#would that everyone had a job that paid a living wage and if they could not work they still had all their needs met!

[katarh-mest]

I know how to drive. I have a full time job. I eat healthy and go to the gym. And I still think society needs to change because it doesn't have to be this way.

[sunderwight]

SV AU where Shen Yuan transmigrates into a dragon.

It's not so bad, at first. He's an extremely magical sort of dragon so he can easily take on a humanoid shape, and he has dominion over an entire mountain, with a magical gate that leads to his palace. Said palace has a fully stocked treasury, a library, garden, etc, with the only real downsides being that the place is kind of huge and very difficult for a neet with limited housekeeping or landscaping skills to keep up with. The original dragon had enslaved a bunch of fairy spirits to do it for him, but since Shen Yuan has moral objections to that, he'd let them all go and they'd run off before he could even think to offer to hire any of them as paid employees instead. Not that he can blame them for being in a hurry to get gone.

He does his best, and generally enjoys being a dragon lazing on his mountain, or wandering the beauty of his palace and investigating the books and scrolls kept there. He doesn't actually seem to need to eat or drink, so that's not really an issue, and nobody looks keen to bother him. But after a few months the dust starts to really pile up, and trying to figure out how to do his own laundry without modern equipment leads to several disasters, and even though he doesn't need to eat he's starting to think it would be quite nice to have a fancy sit-down dinner and enjoy it for its own sake anyway. He has an enchanted larder but his food prep skills aren't up to much.

So, Shen Yuan ventures away from his mountain. He keeps to his human disguise when he's not traveling, and at first tries to hire on some help from a nearby city. But when he explains that he lives on the mountain, he realizes the difficulty, because everyone in the area knows that only the dragon lives there. So they all think he's either a liar or a fraud, or some servant of a nefarious supernatural creature angling to trick and possibly devour them.

Shen Yuan tries approaching another town in his dragon form, to see if anyone will actually deal with him if he's being upfront and honest about the situation, but the townspeople just panic. He returns to his mountain to rethink his strategies, and in the meanwhile the alarmed locals hire a swordsman to go after him. The guy gives him a few very painful cuts before Shen Yuan mostly-accidentally sends him careening into a boulder. One broken arm later the swordsman is gently persuaded that the pay he was offered isn't worth the effort on this job, and leaves.

Discouraged, Shen Yuan decides he's gonna give this one last try. He picks the second closest city, flies up, and is like yes hello, yes I am indeed a dragon, no I'm not trying to burn down your walls, yes it would be excellent if you stopped shooting arrows at me, look they don't even get past the scales? It's kind of silly? Okay, yes, thank you very much. Good. Now, the thing is, I'm looking for some people. I want to take them back to my mountain with me, to my incredibly nice palace, and -- what was that? A princess? No no I don't want a princess, what would I even do with one? If anything I'm looking for the complete opposite of a princess!

Anyway, the locals take this to mean that the dragon is demanding a sacrifice in the form of a pretty boy of no particular pedigree, and Shen Yuan takes this to mean that he's finally made his case clear and they're going to dig up someone who is willing to overlook his being a dragon in exchange for free room and board and fair wages out of his massive treasury.

SY's a bit disheartened when the entire city could only apparently turn up one such person -- an underfed teenage boy who looks at Shen Yuan like, despite the situation, he is still expecting to be eaten at any moment. Poor thing! But at least having one servant means he can potentially get more, especially if it all goes well. The lad can tell others that working for a dragon isn't so bad! Well, provided that he doesn't give up in alarm at the state of the mountain palace.

For his part, Luo Binghe at first thinks he's definitely going to get eaten, and then that this dragon is weirdly nice about planning to eat him, and then that maybe the dragon has other (even less savory!) plans for him, until finally he sees the state of the dragon's laundry and the foot-thick layer of dust in the corners, and gets completely distracted. Mortal terror forgotten, those floors should not be that filthy, Lord Dragon respectfully that isn't how anyone should prepare rice either, but oh Binghe has never seen a kitchen so nice before in his life...!

Anyway, needless to say, it works out just fine.

[amazinglyashy]

Crow on the Ring

Read on AO3 Pairings: Sylus x Reader, Luke and Kieran & Reader Tags: Gender Neutral Pronouns, Domestic Fluff, Getting your Nails Done Wordcount: 1,116 Summary: Sylus wonders to himself- if there was any point in having henchmen anymore. If they were going to consistently be busy with his partner getting their nails done rather than helping him with... actual henchmen things...?

It was... difficult , to say the least. 

Coming to the realization that one could no longer go out on jobs, flanked by his own henchmen. You know, the ones he had meticulously hired, trained, and paid more than living wages for for their less than savory duties half of the time. Hell, even housing and clothing them since they seemed to need it, even despite how much you paid them.

Yet, here Sylus was. Standing alone on the train platform to go home. By himself. In the wind. Trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. 

Nice.

It wasn't that it annoyed him particularly badly, no. He had done so many things in his life on his own, you wouldn't be able to count them even if you used all of the fingers of the hands of the men he had culled today, mowed down by the very pistol concealed on the inside of his coat, blocking out the chill of the season. Hell, he was even used to sending the twins home early if he didn't think he needed them for cleanup or anything- benefits of Sylus's evol was it usually didn't leave any traces of blood or carnage… that is, as long as he didn't want it to- So, that being said, he was painfully familiar with working alone.

But there was a stark difference between working alone because you were used to it, and working alone because your partner had been wanting to get their nails done for weeks at a trendy salon near the bad side of Linkon, and your own personal henchmen- you know, the ones you trained and paid for- had decided they would go with your partner to… protect them from the possible thugs lurking around nearby, spending their time daring the other to get their nails done too, without so much as a passing question to their boss about whether or not they were allowed to go.

They'd stopped asking a long time ago.

Somehow, Sylus found himself thinking that was a good thing, as he stepped past passengers and crossed the threshold of the train car. He wasn't entirely sure how he came to that conclusion, but as he stood leaning against one of the grab bars, his phone dinged with a text notification, and it showed him the path easily. He pulled it from his pocket, knowing fully well who it could be, the coat on his shoulder unnecessary to stave off the chill of the season anymore. His heart had been sparked enough to do the job on its own.

And somewhere along the line, it had become less about work- less about protocore auctions, deals gone good and deals gone sour, hitlists that spanned far longer than they should have given how much trust and faith Sylus would try and put into people- and that was because of you, only you- and oftentimes gorey scenes that Sylus had more than become accustomed to himself- and more about... You.

About the way you did things so differently from how he did, the fresh perspective perplexing at first, until he had finally fallen in with the routine. But even still, routine was a term used loosely. There was no routine to you. Maybe he could have a set schedule of when you went to cafes or hung out with your friends and coworkers, but that wasn't what he was referring to. No, his mind was drawn to the strange little things you did, to the way you were infectious to everyone you managed to cross without even realizing it- infectious to the ones that mattered. And only to the ones that would ever matter, whether you realized it or not yet- whether you had met them all or not, yet. 

Infectious in the way that he was looking at three matching nail sets in a photo you had sent in the group chat, the emojis of goofy faces popping up from Luke and then Kieran as they added their wordless two cent commentary to the image. The designs were all slightly different from each other, but a similar theme was apparent on each pair of hands. Red, black, and with a crow painted meticulously on each of your ring fingers. The caption underneath read You can see better in person shortly- we're waiting for you at the end of your line! and it made Sylus's heart warm even more than he would ever admit to anyone but you.

He moved to type.

And how do you know which line I'm taking, sweetie? Which platform are you on- the north, or the south?

The three of you had left far before Sylus had left for his job, and he distinctly remembered that not one of you had asked him where he was even going. Not a care in the world, but he guessed that would be your own undoing someday. Particularly, today- He'd been met with silence for a moment, the dot, dot, dot of texts in progress from all three of you went on painfully long, before you finally broke the silence with the shortest text to be sent after such a long period of time.

There's two of you, split up! You had texted back, not to Sylus, but to the twins, and somehow, Sylus found the act amusing enough that a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. Obviously, the three of you were still next to each other, wherever you had ended up in your search for him. There was no need to send the text when you could speak it out loud. 

But that begged the question of where was the fun in that? Where was the hilarity? If you did things the way they should be done, if any of the three of you did, it would be so much different. It would be so much worse. It wouldn’t be the way that you always handled things- clumsy, chaotic, just a little bit out there with your decisions and actions. Because what of it being harder, or more work, or senseless? It was what made sense to you, and the way you viewed the world was a magic Sylus didn’t know existed prior to meeting you. He wanted to see the way you viewed the world through those beautiful eyes of yours, and he wanted you to show him. He wanted you to show him what it meant to care for the twins and their shenanigans, to cause trouble and find the humor in the smallest things- the little things in life. 

He wanted it all from you. 

Even the weird, chaotic bits.

Sylus truly wouldn't have it, any other way.

