#worker's duties

[konigsblog]

König is that creepy co-worker that refuses to accept your rejection.

He'll follow you around all day, poorly attempting to start a conversation with you, and trying to get close with you on your lunch breaks with the promise to keep you safe. He's the type to slash your tires in your vehicle so that you're left stranded, your options narrowed down to two — either accept König's suspicious offer to drive you home, or pay for a taxi.

And when he drops you off at your home after demanding a gentle kiss on the cheek for his generosity and kindness, you're left horrified after realising that you had never told him your address.

[pommunist]

Tilin's admin also put out a statement https://twitter.com/diannavx_/status/1764435970307264575 (sorry you became the hub for this news, thank you)

Tilin’s admin statement !

[aquaticflames]

en-route to the pika oasis (they're low on treats for rooh) <3

[solar-sunnyside-up]

Imagine if we all collectively wake up tomorrow and stop using money for anything. Like baristas still making coffees without charge and bus drivers refusing to accept payments and stores just let ppl take groceries. Ppl just continuing their lives without imaginary numbers being involved, enjoying movies and helping each other garden and running Libraries.

And to watch the billionaires running around throwing temper tantrums over it be the funniest thing in the world I can't wait 💕💕💕

[direwombat]

woe, the first wip wednesday of the 2024 be upon us

tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton to share some wippy goodness today. here's some more katc interlude ii from gus' pov. please enjoy this VERY ROUGH draft (with brackets and everything!)

There, sitting in the chair beside Augustine’s bed, is none other than Joseph Seed. 

Augustine nearly doesn’t recognize him at first. Not without the sunglasses. They’re a common source of ridicule among his co-workers -- “What kind of asshole wears piss-colored glasses, anyway?” is a common refrain amongst the townspeople whenever the preacher is spotted outside the island where he built his Church. 

Once, back when Augustine was naive and new to town, he’d made the mistake of coming to Joseph’s defense. “Maybe they’re prescription,” he’d posited, believing it to be harmless speculation. “For migraines or something.” 

He’d never been more quickly ostracized in his life. 

It’d taken weeks to get back into his fellow rangers’ good graces, and even then it was only because Ben had convinced them to give him a second chance. “C’mon, he’s new. Kid didn’t know any better.” 

Augustine learned to keep his mouth shut when it came to Joseph Seed and his family. If it’s taboo to say anything nice about the man, then he’d rather not say anything about him at all. 

Hastily, Augustine lifts himself into a seated position and combs his fingers through his hair, trying to make himself look more presentable. “Mister Seed,” he starts, before realizing he has no idea what the appropriate honorific is. “Uh…Pastor Seed?”

“Father is fine,” he smiles. The corners of those bright blue eyes crinkle warmly. 

“Father Seed,” Augustine corrects, but the way Joseph lips thin like he’s biting back a laugh tells him he still didn’t get it quite right. Anxiety coils tightly in his gut -- Already fucked it up -- but he swallows around the lump in his throat, pushing it down. “I ain’t mean for this to sound  rude or ungrateful, but,” he hesitates a moment, warily eying the man in the doorway. Broad shouldered and donning an army field jacket, the man has a hardened and calculating look in his eyes; one that’s very similar to the look Sybille has whenever he drags her out to meet new people. He’s being sized up. This man is judging his actions, weighing his worth, and the rhythmic beeping on the heart monitor quickens at the idea that he may find Augustine wanting. His attention returns to Joseph’s curious gaze. “What are you doing here?”

“My brother, Jacob,” he motions to the man in the doorway, “told me about what happened to you last night. I wanted to make sure you were alright.” 

Although Augustine’s pulse slows to its normal rhythm, blood rushes to his cheeks. “Oh,” he says dumbly. “I -- uh…” His hands clasp together and he bashfully averts his eyes to stare at his worrying fingers instead. “I’m okay. Been better, but…I’m alright.”

“That’s excellent to hear,” Joseph says gently.  

Augustine nods and a long stretch of unbearably heavy silence settles over them. He chews on the inside of his cheek until the bitter metallic tang of blood bursts on his tongue, wracking his brain for a topic of conversation, but he comes up empty. “I’m sorry,” he says after an awkward cough. “I ain’t much of a conversationalist and I’m…Well, I wasn’t…”

“You were expecting someone else,” Joseph nods. [insert something about the compassion and understanding and warmth in his voice, rather than the anger and hostility augustine anticipates]

A lame, “Yeah,” is all Augustine can muster in response. His fingers fidget nervously in his lap. “You, uh…You ain’t happen to know if my sister’s here, do you? I gave Ben my phone so he could call her, but.. Um…” he trails off again. Whatever drug they’ve been using to sedate him and numb the pain has also stolen the second half of most of his thoughts as well. 

