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sirfrogsworth · 22 days ago

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Early voting to beat the lines... the best-laid schemes of mice and men often go awry.

So... yesterday was quite the day.

After being stuck in bed for the past 6 weeks with some mystery slump, I was finally feeling better. So I decided I would try to cram as many errands into my day as possible. That works better for me when I drive out into the world because I end up only having to do one big recovery instead of a bunch of little recoveries.

My to-do list...

Go to the doctor

Vote early

Return oxygen machine to FedEx store for scammy eBay guy

Return Amazon package to the UPS store

Get gasoline for my whip

Go to Discount Tire to get my tires filled for free

Drop a check off for my lawn guy

Mail a secret package to Katrina at the US Post Office

It would have been nice if I could have gone to just one shipping place instead of all three, but the universe has a sense of humor and likes to do shit like that to me on a regular basis.

So, I get my checkup, it goes quick, no long wait, I'm feeling good.

As I get in my car, it starts to rain. It was an ugly day and it actually has not stopped raining to this very moment a day later. Just gray, windy, chilly, and wet. I look up the voting place and start the GPS.

Wipers and music on full blast, it's time to get my vote on.

When I reach my destination, I realize early voting is at some kind of private golf club. And at the center is a recreation center—which is a public building.

So it's like this private/public turducken situation.

I was expecting this errand to take 20 minutes. Because early voting always seemed like a way to get in before the crowds of election day for a more convenient voting experience.

But the parking lot was packed and I feared my expectations were about to be subverted.

As I walk through the parking lot I see a bunch of signs in the ground.

And a particular one caught my eye.

This is bullshit.

Like, just a straight up lie. No truth to it whatsoever.

Amendment 3 in Missouri basically restores abortion rights in the state. And Republicans have taken issue with the following language...

"The Government shall not deny or infringe upon a person's fundamental right to reproductive freedom, which is the right to make and carry out decisions about all matters relating to reproductive health care, including but not limited to prenatal care, childbirth, postpartum care, birth control, abortion care, miscarriage care, and respectful birthing conditions."

They claim the phrasing "but not limited to" means you can give an 8-year-old kid "sex change surgery."

This is how their online flyer puts it...

It could also include a free puppy.

Or a zillion bucks.

Or a clown will come to your house after the abortion and honk your nose.

It's ridiculous and desperate. I honestly don't know how it is legal for them to put a lie like that outside of a polling location, but here we are.

The organization "Missouri Stands with Women" is run by... a man.

It was set up by a lawyer named "Edward Greim" on behalf of the Federalist Society.

His law firm has a lovely biography about him. And a bunch of publicly available contact information. I say that for no reason whatsoever.

The Federalist Society funds all kinds of shit like this. Their main thing is installing conservative judges all over the country who will reinterpret or negate legislation. And they do it all to "stand with women" by taking away their reproductive rights.

Here is the board of directors of the Federalist Society.

Ya know, before I looked this up, I said to myself, "I bet it's going to be a sausage fest." I am psychic.

I think it would be more accurate to say they stand with A woman.

Just one.

And she sucks.

Nicole is a law professor at Notre Dame. She chose her Catholicism over her right to choose. The Catholic Church will fuck your rights and your children and Nicole will help them do it.

Anyway... back to my quick and easy voting experience...

So as I'm walking in to vote I keep passing a ton of these awful signs. I notice an older woman standing next to the aforementioned "child sex change" sign and she says, "Can I talk to you about Amendment 3?"

At this point, I'm pretty angry. I look her dead in the eyes and say with my most assholish tone, "NO." as I walk past her.

And then she finishes her sentence...

"...to protect the reproductive rights of women."

Ah, dammit.

I thought she was an old Karen but she was cool as heck. Standing out in the rain telling people the sign is bullshit. I wanted to turn around and apologize but I was stuck in full social anxiety mode so I just kept walking.

If that old lady happens to have a Tumblr and follows me and is willing to read this giant story... I just want to say I am sorry. I thought you were awful and I should have let you finish your sentence. You're super cool and I'm happy there are folks like you fighting for what is right.

I get inside and a young woman greets me. She tells me the line is in the next room and points. I still wasn't quite sure what the situation was. The parking lot being full gave me pause, but I was still hopeful I could have a swift early voting experience.

But I walk through the doors and into a huge gymnasium and my heart sinks.

It's hard to represent in pictures how long this line is.

It goes all the way to the end of the gym, loops around, and comes back. At first I was not too discouraged, because there was a nice gentle ramp at the start of the line.

But then I notice several sets of stairs at different stages of the line. And I'm just thinking how hard it would be to stand in this line and then also having to go up and down several sets of stairs.

So I go back to the young woman working there and ask what their accessible voting options are. And she told me I could do curbside voting and points outside. I then notice a line of cars wrapped around the parking lot. I don't know how I didn't see them walking in, but I guess I was too busy being a jerk to elderly progressive women.

My biggest concern was time.

The longer this takes, the more energy I use up, the longer my eventual recovery will be.

They tell me the car option is the slowest. And I could be in line for 2 to 3 hours. And then an old man who seemed to be in charge walks over and tells me the fastest option is to stand in line.

So I walk back out to my car and grab my cane and decide to try the long serpentine gynasium line.

I start walking up the ramp and some of the other folks see how slow and labored I'm walking and they start encouraging me. "You can do it! You got this!" Which I suppose was meant to be a positive helpful thing. But I found it to be embarrassing.

I get to the end of the line and notice most of the line has bleachers directly next to it. So I decide to sit down and rest and figure out how I am going to survive this experience.

It took me a while to recover from the long walk to this spot. I watched a bunch of people pass me by and the line was actually getting much longer as I rested. I was not really sure what to do. I was trying to problem-solve this situation but the answer that kept popping up in my mind was just... "go home."

But I felt this was too important and that wasn't really an option.

My best idea was to ask someone if they would hold my spot in line. Perhaps I could just sit in the bleachers and follow them around in the line, staying as close to them as I could. But my social anxiety was set to maximum and I was not finding the courage to ask someone.

After about 10 minutes of sitting, resting, and thinking, I basically say, "Fuck it, I'll try to stand in line."

I get up and start walking to the end of the line.

Then I hear a voice yell out to me.

"Hey, man! Come over here! This is your spot!"

A young man was waving at me. He was accompanied by his wife. Both of them were dressed in black and they had a sort of goth skater aesthetic going on. He had a competitively bushy beard, but with less gray. And she had very vivid purple hair.

I was a little confused and still processing what was happening. Then they both started waving at me to join them in line. They remembered I got there just before and told me I should be in front of them. I walk over and thank them. Then he suggests...

"Hey, why don't you just sit in the bleachers and follow us around the line."

He suggested my idea!

Without me asking!

I felt like he read my mind or something.

Can bearded people read each others' minds? Was this some beard skill I was unaware of?

"I got you, man. You just sit and we'll keep your place."

And his violet hair'd significant other agreed. "Yeah, we got you."

The kindness of strangers was more accessible than my polling place and I was just so thankful in that moment.

So I sat in the bleachers and watched them traverse the line. In the middle of the gym there were some teenagers playing basketball. And so I just rested and watched them play.

That young man in the red pants was like a goddamn Harlem Globetrotter. He was just embarrassing the others. He was bouncing the ball behind his back and through his legs and then he just danced around his opponents like a figure skater. It was such an unbalanced matchup. He might as well have been playing 4th graders. Not only was he significantly faster and more maneuverable, but he was consistently hitting 3-pointers.

And then during a break, he ran towards the hoop, jumped from the free throw line, flew all the way to the net, grabbed onto the rim, and proceeded to do several pull ups as if they were the easiest thing in the world. I don't think I've seen anyone jump that far and that high in real life and it was just a bonkers display of athleticism.

I spent the entire wait watching him humiliate the others—hoping he would get a full ride scholarship to some prestigious university.

And I hoped the other boys paid attention in school and got straight As, because basketball was not going to work out for them.

As my new goth skater friends progressed through the line, I would make sure to keep sight of them. Every once in a while I'd give them a head nod to acknowledge we were in this together. After an hour and a half they were at the final segment of the line, so I sat next to the wheelchair folks.

I probably could have argued to sit with them in the first place. But I really did not feel like making the case that I was just as disabled as them and needed that level of consideration. The old man running things seemed quite stressed and was putting out 8 fires at once. And my anxiety wasn't really cooperating enough to be assertive in my needs.

But it worked out in the end, so I'm not going to dwell on the lack of accommodation for people who weren't *visually* disabled.

My new bearded friend neared the end and waved me over. I thanked him and his wife profusely.

I joked, "Thank you for adopting a voter."

They seemed confused by my joke.

"No problem, man. Happy to help."

I told him and his wife they truly saved me. "I honestly don't think I would have made it through the line." And then I looked back...

I said, "As crazy as this is, I do find this kind of turnout encouraging." His wife agreed and said, "We were saying the same thing!" And then I thought, "Can the wives of bearded people absorb the mind reading ability? I hope she can't read my mind right now. Although, I'm mostly thinking that her hair is a really cool shade of purple, so she'd probably find that complimentary."

As I waited to get my ballot I could hear the happy couple behind me. They were very cute. They were making fun of each other in a very lovey-dovey fashion. I had high hopes they were going to grow old and gray and purple together based on their chemistry. And I was just so thankful they were able to recognize that I needed help without me asking. Because I probably would have just caved to my anxiety and not asked for help otherwise.

I got my ballot and sat down to fill in all of the appropriate squares. Thankfully I had prepared a cheat sheet on my phone.

It was an exact replica so I was able to copy it and finish quite rapidly.

Then I fed my votes into the vote-eating monster and they gave me a sticker.

My quick 20 minute adventure to vote early only took 2.5 hours!

And because I didn't want to buck tradition, I stood outside in the wind and the rain and took a voting selfie.

Yep, that seems about right.

Ah, crap... that was only the second thing on my to-do list.

Let's speedrun the rest of this story, shall we?

I drove to FedEx. I hauled a 40 pound box inside. I plopped it on the counter and said, "Man, this thing is heavy!" as I tried to catch my breath. The 20 year old working there then lifted it like it was a feather and I felt great about that.

I drove to the gas station because I was nearly on empty—that is both a metaphor and not a metaphor. I filled my ride with go juice.

I noticed I was a mile from the tire store and they fill up tires for free. So I did that and the guy was super nice and complimented my tires. I felt both weird and proud about having my tires complimented. Like, I had nothing to do with my tires being nice. But I accepted the praise on their behalf.

I drove to the UPS store. The last time I was there I made a scene. They refused to box up a return and I got upset and wasn't feeling well and they had to find a chair for me to sit in because I was going to faint. So I was hoping the same woman wasn't there, but she was. She didn't recognize me, so it was fine.

