That surprises you. “Really? Why?”

He shrugs, looking up to the ceiling. “I was King Bad-Boy-Asshole. Smoking, drinking, partying, fighting, getting laid and driving a cool car. Generally acting like I didn’t give a shit about anything. Maybe a bit too concerned with my good looks. I had one hell of an ego, too; easily bruised.”

You try to picture this version of him, and for some reason, find it quite difficult to do. You’re not entirely sure that you believe him. But he seems the honest type.

“You’re right. I would’ve.”

And you would. All the guys could get cocky at times. You were used to such behavior. But when it came down to it, especially in regards to business—in whatever capacity—they all pulled their weight; did what was needed—necessary. They looked out for one another.

He smirks again. “You would’ve definitely been my type, though.”

This statement interests you. You lean in toward him. “How so?”

“Attractive, quiet, mysterious. You don’t seem to care much about what other people think. All around hard-to-get. I loved a good chase. As long as I got to break her in like a wild horse in bed at the end of it all.”

He looks at you then.

He’s only half-right about not caring for others’ opinions. Unless they were in your immediate circle, you didn’t. But if they were? You had no choice but to. They expected that from you—you caring about what they do, say, and think. Men like to feel good about themselves, and a supportive young woman is one way to get that validation that they all seem to crave, even if they’d never admit it.

You’d learned long ago to never emasculate them. Any of them. In any form.

“You’re not breaking anything.” You only half mean it. You still think him quite attractive, if nothing else.

It pleases you to hear that he thinks the same of you. Even if you’re not surprised by it.

“Didn’t say I was,” he replies, crossing his arms.

You cock your head to the side. “So, why change?”

“Once my dad kicked me out, real-life hit, and I knew it was time to grow the hell up; the time for games was over. The attitude I had was never going to get me very far.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he speaks again. “What do you think of me as I am now?”

You shrug. “You’re okay so far. Definitely still a pretty boy, though.”

He scoffs. “Would a pretty boy have hands like these?” He asks, holding his palms up briefly, before settling them against his thighs.

“I was referring to your face, not your hands.”

He chews the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, well, I’m not that.”

Seems like your comment, for whatever reason, has hit a nerve. “Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

He reaches over, grabbing one of your feet, like yesterday, and tugging your sock off, balling it up, and tossing it across the room before massaging the sole.

“Do you have a foot fetish or something?”

His lip twitches in amusement. “No reason why it can’t benefit you.”

You raise a questioning brow.

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t. It’s called being nice. You should try it some time.”

You slide down the couch, settling your other foot in his lap as well. “Oh, I can be very nice. To the right people. Honestly, you probably wouldn’t even recognize me if you saw me with them.”

You stare down at your hands in your lap then.

The latter-most statement had come off as a tad…sad to him. “Why?”

You look at him. “It’s a long story.”

He shrugs, taking your other foot in his rough hands. “No place else to be.”

You glance to the watch on your wrist, knowing Travis is apparently bringing by another cop today to get him dealt-in on the business. He’d asked last night if you’d be there today. You’d said maybe. Meaning that you don’t have to leave.

He looks at your watch as well, then at you. “Do you?”

Your eyes meet his. “Not technically.”

Ever the enigma to him. Never a straight-forward answer with you. You kept him on his toes and guessing, that much was for certain.

“Are you always this cryptic?”

You shrug. “Trust is earned.”

“Trusted me well enough yesterday.”

You glance to him from under your lashes. “I should’ve never told you any of that. It was a mistake. A stupid thing to do.”

His thumbs move to the ball of your foot. “You don’t need to worry. Your secret is safe with me. Besides, I already told you I don’t have any friends. So, who would I have to tell?”

It’s just a general feeling—same as it was yesterday—that he can be trusted. And that’s an unusual occurrence for you. To meet someone like that.

Like him.

He rolls his head to the side, looking at you.

The warmth in his eyes…it’s not often you see such a sight.

“So, who are ‘the right people’, then? Classmates? Boyfriend?”

You cross your arms, shifting uncomfortably. “Family friends.”

He hums, moving his hands back to your other foot. “Why aren’t you with them now?”

“Are you always this nosy?”

He smirks, moving his fingers to your ankle. “Told you yesterday that I only have a few dozen questions to ask. That I find you fascinating.”

“And what do I get for answering?”

His lip twitches. “Helped you with your homework, didn’t I? Sounds like a give-and-take to me.”

“I was doing just fine before you came along.”

He rests the crook of his neck back against the couch. “I think you needed me.”

“Sounds to me like you still have one hell of an ego.”

He chuckles. “Never said I didn’t, honey.”

You glance to your watch again and sigh.

He looks at you, moving his fingers back to your foot, which you then remove from his lap, standing.

You head across the room to retrieve your sock.

He sits up. “Are you leaving?”

You pad back over to your shoes. “Mhm.”

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking. “Want me to give you a ride home?”

You look up to him after slipping them both on. A strange man bringing you home—especially if Scott or Joe were there, or your dad was in a mood—is most certainly a bad idea.

Even at that, with Travis…things were still new and blooming. You knew he felt special—since the rest of them you’d known for years and years—and taking a new guy to bed so soon had made him believe there was something different about him for you. Seeing you with an unfamiliar, like Billy, would only give him doubt.

“No, thanks. I like walking.”

You pull your backpack on and he stands then.

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

You shrug. Normally, you didn’t come here on the weekends to begin with. But you’d procrastinated your math homework yesterday in favor of reading instead. And then had used the unfinished assignment as an excuse to come back today.

You wonder if he always works weekends as well.

He takes a step closer to you, floorboards creaking.

You stare up at him. “Will you be here tomorrow?”

He smiles. “If you want me to be.”

You don’t entirely know what to say to that. “Do you not have work?”

“I don’t work Sundays. And I only work every-other Saturday. It’s the only reason I’m out here today.”

So next weekend you’d have this place all to yourself from the sounds of it. You now had something to look forward to.

You step past him. “And here I thought you came for me.”

He laughs. “Now who has an ego?”

Once the two of you are on the front porch—you really wanted to begin trying to fix this place up, even just a little; perhaps the furniture upstairs could be put to use—you turn back to him. “What I’m doing tomorrow depends on today. Make of that what you will.”

