#neither of the jobs i interviewed at the start of the week called me back :(

[steviescrystals]

i am experiencing emotions rn and idk what they are :)

[thef1diary]

Little Big Fan | Nine

— Little Big Phone Calls

Series Masterlist

wc: 1.7k

Ever since you had brought Isabella home from the hospital, quite a few things happened.

Twenty-four hours after she was discharged, Tyler finally had the nerve to give you a call. You debated whether or not you should pick up the call as you glared at the screen while it rang, but then you didn't want to stoop down to his level either.

"Is Isabella okay?" were his first words, and if it weren't then you definitely would've unleashed hell upon him. "Yeah she's okay, no thanks to you," you scoffed.

Then he proceeded to claim that you didn't have the right to take Isabella home from the hospital because she was supposed to stay with him for the weekend. You sighed, rubbing your forehead, as you considered how to explain the issue to him in a calm manner.

"You weren't even there when it happened," you started, but then he had the audacity to interrupt you, "I was in a meeting."

"You're always in a fucking meeting! You left our daughter with Emma, it is not her responsibility to take care of our child." You lost your patience rather quickly, and you were glad that Isabella was currently at a classmate's birthday party so she didn't hear your argument. Leave it to her to quickly befriend others.

He was silent for a moment, "Emma is my girlfriend, and she doesn't have an issue with staying with Isabella so neither should you."

You paced around the room, having a strong urge to throw the phone against the wall. "Emma is not the problem, I'm grateful for her actually. The issue is that you need to get your shit together and choose if you want to be a father or a businessman, and quite frankly, you're doing a shit job at both right now."

You didn't wait for his response, hanging up and tossing your phone on your desk while burying your head in your palms.

Then, to make matters worse, you realized that Max's ten-day vacation was almost over, because he had to return to racing. You had quickly become accustomed to his presence and began missing him the moment he left your house a few days later.

You may or may not have hugged him for a few minutes too long on the day he was leaving, especially after knowing that he would be busy with back to back races for two weeks.

When you parted away, Max placed his palms on your cheeks and made direct eye contact with you. "When I'm back, me and you are going on that date," he stated in a tone of finality and you nodded, agreeing with him. "I'll be waiting."

Ruffling Isabella's hair until she smacked his hands away before smoothing it herself, Max had to remind her of school when she asked if he would take her to the races as well. He would have agreed if he had been a little more gullible.

"Gifts?" She settled for instead, earning a laugh from Max and widened eyes from you. "Isabella!" You exclaimed but couldn't hold back your smile at her request.

She shrugged, looking at Max, "if you want," she added. "Always," he responded, since he had already planned on buying a few gifts for both of you.

Then it was just you and Isabella, and even then you were alone when you returned home after dropping her off at school. You never had a problem with being alone at home until you experienced the joy of being with others.

—

Isabella was up bright and early on race day, considering that the race took place earlier in the morning in your time zone. However, you knew she would take a nap as soon as the podium celebrations were over, not wanting to stay up for the interviews. Which is exactly what she did after the last race you watched together, but her "tiredness" could've been due to the fact she was disappointed that Max had not won that race.

You remember the conversation you had with him after that race, and he was quite upset—rightfully so in your opinion as it wasn't a driver issue, but rather a technical problem.

"I don't think my lucky charm works from such a distance," he told you, making you furrow your brows, "what lucky charm?"

"You, of course. Please come to another race soon," he explained, earning a chuckle from you with a blush rising to your cheeks. "I'll think about it."

Today’s race was a different story, because Max had been leading during the entire weekend, always coming out on top for all the practices, qualifying, and even during the race itself.

Later that night, Max called you and you immediately congratulated him for the win. "See, you don't need a lucky charm." He made a sound in denial, "I think it's because I called you right before getting in the car, but we can test it properly when you're at a race again."

"You'll have to try harder than that to convince me," you teased with a chuckle. "I have two more weeks to convince you in person, I think I can manage."

"You're going to be here for the whole two weeks?" You could hear the grin in his voice, "I'm flying out in two days, plus the last time I checked, I have a date with the most attractive woman I know and I am not cancelling those plans at all."

You muttered his name, "did I ever tell you that you're the sweetest." He hummed, "maybe, but I don’t mind hearing it again."

"You're the sweetest, kindest and I'm glad you're coming back."

"Did you think I wouldn't?" You shrugged, "well, I thought you would be busy with the season and all." He was quiet for a moment, making your jaw drop, "you didn't."

He hummed and you gasped, "Max..."

"Yes, schat?" He pretended as if nothing was wrong. "Did you cancel any plans for the week?" You asked, slipping past the unknown word he used, knowing that you'll be searching it up later.

"None were as important as flying back to you, but I think that Christian is keeping an eye on me," he revealed and while you wanted to comment on his words, you were intrigued by his boss. "Why's that?"

"He keeps wondering why I am more interested in my phone than the meetings." You couldn't hold in your laugh, "Max, I had no idea you were in meetings while texting me."

Before the conversation could continue on, you heard pitter patter of footsteps coming down the stairs. You noticed the time, and it was past Isabella's usual bedtime so you wondered why she was still awake.

"Hold on, Max, I think Bella's awake." Isabella walks towards you with a shy smile, quickly climbing onto the couch and cuddling you.

You didn’t hang up, instead you put your phone on the side as you wrapped your arms around her. "Mama, do I have to go to daddy's next week?"

"You don't want to?" You asked while brushing your fingers through her hair. You felt her shrug, "I don't know."

"Did something happen?" You pulled back to see her face that had a frown growing. "I met Emma,"

"Yeah? How is she?" Her frown turned into a small smile as she thought of Emma, "very nice, she plays some games with me, oh and we baked together too."

"That's good..but?" You urged, watching her small smile slip back into a frown. "But daddy doesn't spend time with me anymore and he says bad things about you."

You raised your brow, wanting to focus on your daughter's words before you think about having another conversation with Tyler. "Like what?"

"He says that you're not a good person but I think you're amazing! You're the best mama in the whole world." Her little arms reached around you, placing a small kiss on your cheek.

"Aw thank you, angel," you peppered kisses all over her cheeks until she started giggling.

"So do I have to go?" She asked, snuggling up next to you while fighting back a yawn. You shook your head, "no, if you don't want to, then you don't have to go."

"Good, I want to spend time here, with you and Maxy," her toothy grin was back as soon as she mentioned him. "With Max? You like him?" You could've guessed her answer but it was reassuring when she nodded, "sooo much, he's so nice and he buys me ice cream and glittery clips."

You threw your head back with a laugh, "oh Bella, you can't just like him because he buys things for you."

"But mama he's also nice and he makes you smile." She stated, making you snap your head towards her, and you could see her smile turning a little mischievous.

"What?" She shifted in your lap, wrapping her fingers in your hair as she continued speaking, "I like it when you smile and he makes you smile, right mama?"

"Yeah he does." You glanced at the phone, the call still ongoing so you know Max heard every part of your conversation.

Looking back at your daughter, you suggested, "why don't you go back to sleep, you have school tomorrow morning."

"Can you read me a story?" She asked with hopeful eyes, and you quickly nodded, "of course, why don't you get all comfy in bed and I'll be right there?"

"Okay mama." you kissed her forehead before she slid off your lap, running back upstairs.

You pick up the phone again, "are you still there?" Max hummed in response, "yeah, I'm here."

"I'm guessing you heard everything," you didn't mind it at all, but still needed confirmation. "I did. She not wrong, you are an amazing mother." He chose not to comment on the topic relating to your ex, knowing that it would ruin the mood.

"I've had help lately," your tone indicates that you're speaking of Max as help. "I try."

"Before Bella comes back down to ask for you again, I have to say one thing," Max started and you urged him to continue, "go on,"

"You make me smile too," he stated, reiterating the comment made by your daughter.

Taglist: (continuing the taglist in comments) @xjval @mrsmaybank13 @cherry-piee @urfavnoirette @solphin @burningcupcakefire @nessacarty1 @dreamsarebig @omgsuperstarg @fanficweasley @redbullgirly @llando4norris @wonnou @randomgirlnumber13 @dark-night-sky-99 @chanshintien @leilanixx @gisellesprettylies @peachiicherries @monsieurbacteria6 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @arian-directioner @distancedss @morenofilm @sachaa-ff @lighttsoutlewis @teamnovalak @casperlikej @sadg3 @d3kstar @lewisvinga @lpab @queenofmanydreams @glitterf1 @honethatty12 @drunk-teens-doing-drugs @its-avalon-08 @yourbane @oconswrld @noneofyourfbusinessworld @ssrcsm @softtina @hockeyboysarehot @formulaal @namgification @tallrock35 @bloodyymaryyy @formulanni @ellouisa17 @phantomxoxo

[soaps-mohawk]

Okay so in case you were wondering why I turned anon off, and won't be turning it on probably for a while, I'm here to deliver receipts.

This is a long post so I'm putting it under a cut

There's been a few cases over the last week or so of people purposefully using other anon's emojis to send asks (not all of these were questionable or malicious. If you accidentally used one already claimed, this post is NOT about you.)

It was brought to my attention by a few anons that asks were sent that were not them. A lot of these asks weren't malicious or harassing which makes it hard to tell. As is the nature of anonymous asks, I cannot tell who sends them without some kind of sign-off or emoji, hence the use of emojis. While I believe not all of these were on purpose (see above), some of them absolutely were.

This started before the debacle about a week or so ago with ♾️ anon (which it has been confirmed that the person who asked to use that emoji was not behind the anonymous asks using that emoji) harassing me about not answering their ask. I took a screenshot of said ask, and this was what they were harassing me about

When I had anon on, I'd get a lot of asks. Sometimes as many as 20 or 30 a day. I am one person running this blog, and it takes me a while to get through asks sometimes. Most people who have ever sent asks to popular blogs (which still pains me to call this one popular) knows it can take sometimes days to get an answer because we get a lot of asks constantly.

Honestly, I wasn't going to answer this one anyway because...it's odd. Especially the timing because this was sent after chapter 29 was posted, right before chapter 30, in which neither chapter had smut in it. I know some people really love angst though so I didn't want to yuck anyone's yum, it was just very odd.

So, as I do, I start with the bottom of the inbox where the oldest asks are and I work my way up to the most recent (there are exceptions in the case of asks related to a post I just made, or asks that are easy to answer with just a few words or a gif versus a long thought out answer).

Anyway about a day after that ask was sent, I got others from that anon asking if I got their ask.

Then I made a post mid-breakdown about life sucking and the horrible position I was in (See here)

They then sent in THIS ask and got publicly shamed as they should.

A day or so goes by and I start to get a flood of asks in my inbox. Some are normal-ish, kind of odd but I'm used to kind of odd questions.

Then I start to get these

Obviously those aren't those anons. Figured that out pretty fast after a few hours of them sitting in my inbox.

Soon after I get this ask as I was getting ready for a job interview and went off because I was already stressed as fuck about the interview.

And then of course after I posted that I get this in response which I took a screenshot of and answered before blocking that anon.

And as I kind of had an inkling about, those asks above as well as several other strange ones in my inbox disappeared after blocking that anon. So it had been one perpetrator behind those at least (which was not the person who claimed that emoji that was a big misunderstanding on my part and that has since been solved and resolved.)

BUT that is not the end of this story.

As the weekend happens and the chapter is posted, I continue to get asks sent in by anons with emojis and continue to get messages from either anons saying they are that emoji anon and they didn't send that in, or those anons privately messaging me and saying they didn't send those in.

So we were having several cases of emoji stealing.

I also continue to get questionable, downright harassing asks, including these two.

That last one is what broke the camel's back and what made me turn anon off. I don't know if I'm the only one getting anons like this or if this is some new fart anon trend or what, but...look. I'm all for getting horny in my inbox. But things like this?? These kinds of things border on sexual harassment and honestly, they made me feel gross. I literally felt gross after reading those.

I don't mind being told a change of panties was necessary after smut chapters but after an angst chapter?? The timing of it was what made me suspicious. If they had sent that about three chapters ago I might not have looked twice at it.

You wanna tell me you had to pull out the willy stick for a chapter, cool. Just don't tell me what hole it was in and how long. I don't need to know that much detail. You wanna send that about fictional characters?? That's what we're here for. But I don't need to know that about YOU. I have boundaries and I'm going to add this to my rules list.

These asks definitely felt like someone very immature (and likely underage) sent them which makes me feel more disgusted about it.

I blocked that anon and the ones above. I just got pushed over the edge by people not being respectful and KNOWINGLY using others emojis making me not able to trust that an anon is who they claimed to be. Between that and the harassing asks above (which were just a select few) I decided to turn anon off indefinitely. Sorry to all my anons who aren't comfortable coming off anon but I just can't do it anymore. If you previously were an anon and are comfortable sending asks, you can still use your emoji. I don't mind that at all.

So yeah, that's the long story of why I turned anon off, and the receipts of the disgusting harassing asks I was getting. Hopefully having anon off indefinitely will make those sickos grow bored of waiting and force them to reevaluate their lives or mature enough to realize they were being stupid (cautiously hopeful but probably not.) If the internet has taught us anything, it's that trolls are gonna troll into adulthood and they will never reach the point of maturity to realize they're just being stupid. That's why they live in their parents' basement alone with no friends.

[coolemmasulivan2]

Love Wins (Even in Red) | 3

Pairing: Mason Mount x Reporter!Reader

Summary: Fate reunites them under the red lights of Old Trafford. Interviews are frosty, leaving people wondering why. Can Mason forgive Reader for something that happened in the past? Can she win Mason's heart and prove love wins even on red?

Word Count: 3526

Author's Note: You could read part 1 and 2 in my now old blog, but my account was closed by Tumblr, but I still wanted people to read part 3 (even if the other parts have died), so here it is. If you haven't read or don't remember the other parts, I think it's best not to read this one.

Thought you'd hate me, but instead you called And said, "I miss you", I caught it

Your shoes on her feet were pissing you off. Everything about her visit, the bad timing, the unwelcome reminder of the past, was starting to grate. Lily was your little sister, and despite the years of hurt and betrayal, a sliver of love still flickered within you. It would always be there, buried deep, but trust and affection? Those were long gone.

Across the table, your roommate glared at Lily with daggers for eyes. Clare wasn't happy about this surprise visit either and the way she chopped her steak said it all.

Clare's voice, sharp as a knife, cut through the awkward silence. "So, Lily, what brings you here?" 

Lily offered her a smile. "Oh, I just miss Y/n so much! And since she couldn't make it to my graduation, I thought I'd surprise her with a visit. You know, it's been ages!"

You scoffed internally. Lily wasn't the sentimental type, and affection had never been her strong suit. Neither had it been for the rest of your family.

"Right." She managed, forcing a neutral smile. You shot Clare a glance, hoping to restrain her hatred, but your roommate ignored you completely. "How long are you planning to stay?"

"Only three days!" Lily said. "I got a job back in London, going to start next week."

"Oh, that's good."

You stayed silent, picking at your food without much appetite. You could practically hear your mother's voice in your head: "Y/n, don't play with your food!" Your stomach was already churning from the earlier incident, and the awkward dinner atmosphere wasn't helping.

"Y/n? Did you hear me?"

You blinked, startled by your thoughts. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"Just wondering how things are going with you. Work? Everything alright?" Her voice dripped with a sweetness you found questionable. Was she mocking you? Or maybe trying to pry about how you were doing with Mason now that he was around?

Across the table, Clare let out a loud scrape as her knife snagged across her plate. The harsh sound did little to hide the tension radiating from her. You could practically see her clench her jaw, trying to control her anger.

"Everything's good," you mumbled, forcing a smile. You didn't want to get into a conversation, especially not with Lily. But the silence felt suffocating, so you offered a bland reply, hoping to deflect further questions.

The Christmas lights twinkled on the tree, casting a warm glow on the richly decorated table. You, recently graduated, sat across from your parents, a nervous excitement bubbling in your chest. You'd finally landed your dream job – a football reporter. Tonight, you wanted to share your accomplishment, to celebrate this pivotal moment in your life with your family.

"So, Y/n," your father started, "tell us all about this 'football reporter' job of yours. Sounds… interesting." His voice held a faint undercurrent of scepticism that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your smile was big. "It is, Dad! I get to meet incredible athletes, analyze the game from a different perspective, share the stories behind the players that make them human, not just statistics on a page…"

"The stories behind the players," your mother echoed, her perfectly manicured red nails tapping a rhythmic counterpoint against the tablecloth. "Like what, exactly? 'Football Star caught eating pizza before the big match'? Don't you think you could be using your talents for something… more important? A doctor, perhaps?"