I drove to my lawn guy's house. He wasn't home. I dropped a check in his mailbox. My checks have corgis on them. My checks are cute.

I drove to the post office. I sent a secret package to my bestie, Katrina. I'd tell you what is in it, but it is an inside joke and you wouldn't get it. The woman noticed my voting sticker and I couldn't help thinking about what I just accomplished to get that sticker.

On my way out I noticed a miracle.

2 of the 4 doors were fixed!

I mean, I don't know why they couldn't fix all 4, but now the employees won't freeze in the winter. So I take that as a win. It only took a year and a half to accomplish and I'm sure all of my phone calls and emails did not help at all. But I'm going to pretend I saved the day regardless.

And then... I drove home.

5 hours of errands.

I was so fucking tired. My back was on fire with pain. I immediately collapsed into my bed. I passed out. And I slept for 14 hours.

The End

#long post

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badlywritingmagazine · 2 months ago

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Wanna help a by-and-for transfem journal?

Wanna get involved?

Thank you everyone for your interest so far! If you have a sec, I’ve written a quick post about a few ways you can help.

Lili Elbe, painted by Szív királynő, serving “journal reader” realness Do you have trans female mates?

Let your girl friends know. Share it amongst your networks.

Can you read?

Wonderful. Subscribe to this substack to be notified when an issue is released.

Can you think?

If you’re a trans woman and you have feelings about something, send it to us. If you’re developing an idea, come chat with us over email (or arrange a phone call) and let’s figure it out together.

Do you sell books and zines?

Wonderful. Email me. Stock it. Perfect. I can also send you a poster version of our invitation to submit to print out.

Have you written?

If you’re a trans woman who writes about things relevant to our lives, send it to me. If it is online and you worry that it won’t stay up forever, it’s affecting your job and life prospects, or that it is a reflection of its time and not 100% wise anymore, send it to me and get it archived. Archiving is part of the goal here. We’re not uncurated, but that doesn’t mean you should shrug and let the internet, time, transmisogyny and linkrot eat your hard work.

If you’re a trans woman with jobs and obligations and you don’t like having your essay ‘Why dickgirls should commit more assassinations’ or ‘transgender materialism: towards a de/coterminous understanding of post tipping point transmisogyny’ or whatever attached to your name then send it to me and get it re/published under a pseudonym.

If we get a large number of submissions like this we will publish it as a separate supplement, but else it will come as a section within WBM.

Do you know grants?

Rates for unfunded zines and pamphlets suck. We want to pay the women well. Let us know if you know of funds or grants you think we fall under. We’ll be sending off applications.

Can you help us host a launch party in a major city?

We envision low-cost evening events with discussion, trans women, and piles and piles of essays to talk about. (Can we crash on your couch?) We’re based in the UK, but are happy to come anywhere Ryanair goes where there’s a willing audience.

Got an idea I don’t have?

Ultimately, I want to keep this dirt simple. Essays come in, paper goes out. No columns, shite graphics. Couple core editors. Schedules loose enough to spend half the year depressed and still get it out. Stolen printer paper. Something that won’t collapse after two years. Posterity.

That said, if you have an idea (and maybe if you want to do it), email us. Think you know enough people to get this translated and shipped somewhere else? Can you translate and know of a non-English language transfeminist text that’s not got much attention in the anglosphere? Maybe we can submit an application for a grant and distribute your translation? Understand distribution better than me? Do you have the wherewithal to manage a personals board? Something else? Anything except an agony aunt section. I’ve called dibs on that one.

Do you have agonies? Issues? Want bad advice?

Write to the agony aunt. writingbadlymag snail symbol gmail dot com.

Do you have something to say which won't make a whole essay but is still worth saying?

Write a letter to the editor. Same email.

Addendum: Can you help us set up a website?

Websites we think are beautiful are dirt simple. Low-tech Magazine has a beautiful low-energy website. Filmmaker Margot McEwan has a lovely fitting website. Any thoughts or suggestions should be sent to the same email.

(update: we're all set now! Check out badly.press!)

See a good stack cutter?

If you see a cheap paper stack cutter for cheap, let me know. :)

Thanks all!

Forthcoming posts: information for writers, extracts from the issue.

#transfeminism

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hardwriterdeluxe · 5 months ago

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Emergency Model (for Barber Exam)

This story is based on the themes from @joshslater story by the same name, linked here:

https://joshslater.tumblr.com/post/750324919700799488/emergency-model

Go show it love!!!

______________________________________________

Alex grew up in a wealthy family, surrounded by every comfort money could buy. His father, a successful businessman, had always emphasized the importance of self-reliance and hard work. Despite their riches, his father insisted Alex make his own way in the world, particularly when it came to paying for college. “Success,” his father often said, “is earned, not given.”

This principle led Alex to a relentless pursuit of part-time jobs to fund his education. Balancing his rigorous academic schedule with work, he found himself perpetually exhausted and constantly broke. His dorm room was neat and orderly, a reflection of his disciplined upbringing and his hope for a bright future.

One fateful afternoon, as Alex scoured job listings online, a peculiar ad caught his attention: “Quick Cash! Emergency Model Needed for Barber Exam.” The promise of easy money was too tempting to resist. Skeptical but desperate, Alex decided to take a chance.

Arriving at the barber school, Alex was greeted by a burly instructor named Mike, who explained the process. “We’ll be giving you a full treatment, mate. You up for it?” Feeling the pressure, Alex nodded.

“Yeah, sure,” he replied, trying to sound confident.

“Great, let’s get you suited up so your clothes don’t get messy,” Mike said, handing Alex a jumpsuit typically worn by the barbers.

Once he had changed, the students began their work. The first cut was shorter than Alex was used to, but he remained hopeful. As the cuts grew bolder, his hair transformed into a chavy, sporty style. Before he could protest, a student named Dan approached with a piercing gun. “Hold still, mate. Just adding a couple of studs,” he said, not giving Alex a chance to object. Before he knew it, Alex’s ears were pierced, adorned with small silver studs.

When the final haircut was done, Alex looked in the mirror, barely recognizing himself. “All set, mate!” Dan announced with a grin. Alex went to change back into his clothes, only to find them missing. “Uh, where are my clothes?” he asked, panic rising.

“Oh, must’ve misplaced them. Don’t worry, we’ve got some spares you can borrow,” Dan said, handing him a bundle of clothes. The outfits were all chavy and sporty, much like the students wore. Reluctantly, Alex put on the new clothes, feeling awkward and out of place. He collected his phone and wallet, but the cash he was promised wasn’t there.

Alex left the barber shop, confused and upset about losing his clothes. He headed to the bus stop, only to realize he was short on cash for the fare. As he stood there, unsure of what to do, Dan and a couple of the lads from the barber shop appeared. “Need a hand, mate?” Dan asked, noticing Alex’s predicament.

“Yeah, I don’t have enough for the bus,” Alex admitted, embarrassed.

“No worries. We got you,” Dan said, covering the fare. They rode the bus together, the lads chatting animatedly. Alex, still in shock, barely registered the conversation. When they reached Alex’s stop, the lads walked him to his door. “See you around, mate,” Dan said, patting him on the back. Alex nodded, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and apprehension.

The next day, Alex was awoken by a knock on his door. Groggy and disoriented, he opened it to find Dan and a few of the lads standing there. “Morning, mate! Time to pay up for yesterday,” Dan said with a grin.

Alex’s heart sank. “I don’t have the cash right now. I didn’t get paid from the barber exam,” he explained, his voice wavering.

Dan’s grin widened. “No worries, we’ve got an alternative method. Come with us, and you can work it off.”

Alex had no choice but to agree. He followed the lads, his anxiety mounting. They led him to a local gym where they spent the day working out and playing sports. The lads encouraged Alex, pushing him to embrace their lifestyle more fully.

As the days turned into weeks, Dan began to subtly alter Alex's reality. Using an uncanny ability to manipulate time and space, Dan slowly rewrote Alex's past and present. Alex’s body began to change, growing taller and more muscular. His once lean frame filled out with bulk, his muscles becoming defined from the daily workouts. His bone structure shifted, his features becoming more rugged and less conventionally attractive. His face developed a rougher edge, his jawline more pronounced and his skin tougher.

Alex’s intelligence seemed to drain away, his thoughts slowing and his vocabulary shrinking. He began to speak in the slang and accent of the lads, his speech patterns changing to match theirs. His mind transformed, his memories and identity reshaping to fit his new life. The well-spoken, diligent student was gone, replaced by Alec, a school dropout with a rough, chavy demeanor.

Alec’s heritage seemed to change as well. His affluent background and disciplined upbringing were erased, replaced by a working-class origin. His DNA, once a reflection of his rich ancestry, now bore the marks of a lad who had grown up in a tougher environment. His once clean, well-mannered appearance was replaced by a more average, rugged look.

Alec found himself working at the barbershop for money, his old aspirations and dreams replaced by the immediate need to earn a living. His apartment, once neat and orderly, transformed into a messy, athletic-themed space. Weights and gym equipment cluttered the living room, and sports posters adorned the walls. Alec even found himself sharing the space with a new roommate, Jay, another lad who fit seamlessly into Alec’s new life.

The transformation was complete. Alec’s interests changed; he now enjoyed working out, hanging with the lads, and the rough, chavy lifestyle. His wardrobe, once filled with preppy, clean-cut clothes, now boasted track suits, hoodies, and trainers. His clean, academic demeanor was replaced by a confident, almost cocky swagger.

One day, Alec looked in the mirror and fully embraced the reflection staring back. His rich upbringing, his disciplined studies, his aspirations for a professional career—all were distant memories, replaced by his new life as a proper chavy lad. His brain had fully adapted to his new identity, erasing any lingering doubts or connections to his past life.

As Alec sat in his now cluttered living room, surrounded by his new friends, he felt a sense of belonging he had never experienced before. The job that was supposed to be a quick cash fix had given him a new purpose and a new family. Alec embraced it fully, ready for whatever adventures lay ahead with his newfound brothers. Thus, the wealthy student transformed into a proper chavy sporty lad, his old life replaced by a new, exciting reality.

#chav lads #tf story #scallylad #scally chav #my writing

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soon-palestine · 5 months ago

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So it turns out that Elons trip to Israel wasn't just for kosher theater and an IDF propaganda tour.

A secret meeting took place while he was there that went virtually unreported by any news media outlets.