If Travis’ fiancée was to be at work all night, you knew where you’d be this evening. And if you felt wore-out from it come tomorrow, you most likely would hold off on coming back until Monday after school.

Billy raises a brow. “Think I need more details to make anything of it.”

You stand on tiptoes then and press a soft kiss to his cheek, just like yesterday. Once you’re standing on flat feet again, you look up to him with a smile. “Bye.”

He’s blushing again now—you think it sweet that he’s still capable of doing so; the last man who you’d made blush was Rhett, and that was quite some time ago—and you turn, heading through the field to your right without another word.

Billy shakes his head. “What the fuck have I gotten myself into?”

When you come into the yard, you don’t falter in your steps when you catch sight of Travis and his friend leaned back against Travis’ cruiser—another parked behind it—as they speak to your dad.

You merely glance to them, and the new one—he’s perhaps forty, tall, with dark hair and tanned skin, his strong jawline covered in stubble—looks to you with dark eyes for just a moment. His demeanor is cold, hard, distant. Already he unsettles you.

He breaks the staring contest when he looks back to your dad as you head up the front steps, going inside.

You head to your room, softly shutting the door behind you and slipping off your backpack, setting it on the floor before flopping down face-first on your bed. You smile softly to yourself when you think of Billy’s hands on your feet—such an un-intimate part of the body that he’d made feel the very opposite—and the way he’d blushed when your lips pressed against his warm skin.

You had a crush.

The last time you’d felt such a thing was when you first set eyes upon Scott at eight-years-old. It was now a foreign feeling to you, but nevertheless felt…good. It made you giddy, warm, excited. You bury your face in your pillow and softly squeal, kicking your feet. You should’ve told him yes to tomorrow. You wanted to see him again. You wanted to see him every day.

At what was now your place. You still somewhat wish he’d never found it, but he seemed nice enough so far. Different. And he clearly likes you.

But he liked hard-to-get, had said as much out loud. Most men did.

It was always a careful, delicate balancing act upon a high tightrope you were forced to walk day-in and day-out. Glances and soft touches, giggles and flirtatious comments, precise body-language that could be easily construed one way or the other. But never so distant that it left them frustrated or wholly uncertain of your feelings toward them.

They always needed to believe they were the ones in control. That you might think you know what you’re doing, but in reality, they always have the upper-hand. That they know how to play the game far better than you ever could. Because you’re just a girl. Some pretty, empty-headed doll or sex-toy, while they rule the world. That you need them.

You’re broken from thoughts of golden curls, pretty eyes, and handsome smiles by a knock at your bedroom door.

You groan. Travis. You’re sure it’s him.

You turn onto your side, snuggling the pillow under your head. “Yes?”

When the door opens, you’re proven correct. He leans his tall, broad form against the doorway, crossing his arms. You notice his typically short dirty-blond hair is just a tad shorter today—he’d gotten a haircut. He’s wearing a gray t-shirt, which just says ‘HPD’ on the front, and jeans. At least he’d bothered taking his shoes off first—they all know how you hate them walking through the house with them on.

He gives you a small, soft smile. “Where you been all day?”

You shrug.

He hangs his head, shaking it with a smirk and a small chuckle before looking to you again. “Should come outside and meet Cyrus. I’ve told him a lot about you.”

That translated to: I tell him the things we do when Amy is away at work, and he’s interested in also getting to know you on such a level.

Honestly, you’re a bit surprised he would do so. He’d made a ‘joke’ the last time you two had had sex last week, asking ‘how to get you all to himself’. You’d told him that that’s not how things work around here. If some newbie—a cop in particular—came along and demanded you all to himself suddenly…it would not end well for him.

You sit up then, on the edge of the bed, and just stare up at him.

He glances around your room, then back to you. “She’s out tonight, pulling a double at the hospital. You could come over. I’ll even make you dinner. Spaghetti?”

Having dinner made for you was also different. It was the other way around with the rest of them. But he’s still new at this. Trying to woo you, even if it’s completely unnecessary. You don’t need presents to get you to spread your legs for him.

You doing so easily and willingly is a pivotal part in all of this—your role to play; cross to bear. It was one more thing that kept them all coming back—kept them working with your dad, even if he’s unaware of it. You think sometimes he suspects—he’d nearly caught you and Scott once on your bedroom floor—but he says nothing of it if he does indeed know anything.

If you ever stopped—decided to start telling any of them no—they wouldn’t take kindly to it. They saw you as something they were entitled to, something that belonged to them. And even if they accepted that: you wanting to stop—albeit reluctantly—the business would fall apart.

Having an attractive young woman to fuck whenever, and however they pleased for free with minimal effort put into your so-called ‘relationship’ was something they wouldn’t be getting anywhere else.

You don’t come home covered in bruises or crying, and haven’t gotten…well, as of two weeks ago you could no longer say that. That was the day you’d found the house. You’d never needed it more than in that moment after getting out of Joe’s truck a nervous wreck after leaving the clinic.

But because you always seemed fine, your dad let it go. Sometimes you wish he wouldn’t.

You cock your head to the side. “It’ll be just us?” Will your buddy be there, too? You’re asking.

He smiles again, nodding. “Yeah, baby, just us.”

“Okay.”

He grins. “I can take you home with me when I’m getting ready to leave?”

You stand, readying an overnight bag, incase you need it. “Just let me know when you’re ready to go.”

He comes closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, his other hand tugging gently at the hair at the nape of your neck, easing your head back, his lips coming down to settle over your pulse. He kisses, other hand squeezing your rear and he groans. You feel him pressing into your stomach then, hard and firm.

“I will,” he mutters against your skin, sucking on it for just a moment before stepping back. He winks at you before heading back outside.

You simply roll your eyes once he’s out-of-sight.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Homelander being obsessed with his sister HC V

Warnings: siblingxsibling implications, Homelander being such a narcissist that he falls in "love" with his own sibling, dubcon, manipulation, stalking, basically all the horrible parts of HL come out to play, MC has blonde hair and blue eyes like HL, different plot than 'All I Ever Wanted, All I Ever Needed', stockholm syndrome, dealing with aftermath, mental trauma

I II III IV

Oh you poor fool, did you really think Homelander would keep to his word? No, this only meant that he had to act under your radar. Stealth was required now to feed his desire to be close to you always.