Joseph sighs heavily and his brows knit together. He removes his glasses, neatly folding the arms and tucking them into the breast pocket of his vest. A warm hand comes to rest on top of Augustine’s clasped ones. 

Augustine knows what that gesture means. It’s what Mama did when she sat him down to tell him that she had cancer and what the kind paramedic did when she told him she was sorry for his loss after he’d found both Mama and Daddy dead in the living room. It’s the kind of comforting gesture one gives before delivering bad news or condolences. Yet as Joseph’s long, spindly fingers wrap around his own, the warmth, accompanied by a sympathetic squeeze manages to keep the knot of anxiety in his gut from growing larger. 

“The phone lines have gone down,” Joseph murmurs. “I’m afraid we haven’t been able to get through to her yet.”

Augustine’s eyes go wide. “The phone lines are down?” he repeats. The County is no stranger to strong winds ripping through the valley, but last he checked the forecast hadn’t predicted anything strong enough to knock out the phones. “What happened?”

taglist: @marivenah, @florbelles, @statichvm, @fourlittleseedlings, @wrathfulrook, @harmonyowl, @ivymarquis, @carlosoliveiraa, @cassietrn, @poetikat, @confidentandgood, @strafethesesinners, @trench-rot, @miyabilicious, @simplegenius042, @g0dspeeed, @inafieldofdaisies, @josephslittledeputy, @aceghosts, @adelaidedrubman, @madparadoxum, @voidika, @strangefable, and anyone else wanting to share a piece of their wips!

[smoking-witch]

Another day, another dumbass in my DMs. Idky but sometimes men being unkind to me makes me want to stop smiling...

I need a hug, would you be my friend even if you knew we'd never have sex and also I'm a dominant lesbian who moonlights as a s3x werkor? Tap buttons if you'd be my platonic friend and if the benefit of being my friend would be my friendship 💔🫂 pics of my drunk karaoke face for attention

[courtana]

Lol apparently an (ex) Sledgehammer dev for COD is accusing Infinity Ward of being SJW, anti-American and ultra far left.

Sir, this is a military FPS video game. Be fucking for real.

Edit: God I wish it were those things, so they can stop putting fucking Isra*li operators in multiplayer that no one actually wants to play as.

[ticklystuff]

HI FRIENDS IVE WORKED 12 HOURS EVERYDAY THIS WEEK I HOPE I CAN LEAVE BY 5 TODAY big doubt lol PLS HOPE WITH ME :)))

[highlandswarden]

A fat guy sorta just appears, holding some kind of object in his hand. Smallish, with a roundish upper half that's vaguely pointed and glistening like it's a bit wet, the other half a tan color.

"Hey, I've been learning how to make ice cream, and my dream intuition tells me that you, my haunted train conductor friend, are exactly the man who should try a taste. I'm Mike, by the way, I don't think we've canonically met."

The man holds up the ice cream. It does look familiar... Like Ingo's seen this before. It's also oddly enticing, like he already knows the taste.

@osha-cafeteria-worker

I have no idea what canonically means, but, um, thank you very much. I am Warden Ingo of the Pearl Clan, if you did not already know.

*Oddly, something about being called 'haunted' seems... strangely correct. As if being associated with ghosts - or a ghost in particular - is... what should be happening. It feels so oddly right that he simply doesn't think about it further.*

Ah, thank you again. This looks... good.

*He accepts the icecream, politely, and gives it a little lick. Immediately, his eyes widen.

It tastes... nostalgic.*

[geryone]

Thoughts on Sarah J. Maas?

I’ve read 8 of her books & have mostly had a bad experience with them. Absolutely loathe ACOTAR and I’m halfway through Throne of Glass and I do not know what is going on but it’s been a better experience so far. I don’t recommend them but I do think people who regularly read ya fantasy will enjoy them

[wornkindness]

so one of my coworkers got called in for jury duty, and will be gone for a few weeks. leaving us more short handed than we already were. so i guess im going on a small semi hiatus until things at work go back to normal. as always im on discord (gingerprincess) should anyone want to chat / plot.

[diejager]

First Cw: Smut, sex work, porn, cam girl, dildo, riding, dildo mount, self-hate, depressive thought?, whorshiping, tell me if I missed any.

Part 4

He watched your live, your body writhing in your sheets, back arched and head thrown back in pleasure. His body unmoving, body rigid underneath his armour, eyes unblinking and back straightening against the backrest, as he stared at his screen. He never touched himself when he watched you from afar, eyeing your hips rolling against the mount you strapped to a pillow, riding the dildo you suctioned to the plastic stand.