In attendance was Netanyahu, Musk's tour organizer, investor Omri Casspi, Brigadier General Danny Gold, Head of the Israeli Directorate of Defense Research & Development and one of the developers of Iron Dome, Aleph venture capital funds partner Michael Eisenberg, and Israeli cybersecurity company CHEQ CEO Guy Tytunovich who is ex-israeli intelligence unit 8200.

The six men talked about technology in the service of Israel's defense, dealing with fake content and anti-Semitic and anti-Israeli comments, and the use by non-democratic countries of bots as part of campaigns to change perceptions, including on the X platform.

The solution Musk was presented was the Israeli unicorn CHEQ, a company founded by ex-Israeli intelligence unit 8200 CEO Guy Tytunovich that combats bots and fake users.

Following the meeting, Elon signed an agreement with cheQ, and apparently, the reason for the quick closing of the deal was Elons "direct involvement" with the company.

Now. What they won't tell you.

Israel is primarily responsible for the creation of bots. There currently exists dozens of ex-Israeli intelligence firms whose sole purpose is perception management, social media influencing/manipulation, disinformation campaigns, psychological operations, opposition research, and honey traps.

They create state of art, multi layer, AI avatars that are virtually indistinguishable from a real human online. They infiltrate target audiences with these elaborately crafted social-media personas and spread misleading information through websites meant to mimic news portals. They secretly manipulate public opinion across app social media platforms.

The applications of this technology are endless, and it has been used for character assassination, disruption of activism/protest, creating social upheaval/civil unrest, swaying elections, and toppling governments.

These companies are all founded by ex-Israeli intelligence and members of unit 8200. When they leave their service with the Israeli government, they are backed by hundreds of billions of dollars through Israeli venture capital groups tied to the Israeli government.

These companies utilize the technology and skills learned during their time served with Israeli intelligence and are an extension of the Israeli government that operates in the private sector.

In doing so, they operate with impunity across all geographical borders and outside the bounds of the law. The Israeli government is forbidden by law to spy on US citizens, but "ex" Israeli intelligence has no such limitations, and no laws currently exist to stop them.

Now back to X and Elon Musk.

Elon met with these people in secret to discuss how to use X in service of Israel's defense.

Elon hired an ex-Israeli intelligence firm to combat the bots…. that were created by another ex-israeli intelligence firm.

Elon hired an ex-israeli intelligence firm to verify your identity and collect your facial biometric data.

Do you see the problem yet?

Israel now has end to end control over X. Israel can conduct psychological operations and create social disinfo/influence campaigns on X with impunity. They now have facial biometric data from millions of people that can be used to create and populate these AI generated avatars.

They can manipulate public opinion, influence congressmen and senators, disrupt online movements, manipulate the algorithm to silence dissenting voices against Israel, and they can sway the US elections.

When the company that was hired to combat the bots is also Israeli intelligence…

Who is going to stop them?

Cyberspace is the wild.west. There are currently no laws on the books to regulate foreign influence on social media. There is nothing to stop them from conducting psychological operations and disinformation campaigns on unsuspecting US citizens. These companies operate with impunity across all geographical boundaries and there is nobody to stop them. But don't take my word for it.

For anyone wondering what the end game is for this, it was recently verbalized by Vivek Ramaswamy here on X. To narrow and completely eliminate the gap between what we say (think) in private and in public. In practice, the thought police of the future. And X is actively working on it.

#palestine #gaza #free palestine #twitter #bots

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uzumaki-rebellion · 11 days ago

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youtube

Spinning the Block Part 2

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Officer Jessica "Jess" Sims

Warning(s): 18+, Suicide Mentioned, Smut.

Summary: Terry returns to Shelby Springs to find Jess.

Word count: 4.2K

"I keep my head up high

I cross my heart and hope to die

Lovin' me is complicated

Too afraid of a lot of changes

I'm alright and you're a favorite

Dark nights in my prayers"

Kendrik Lamar – "Alright"

The dust had finally settled.

Terry sat in a Shelby Springs coffee shop and mulled over the whirlwind two years he'd lived through. His high-profile case against the Shelby Springs Police Department ended in his favor. The case didn't drag out for years, probably because the video proof of misconduct was irrefutable. The combination of systemic corruption, civil rights violations, departmental liability, and lack of community trust in the leadership helped the jury make a quick decision. Summer and Marston's testimony did significant damage, but it was Jess Sims' presence that rattled him. Whatever ambivalence he felt about her part in knowing what that corrupt police department was doing, Jess's community rallied behind her. They set up online support to encourage people to donate money for her lawyer's defense fund and to help support her financially while temporarily suspended without pay. There were online testimonials from citizens vouching for her character. Even former criminals who had run-ins with the police posted TikTok clips of how Jess checked up on them to make sure they stayed on the straight and narrow after interactions with her as their arresting officer.

"Officer Sims didn't play. She talked to me like one of my aunties and that made me feel real bad, y'know, like I let down somebody in my family for being a fuckup. Sims told me to get my shit together. She even went to my grandmama's house to see if I signed up for night school like I said I would. My grandmama and my mama didn't even know how bad I was doing. I was pissed at first, cuz I felt like she needed to mind her business. Feel me? But yeah…I got my G.E.D. and I'm working a steady gig now. When I seen all that bullshit go down with homeboy and his cousin…I believed them cops did that shit. But I wouldn't yoke her up with them other fuckers. Ain't no good cops really outchea, but she made me think there might be some tryin' to do right by people."

The comments to that particular TikTok blew up and people argued among themselves about Jess's choice to be a cop, knowing that one Black woman among a squad of white boys didn't make her appear capable of fighting systemic racism. She was called everything from a white man's bedwench for knocking niggas around to the best type of law enforcement needed…someone connected to her community who put their needs first by protecting them from the white cops.

None of her community accolades or dedication to the force appeased other cops who painted her as a traitor to the blue line. She withstood online hate and ferocious public scrutiny. That had to be tough on her. Meanwhile, the public framed Terry and his cousin as victims of police brutality. His Aunt Rosa received nearly one million in GoFundMe donations. It covered burial expenses and the cost of a heavy-hitter lawyer to take on their wrongful death suit against the prison that was negligent in protecting Mike. The lawsuit would take some time, but all the media attention shed light on the case. He hoped his aunt would get swift justice.

As for Terry, he received a multi-million dollar settlement.

He cried when the judgment was read to him out loud in court. His lawyer cried with him because it meant that the world knew he was innocent and the cops were indeed callous bastards. No legal analyst expected the police department to appeal. Chief Sandy Burnne acted belligerent on the stand and justified his actions as a way to keep the town afloat because of budget constraints. He clammed up when Terry's lawyer brought up his previous wrongful death suit as the true cause of the department's financial crisis. He would more than likely die in prison with the long stretch he faced in the criminal case against him. The suicide of the corrupt Judge Logston who helped hide the truth nailed it shut in many minds. Why take yourself out if you're innocent?

The departments's insurance would pay it quickly and quietly. The city council of Shelby Springs wanted their town's name and tarnished reputation out of the media.

The judge approved the settlement, and the case was officially closed after eighteen months.

Sitting in the coffee shop stirring sugar into his espresso, the idea of being a wealthy man didn't faze him. Getting the truth out mattered most. It didn't surprise him that others who went through the terror tactics of the cops didn't come forward or even want to join a class action lawsuit. They had to live in that town or near it among family members of the cops that crossed several parishes. The trauma ran deep for some, and they wanted to forget about the money or assets stolen from them. Terry had nothing to lose. No wife or kids. No steady girlfriend. No job. No fear. He was a lone wolf with nothing but time on his hands to go up against a beast of a system.

Still, he couldn't keep Jess Sims taking the stand out of his mind. She wore a simple beige top with a tan blazer and brown slacks. She had puffed out her hair in a halo of fluffy curls, pulled back by a hair clip on one side. The light make-up on her face showed him what a stunner she was out of uniform. When his lawyer made a little joke to help Jess relax, he noticed she had a dimple in her right cheek when she smiled. Their eyes met briefly before she was grilled about her role in the case.

Certain things were made clear. Chief Burnne kept Jess in the office for the majority of her work shifts. Misdemeanor cases were in abundance in Shelby Springs, and most people didn't question it because of the war on drugs and whatever made-up war they used to explain away why so many victims were called by their incarcerated loved ones to bring large sums of purposely inflated bail money in cash. Officer Lann and Officer Marston, along with two other officers Burnne used, were the primary culprits who arrested people. Judge Logston notified the police chief when a new bundle of cash was expected to come through in an attempt to bail out a loved one.

Burnne knew Jess was a straight-shooter and good at computers, so he kept her mainly indoors for the past two years as their department struggled with budget cuts. She also cared for her ailing grandfather at home, so her schedule remained fixed to gift her flexibility to run home for emergencies when the day nurse she paid for had issues. Each date that his lawyer brought up pertaining to a civil asset seizure, she could show in her personal daily planner that she worked in the office that day. Her patrol days were usually on Saturdays when her sister-in-law stayed with her grandfather.

Terry watched the dawning realization on Jess's face as she understood how Burnne had manipulated her and kept her away from a lot of actions she would most likely object to. The chief stayed considerate of her home situation only because it was the best way to keep her and a few other goody-two shoes cops in the dark as much as possible.

In the beginning of her testimony, Jess answered confidently and spoke highly of her former boss in terms of how he treated her. Burnne played on her need to clean up the streets and indoctrinated her with the mindset that they were under siege by nefarious cartels and drug dealers. No one could be trusted. Their actual legitimate drug busts cemented in Jess's mind that Burnne knew what was best, and she moved his way. Terry's lawyer baited her into speaking of her moral compass and pushed her to explain why she had held a gun on Terry when he thought she was Serpico.

"Until that point, I had no cause to believe that Chief Burnne acted unlawfully," Jess said.

His lawyer, a white man with the mind of a steel trap, stared at her hard before speaking again.

"Terry Richmond, who had done nothing but de-escalate every situation he faced with your fellow officers…you included…he hands you SD cards and asks you to broadcast them for the world to see after he thinks he'll be arrested or killed by your department… and that doesn't give you pause Miss Sims that maybe something is rotten in Denmark…or even a little fishy?"

Jess glanced at him, and he tried to give her an encouraging look to tell her truth. Her eyes watered.

"I wasn't sure what to believe. Things were happening so fast and I didn't want him to hurt the Chief or me."

"Miss Sims, you told us earlier that Mr. Richmond remained calm at all times, always explaining what he was going to do, and even conveyed to you that he wanted to avoid gunfire and violence. Why didn't you at least stop to look at the footage?"

Jess held her head high and kept her tears from falling.

"I wanted to trust Chief Burnne—"

"But you just stated that you weren't sure what to believe."

"That's because I didn't want to make a mistake and get my fellow officers or Mr. Richmond killed because of doubt. I kept thinking things could be sorted out later, as long as no one got hurt."