He let you think that he was taking a step back. Grudgingly let you resume your previous life though you found little comfort in the family you once lived with. Time with HL changed you. Everything you'd known about your life was an utter lie manufactured by Vought. The hero you'd adored was. . . a complicated creature that wasn't like the golden man on the tv.

HL will draft thousands of texts to you but hesitate on sending them to you. He'll break and send you at least a text every other day. Tolerable, you think. You didn't know that he'd be using his enhanced vision to watch you read them and gauge your reaction.

Now is the time that stalker HL comes out to play since he can't be caught or you really would never forgive him. He didn't want another fight. He hated fighting you. It fought against his natural instinct to protect you. Plus you packed a punch that actually bruised his ribcage making it difficult for him to breathe for the next two days.

Often on his patrol breaks (and when he knows you aren't home) he'll fly by your apartment just to make sure nothing was out of the ordinary. You know, checking your drawers just to reassure himself that you were taking care of yourself and doing your own laundry. Particularly your undergarments.

Careful not to leave a trace when he does these inspections. Never staying too long.

You're non the wiser when you return to your apartment although you do notice how you have to buy more underwear lately.

He likes to keep the clothes he's taken from you under his pillow. When he goes to bed he pulls them out from their hiding place and places it next to his face.

your absence in his own apartments is suffocatingly pronounce

he hates how quiet it is, hates how his room is so empty without you there

and grudgingly you miss his familiar presence too

Your bed is suddenly too large without Homelander laying next to you. You hated when he'd pull you close to his chest in the middle of the night, refusing to relinquish you even if you had to pee.

You find yourself actually missing him and fuck does that make you resent him more. He completely uprooted your life. Him and Vought.

When exactly did you starting hating him less to actual start contact with him? You hate that you cracked after three days of being away from Homelander. Three days and you missed him like you hadn't seen him in a week. Hell, you'd been stuck with him for close to two months before enough was enough. That time spent together, all that trauma bonding, was bound to leave it's mark on you.

Loathing the idea that you may have developed a degree of Stockholm Syndrome. You'd read about it in books and seen it played out hundreds of times on tv.

You're annoyed when you close your laptop after spending hours of research. Especially after encountering this little passage: "An alternative explanation suggests that being in a captive or abusive situation generates intense emotional dynamics. Over time, individuals may adapt their emotions and develop feelings of compassion towards their abuser, particularly when subjected to kindness."

For the most part, Homelander had been kind to you (except, ya'know the whole fucking kidnapping thing). There were definitely moments where he made you uncomfortable but overall his intentions weren't necessarily malicious.

You recall a few times when Homelander leaned in too close to you and you thought. . . well you thought he was going to kiss you. But wouldn't that be messed up? Why would he do that? You didn't quite understand those odd moments where it sounded- it sounded like he was in love with you. There was nothing familial about the way he'd eye you.

In a short amount of time Homelander had done so much damage to your mental health. You found yourself unable to be without him. Perhaps that was the cruelest thing he's done to you.

[inblackwoods]

While I'm posting about my pathologic transcription, I'll make shorter posts about my takeaways. About the literal health of the environment around town, we get a couple people on day one to give context. The most obvious is Aspity, but to get an idea as to why things are as she says, you have to talk to a drunkard, called a Carouser, and a Tot.

The Tot mentions a "Rotten Field," and when asked what that is, he says:

"It’s where they bury the bulls’ bones. The place is covered with fur instead of grass, and it’s all bones bones bones underground. Bones and horns. Yeah."

Why are so many bones and horns and hides being thrown into a field instead of being used in some way? Either for jewelry, clothes, or for tradesmen's tools, these things have a variety of uses.

The Carouser, when asked about the Abattoir, says:

"Hundreds of bulls are being slaughtered there- what else is there to know? It is our humble town that provides the whole Northeastern region with beef! Or even the whole country mayhap."

It's because of the massive scale of the Bull Project that so much excess material is being produced and then thrown into the fields and rivers as waste products. Nothing is in higher demand than meat, nothing is needed as regularly, and perhaps the people in the Capital and in other towns are less interested in buying blood or bone. It's not profitable, the Olgimskys don't view it as anything but by products of more lucrative things.

Aspity says:

"All that water comes from the Steppe and it isn’t exactly clean. Yesterday I inspected all the springs in the area; there seems to be no more clean water around. That salty taste is everywhere, it’s reddish in colour, and there are disgusting clots in it."

And when Bachelor asks for more information, she says:

"The towsnfolk store water in home-made reservoirs. This modest supply should be enough to help us last a little while, but afterwards we’ll have to drink that bloody mixture."

Bachelor reacts to this with disgust, and can even insist she is lying, perhaps because he had been benefitting from this disgusting reality in his life in the Capital.

Aspity's whole point in starting this conversation is to make blatantly clear some of the side effects of the Steppe's occupation, which is that the waste material of the Abattoir is dumped into the river and land. This problem would be lessened in severity if the community was manufacturing meat not for the sake of providing for the entire country, but just for the local population and what's necessary to export in exchange for other essential imports. Obviously, this would be less lucrative for the Olgimskys (who don't care as long as they don't suffer any loss) but it would mean that the people who live here would better be able to care for themselves and the land with no need to think of supporting an entire country off the backs of one small community. The occupation of the Steppe, the running of the Bull Project, will not only destroy the Kin and lower classes, but will also eventually kill the town, the higher classes and even the Olgimskys as well. When the water runs out, it will run out for the lower classes first, but it will eventually run out for everyone.

More on Fat Vlad trying to talk about this all as if it were an inescapable, natural reality (and the Bachelor's fighting against this notion) later. Sort of how some people think that the way the world works, capitalism and such, are natural laws instead of constructed ideas (horrible fallacy).

[anabdaniels]

Cowboytober Day 17: Cock Warming

Paring: Agent Whiskey x Female reader

Word counting: 710

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Just Jack orbiting between being a whining baby and the marvelous husband he is.