[bunnys-kisses]

hi bunny!!! can i submit a request for kevin magnussen? something like a mafia!au where he’s big and scary except for when he’s with reader?💞

kevin magnussen

cw: smut/pwp, mafia au, mafia boss!kevin, size difference/kink, doggy style, protective!kevin, reader doesn't know he's mafia, creepy men, mentions of blood and violence, body worship

thank you lovely anon for this idea! i know i usually get bakery submissions, but i do accept other ideas you might have! so this was a pleasant surprise in my inbox!

coming to copenhagen wasn't on your bucket list of dreams. while it was for some, you only took the job because the hours were better. and after a nasty break up only a few months prior, it felt like a good idea to be in another part of the globe. while you missed family, there was something about the unknown that made you pack your belongings (and cat) and head to denmark.

you knew living abroad would have its risks. they were put to rest when you met a tattooed gentleman with the kindest eyes. his name was kevin, kevin magnussen

kevin was an interesting man. you had met him after a blind date fell through and he was at a nearby table by himself. he was waiting for 'friends', but didn't mind spending some time with you. before his 'friends' arrived he ordered you some dessert for after your meal.

he also slipped you a business card and said, "if you need anything in this city, let me know." then smiled at you. the address on the card led to a mechanics shop and kevin told you he owned and "worked" here, but you never saw too many cars come through.

but any questions were met with smiles and promises. you felt a little safer in the city when you were kevin. you one time asked him, "it seems like everyone looks at you when we walk together. or maybe i'm just imagining things."

even though you became accustomed to the public transport of the city. kevin was more than happy to pick you up or drop you off even places like the grocery store. you didn't want to think about all the times he bought you groceries. one time he made you grab another pack of salmon and not to look at the cost. he told you that you can freeze it for a few months. your throat tightened when you saw the price at the check out. but kevin simply paid without a second glance.

maybe you were used to people in your country being paid pennies. you chalked everything up to better wages in denmark.

  “you don't have to pay for things, kevin! really, this job i do pays well enough.” you held onto the front of his zip-up jacket as he carried your groceries back to your apartment. you still didn't know what he saw in you. but, if you couldn't give him the money back, then you'd simply have to keep him smiling. not that it was hard, even your worst jokes made him laugh and wrap his arms around you.

kevin seemed weird, but you found it endearing. when he was all smiles with you, in front of the family he was serious. he could be cold, methodic, dangerous. the light that he brought into your world were the same as the shadows he put into the underbelly of the city. people looked when you went down the street, because it wasn't very often to see him out on the streets. especially with someone so…. cute. 

but, there was something that lingered inside of the danish man you met. kevin saw it with his own two eyes when he entered the bar to meet with you one night. he saw a man at your table trying to chat you up. even with your back turned to kevin, he knew you were uncomfortable. nobody liked unwanted sexual advances.

but you weren't budging giving this man an inch, instead waving him off and eventually he took the cue to leave. but not before he touched you at the small of your back which made you lean away from him in disgust.

kevin saw your mouth move and then take a sip of your drink. at least kevin knew that you could stand up for yourself a little bit. at least enough to get this creep to go away.

eventually he did and when he walked away, kevin followed. no one was touching his girl. you were your own woman of course, you did as you pleased with kevin's support. but, most of the city should've know by now. you were under magnussen protection.

you were too occupied with your drink when the man left for you to notice that kevin had saw the entire thing. and instead of meeting you at your table, he followed the man in the washroom.

kevin wasn't the mechanic he told you he was. the tattoos weren't just from the lifestyle of fixing cars. they all meant something, his past, present and future. his family. his life. the head of an important family in the country. he rolled up his sleeves and the man who was flirting with you noticed him.

"almost done, man." he said as he turned off the tap and shook his hands to dry them. kevin crossed the small bathroom and instantly his fist was in the other man's face. causing him to sprawl out on the tiled floor of the bathroom.

kevin got on one knee down to the other man's level. he grabbed him by the front of the shirt and said, "don't, don't, don't yell." he pulled the bloodied man a little closer, his nose obviously broken, "you're going to leave this place. and you're not going to come back. you do not touch a woman without her permission."

"but i-"

"shh, shh, shh. i saw what you clipped to the back of her pants. a tracker? gps? going to follow her home? kidnap her? sell her? answer me." his voice was firm.

the man looked shaken and bleeding, he was trembling like a leaf at the end of fall. kevin was dangerously close, but didn't want to get blood all over himself. he didn't want you to worry.

"keep yourself out of here. if you don't. not even your dental records will be able to identify you. and if you want a date so badly, stop being a fucking creep." then dropped the man and got up.

the man nodded before he propped himself up against the bottom of the sink. he wiped his bleeding nose and before he could get a word in, kevin was gone.

"min elskede!" kevin's words could be heard and made you look over. you perked up a little bit as your boyfriend sat across from you. you were all smiles now in his presence.

"what happened to your hand?" you asked as you carefully took his hand in yours. you examined the red across his knuckle.

kevin rubbed the top of your head with his other hand, "oh, nothing. i wasn't looking at got it right at the corner of a door. you can kiss it if you want?"

you giggled a little then brought his knuckle to your lips, "what would you do without me, kevin?"

"oh, i don't know. i'd be lost." he smiled back at you.

-

back at your apartment, you were trying to get your socks off. they had little flowers printed on them and were a lovely pair. but it was hard with kevin's lips on your skin.

you squirmed a little and broke the kiss, "please, honey. let me get my clothes off." then burst into giggles when his lips got onto your neck. you ran your fingers through his hair and laughed.

"i can't help it, you're so beautiful." he admitted before he managed to pry himself away from you to let you get undressed. as he undid his button up shirt, he watched you struggle to get out of your jeans and chuckled softly to himself. beautiful little thing you were.

"oh shush." you said as you slipped off your panties, feeling kevin's eyes on you, "i'm alright looking. nothing to write home about."

he took you and pulled him to your chest. he kept those strong arms around you, as if he didn't punch a guy in the face earlier that evening. but, that was simply a part of his life. he had a punch that could kill, but with you. he was so sweet.

eventually you wiggled out of his grasp and got yourself in a further state of undress. soon you naked body was exposed to him and you could feel his hungry gaze on you.

you said as you looked at him, "i'm not a piece of meat, honey."

he reached for you and pulled your naked body next to his. he kissed at your face with such love and said, "of course you're not. you're too important to be meat." then trailed kisses across your body.

you laughed, "oh, c'mon!" you squirmed a little bit and arched your back. your nails rubbed against his scalp. his hips shifted a little bit and his cock rubbed against your thigh.

he knew that if anyone in the family saw him in that moment, they'd think he was a totally different man. the mean boss of the family was reduced to getting head scratches while he worshiped your breasts with his lips.

he said sweet things against you, watching your squirm when his tongue touched your left nipple. he watched your reaction for a moment before he closed his eyes and started to really suck on it. leaving wet trails behind.

his large hands kneaded your breasts and he felt his back arch against you. you felt hot all over and you moaned a little louder. two lovers naked in bed together.

you ran your hands up and down his shoulders, you knew both arms were heavily tattooed. you moaned against his lips before he pulled away and moved away from you. he got you onto your elbows and knees with your ass in the air.

he groped your ass cheek a little bit as he stroked his cock a little bit before he got closer to you once more and rubbed his hard cock up against your slick pussy. he listened to your sweet noises which only excited him more when he slipped his cock in. the angle let him get quite deep inside of you.

"kev!" your back arched a little, "oh. wow! every time." you hit your fist against the bed for a moment. your back arched a little more and you held onto the covers under you.

kevin licked his lips as he kept both hands on you. he loved the feeling of your cunt around his cock. it was his little slice of heaven. all the money from being in the family was something, but to have your sweetness around him made everything feel so much better.

"you're so pretty." he said softly, "you are the most gorgeous thing i had ever laid eyes on. i think about you all day, how much i love you and care for you." he pressed his chest agaisnt your back, then kissed at the back of your shoulders as he rutted against you.

he could feel the pound of his heart as he continued to move against you. his breathing was heavy against your skin as you buried your face into the soft pillows. the pillows he bought for you because you talked so much about how they were just so soft. and you hated to admit that since sleeping with them, your sleeps have improved.

he watched you move a little bit and whine into the covers. you sounded so pretty as he rutted against you. he kissed your shoulders once more.

"please, kev. honey!" you whined.

"you're so beautiful, my love."

his movements continued and the heat in the room grew, especially between the two of you. you could feel the sweat of his chest on your back as he wrapped his arms around you. he kept you close to him as he picked up the pace.

he pushed your further into the bed and worked at your hips. his cock slipped in and out of you perfectly. you were a dream around his cock. the creaking of the bed under you as the two of you made love under the low light of your bedroom.

it was comfortable, it wasn't painful in every way. and it was so good to feel your lover so closely. you panted heavily into the pillows and clutched it tightly. your noises were muffled as he moved. he pressed further into you and knew he wasn't going to last long.

a man capable of such violence was so docile around you. he wanted you so badly. he needed you more than he needed almost anything. his heart sang for you, and when he was away he tried to get home to you as soon as possible.

the dangerous life was common for him, but he didn't want to scare you off. if you knew the truth, would you hate him? would you run away or to the police? would you leave kevin?

he loved you so much, the idea of losing you made him almost scared. he pressed into you as much as he could and fucked you with heavy thrusts. he heard you pant heavily into the covers as he felt the pleasure in his brain.

you whined more as you felt orgasm hit you like a train. you said to your lover, "please, kevin. i love you."

he kissed your cheek and said, "good. because i love you too." then gave a few more thrusts before he finished inside of you with one final movement of his hips. he came with a groan before he slowed to a stop. he rested his face against your shoulder and just let himself feel you for a moment.