The air hung heavy, the weight of their disapproval pressing down on you. "Mom, I love this job. It lets me be creative, connect with fans, capture the passion of the sport…"

"Creative?" Your mother mocked. "Medical school, that was clever. Imagine the impact you could've had as a doctor, Y/n, making a real difference in the world."

A heavy silence fell upon the table. Your mother pursed her lips, her disapproval a palpable presence. You glanced at your younger sister, Lily, who sat beside you, seemingly engrossed in her phone, like always.

"At least we still have Lily." Your father finally muttered, a hint of resignation in his voice. "She's on track to become a Lawer, just like we always hoped." His words, though apparently meant to be comforting, only deepened the depth that had grown between you and your family.

You sprawled on your bed, watching a random movie on TV. The awkward dinner had left a sour taste in your mouth, and the tension with Lily still crackled in the air. You sighed, a wave of exhaustion washing over you.

The door creaked open, and Clare poked her head in. Her usually bright eyes held a dark glint. "Can I please kill her?" she whispered, gesturing towards the living room where your sister was sleeping.

You chuckled, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "No, Clare, you can't kill her. She's still my sister, even if…" Your voice trailed off, searching for the right words.

Clare walked into the room, closing the door behind her and flopping dramatically onto the bed beside you. "Even if she's a… leech?"

A ghost of a smile played on your lips. "Something like that."

Clare propped herself up on one elbow, her gaze fixed on the flickering TV screen. "But seriously, why do you think she's here? The timing is awfully convenient, wouldn't you say."

You couldn't argue with that. "Maybe she just… missed me?" you offered, the doubt heavy in your voice.

Clare snorted, a skeptical eyebrow raised. "Honey, let's be real. Lily missing anyone besides her phone or free vacations? Not likely."

Her words were harsh, but they held a ring of truth. "So, what do you think she wants? You don't think…" you stammered, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the air.

"Think what?" Clare prompted, her gaze sharp. "That she's worried about the video being leaked, especially now that Mason plays for United and is practically your neighbour?"

You stared at the ceiling, the image of Mason's smile flashing before your eyes. The idea of Lily sabotaging your relationship with Mason once again filled you with a cold fury.

"Well," you finally said, your voice steely with resolve, "if that's her game, she's underestimated me. I won't let her hold this over my head anymore. It's my time to be happy."

Across the white tablecloth, Olivia's voice buzzed like a nervous bee. "So, my parents dragged me all the way from California to Manchester when I was eight. Talk about culture shock!" Her laugh, light and tinkly, didn't quite reach Mason.

His smile, felt heavy tonight. It was a mask hiding the knot of butterflies twisting in his stomach. The fancy lobster soup in front of him remained untouched, a sad contrast to the vivid picture playing on repeat in his head.

You! Your long hair illuminated by the warm sun, your eyes sparkling when talking about the things you liked and made you happy, your pink soft lips touching his. He could almost feel the warmth of your hands as they brushed against his cheeks, sending a shiver down his spine.

"It must've been tough." He said, moving uncomfortably in his chair.

Olivia, oblivious to his internal baggage, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "It was, but Manchester grew on you, you know? There's just this… vibe here. It's electric."

Mason forced a chuckle. Vibe! His brother loved throwing that word around. It was probably the same way he'd described the blind date he had set him up with – "She's got this great vibe, Mase, you'll love her!" But that wasn't what he was feeling.

"So, Mason…" Olivia continued, her smile fading under his distracted gaze. "Tell me about yourself. Is there anything you're passionate about outside of football?"

Mason blinked, pulled back from the memory of your face by Olivia's question. "Uh, well, football obviously takes up a lot of my time, but…" He trailed off, his mind searching for something, anything, to fill the silence. However, he knew he should end the dinner soon, it was not fair to Olivia. Your image always in his mind, vibrant and passionate, made it hard to stay present. "Olivia..." he started.

Olivia's smile faltered slightly, but she recovered quickly. "No worries, Mason. It's clear we're not really on the same page. It's fine."

A real smile finally broke through on Mason's face as they said goodbye. After paying the bill and making sure Olivia got a cab, a wave of relief washed over him. He pulled out his phone, his heart pounding, as he typed a single message to Bruno: "Can you send me Y/n's number?"

The sunlight sliced through the gap in your curtains as panic jolted you awake. A frantic glance at the old clock you still had on your nightstand confirmed your worst fear. You were late. Way late.

Your phone lay lifeless on the nightstand after a tense dinner with Lily. No phone alarm, no clue what time you'd fallen asleep, no idea if you'd missed any messages or calls. Mostly, you worried about work. Being late wasn't your thing.

Throwing off the covers, you launched into a record-breaking morning routine. You put on the first thing you pulled from the closet and practically ran out of the room, searching for your coat. 

A glance towards the kitchen caught you off guard. Breakfast sat on the table, a spread fit for a king compared to your usual morning routine. 

"Good morning!" Lily appeared with a glass of orange juice in her hand. You couldn't help but wonder if you even had oranges in the house.

"Hi," you mumbled, pulling your hair into a messy ponytail. "What's all this?"

She smiled, clearly proud of herself. "Breakfast, silly! Sit down and eat something."

The tempting aroma tickled your nose, but you couldn't. "I can't. I'm already late." You reached for your coat, glimpsing out the window to see that it was raining.

"Oh, I hoped we could talk," Lily said, a hint of disappointment in her voice. "You know... without Clare around."

"I'll be back later. We can talk then. Now I really have to go." You grabbed your bag and everything you needed, throwing a hurried goodbye over your shoulder.

"Have a nice day." 

Lily's words echoed in your ears as everything went wrong. You missed the bus, the rain hammered down as you stepped outside, and to top it all off, you'd left your phone uncharging at home in the morning chaos. By the time you finally reached your work, you were soaked to the bone.

When you were finally leaving work, one of your coworkers who witnessed your day of misfortune, took pity on you and offered you a ride home. At least something seemed to be going right. 

Stepping inside the house, the clean, fresh scent greeted you like a warm hug. Lily sat on the couch, laptop open on her lap and a smile on her face.

"Hi, big sis! How did your day go?"

You wanted to scream the first words that came to mind: awful, the worst, horrible. Instead, you settled for a simple, "Busy!"

"Did you clean?" You asked, gesturing to the spotless living room. She nodded. "You didn't have to."

"It's the least I could do."

"Well, thanks." You took your coat, hanging it by the door. "I'm going to take a shower and then we can talk about what you wanted to talk about this morning."

"Okay."

In your room, you tossed your bag onto the bed and flopped down, staring at the ceiling. It had been a long time since a day had gone so wrong, and all you wanted was to sleep and erase it from your memory. But Lily still wanted to talk.

With a sigh, you got up and spotted your phone, still dead, lying on the nightstand where you'd left it. You grabbed the charged cable from your bag and connected them, a flicker of life returning to the screen as the battery symbol lit up.

Grabbing some fresh clothes, you headed to the bathroom, letting the warm water wash away the stress. You didn't know how long you stood there, but eventually, the water grew lukewarm, and you stepped out.

Back in the living room, you dropped onto the couch, the TV playing some random show Lily had left on.

"So, what do you want to talk about?"

Lily closed her laptop and faced you, her expression serious. You mirrored her posture, sensing the conversation was going to be serious.

"Okay, so, I have some news I haven't shared with you." Confusion clouded your face. She shifted slightly, a sign of nervousness. "Well, I have a boyfriend."

You smiled. "Lily, you're a grown woman, you don't have to tell me about your boyfriends."

She stood up and walked over, sitting on the coffee table in front of you. "This time I do have to tell you." Your silence encouraged her to continue. "You see, it's a serious relationship and... We're engaged!"

Your jaw dropped. You were happy, but deep down there was also a sense of jealousy. So, she was supposed to be happy but you weren't, you thought to yourself. 

"I— I don't know what to say. Congrats!" You opened your arms for a hug, which she returned. "How— how long have you been dating him? I mean, what's his name?"

"His name is John. John Kingsley." Lily said a nervous smile on her face.

The name hung heavy in the air, a suffocating weight pressing down on you. Lily felt a sense of dread as she saw a flicker of recognition in your eyes, her nervous anticipation replaced by fear.

Blood roared in your ears, drowning out everything else. "Professor Kingsley?" you choked out, the words barely a whisper.

Lily's expression was replaced by a grimace of apology. "Yes!" She stammered. She knew the truth would explode, and the fear in your eyes was a reflection of her own.

"How could you?" you said, the anger you'd bottled up for three years finally bursting. "That video, of both of you, forced me away from Mason! He ruined my life!"

"It was not him that blackmailed us."

"Blackmail us? You mean Blackmailed me!" Tears welled up in Lily's eyes, but they did little to extinguish the fire in yours. "How could you even think about marrying-- How old is he?"

She'd known this anger was coming. She still remembered the fear and the disappointment in your eyes as you'd agreed to leave Mason and London behind.

"Y/n, I—" she started, but your voice cut through her like a knife.

"I had to leave Mason," you choked out, your voice thick with unshed tears. "I had to give up everything because of that video. And you're going to marry him?"

"Like I said, It wasn't him that blackmailed you."

The weight of your sacrifice, the years of unspoken hurt, crashed down on you like a tidal wave. "It doesn't matter, Lily! It was because of your video that they were able to blackmail me." You shouted. Lily reached for you, a silent plea for understanding, but you flinched away. "Don't touch me," you whispered, the words laced with ice.

"Y/n, please." she pleaded. "Let me explain."

"I don't want to hear it," you said, your voice trembling with the force you were trying to contain. "I want you to be happy, Lily. Seriously, I do. But I can't be a part of this. Not after everything you two did to me."

Without another word, you grabbed your coat and stormed out of the house. You slammed the front door shut, the rain hitting your face. Tears streamed down your cheeks, blurring the world around you. You didn't see the familiar car pull up in front of the house.

Mason.

He approached the house, unaware of your presence as you left the house. He quickly got out of the car, his concern etching on his face as he knocked on the door.

Lily opened the door, a flicker of surprise crossing both of their features. 

"Ahm-- Lily?" He said, unsure of the name. He had only met her once and she didn't exactly look like that young girl anymore.

"Mason? Hi. What are you doing here?" She looked nervous and looked like she'd been crying.

"I've been trying to reach Y/n, but her phone is off. I needed to talk to her."

Lily's eyes darted nervously around, avoiding his gaze. "She's not home."

Disappointment clouded Mason's face. "Oh, okay. I guess I'll try her again later. Thanks anyway." He turned to leave, his shoulders slumped.

But before he could disappear into the rain, Lily spoke up. "Wait, Mason. Can I talk to you for a minute?"

He stopped, and a flicker of confusion appeared in his eyes. "Sure." Lily stepped aside, guiding him into the house.

Your breaths mixed in the quiet aftermath, soft sighs escaping your lips. Mason traced a finger along your cheek, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"You know," he began, his voice husky with tiredness. "Spending time with you it's the best part of my day."

A shy smile bloomed on your face as you ran your fingers slowly on his chest. "Really?"

"Absolutely," he confirmed, his eyes searching yours. "I just... I really like you, Y/n. More than I thought possible."

Your heart skipped a beat. "I... I feel the same way," you confessed, your voice barely a whisper. "So," You murmured, your voice filled with unspoken hope. "What does that mean for us?"

He pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. "I think," He said, his voice gaining strength. "That maybe we should make things official. Be a couple, you know?"

Your eyes sparkled with joy. "I'd like that more than anything."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss.

Pushing open the front door, you were greeted by an unfamiliar darkness. The dining table was illuminated by the soft glow of two flickering candles, casting the rest of the house into darkness.

"Clare?" you called out, your voice echoing in the silence. No answer. You reached out to find the light switch, but there was no light when you clicked it.

"Clare's not home." a voice startled you from the shadows.

You felt relieved at the familiar voice, and for a moment, the intense emotions you were feeling were pushed aside. "Mason? What are you doing here?"

He stepped closer, the candlelight painting his features in a warm glow. "Been trying to reach you since last night." You remembered your phone, still charging on the nightstand. "Lily opened the door for me." You looked around for any sign of her and Mason could tell. "She's also not here. She left." Good, you thought. "She told me everything. About the video, the blackmail... Why didn't you tell me?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring the image of his concerned face. "I'm so sorry," you choked out, the apology tumbling from your lips before you could stop it.

He reached out, his fingers gently cupping your cheeks. "Why are you apologizing?"

"I shouldn't have ended things with you." You confessed, your voice thick with regret. "It was Lily's mistake. But then they blackmailed me and I couldn't... I did it to protect her. I had to."

His eyes softened with understanding. "I know. I understand." He said, his voice gentle. "Hell, I would have done the same for my family." The tears came harder then, a torrent of relief and regret. He pulled you close, his embrace a safe place in the darkness. You missed his hugs. "Don't cry, please." He murmured, his fingers stroking your hair. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry." You murmured against his chest. "I broke your heart and you didn't deserve it." 

"Stop that." He whispered. "Look, romantic dinner by candlelight wasn't exactly the plan, but the power's out, so..."

A choked laugh escaped your lips. "I missed you. Every single day." You admitted, the words tumbling out before you could hold them back any longer.

His smile, illuminated by the flickering candlelight, was the most beautiful thing you'd seen in days. "I missed you more." He confessed, his voice husky with emotion.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that tasted of forgiveness, relief, and a love that had never truly died. It was a slow, and tender kiss, filled with unspoken promises of a future where nothing, not blackmail, not family drama, would ever tear you apart again. As you pulled away, his hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away a stray tear.

"No more goodbyes, okay?" He said, his voice firm with resolve. "We'll face everything together. Always." You nodded, a new strength blooming in your chest. No more running, no more hiding. 

He leaned in once more, his eyes searching yours. "Mason?" You murmured. "I love you. I always did." 

"I love you too. Since the first moment that I saw you." You locked your arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. The future, with him by your side, was all that mattered now.

[slamminslamminmcgill]

Perrito: Chapter 1 - Lalo Salamanca/FTM Reader (NSFW!)

you were supposed to be doing 6 months in prison for drug possession and prostitution. that is, until you met lalo salamanca, and he decided to make you his puppy. for $10,000 a week, you were to wear a dog collar around your neck 24/7, and once he clipped the leash to you, you were to obey his every command. tags/warnings: petplay, dom/sub, bdsm, possessiveness, implied stalking, face slapping, praise kink, degradation/humiliation, oral sex, vaginal sex, squirting, needles/syringes/injections, medical exam, a few tiddlywinks of blood, non-consensual body modification (you'll see >:33) anatomical terms: cunt/pussy/hole, (t-)dick/cock words: 6,918 ao3 link author's notes: baby's first multichapter fic!!! had a LOT of ideas for this concept and im super excited to write more for this 🥺 y como siempre no soy un hablante nativo pero estoy aprendiendo. entonces por favor corríjame si se encuentra algo de errores :3

“Where do you see yourself in 5 years?”

A generic job interview question meant to gauge your desires and plans for the future. 5 years ago, you would’ve said the best case scenario would be a life of modest success and comfort. You would have never imagined that by this point in your life you’d be living in a lavish estate and making 10 grand a week. 

Let alone the fact that you were making 10 grand by wearing a dog collar for the drug cartel boss who owned said lavish estate. 

Whichever deity wrote your life story had a fucked up sense of humor. Your thread of life was being used to draw dicks on the tapestry of existence. You’d gotten great at lying to friends and family. As far as they knew, you were moving abroad to work as an on-call assistant for a shipping executive. You rationalized that it was technically true, but it was an egregious lie of omission. Don Eduardo Salamanca, or “Lalo” as he preferred, was a wealthy businessman; there was no denying that. Though your assistance was the furthest thing from business that anyone could fathom. It was a stable position that came with steady income, job security, and benefits. Sure, these benefits just so happened to include the best sex you’d ever had on the comfiest bed you’d ever touched, but that was neither here nor there. 

It all started how most job interviews go: prison. You were supposed to be doing 6 months for drug possession and prostitution, but Lalo took a liking to you the moment he saw you. He said that your skills would be highly valuable in an organization such as his, which was jobspeak for “I want to get my dick wet”. You thought he was talking out of his ass, but judging by the respect he got from your fellow inmates and even some of the guards, you took his word for it. He promised you a job when you both got out, if you’d take it. 

You agreed; it sounded a hell of a lot better than going back on the streets. He promised to set you up with his lawyer, who’d been working on a way to get him off. Luckily, the lawyer actually knew his shit. He had found some tiny loophole in your case and was able to get the charges dropped and your record expunged. Much to your surprise, Lalo was waiting outside the jailhouse to pick you up when you got out. He dropped you off at your place and gave you a week to get your affairs in order. Then, you’d be moving to his place across the border in Chihuahua, Mexico. 