"That's the thinking of a good cop. We know you're good, Miss Sims, because we saw video of you stopping Officer McGill from shooting Mr. Richmond in cold blood. Mr. Richmond also testified that he thanked you for protecting him from men who wanted to… and I quote, "string me up". You also stopped Chief Sandy Burnne from obstructing justice by pushing him off the road and arresting him. The problem I'm having, though, is why you waited so long to stop Burnne once he shot Officer Marston…"

Jess's voice sounded unsure later in her testimony. It appeared that she questioned her own actions as she recalled them. She gave the impression that she was willing to support bad actors and questionable conduct as long as the end result she wanted came about. To Terry, she sounded no different from the Black soldiers he worked with in the marines who were gungho about fighting bad guys overseas, even if a few innocent civilians in other countries got crushed. Collateral damage.

Terry sipped his drink and contemplated the busy street outside. Such a sleepy-looking town. The type of place people put on postcards. A white woman strolled past, walking a small black and white dog with a young girl. She double-backed a few seconds later with her mouth held open. He grinned and gulped down the last of his espresso before leaving the coffee shop and joining the woman outside.

"Terry Richmond…I swear as I live and breathe!"

Summer McBride hugged Terry, and he lifted her up, returning the affection.

"You look amazing," she gushed.

"You look good too."

"Oh, please," she said.

She ran a hand over her thin blond hair that was about two inches longer than the last time he saw her.

"This is my daughter Annie…Annie this is Mr. Richmond, the man who saved me."

Summer's daughter had her mother's lanky blonde hair and a thin build. She looked to be about nine years old.

"Hi Annie," he said.

Annie acted shy and stayed close to her mother as she held the leash of the passive dog.

"Hi," Annie said.

"When did you get here…and why did you come back?" Summer said.

"Got here last night, and I came to check on some people in person. You and your daughter…and someone else."

"Marston?"

"No…Jess Sims."

Summer stared at him for a long time.

"Why Jess?"

Terry crouched down to play with Summer's dog. The puppy willingly went to him, and he glanced across the street, keeping an eye out for Jess. A Black café owner on the corner informed him earlier, after he ate an early breakfast, that Jess and her friends often had brunch there every Wednesday at one. He hung around the coffee shop to do some reconnaissance, looking for her. He tried contacting her through his lawyer, but she changed her phone number. His plan was to see her…try to talk to her. He had a burning desire to sort his feelings about everything with her. After the court case, he was compelled to let her know that he was never going to hold hard feelings against her. The vitriol she received from the outside world was enough. He needed her to know that he wanted her to keep living without guilt. All the others could go to hell, especially Marston, who started the whole ball running by ramming his cruiser into him.

But Jess?

He wanted her to have grace. The look of regret and shame on her face at Mike's repast made it possible for him to forgive her part in the whole affair. It was brave for her to show up at his aunt's house, knowing she'd be the target of scorn and the rage of a family who shouldn't be mourning Mike.

When he glimpsed her face back in Greenwood, he couldn't believe it. He almost didn't recognize her. She'd stayed on his mind for days. His cousin flipped the fuck out on her, and Terry chased Jess down the street. She looked so vulnerable and broken. Scared. He wanted to hug her, even though his cousin had every right to curse her out. That was her baby brother shanked to death. Her only brother.

He looked up at Summer. Why Jess?

"I need closure with her. She saved me two times…three, actually. Saved you."

"She was only saving her ass."

"Like your friend, Marston?"

Summer looked away. Her body language and tone told him more than she realized. She and Jess had history of some kind.

"You know her?"

"Yeah. We were friends at one time."

"What happened?"

"That's personal."

"I have a lot of time available to listen."

"Over dinner?"

He grinned. Summer gave him a coy smile. He sensed some flirtation, but he wouldn't feed it. She was strictly for the friend zone.

"Pick the restaurant. My treat," he said.

"No, my treat at my place. It might be better if we aren't seen eating out together since…you know…the case has been settled. I make a mean casserole and I can fill you in on my case against Officer Lann."

"When?"

"Let's do tomorrow night. Annie goes back to her dad's and we can have some privacy. My number is the same."

"Okay. Sounds like a plan."

Terry noticed a Dodge Durango pull into a parking spot across the street. Seven Black women piled out and Jess was the last to exit from the driver's side. He inhaled through his mouth quickly, seeing her with her people. She smiled and checked her cell phone, pulling out a pair of glasses. Her black and silver off-the-shoulder halter top accentuated all that she had up front and her short jean skirt gave him an eyeful of big legs and thick thighs. The heels of her black open-toe half boots helped stream-line her profile. She was all huggable curves and wide hips. Big hoop earrings dangled to her shoulders and her laughter drifted across the street, making music in his ears. Goddamn. Nothing made Terry weaker than a short, big-breasted woman who wore glasses.

"Well, there she is," Summer grumbled.

Her voice sounded irritated. She took the leash from Annie.

"See you tomorrow night," Summer said.

Jess glanced their way and froze.

"Good luck," Summer said, walking off with her daughter and dog.

Terry looked over at Jess again. Her party of women entered the café laughing and talking loud, but she stood near her car with a concerned expression. He smoothed his blue sweater down to make sure he was presentable and crossed the street after a car rolled past.

"I've been trying to contact you. You changed your number," he said.

Terry tried to sound upbeat to help ease her apprehension.

"Changed it a year ago," she said in a crisp and cautious tone.

Jess's central Louisiana accent had him feeling bashful in front of her. Things were so different when she wasn't in uniform. This was a bona fide southern baddie in front of him. He didn't want to lose all his cool in front of her, however, it would've been so easy to take one step and place a hand on her car's roof, hem her up against the driver's door and talk that talk to her like he was trying to pull her in his orbit. She had to be feeling him because her eyes dropped to his chest, admiring the wide expanse of it.

"I see you're about to have a meal with your people, so I won't take up too much of your time…I just needed to see you, Jess. Can we meet up for another time to talk openly?"

"I don't know why you'd want to. Last time you saw me, I caused a scene at your cousin's house."

"That was a tough day, and my entire family stayed on edge. I'm sorry about your passenger window. Can I take you out to eat later in the week? Friday maybe? Or we could take a long drive into the country, get away for a chance to connect…talk?"

"I have a church function on Friday."

"Saturday."

"Busy. Terry, I don't feel comfortable—"

"Okay, okay. Thank you for helping me. Thank you for keeping me alive."

Jess chewed her lip, and her left leg shook. She averted his direct gaze, and he so wanted to hug her and tell her everything would be fine. But he didn't know that for sure, at least not for her. He dug for his wallet in his back pocket and pulled out a card from the motel he stayed at.

"I'm in room 5B. Please call if you change your mind. I'm going to stay here for a few more days. If I don't hear from you, I'm going to leave town."

"You should leave now. There's nothing for you here except a horrible memory."

Jess started wiping at her eyes as tiny teardrops fell down her plump cheeks. He moved in close and hugged her, letting her nervous trembles get absorbed by his warm strength.

"I'm not here to upset you or make you feel bad, Jess…I care about what's going on in your life. We both went through something traumatic that changed us. I know you're having a hard time here."

She wept onto the top of his chest. He rubbed her back to soothe her. The way she rested against his solid frame felt right.

"Jess? Everything okay?"

One of her girlfriends stepped out from the café, looking for her. Terry didn't want to stop holding Jess. All that softness molded against his hard muscles reminded him of how long he'd been without the regular comforts of a woman. He'd had a few hook-ups throughout the trial, but none of the women he spent intimate time with felt like the woman in his arms. Her lushness and the way she clung to him aroused a yearning to be alone with her. But only when she was ready.

He stepped away from her and stroked her shoulders.

"I won't pressure you. If you don't call me, I'll understand why and won't bother you again."

She nodded and walked away from him quickly. Her friend, another heavyset woman with long straight hair, threw an arm around Jess's shoulder and escorted her inside the café.

That didn't go so well.

Terry took a long walk around the town square to clear his head. He didn't want to make her cry, although he knew in his heart that speaking with her could turn emotional. Now that he'd approached her, he wasn't so sure if talking with her would do either of them any good. He was already feeling the heaviness in his chest from listening to her sob. Did she think he just wanted to punish her with his words? Give her a verbal tongue lashing to rid himself of the burden of Mike's death? Lay it at her feet so she would suffer for as long as his family did?

Truthfully, he didn't know what to do. He'd been languishing in a holding pattern for two years since Mike's murder. The lump sum of his multi-million dollar payout gave him financial freedom to go anywhere. All he did was buy a brand new silver-blue Dodge Ram truck with a pop-up camper and drove straight to Shelby Springs to find Jess. The previous night, he slept out in the woods inside his pop-up to test it out. Roomy, comfortable, and perfect for his needs as an outdoorsman, Terry later sought a motel and bided his time, waiting for her to show up by lingering inside the coffee shop.

Now he found himself lost again.

He returned to the coffee shop after an hour and ordered a turkey club sandwich with tomato basil soup. Jess emerged from the café with her friends, looking subdued. He sat back in the cut and watched her drive away, thinking about her softness.

Returning to the motel, he tried to turn in early after watching a few movies. He tossed and turned all night, dreaming about Jess. Before dawn broke, he woke up with a throbbing erection. He twisted his legs around the cheap, thin motel sheets. Their friction against his dick might have influenced the vivid dream he snapped awake from. There was nothing inherently erotic about it at first, just a replaying of hugging Jess and rocking her in his arms. But then she dropped to her knees, right there next to her car, and unfastened his pants, fishing out the thick dick that her cute hands couldn't get to fast enough. The rich brown heaviness pulsed in her hand. He was a big man everywhere, and his erection was not meant for those who couldn't handle a big penis. Terry was so ready to nut all in her pretty mouth. Jess teased the fat mushroom cap and thick frenulum ridge with a nasty pink tongue that knew how to please him. He reached down to palm one of her breasts and her top just fell down to her waist, like the magic of dreams often did. Her big titties made him groan, especially the large reddish-brown areolas with stiff nipples ready to be pinched and played with.

Jesus! He was ready to bust.

She started shaking them fat titties, letting them smack against each other, letting him hear how loud they'd sound smacking above his face if he fucked her good and hard.

"Baby, you can put your mouth on that dick. Lemme see how far I can get it down your throat before you choke…"

His deep voice sounded demanding and direct. She lifted those big melons and jiggled them for him, her lips pulled back into a smile showing him that one dimple in her cheek.

That's when he woke up, sweating and cursing, because that shit wasn't really happening.