"i love you so much." you groaned.

kevin slipped out of you and laid out beside you. you laid next to him and let him wrap himself up around you. like a protective blanket. he pressed soft kisses against you and melted against your heated skin.

he said with his voice close to your ear, "i promise to protect you forever." then kissed the shell of your ear, "all of my days and all of my nights."

you giggled and turned in his arms, "sounds like you're trying to propose to me." your cheeks warmed at the thought.

he smiled down at you, "maybe, but i'll need a ring first." maybe he'll slowly let you into his world. to be closer to him than ever. he wanted you for a lifetime, to love you was an honour as he kept you in his arms while you both calmed down from your climaxes, "it's a secret for now." he said, "have to give you a little surprise."

you buried your face in his chest and giggled, "oh my god, kevin!" you squirmed a little bit on the bed, "you don't need to propose! really! i'm fine being your girlfriend." the idea of marriage made your cheeks hot!

he held your back and smiled into your hair, "even if it is just a ring, you deserve something nice. and if it is pretty enough then no idiot men at the bar will try to make you uncomfortable." he thought about the tracker he took off of you. being married to you was the end goal, but to protect you was a constant in his mind.

he kissed you, tomorrow he'll go ring shopping before his meetings. it'll be a hard choice to pick the perfect ring, but only the best for you. <3

[traumawhomst]

So Vampires, I won’t lie I love a platonic yandere vampire sire so much.

(1,250 words)

He sees you at your minimum wage job and at first just brushes you off as just another boring human. Then he notices the colors on your bracelet, school colors for a very expensive and exclusive school, a few (human) businesses partners he knew sent their children to that school and none of them worked for minimum wage on their free time. Between the bracelet, the callouses on your hands, and the way your eyes seemed dark and sunken, he knew everything. He left without much thought, telling himself that he didn’t care about some random human and their poor tragic life.

He told himself it was just curiosity when he looked up the current class list, (you can find anything with enough time and money) and found your name. Even in just the school photos you stuck out like a sore thumb, a wildflower in an otherwise perfectly manicured garden. A little further digging revealed you were an amazing student, even if your grades weren’t always perfect. You clearly had talent and a strong work ethic.

It’s just curiosity that makes him dig further, finding your admissions essay, in his office, finding himself smiling at some points, quietly charmed by your choice of words and styling of your essay. It had been a risk that had clearly paid off. He liked those willing to take risks, reminded him of himself when he was younger.

He might as well look further, finding your freelance writing which he poured over in chronological order a growing sense of pride in your progress over the years. Finding your work made him stumble upon your personal life.

Family, but not close, which seemed to be the theme for everyone in it. Did they know about your accomplishments? Did they even care?

He’s not very surprised when he follows you home and sees you living in a studio in an apartment with paper walls, living on a diet of instant noodles and whatever soda was cheapest for that week. How could you study living like this? You seemed to only ever work or study, taking every shift you could just to make enough to afford something a little filling than instant noodles. Surely you’re not at your best, he can’t help but wonder what you could produce given proper resources.

His colleagues laugh when he defends it all as just curiosity, and he decides to approach you in person to finally get over this little, inquiry to rest.

But you look so tired when you smile at him, you’re trying so hard to maintain the smile and he’s wondering when the last time you smiled and he realizes then, as he nods along to your explanation about whatever item he picked up, that he hadn’t seen you smile once in a week of watching you.

He could smell your blood and did his best to hide the scrunching of his nose. Wildly anemic and deficient in every vitamin and mineral that a human needed to stay upright. It set him on edge, wondering about the strain on your body it must have. Humans were so fragile already, how long could you live like this?

The thought of you dying sent a bolt of panic through him. You were young, talented, and hardworking you deserved time to flourish and grow.

It would take a few months for all the necessary paperwork to be complete and in that time he slowly builds a sort of friendship with you.

On your end an older man, (whose eye color you could never remember) started to come in at least once a week. He was sweet in a way you hadn’t expected, happy to talk about any book he or you had brought. That’s when you really noticed him, when he came in holding your favorite book. He hadn’t read it yet, and was happy to hear your small preview and talk about the major themes in it. He always managed to come in when it was slow and for some reason no one ever approached you when you two talked.

He’d said he owned a bookstore, (more than one you imagined from the amount of first editions he causally walked around with) but was visiting here for business. He told you that when you refused to take one of his very expensive first edition he tried to give you. He only relented when you explained that your apartment was rather damp and you knew that it would only degrade the book over time. Next week he showed up with the newest edition, and refused to leave with it. Really you’re doing him a favor, he’d love to hear your thoughts on it.

He wasn’t scary either, he always had this air about him that was calming. Something that made you relax and trust him, and in the few months you met him he’d never done anything make you doubt your trust in him.

He’d brought you a book to read with an immortal character in it, and asked what you’d ever take the chance if offered. The thought of being stuck in your life forever or any life really made you sick to your stomach. No you’d rather accept that your life would be finite and told him you thought life would be meaningless if you were immortal.

And for the first time, something new quickly twitch across his face. Anger? Disappointment? After months of friendly banter and discussion it was almost a slap in the face of the reality of it all. You didn’t know him, or his motives. The look only lasts a moment, before shifting to his pleasant neutral again, but you still saw it. You pretended for the rest of the conversation until he leaves. You request to a new work schedule when you finished for the day.

He on the other hand was practically spinning about it. He should have been ready for this short of answer, but he wasn’t. He’d had the conversation played a million times in his head, and you always agreed on it being a gift. He rationalized that you simply couldn’t understand it, given time you could be persuaded to see differently.

He showed up, ready to talk with you only to find out (through a heavy layer of compulsion) that you’d changed your hours to avoid Him. Time to move forward with the plan it seemed.

He found you one late night as you walked to your apartment and something about him made the hairs on the back of your neck stand-up.

He offered to walk you home, and you finally put your foot down and told him to leave you alone, as politely as you could muster. But you couldn’t seem to actually speak any of the words. What were you trying to say again?

He happily chatters on about how excited he is to show you your home, one arm around you steering you to some place you didn’t recognize. But every time you tried to say something you’d forget a little more of what was going on.

He didn’t really want it to do it this way, he told himself as he guides you in the deep state of compulsion you’re in. He wanted to win you over with the idea, to gladly accept his offer, to see it as the gift it was. But he could also admit to himself watching you try and fight the compulsion and fail, it was adorable to see the stubbornness that you had, it’d serve you well in your new life.

[uwupaige]

the nanny [paige bueckers] part 1

chapter one: snooze.

"shit, shit, shit." was all that could be heard from catherine's bedroom. the chirps of her alarm ringing bounced off of her cream colored walls, with the light of the morning sun, shining perfectly against them. that, and sound of her literally jumping out of her messy bed and making a run for her bathroom were all that filled her senses, not even a moment to bask in the morning glow.

she didn't have any time to. the alarm on her phone, titled, "leave now!" was currently screaming at her, and the girl was just barely making it out of bed.

this was probably catherine's third time being late for work this week, and it was only friday. working long nights at vynil, catherine was lucky to get in 4 hours of sleep. quickly brushing her teeth, catherine went to brush her hair into a  low ponytail. the girl was so relieved to find she had straightened her hair a few days prior. easy hair was what she called it. for weeks like this, when she worked both of her jobs back to back and didn't have time to style it every morning or night.

working two jobs could be a lot at times, but until she finished school, there was no way she would find a job that paid a livable wage. any and all positions she came across all wanted a masters degree and forty-three years experience. and school was already taking a long ass time, too. especially since she was one of the few teenagers that fell for the gap year trope. her gap year took about 2 and a half years, and now, she is just barely starting her bachelor's degree. those thoughts normally consumed her, though she tried to push them far down. all they would do is slow her down.

catherine's days all mushed together. work, school, work, and sleep, if that. however, she would often find the beauty in them. how lucky she was to have the middle of her day off and to herself. and on the rare off chance she was caught up on school work, she would be apple to sit on the porch of her apartment, doing whatever she wanted. a lot of the time, she would find herself daydreaming on that porch. what kind of life she would live if she was privileged in the way that other rich people are—

beep! beep! beep!

catherine's alarm sang to the girl once more from her room. only informing catherine that not only was she late, but now she was extremely late. she sighs, leaving her bathroom to grab her phone from her messy bed, that she decided would be okay to fix later, and turning it off as soon as possible. the sound of her alarm made her skin crawl and her eye twitch.

not bothering to put on any makeup at this point, catherine just grabbed her dented purse and the keys to her 2008, red honda civic, before kissing the top of her cats head goodbye, wiping off any grey furs that tried to leave with her, and ultimately rushing to her shift at 'snooze'.