The week after, he showed up at your apartment in a car that, if it could speak, would definitely call you poor. On the way to his house, you discussed the specifics of your position. 

“So!” Lalo declared in a cheerful voice as he adjusted the rearview mirror, “What do you remember from what we talked about?”

You combed through your memories, the many conversations you two had in the prison showers, cafeteria, and rec yard. “10 grand a week, I wear a dog collar 24/7, and when the leash is clipped to it, I’m working. When I’m working, you have full control over me, and I have to do everything you say. Is that right?”

“Yeah! There you go. That’s the gist of it.” Lalo affirmed, “But, you won’t have to do literally everything I say. If you’re uncomfortable, you have your signals, and I’m not gonna press your limits unless you say I can.”

That was one of the promises he’d made that had put your mind at ease. Discussing this over state-sanctioned lunch one day, he had asked you your boundaries, things that you would never ever do under any circumstances. He was receptive when you told him. Plus, he’d given you safewords to use: green for “I’m okay. Keep going.”, yellow for “Ease up a little bit.”, and red for “You need to stop everything right the fuck now.” There were also corresponding hand signals in case you couldn’t talk: 3 fingers up for green, 2 for yellow, and 1 for red. 

“Right, yeah. Thank you for that.” You said. 

“Ah, don’t be silly. You don’t have to thank me. I want you to enjoy this. It’s a lot more fun for me if I know you’re having fun.” He patted your shoulder, “And, if you want to really have fun,” and squeezed it tighter than you expected, “you can talk back once in a while. You can be a naughty little puppy, if you want, but you’d better be prepared for discipline. So make sure you know what you’re getting into, alright?” He put his hand back on the wheel.

That was generally good life advice, but you’d be lying if you said you knew entirely what you were getting into. “Alright, sure. Fair enough.” You gazed out the window at the desert terrain. Nothing but cacti and sand for miles and miles. You’d weren’t entirely sure which side of the border you were on anymore, or if it even mattered. “Question,” you posed. 

“Yeah?” Lalo prodded. 

“So, like… what am I supposed to call you while we do this? Just Lalo, or…?” Your voice trailed off, as if you were expecting a different answer out of him. 

“Oh, good question! I was actually getting to that. Such a smart boy.” He laughed and ruffled your hair, making you jump a little in your seat. His touch felt nice, but it was definitely something you’d have to get used to. You probably shouldn’t react that strongly every time. “You can call me Lalo when the leash is off, but if it’s on, you need to be professional. If you’re working, you call me ‘Don Eduardo’, ‘sir’, ‘master’, ‘señor’, ‘jefe’, or ‘patrón’. Those last two basically mean ‘boss’. Make sense?”

Sense was made. “Yeah, alright. Easy enough.” 

“Very good. And how’s your Spanish?”

You shrugged, “Mediocre at best. I can understand more than I speak.”

Lalo chuckled, “Well, I appreciate the honesty. I’ll have to teach you to speak it, then, no worries. Also, if the leash is on and I have you speaking Spanish, call me usted, not tú. That’s just when you’re working, though. Es formal, ¿comprendes? (It’s formal, understand?)”

Okay, sure, you could do that. It might take you a bit to figure out, but you’d get there. “Sí, yo comprendo. (Yes, I understand.)”

“Bueno. Now, what can I call you?” Lalo poked you in the arm, “And I don’t just mean your name.”

Your first thought was an idiot. That seemed like a fitting label for someone in your predicament. Thankfully, your second thought was much more receptive. “Well, uh… what did you have in mind? I’m pretty open.”

“Oh ho, you wanna hear what I think of you? I got a whole list of ‘em in mind. They might not all be flattering, just so you know.”

You secretly hoped they wouldn’t be. “That’s fine. Go for it.”

“Well, there’s the animal related ones. Puppy, dog, perro, cachorro (puppy), and then variants of those like doggy and perrito. Reminds you what you are to me, y’know? There’s also other animal terms like conejito (bunny) and osito (little bear). Basically, anything that lets you know how cute you are.” He reached over to pinch your cheek. 

You giggled. The attention and praise was definitely a perk to this whole arrangement. “That all sounds good.”

“And, if you’re a naughty little puppy.” His tone darkened to a rich growl and he dragged his hand down to your upper thigh, squeezing it hard before he spoke, “I may call you chucho, or a dirty little mutt.” He spat that last word at you with mock disdain. 

The idea of him changing up like that, getting rough with you, putting you in your place, that was another perk. Honestly, you weren’t sure if you were more excited for the praise or the punishment. “Oh… Oh wow…”

He leaned in closer to you, his breath hitting your face. You wondered how he could watch the road like that, but maybe that’s why he drove you through the middle of nowhere. In his mind, you were the only thing worth watching. “You like that?”

“Yeah…”

He showed you how quick he could change by pulling back and switching back to his friendly tone. He gave you whiplash, but not from how he was driving. “Good! ‘Cause I got more. You’re okay with me being mean to you?”

You were more than okay with it, especially if he would say it in that same sexy tone. “Yeah, I mean, like, just don’t call me a girl and you can pretty much say whatever you want.”

“Heh, I’ll keep that in mind.” He patted your thigh before putting his hand back on the wheel once more. 

A few more hours, a few more rest stops, and a few more hundreds of miles, and you pulled up to what looked more like a military base than your future home, complete with friendly, welcoming armed guards and a concrete wall topped with warm, fuzzy, barbed wire. 

Actually, the armed guards were friendly and welcoming, once they realized who was coming at least. Lalo rolled down his window and spoke to a man with a ponytail, who greeted him with a smile. 

“¡Buenas tardes, señor! (Good afternoon, sir!)” He pointed at you in the passenger seat and leaned on the window. “Ooh, ¿es este el nuevo chico? ¡Él es más lindo de lo que usted dijo! (Ooh, is that the new kid? He’s cuter than you said!)” Apparently, his other employees referred to him with the same formalities.

“¡Ay, ay! ¡Mucho ojo, cabrón! (Ay, ay! Watch it, asshole!)” He laughed and pushed him off the side of the car. “Pero sí, es él. Parece un buen chico, ¿verdad? (But yeah, that’s him. He looks like a good boy, right?)” He turned to you. “This is Miguel. He’s one of the guards I have working here.”

Your eyes were fixated on the gigantic rifle across the man’s chest, enough so that you forgot your vocabulary from Spanish 101. “Bien a… bien a conocerte? (Nice to… Nice to meet you?)”

The two men laughed, but you could tell it was all in good fun. Lalo smiled, “Ah, tan tonto… (Ah, so silly...)” and petted your hair again as he corrected you. “You’re kinda right, but ‘Mucho gusto’ is what you’re trying to say, mijo (my boy).”

You blushed the tiniest bit and course-corrected. “Oh, lo siento. ¡Mucho gusto, Miguel! (Oh, sorry. Nice to meet you, Miguel!)”

“Igualmente, chiquito. (Likewise, kiddo.)” Miguel turned around and punched in a code on the keypad. “Listo, patrón. (All set, boss.)” Another term you shared for him. 

“¡Bien! ¡Gracias! (Nice! Thank you!)” Lalo waved him off as he pulled through the gate. He could see the tension in your face and slung his arm over your shoulder. “What, did the gun freak you out? Ah, don’t worry about that. He’s just compensating for something, y’know?” That got a hearty snort from you. “Nah, but really, he’s a nice guy. All of my people are great. I told them all about you, y’know.” He drove up to a spot in his massive driveway and parked the car.

His last statement tied your stomach into a knot. You couldn’t imagine facing an entire army of employees, your potential coworkers, knowing what they knew. “Uh… all about me? Like… what exactly?”

Lalo turned the car off and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Well, basically, your personality, your looks, how we met, and what you’ll be doing here. They don’t need to know all the details. Just enough to know what to expect, right?” 

You unbuckled yours as well, even though you were now mortified to step out of the car. “What I’ll be doing here? How the hell did you explain that?”

Lalo waved off your concerns, “Oh, what, are you worried about? That they’re gonna judge you for it? Don’t be silly! They know better than that. Honestly, they’re all psyched to meet you. Now, c’mon, you’ll see what I mean!” He opened his door and saw you reach for yours, “No, no, let me get that for you, sweetheart.” He stepped out of the car and walked around to your side, opening your door and offering his hand for you to take.

“Thanks.” You gave him a timid smile as you took his hand and stepped out. Sure enough, a couple steps later and you saw an eager crowd of people waving you over. 

Lalo raised the hand you were holding and called out to the crowd as he approached, “¡Aquí él está! Entonces, tengo suerte, ¿o qué? (Here he is! So, am I lucky or what?)” He let go of your hand and patted you on the back. Knowing his ego, he definitely wanted to show you off. 

An older woman was the first to answer him with a voice that sounded like how fresh baked cookies smelled. “Claro, tienes razón, mijo. (Of course, you’re right, my boy.)” She approached you and held her arms out for a hug, which you graciously accepted. “¡Bienvenidos, querido! Estamos encantados de tenerte aquí. (Welcome, dear! We’re happy to have you here.)” she said, hugging you with all the love in her heart. Oh, god, that wasn’t his mother, right? You dreaded to think of how that conversation must have gone.

Lalo introduced her as she let go of you, “This is Yolanda. She’s my housekeeper, cook, and the reason why I have such a fat belly!” He laughed and patted his stomach, clearly exaggerating. In reality, he was only slightly pudgy, but hey, you liked a man with a little squish. Much better to cuddle with. “Let me tell you, she looks sweet, but her cooking is dangerous. I’m told she's got something great planned for us, you’ll see.”

A young man, even younger than you were, raised his hand to ask a question. He looked tense, probably afraid to speak out of turn. “Uh, perdón, ¿señor? ¿Él habla español? (Uh, excuse me, sir? Does he speak Spanish?)”

Lalo scoffed, “¿Por qué te importa a tí? ¿Qué, le vas a decir que huir? (Why do you care? What, you gonna tell him to run?)” He was staring him down like he was trying to melt an ant with a magnifying glass. The kid looked like he was about to piss his pants, he was so nervous. Suddenly, Lalo burst out laughing and flicked the boy’s forehead. “¡Ah, solo te estoy jodiendo, chamaco! (Ah, I’m just fucking with you, kid!)” He then turned back to you. “This is Ciro. He’s another one of the guards here, believe it or not with a babyface like that. He was asking if you speak Spanish.”

“Oh! Hi! Uh…” You took a moment to think of an answer for him, “Comprendo más que yo hablo. Solo hablo un poquito. (I understand more than I speak. I only speak a little.)” You glanced over at Lalo, who gave you a thumbs up. 

Lalo snapped at him, both physically and verbally, though his words had an edge of sarcasm to them. “Entonces, no le digas algo estúpido a él. ¿Entiendes? (So, don’t say anything stupid to him. Understand?)”

Ciro nodded, “Sí, señor. Entiendo. (Yes, sir. I understand.)”

“Bueno. Pues ve a llevar sus cosas a mi habitación. Tiene dos maletas en la cajuela. (Good. Then go take his things up to my room. He’s got two suitcases in the trunk.)” Lalo patted the boy on the shoulder and handed him the keys. 

“Si, señor. (Yes, sir.)” Ciro replied before he ran off to get your bags from the car. 

While he was doing that, Lalo took the time to introduce you to his remaining staff: Cecilio, the gardener, and the other two guards, Herardo and Raul. Everyone seemed like decent, hardworking people, and you couldn’t wait for dinner tonight. After having said your hellos, Lalo said there was one more person you had to meet, a visitor, and he was waiting in the living room. 

Lalo led you into the house, guiding you with his hand on the small of your back. To the right of the foyer was the living room, where sure enough, someone was waiting for you: an older man in a white lab coat. A doctor?

“So!” Lalo gestured to the man standing before you. “This is Dr. Cruz. He’s been with my family for years. Actually, he helped deliver my little cousins Marco and Leonel when they were born, so we have a lot of trust in him. I just brought him in today to give you a quick checkup and see that you’re fit to work. Is that okay?” 

A physical? That seemed pretty excessive, but this was a new job, at the end of the day. You figured it wasn’t entirely abnormal. “Uh… yeah! Sure. I think I’m actually due for one, anyway.”

Dr. Cruz smiled at you. “Great. I just need to talk to Lalo here for one second, and then we can get started. Please, have a seat on the couch. I think that will be the best place for everything. It’s a pleasure to meet you, by the way.”

You returned the smile. “You too.”

As you sat down on the examination couch, Dr. Cruz walked Lalo over into the next room. You could hear bits and pieces of what they were saying, but you couldn’t decipher any of it. He spoke in a hushed voice. “Está seguro que yo no pueda disuadir a usted de esto? (Are you sure that I can’t talk you out of this?)”

Lalo responded at the same volume. “Estoy seguro. No quiero que él se pierda. Te pagaré doble por el molestia. (I’m sure. I don’t want him to get lost. I’ll pay you double for the inconvenience.)”

The doctor sighed. “Bien. Entonces… (Alright. So…)” He put on a friendly grin as he walked back over to you. He reached into a bag that was sitting on the coffee table and started pulling things out. Needles, syringes, bandages, alcohol wipes, and some other medical supplies you couldn’t quite name. Then, he pulled out a file and handed it to you. “These are your medical records from your time in MDC Albuquerque. Would you just tell me if the information here is up to date?”

You briefly wondered how in the hell he was able to get his hands on those, but hey, the cartel family doctor probably had connections. You scanned over a list of medications, vaccinations, diagnoses, allergies. Everything was correct. “Yeah. Looks good.” You said plainly and handed the file back to him.

“Alright, perfect.” Dr. Cruz accepted the file from you and placed it back in his bag. “Now, we need to take some blood to run labs. Just to make sure that nothing has changed and that you’re clear for work. Don’t worry, we won’t need much. Just a finger stick will be enough.”

Bloodwork? That seemed excessive too. But, come to think of it, you’d basically be sucking Lalo’s dick for a living. He probably wanted to make sure you wouldn’t give him anything. “Okay, yeah. Hit me.” You held your hand out. 

Dr. Cruz snapped some gloves on before he grabbed your wrist and stamped the needle into your fingertip. You winced at the stab, but it was over in a flash. Then, he milked your finger to get some blood, enough to fill up a small vial. “This will be used for STI testing. We’ll have the results back in a few days, but we’ll only call if you test positive for something. As far as we’re concerned, no news is good news.” Once the vial was full, he capped it and bandaged you up. He put the vial in a bag, sealed it, and stored it with the rest of his equipment. “Okay, last thing on the agenda. Your records state that you’re due for a tetanus shot. It’s a big injection, so I’ll have to numb you first. The injection site will bruise and be sore for about a day or two. Now I’m sure this is probably different from how they do it in the states, but this is how it’s done in Mexico.”

“Oh, really? Interesting.” You pondered, none the wiser to your boss’s plan. He’d exploited your naivete and trust in him to get you to do this, and it worked like a charm. You had no clue. “Yeah, I mean, if I’m due for it, might as well.” You rolled up the sleeve for your non-dominant arm.

“Perfecto.” Dr. Cruz said as he grabbed your forearm. He sanitized the underside of your bicep with an alcohol wipe. “First is the local anesthetic. Tiny pinch, but then you won’t feel a thing when we do the second one.” He positioned the syringe just below your muscle. “I’m gonna have you breathe in and out twice, and on the second exhale I’ll inject. You ready?”

“Yep.” You said, closing your eyes and calming your nerves.

“Alright. Breathe in…” Inhale.

“And out…” Exhale.

“And in…” Inhale.

“And out…” Exhale. Pinch. 

“Beautiful. Now, it’ll take about 30 seconds for the numbing to kick in. I’d advise that you keep your eyes closed while I prepare the vaccination. The needle size may frighten you.” 

“Sure thing.” You obliged, keeping your eyes closed and your arm out. You could hear the doctor rifling through his bag, unwrapping sterile equipment and popping containers open. It was hard to picture exactly what he was setting up, but you could tell he was done when he grabbed your forearm again. “Can you feel me touching you?” He asked. “Not where I’m holding you, I mean right here.” He poked your bicep again, not that you knew, of course.

“Where?” You asked. 

Dr. Cruz chuckled. “Okay, you’re numb. Now, same thing as the last one. I’m gonna have you take a deep breath twice before I stick you. Ready?”

“Yep.” You repeated.

“Breathe in…” Inhale.

“And out…” Exhale.

“And in…” Inhale.

“And out…” Exhale. You didn’t feel a pinch this time.