Terry untangled his legs from the sheets and fisted his dick, pumping his hand up and down from the root to the ridge, squeezing the heft. His pre-cum spilled out in a deluge and he groaned Jess's name. He envisioned her voluptuous breasts, wishing they were in his hands, and came so forcefully that his balls pulsed in a rhythm with the thick white streams he shot across the bed.

"Fuck…fuck…oh…fuck!"

He kept working his hand up and down, pretending she rode his dick, clapping the cheeks of her fat ass on his muscular thighs. A final release of cum signaled the end phase of his intense climax. No orgasm ever felt like that before, just from a dream.

Terry moaned and gasped for air. The room looked blurry because his eyes watered from the pleasure, sweating fluid like the rest of his skin and his content dick.

He squeezed his eyes shut and knew something for certain while being in Shelby Springs: either he'd end up fucking Jess Sims, or he'd make her cry again. Maybe even both… at the same damn time.

Part 3 soon come...

Masterlist.

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#terry richmond #rebel ridge #Spinning the Block #terry richmond fanfiction #rebel ridge fanfiction #Terry Richmond x Black Reader #aaron pierre #Terry Richmond x Black Plus-Sized Heroine #Terry Richmond x Jess Sims #Terry Richmond x Officer Jess Sims #Terry Richmond Smut #uzumaki rebellion #Youtube

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matan4il · 8 months ago

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Update post:

Most of this will be about the unprecedented attack of the Islamist regime of Iran against Israel, but first I have to take a second to mourn a 14 year old boy, who was murdered in a Palestinian attack on Friday. At around 6 in the morning, teenager Binyamin Achimeir led his sheep herd out of the farm he lives in, but a few hours later, the sheep returned to the farm without him. At first, it was feared that he had some accident, or was dehydrated, and thousands of people voluntarily joined the search for him. On Saturday, at around noon, the IDF found his body, with signs of brutal violence on it. Based on the forensic evidence, he was murdered by several Palestinian terrorists, and he fought back. The army is still hunting down the murderers. May Binyamin's memory be a blessing.

Right, back to the Islamist regime of Iran's attack on Israel. I posted about it as soon as the news started being aired here, in case someone didn't know about it. The news broke past the normal time when people watch news on TV in Israel, I noticed it by chance right before I was about to turn in for the night. I'm physically okay, but I didn't get that much sleep, I had to wake up early to take care of some stuff, so I AM very tired, which is why I'm not going to do the usual thing I do, which is to look for English journalistic sources for everything, but I have no doubt even the stuff I won't look up can all be easily found online.

On a personal note, I can tell you that at 1:43 in the morning I heard the first explosion, but no sirens went off. A few more explosions followed, and only then did we hear the sirens. It was scary, for a moment we couldn't tell whether we're hearing explosions of missiles from neighboring areas, or whether something went wrong with the sirens, and we need to hurry into the bomb shelter. It seems like in Jerusalem specifically there was some issue with the sirens, I heard a reporter mention it. Also, the alert app didn't go off, even though it should have, at the latest when the sirens did.

This is what the Temple Mount looked like from an Iranian attack that could have easily destroyed the al-Aqsa mosque (it's not in the frame, but it's right next to where this was filmed):

Quick background: Iran is the biggest financier of anti-Israel terrorism for decades now, including funding Hamas, Hezbollah and the Houthis, all of which have been a part of a continuous attack on Israel since Oct 7 as Iran's proxies. Iran has sent its own military seniors to help and instruct those local terrorists, in places like Lebanon, Syria and Iraq. Israel has eliminated them whenever possible, this is not something new. On Apr 1, Israel carried out such a strike, in which it targeted 7 Iranian army seniors in Damascus, Syria's capital. Iran claimed Israel targeted the Iranian consulate in this city, but diplomatic buildings are all publicly listed. Iran has an embassy in Damascus (in a separate location) and no consulates. That's why the magnitude of Iran's response to this has taken Israel by surprise, because the Israeli strike wasn't that out of the ordinary. In fact, the US assassination of Iran's military commander, Qasem Soleimani, back in 2018, was a far graver blow for the Iranian regime, and yet it did not lead to an attack as massive as the one launched against Israel last night.

It is now known that some of the attack waves against Israel were intercepted by other countries, including The US, the UK, France and Jordan. It's been said that there's at least one more Arab country that helped in intercepting Iran's attack, but it can't be publicized. Many countries denounced Iran for attacking Israel.

We don't have numbers regarding the full size of the attack. Out of all the countries who participated in curtailing this attack, we know that the US has intercepted at least 70 suicide drones and 3 cruise missiles, while Israel has intercepted at least 185 suicide drones, 36 cruise missile and 110 ballistic missiles (that last one is the missile type that causes the most damage). Israel's interceptions are said to have been 99% successful, but like I said, no defence system is perfect. A small number of ballistic missiles did land inside Israel. One hit an Israeli air Force base in the south. There's over 30 people who got injured when rushing to the bomb shelter in the middle of the night (elderly people, including Holocaust survivors, have died from such injuries), and over 30 more ended up in hospital due to severe mental health reactions. On top of that, there's a 7 years old Muslim Bedouine girl who was injured by interceptors debris. A friend of her family that I heard being interviewed said the family wanted to go to the communal bomb shelter, but before they even had a chance to make it out of the house, the girl was hit by the debris piercing into their home, and she is suffering from severe head injuries. The hospital is currently fighting for her life.

The estimate of how much it cost Israel to defend its citizens from this one attack last night is 5 BILLION shekels (which is over 1.3 BILLION US dollars). That's for one night.

Israel will respond. According to one reporter I heard, that was decided as soon as it was clear how big the attack is, so this isn't about how much damage Iran caused, it's about how it crossed several red lines. This is the first time Iran itself attacked Israel itself, it's not an attack on an extension of Israel, nor was it done by using proxy terrorists. Israel has had terrorist organizations attacking it continuously since 2001, but this is the first attack from a fellow sovereign country since Iraq (led by tyrant Saddam Hussein) in 1991, so that in itself is crossing a red line. The size of the attack is also considered an escalation on Iran's part. In 2019, Iran launched a smaller scaled suicde drone attack on Saudi Arabia, and the latter's western allies refused to launch a counter attack, which led to these countries being seen as unreliable, and some Middle Eastern countries renewed their ties with Iran. That's why how it would seen in the Middle East if Israel doesn't react to an even bigger attack, and how it might drive more moderate countries to grow closer to Iran, is another consideration in why Israel must respond. Not to mention that launching such a mass attack basically caused a paralysis of the country once the first intel became known. For example, all educational activity (schools, universities, you name it) has been canceled, Israel's air space had to be closed, every single ambulance across the country had to be manned, and so on. That is not something any country can simply shrug off. Not to mention, Israel financially can't afford this reality to become normalized.

Not to mention, Israel tried to contain Hamas, PIJ and Hezbollah's rocket attacks for decades. What we got for it was the invasion and massacre on Oct 7. The lesson for most Israelis is that containing mass attacks on our population only leads to worse ones.

That said, there's also no desire here of getting dragged into a war on another front while we're still in the middle of one in Gaza and with Iran's proxies on several more fronts. So, Israel is looking for a balanced response, one that won't let this mass attack slide, but hopefully doesn't make matters much worse.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #antisemitism #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #terrorism #anti terrorism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #israelunderattack #iran

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factcheckingmclennon · 4 months ago

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banana milkshakes in paris: fact or fiction?

"John and I went to Paris on birthday money he received from a relative. He must have been fond of me to spend that money. He let me have all the banana milkshakes I wanted." -Paul McCartney

this quote goes around a lot. so...

did paul mccartney say john "let (him) have all the banana milkshakes (he) wanted?"

rating....

no, this quote is completely fake. however, there IS a real quote about the banana milkshakes. let's get into it!

first let's get into the fake part.

the oldest source of this quote online seems to be this deviantart post from 2011. it's full of other pretty bizarre quotes, including john saying him and paul had sex, and after that it's only turned up on tumblr/other forums. (disclaimer: as it's over 10 years old, i'm linking directly. if you are this user and you want me to take down this link, let me know please! and if you know this user, don't harrass them. it also has a collection of some other quotes that get passed around. i haven't deep dived into any of them, though i do know the quote about sex and love from john IS real as there's video of it, but take a gander and take the rest of these w a huge grain of salt if you see them around as well.)

so the quote itself???

but as for the real quote, it's actually still pretty similar so idk why anyone would make this up honestly. possibly just this user misremembering this quote & paraphrasing without saying they were paraphrasing? anyway.

from a 1987 interview with julia baird (john's sister):

PAUL: We went to Paris – we were supposed to be in Spain, but we couldn’t get past Paris, we enjoyed that so much – on the strength of his hundred quid [given to him] when he was twenty-one. We went hitchhiking. We kind of said, “Well, look, I mean, we can get to Spain on this,” you know, a hundred quid, and he was kind of um… I mean, I don’t think he was funding me as much as he was spending. JULIA: Yeah, yeah. PAUL: And I’d be there for the banana milkshake. [Julia and Paul laugh] You know, I’d just happen to be there while he was spending. I think I kind of paid my own way. But we hitched, we hitched out. And we used – we realised that in – hitching, in those days, was much safer, obviously, than it is to hitchhike now – and we realised that we had to have a bit of a gimmick. So we both had these leather jackets and we had bowlers, we got bowler hats. We thought that’ll take the edge of the kind of hoodie look, you know, that sort of ruffian look, in these bowlers. And you kind of go, “Hey!” and people would stop, you know, because this is just a couple of daft guys in bowler hats, they don’t look like a threat.

(source) (sidenote, yes that source is my blog, but since it's audio, that's something i'm willing to buy from blogs. same with video. there's really nothing too mclennon-y about this audio, so there'd be no reason to go through all that trouble faking it. i just saved it on archive.org for when i inevitably change my url on my main.)

so, did john buy paul banana milkshakes in paris?

(also, quick shoutout to @beatlesbabytrapping for correcting me on this one back on my main! i originally thought it was completely fake but penny came in clutch w this audio)

#mclennon #going through the easiest ones that i already have links for off the top of my head first...#trying to do one true one neutral and one fake #this one is certainly a mixed bag but overall? neutral #type: factcheck #checked: neutral #checked: fake #checked: true

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notsocooljess · 6 months ago

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Double Date

finally wrote the drabble i’ve been trying to write for weeks based on this reddit post discovered by @rainymyx in this post. i had so much fun writing this!

i want to continue to add to this based on the original reddit poster’s updates, so we’ll see!

read this on ao3 here

“What can I say? College football days should always be the best days of a man’s life. Now your best days can be listening to me talk about them.”