˚✧.*

catherine tried her best to slip into the breakfast cafe, barely just missing the hostesses eye, but unfortunately, not missing the manager. she was almost to her locker, almost to the final stretch, when she heard the familiar voice of adam—the manager. a man in his forties, scruffy looking, not very tall, who had been there since he was in his twenties. but not only was he a manager, he was the one who made the schedule. so he definitely knew exactly when she was supposed to be strolling into work this morning. and it was not right now.

"kitty cat." came the singy-songy voice of her middle aged, out of shape, manager, adam, a clipboard firm in his hands as he walked through the break room, his sneakers squeaking horrible against the tile. catherine reluctantly looked up, meeting his odd smile. everyone who worked there—matter of fact, anyone who met him—knew his cheerfulness was just plain pretend. "did you sleep well? it looks like we're.." he pauses to look down at his new smart-watch, "twenty-seven minutes late today." he says, seriously dramatizing the twenty-seven.

"better than the 32 minutes on monday.. and yes, i slept great." catherine replied with whit and a smile as she shrugged off her purse and began to open her metal locker. scrolling through the numbers on her lock, adam continued on his speech he prepared for her the minute the clock striked 7:31 a.m. and she was declared late.

"you know, we have a strict policy—here at snooze—about tardiness, as we talked to you about earlier this week with your first two infractions."

catherine wanted to do nothing more than dramatically roll her eyes, huff and puff loudly and yell boring! in his face.

but alas, she bites her tongue. sorta.

"i understand, adam," catherine turns to the man, eye level with her, slight bitterness in her voice, "but there was only one table sat when i walked in, and julie was already serving them." catherine defended herself. yes, she was more than aware that her being this late was not acceptable, and wouldn't be accepted at all in many other fields. however, she would've been stuck with nothing to do until it was lunch hour. that is if she wasn't cut before then because they were so slow. "and, i told you when you hired me that i could only work the lunch shifts, because i work super late at vinyl." vinyl was the night club she bartended at. matter of fact, she had another shift there tonight. unfortunately, though, being a bartender doesn't pay the bills the way it used to. "and now this," she gestures to the both of them, "is an issue that we're having."

adam shifts the clipboard in his hands to rest between his armpit and torso, clasping his hands together dramatically in front of him. he looks down at the ground, as if to collect his thoughts, before loudly announcing, "i think that snooze a.m. eatery is not the best fit for you at the moment, and your role could be filled with someone more prompt. please understand that your shifts at this restaurant are here by extinct for the foreseeable future. your last check will be mailed."

thinking about that last conversation with her manager is still making catherine groan, even a couple hours later, as she helplessly scrolls on job sites. she'd been sitting on her small, light grey couch, scrolling on her laptop for at least half an hour, and nothing was peaking her interest. something was always wrong. perfect hours, horrible pay. or, the best pay she's ever seen, but she'd basically have to drop out. she was about to yell in frustration when her phone began to ring viciously into her earbuds. looking down, she saw it was an incoming call from her best friend. well— her only friend.

pulling her earbuds out by the cord from both her phone and her ears, catherine answered the phone call, immediately hitting speaker phone. "hi mama, what's up?" she spoke aloud, resting her phone on her knee as she kept scrolling.

"just read your text. how're you feeling?" the girl on the other end spoke. it sounded like she was in a car. she was probably on her way to her cute, corporate 10-6 job, which is what she so lovingly dubbed it.

catherine sighed, shaking her head even though no one could see. "like i need to find my own cute, corporate 10-6 job." she jokes, the girl on the line giggling with her. "molly, i don't know what to do. snooze worked out the best with my schedule, and with school. i'm at a loss." catherine confided in her. "nothings peaking my interest."

molly goes straight into problem solving mode, a trait catherine noticed about her when they met their first year of high school in club soccer. molly did work in HR, after all. so, problem solving was kind of her niche. "what aren't you liking about the jobs you're coming across right now?"

"the hours don't work, the pay is shitty, or a combination of both."

"hmm..." the girl on the other end hummed, catherine taking this as her thinking, and thinking deeply. "what about a clothing store? most close before 9, so it won't get in the way of your hours at the club."

"if you hadn't noticed, we're in the middle of a recession, and it's slow season for retail. no one's hiring." catherine responded. and if molly didn't know catherine the way she did, she would've been offended by her tone.

"then maybe you should finish school so you can get a cute, corporate 10-6 job like other people your age." molly replied without hesitation, matching, if not exceeding, her best friends energy.

catherine groans, "mo!" she sighs out a laugh, shuffling in her spot on her couch, going to take her blanket off, feeling a little toasty. molly's evil laughs are the only thing she can hear from the other end. "how embarrassing is it being a 23 year old college student, working two jobs, while everyone else your age is starting their careers, getting married, and having children?"

there's silence before molly speaks again, the sound of her blinker being the only audible noise for her phone to pick up, "like.. a seven outta ten embarrassing."

"you're the worst."

laughing once more, molly says, "hey, you were almost married if it makes you feel any better?"

"thinking about my cheating ex isn't exactly making me feel any better. all i ever see are posts of the two of them."

"social media is nefarious. none of what you're seeing is real," molly explains before she racks her brain for other possible jobs that catherine should consider looking at. "ever thought about childcare?" she loosely and hesitantly throws out the idea.

"jeez, is that what it's come to?"

"i think so, cat... i mean, maybe you could even go back to coaching soccer?"

catherine begins to search for childcare positions in her area through her job search engine. "that was volunteer work, babe.." catherine reminded as she scrolled. "woah. soo many people are hiring."

"mhm. a personal nanny is more affordable than daycare's nowadays. or just as much, but with better care." molly informs, catherine smiling at her best friend through the phone. she always admired how intelligent she was. molly was extremely book smart, the logical sense in catherine's life.

"oh, this one says, 'urgently looking for a nanny in Storrs," catherine reads, sounding enthusiastic at first, her tone then dropping, sighing. "must be flexible... they want two hours in the morning, school drop off and pick up, and evening care... until 11pm?!" she continued to read out loud to her best friend. she was about to click off, appalled at the thought, but luckily, molly interrupted her actions.

"well how much are they paying? if it's enough, you might not even need to work at the club anymore."

"dunno.." catherine mumbles as she scrolls down to the bottom of the description, her eye scanning to look for the hourly rate, and.. "0h, shit."

˚✧.*

"catherine sanchez.. sounds legit, right?"

"kk, you've gotta read their application first, bro."

paige sat at the dark grey couch of her brand new apartment, her daughter present on her lap, curled up against her side as she overheard her teammates begin to bicker at her marble kitchen counter, seated comfortably at her island stools.

"yo, where is that babysitter at, we've gotta go." azzi stressed, getting up from her spot at the island to begin her pace around the main area of the spacious apartment. they all had a game in a couple of hours, and they needed to leave, like yesterday.

"you'll live." kk responded, which just sparked another argument between the two.

the blonde just threw her head back against the sofa, eyes closed, looking for even a moment of calm. however, the bounce of the curly headed girl in her lap was making that nearly impossible. paige just held the girl closer to her and began to rub her back, hoping that would start to calm her. "will you both shut up and give me my phone back?" an annoyed paige interrupted the bickering with a plain voice, her eyes still closed, still searching for calm.

azzi rolls her eyes, grabbing the phone quickly from the girl beside her, walking it over to her best friend. she's about to hand it over to paige, but ultimately retreating the phone back into her possession, "only if you explain." azzi gestures towards both paige and her daughter. kk wasn't far behind her, soon taking the same stance as azzi, wanting answers as well.

opening her eyes and picking up her head, paige's face contorted as she sorta cringed at how serious her best friends were being. "you guys are acting like you didn't know."

"i thought she was with your parents?" kk inquired, quickly falling out of her stance with azzi, opting to slump onto the same couch paige and her daughter resided on, immediately reaching to take the little girl from paige's lap. kk was quietly throwing out baby babble to the 5 year old, instantly making her giggle. she was about to have a field day with this.

"my dad is, uh, trying to get back into work more seriously." the blonde explained as simply as possible for the two, "and he thinks i'm ready to take of her on my own, now..." paige sighs again, "but i can't be mad at him, you know."

"i mean, a little notice would've been a teeny bit helpful." kk spoke up from her baby babbling, but quickly returning.

"oh yeah. three days—so much preparation time." azzi agreed.

"i don't need notice to take care of my daughter. besides, they've spent enough time raising her... my dad's right." paige sighs, a hand running over her face.

azzi frowns for her, sitting down next to her. she hands paige her phone, "look," she says, softly, "someone finally applied." the girl did what she could to comfort her best friend, but to almost no avail. she made eye contact with kk, both sharing a concerned look. they were worried for their friend. when paige called them earlier that day for help, this isn't exactly what they expected. helping their friend find a nanny for her daughter, that is. "you're gonna find someone great to care for madison."

"amazing name choice, by the way," kk snorts, cutting in the middle of azzi's comfort speech. paige goes to fake punch her, kk just holding madison in front of her as the ultimate shield. "what's her middle name? paige?"

azzi unapologetically laughs at that, paige playfully shoving her.