“Amazing. You can open your eyes.” As you did, you watched Dr. Cruz set the syringe on the coffee table and grab some gauze. He debriefed you as he wrapped it around your bicep. “The numbing will last for a few hours, so it’ll probably wear off in your sleep. You may bruise and be a bit sore tomorrow morning, and you can take the gauze off then as well. Try not to overwork the muscle for a day or two.” He taped the gauze to secure it, then patted you on your shoulder. “And you are good to go, my friend. I wish you all the best in your new position.”

You gave him a friendly smile. “Sounds good! Thanks so much!”

“No problem. I’d say see you around, but hopefully you won’t have to deal with me too much.” He laughed as he finished packing his bag. Once he was done, he grabbed it and turned over his shoulder to Lalo, “Y enviaré a usted la factura mañana. Me llame si él se molesta. (And I’ll send you the bill tomorrow. Call me if he has any problems.)”

“Claro. Gracias otra vez. (Of course. Thank you again.)” Lalo replied as he led the doctor outside, patting him on the back for a job well done. He shut the door, and finally, finally, he could focus on you, and he was chomping at the bit to get started.  “Alright! We’re good to go! Got the formalities out of the way, so now,” He sauntered over to you, swaying his hips as he walked. When he got to you, he snaked his hands behind your back and grabbed your ass. “Now, we can put you to work.”  You barely had time to react before he let you go, but not before giving you a playful spank. “Follow me, doggy.”

You squeaked at the literal pet name. Being ordered around by him felt better than you thought it would. This was going to be amazing. He led you up the stairs to his bedroom, though you were practically chasing him up with how excited you were. When you arrived, he closed the door behind you two. “Stay right here.” Lalo commanded. He walked over to the dresser and opened a fancy box that sat atop it. You heard the clinking of metal, and when he turned around, he was holding a black leather collar in one hand, and a chain leash in the other. You beamed at the sight of it. This is what you were here for. You couldn’t wait. You’d be such a good boy. Lalo knew that, but still, he had to ask. “You ready, puppy?”

“Yes, sir!” You responded cheerfully.

Lalo smiled and fastened the collar around your neck. His calloused fingers swept your hair out of the way; his hot breath billowing against your sensitive skin. It was intense. You could feel your thoughts fading away as you focused on getting into your new role; a cute, silly little puppy. You closed your eyes and let the warmth of his embrace dress you up. 

Lalo cupped your face in his hands and pressed a kiss to your forehead, whispering sweet nothings in his native tongue as he petted your hair and scratched behind your ears. “Oh, mi chico hermoso, eso es. Se veas perfecto con ese collar. Es como tú has nacido para ser mi perrito. Vas a ser un buen chico para mi, ¿verdad? ¿Vas a hacer lo que yo digo? Oh, sí, sí, buen chico. (Oh, my beautiful boy, that’s it. You look perfect in that collar. It’s like you were born to be my puppy. You’re gonna be a good boy for me, right? You’re gonna do what I say? Oh, yes, yes, good boy.) Such a good boy.”

Your head lulled from side to side, following his gentle touch. As he pulled back, your eyelids lifted up, and you saw his gorgeous face. Dark brown eyes half-lidded, his mouth curled into a smile. You were so happy to see him. You really did feel like a puppy, so bubbly and playful at the sight of their master. You gave him a goofy grin and said, “Hi…”, one of only a few words left in your brain.

“Hi, puppy.” Lalo cooed as he caressed your cheek. “You ready to get started for real?”

You nodded. You’d been ready for hours.

“Bueno.” Lalo hummed as he clipped the leash on your collar. Thus began the start of your first shift. You were working now. Henceforth, you were at his beck and call, his perfect little lapdog. “Now, I’m gonna teach you some tricks. I’ll say them in English and Spanish so you learn a bit. Okay?”

You giggled, already feeling hazy and obedient. “Okaaay…”

“Perfecto. Entonces… (Perfect. Now…)” Lalo backed off you to straighten his posture, and pulled the leash taut. “Siéntate. Sit.”

You dropped to your knees without a second thought and gave him a cherubic smile. If you had a tail, it’d definitely be wagging. You were anxious to make him proud of you.

���Good boy! So smart!” Lalo praised as he crouched down on one knee and held out his hand. “Dame la pata. Shake.”

You laid your hand in his and waited for your next command.

“Bueno. ¿Puedes hablar? Can you speak for me, boy?”

You could. Barely. “Yes, Don Eduardo.”

Lalo smirked and shook his head. “Oh, no no no. Not like that, mijo. Like a dog. Habla. Speak. Let me hear you bark, okay?”

You blushed, but you wanted to be a good boy. And good boys do as they’re told, no matter how embarrassing it may be. “Woof! Woof!”

Lalo couldn’t help but laugh. You were just so cute! “Oh, that’s perfect! Good boy!” He kissed your forehead again before standing up. He tugged the leash to get your attention. “Stand up. Levántate. Two legs.”

You rose to your feet and stood upright, hoping it wouldn’t be for too long. It was hard to act like a puppy when you were standing like a person.

Lalo could read your mind. His next command solved the problem you were thinking of. “All fours. Cuatro patas.”

You smiled and went down on your hands and knees for him.

He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on the leash. “Ven aquí. Come here.” 

You crawled over to him and knelt between his legs. Instinctively, you rested your hands on his thighs, before realizing he didn’t tell you to touch him. You started to pull away, but Lalo interrupted you.

“You can keep them there. That’s fine.” He traced his fingers from your collar up to your chin and tilted your face up to his. “You’re a real lapdog, aren’t you? You want your master to take care of you, right boy?”

You nodded.

Lalo tugged the leash and gave you a firm command. “Habla. Speak.”

“Woof!”

He snickered again. God, you were just perfect for this. “Oh, good boy. I’m gonna have so much fun with you.” He tapped his hand on the bed. “Arriba. Up. Up on the bed, and then get in my lap.”

You crawled onto the bed, the smile never breaking from your face as you sat in his lap. Lalo’s hands dragged down your back, mapping the curves of your hips. He took his time admiring his new pet. “You can use words now, puppy. ¿Quieres tu patrón que te haga sentir bien? (You want your master to make you feel good?)” 

You whimpered and nuzzled into his neck, trying to translate and then answer him in Spanish. “S-Sí, patrón… (Y-Yes, master…)”

Lalo’s hand made its way back up your spine, your breath shuddering as he traced his finger up. “Mírame. Look at me.” He took a handful of your hair and tugged your head off his shoulder. You let out a soft gasp and met his gaze. He was staring you down. Before, you’d felt calmed and nurtured by his attention. At this moment, you felt weak. Exposed. He was just so intimidating. He had you quite literally in the palm of his hand, right where he wanted you. He kept you waiting for longer than you would have liked, almost like he was sizing you up, trying to see when you’d break. Once your anxiety reached its peak, he pressed his lips against yours.

You sighed into the kiss and collapsed onto him, your arms slumping onto his shoulders, gripping his silk shirt. Lalo’s lips enveloped yours, his tongue pushing inside your mouth to swipe across your own. His teeth tugged your bottom lip. Since he was holding onto you by your hair, he slipped his hand through the loop of the leash and let it explore, groping your chest, your ass, your thighs, eventually letting his hand rest on your front between your legs, cupping you through your jeans. 

Even though you were the dog, you praised your master, “Oh, fuck, Lalo...”

Your master yanked your hair back and reprimanded you. “No, no. You’re working. What’s my name?”

Panting like the dog you were, you tried to parse the meaning of his question. When you got it, you said it. “Don Eduardo…”

Lalo confirmed your answer, “Good boy,” and took your lips back in his. He released his grip on your hair and moved to unbutton your shirt, unwrapping you like a gift with his name on it, “Oh, chico, you have no idea how much I missed this.” He placed an open mouth kiss on your neck, just above the collar, “I missed that tight little hole,” and on the other side, “Always so wet and needy for me,” and bit down enough to leave you with a glaring mark. 

You wanted to moan his name again, but hesitated. Lalo seemed to roll off the tongue more easily than Don Eduardo, especially when you lacked the brainpower to talk more than absolutely necessary. Thankfully, you recovered. “La-ah… oh, fuck, patrón…”

Lalo peeled your shirt off and let it fall to the floor. “Yeah?” He asked, biting on the other side of your neck. “You like that, puppy? Habla.”

This time, your bark wasn’t loud and confident. It was akin to the yip of an overstimulated Pomeranian. “W-Woof, woof…” you whimpered. 

“That’s it…” He pried himself from your neck and tugged the leash. “Date la vuelta. Roll over. On your back.” 

You scurried off his lap and onto the full expanse of the mattress, flopping onto your back with your knees propped up. It was much softer than the prison bed you two were on last time you did this. Lalo climbed over you and worked your pants off, then everything of his except his boxers. He pushed your legs apart and smiled at the visible wet spot in your underwear. 

“Aw, perrito, look at you! I got you all worked up, huh?” He was honestly one to talk, judging by the tent in his boxers, but you weren’t about to argue, especially when his face was mere inches away from your core. Lalo slid your underwear off and threw it over his shoulder. He laid down on his stomach and pushed your thighs up to your chest, revealing your weeping, aching hole. He bit his lip at the sight, and flicked his eyes up to yours. “It’s good to see you again.” He said before diving in headfirst.

You gasped as his tongue swiped up and down your cunt, lapping up as much of your wetness as he could. He pulled away to warm you up some more, leaving wet kisses and sharp bites on your squishy thighs. The teasing made you whine, though not as loudly as he’d like. He took your t-dick into his mouth and started to suck, which gave him the exact response he was looking for.

“Ah! F-Fuck! Fuck!” You cried as your hands scrambled for something to hold on to. One found the sheets, and the other his hair. Keeping him still, you bucked your hips up and started to fuck his mouth, whimpering pure nonsense the whole time. Just combinations of “please”, “fuck”, “more", and the cutest little sounds he’d heard in a while. 

Lalo let you have your fun. He even winked at you, which you interpreted as a signal for “Yeah, you like that?” He took one of his hands off your thighs and brought it down. You didn’t realize why, until you heard some soft grunting. You felt the mattress bounce, just a tiny bit, and strong vibrations against your cock. He was stroking himself, feverishly so, to the point where he couldn’t take it anymore. 

Lalo ripped his head up and gasped for air. “Dios mío… (My god…)” He laughed breathlessly before getting off the bed and tugging his boxers down. “I hate to rush this, but… I don’t think either of us can wait any longer.”

He was right, of course. You’d been waiting for this moment ever since you got out of prison. No bars, no guards, no spectators, no worries. Just him filling you up and fucking you into the rest of your life, a life of luck, luxury, and lust. He hopped back onto the bed and positioned himself in front of you. You held your legs open for him, making it easy for him to slide inside. He gripped the base of his cock, and looked into your eyes for approval. You nodded, and he pushed in.

The sensation of being full was too much for you to keep quiet. Reflexively, you moaned his name. “Oh! Lalo! La-ah!” Your praise for him was cut short by a slap across the face.

“No! Bad boy!” He tugged you up by the leash to face him. “I told you, you’re working. And what’s my name when you’re working?” He snarled.

You hastily corrected your mistake. “Don Eduardo! Don Eduardo! I’m sorry, Don Eduardo!”

“Much better.” Lalo lessened his grip on the leash, allowing you enough slack to fall back against the pillow and hook your legs around his waist. He gave you a hard thrust, making sure he bottomed out inside you. Then another. And another, until he had a good rhythm going. His efforts earned him a slew of pathetic babbling from you.

“Don Eduardo! Don Eduardo! Ah! Fuck…! Fuck me! Please!”

As much as he loved hearing you beg, he didn’t want you bossing him around. He was the master here, not you. You were his dog, his bitch. He lowered himself down, pressing his elbows into the mattress, and shut you up with a kiss. You hugged him tight, whining into his mouth as he rutted inside you. He pulled away and growled into your ear. “Eso es. Tómalo. Tómalo, puto. Eres mío. Eres mío y de nadie más. Perteneces a mí, y voy a follarte como la perra que eres. (That’s it. Take it. Take it, whore. You’re mine. You’re mine and no one else’s. You belong to me, and I’m gonna fuck you like the bitch you are.)

You couldn’t hear a word he was saying over your own cries and the obscene sounds your bodies made. He held you tight against him as he used your body like a toy. You couldn’t move or fight him off, not that you’d want to, but you were completely powerless, and in turn, he had complete power over you. From now on, at any time he wanted, he could clip a leash onto your collar and take you for himself. You’d spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, knowing that you could be stripped naked and fucked senseless at any moment. Exhilarating, thrilling, intoxicating, none of these words seemed to fully encapsulate what you were feeling.

You choked on his formal title as you pleaded for mercy, mercy that you didn’t expect to get. “D-Don Eduardo! Don Eduardo! I’m gonna…! Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

“Oh, already? Is that right?” Lalo sneered and slithered one of his hands in between you two. He gripped your dick and started to stroke it, knowing that was the key to making you break. “Do it then! C’mon, puppy! Be a good boy and cum for me!” 

You didn’t need him to tell you twice, or even once, for that matter. You orgasmed on his command, squirting hard enough to force his cock out of you. You sobbed into his shoulder, overwhelmed and overstimulated, clinging to him for support through it all. When it was over, you collapsed back against the bed, gasping for air and relief.

Lalo sat up for a moment, admiring how beautiful you looked when you were too pleasured to think: your face flushed, chest rising and falling, tongue hanging out of your mouth. You really were like a puppy, all tuckered out from playtime. It was adorable. 

You stared up at the ceiling as you basked in the afterglow of climax. It was like lying on the beach at sunset. The warmth of your body heat being cooled by the dots of sweat on your brow; the oxytocin flooding your brain like waves on the shore. Blissful. Peaceful. Serene.

Yet you had no vacation time left to use. You were called in to work by your master slamming his cock into you and bringing you back to reality. You yelped and stared up at him in shock as he pumped in and out of your abused hole.

“What?” He scoffed. “What did you expect, doggy? You’re not finished ‘til I finish.”

You weren’t sure how many times he made you cum that night, but the last thing you remember was dozing off with his seed spilling out of you.

–

You woke up the next morning in Lalo’s bed, alone. On his pillow, there was a note. You reached for it and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes to read it. It said: 

Good morning, puppy! Great job yesterday! Come to the kitchen when you’re awake and I’ll cook you breakfast. 

XOXO,

Lalo.

You smiled. He was so sweet. You folded the note and stretched to put it on the nightstand, but suddenly, you felt a jolt of pain in your bicep. Right, the tetanus shot. The numbing had worn off. Oh well, at least you could take the gauze off by now. You unwrapped your arm, and just as you suspected, there was a nasty bruise at the injection site. Going against better judgment, you pressed down on the mark. Something you felt shocked you enough to recoil, not the tender bruise itself, but rather the foreign object implanted underneath it.

That’s when it hit you. 

When Lalo said you were gonna be his dog, he meant it. You were to be collared and at his beck and call 24/7, and in return he’d give you food, water, a place to live, companionship, everything a responsible dog owner should provide.

And what else do responsible owners do for their dogs?

They microchip them so they can’t run away.

[theretirementstory]

13/10/2024. Bonjour and bienvenue from my garden. The past two summers have seen the garden neglected due to my ill health, ok so the gardener and my neighbour mowed the grass but nothing was done with the borders. I had plans for these areas but having neither the strength nor the time (due to appointments) these plans were shelved. The gardener this year has been mowing the weeds (and plants 😳) down in the borders, which was very kind but I needed the weeds covered to avoid them growing in the first place! Anyway, this week, a new lease of life came over me and out I went to lay cardboard and bark onto these areas. Now this is not as simple as it sounds, as due to low platelets, I had to be careful that using the scissors (can’t use a Stanley knife) to cut the cardboard didn’t result in a blister. Even wearing gardening gloves this can still easily happen. So it has been slow and steady progress.

As well as grabbing 40 minutes here and there I have still had the “normal” tasks to contend with. The nurse coming in three mornings this week to clean and dress PICC line, administer injections and take blood.

These jobs have specific days, hence three times a week. Due to the unpredictable weather no washing was done until yesterday, which fortunately dried outside.

Pauline came to see me on Monday, I had been quite involved in my jigsaw so it was a nice break to sit and chat. She arrived with a mega downpour of rain, plus a bag full of apples courtesy of grandma’s garden. Grandma had also let her come in her car. While chatting she told me her grandma isn’t keen to let her use the car, she can’t understand why as she has only scraped it a couple of times 🙈. She had a job interview on Wednesday but unfortunately was unsuccessful this time.

I had my hair appointment on Tuesday and the walk into town was lovely. Obviously I don’t have a lot of hair yet but it was starting to look “frizzy” so I wanted that sorted out, which my wonderful coiffeuse did. I called and did my shopping on the way back home, so killing two birds with one stone. I couldn’t settle in the afternoon so went outside to sort the cardboard for the potager and used the off cuts to cover some of the weedy ground in the back and put the bark on top. I was proud of my achievement.