Ugh. Katniss huffed out a puff of air as she listened to Cato speak. An hour ago, she had been so excited for this date. They were texting for the past two weeks, and their conversation was easy and funny and, most importantly, normal. Now in person, his vibe was totally different than who he portrayed himself as online. Now, he was a thirty-year-old man who wouldn’t stop talking to her about his glory days from ten years ago and the “boozing, blinkers, and babes” that came with them.

After only receiving their appetizers and a single drink, Katniss knew she couldn’t stick around. The thought of having to hear Cato talk about another frat party he attended before The Force Awakens was released was nearly enough to bring her to tears. Desperate, Katniss did what she always did in trying times like these: text Johanna.

“Katniss! Katniss! I need your help, quick!” Johanna’s voice rang through her phone not even a minute later. Her ability to sound like she was truly in agony was as impressive as always.

“Johanna!? What’s going on?” Katniss responded, hoping her acting was, for the first time in her life, passable.

“It’s the baby! I need you here now!” her childless, non-babysitting, kid-hating friend shouted before quickly hanging up.

Katniss darted her eyes to Cato’s, and his brows were knit tightly as if he were trying to to put together the pieces of the conversation that just transpired.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure if you heard. My friend really needs me. She needs help with her… baby. I hate to cut this short, but,” she didn’t finish her sentence as she slipped on her coat. She shuffled through her bag and retrieved a twenty-dollar bill, smacking it on the table.

“Oh, yeah, it’s cool. You still wanna meet up at my place later, right? I have the best surprise waiting for you,” Cato responded while wagging his eyebrows, seemingly uncaring about her fabricated dire emergency or the quality of their date at all. This only irritated Katniss more. Her friend’s fake baby was in trouble, and all he cared about was getting laid!

“Uh… yeah, no. Definitely not. Let’s just forget about this, okay? Have the night you deserve,” Katniss practically snarled as she fled the restaurant.

Once she was in her car, she peeled out of the parking lot and quickly went around the block, looking for a place to park so she could call Johanna. She found a spot located outside of a small pub and dialed her friend.

“How was I this time? I feel like I’m really perfecting my blood-curdling shrillness. What do you say? Any pointers?” Johanna asked as soon as she answered the phone.

Katniss wanted to laugh, but now that the situation was over, she felt defeated. She actually had high hopes for this date, but she again found herself needing to bail.

At twenty-eight, Katniss finally felt ready to do things for herself. Before this, there was never the time. She was raising her sister Prim and taking care of her mother for more than a decade since her father’s passing. Now, Prim was in her second year of medical school where she received full funding for her work, and her mother has a live-in aide to help her with her daily needs. She finally did not have to spend all of her time focusing on school and work and money and bills, and without Prim nearby, she felt lonely. Her friends had convinced her to start going on dates, but after months of failed attempts, she still had nothing to show for it.

“Is it me, Jo?” she responded, “Do I just attract these weirdos?”

“Oh, shut up, brainless. You've been going on dates for a few months. Maybe if you gave yourself a little more practice when we were younger it’d be easier, but some people take years to find something that sticks. You’re hot. You’re smart. You’re caring. Maybe a little hard to swallow with the scowl, but anyone that gets to know the real you is gonna love you.”

She sighed, “Okay.”

“You wanna come over here? I was just going to watch some Dexter reruns, but there’s plenty of room on this couch for two.”

“Actually, I think I need a drink. I’ll let you know what I’m doing after.”

Katniss’s conversation with Johanna ended shortly after, and she made her way into the pub.

The pub was crowded, a symptom of it being a Friday evening in the winter, and Katniss had to shuffle past a group of freshly legal college students to make it to the bar. She wanted something simple, something just to take the edge off, and was quickly handed her rum and coke.

Eager to people-watch while she nursed her drink, Katniss scanned the crowd for an empty seat. Most of the tables seemed to be taken up by a larger group, but a single chair at a small table in the corner of the room was wonderfully vacant. Katniss closed her tab and swiftly made her way across the room.

As she approached, she stopped in her tracks. Hidden from her initial view was a man sitting on the other side of the table, somewhat hunched over with a book in his hands. Before she could backtrack and look for another open seat, he picked his head up and locked eyes with her.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was gonna sit here but didn’t realize you were already here. I’ll just…” her voice trailed off. Katniss had a habit of not finishing her sentences when she was flustered, and after meeting the man’s gaze, she was very flustered. Not only was she not expecting someone to be sitting at the table, but now that he was looking at her, his blue eyes piercing through to her even under the pub’s dim lights, she realized he was around her age and absolutely hot. Her hands began to sweat, and her tongue started to feel like lead.

The man smiled, an endearing smile that quirked more on the left side of his face, highlighting a sole dimple on his cheek. “Don’t worry about it. You can sit here,” He replied, his eyes scanning the room. “Besides, it doesn’t look like there’ll be much room anywhere else.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, and he nodded. “Thank you so much. I promise I won’t even bother you. We don’t even have to talk or anything…” Katniss said as she placed her bag on the table and took her seat.

Katniss started scanning the other patrons of the pub to observe their activities, but her eyes frequently darted back to the man seated across from her. She gathered more bits and pieces of his appearance in the brief moments she allowed herself to study his features. He had blond, curly hair that looked intentionally tousled. His shoulders were very broad, pulling the fabric of his navy henley taut across his chest. He had freckles across the bridge of his nose, and he drummed the table with his left hand while holding the book he was reading in his right.

After a few minutes, he lifted his eyes up from his book and offered her a soft smile. “My name is Peeta, by the way.”

“Katniss,” she said, offering a shy smile of her own.

“You know, I really don’t mind talking if you want to.”

Her grin grew. “Okay, then.” She paused, unsure of where to start, but her curiosity eventually got the better of her when she asked, “Can I ask why you’re reading a book at a crowded bar on a Friday night?”

Peeta chuckled, a laugh that let Katniss know he wasn’t offended. “You waste no time getting to the deep stuff. I actually just moved into my first solo apartment, and as much as I’m happy to have my own space, the silence feels kinda deafening.”

“Ah,” she began, appraising him up and down, “so you find comfort in the chaos.”

“Yeah, I guess I do. I grew up in a house with two older brothers, and the two of them used to practice wrestling no matter where they were. In the dining room, the backyard. One time they threw each other down the stairs,” he chuckled again, “Our mom wasn’t too happy about that one.”

“You’re joking,” Katniss laughed.

“Not even a little bit, I swear. And then I lived in a house with my three friends all the way through grad school. My best friend Finnick used to play eighties pop at all hours of the day. Think, like, Donna Summer or Cyndi Lauper on full blast at three in the morning.”

“And you guys never asked him to stop?” Katniss asked, finding she wanted to know more and more about him.

At this, Peeta hit her with a dead stare, his blue eyes piercing her with a combination of humor and seriousness. “See, that is something only someone who doesn’t know Finnick would ask. If we made any attempts to get him to stop this relatively-harmless-if-not-mildly-annoying behavior, we would only trigger severely worse outcomes for us all.”

“And you said this is your best friend?” Peeta let out a boisterous laugh in reply.

While sitting with Peeta, Katniss found the guard she had put up during her date with Cato had come crashing down.

They spoke about their jobs. Katniss explained how she works as a forest ranger, but she hopes to finish school to become an environmental engineer. Peeta said that he just finished graduate school to become a doctor of architecture.

“I really liked art, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy my parents or pay the bills, so I tried to do the next best thing I could think of.”

“So you became a literal doctor? In a field that’s focused on math and design? Are you a genius?”

“Time Magazine did call me the reincarnation of Albert Einstein.”

“Hm. And to think I placed you more as a Michelangelo.”

They spoke about their families. Katniss spoke about her mom and Prim. She bragged about her sister’s accomplishment in getting a full ride to a great medical school across the country. She felt so comfortable with Peeta, she didn’t even shy away from speaking about her late father, even if it was in the briefest of terms. Peeta nodded his head as she spoke, squeezing her hand across the table when he sensed certain details were particularly hard for her to get out. Peeta, the son of bakers, grew up really close with his older brothers. His oldest brother took over the family business, and while Peeta loves baking, he enjoys it more as a hobby than a career.

This seamlessly led to them speaking about their childhoods. Katniss was mostly shy, harboring two friends, Madge and Gale, through her schooling, despite her being a star on her school’s track and archery teams. University allowed her to come out of her shell and meet friends that didn’t matter her reticent personality, like Johanna. Peeta wrestled, painted, did debate team, and wrote. He had a solid group of friends during school, but he found his lifelong friends in college.

They spoke about the little things. Their favorite colors. Favorite snacks. Movies. Shows. And their answers were so similar across all categories, they had a near total eclipse on a venn diagram of each topic. Their responses were so alike that, at one point, Katniss plastered her face with her signature scowl Peeta had not yet been acquainted with, asking him if he was being totally honest with his responses.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, “Look, that scowl is too intimidating for me to not come clean. So the truth is, I’ve been being honest this entire time.”

Before Katniss realized, nearly two hours had gone since she first sat down with Peeta. They fell into a comfortable silence, and she studied his features more in the muted light. She tried to picture what he looked like out of this setting. Hunching over a sketchbook. Cooking in his kitchen. Laughing with his friends. Cheering on his nephews at their little league games.

She studied the way the dim light caught onto the golden strands of his eyelashes, becoming mesmerized by the way they fluttered against his cheek when he blinked. She didn’t even realize she was staring until he spoke again, causing her to jump slightly.

“So what about you?” He asked, a small grin on his lips.

“What about me?”

“Well, before you asked what I’m doing at a bar alone on a Friday night. But what are you doing alone here on a Friday night so that I, a stranger, was able to take up so much of your time?”

Katniss contemplates what she should say, unsure if she should reveal her failed date with Cato. But as Peeta looked at her with sincerity in his eyes, she has the hunch that she could really trust him.

“If I’m honest, I came here because I had left a really, really bad first date,” she responded sheepishly.

Peeta cocked his left eyebrow expectantly. “How bad?”

“Well… it was so bad I made my best friend call me and say she was having an emergency with her fake baby to give me a reason to bail,” Katniss blurted out, her tone hitching at the end to make her statement sound more like a question. Like she was questioning if she really did that herself.

Both of Peeta’s eyebrows were raised, his eyes glinting with amusement, lips curling in to stop him from laughing. “You’re kidding me,” he managed to croak out.

“In my defense, he only spoke about his college football experiences, and after I started leaving to go help my friend with her fake baby, he still asked if we were having sex later!”

At this, Peeta burst out laughing, and after Katniss realized exactly what she said, she joined him. As Katniss clutched her stomach, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes, she almost missed what Peeta said next.

“That’s why I’ve kind of given up on dating.”