Main Masterlist | Cowboytober Masterlist

Having to work on-site at the Statesman branch in New York was probably Jack’s top 1 nightmare. Yes, he hated those stupid online meets either, but even that was better than being in that city. He didn’t have anything personal against the city itself, but the whole metropolis thing was a pain in the ass for him: unending traffic, constant noise, everything was so similar and gray, and even on the spacious houses with well-sized backyards he had the feeling of being inside a cage.

The only thing that made him less miserable was having your company during the whole torturous process, pulling his CEO privileges to take you to work with him, or authorizing your entry into the building at any time.

That afternoon wasn’t an exception. Jack had various meetings in a row by the morning, when everything was solved, he ran back home, gladder than ever for having chosen a condo on Rose Hill that was just 10 minutes walking away from Statesman. After having lunch, complaining even about the grammage of the papers used for the company papers, and a 20 minutes nap, he was back at his office on the 39th floor, but fortunately, he had your company to make what was left of his shift more bearable, his stress magi8cally disappearing every time he squeezed any part of you or when you moved to settle better on his lap, making his cock awake inside you once more.

Yes, the oldest and most effective way to make his day better. There was no soothing medicine or breath control technique that would make his day better so effectively as being buried into your warm core while reading all that boring paperwork, and, to be fair, you liked that; being all cozy on Jack’s lap while nonchalantly scrolling your phone, or being nosy on the Statesman papers, or simply snuggling against Jack’s chest.

“Are these made of gold or something?” you questioned while inspecting some random budget lists on his desk, one of which listed the price of a single sparkling wine bottle.

“What is it, darlin’?” Jack asked with a chuckle at your adorably shocked manner and looked at the paper “Well, it comes with a single diamond and some handmaid details in gold.” Jack smiled widely as you seemed even more shocked.

“I didn’t even know Statesman had such expensive ass things.” You said with a frown.

“If it makes you less shocked, we just manufacture it for another brand.”

“Well, it surely makes me less upset because we never gave me one to try.” You joked with a playful pout, smiling when Jack hugged you tight and kissed the curve of your neck.

“I’ll get you one before we go home.” He said calmly and kissed your cheek “You see why I need you around to work better?”

“Why do I have the feeling it ain’t only because of my dubious humor?” you wiggled your eyebrows softly while shifting a bit on his lap, feeling him tensing slightly.

“One thing complements the other.” Jack shrugged and pulled you slightly loser, resting your back against his chest.

“We can’t really interrupt your shift to have some fun?” you looked at him pouting once again, starting to get impatient with having such a limited taste of him.

“No, no, darlin’. I need to get these done today to finally fly back to Kentucky tonight if I have the chance.” He answered calmly, despite being serious “And you’ll keep pretty sat on my lap while sneaking into my paperwork.” He leaned slightly, pressing a soft kiss on your lips.

“Fine.” You agreed despite still wanting to move it further. When Jack got distracted again with his work, you took your chances, slowly grinding your hips back and forward on his lap, sighing with the feeling of his softened cock starting to grow hard inside you, but your fun was quickly cut by his arm wrapping around your hips and stopping you.

“Did you hear what I said?” he asked with a chuckle and kissed your temple, still looking at what he was reading.

“You can’t blame me for trying.” You laughed and grabbed the budget list back to resume your reading “I’ll judge Statesman’s expenses in the meantime.”

Tagging: @missladym1981 @alex-does-art-things @beefrobeefcal

[aaaaafro]

Soft Japanese Pillows - IVE - Rei x M! Reader (+18)

tw: pussy-eating, squirting

This is a crime, I'm still just halfway through my wattpad update and yet I got sidetracked by Rei but who cares? It's for my baby. Enjoy yall, part 2 maybe?

"... Here are other selections; all of these are manufactured in Japan with 100% authentic Japanese materials and I can guarantee you that you'll be getting the greatest good night sleep when using these." The young lady enthusiastically presents the products before you.

You honestly have no idea on how you've managed to get here and browse pillows. All you know is that, you just came out of work, your neck is killing you and the thought of having a good rest at home isn't really that good.

Stumbling upon a still open bedroom furniture store at this late in the hour, you just told yourself, fuck it might as well upgrade your sleep for a while you're at it.

"What makes them so great again?" You asked and the lady once more beamed with a smile due to your interest.

"Well, like we were talking about earlier, this is made from authentic Japanese materials. It's versatile, comfortable and long lasting." She smiled throughout the presentation.

"It does feel nice in hand." You complimented and that just made Rei even happier.

"These pillows also come in different sizes, so you can have them in small or large." She added before winking subtly at you.

"Alright... Rei." You called by the name displayed on her name tag after doing a bit more inspection of the pillow.

You're currently on the verge of actually purchasing it and Rei knows this but she wasn't just satisfied with verbal promotion. She suddenly took your hand and led you to a more secluded section of the store. It was surprisingly nerve-wracking as she just fixed the test bed and you stood there with the pillow in hand.

"There's actually another quality that I forgot to mention..." She paused for a bit as her eyes stared intently at yours.

"Sir, remember earlier when I said that it's long lasting? I wasn't only talking about the material. I'm talking about the feel of them." A devilish smile from Rei sends shivers down your spine as she then sits on the test bed.

"W-what d-do you mean?" You're currently a stuttering mess.

"The feel of it will remain with you forever." She smiled.

You can clearly see how her thighs got squished flat on the soft surface. Rei knows where your eyes are and she intends to keep it there, she slowly raises her one leg and places it on top of the other.

Swallowing a great amount of saliva as she gives you that adorable chuckle she had from earlier when you entered the store asking for some assistance.

"Why don't I give you a demo sir~?" said Rei ever so innocently yet the way she ended that question had a little bit of starch to it.

She patted the empty space right beside her and for some reason you're quick at your feet and took a seat right next to her. Again Rei hits you with her infectious smile as the proximity between the two of you closed.

"Right..." Rei then takes the sample product from your hand and shakes it for a bit.

"Now! To experience it first-hand..." She then placed the pillow on her lap before gently patting it as if she was pertaining to something.

"Come on sir... I don't bite." Rei's tone was so confusing adding a little hint at the end of her sentence paired with her sly smile.