So this has been the theme for Wednesday and Thursday. In between the rain showers I have been busy working on the borders.

Anie messaged on Thursday evening to see if she could come down, she had some apples for me. Yes folks, more apples! There is only so much stewed apple, apple crumble etc that one can eat and the freezer is filling up with bags of apple slices. Anyway it is very kind.

Friday saw me in Troyes for my transfusion and the less said about that the better! I will just add that at this point in time I don’t have an appointment for next week 😫.

With one jigsaw finished it was time to start on another. I would have liked to just sit and work at it yesterday, but I had a list of jobs to be done. The only things that were done were washing, phoning my elderly cousin in London and taking her shopping order for a quick delivery. Plus in a final flurry I managed to peel, core and stew the apples Anie had brought me.

I could spend my days ringing friends and family and although it’s good to talk it can be a strain when I have other jobs to do. It’s the same with messages, don’t get me wrong I love hearing from people but I really need to do a list so that I reply to people and not forget anyone!

I still haven’t done the letter to the “knitting group” so that’s another job to be done. I did take the car for a drive around the estate yesterday, also moved some items from the garage, put a few things back in and discovered that there isn’t anymore cardboard in there 😫, that means I need to call into the paint and auto body shop to see if I can have a couple of boxes that have had windscreens in. They can only say no, can’t they?

Here is the music section, again the songs are pretty old but as always it’s either the words or music (or both) that have touched my heart. The first song, from 1970 is Mama Told Me Not To Come, by Three Dog Night. The second song is also from 1970 it’s Lady Eleanor by Lindisfarne.

If you are wondering where my family slot is this week, well I am giving them a break. I am sure there has been lots of activity with work etc but I am giving them a weekend off.

I am working out which neighbour/friend I need to do my shopping tomorrow. I do need to walk to the shop for some items myself today but I will also need milk and bottled water which I can’t carry. Monique has had a cold and to “keep me safe” has stayed away again. However she is hoping to visit this week.

An early start today, no sleeping in like yesterday morning. I have a dinner to cook, just four more apples to sort out either for stewing or slicing for the freezer. There is a condolence card to be sent to a cousin in the UK who lost her husband on Friday evening. A card for a friend as a surprise, and of course the letter for the knitting group. Plus the jigsaw is calling.

Photos: part of the cardboard and bark on the borders. Plus the completed jigsaw.

[ailendolin]

Is this where I send in prompts?? I'm new to this so idk. But could you write one where Milton and Mike have to deal with chatty death? I love them all :D Bonus for exasperated Sam and Bob

Thank you once again for the prompt! I didn't manage to fit Sam and Bob into it and since I'm not familiar with the Chatty Death segment of the show, I went with Stupid Deaths instead. I really hope you like your ficlet anyway!

Filled prompts are here, here & here on AO3.

This was the last of this round's 20 prompt ficlets. Prompts are currently closed.

————

Life and Death

“You!” Death said, pointing an accusing finger at Mike. “And you!” he added, when Milton stumbled after him into the room. “What are you two doing here again? I thought I made myself very clear that neither of you won’t get through to the afterlife unless you die a very normal, boring death.”

“Sorry,” Mike mumbled.

Death shook his head in exasperation and looked him over. His eyes narrowed when he noticed the dagger sticking out of Mike’s side. Then he glanced over at Milton and took in the way he was clutching his bloody head. He sighed. “What was it this time?”

“Caesar’s assassination,” Mike said reluctantly. “Marc Anthony didn’t take too kindly to me interviewing Brutus, and Cassius apparently doesn’t like being called a murderer.”

“Prick,” Milton muttered through gritted teeth. 

Death sighed again. He didn’t usually take such an interest in mortals but these two – these two were special. He’d met them both before, though separately, and the story was always the same: their job had got them killed in a historical era. Death had found it funny at first, and sent them back to Life with a laugh the first time he met them. But when they kept coming back and Mike had the audacity to stand before him twice in a week, even Death found it hard to make light of the situation.

“So you have the same employer, huh?” he noticed. Mike nodded. “Why don’t you just leave, get a different job? This is clearly not healthy for you.”

“It’s complicated,” Mike said with a shrug that struck Death as both helpless and resigned. When Milton suddenly started swaying on his feet, Mike wrapped an arm around him to steady him without hesitation. “Easy there, Mil.”

Death would have raised an eyebrow if he could.

“Oh,” he said, a grin slowly forming on his face. “Interesting. Wouldn’t you agree, Louie?” When Louie just kept staring straight ahead, Death rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Can we go back now?” Milton asked softly, his words muffled by the fabric of Mike’s shirt. “My head is killing me. Literally.”

Mike looked up at Death. The pleading look on his face was even worse than that of a puppy begging for a treat.

“Of course you can go,” Death said with a roll of his eyes. “I didn’t want you here in the first place. Just – get a new job, okay? I’m getting real tired of seeing you two here. I mean it.”

“No promises,” Mike said with that same helpless resignation as before and glanced down at Milton. His eyes grew soft. “Come on, Mil. Let’s get you home.”

With a vague wave goodbye in Death’s direction, they went back the way they’d come. Death watched them go in silence, heaving a feeling that If he had a heart, it would be heavy right now. He rarely sent people back to Life and on the few occasions that he had, they usually didn’t end up on his doorstep again. These two, though – they just kept dying and he could tell it was taking its toll. There was only so much he could do for them, though; only so many times he could send them back and give them another chance. Their time was running out, slowly but surely, and if they didn’t quit their jobs soon, not even he would be able to help them.

It was a sobering thought.  

“Stubborn fools,” he sighed. “Well, at least they have each other. They were kind of cute together, weren’t they?” He glanced at Louie and was met with silence.  “Oh, shut up, Louie.”

Maybe he should have a talk with Life one of these days, see if she couldn’t work her magic and make life a little easier for them. Or a little harder for the people Mike and Milton were working for. Death wasn’t picky as long as it meant he’d never see those two again.  

[kristannafever]

She Ain't Gotta Do Much - 13

Kristanna Modern AU Rated: M WC: 2576

Chapter Index

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

Kristoff drove Enzo home on Friday at noon, knocking off early after another hard week.  They all had the weekend off, which Kristoff sorely needed.  He hated working twelve brutally long days in a row. 

He knew Sven was doing as much as he could, but he was starting to feel a little resentment that work was kicking his ass and Sven’s days ended about six hours before his.  Which was why he told Sven he’d be knocking off early.  If his friend would have protested, he would have gotten an earful, but Sven was understanding.

The new third-year, Zach, had a lot to do with Kristoff being able to fuck off work early.  The kid – well, not so much a kid but still a couple years younger than Kristoff – showed up bright and early Monday morning and worked so hard that they got more than caught up to where they needed to be on the deli.  Which greatly alleviated the stress about that job.

If only he could ease the stress over all the other jobs. 

When Sven sent off the pricing Monday morning to the three jobs he’d looked at, all three got back to him within a day or two saying they wanted to go ahead.  And of the six interviews Sven had over the week, only three of them worked out and were hired.  One was starting after the weekend but the other two needed to give their two-week notice at their current jobs.  Sven had more resumes he promised to call that afternoon and set up as many interviews as possible. 

Then there were the other jobs Sven went to look at over the week.  He worked hard on the pricing for them and would be sending those out the following week as well. 

Three upcoming jobs right away, finishing the deli, and another three potential jobs coming in on top of the boutique and the hair salon that was slotted in for the beginning of the new year.  And not enough employees yet to come close to being able to handle it all. 

Not only that, the fucking phone just kept ringing for more quotes. 

All week long he felt himself being distant, standoffish, and sleeping incredibly poorly despite how tired he was.  He never lashed out at Anna, ever, but he knew damn well she wanted to talk and hang out with him and be intimate, and he was just too exhausted and too damn busy.  It was like all he did was work and sleep.  Actually, that pretty much was his life currently, and he was miserable. 

He’d gotten short with Zach and Enzo a few times.  Zach was unbothered by it, but Enzo looked a little shocked.  Kristoff took a few minutes to calm himself down and apologized to the boys.   They were both understanding. 

When he got home, Kristoff went to the shower immediately and relished in the heat until he emptied all the hot water out of the tank.   He dressed and planned to go to the grocery store so that he could make him and Anna a nice dinner, when his phone rang.  It was Sven.

“Hey,” Kristoff answered.

“Hey.  I got two interviews set up this afternoon, a couple on the weekend and hopefully I can get more in for next week.”

“Are any of them experienced?”  They were in desperate need of experienced guys. 

Sven hesitated.  “Just one J-man.”

“Fuck.” Kristoff sighed.  “The others?”

“Mostly first year.  One is a second.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.  “What timeline are we giving to those jobs then?”

It was Sven’s turn to sigh.  “They are all wanting to proceed right away so we have about a week, give or take, to organize getting people on them.”

Kristoff sat heavily in a chair at his kitchen table.  All of the sudden he felt like crying.  It was strange. 

“Listen, Kris, that outline you and Anna worked out was great.  But I think neither of us thought that we’d get this much business right away.  I… I’m kind of at a loss on what to do here.”

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Kristoff said, “Me too.  I’m so tired I can’t even think straight and I don’t know what to do either.  I mean, do we start turning down jobs?  Giving timelines we most likely can’t meet?  I…”  He stopped talking.  He truly didn’t know what to say. 

“Well, Anna’s going to start on Monday, right?”

“Yeah.” 

“Okay, I’ll phone that insurance company back and tell them we can start on Monday.  It’s the smallest job.  I’ll pull Zach off the deli to work with me.”

Kristoff’s brow furrowed.  “You can’t be on the tools yet, can you?”

“I dunno.  Got a doctor appointment next week Wednesday to tell me, but I don’t necessarily have to be on the tools.   I can tell Zach what to do, he pretty much knows what he’s doing.  Then you can have Dean.”

He shook his head, too tired to remember much of what Sven had said about the three guys he’d hired.  “He’s first year?”

“No, he’s the second year.  The other two guys, Jason and Taylor, they’re first years.”

“When do they start again?”

“Jason is ready to start not this Monday but next, and I’ll double check with that Taylor kid when his first day will be but it’ll be the week after next too.”

Kristoff was struggling to remember all of this and keep everything else straight.  Maybe it would be a good idea to have Sven on sites helping out with their lack of being able to find foremen to handle it for them. 

“There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” Sven said at his silence. 

Kristoff closed his eyes and put his free palm over his face, thumb and fingers squeezing his temples.  The odd urge to cry was back.  Having this much stress wasn’t good for his body.  He wondered how long he could continue like this before he broke down.  Part of him suddenly wanted to be done with it all.  Fuck growing the business.  They could turn down all the jobs and he could just do small things by himself until Sven was back on the tools.  Then things could go back to the way they were.  Sure, there were some jobs they had to work late on to get done, but nothing like the last couple of weeks had been on Kristoff.  He’d been working close to a hundred hours a week.  He wanted his life back.

“You fall asleep, man?”

He sniffed, eyes burning, and cleared his throat.  “I’m here.”  He managed to keep the emotion off his voice.

“I was trying to keep myself busy so I prepped the payroll for Anna next week and I was thinking that you should be on a foreman rate.  I was going to do it anyway and not mention it, but since that’s a business decision I figured I better run it by you.”

Kristoff stared blankly at his kitchen, eyes stinging, throat tight.  “What about you?”

“I’m going to stay on J-man rate for now.  You are pulling so many more hours than me right now its ridiculous.  And I want you to know that I’ve been tracking my hours too, not just giving myself full days pay because I do have a lot of downtime where I don’t have anything to do.”

A tear rolled down his cheek.  “I don’t care about my hourly rate, Sven.  I can’t keep doing this.  I can’t work this much.”

“I know.  And I feel like the worst friend in the world that you’re killing yourself to try and keep us a float while my stupid body heals.  That’s why I will be on a site on Monday.  I feel fine, I am sure I can handle smaller things until I get the official okay from the doc next week.”

Kristoff wanted to hang up.  His nose was starting to run and he did not want Sven to know that he was crying.  “Just leave my rate for now.  I’ll have so many overtime hours anyway.”

Sven was silent on the other end of the line and Kristoff knew right away that his voice sounded as choked as he felt, and Sven damn well knew he was crying.  Finally, he said, “Hey, I’ve got a call coming through, I’ll call you back later, okay?”

“Kay.”  Kristoff hung up and cried harder, burying his face in his hands and letting all the stress come out in his tears.

*****

Anna was given a wonderful send off luncheon by her team, catered by non other than Tony, and as always, it was delicious.  All the well-wishes warmed her heart, and she was emotional throughout it all.  None more so than when everyone encouraged her to head home early and she packed up the very last of her things and took a final elevator ride down to her car.

Her mind was consumed with happiness to be moving onto a new chapter with Kristoff, and yet also an unease about how things were going.  Sven was keeping her updated since Kristoff was basically working morning to night and it was worrisome that they were getting more work than they had people to do it.  None of them had anticipated upping their visibility on google would have made this much of a difference.

But Anna was bound and determined to work her ass off to help the guys figure it all out. 

She got home and was surprised and delighted to see the work van parked on the street.  That meant Kristoff was home early.  Anna had been greatly missing him.  If felt like she barely saw him, even if she did swing by the deli every day on her way home from the office and she did stay up to wait for him before they went to bed, which in reality, was basically bidding each other a good night and falling asleep.

With a smile, she let herself in, kicked off her shoes and went to find Kristoff.  She walked into the kitchen and found him, suddenly alarmed to see that he was sobbing. 

Her heart dropped into her stomach and she rushed over to him.  “Kristoff, what’s wrong?” 

He took one hand off his face for a second indicating that he wanted her to give him a minute and then put it back, sniffling and breathing deep to calm himself down.   Anna just watched, in agony over what had brought on such emotion. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled as his palms and fingers whipped away the dampness from his face.

“Don’t ever day sorry for that, Kristoff,” Anna said softly, taking a seat in the chair beside him and turning it to face him.  She was starting to get the impression this was from being overtired than anything ‘bad’ that had happened.  “It’s okay.  I’m here if you want to talk.”

He nodded, looking at her with red, wet eyes.  “Just stressed,” he croaked. 

Anna immediately understood where he was coming from.  She reached out and took his palms in hers, still damp from the tears he’d wiped from his face.  “Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to be distracted?”

He stared at her a moment, processing, then he sniffed and gave her a small confused half smile.  “What?”

“It’s something I learned in seminar once.  When someone is upset, it helps to ask that to understand where they are coming from and what they need to feel better.”

His face relaxing into the soft loving expression he nearly constantly had for her.  “You’re amazing, you know that?”

She smiled.  “So, what’s it going to be?”

He seemed to think about it for a moment. “Distracted now and talk later?”

Anna nodded and stood, pulling him up with her and leading him down towards the bedroom.  She knew exactly how to distract him. 

-----

Kristoff finally relented to Anna’s refusal of his reciprocation, no matter how much he said he wanted to do it.  This wasn’t about her, despite how much her sexual drive was screaming at her to let him.  Now it was time for him to talk so he could get it all off his chest. 

And talk he did.  He said more to her in the hour they spent laying in bed than he had been able to in the past two weeks with all the hours he’d been working.  He told her everything, even down to the selfish deep-seated resentment he had felt briefly towards Sven.  And Anna understood all of his feelings.

It seemed like he felt so much lighter after getting it all out, that when he offered again to pleasure Anna with his mischievous smirk, she let him.  He took his time, edging her closer and closer, and it was the most intense orgasm she’d had yet.  Then they had some very satisfying sex.

Since neither of them felt like going to the store to get something to cook, they ordered in some Chinese food and ate it in the living room watching TV.  Sven called Kristoff a short time later and Anna remained on the couch while he went into the kitchen to talk. 

When he wandered back in and sat down beside her, he told her that Sven hired the two guys he’d interviewed that afternoon and was hopeful over the other couple of interviews he had tomorrow.  One was a Journeyman, which they sorely needed. 

As much as she knew he didn’t want to, Kristoff had decided to ditch his two days off and was going in to work over the weekend in an attempt to get Tony back his deli before the deadline so that he could take some of the new guys and start on one of the other jobs they’d gotten.  Anna was determined to go with him to do whatever she could, and it had taken a bit of convincing before he finally relented.  She could tell that he was worried about dragging her down to the place he’d been in for the past couple of weeks, but to Anna, it was just wanting to be near him and helping him out, even if they’d be busy working instead of doing something fun. 