“Given up?” Katniss asked, her voice airy from her recent laughter and something silly like concern that she might have been wrong about the connection she felt with him all night.

“In grad school, every date I went on just didn’t have any spark. They were just mediocre. Then, I got so busy with trying to finish my degree, I just gave up on the whole thing.” For the first time that night, Peeta responded without meeting her gaze.

She’s not sure what made her say it. Maybe it was the second rum and coke she had gotten while talking with Peeta. Maybe it was that she felt like she had nothing left to lose after her first failed date of the night. Or, maybe it was because she knew she’d majorly regret if she didn’t try to continue with the something that she felt burning between her and Peeta, but she had to say it.

“I find that hard to believe considering this is probably the closest thing I’ve had to a good date in what feels like forever.”

At this, Peeta drew his head back in what appeared to be shock. His eyes met her again, an indecipherable expression plastering his features as he searched hers. Katniss shifted in her chair, somewhat uncomfortable with his unreadable scrutiny.

Finally, Peeta’s features relaxed. and he looked Katniss right in the eye with a neutral, if not somewhat strained, expression. “Tell you what,” he began, “I have to go to the bathroom, but when I come back, I’ll ask you out for real.”

Katniss shot him a curious expression, but as Peeta began to move, it clicked. He did not stand from his seat – he wheeled back from the table, towards the back of the bar with the bathrooms. His left pant leg tied off just below the knee. Katniss understood: he wanted her to see everything about him before she agreed to go on a date with him. He was giving her an out.

At this, Katniss’s gut twisted, both with regret and butterflies. She felt somewhat bad for him, wondering if this was a move he made from being rejected for his physical condition before. Wondering how anyone could do that to anyone, let alone a guy like Peeta. But overpowering this feeling were the butterflies. He liked her. He wanted her to see all of him. He was laying his insecurities bare for her. Most importantly, he already trusted her. In mind, body, and spirit, he couldn’t be any more beautiful.

A minute later, Peeta emerged from the bathroom, a goofy grin plastered across his face to perfectly match hers.

As soon as he reached the table, the words came tumbling out of Katniss’s mouth before she could stop them.

“So, I’m free all weekend. What do you have in mind?”

#katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #the hunger games #everlark #everlark fanfiction #alternate universe #drabble #rainymyx #jess writes

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londonfoginacup · 2 months ago

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Alright y'all, come gather round, come to my corner over here. Come help strategize with me.

I'm not going to be able to afford to send out holiday cards this year. I've been hit with disaster after disaster and I've been trying very hard to figure out how to work things but the math isn't coming out in my favour no matter how I swing it. Am I devastated? Absolutely. Even though most of you get your cards in like... March... you all still send me the nicest most kind comments and I love being able to make your day brighter.

I feel like a few people are going to say I should take donations, and I might've considered that, except... I don't want to take donations only to then still fall short.

A quick summary of the math is, like, stamps are 2$ for international cards and 1.50$ for non-international. I send out about 200 cards a year which means shipping alone is about 550$, plus about 200$ for sticker sheets, 70$ for envelopes, 150$ for printing the cards, and about 200$ for the everything else of new blades and mats for cutting the dolls on my cricut, thick paper for the dolls, ink for the printer... I'm sorry guys, there's no way I could try to ask people to donate over 1000$ just for this fun little event.

So like. Truly devastated over here as I'm doing the math because I desperately desperately do not want to disappoint people. I'm not even buying irl people presents this year. It sucks. I'm feeling like a failure in a lot of ways and I hate it, because I'm over thirty now, I should be able to have my shit together. But unfortunately I just... don't. And I'm trying to make sure I can afford my cats medication and rent because my roommate has been out of a job for two months and is just straight up not paying her part of the rent.

So. I will continue to feel sorry for myself, but this isn't about that. What I want to know is what ideas do we have. I can't send people physical things, because money. But are there... other ways I could make people happy? I don't know if anyone cares about digital paper dolls, but I could just like. Put my dolls online for people to print out? And draw whatever outfits people want? Like a sort of advent calendar of doll outfits?

Help me out. Brainstorm with me. Is there some way I could make people happy that, this year, doesn't involve funds? I want to keep my 1D Holiday Queen title. Please.

#yes I have covid still #so i have not even been doing inktober #I DO NOT LIKE THIS I FEEL LIKE I AM FAILING SEVERAL WAYS #I THOUGHT I WOULD BE PAST THE BURNOUT BY NOW BUT IT TURNS OUT BURNOUT IS MADE WORSE BY NOT HAVING MONEY #im sorry i am totally using this space to vent #and I am trying not to i am trying to be an adult about all this #but also i have not really Talked to a Person In Person in 3 days #so i might be going a little insane by now #WOOOOO CHRISTMAS

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nerdraging4point0 · 8 days ago

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Will of Fire Will Burn // Part two // EroticRomance (N.Sebaatian)

Tropes, Tags and Trigger Warning: 18+ content, erotica, dark romance, sexworkerxclient relationship, slow burn, disturbing themes and topics hinted at or mentioned are as follows: rape, abuse, sexual trafficking, trafficking of minors. Read at your own consumption.

Fanclub: @ladyveronikawrites @mysticdoodlez @deathblacksmoke @tearfallpixie @somebodyels3 @beaker1636 @rumoured-whispers @somewhere-diamond @poisongirl616 @fadingintothegrey @into-the-grey @supersquirrel1996

As he slowly lifted his gaze, Karah couldn't help but notice her own reflection staring back at her from the dark lenses of his sunglasses. The tattoo on his throat, an intricate design that wrapped around his neck, seemed to move with each labored swallow, as if the ink itself was struggling to stay in place. Sensing his discomfort, her voice took on a sultry, low tone as she offered her assistance. "Need some help?" she purred, her eyes sparkling with a hint of playfulness.

But the man remained silent, his expression unreadable behind those tinted shades. Undeterred, Karah rolled her eyes in a playful gesture and took a seat beside him, her movements fluid and graceful. Glancing down at the phone in his hand, she began scrolling through the various apps, her head strategically placed on his shoulder as she leaned in closer.

Gazing at her profile, the digital portrait she had taken just weeks after arriving stared back at her, a vivid and sensual representation of her online persona. She stared at it for a minute, reminiscing about the girl she’d been, nearly two years younger and platinum blonde with no piercings and barely any visible tattoos. With a quick double tap, the screen opened to reveal the full details of her profile - her stage name, gender, sexual orientation, and a schedule of her upcoming performances. She scrolled down to the large blue box labeled, "book now", clicking the tab with one tap of her acrylic nail.

"Everything is in here," she mused, scanning the options - private dances, personal services, and even the ability to submit outside requests. Pushing further into the "personal services" dropdown, she scrolled through a comprehensive list of add-ons her clients could select, each one tailored to cater to their deepest desires. "You can check off as much or as little as you want," she explained, her tone coy yet matter-of-fact, "and the total for all the services you've selected will be automatically pulled from your account." Standing up from the couch, she purposefully bent at the waist, smoothing her stockings as she continued, "Once a booking is made, I get a notification, and if I agree, you'll be texted a room number. But if I deny the request, your money is refunded, and you can try again." She paused, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Three denials, though, and you're locked out of my profile entirely, and Madam has to approve your renewal." Her silent companion continued to watch her, his gaze unflinching as she spoke.

Tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, she took a deep, steadying breath and headed for the stairs, her steps slow and measured, fighting the urge to rush. No need to seem overeager, she reminded herself. Let him come to her. Young clients were a rarity in her line of work, at least those who weren't the typical blonde trust fund babies in suits and ties, wasting their family's inheritance on cocaine and women because their pitiful personalities alone weren't enough to convince anyone to willingly share their bed. As she stepped back into the private confines of her domain, she furiously checked the drawers, ensuring she was fully stocked on all the necessities - condoms in a variety of sizes, flavored lubricants, and an assortment of toys to cater to any proclivity her clients may have. She wasn't quite sure what this new patron might be into, but she intended to be thoroughly prepared.

Feeling a sudden rush of confidence, she swiftly removed the delicate lingerie she had carefully selected and donned just moments before. The intricate lace and ribbons had seemed to overwhelm him, even behind those dark sunglasses she could see his eyebrows scrunch as he struggled to take in the complexity of the ensemble. Deciding to simplify her look, she opted instead to keep the sheer, seductive stockings in place, their deep crimson hue accentuating the pale, smooth skin of her legs. Pulling a flowing, blood-red dress over her head, she reveled in the way the fabric caressed her body, the hem grazing temptingly at the middle of her thighs while the neckline dipped low, revealing the gentle swell of her ample bosom. The dress seemed to move with a life of its own, the supple material skimming effortlessly over her plump, free breasts in a way that was both alluring and sophisticated.

Her mobile suddenly chirped to life, the sharp sound startling her for a moment before she snatched it up, heart pounding. For a moment, her breath caught in her throat as she snatched up the phone, tapping open the notification - "New client request: Sebastian. Services requested - vaginal intercourse, rough, dirty talk, fellatio, cunnilingus. Services accepted?" Her body immediately ran hot with a familiar anticipation, and she toyed absentmindedly with the delicate gold chain around her neck. Biting her lip, she pressed her thumb to the screen, sealing the deal, her pussy clenching around nothing in eager anticipation.

She paced her room slowly, waiting until the soft turn of the knob stopped her in her tracks. As she watched the doorknob slowly turn, her heart raced with nervous excitement. The tall, imposing figure of the man from downstairs came into view, his head nearly brushing the top of the door frame as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. His sunglasses were tucked into the collar of his crisp shirt, and as he moved closer, she could hear the soft, vibrating sound of his calloused hands rubbing together - a sound that sent a shiver of electricity down her spine and a warm tingling sensation between her thighs.

When his gaze finally met hers, she was captivated by the striking contrast of his features - the sharp, high cheekbones, the plump, alluring lips, and the hint of rugged facial hair lining his upper lip and chin. His eyes deep and dark like endless pools that seemed to bore right into her soul, causing goosebumps to rise on her skin. The intensity of his stare had her unable to look away, her body already responding to his mere presence with a growing sense of anticipation and desire.

Her wide, captivated eyes were locked onto his, unable to look away from the sheer magnetism of his deep, soulful brown gaze. “On the bed.” His voice was like velvet, a mesmerizing melody that seemed to wrap around her, drawing her in deeper. She had never encountered a client so breathtakingly beautiful before - there simply weren't words adequate enough to describe his flawless features. Unable to contain her awe, her mouth fell open as she openly gawked at him, drinking in every detail.