"i was literally only 18," paige defends, and laugh following her words. she couldn't help but find their humor to be comforting.

madison moving in with paige was never the problem, it would never be a problem, but it all happened so fast. after paige got pregnant her senior year of high school, her dad and step mom wanted to take care of madison while paige was away at college. she was just beginning her career, her name out there. she had so much potential. they wanted to support her unconditionally, and believed this would be the best way.

however, they grew increasingly tired as the days went by. at the time, they were still in an understanding that paige would only be gone for those 4 years at uconn, then would return home to minnesota and be in madison's life. however, after paige made the decision to stay in connecticut for another year at uconn, her parents had a serious talk with her. she needed to step up. she could finally start providing for her daughter in ways she couldn't when she was 18. and she needed to do just that.

paige wanted to. more than anything.

nonetheless, she was still so scared. she gave birth to madison a couple days after graduation, managing to hide it from her whole school her senior year, only her family knowing. it wasn't long until paige was sent off to uconn though, having to say goodbye to her daughter for months at a time. it was really hard. all she would think about what madison. she called everyday, but it would never be the same as actually being there. when paige would come home for holidays or breaks, madison would be really nervous around her, hiding behind paige's dad or step mom. it wasn't until paige would go home for long summer breaks that madison would finally get used to her. and she always only called her paige, though. never mom.

and as for madison's dad? it's a topic of conversation that's not up for debate with paige.

"paige," azzi shakes paige out of her thoughts, paige blinking a few times to return to the moment.

"yeah?"

"read her application." azzi encourages once more, pointing at the phone in her hand, "she's the only one who's applied so far."

"because no one wants to work until midnight and then have to be up and back at 7 the next day," paige sighs. her basketball schedule was the only reason she needed the extra help. practice was at any time ever, and games were multiple times a week, going on for a hours.

"catherine sanchez..." paige reads before opening up her application.

moments later, the door bell is ringing.

they open it to reveal the last minute babysitter paige had hired for the night. grabbing their things quickly, and each kissing madison goodbye. they left, but not before paige could remind the babysitter to, "text me if anything. please."

the nanny master list

authors note!

yay first chapter! this was just a lot of needed backstory. chapter two is when the paige interactions begin ;)

also, if you want more frequent updates, my wattpad (@uwupaige) gets like 3 new chapters every week

thank you for reading!🩷

- mari 🫧

3k words.

[davidchiemcore]

started thinking about how much money each of the characters likely makes

(DRDT SPOILERS AHEAD - for character and story backgrounds)

basic information I'm going off of: drdtdev stated that everyone except Teruko and Min make their living from their talent. the hope's peak academy they attend is located in the US, and they're specifically part of the east class, so implying its somewhere on the eastern side of the us. While they don't have to live where the school is, there is a western branch of Hope's Peak, so the fact that they attend the eastern branch suggests that they're closer to that side. The series takes place sometime in the future, but given the world had a major tragedy and seems to be on the same level as the world we live in, I'm gonna assume inflation is roughly the same as now

teruko: She does mention having to choose between rent and food, meaning she makes some sort of money, and enough to rent a place at times. I assume she works some sort of minimum wage job, given she doesn't have full schooling experience. a lot of the eastern us has minimum wage at 7.25, but places in the northeast have it a bit higher, from 10-15. If she earned something like 13 dollars an hour, worked 40 hours a week, and worked every week, she would make around 27k. However, with her bad luck and lack of legal documents as mentioned when she talks about her schooling, I assume she probably loses jobs quite frequently. Assuming she's unemployed for about a fourth of the year, she would' earn roughly 20k

xander: This one confuses me a bit. He's basically an activist, so I'm not sure what kind of job he would have consistently. Additionally, he lived in the UK from at least age 14 until he started attending Hope's Peak, so I had to look for jobs there. Looking it up, it seems that the pay ranges from 23k-49k, averaging at 33k (all in pounds). Converting that, the average salary would be 43-44k. He's living with no family, and who were poor enough to likely not leave anything behind, so he probably has to work a lot to pay for his overseas school. However, he did do school at the same time, so I'll take 3/4s of the total salary to give him 33k a year.

charles: Given that being even an entry-level chemist requires at least a four year degree, I assume he may work as an assistant to one at the moment. They still make quite a bit of money, however, most making 37k-49k a year. The average is 49k, but there's a chunk of outliers around 82k, mostly from California, which is in the western US. Therefore, I think it's reasonable to suggest he makes something in the middle of the range I gave, giving him a salary of 43k. However, given that he was likely doing school at the same time and has parents to support him, who also seemed to shelter him a lot, he likely works part time. For part time, I'll cut the salary by half and say he probably earns 22k a year.

ace: Horse jockeys get paid per race, both for winning and participating, so this is a little harder to calculate. Most horse jockeys earn 53k-67k, but given that Ace is the Ultimate Jockey, this is a job where being skilled can really help you rise in the ranks, both of how much you can charge, and how often you win. It's also something that he could reasonably have a couple years of experience in given that they only need to be 16 years old to start professionally racing. Therefore, I would put him at the high end of the average or maybe even higher. I'll estimate 70k per year. Many horse jockeys drop out of school to focus on their job, so I'll leave him at that.

arei: This is also a little harder to calculate, because while you can bowl at any age, you can only join the Professional Bowlers Association once you turn 18. However, she could still compete for prizes in PBA Jr. and other smaller competitions. This year's PBA Jr. Competition gave 10k in scholarship money, but most competitions have at most a couple thousand dollars as the top reward, so I'll estimate she might make about 12k in a year? However, she lives with family still, so this is probably fine for her.

rose: rose is stated to have earned several millions doing forgery, so her previous salary would've been incredible. However, now she just does recreations of other paintings. None of the money goes to her, but if we still want to calculate it, the average reproduction artist earns 46k a year.

hu: I assume she likely does small venues where she plays the zither. According to a reddit post, the average earnings for a gig for a small musician is around $230, and assuming she does an average of one a week (some weeks she might do more, some weeks she might not do any), she'd earn about 12k a year.

eden: Eden is stated to both do clock making and clock repair. Most clock repairers make 36k-44k a year, averaging to 40k, and the average clock maker earns about 40k a year as well. She says that she can work 14 hours without breaks, implying she has some very long work days, possibly putting her slightly above the average at 42k.

levi: At first i thought Levi would make a lot because personal stylists sound like a rich people thing? But looking into it the average salary in the US ranges from 34k-50k a year, and since he states that he's relatively new to the field, he probably leans to the lower end of that. im gonna put him at 36k? He lives alone, so he likely works full time to pay for his living conditions.

arturo: Similar to Charles, he likely doesn't perform his actual job yet regularly. Half of all plastic surgeon assistants make somewhere between 22k-56k a year, with the halfway point at 37k. The median amount is around 44k. Given that he was likely working part-time, as he was probably in school at the same time, I'll cut that in half to give him a salary of 22k per year.

min: It's stated that her schooling up until this point was paid for by the spurling foundation, so i assume either the same is the case for her time in college, or her parents were able to save a lot of money to pay for it. Given this and how much time she puts into school, i assume she doesn't have a job.

david: This was a hard one to calculate. The average motivational speaker (I know he's called an inspirational speaker but in this case they're interchangeable) can make anything from 500 to 30k per speech, depending on their experience and skill. We know David is a well-known celebrity, being famous worldwide, but it's not to the degree that everyone in the class is shocked by his appearance, just Xander. If he work to make 10k a speech, and do one speech every two months, he'd be making 60k a year. In addition to this, many speakers have alternate sources of income, like book and channels. He's not stated to have these, but I'd assume he at least does smaller talks, maybe giving him another 10k a year?? As he's paid per speech, this doesn't require a lot of hours, so he probably is able to make full pay while also going to class. I'm not sure if this is a super accurate salary, but it's hard to get a gauge on it, so I'm going with 70k a year.

veronika: How does one make money as a horror fanatic? She mentions being a scholar in her field, so maybe she writes papers and small books on the subject. However, I'm a personal fan of the "deep dive youtuber" theory, so I'll calculate for both. For scientific papers, you can earn from a few hundred to a few thousand per paper. Given this kind of stuff takes at least a couple months of research, I'd say she would only make a few thousand a year. Maybe 10k if I'm being generous and giving her a 2k article every other month? Now, for the other idea, youtubers make about 2.5-7.5 dollars per thousand views on a video. If she gets an average of 800k views per video (with a couple million on some and a few hundred thousand on some), and makes 5 dollars per thousand, she'd be getting about 4k per video. Again, if she puts out a video every other month, this would be getting her 20k.

j: Special Effects artists make anywhere from 44k to 86k a year. The average is 68k, but most make either a bit more or a bit less, and given J's influence from her mother, I'd assume she's in the higher range. The highest category is 23% of people making 78k-86k, so I'll give her 80k. I'm not sure about whether she'd work fulltime or part time, because she definitely has the money to work part time because of her mother, but she might also try to make all her own money herself to spite her? I'm leaning that she works part time, so if I cut that in half she still makes 40k a year.

whit: The average professional matchmaker makes 42k-46k a year. The average is a clean 44k a year. Again, I'm not sure if he'd work part time or full time because we don't know much about his living situation. It's possible he needs to help support his single dad, so I'll put him at 3/4s of that, 33k.

nico: Most animal behavior specialists, which is what Nico says they are in their conversation with Xander, make 46k-53k a year, with an median of 48k. However, given they don't have a degree yet, I'll assume they make on the lower end of that, so 46k. They mention going to school, so they likely work part time, cutting that in half to give them a salary of 26k.

if anyone read this far thank you this took me like three hours HAHA

[singingcicadas]

The way it's depicted, Cybertron's pre-war societal issues had a lot less to do with Functionism and more to do with unchecked government corruption, massive wealth disparity, high layoff/unemployment rates, and disenfranchisement.