They talked for a while longer before Kristoff started yawning and Anna dragged him to bed.  Naturally, he fell asleep almost instantly as his head hit the pillow.  Anna remained awake, starting at his beautiful sleeping face, gently illuminated from the moonlight coming in through the dark curtains that weren’t quite closed in the middle. 

Her heart ached for him.  The only other time she’d seem him so emotional was when he got the call that Sven was fighting for his life in the hospital.  She was confident that things were going to get better for them, but part of her was genuinely become as worried as Kristoff nearly constantly looked in the last while.  Even though they all had good ideas and intentions on growing the business, none of them exactly had done it before.  Without a road map, they were forced to forge their own way ahead. 

And Anna was bound and determined to do as much as she was able in the office to help the guys out. 

---

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

[poutyniall]

I would love to read your life update 💜 and I can wait as long as I have to so take your time and don't force yourself to do anything you don't have the energy to

And you also should take care of yourself as well as the time and struggle's in your life allow you to 💜

Hello darling, it took me longer than I thought to do this but here we are, let's go!

At the beginning of October, around the 10th, I went to Bologna - a 3 days trip for an event that got cancelled but whatever! - and since I don't really like the city (sorry) I spent the whole time walking in and out every bookstores and asking if they were looking for staff. But nada. Obviously. But while I was there I got a text form the owner of a home items shop I met before leaving - my cousin told me she was looking for staff and I went to her to apply - saying I had to go for a trial day the day after I returned home. So I went. The time I spent there was a thankfully short chapter, barely a month, of my life that was horrible. She is a rotten human being and a shitty employer. I had to ask her THREE times how much she was gonna pay me, after a week of work, before she answered me. The second day, in front of others people, she asked me - laughing - what I wanted to do pointing at the scars on my arm. No one, EVER, not even after months or years of knowing me, dared to ask me something about the scars but she didn't even have the decency to keep her mouth shut about such a sensitive topic. She has no respect for people, taking behind the back of her clients the second they walk out the shop, neither she has respect for the people who work for her. Like, I didn't have a second of break and I had to carry out tasks that weren't my responsibility (like going grocery shopping for her or fixing the electric socket and on) and I wan't insured and I hurt myself. I still don't know how but my toenail fell off and I almost passed out in her bloody, dusty, without a fucking window basement while taking inventory of xmas' stuff. After almost a month of work she paid me nothing, as my grandma'd say 'she'd have given me more if she'd pissed in my hands'. In conclusion, she's a horrible person and one day she'll get what she deserve.

Anyways, after three days I was working there I went to the bookstore at the mall. There's a corner in the store that is like another store and they only sell to the members. Like, you need the membership to benefit of discounts and stuff, which I have 'cause I'm a bookworm. Anyhow, I went there to buy a book and the promoter mistook me for someone else and asked me why I didn't show up for the interview and I was like 'ehm, excuse me, I would have remembered if I had an interview for a job in a bookstore but if you still need it, please tell me all about it'. She did and that's how I ended up doing two jobs till October 31st. At the bookstore in the morning and at the bitch in the afternoon. My colleague from the bookstore... she's sick. Like she's a psycho, for real. The first week I had to stick with her 'cause I needed to learn how to 'sell' the membership card. That week was a whole fat red flag. She touched me - my hair and hips - she pinched my side, right under my boobs line (I don't know if any of this make the slightest sense but please, bear with me), she sent me dozens of messages calling me baby girl, she forced her way of doing things on me, like the way she talked or explained the service to possible clients, she called me over just to stick her tongue at me and she slid into my car the first day of work. She told me, after a week of knowing me, 'I know you, you're gonna get hurt if you don't do what I say and how I say it' and 'he (our boss) is gonna do whatever I say so'. When I started to approach the firsts clients and do the first membership cards by myself she was always behind me breathing down my neck, literally. She said to our boss that my cards weren't good, only hers were valid, she made a fuss with him 'cause I didn't spent my lunch break with her and when she left (she was fired) I found out, from the other guys who work there, that she used to film them with her phone, she falsified some cards ect. She was troublesome. Before she was fired she came to me 'cause she needed to talk to me and she said 'It's not true that it bothered you when I touched you and don't think if you do everything the boss tells you you'll climb fast and have a career' and other nonsense. She follows me on ig with a fake account and she commented one of my story. Basically I have a shitty memory, I always forget books' title so, in order to avoid buying the same book twice, whenever I start a new book I make a story on ig so I always have an archive of the books I've read. The book's title I was reading was 'nobody knows about us' and you wanna know her comment? 'Is it about us?'. And my boss is not better. He sends me dozens of messages every day and calls me 2+ time when I don't answer right away. Like dude, I'm working! He gave me a smart watch just so I can read his texts all the time. I'm not gonna wear it, no fucking way. Also, it doesn't work, it came out damaged. He gave it to me a week ago and he asked me about it something like 10 times in 3 days.

The moral of the story? I think some people have suicidal instincts but are too afraid to do it themselves and that's why they come to me. They're waiting for me to lose the last grain of patience I have.

I'm sorry. I tried to make it as short as I could but it's still sooo long. Thank you, and bless you, if you got this far 💜

[i-drop-art-in-your-asks]

I actually feel EXITED for the first time in a while!!!

So, I've been kinda... no, extremely, excruciatingly, horribly depressed lately in trying to find a job...

But this week... I got hired by Checkers/Rally's, AND the county's school system is en route toward hiring me as a substitute cafeteria lady!!

Yeah, I know what you're thinking: "I don't know why you're so happy, neither one of those options sounds very fulfilling..."

Aaand, while I would agree with you. To a degree. You're incorrect in your assumptions; any job is actually very fulfilling for ME.

As an autistic(ASD/aspie) person (but pretty well-achieved despite only having an HSD), I find the job search to be... well, rather depressing. Every day, I'd check indeed, Snagajob, TopResume, and even my town's website, praying something would just... show... up.

the holidays were painful for me, as I couldn't get my family any gifts but, luckily, I had my art supplies. so I bound and decorated a sketchbook for my mom, and sculpted silly little ornaments for my stepdad and his visiting family (his two sons and daughter-in-law) they keep saying I should sell... maybe one day, I have to be pretty well-off already for it to ever work though.

The whole time, trying -- and ultimately failing -- to hold back tears of self-inflicted mental anguish (dw it happens ALL the time, usually not so openly) because my dumbass brin decides it wants to make sure I remember that apparently, I HAVE DEPRESSION AND I KEEP FORGETTING ABOUT IT ON TOP OF ALL MY OTHER MENTAL BULLSHIT

BUT!!! Yesterday, as I was tending to my mushroom garden (some mush-gro kits my stepdad ordered and we previously used and I got them growing for another cycle via the all-but-abandoned-greenhouse) I got a call from the lady who set me up for an interview at Checkers last week saying I could start on Wednesday (it's Tuesday as I am currently typing) Then TODAY I check my inbox to find not one, but TWO emails from the school hiring office. the first I found contained New Hire paperwork -- which I IMMEDIATELY filled out and submitted. And the second email stated that I'll be needing to join an orientation on Zoom next Tuesday...

So, it seems I've got a LOT on my plate for the next several days (and hopefully longer), between job orientations, background checks, fingerprinting (school requirement), and drug tests (both)... I hope this lil aspie can reach my even BIGGER goals someday, too!

[talesfromasnarkylisa]

Lacey: Chapter 1

James: July 5th, 2023

God, I hate this job.

It’s not the actual work that bothers me. It’s quite a simple occupation, really. All I have to do is neatly crop and touch over images, then submit them to whichever publisher wants them. I’ve been doing this since I was 10. Only difference is that now I get paid.

And there lies the problem. My salary is basically nothing. Ever since I’ve started going to Yale University, I’ve had to juggle studying and working. The studying isn’t too bad. I’ve already memorized 90% of the material since 9th grade that the professors teach. The real troubles are the tuition fees. 

Yale is an Ivy League school, which means it’s extremely pricey. I was lucky enough to even get in. But my parents are the old-fashioned kind. The types to kick their kids out once they graduate high school. So once I neared 18 before lockdown, I was on my own. Turns out that no one in retail wants to hire a guy who blanks out at job interviews.

I now work two jobs. The photoshop one and the influencer one. The influencer one hasn’t really been working out too well, though. I got kicked out of a bunch of online publications because I got into a ton of controversy. Looks like there is such a thing as bad publicity after all.

But hey, at least I got some editor friends back. Still not in any of the teams.

Three Weeks Later

On a Friday evening, I hung out in a voice chat with my online friends Corianna and Darian.

Corianna is the team lead of a set of blogs reviewing indie and folk music. She is 18 - a couple years younger than me - and goes by Artsy Carolina online. I used to be on that team, until she booted me half a year ago for talking shit about the other writers and editors. Cori and I are cool now, but I’m not getting back on her website team anytime soon. 

She is a green eyed and long light brunette woman with ivory skin like her avatar. In addition to books and anime, Cori enjoys bluegrass and hip-hop music.

Darian is my best friend. Unlike his raven-haired avatar with a shade more like mine, he is auburn haired with light skin and hazel eyes. We first met on a Minecraft server when I was 15 and he was 14. I didn’t have many friends in school and no close ones. Admittedly, I wasn’t a huge fan of Minecraft. I was more of a casual player whenever I had time. But I had heard of the anarchy servers on the platform, where rules are few and chaos is plenty. I wanted to see if I could use my programming knowledge of JavaScript and Python to survive there. Boy, was I wrong. If Darian wasn’t in the server, I probably would have downloaded malware and fried my computer right there. 

The weird part is, we already knew each other in real life. But until we were both 17, neither of us was aware of the other’s online identities. I just knew him as D. Noir and he only knew me as Archer J. We’ve only become closer since then.

“So,” said Corianna, “how’s the photoshop gig, James?”

“Mediocre as always,” I responded.

“Well, color me surprised.”

I checked my other DMs for a moment before switching back to the call.

“How’s it going?” I asked Darian.

“Great!” he answered. “Guess what? I got into-”

Darian’s audio went out.

“I can’t hear you,” stated Corianna. “It sounds like a hungry person on your end.”

Darian adjusted his microphone.

“Can you hear me now?” he asked.

“Yes,” I responded. “That’s better.”

“Alright,” said Corianna, “go on.”

“I got a voice acting role! And it involves singing!”

“That’s great!” Corianna exclaimed. “In what show?”

“I can’t disclose which one,” Darian answered. “The producers have a contract forcing everyone working on it to keep quiet about their involvement.”

Corianna sent a smirk emoji.

“And that is why you just bragged, D.”

“Well,” Darian snarked back, “it’s not like I’m telling you which show I’m in.”

“Don’t listen to Cori,” I teased, “she’s just trying to mess with your head. I’m happy for you.”

But honestly, I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t content that Darian could get in with his mid-tier acting and Auto-tuned singing while I have attempted to get multiple contracts in vain. They say that hard work is what makes you succeed, but I’ve worked my ass off in everything and I’m still not making it that far. 

I’ve applied to several job openings - cashier, janitor, machinery, waiter, fucking babysitting. I’ve tried every online gig there is: website testing, design, marketing, amateur columnist, even video editing and those random surveys. And look where I am now.

Just a boring dude renting a hotel room and working photoshop as a summer job.

(Medium teaser: ​​https://medium.com/@SnarkyLisa/untitled-no-1-story-preview-8966ffdde73a)

(Wattpad version: https://www.wattpad.com/1478131869-lacey-chapter-1)

[swannkings]

.

Between age 6 and 18, my dad road raged and chased down other drivers no less than 10 times with me and my mom in the car. No amount of a me screaming or crying or my mom trying to calm him down stopped him. He would weave through traffic and speed. There were absolutely several close calls and to this day I don’t know how we didn’t wreck or get pulled over.

When I was 15, my dad was asked to pick me up after summer school because neither my mom, grandma, nor my friend’s mom could. He was the only one off work at the time. I was 5 minutes late because my friends had stopped me to talk. When I got to the car he proceeded to yell at me where everyone could hear.

When I was 19, one of our cats was dying. She had tumors all in her abdomen, and she’d already had surgery the year before to remove others. My dad insisted on taking her to four different vets to find someone who would tell him what he wanted to hear. None of them were confident she could be saved considering how advanced her cancer was. We took her home from the last vet and he started looking for another. I told him to stop, that taking her on all these vet visits was stressing her more and she should just be left to rest. He screamed at me that I didn’t care about her and wanted her to die.

When I was 21, my dad got a new phone. He asked me to help him with something on it, Facebook I think. No amount of explaining got him to understand, and eventually I left to finish doing my laundry. He has a habit of talking out loud, so when he started asking the same question I’d already tried answering for him, I ignored him to finish my task. He threw his new phone at me. It hit the wall and shattered. Then he threw the tv remote too.

In my early 20s it was common for him to complain and yell at me for not doing chores he didn’t want to do. At the time I was in college and extremely depressed, and found it difficult to really do much more than laundry, cooking, or straightening my room. Eventually I was able to find a schedule that worked with me, but it still wasn’t enough for him.

In my early to mid 20s it was common for him to raise his fist to my face in public when we disagreed.

When I finished college at 24, I couldn’t get a job. I didn’t have my license and didn’t have reliable transportation, and was naive enough to be honest about it. I started working for my aunt and uncle one or two weeks a month, house sitting, caring for their horses, and caring for my elderly grandmother. They manipulated and guilt tripped me for two years to keep me coming back.

When I finally stepped away from that work, it was partly because my dad sided with me that it was too difficult to travel so far out so frequently. A few months later I got a callback to interview for a full time retail position. I was 26 with no health insurance and that job would’ve given okay pay and benefits. The day of the interview I reminded my dad of it and he asked what it was for. I told him and he proceeded to complain and guilt me about how no one would be there to take care of the house while he and my mom were at work, and I should ask about just working part time on weekends instead. After he left I called the manager and canceled the interview, then called my mom and told her, then cried my eyes out until I had nothing left. I didn’t put in anymore applications for the next year and a half.

In 2020 I was 28. Covid fucked everything up. My dad was laid off in the summer and was unemployed for 6 months. He slept until 1 or 2 in the afternoon every day, didn’t help around the house, expected cooked meals every night, kept my mom out of the house until 9 or 10 every night, and flubbed every application and interview he did get until he went back to the same employer he had and hated, against everything my mom and I said.

For the past 4 years it’s been nonstop bickering, yelling, and lying from him. He lies about anything to do with me any time we disagree or he’s being an ass. He always makes me out to be the problem. He still confronts people in public, he’s loudly racist, he still road rages. He thinks my mom and I are conspiring against him, when in actuality we’re both letting off steam because he treats us both like shit. My mom has no one but me to vent to, and I have no one but her. He throws tantrums when he doesn’t get his way, he throws and breaks things, he screams in my face. He pushes every responsibility onto me and my mom; he does nothing himself and takes all the credit.

And what’s worse is that after he blows up 15 minutes pass and he acts like nothing happened. He carries on with his day while I’m left shaking and my mom tries not to cry.

[dankusner]

NPR editor resigns after response to critical essay

A senior business editor at National Public Radio has resigned after writing an essay for an online news site published last week accusing the outlet of a liberal bias in its coverage.

In a Wednesday post on X, Uri Berliner included a statement in what he said was his resignation letter to NPR President and CEO Katherine Maher.

'I am resigning from NPR, a great American institution where I have worked for 25 years,' Berliner wrote in the post. 'I don’t support calls to defund NPR. I respect the integrity of my colleagues and wish for NPR to thrive and do important journalism. But I cannot work in a newsroom where I am disparaged by a new CEO whose divisive views confirm the very problems at NPR I cite in my Free Press essay.'

On Friday, Berliner was suspended for five days without pay, NPR confirmed Tuesday, a week after his essay in the Free Press, an online news publication, where he argued the network had 'lost America’s trust' and allowed a 'liberal bent' to influence its coverage, causing the outlet to steadily lose credibility with audiences.

Berliner’s essay also angered many of his colleagues and exposed Maher, who started as NPR’s CEO in March, to a string of attacks from conservatives over her past social media posts.

NPR reported the essay reignited the criticism that many prominent conservatives have long leveled against NPR and prompted newsroom leadership to implement monthly internal reviews of the network’s coverage.

Neither NPR nor Maher have not yet publicly responded to Berliner’s resignation, but Maher refuted his claims in a statement Monday to NPR.

'In America everyone is entitled to free speech as a private citizen,' Maher said. 'What matters is NPR’s work and my commitment as its CEO: public service, editorial independence, and the mission to serve all of the American public. NPR is independent, beholden to no party, and without commercial interests.'

In response to the essay, many prominent conservatives and Republicans, including former President Donald Trump, launched renewed attacks at NPR for what they perceive as partisan coverage.