With a slow, deliberate step forward, he closed the distance between them, her ample breasts pressing against the firm planes of his chest as she teetered on the heels of her foot. Reaching out, he grasped her face between his thumb and forefinger, gently squishing her cheeks until her lips puckered outwards. "I said, on the bed," he commanded in that same rich, velvety tone. Clumsily, she pushed herself back onto the mattress, resting on her elbows with her legs dangling off the edge.

Transfixed, she watched as he peeled off his t-shirt, revealing the intricate tapestry of tattoos that covered his muscular torso. An audible gasp escaped her lips at the sight, earning a self-satisfied smile from him. Slowly, he sank down to his knees, taking one of her legs in his large, calloused hands. Lifting her foot to his shoulder, he pressed a series of delicate kisses along the sensitive skin of her inner ankle, his touch igniting sparks of electricity that shot through her. Torturously slow, his hands slid up the length of her stocking-clad leg until he reached the top, peeling the sheer fabric down to her toes. "You won't be needing those," he purred, tossing the stockings aside.

Repeating the process with her other leg, he peppered tender kisses along the delicate flesh of her ankle and knee before carelessly dropping the limb. Then, with feline grace, he crawled his way up her body until his face was mere inches from hers, their noses almost touching. "Take off the dress," he commanded in a voice rough with barely-contained desire. Sitting up straight, she reached for the hem of her dress, shimmying it up over her hips and finally up and over her head, leaving her exposed before his hungry gaze.

He leaned in to kiss her, turning her face his lips caught the corner of her mouth lips trailing a tantalizing path across the delicate skin of her cheek and down the graceful column of her neck. She shuddered at the sensation, pulse quickening as he nipped and suckled at the sensitive flesh, intent on leaving his mark.

Driven by an insatiable craving, he continued his sensual descent, mouth fastening around the hardened peak of her nipple. The suction was deliciously firm, drawing a needy whimper from her parted lips as sparks of pleasure radiated outward, setting her nerve endings ablaze. His tongue flicked and teased, caressing the sensitive bud in a rhythm as old as time itself. She was quickly becoming lost in the haze of desire, rational thought slipping away as the building pressure within threatened to consume her. Every touch, every caress, stoked the flames of her arousal higher, until she was teetering on the edge of ecstasy, mind hazy and unfocused, reality blurring at the edges.

He released her delicate breast from his mouth, the soft flesh making a faint popping sound as it left his lips. Trailing his tongue in a sensual path across her sternum, he moved to the other breast, taking the hardened nipple between his teeth and repeating the delicate ministrations. Her breath grew ragged, chest rising and falling rapidly as she gripped the sheets with white-knuckled intensity, overwhelmed by the sensations he was eliciting. Slowly he kissed a meandering path down the smooth plane of her belly, gracefully sinking to his knees as he positioned himself between her trembling thighs. Locking eyes with her, he drank in the sight of her flushed, needy form, breasts heaving with each rapid breath.

"Can I taste you?" he murmured, voice thick with desire. Her breathless nod of approval was all the permission he needed. He buried his face between her thighs, using his strong hands to spread her open and grant him unfettered access. He flicked his tongue over her swollen clit in a steady, maddening rhythm, reveling in the whimpers and moans that spilled from her lips. Pulling her tender nub between his lips, he suckled it firmly, pulling a desperate whine from deep in her throat. Slipping his tongue into her slick heat, he lapped at her with single-minded focus, determined to commit every inch of her to memory. Her entire body quivered and writhed as he devoured her, lost in the feral ecstasy.

The intense, overwhelming sensations flooded her body as her thighs clamped down around his head, her orgasm pulsing through her with a primal, desperate force. Her fingers frantically tangled in his soft, brown hair, clawing at him as she tried in vain to pull him away from the overpowering stimulation that made her scream out in a mix of pleasure and discomfort. With a firm, unyielding grip, his hands pushed her trembling thighs open, allowing him to take one last, indulgent pull of her swollen, sensitive clit between his lips before she could no longer bear it.

Panting heavily, he commanded her to her knees, hastily kicking off his shoes and discarding the rest of his clothing as she settled her quivering legs on the bed. Wrapping his fingers around his throbbing cock, he pumped a few times, closing the distance between them as her mouth dropped open, her tongue sliding out in eager anticipation. With a deep, guttural groan, he dropped the weight of himself onto her waiting tongue, feeling the delicious, wet heat as she closed her mouth around him. Gathering her hair in both hands, he moaned as she slid her mouth up and down his shaft, her tongue circling the sensitive head as she withdrew before sinking back down. Her hands gripped his thighs for traction, and he threw his head back, consumed by the incredible sensations. Hollowing out her cheeks, she worked him relentlessly, until he had to summon all his willpower to pull her away.

With a gentle, caressing motion, he cupped her soft cheek in his hand, his thumb tenderly stroking the delicate bone underneath her skin. "Lay back down," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. Effortlessly, she complied, sinking back onto the bed until she was lying on her back. He positioned himself above her, sliding between her thighs like it was where he belonged. "Condoms are in...in the...drawer." she managed to push out the words between ragged breaths. He sat up straight, leaning back on his heels watching her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady her heavy, labored breathing. Gazing up at his muscular, tattooed body, she couldn't help but feel surprised that someone with his rugged good looks and undeniable charm would ever need to visit a place like this. Surely a man of his caliber could have his pick of any woman he desired, without having to arrange such clandestine trysts. But there was an intensity, a primal hunger in his eyes as he looked down at her that suggested this was about more than just physical gratification. There was a deep, unspoken need that drove him here, to this shadowy realm where the usual rules of courtship and propriety did not apply. Whatever demons lurked within him, whatever void he was trying to fill, she sensed he would not be leaving until he was thoroughly, thoroughly satisfied.

Glancing over at the closed drawer by the bed, his dark, smoldering eyes slid back to meet her gaze as he posed the question, "Are they required?" She could only nod her head slowly. Strict laws in the state of Nevada required all registered brothels to mandate the use of condoms regardless of the contraceptives already in use by the employees. He leaned over, the springs of the mattress creaking beneath his weight, and opened the drawer, carefully selecting the item he needed from within.

She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, never before having felt this way with a client. His touch was gentle yet firm as his large hands pet her soft hair, running his long fingers through the silky strands. Slowly, his hand drifted down, calloused fingertips grazing the delicate skin of her neck before he firmly gripped her, pushing her back into the plush mattress. Pinned beneath him, his grip tightening ever so slightly, he ripped open the foil packet with his teeth, nimble fingers expertly fitting the protection in place before taking himself in hand. With agonizing slowness, he teased her aching, sensitive flesh, the smooth head of his cock caressing her clit, making her shudder with pleasure. He slid himself into the hilt taking her leg, folding it up to her body as he pushed deeper into her.

With most clients she would stare at the ceiling or find something to focus on, anything to get through the evening, sometimes it was enjoyable, but that was rare. This. This was something else. His dick game was better than any client before, she felt like she should have been paying him instead of the other way around. The head of his cock hit her cervix and she felt the sharp pressure in her abdomen ready to break in two. Her hands gripped the sheets, pulling them to her as her grasp tightened.

She felt him withdraw leaving her empty, the pitiful whine she gave made her feel a strange sense of embarrassment. He rolled her onto her stomach sliding his hand up the back of her head to get a good hold of her hair at the scalp, he tugged pulling her head back. “Get up, baby girl.” She pushed herself up on her hands arching her back to keep from feeling too much tension on her scalp.

“All the way, that’s a good girl.” He praised her as she got up on her hands and knees. She felt him shift behind her on the bed pushing her legs further open with his knees, taking himself in hand he lined himself up bottoming out in her hard till his hips slapped against her ass.

She keened feeling him stretch her out again. Her body was hot and sticky from the sweat, muscles were already sore in all the right places. But she didn’t care, her client list was men that never were satisfying, never made her crave more. He was different. She rocked her hips back moving along his length to satisfy the tightness building in her abdomen.

“Such a needy, girl. Aren’t you?” She stopped when she realized that she wasn’t playing the role he wanted her to. He gave a sharp tug to her hair, making her cry out. “I didn’t say stop. Fuck me, like the needy girl you are.”

She resumed rolling her hips back onto him gripping the sheets for traction, she moaned feeling her toes curl. A sharp smack landed on her ass cheek fueling her to move faster, moaning and crying out as she clenched around his cock. She sighed, taking in the way her body came down from her orgasm.

His long arms reached around, hand wrapping around her throat before cupping her chin and lifting her face to look up. Her eyes met the clean glass of the mirror on the wall. She always avoided the mirror, kept her eyes off it, she did this with all mirrors. A quick glance to ensure she didn’t look disheveled was all she needed. Mirrors to her always meant self reflection, something she wasn’t always ready for.

“Look at you,” he growled, squeezing her cheeks in his hand. “Look how pretty you look taking all of my cock.”

Her walls squeezed around him at his words, her eyes locked on the mirror in front of her. She had never seen herself like this before. Eyes blown wide, mouth laxed and jaw dropped, her cheeks flushed and her forehead glowing in the light from the thin sheet of perspiration. Her hair was falling wild around her shoulders from all the pulling, her breasts bouncing with every thrust of his body behind her.

He pushed her face down into the mattress, turning her slightly so her nose and mouth were free to breathe. His other hand gripped her hip with a vice rutting his hips into her hard and fast, she could feel him at her belly button, her back stretching in places she didn’t know it could from the way he had her arched up. He moaned, grunted, even let out deep sighs when he hit just the right spot inside her. She wails feeling herself come against him all over again, faintly hearing him say something like ‘that’s it baby’.Her eyes were rolling back into her head as she continued to feel him rut into her. She felt the unsteady movement in his rhythm realizing he was close to his end, and she felt a pang of regret, she didn’t want it to end at all, it was so exhilarating. He gave one final thrust before going stiff behind her, she waited till he caught his breath. First letting go of her hair he relaxed pulling himself from inside her, she gave a whimper and winced at the feeling before pulling herself back up on her hands and knees.

He was already on his feet, hastily pulling his shorts back up over himself, the used condom still clinging to him. Her mind was still in a hazy, post-coital fog, too blissfully satisfied to be bothered by the lack of any parting words or affectionate gestures between them. There was nothing but a quick, fleeting glance over his shoulder as he made his exit, the door shutting firmly behind him, leaving her alone in the aftermath. Once the sound of his departure had faded, she collapsed back onto the bed, her deliciously sore and well-used muscles stretching out as she sank into the mattress. A small, satisfied smile played on her lips - what a thrilling, passionate way to conclude her evening

#will of fire fic #bad omens #bad omens cult #noah sebastian #bad omens band #noahsebastian fanfic #noah sebastian smut #eroticromance #sex worker

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