People were starving, they needed work, they weren’t getting any. Those that were fortunate enough to have work didn’t get paid living wages, much less have anything to spare for health contingencies. Even then stability’s still the luxury of the top few tiers; they live one cut away from layoff. The government cared only enough to exacerbate these issues by coming up with new ways for exploitation. Any attempts to protest or lobby were shut down through political persecution. As a result the masses turned increasingly to crime, drug abuse, thuggery, and violence. Extreme acts of terrorism gets lauded as long as the collateral damage's suffered by someone else. Morality and caution are eroded in the face of desperation.

Meanwhile the many alleged restrictions of Functionism are just lip service complaints made by the characters which doesn’t match up to most of the stuff we’re shown. Like if Rung could become a psychologist, a specialized job that requires higher education, despite having zero background on top of such a weird alt that he had to be classified as an ornament, then wow the functionists must be open-minded. If Dominus Ambus could be a scientist/doctor/explorer/author/successful social rights advocator during the height of functionist control with a minesweeper military-use alt (assuming that his secondary alt's the same as Minimus'), then wow the functionists must be accommodating. If Tyrest could become chief engineer under Nova and later go into law, a complete change of profession, while being a jet, then wow functionism's flexible. If Ratbat and Momus could become senators in a society that discriminates heavily against beastformers and labor frames, then wow that’s progressive. If every Prime from Nova to Zeta (with the exception of Sentinel, his alt’s a tank, he only has wings in Megatron Origin as part of his Apex armour upgrade), every single named pre-war senator other than Proteus and Momus, and four out of five of Nova Prime’s buddy club (only Galvatron's a grounder) were wingframes in a society that supposedly discriminates against wingframes, then wow that’s… inconsistent worldbuilding.

Megatron didn’t get into bloodsports or start a war because he didn’t get to pursue his dream job. He got driven into the pits and down the slippery slope of moral degeneration because his only source of income was cut off by the mine closure incident. People wanted livelihoods above anything else, it's the failure to provide that that made the miners go off the deep end and resulted in the death of a guard. If Functionism actually ensured that everyone could be guaranteed a job or at least minimized the unemployment rates, then stratified castes or not, there would have been no war. People, or societies, are generally capable of tolerating an incredible amount of injustice as long as the majority still have a chance at scraping by at the end of the day. But the government, and later Megatron, kept yanking the rug out from under everyone over and over until they no longer even had a chance at that; there's no other choice left but fight or die.

[kittenofdoomage]

Obeying Temptation

Summary: She’s not a good Christian girl by any stretch, but he might still have some fun corrupting her.

Pairing: Alpha!Demon!Dean x Omega!female!reader

Word Count: 8481

Warnings: soooo much blasphemy, religious themes, smut (incl. fingering, full penetrative sex and oral sex), A/B/O (incl. scenting, knotting, marking, mentions of bodily fluids), angst, drama, demonic possession, mentions of breeding kink, dirty talk, derogatory names, hands on throats, biting, bruising, abandonment, slight dubcon and implied murder of religious clergymen, ambiguous ending

Ao3 Link

Author Note: Happy New Year everyone, enjoy some blasphemy before 2023 kicks in 😈

Church had always felt like a chore. In truth, it was more her mom’s thing than Y/N’s, but she obeyed the rules of her mother’s house, since she was stuck living there until she could find a job that paid better than minimum wage. Every Sunday, she put on one of the hideous Sears dresses her Aunt Margaret sent every birthday and followed her mother to church. Her mom didn’t make her sit at the front with the rest of the gossipy old ladies that liked to speculate on the love lives of the other attendees, at least.

It was hard not to zone out when Father Taggart droned on about the importance of community and keeping Jesus in your heart, and if she could have gotten away with it, she would have played on her phone until the service was done. She’d never understood the purpose of “God’s House”, preferring to believe His house was everywhere, seeing as he was supposed to be ubiquitous. 

Today’s sermon was more of the same. Y/N sat away from most of the other parishioners, listening as the greying vicar rambled through Matthew 22-something, her attention wandering around the stone archways of the old building. As her eyes drifted, she noticed someone in the darkness to the left near the confessionals, a good few meters away from the pews.

He stepped forward, white collar catching her gaze first. Another priest? she wondered, and his eyes met hers. A smile tugged at his lips but it was nothing like the smile she would expect to see on a vicar’s face. This smile was calculating, cunning… predatory. Despite the distance between them, she could tell he was an Alpha, unusual for a man of the cloth; she wished she could see him more clearly but he was almost entirely bathed in shadows.

“And now, I would like to invite a new voice to speak,” Father Taggart announced, and Y/N dragged her eyes from the shadowy priest to the front again, though she could feel him watching her still. “May I introduce Father Crowley, who will be standing in for Father Grayson now he has retired.”

She remembered Father Grayson, though she’d only met him a few times when she’d picked her mom up from her Wednesday night prayer group. He was at least a hundred years old, she was sure of it, bent double and hair as white as snow. Maybe he should have retired a few years earlier.

The man who stepped up with a polite nod at Father Taggart was in his late forties, or maybe early fifties - she was never very good at judging age. He had dark hair and a slightly unkempt beard, but she supposed he was attractive. For a priest.

“Thank you, Father Taggart,” the newcomer crooned, his British accent making a few of the older ladies whisper among themselves. “It is a pleasure to be speaking to you all today. As he explained, myself and Father Winchester will be standing in for Father Grayson until a suitable permanent replacement can be found.” He smiled, looking out upon his audience. “I’m sure we will feel right at home in your wonderful parish.”

Y/N glanced back to the shadows, wondering if the mysterious Alpha was Father Winchester, but he was gone. She shuddered, feeling a chill in the air as Father Taggart gave Father Crowley a further welcome, then called everyone to stand for the last hymn.

Hymns had always been the part of church she enjoyed. Singing in general was a hobby, one to be practised away from anyone who would hear her, so hymns offered her a way to sing without being singled out in a crowd. The church organ player situated herself, then began to play as Father Taggart instructed the mass to turn to Holy God, We Praise Thy Name.

The mysterious priest didn’t appear again.

It always took forever to get her mom in the car after services, usually because she was still chatting with her friends. Y/N hung around the grassy front, toying with her keys as she waited, listening to her mom pass comment on the “hot new priest”.

“You know he’s still twenty years younger than you, right?” she called out, making her mom glare in her direction.

Agnes, her mom’s best friend, prodded her. “Did you see that other one?”

“No?” Her mom frowned, glancing over at her daughter. “There was another one?”

“Mmhmm,” Agnes nodded. “Younger. Very handsome. Maybe Y/N…”

“Oh, god, Agnes, please,” Y/N interjected, holding a hand up to stop the older woman. “I’m not interested in any guys, priests or not. Besides, I thought they’re supposed to be celibate?”

Agnes and her mom chuckled. “That’s a common misconception,” her mom advised, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Trust me.”

“I don’t wanna know,” she mumbled, scrunching up her face in disgust.

“Oh come now, dear,” Agnes chided softly, “you can’t expect to live at home forever. We all have a body clock, you know, Omegas most of all.”

It was difficult not to roll her eyes at the outdated opinion, so she decided not to engage in yet another discussion about how Omegas weren’t just breeding sows. Jingling the keys, she turned her attention to her mother, giving her a tight smile. “Can we get going, Mom? I wanna enjoy the rest of my weekend.”

Her mom rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, Agnes.”

“Take care, Judith. Goodbye, Y/N!”

“Bye,” Y/N muttered, already marching towards the car. Judith followed at a leisurely pace, ignoring the impatience of her daughter as she climbed into the passenger seat. Turning the key in the engine, Y/N glanced back to check the rear of the vehicle, making sure she didn’t hit the black classic parked behind her.

“Agnes is only worried, you know,” her mom started.

“Mom -”

“I know, I know, none of my business. But I would like to see a grandchild…”

Y/N gritted her teeth. “Mom.”

Judith went quiet, clamping her mouth shut with a grin. Y/N pulled the car out of the spot and sped off, hoping that her stern tone was enough to put the subject to bed. They were silent the whole way home, and when they got inside, Y/N retreated to her room to lose herself in something distracting.

By Monday morning, she’d forgotten most of the encounter, and began her week at work with a smile. Her job kept her busy, and though she hated the majority of her duties, she liked that it occupied her mind and she never had to take it home with her.

Sunday rolled around with a storm, the second of the week. The weather had been all kinds of crazy since summer had hit, and when she arrived at church with her mother, they had to run in to avoid getting drenched. Judith toddled off to her usual spot, and Y/N, once again, found sanctuary at the back. It was emptier than usual, likely due to the rain, and she could hear it on the church roof above the crowd.