Conservative activist Christopher Rufo in particular targeted Maher for messages she posted to social media years before joining the network – her first at a news organization.

Among the posts singled out were a 2020 tweet that called Trump racist.

Trump reiterated on his social media platform, Truth Social, his long-standing argument that NPR’s government funding should be rescinded.

Berliner expressed no regrets about publishing the essay in an interview with NPR, adding that he tried repeatedly to make his concerns over NPR’s coverage known to news leaders.

'I love NPR and feel it’s a national trust,' he said 'We have great journalists here. If they shed their opinions and did the great journalism they’re capable of, this would be a much more interesting and fulfilling organization for our listeners.'

I’ve Been at NPR for 25 Years.

Here’s How We Lost America’s Trust.

Uri Berliner, a veteran at the public radio institution, says the network lost its way when it started telling listeners how to think.

Uri Berliner, a senior business editor at NPR, says he started sounding the alarm internally when he noticed a bias creep into the network’s coverage. (Pete Kiehart for The Free Press)

You know the stereotype of the NPR listener: an EV-driving, Wordle-playing, tote bag–carrying coastal elite.

It doesn’t precisely describe me, but it’s not far

off. I’m Sarah Lawrence–educated, was raised by a lesbian peace activist mother, I drive a Subaru, and Spotify says my listening habits are most similar to people in Berkeley.

I fit the NPR mold. I’ll cop to that.

So when I got a job here 25 years ago, I never looked back.

As a senior editor on the business desk where news is always breaking, we’ve covered upheavals in the workplace, supermarket prices, social media, and AI.

It’s true NPR has always had a liberal bent, but during most of my tenure here, an open-minded, curious culture prevailed.

We were nerdy, but not knee-jerk, activist, or scolding.

In recent years, however, that has changed.

Today, those who listen to NPR or read its coverage online find something different: the distilled worldview of a very small segment of the U.S. population.

If you are conservative, you will read this and say, duh, it’s always been this way.

But it hasn’t.

For decades, since its founding in 1970, a wide swath of America tuned in to NPR for reliable journalism and gorgeous audio pieces with birds singing in the Amazon.

Millions came to us for conversations that exposed us to voices around the country and the world radically different from our own—engaging precisely because they were unguarded and unpredictable.

No image generated more pride within NPR than the farmer listening to Morning Edition from his or her tractor at sunrise.

Back in 2011, although NPR’s audience tilted a bit to the left, it still bore a resemblance to America at large.

Twenty-six percent of listeners described themselves as conservative, 23 percent as middle of the road, and 37 percent as liberal.

By 2023, the picture was completely different: only 11 percent described themselves as very or somewhat conservative, 21 percent as middle of the road, and 67 percent of listeners said they were very or somewhat liberal.

We weren’t just losing conservatives; we were also losing moderates and traditional liberals.

An open-minded spirit no longer exists within NPR, and now, predictably, we don’t have an audience that reflects America.

That wouldn’t be a problem for an openly polemical news outlet serving a niche audience.

But for NPR, which purports to consider all things, it’s devastating both for its journalism and its business model.

Like many unfortunate things, the rise of advocacy took off with Donald Trump.

As in many newsrooms, his election in 2016 was greeted at NPR with a mixture of disbelief, anger, and despair. (Just to note, I eagerly voted against Trump twice but felt we were obliged to cover him fairly.)

But what began as tough, straightforward coverage of a belligerent, truth-impaired president veered toward efforts to damage or topple Trump’s presidency.

Persistent rumors that the Trump campaign colluded with Russia over the election became the catnip that drove reporting.

At NPR, we hitched our wagon to Trump’s most visible antagonist, Representative Adam Schiff.

Schiff, who was the top Democrat on the House Intelligence Committee, became NPR’s guiding hand, its ever-present muse.

By my count, NPR hosts interviewed Schiff 25 times about Trump and Russia.

During many of those conversations, Schiff alluded to purported evidence of collusion.

The Schiff talking points became the drumbeat of NPR news reports.

But when the Mueller report found no credible evidence of collusion, NPR’s coverage was notably sparse. Russiagate quietly faded from our programming.

It is one thing to swing and miss on a major story. Unfortunately, it happens. You follow the wrong leads, you get misled by sources you trusted, you’re emotionally invested in a narrative, and bits of circumstantial evidence never add up. It’s bad to blow a big story.

What’s worse is to pretend it never happened, to move on with no mea culpas, no self-reflection. Especially when you expect high standards of transparency from public figures and institutions, but don’t practice those standards yourself. That’s what shatters trust and engenders cynicism about the media.

Russiagate was not NPR’s only miscue.

In October 2020, the New York Post published the explosive report about the laptop Hunter Biden abandoned at a Delaware computer shop containing emails about his sordid business dealings. With the election only weeks away, NPR turned a blind eye. Here’s how NPR’s managing editor for news at the time explained the thinking: “We don’t want to waste our time on stories that are not really stories, and we don’t want to waste the listeners’ and readers’ time on stories that are just pure distractions.”

But it wasn’t a pure distraction, or a product of Russian disinformation, as dozens of former and current intelligence officials suggested. The laptop did belong to Hunter Biden. Its contents revealed his connection to the corrupt world of multimillion-dollar influence peddling and its possible implications for his father.

The laptop was newsworthy. But the timeless journalistic instinct of following a hot story lead was being squelched. During a meeting with colleagues, I listened as one of NPR’s best and most fair-minded journalists said it was good we weren’t following the laptop story because it could help Trump.

When the essential facts of the Post’s reporting were confirmed and the emails verified independently about a year and a half later, we could have fessed up to our misjudgment. But, like Russia collusion, we didn’t make the hard choice of transparency.

Politics also intruded into NPR’s Covid coverage, most notably in reporting on the origin of the pandemic. One of the most dismal aspects of Covid journalism is how quickly it defaulted to ideological story lines. For example, there was Team Natural Origin—supporting the hypothesis that the virus came from a wild animal market in Wuhan, China. And on the other side, Team Lab Leak, leaning into the idea that the virus escaped from a Wuhan lab.

The lab leak theory came in for rough treatment almost immediately, dismissed as racist or a right-wing conspiracy theory. Anthony Fauci and former NIH head Francis Collins, representing the public health establishment, were its most notable critics. And that was enough for NPR. We became fervent members of Team Natural Origin, even declaring that the lab leak had been debunked by scientists.

But that wasn’t the case.

When word first broke of a mysterious virus in Wuhan, a number of leading virologists immediately suspected it could have leaked from a lab there conducting experiments on bat coronaviruses. This was in January 2020, during calmer moments before a global pandemic had been declared, and before fear spread and politics intruded.

Reporting on a possible lab leak soon became radioactive. Fauci and Collins apparently encouraged the March publication of an influential scientific paper known as “The Proximal Origin of SARS-CoV-2.” Its authors wrote they didn’t believe “any type of laboratory-based scenario is plausible.”

But the lab leak hypothesis wouldn’t die. And understandably so. In private, even some of the scientists who penned the article dismissing it sounded a different tune. One of the authors, Andrew Rambaut, an evolutionary biologist from Edinburgh University, wrote to his colleagues, “I literally swivel day by day thinking it is a lab escape or natural.”

Over the course of the pandemic, a number of investigative journalists made compelling, if not conclusive, cases for the lab leak. But at NPR, we weren’t about to swivel or even tiptoe away from the insistence with which we backed the natural origin story. We didn’t budge when the Energy Department—the federal agency with the most expertise about laboratories and biological research—concluded, albeit with low confidence, that a lab leak was the most likely explanation for the emergence of the virus.

Instead, we introduced our coverage of that development on February 28, 2023, by asserting confidently that “the scientific evidence overwhelmingly points to a natural origin for the virus.”

When a colleague on our science desk was asked why they were so dismissive of the lab leak theory, the response was odd. The colleague compared it to the Bush administration’s unfounded argument that Iraq possessed weapons of mass destruction, apparently meaning we won’t get fooled again. But these two events were not even remotely related. Again, politics were blotting out the curiosity and independence that ought to have been driving our work.

NPR editor Uri Berliner tells how the network lost America's trust in The Free Press Uri Berliner near his home in Washington, D.C., on April 5, 2024. (Photo by Pete Kiehart for The Free Press) I’m offering three examples of widely followed stories where I believe we faltered. Our coverage is out there in the public domain. Anyone can read or listen for themselves and make their own judgment. But to truly understand how independent journalism suffered at NPR, you need to step inside the organization.

You need to start with former CEO John Lansing. Lansing came to NPR in 2019 from the federally funded agency that oversees Voice of America. Like others who have served in the top job at NPR, he was hired primarily to raise money and to ensure good working relations with hundreds of member stations that acquire NPR’s programming.

After working mostly behind the scenes, Lansing became a more visible and forceful figure after the killing of George Floyd in May 2020. It was an anguished time in the newsroom, personally and professionally so for NPR staffers. Floyd’s murder, captured on video, changed both the conversation and the daily operations at NPR.

Given the circumstances of Floyd’s death, it would have been an ideal moment to tackle a difficult question: Is America, as progressive activists claim, beset by systemic racism in the 2020s—in law enforcement, education, housing, and elsewhere? We happen to have a very powerful tool for answering such questions: journalism. Journalism that lets evidence lead the way.

But the message from the top was very different. America’s infestation with systemic racism was declared loud and clear: it was a given. Our mission was to change it.

“When it comes to identifying and ending systemic racism,” Lansing wrote in a companywide article, “we can be agents of change. Listening and deep reflection are necessary but not enough. They must be followed by constructive and meaningful steps forward. I will hold myself accountable for this.”

And we were told that NPR itself was part of the problem. In confessional language he said the leaders of public media, “starting with me—must be aware of how we ourselves have benefited from white privilege in our careers. We must understand the unconscious bias we bring to our work and interactions. And we must commit ourselves—body and soul—to profound changes in ourselves and our institutions.”

He declared that diversity—on our staff and in our audience—was the overriding mission, the “North Star” of the organization. Phrases like “that’s part of the North Star” became part of meetings and more casual conversation.

Race and identity became paramount in nearly every aspect of the workplace. Journalists were required to ask everyone we interviewed their race, gender, and ethnicity (among other questions), and had to enter it in a centralized tracking system. We were given unconscious bias training sessions. A growing DEI staff offered regular meetings imploring us to “start talking about race.” Monthly dialogues were offered for “women of color” and “men of color.” Nonbinary people of color were included, too.

These initiatives, bolstered by a $1 million grant from the NPR Foundation, came from management, from the top down. Crucially, they were in sync culturally with what was happening at the grassroots—among producers, reporters, and other staffers. Most visible was a burgeoning number of employee resource (or affinity) groups based on identity.

They included MGIPOC (Marginalized Genders and Intersex People of Color mentorship program); Mi Gente (Latinx employees at NPR); NPR Noir (black employees at NPR); Southwest Asians and North Africans at NPR; Ummah (for Muslim-identifying employees); Women, Gender-Expansive, and Transgender People in Technology Throughout Public Media; Khevre (Jewish heritage and culture at NPR); and NPR Pride (LGBTQIA employees at NPR).

All this reflected a broader movement in the culture of people clustering together based on ideology or a characteristic of birth. If, as NPR’s internal website suggested, the groups were simply a “great way to meet like-minded colleagues” and “help new employees feel included,” it would have been one thing.

But the role and standing of affinity groups, including those outside NPR, were more than that. They became a priority for NPR’s union, SAG-AFTRA—an item in collective bargaining. The current contract, in a section on DEI, requires NPR management to “keep up to date with current language and style guidance from journalism affinity groups” and to inform employees if language differs from the diktats of those groups. In such a case, the dispute could go before the DEI Accountability Committee.

In essence, this means the NPR union, of which I am a dues-paying member, has ensured that advocacy groups are given a seat at the table in determining the terms and vocabulary of our news coverage.

Conflicts between workers and bosses, between labor and management, are common in workplaces. NPR has had its share. But what’s notable is the extent to which people at every level of NPR have comfortably coalesced around the progressive worldview.

And this, I believe, is the most damaging development at NPR: the absence of viewpoint diversity.

Today on Honestly Bari talks to Uri about this essay and his decision to publish it. Listen here:

There’s an unspoken consensus about the stories we should pursue and how they should be framed. It’s frictionless—one story after another about instances of supposed racism, transphobia, signs of the climate apocalypse, Israel doing something bad, and the dire threat of Republican policies. It’s almost like an assembly line.

The mindset prevails in choices about language. In a document called NPR Transgender Coverage Guidance—disseminated by news management—we’re asked to avoid the term biological sex. (The editorial guidance was prepared with the help of a former staffer of the National Center for Transgender Equality.) The mindset animates bizarre stories—on how The Beatles and bird names are racially problematic, and others that are alarmingly divisive; justifying looting, with claims that fears about crime are racist; and suggesting that Asian Americans who oppose affirmative action have been manipulated by white conservatives.

More recently, we have approached the Israel-Hamas war and its spillover onto streets and campuses through the “intersectional” lens that has jumped from the faculty lounge to newsrooms. Oppressor versus oppressed. That’s meant highlighting the suffering of Palestinians at almost every turn while downplaying the atrocities of October 7, overlooking how Hamas intentionally puts Palestinian civilians in peril, and giving little weight to the explosion of antisemitic hate around the world.

For nearly all my career, working at NPR has been a source of great pride. It’s a privilege to work in the newsroom at a crown jewel of American journalism. My colleagues are congenial and hardworking.

I can’t count the number of times I would meet someone, describe what I do, and they’d say, “I love NPR!”

And they wouldn’t stop there. They would mention their favorite host or one of those “driveway moments” where a story was so good you’d stay in your car until it finished.

It still happens, but often now the trajectory of the conversation is different. After the initial “I love NPR,” there’s a pause and a person will acknowledge, “I don’t listen as much as I used to.” Or, with some chagrin: “What’s happening there? Why is NPR telling me what to think?”

In recent years I’ve struggled to answer that question. Concerned by the lack of viewpoint diversity, I looked at voter registration for our newsroom. In D.C., where NPR is headquartered and many of us live, I found 87 registered Democrats working in editorial positions and zero Republicans. None.

So on May 3, 2021, I presented the findings at an all-hands editorial staff meeting. When I suggested we had a diversity problem with a score of 87 Democrats and zero Republicans, the response wasn’t hostile. It was worse. It was met with profound indifference. I got a few messages from surprised, curious colleagues. But the messages were of the “oh wow, that’s weird” variety, as if the lopsided tally was a random anomaly rather than a critical failure of our diversity North Star.

In a follow-up email exchange, a top NPR news executive told me that she had been “skewered” for bringing up diversity of thought when she arrived at NPR. So, she said, “I want to be careful how we discuss this publicly.”

For years, I have been persistent. When I believe our coverage has gone off the rails, I have written regular emails to top news leaders, sometimes even having one-on-one sessions with them. On March 10, 2022, I wrote to a top news executive about the numerous times we described the controversial education bill in Florida as the “Don’t Say Gay” bill when it didn’t even use the word gay. I pushed to set the record straight, and wrote another time to ask why we keep using that word that many Hispanics hate—Latinx. On March 31, 2022, I was invited to a managers’ meeting to present my observations.

Throughout these exchanges, no one has ever trashed me. That’s not the NPR way. People are polite. But nothing changes. So I’ve become a visible wrong-thinker at a place I love. It’s uncomfortable, sometimes heartbreaking.

Even so, out of frustration, on November 6, 2022, I wrote to the captain of ship North Star—CEO John Lansing—about the lack of viewpoint diversity and asked if we could have a conversation about it. I got no response, so I followed up four days later. He said he would appreciate hearing my perspective and copied his assistant to set up a meeting. On December 15, the morning of the meeting, Lansing’s assistant wrote back to cancel our conversation because he was under the weather. She said he was looking forward to chatting and a new meeting invitation would be sent. But it never came.

I won’t speculate about why our meeting never happened. Being CEO of NPR is a demanding job with lots of constituents and headaches to deal with. But what’s indisputable is that no one in a C-suite or upper management position has chosen to deal with the lack of viewpoint diversity at NPR and how that affects our journalism.

Which is a shame. Because for all the emphasis on our North Star, NPR’s news audience in recent years has become less diverse, not more so. Back in 2011, our audience leaned a bit to the left but roughly reflected America politically; now, the audience is cramped into a smaller, progressive silo.

Despite all the resources we’d devoted to building up our news audience among blacks and Hispanics, the numbers have barely budged. In 2023, according to our demographic research, 6 percent of our news audience was black, far short of the overall U.S. adult population, which is 14.4 percent black. And Hispanics were only 7 percent, compared to the overall Hispanic adult population, around 19 percent. Our news audience doesn’t come close to reflecting America. It’s overwhelmingly white and progressive, and clustered around coastal cities and college towns.