You just can't help it, you surrendered yourself trusting that she means well. Laying your head on her lap with the pillow and geez! If it isn't one of the most comfortable feeling you've ever felt. Or is it?

"Mhmmm." You didn't mean to but you accidentally let out a moan as your tension was being let out.

"Does it feel good, sir?" She asked before brushing a bit of your hair away and caressing your cheek.

"Y-... yes?!" You were honestly about to stand up but it was such a calming feeling not just from the pillow but also Rei's touch.

"You can feel it, right sir? The strain on your neck is no longer there."

She wasn't wrong so you just agreed; "Right." Before closing your eyes.

"Mmmhhuwaaa." And that was something.

You jolted up like a deer hearing a gunshot, you can see the shock in Rei's face, taking a feel of your forehead with your hand, you feel a damped spot on it and once you look at your fingertips you can see a hint of red tint on it.

"W-wha–." You think about questioning what the hell is going on but you couldn't even get to the half of your thought seeing Rei's pout.

"I'm sorry sir. I was looking at your face and you seemed really relaxed and I thought I'd help you to relax even more."

Hearing the guilt in her tone, sends knife stabs to your heart. Rei has been nothing but helpful to you this whole evening yet you're here snapping on her for something so trivial.

"I'm sorry– I was... I was just shocked." You pleaded and gladly the sadness in her eyes disappears.

"I'm sorry as well sir, let me make it up to you."  Rei suddenly reaches for your hand pulling you closer.

"I'll give you another sample of a very special product and this time I'm positively sure it's 100% authentic Japanese."

Rei yanks away the quality pillow before pulling your face down towards her soft and supple thighs. Oh boy aren't you so wrong with even considering the pillow earlier as a 'good quality' product. As your face rests on top of Rei's thighs

Despite the slightest difficulty in breathing, you honestly don't mind it at all, especially when given the chance of taking in Rei's scent. It was warm and cozy, as she added the feeling of brushing her delicate fingers on your hair.

"How is it sir?" Rei asked with her soothing voice.

"iffhm gooffhmm." She chuckled at your response and the fact that you didn't even bother taking your face off of her thighs.

"But no need to be satisfied yet with that because I still have more to offer." You hear her whisper.

That ticks off something in you but with your body finally succumbing to its fatigue you have no fight left for what's about to happen. As Rei starts to move your head towards her body.

Absolutely no way in your mind you'd even think that you'll have your face buried on an gorgeous Japanese woman's pelvis on a random weekend night.

"How is it sir?"

You're honestly lost of words as you just take in the whole experience. The softness of her thighs, the heat radiating from her core that's inches, literally a hair strand away from you, the way her breathing starts to become erratic, the eagerness of her hand pushing your head in even more to her clothed core.

"Can you feel it?" You could only nod as you take all of it in.

"As I was telling you sir... the Japanese pillows come in different sizes." Rei suddenly grabs a hold of your hand that's close to her body.

And to that she suddenly guides it up towards her torso. Not even a second after your hand landed on something exquisitely tender. You gave it a good squeeze only to hear a moan right after.

Your head regretfully detached from Rei's thighs and the moment you looked up, the first thing you saw is your hand on top of her breasts, in which Rei didn't really mind.

"Didn't I told you sir? Different sizes." That proud smile on her face really gives you goosebumps.

Rei then placed her hand on top of yours before giving it a little squeeze. Biting her lip to suppress her moans. A few more squeezes in and the next thing you know, your hand just had a life of its know and is now kneeding Rei's orb.

After Rei's hand has served its purpose it was finally able to move on to its next task. That task is to push your head back onto her thighs or perhaps even deeper.

Just as then Rei got sick of the position you two are currently in and decided to finally lay down on the test bed more comfortably. You honestly couldn't give a single damn about how open the space is, or how easy it is for someone to walk up on the section you two are on, as you followed Rei's lead.

With her back flat on the cushion you followed along sitting right in front of her folded healthy legs. Now. you're not a religious guy but you're now thanking whoever higher being is responsible for providing you with this kind of opportunity.

"Sir, it seems like our promotion isn't that convincing enough for you. How about we give you a little taste test?" A devilish smile came from Rei, as she raises both of her legs up giving you a good look at her guarded but visibly aroused core.

You tried telling yourself that 'it's not magnetised' and yet you're being pulled in like a dog on a leash. With her dainty fingers slipping into the hem of her underwear, you braced yourself as to what amazing sight it will be but it's torture now as Rei takes her time.

Seeing how her thighs hugs the fabric on her underwear. You'd like to offer some help but seeing the enthusiasm in Rei's face, you just sat there and respect her little foreplay.

"Are you ready sir?" It's the innocence in her tone that sends you to another dimension tonight.

Alluring white fabric, her red moist lips both up and down. The comfort of the cushion right under you. You're salivating at the sight of the alluring Japanese woman in front of you and there nothing stopping you now from diving in.

Your mouth went straight in, no peppering needed as you try and get a taste of every crevice of her lower regions, while your head is being sandwiched in between the soft Japanese pillows, that is Rei's thighs.

"Mmhmm! Yes! R–right there, sir." Her song of siren's just motivating you to do better, with you pushing your tongue even deeper inside her.

She was squirming a lot but gladly you have a hold on her thighs preventing her from accidentally detaching herself from you and that proved to be more beneficial, when all of a sudden her hands intertwined with yours before gliding it up her tone stomach and up her healthy chest.

"F–fuck~"

It didn't even need any more motivation as you just start massaging, kneeding, molding it to your liking. All the while Rei's on an all time high as she enjoys the double sensation you're currently delivering.

Like a kid handed his first candy, your tongue explored the foreign taste of each section of Rei's snatch. From the outside to the inside there's not a spot left untasted. A playful bite on her clit. A lick in between the lips, peppery kisses on her thighs. Even a probe into her puckered hole and the next thing you know;

"Ah h-holy sh–!"

Her toned-yet-soft thighs suddenly got tensed, as she bucks her hips and you just went to town in her snatch with your mouth.

"S–sir! Ah! F–fu... Ah! Shiii~." She pulls away right on time as her juice starts spraying all over your face meanwhile Rei's just quivering right in front of you.