Father Crowley stood at the front, waiting for everyone to get settled, and when Y/N looked around, she couldn’t see Father Taggart. Her mom was sitting with Agnes, both of them whispering to each other, and they fell silent when Father Crowley called for quiet.

“I have some grave news to give you all today,” he began, and several parishioners sat up straighter. “Father Taggart has been taken ill, so he will not be conducting service today. I would like to ask you all to hold him in your prayers, and hope for a full recovery.”

Y/N tensed, a new scent tickling her nose. The pew she was sitting on was empty save for her, and she looked to either side, searching for the source of the smell. It was thick and rich, invading her senses, inexplicably Alpha.

Movement from the darkness at the left of the church caught her eye. She focused, seeing him standing in the shadows by the door that led out to the graveyard, and for a second, she could have sworn his eyes were black. Her hands shook as she clutched the church-copy of the bible, unable to take her eyes off of him.

Father Crowley was speaking again, delivering a sermon every inch as boring as Father Taggart’s, and Y/N wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention. She stared at the mysterious priest in the shadows, feeling her heart rate speed up, and a light sweat broke out on her forehead. Her lips parted as she panted lightly, suddenly aware of what was happening.

She needed air.

Getting to her feet, she tried not to stumble, being as quiet as possible as she headed for the main entrance. No one seemed to pay her much attention, most of them listening to Father Crowley, so she escaped unnoticed, closing the door behind her.

It was still raining. The only thing that protected her was the awning over the doorway. She didn’t care, gulping down fresh air as she tried to control herself. “It’s too early,” she muttered, shaking her head.

The door opened behind her. “Is everything okay, sweetheart?” It was her mom, and Y/N turned, nodding.

“It’s fine, Mom, I’ll just go wait in the car.”

Judith didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?” she whispered. “It’s Sunday, it might be a while.”

“Can I help you, ladies?”

The low rough voice made them both turn, and Y/N almost yelped at the sight of the mysterious priest. In the dull light of the storm, she could see every detail of his handsome features, and her mouth went dry as she drank in all six feet of him. “My daughter isn’t feeling well,” Judith explained before she could stop her.

“I’m fine, Mom,” Y/N insisted. “I can wait in the car.”

“If you’re feeling unwell, you can sit in the rectory until service is finished,” the priest offered.

Judith smiled, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh, Father Winchester, that would put my mind at ease.” She glanced at her daughter. “I don’t think you’ve met yet. Y/N, this is -”

“Father Winchester,” Y/N whispered, staring at him. “I’d really be okay in my car.”

Her mom frowned then, reaching out to take her hand. “Please, Y/N, I’d be happier if you weren’t alone out here.”

She wanted to scream. Father Winchester was an Alpha, though her Beta mother wouldn’t scent it. He smiled at her, and she felt a thread of fear knot in her stomach. “It’s only next door,” he said smoothly, gesturing to the covered walkway that ran around the side of the old building. “Your mother can come and find you when she’s done.”

Her mother’s pleading gaze made her heart drop. She nodded reluctantly, and Judith beamed, clasping her hands over Y/N’s, tilting her head as she gazed at the priest gratefully.

“Thank you so much, Father,” she gushed, patting her daughter’s hand before scurrying back inside.

Father Winchester held out an arm, gesturing to the footpath. “It’s this way.” He stepped off, and Y/N followed. His scent filled her mouth and nose, making her stomach churn, and she couldn’t help staring at his muscular frame from behind him.

The rectory was a neat little house behind the church and the graveyard, far enough away from the other buildings that it was eerily silent. It was still raining, less enthusiastically than it had been before, but enough for her to feel her clothes getting wet as she followed the priest across the back of the graveyard. He paused after he’d opened the front door, holding it for her to slip past, and she felt a chill as she did. The door closed behind him, turning to face her as she hovered in the hallway.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked politely. It felt forced, and his intense stare made her insides quiver.

“Uh, sure.”

He smiled - the same predatory look he’d given her before. “The kitchen is through here.” Leading with his hand, he didn’t wait for her to follow, though she did, letting her gaze travel over the aged wallpaper and the few old pictures hanging on the walls. Most of them were religious or with the church itself as a subject, and for a moment, she wondered if Father Taggart was home, seeing as he was ill.

“How is Father Taggart?” she asked curiously. “Father Crowley said he was taken ill.”

Father Winchester barely spared her a glance as he filled the kettle with water, placing it on the stove top. “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he muttered, his tone indicating a lack of regard for the man in question.

“Where is he?” she pushed, hoping that she wasn’t alone in the house with such an odd man.

He turned his head, grinning at her. “He left this morning. Staying with relatives in Florida. Warmer air.”

It sounded like he was mocking her, but she couldn’t see what the point would be, so she shrugged and let it go, looking around the kitchen for somewhere to sit. There was definitely space for a dining table and chairs in there but the space they could have occupied was empty.

“How are you feeling now?” the Father asked.

His question caught her off-guard. “Uh, okay, I guess,” she stammered, hugging herself for some small measure of comfort. “Probably allergies.” She was lying through her teeth; the gentle ache beginning in her belly told her exactly what was happening.

He hummed like he didn’t quite believe her. “Are you sure?” he pressed, turning to face her. “Lying is a sin, Y/N.”

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head hurriedly, fighting the urge to back up and show his intimidation of her. She dropped her hands to her sides, trying to appear casual. “Well, I mean, storms kick up all sorts of allergens,” she managed, shrugging.

Father Winchester sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. “You know, I gave you the chance there,” he scolded softly. “But I can see you’re going to be difficult about it.”

A lump formed in her throat. “About what?” she rasped, feigning innocence.

“I can smell you.”

The statement made her freeze, and she met his eyes like a frightened rabbit. He was facing her now, stalking her almost, and even though he was scaring the crap out of her, a tiny part of her was sending a thrill down her spine. His eyes shone as he stepped closer, and her knees trembled.

“Been able to smell you since you got out of your car,” he continued, coming closer still. “Sweet. Ripe. Just begging to be plucked.”

“Father Winchester, I -”

He scoffed, silencing her. “It’s Dean.”

She frowned at the odd correction, never knowing a priest to be so informal. But then, she’d never known one to be this inappropriate toward her. “This is wrong,” she whispered, finally backing away from him, only to find cupboards at her back two steps later. He was so close now, close enough to grab her, close enough that he was blocking any escape.

A smirk curled his lips, making him even more devastatingly handsome. “Then why can I smell how wet you are, sweetheart?”

Y/N whimpered, pressing herself into the cupboard door. “You shouldn’t be acting like this,” she denied. “You’re a priest, a man of the cloth -”

He was suddenly up against her, and she sucked in a breath, words fading as his scent overwhelmed her. “I’m an Alpha,” he murmured, reaching up to cup her face with one huge hand. “You’re an Omega. I know you feel it, I know you want it.”

She shook her head, her only struggle against his hold. He chuckled, leaning in like he was going to kiss her and she knew she should have resisted but she didn’t. His face got closer and right as he was about to brush his lips over hers, he went left, pressing his cheek to hers instead. The hand at her jaw tugged at her jacket, pulling it down until her bare shoulder and throat were exposed.

“I wouldn’t force myself on you, Y/N,” he crooned, mouth right against the shell of her ear. “It’s so much more satisfying to watch you try to fight it.” He chuckled, running the tips of his fingers up over her bare arm. “And you’re going to beg for my knot before long.” His fingers slid over her shoulder and up to her throat, stroking over the spot where an Alpha would lay his claim.

A shudder ran up her spine, and she could feel wetness in her panties. No doubt he could smell it, how aroused she was just from a few moments in his presence. “I don’t -” Her mouth was so dry, she couldn’t speak. Working some saliva up, she managed a tiny whine, and Dean pulled back to look her in the eye.

“Try again,” he ordered softly.

“I don’t think th-this is appropriate,” she stammered, too aware of the hand still lingering on her throat.

“Why not?” he teased, grinning at her. “Your body wants it. Every second, your scent’s gettin’ stronger, princess.”

This is wrong, this is wrong, she chanted in her mind but already she was imagining it, conjuring fantasies based on the hard lines of his body that held her against the cupboard. “Please,” she keened desperately.

“Please, what?”

The kettle began to shrill loudly, and the tension in the room snapped. Dean stepped away, leaving her to crumple in on herself, and she panted against the cupboard, watching him as he continued to make the tea.

She wondered for a second if she’d imagined it but her jacket was still hanging halfway down her shoulder, and she could still feel his touch on her skin. Her panties were soaked through, and when she straightened, she felt the ache in her belly turning raw.

The front door opened, and she heard her mother’s voice. Relief swept through her, but Dean didn’t seem bothered in the slightest by the arrival of company.

“Oh, of course, Father, we understand,” Judith was practically swooning over him, “after all, safety comes first.”

“Absolutely, my child,” Father Crowley replied and the front door shut loudly. “Now let’s see where your daughter has gotten to.” His voice got louder as they approached the kitchen, and when he entered, he smiled at you. “Here she is.” He glanced at the other priest. “Safe and sound.”

Judith didn’t notice the odd tone he spoke with, but Y/N did. She stood still as her mother came closer and began to fuss, pressing one hand to her daughter’s forehead. “Oh dear,” she mumbled, flustering a little as she realized what was ailing the younger woman. “I suppose we should get you home.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Father Crowley interjected, glaring at Father Winchester, who smirked back.