You rode it slowly, chest heaving while you ran your hands over your breasts in a sensual way, your finger running over your glossy lips, caressing your jaw and down the curve of your throat, your sweaty and shimmering skin. Your hands travelled down the valley of your tits, pinching your perky nipples with painted nails, a pretty red, powerful and vibrant —sexy in every manner. His eyes followed the hand that dipped down your stomach, over your slick mound and spreading your lips to show your viewers the silicone cock that stretched you out.

His hot breath sounded loudly behind his mask, it would've fogged up his glass if he wore any, his laboured breathing coming out in shoulder-moving puffs. His cruel eyes dilated, pupil rounder than usual as his eyes stuck obsessively at your cunt, his ears ringing with the loud, echoing squelch of your cunt and the eerie silence of his locked room, and body strained with self-restraint, fingers curled into a fist. He felt dazed, mind numbed to all but you and what you brought out of him: his slurred reaction, his oversensitive nerves and his increased heat.

You were like a drug to him —addiction, ascension, delirium. Your mewls breaching his broken mind and your bouncing body burning itself into his eyes, hearing and watching you gush around the toy, cunt fluttering wildly as you shuddered, hair sticking to your forehead and skin flushed. Despite his growing needs, the swelling that tightened his pants to an uncomfortable extent, he made no move to chase it, to soothe the pain and ache that filled his body, like a wave crashing against his scarred and disfigured body, and the wind blowing him away like the insignificant specks of sand that caked the earth.

He wouldn’t touch himself after the show, sending you money for the perfect show and drowning himself in a freezing shower to wash off the sin, his greatest mistake of loving something so precious and beautiful. He let his cock grow soft under the water, the occasional jump of his cock reacting to the arousal that still lingered in his bloodstream and the coolness of the water.

He couldn’t help himself, he promised, he fought, he glared, but nothing could stop a wandering mind, a needy and vulnerable shell of a broken man that wanted nothing but a fleeting moment of love, of affection —of utter devotion.

“Hello?” The voice was as sweet as the last time he heard it, the softness and affection that deepened his scars, “Nikto?”

“Милая,” his voice came out in a low rasp, throat dried and muscle dehydrated. He spent too much time hiding himself than caring for himself, “You did well.” [Sweetheart]

You laughed, your gentle and angelic chuckle at his compliment —fitting the stage name you used, Seraphim. He was reminded again why talking to you felt like a sin, blasphemy committed by him to his goddess. Perhaps he shouldn’t have called, daring to be so near a being much greater than him, pure and fragile. For all his self-restraint, he was a weak, weak man, always chasing for more when he’s already lost so much.

“Thank you,” you sighed. He heard sheets shuffle, your body rolling to your stomach, face propped up on your chin while he spoke to you on the phone, “When are you coming back?”

“Cкоро.” [Soon.]

Part 6

Taglist: @warenai @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @cutiecusp @ladyof-themoon @yourdaydreamerfan @blackhoodlea @daisychainsinknots @under-the-dirt @moansteur @iamnotfinedaddy @0alk0msan @katzarantos @danielle143 @bubbletae7 @artemeow @nes-kopi @notspiders @waves-against-a-cliff @brokenpieces-72 @princessboohaloo @petwifed @craxy-person  @aldis-nuts @randominstake @yanderestory @jggykhug09090 @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @redeveryflower @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @cummunistcat

[ratgingi]

another nonfandom oc falls victim to the dialed town beam. everyone say hi to felicity, shes like if government spy drone pigeons were a person doing their best

[fvckw4d]

Still trying to come up with a somewhat professional way to say "hey, this should either be an entry level position or you need to pay $75 an hour because you want someone with a masters degree/multi year apprenticeship in a trade and 2+ years of experience, and the fact that youre trying to fill the position with someone who has the latter but will accept the pay of a former means your only applicants will be underqualified, be unable to land a $75/hr job for a fucking reason, or the position will just sit there unfilled for 9 months, or all three, which seems to be the case for you."

[bandpants]

So being on strike is objectively bad bc it means that your employer isn't taking you seriously and negotiations have ground to a standstill etc etc. But I have to say. Being on strike is like the pedestrian power dream.

Ohhhh you're in your big lifted yee yee truck and you want to turn? Well me and my 40 friends here have the right of way at this crosswalk. And we're going to cross it one at a time. A little slowly because it's cold out. And then maybe double back because we all forgot something. All of the sudden oops! We used the entire time of the cross signal, boy how time flies.

[andromedasummer]

my brother witnessed a fucking awful accident in the carpark at his work today and his manager didnt even check in with him. the only person who asked if he was okay was a coworker. if they ask him to come in tomorrow im burning that place down!!!!