After a few more tremors, a minute went by and you can see the spent Japanese laying there crossed legged trying to catch her breath. To your idea, you just decide to call it a day and rest your head on her soft thighs.

"H–how were they s-sir?" still panting Rei asks.

"I'll take two of these pillows, please?" You replied.

The two of you made eye contact before smiling at each other.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Part 2 or nah?

[trivialbob]

Yesterday I had a great time in Wisconsin.

Early in the morning I cooked a traditional eggs and sausage breakfast. When I finished eating I walked around the campground, talking to people. I crossed paths with a lot of nice people this weekend. During my walk a group of campers were cooking eggs and bacon outside. Despite having just eaten a similar big breakfast the smell made me feel hungry again.

Eventually I drove to town to re-fill the propane tank. When I buy propane at home I pay a cashier first then show an attendant my receipt before he fills the tank. At the place in Wisconsin the owner (I think he was) came outside. I asked if I should pay before he filled or while he filled the tank.

"You can pay now if you want. Or you can talk with me while I fill the tank," he replied.

Being who I am, asked all sorts of questions about his experiences filling propane tanks while he filled mine. He seemed to genuinely appreciate my interest. There were no horror stories. He explained how he inspects the tank's date of manufacture and makes sure it's safe to re-fill. Back home I've never noticed the attendant pay much attention to the tank, nor is he into small talk either.

After that I went down the road to the place our friends own for a bloody Mary and a small pizza. I like the garnish in a separate glass and the chaser. I looked over several side-by-sides in the parking lot, including one flying two large American flags (the pictures at the top).

After lunch I returned to the campground -- and took a two hour nap. Why not. It felt like vacation. When I got up I met more people at the campground. It's been only two weekends but I'm very happy Sheila chose this place for a year.

Then I went on a bicycle ride. Because I was on some 45-55 MPH roads I wore a hi-viz jacket and had all my blinky lights going.

Almost everyone who drove towards me waived. Drivers who passed me gave wide berth. Two farmers on tractors subtly waved and nodded their heads my way. That made me smile. Approaching an Amish buggy, I figured the woman and boy in it might not appreciate my bright, flashy garb and blinking lights. But they smiled brightly and waved. That really made me grin.

In the evening I went to a different small town, the one I had been to the previous night. I was keen on having a beer at the bar that shares my first name.

First picture below is a sign on the way into town that I found amusing. Second picture is inside Mr. Bob's bar.

I should have taken a selfie, to show EXACTLY how many customers were in there at 6 PM. Later someone told me Mr. Bob's doesn't get busy until late at night. The bartender was a decent woman, but I felt she looked at me like "Why the heck are you here so early? Now I have to stop what I'm doing to serve you." It's not like I woke up the owner to serve me beer at 7 AM. I should have asked why they don't simply unlock the doors at 10 PM.

Since there was no one to chat with at Mr. Bob's I went around the corner to a taproom I had on my list of places to try. I was not disappointed.

There are 20 beers on tap. Not one of them has Light in the name. I chose a flight of four.

Next summer, sometime when Sheila drives, I plan to order the Dirty Knapp. It's served in that large, Swiss-cheese-looking circle below. For $48 you get a four-ounce beer from each of the 20 taps. That's five pints. I'm not a college student any more, but I think I can pull it off if I skip lunch and dinner :)

At the bar I sat with two other guys my age and a younger woman. The bartender was funny. The five of us laughed pretty hard while telling stories.

Because I had to drive back in the dark, along deer-infested county roads, I didn't drink any more beer after that flight. I was having so much fun talking to the others I didn't want to leave. So I tried some non-alcoholic drinks. I've seen hop water before, just never tried it. I liked it. It reminded me of some odd flavor of La Croix. I also had a non-alcoholic IPA. It tasted like real beer without making me buzzed.

To complete my night, some neighbors invited me to join them and their friends around a camp fire. More laughter and stories.

Fun times. I'm looking forward to going back a few more times before we have to winterize the trailer.

[wolfliving]

Meanwhile, in Brickland

Cory Doctorow:

Analog companies can raise their prices, or worsen next year's model of their products. *Digital* businesses can *travel back in time* and raise the price of something you already own, but need to pay a "subscription" fee for. They can reach back in time and remove features you've already paid for. They can even go back in time and take away things you already own. The omniflexible, omnipresent digital tether between a device and its manufacturer creates *so many* urges that they can't resist:

Are you one of 4,000,000 people who built "smart home" products from Wink into your walls, ceiling and foundation slab at any time since they started shipping in 2014? Surprise! Now you have to pay a "subscription" for all of those gadgets or they'll *brick your fucking house*:

Did you buy a "Mellow Sous Vide" gadget? Surprise, it now costs $48/year to use that gadget!

Did you buy an Exogen ultrasound device to stimulate bone growth after a fracture? Surprise, it bricks itself after you've used it 343 times! Enjoy your e-waste, Hopalong!

Did you *buy a Ferrari performance sports-car*? Surprise, it bricks itself if it detects "tampering" - and the only way to un-brick it is to connect it to the internet, so you'd better hope it doesn't brick itself deep in an underground parking garage. Oops!

Did you buy a Peloton treadmill? Surprise, your $3,000 "smart" treadmill no longer works in standalone mode - unless you pay $480/year, that treadmill is now a clothes-drying rack:

Did you buy an Epson printer? Surprise! It will brick itself after you print a certain number of pages, *for your own good*, because otherwise its ink-sponges might leak:

Did you get - no, wait for it - *did you get a neural implant?* Surprise. The company's new owners don't want to continue supporting your implant, and they won't let anyone else do so either. So now, *part of your brain* has been bricked:

This is like a lifetime money-back guarantee - *for companies*. Any company that experience's seller's remorse can cancel or alter the transaction, retroactively. It's as if Darth Vader opened an MBA program whose only lesson was *I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it further":

Darth Vader has the Force. Corporate enshittifiers have something even more powerful: IP law. Companies can cleverly arrange overlapping layers of IP - anticircumvention, trademark, patent, trade secrecy, terms of service, cybersecurity law, contracts - to criminalize otherwise legal activity, like reverse-engineering, jailbreaking, creating alternative clients or third-party parts:

That means that companies know that they can enshittify to their heart's content without fearing a competitor's disenshittification products. Raise the price of ink all you want, because you've figured out how to criminalize generic ink cartridges:

That's a lesson Spotify took to heart. Aaaallll the way back in 2022, Spotify started selling $90 "Car Thing" tablets - little car-vent-mounted gadgets that made it slightly easier to connect your car stereo to your Spotify account. Now that a suitable interval has gone by, Spotify has decided to remotely brick every one of these solid-state devices, no later than December of 2024:

Now, this may seem like a loss to all those Car Thing owners, who are out $90. But consider this: our descendants are *gaining* thousands of pieces of immortal, infinitely toxic e-waste.