These are perilous times for news organizations. Last year, NPR laid off or bought out 10 percent of its staff and canceled four podcasts following a slump in advertising revenue. Our radio audience is dwindling and our podcast downloads are down from 2020. The digital stories on our website rarely have national impact. They aren’t conversation starters. Our competitive advantage in audio—where for years NPR had no peer—is vanishing. There are plenty of informative and entertaining podcasts to choose from.

Even within our diminished audience, there’s evidence of trouble at the most basic level: trust.

In February, our audience insights team sent an email proudly announcing that we had a higher trustworthy score than CNN or The New York Times. But the research from Harris Poll is hardly reassuring. It found that “3-in-10 audience members familiar with NPR said they associate NPR with the characteristic ‘trustworthy.’ ” Only in a world where media credibility has completely imploded would a 3-in-10 trustworthy score be something to boast about.

With declining ratings, sorry levels of trust, and an audience that has become less diverse over time, the trajectory for NPR is not promising. Two paths seem clear. We can keep doing what we’re doing, hoping it will all work out. Or we could start over, with the basic building blocks of journalism. We could face up to where we’ve gone wrong. News organizations don’t go in for that kind of reckoning. But there’s a good reason for NPR to be the first: we’re the ones with the word public in our name.

Despite our missteps at NPR, defunding isn’t the answer. As the country becomes more fractured, there’s still a need for a public institution where stories are told and viewpoints exchanged in good faith. Defunding, as a rebuke from Congress, wouldn’t change the journalism at NPR. That needs to come from within.

A few weeks ago, NPR welcomed a new CEO, Katherine Maher, who’s been a leader in tech. She doesn’t have a news background, which could be an asset given where things stand. I’ll be rooting for her. It’s a tough job. Her first rule could be simple enough: don’t tell people how to think. It could even be the new North Star.

Uri Berliner is a senior business editor and reporter at NPR. His work has been recognized with a Peabody Award, a Loeb Award, an Edward R. Murrow Award, and a Society of Professional Journalists New America Award, among others. Follow him on X (formerly Twitter) @uberliner.

To support our mission of independent journalism, become a Free Press subscriber today:

[queen-anxiety]

Hello. It was a while ago but I'm alive, i haven't been feeling good lately as I felt that I was ostracized from part of the family without even really knowing why.

I will try to make this as concise as possible. It all started well last summer when someone I'll call E (who is renting my partner's property to start a car repair shop with her ex husband) accused me of not saying hi to her at the store. When I go to the store, I often wear headphones and like to listen to podcasts + that I need glasses to see the world clearly otherwise it becomes very blurry for me. Anyway, she must have seen me somewhere in the car or in the store but didn't come up to me and say hi or honk so I must have missed it by mistake. Later i found out that she had said she didn't like me at all. Then one day she blocked me on Facebook and now she is going to marry my partner's brother (who also has distanced himself from me for some reason) in the summer and they invited everyone except me because I was blocked on Facebook without even knowing why I was blocked. So after a lot of back and forth, I chose to confront her via text message and ask her what the problem was and i solved it just because we all live in this small village and will probably see each other when it starts to get warm outside. She then chose to unblock me and invited me to the wedding. PS. I'm not going to attend their wedding because I feel like she's fake and trying to turn everyone against me in some weird way just because she herself doesn't like me for some reason.

My sister-in-law whom I have had a very good relationship with, we have talked a lot on the phone and met very often. But now she has completely stopped contacting me since she started hanging out with E that I told you about at the top. My sister-in-law could call me day or night and we talked and had a lot of fun and I saw her as a friend or a sister as I am an only child in my family. But it didn't feel the same between us anymore. I noticed that when we were at a playground with the kids that she distanced herself from me and I had tried to reach her the week before without her even calling me back or even texting me. So even there I decided to confront her and ask what the problem was. She made some lame excuse that she's not feeling well and that she only hangs out with her boyfriend when she's not working. And that she was working a lot but on her snapchat map you could see her being home. She also said that I'd was a bad friend who didn't text or call her. We solved the problem there too kind of, but I don't think it will be the same between us, unfortunately not as long as E is in the picture.

Neither of these two had even thought to sort this out with me. They simply just didn't give a fuck.

Also i found out from my partner who was thinking of hiring my sister-in-law's new boyfriend (who is E's ex husband) to start working with him. At the job interview, he had sat and talked badly about me. About me being lazy, that im not doing anything at home and simply that i was not taking my responsibility according to him while my partner was so great. So my partner didn't want to hire him after that.

To this day, I still don't understand why my sister-in-law and her boyfriend suddenly turned their backs on me when I've never done anything to them to deserve it. It hurts a lot that she (sister-in-law) chose to throw me away after everything we've been through together. I myself have now chosen to distance myself from them as far away as possible. I don't feel that this is a genuine friendships, none of them have even tried to text or call me after i reached out to them. I'm not going to fight for a friendship that doesn't exist and especially not for fake people who obviously don't care about me.

🎶 We used to be close, but people can go from people you know to people you don't. And what hurts the most is people can go from people you know to people you don't. 🎶

[romancandlemagazine]

An Interview with Derrick Bostrom from the Meat Puppets

Writing about any music is tough, but writing about the music of the Meat Puppets is really tough. Breaking beyond the noise of the early 80s hardcore scene, this lot scorched ear-drums with a wide-open sound completely their own.

Some called them ‘alternative country’ and some called them ‘cow-punk’, but neither of those weak terms did ‘em justice. This lot nabbed flavours from the full sonic spice-rack to serve up a most flavoursome aural stew.

They’re still at it today, and after a few decades of working ‘a real job’, original drum-smacker Derrick Bostrom is back in the van. Here’s an interview with him about the early days of the band and the realities of being on the road.

Kicking things off at the beginning, what got you into playing the drums? Was there a defining thing that set you off?

I used to play on coffee cans along with my records as a kid. My mom decided to buy me a ‘proper’ children’s set when I was eight, but my kid brother destroyed it after a couple weeks.

When I was 17, I got a cheap department store drum kit so I could play along with a friend of mine who had an electric guitar. I played it for a couple years before I started looking in the newspaper ads for an upgrade.

What sort of music did you listen to growing up? Did playing in bands and being up on stage seem like an attainable thing?

I listened to typical progressive artists when I was a teen. The Dead, Zappa, CSNY, Yes, Todd Rundgren, King Crimson, Eno… and The Beatles, of course. I got heavily into punk in 1977. Once I saw punk rock, I immediately knew I could do it, and started my plan for world domination.

The arrival of punk rock is often talked about as this seismic thing—but as I wasn’t even born then, it’s maybe a bit hard for me to get my head around how radical it was. What was it like for you? Was it a real, noticeable shift?

Punk was seismic enough to make a splash even in a backwater like Phoenix. My friends and I used to get good weed from some cool older guys in town who had turned us on to music like Gong, Eno and King Crimson.

They then got into punk rock, formed bands, got gigs and got local press—I was amazed to read about my friends in the local weekly. Around the same time, I was seeing my first interviews with Johnny Rotten in Creem magazine. I was fascinated. I got caught up in punk quickly after that, though I was alone among my friends, who thought punk was a joke.

How did all this lead into you starting a band?

I tried to talk everyone I knew into starting a band. My friend with the guitar and I had a duo we called The Atomic Bomb Club, but he was hyper-critical of himself and didn’t like performing in front of people. He was also committed to finishing school and getting a ‘real’ job.

Even back then, all I wanted to be was a professional musician, but it wasn’t until I got to know Curt Kirkwood that I found someone interested in the same thing.

How did you lot meet?

I initially met Curt because my friends and I had access to good bud, but he also needed more cool friends. He was a cool guy who lived on the uncool side of town. Eventually, we connected. He was open minded enough to take an interest in my punk rock records, and soon we’d learned a bunch of them. Next, we invited Curt’s younger brother Cris to play with us.

Do you remember your first show?

Our first couple of shows were private parties for friends. We basically ran through songs we’d learned from my punk rock 45 collection. In the summer of 1980, we named ourselves Meat Puppets, started writing songs and did our first club gigs. We were so feral that we blew everyone’s mind.

The second album is the one that gets talked about—but the first one is still pretty wild and unique. What went into the making of that? What were you trying to do?

We got a lot of attention playing so fast and so crazy, but it was hard to reproduce that energy and intensity in the studio. The first album is us trying our best, but we were very green so it didn’t come out as good as we’d hoped.

Still, the first album stands as a good document of where we were at back then. Most of the songs are cranky punk anthems with words by me and music by Curt. Curt avoided the stupidity of my lyrics by screaming unintelligibly. After that, he started writing his own lyrics.

You spent a lot of the early 80s touring with Black Flag. What were those shows like?

Our distaste for ‘hardcore’ audiences is what caused us to turn our backs on punk rock. We took too much abuse from Black Flag fans back in those days. We didn’t like the fights and the spitting and throwing things. We didn’t like the jock mentality. We retreated back to our hippy roots pretty quickly, taunting the audience and playing shit they hated until they stopped coming.

What else went on when you were on tour? I know the shows are obviously the ‘juicy bit’, but I’m always interested in the normal stuff and the down-time.

We liked to spend as much time in nature as we could in between shows. We liked to go to the forest whenever we could. But mostly, it was long drives between towns, begging for floors to sleep on and looking for cheap food.

Do you think some people missed the point with punk music? Were some people just looking for an excuse for violence and dubious behaviour?

Some people thought that violence WAS the point of punk music! We didn’t feel that way, obviously. But people tend to miss the point a lot, no matter what they think.

The music was fairly different, but you lot shared a lot of sensibilities with Minutemen and Hüsker Dü. I’m not sure if competitive is the word here, but was there ever any slight rivalry between the bands? Did what they were doing spur you lot on at all?

We never felt competitive with the Minutemen nor the Huskers (there were times, however, that Cris would become exasperated with my simplistic style and wish he had a drummer like Hurley in the band!) But in general, we didn’t feel like we had much in common musically with our SST label mates. We were just into our own thing too much.

That time in music is often mythologized (maybe I’m doing it right now)—but what are the things that don’t get talked about? What sucked about being in a band in the early 80s?

Doing it as we did, for a living, being in the band left us very broke most of the time. We had to tour constantly in order to make ends meet. This was not only exhausting, but disruptive to our lives. The upside is that it made us a great band.

How involved were you with the song-writing? How did a song tend to come together in the mid-80s?

I wrote most of the lyrics for first songs, the ones on the first album. But once I got the pump primed, Curt took over from there. After that, I contributed song titles occasionally. Since we rehearsed all the time, we usually develop a song over time during rehearsal. As often as not, Curt wouldn’t finalise lyrics until he got a song into the studio.

What about the recording aspect of it? Were there endless multiple takes and mammoth studio sessions, or was it all pretty laid-back?

Each studio session was different. Quite often, our reach often exceeded our grasp in the studio, so sessions could be fraught with frustration. I can confirm that it was never laid back. It would take us a good while to get comfortable in the studio.

Am I right in saying you all lived in a house together? Were you working at the time or was being in the band a full time thing?

We lived together for a while in the early days. Or rather, the brothers lived together and I crashed at their house most of the time. When Curt and his girlfriend had twins in 1983, I moved out. But we always lived nearby one another and were able to rehearse as often as we wanted, usually every day.

Up On the Sun was another fairly distinct record—but it’s maybe a bit more… erm… ‘stylistically cohesive’ than Meat Puppets II. Was there any specific themes or influences going into that album?

I suspect that Curt become a father had the most thematic impact on the album. But also, we’d been together for five years by this point, were always restless, and were itching to spread our wings.

Did you anticipate it becoming the classic it is known as now, or was it just another batch of songs?

I always felt that ALL of our output was destined to be classic.

Haha - fair enough. You lot played at the Desolation Centre Gila Monster Jamboree in the Mojave Desert which is often seen as the precursor to a lot of the big festivals that exist now. What do you remember about that?

It was a long drive out to the middle of nowhere. The PA was terrible. Our performance was just fair. There was a lot of psychedelics around. Kind of a pain in the ass gig.

I like your honesty there. I’m not sure if Mirage is a particularly popular Meat Puppets album – but it’s one of my favourites. For a fairly clean-sounding album, there’s a lot of natural-world type stuff on that album. Did you think much about the lyrics, or were they just things that Curt came up with?

Curt completed the lyrics in the studio. We had a lot of the music rehearsed, but he had a notebook full of stuff that he didn’t finalize until he had to record his vocals. This became a pretty common practice for him after that.

A lot of people dream of being in bands—but not many people actually cut it. How much work is actually involved?

For us, it was a full time job. Constant rehearsal, constant touring, lots of recording, lots of talking to people on the phone, lots of self-promotion. If you put that much into it, you’re bound to get something back, no matter what your endeavor. You don’t even need to be actually good if you put that much work into it, though it helps.

By the early 90s you were signed to a major label and featured regularly on MTV. On the face of it, this is ‘a positive development’—but how was it for you? How did the new business aspect, and the tour bus, change things?

We did a lot of good work in those five years, but it took a toll on our relationships and on our art. Ultimately, I think it pulled us off our game. But we’d been on indie labels for ten years at that point, and were sick of being broke and were near to burnout. Being on a major gave us a nice shot in the arm. Plus, the exposure we got in those years allowed us to keep working right up to this day, during a time where “rock bands” aren’t exactly in high demand.

You left the band in the mid-90s. What else have you been up to since then? Was it weird to work a ‘normal’ job after being a band for years?

Getting married and getting a “real job” saved my sorry ass. It allowed me to grow and mature and explore my potential.

Now that I’m back with the band, my experience in the “real world” is really paying off. I’m a better Bostrom in every way than I used to be back in the day.

You’ve been back with the band since last year. How do you think playing in bands has changed since back in the early 80s?

In too many ways, things haven’t changed at all. The band itself and the music is a lot better. But the Meat Puppets has never been a “popular” band, and just like in the 80s, we can sell out any three-hundred-person-capacity club you can name. But beyond that is anybody’s guess.

Have crowds changed much since back then? Do you think people react to music the same as they used to in the 80s?

Like us, the crowds have aged. But we still pull in some younger folks. By younger, I mean people in their 30s and 40s of course.

You lot seem to attract a pretty obsessive fan-base. People have written books about the lyrics, and I’m sat here now typing up questions about stuff from over 30 years ago. What do you think it is about those songs that register with people?

For one thing, our songs are fantastic. Second, Curt makes sure his songs are open-ended enough to be open to a wide interpretation.

What do you think kept Curt going with the band over the years? He’s been with the Meat Puppets the whole time.

Curt just likes to play. He’s lucky enough to have had enough success to allow him to keep it going at a pace that suits him.

What was it that brought you back into the band? Was it something you were wanting to do for a while?

I reconnected with the band when we were inducted into the Arizona Music and Entertainment Hal of Fame. I hadn’t considered rejoining the band at all before that. But so many people were excited for the induction that I swallowed my pride and reached out to Curt. Once thing led to another after that.

How do you apply your ‘real world’ experience into the band? Rock bands don’t usually hint at a logistical mind, but I imagine it’s pretty important.

Mostly, I have experience working with lots of different kinds of people now. I came straight out of my teens into a rock band, and never really learned that skill. I’ve also learned how to keep organized and stay focused on a a goal. I’ve also learned how to HAVE goals!

Makes sense. I think this is my last question; thinking back to the lyrics and the art that goes with the albums and everything, there’s some funny stuff in there. Is that sense of humour important?

It has always been impossible for the meat puppets to look at the world as anything but completely absurd!

Interview originally published in Roman Candle issue 1.

[sanchoyo]

WHY do I keep getting the worst ads. on tumblr I keep seeing that Prostate Cancer ad with the person grabbing their crotch and that manscaping razor and im like my god I am Not The Target Audience Go Away!!!! and on twitter I keep getting ~romantic vacation ads~ (which, my sister, her gf and her son are going on a beach trip for her bday and valentines so I could probably chalk that up to my phone spying on my convos with her. which doesnt really make me feel any better. I Am Rabidly Jealous if anything bc I would love to go on a vacation but Cant (but also, happy for her n hope she has fun, ofc) ALSO because I keep browsing high end fashion sites for drawing ideas, I keep getting ads for clothes that are 1000 Dollars Or More and THATS scary. thats SO Much...pls stop showing me these Things I cant Have...

the moral of the story is that I desperately need to get an adblocker on my phone -_- ik theres a no ad option w xkit on desktop so I just need to find that post in my ref tag or likes thats how to install xkit on phones to see if it like. works for mobile ads also I guess?