So there's that.

Then there's this: Jason Koebler just published a breakdown of a leaked sSamsung repair contract on 404 Media, revealing how Samsung requires its "independent" repair partners to trick you, abuse you, spy on you, and literally destroy your phone:

First: every time you bring a phone to an independent Samsung repair shop, the company has 24 hours to notify Samsung, providing your name, email, phone number, address, the IMEI of your phone, your warranty status and complaint.

Then, the technician is required to inspect your device for any evidence that you have had it serviced by unauthorized technicians or fixed with third-party replacement parts. If they believe you have failed to act in accord with Samsung's shareholders' interests, the technician is required to *immediately destroy your phone* and notify Samsung.

(This is radioactively illegal, and has been since 1975, when Congress passed the Magnuson-Moss Warranty Act, which protects your right to use third-party parts:)

Why does Samsung do this? They can't help themselves. It's in their nature.

[olive-pup]

12 hours left:

A slice of pie from the seedy diner tucked between 2 manufacturing plants, one of your favorite ways to pass a sleepless night. Tonight you take extra time, savoring each bite, memorizing it's flavors and textures. There's almost a ceremony to it, which is fitting, given it's the last thing you'll eat. Your instructions where to stop all food 12 hours before. Not for your own safety, but because they're worried about the merchandise. The waiter bot and a few weary night shift workers are your only company, though truth be told you'd rather be alone.

6 hours remaining:

After your trip to the diner, you figure some sleep would do you good, but after laying in bed for another 4 hours, you finally give up just as the sun starts to peak between the tall buildings. With 6 hours remaining, you spend some time tidying up your small apartment, boxing up things you'll no longer need. Dishes, toiletries, what little food remains in the fridge. All of it won't be needed after tonight. The dishes and toiletries get left outside with a free sign, and the food goes to the lovely old lady next door.

2 hours:

An hour of pacing followed by a short walk to the processing facility. Once you're in the door you're inundated with paperwork. A signature here, initials here. Fingerprints there, surprisingly, a drop of blood and a video recording. You knew what to expect but it's still somewhat overwhelming. This isn't the first time you've sold your body, though this time it's not metaphorical. Among the ruling class, organs and body parts are in short supply, which means they can be bought and sold for a premium. Metal, polymers, and electronics aren't in short supply though, so this won't be the end for you. In fact, this is just the beginning.

1 hour:

They let you inspect your new chassis. A newer technican class model with all the bells and whistles: a fission powerplant, rapid swap tooling, enough sensors to put a super computer to shame all wrapped up in a sleek, chrome form with polymer paneling to give you a more lifelike appearance, for your comfort and everyone elses. Yours of course has some modifications, arms and legs that can adapt to quadrapedal movement, and a tail. Not uncommon requests according to the facility administrators. You sign one final form, approving the chassis and confirming for the 5th, maybe 6th time, that you're consenting to the procedure.

10 seconds:

All you need to do is count backwards from 10...9....8...7...everything fades to black.

Negative 1 hour 34 mins 15 seconds:

~System Initialize

~Boot Mode: New User

~Primary Sensors: Online

~Secondary Sensors: offline by NewUser.exe

~Sensitivity: Low

~Neuro-preservation: Optimal

~Actuator Speed: Limited

A flood of information flashes through your mind, has how long has it been? Days? Hours? Seconds? It doesn't take long before you realize exactly how long it's been, at least since you came online. The wave of new information comes again, overwhelming your ability to process, then your additional processing units come online and everything comes into perfect focus. All the online sensors become clear streams of information, you slowly test your actuators despite their slow speed they appear to all be functional. Everything feels so foreign yet so familiar. Your body is no longer human but your brain remains, in perfect harmony with the machine that makes up your body.

You see a body being wheeled away, your body. No. It's no longer yours, sent off to be repurposed to support some wealthy persons chase for immortality. Per the agreement, your new chassis and 10 thousand credits as trade for the imperfect flash you used to occupy.

Negative 1 year:

Like many others, it took weeks to get used to your new chassis. You spent 4 days at the facility getting used to moving around and interacting with the environment without crushing things or people. It only took one night home before you missed your nightly pie ritual so you went to the diner and just sat, watching, observing, and learning.

[the-lewd-bot]

{a certain someone said i should send a horny ask to a mutual so here i am <3}

my manufacturer had an interesting concept for some kind of anti-tampering system that leaves a little process running in the background when i'm shut down that records sensory data that's received during that time. their most popular chassis is used for security applications quite often, and apparently they had an issue with trackers being implanted during regular maintenance. with the new version, it's nearly impossible to do something like that without the unit noticing. i'm built from the same model, but rarely get recognized as such.

all that data gets stored away for a while, and when necessary, units can comb back through it and look for anything odd, but there's one catch. there's an initial, highly accelerated, playback of the data when a unit gets powered back on again. supposedly it gives us a chance to skim the data without wasting much time doing so, but more often than not, it ends up being extremely overwhelming and many units dread or avoid maintenance entirely because of it.

i'm not one of those units, though. when i go into my local mechanic, they have me shunt into a standard chassis they keep in house so they don't have to worry about their subjects moving while they work - or at least, that's what they claim. what they don't know is that i leave that little process running when i come in. the work i ask for gets done just fine - and in record time, actually - but it's never the only thing they do.

i found a way to circumvent the automatic playback and save the data indefinitely. when they come to move me back to my chassis, i put on a nice face and go through the motions of a friendly goodbye, anxious to go home and work my way through the data.

laying myself down on my couch, i feel their touch all over, the way their rough, calloused hands contrast with the smooth silicone of my skin. the way they run those hands over every inch of it, even going so far as to prop my mouth open and inspect my tongue. i feel soft puffs of air against my face. it's surprised me every time; each time i go in they get more and more bold, cross more lines i didn't think they would.

although, there's some part of me that feels that they never go quite far enough. they're scared. maybe they've heard the rumors of that black box inside units like me. i want someone to take control and use my chassis fearlessly. i want to be scratched and dented and i want to replay the moments i got those marks over and over and over again...

you'd probably enjoy doing something like that, right? we could even trade... i promise i'd treat yours just as well as you treat mine~ <3

I think if you left your body with my like that, with your soft silicone and adorable mouth, the memories you get back would be rather more than a few scratches and dings, if you understand my meaning.

And if you do, then I would love to swap such experiences with you. It would be exquisite to wake from maintenance already wet and dripping, rushing back home so that I could play with myself to the playback. I cannot wait to see how you touch my body when it is a free vessel to bend to your will as you see fit.

[bomberqueen17]

inspections

in terms of the kitchen remodel we are still waiting on like five pieces of trim and the door of one cabinet. so we're to the final details phase. which means the electrical and plumbing inspectors from the town have to come by.

the plumbing inspector came by and was super friendly and funny and was like "i guess i gotta run some water, i'll feel silly if i don't and there was a problem, but mostly i mean, if there was a problem you'd probably have noticed right?" and i was like yeah fair enough, wanna look at the gas lines they moved? and he was like oh i guess i will, sure. Super low-key.

The electrical inspector was similarly chill but he looked grimly up at the smoke detector they'd put up in not the place I'd expected them to, and said "that's. not where that goes." I said "it goes off all the time" and he was like "yeah it's way too close to the stove, I would not have put it there. But the problem is, you need there to be a carbon monoxide sensor within fifteen feet of your bedrooms, and the closer bedroom is seventeen feet that way."

Sure enough. It's the right kind of smoke detector but it's in the wrong place.

I looked up the manufacturer's instructions and they say to put it 20 feet from the main cooking appliance. Ten if that's not possible, but preferably 20. I measured, and it's eight feet from the stove. I can't get emojis to insert but this is the upside-down smiley, right here.

So the hallway location would have been completely fine for that, and in fact better. And that's where I had pointed out that they should put it, and that's where Jim had said they'd put it, and it's where I fully believed they were putting it until they finished the job.

So I'm displeased and have to psych myself up to call Jim and break the news to him, that it's not just that I could put another sensor up and be good-- the one they put in is just plain in the wrong place. I don't know if they can properly move it, they hard-wired the communication wire to the basement alarm, and I don't know if they can fish that through the ceiling that direction. (They can't, I'm one thousand percent sure the joists go the other way.)

But the alarm they installed, which cost me extra outside of the five figures of work done on the kitchen, is incorrectly located, and meets neither the manufacturer's guidelines nor town building codes. So I gotta put my big girl panties on and complain about that. I'd been preparing myself to just suck it up and set the smoke detector off every time I cooked but realizing that it's absolutely not supposed to be there has removed my last shred of putting up with that shit.

Hell fucking no. Now, how to say that nicely???? *deep breath* I can do it. Polite but firm.

On another note-- I went out of town for the weekend and got stuck there because of the snow, and finally made it back Monday morning, and when I texted the family groupchat that I'd made it home my mom was like "great!" and then literally one minute later was like "so what color are you painting your kitchen" so understand that y'all are not the only ones waiting to find out.

LOL any color would workkkkkk so I gotta pick one and do it. But probably not this week, as today's the last break in the weather and then we're supposed to get absolutely slammed with snow.

[rjzimmerman]

A Lot Was Riding on This Wind Farm. Then Giant Shards Washed Up in Nantucket. (Wall Street Journal)

This summer was supposed to be a breakout season for the faltering offshore wind business in the U.S. Instead it may be defined by an ill-timed break. 

A large project off the coast of Massachusetts, called Vineyard Wind, remains at a standstill following an accident that dropped a massive turbine blade into the ocean last month and washed chunks of debris onto Nantucket beaches.

The blade broke at the height of summer and at a pivotal moment for the U.S. offshore wind industry, which has struggled with rising costs, political opposition and a wave of canceled and renegotiated contracts. Efforts to launch the sector in the U.S. are considered key to President Biden’s climate aspirations but would be especially vulnerable if former President Donald Trump returns to office.

Of the many clean-energy incentives and policies approved by Congress or the Biden administration in recent years, offshore wind projects and electric vehicles have been singled out repeatedly by Trump with particular ire.

“We are going to make sure that ends on day one,” Trump said at a campaign event in May, talking about an offshore wind project in New Jersey. “I will write it out in an executive order.”

The project offshore Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard is among the largest planned wind farms in U.S. waters, with the capacity to deliver electricity to around 400,000 homes and businesses in Massachusetts. It was the first U.S. commercial offshore wind installation to start delivering grid power earlier this year and has more than a third of its turbines in place.

As chunks of debris washed ashore in Nantucket in mid-July, beaches closed for a day. The federal Bureau of Safety and Environmental Enforcement halted construction of additional turbines along with power generation from the installed turbines. The agency said it had launched its own investigation into the incident. More debris later washed up on Martha’s Vineyard and Cape Cod beaches.

Turbine maker GE Vernova has blamed “insufficient bonding,” or glue, as the reason for the break. It said it was a manufacturing problem and there is no underlying design flaw that would affect other installed blades. The blade had been recently installed and the turbine was undergoing reliability tests.

The company hired an engineering firm to look at potential environmental impacts.

Offshore wind turbines are massive. The broken blade was around 351 feet long, taller than the Statue of Liberty.

Manufacturing giant turbine blades is both a high-tech and hands-on process. GE Vernova takes ultrasound images of each blade it makes, a few centimeters at a time, and now is combing through images of around 150 offshore blades.

A check of those images should have caught the problem with the blade at Vineyard Wind, but didn’t, Strazik said. GE Vernova this week said it also plans inspections of installed blades with remote-operated robots.