“Thank you for looking after her, Father,” Judith cooed, smiling at both men.

“Take good care of her, won’t you?” Dean requested, all charm as he stared right at Y/N. She swallowed down a whimper, ducking her head so her mother didn’t see her reaction to him. “She’s a very special girl.”

Her mother clutched her chest, giving him an adoring look. “I will, Father Winchester,” she promised, taking Y/N’s hand but her daughter was already moving, desperate to get away from the scent of him. “Aren’t you going to say goodbye?” Judith admonished, making her freeze in her tracks.

She turned back, stomach churning, palms getting sweaty. “Thank you, Father,” she mumbled, curtseying like she was a child at Sunday School.

“I’ll keep you in my prayers,” he replied, a filthy smirk on his lips.

Judith didn’t linger this time, following as her daughter dashed for the door and out into the fresh air. The door closed behind them, and Crowley turned to Dean, arching one eyebrow in his direction.

“Feeling a little more enthusiastic about this?” he taunted. “Though you’re behind. I’ve already got three in the bag, what’s so special about this one?”

Dean’s smirk grew. “Didn’t you smell her?”

Crowley hummed. “Not something I’d be attuned to,” he shrugged. “This meatsuit’s a Beta.”

“You’re missing out,” Dean chuckled. “All she needs is a little push and she’ll be begging.”

“Seems like a waste of time.”

The younger man growled. “I thought we were here to have fun.”

“We are,” Crowley confirmed hesitantly. “I just thought it was a little more damning of little old ladies and less chasing tail.”

Dean snorted, rolling his eyes. “Whatever floats your boat. We should get rid of Taggart. He’s gonna start stinking up the joint.”

She’d been mistaken in thinking getting away from Father Winchester would slow her predicament. If anything, by the time she arrived home, the heat was getting stronger. Her mother parked the car and ushered her out, ordering her to her room to rest while promising noodle soup.

Usually, she’d sleep through most of a heat, ensconced in her personal space, and it would be over within three or four days. Even at her age and unmated, she managed them easily, but this one was early, way off her regular cycle. It felt stronger too, crippling her in hours, and by the time her mom brought her soup, she was at the point of begging for unconsciousness. Judith was concerned - Y/N dismissed it, assuring her mother she only needed rest and sending her away.

Every time she closed her eyes, Dean’s face, his scent, tormented her.

Monday didn’t bring any improvement. She strayed from her nest only to use the bathroom, snacking on comfort foods and watching shows when she wasn’t sleeping. Her mom checked in before she went out, and while she was gone, Y/N used the private time to take the edge off, cursing herself when she imagined Dean being the one to satisfy her.

She fell short of satisfying herself, only succeeding making the longing worse.

On Tuesday, her mom was home, and expressed a desire to call the doctor, but Y/N waved her off again. Her fever was beginning to break, she just had to ride it out.

In the afternoon, someone knocked at the door, the noise disturbing her sleep. She laid in her bed, listening as her mother greeted whoever it was, and for a moment, the low voice that answered didn’t register. When she realized who it was, she bolted upright, staring at the door in horror as she heard them coming up the stairs.

Her mother knocked at her door seconds later, and Y/N snatched the covers, pulling them up to her chin. The door opened without her consent - nothing unusual for Judith - and she stepped in alone, even though Y/N could smell Dean just outside in the hall.

“Y/N,” she murmured, “Father Winchester has come to check in on you.”

“I’m fine, Mom,” Y/N grunted back. “I’d rather not -”

“Nonsense,” she insisted. “Maybe prayer will help take your mind off of it.”

The utter disregard the older woman suddenly had was alarming, but Y/N didn’t have a chance to question it as Father Winchester entered, smirking at her. Judith smiled, glancing over at her daughter as she wilted in the bed.

“I’ve got to run into town. Will you two be okay?” Judith asked, ignoring the horror on Y/N’s face.

“I’m sure I can assist Y/N with whatever she needs,” Dean drawled, still grinning, eyes locked on her. It didn’t appear that Judith caught his double meaning at all, as she quickly retreated, leaving her Omega daughter to the Alpha’s mercy. He waited until he heard her reach the bottom of the stairs, then he pushed the door almost closed, licking his lips. “Mmm,” he exhaled, “I can taste you in the air, pretty thing.”

“I could shout,” she threatened quietly. “Mom will -”

“Go ahead,” he dared. “But I already know, you won’t. Because you’ve been thinking about me for three days.”

Her cheeks flushed with fresh heat but she held his gaze in defiance. He tucked his tongue behind his teeth, his expression mocking her, and she scowled, hating the fact that he was having an effect on her.

Downstairs, the front door shut, leaving them alone.

Dean moved closer, lowering himself onto the bed by her thighs. He didn’t touch her, but his proximity was enough to make her tense, the desire in her belly growing stronger with every whiff of his scent. “Don’t worry,” he soothed, lifting his chin. “I won’t touch you unless you ask nicely.”

She ground her teeth together. That same tiny part of her that had sprung up back at the rectory, the Judas in her soul that made her quiver at just his voice; it was screaming now, pleading with her to give in. Keeping her mouth shut, she focused on remaining still, unreactive to his presence.

“Ooo, hard to get, huh?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Your scent betrays what you’re craving, baby. I bet you’ve cum half a dozen times on those useless plastic knots.” He looked around the room, obviously looking for evidence. “Where do you hide them?”

Y/N kept her eyes on him, unwilling to give away her secret.

“Gotta be somewhere mommy won’t find,” he continued, getting to his feet again. “She’s so nice. I doubt she knows what a little cockslut her daughter truly is.”

Her stomach clenched, and she looked down at her knees underneath the quilt. Dean laughed again, wandering over to her dresser. He smoothed one long hand along the top of it, glancing back at her in amusement.

“No, not in here, too obvious,” he mused aloud, scanning the room. Spying her closet, he strode over to it, opening the doors. He inspected it without touching anything, looking back at her again to check her reaction. She continued to keep her eyes down, chewing her lip to silence herself. “Not even gonna give me a hint?”

The rise he wanted wasn’t forthcoming though he didn’t seem bothered by her refusal to play his game. He stalked closer, trying to get her to look at him. She kept her head down, resisting, but when his knee hit the bed, she couldn’t stop her eyes darting towards where her shoebox lay.

Dropping to one knee, he reached under the bed, finding the only thing that was under there. He pulled the box out, glancing up to see her shameful expression, and he knew he had his prize.

“Let’s see,” he hummed, tugging the lid off.

Y/N only owned two toys, a vibrating wand and a dildo. Dean went for the dildo first, holding it up in scrutiny as she tried to will her bed to swallow her whole.

“Oh, baby. You’re in for a treat.” He clicked his tongue, smirking at her. “This is tiny.” It hit the floor with a thud that made her flinch. “But this one might be useful.” He dropped the shoebox, throwing the wand onto the bed; it landed between her knees. “Which one do you like best?”

She hesitated. He waited patiently, staring at her, and she shivered, letting the covers fall to her shoulders. “I-if I tell you… you won’t hurt me, right?”

A frown dampened his smile. “Do you think I’m going to hurt you, Omega?”

The use of the title made her shiver again. Her whole body ached, the arousal becoming unbearable and only enhanced by the scent of a potent Alpha so close. “I don’t know,” she confessed.

“I told you - I won’t touch you until you ask me to,” he repeated.

“Th-the wand,” she rushed out, and his smile returned. “The kn - the other one feels too fake.”

He chuckled, tilting his head a little. “Tell me the truth, princess,” he moved closer, sitting on the bed again, this time on the opposite side, “have you ever taken a real Alpha knot in that sweet little cunt of yours?”

She couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped. “Yes,” she whispered. “Once.”

“Lemme guess,” he mused, tapping his chin with one finger. “Highschool sweetheart. Thought he was the one, only for him to pop your cherry and leave you high and dry, right?” Her gaze dropped, and he took it for confirmation, laughing lightly. “Oh, darlin’, I’m gonna blow your mind when I get inside you.”

His words were so crude, so unbecoming of a priest. No one had ever spoken to her like that and she was ashamed to find his filthy expressions arousing. “Y-you said you wouldn’t force me.”

“I won’t,” he assured her. “I told you, you’ll beg me for it.”

Faking bravado, she lifted her chin, staring at him. “How do you know?”

“Because you’ve got my scent now,” he breathed, “Omega.” She shuddered, unable to suppress it, and fresh warmth invaded the space between her thighs. “See? Just my voice makes your pussy clench, doesn’t it? How many times have you imagined me fucking you to get off?” She whimpered, breaking eye contact. “Honesty, Y/N.”

“A lot,” she rasped truthfully, because she hadn’t counted.

He grinned triumphantly. “You wanna cum right now, don’t you?” She nodded, clenching her hands in the covers. “Then pick up your little toy and make yourself cum.”

The idea of refusing floated in her mind but she was so aroused she could feel it soaking the sheets underneath her ass. Dean watched her, green eyes hungry as they fixed on her, and before she could contemplate what she was doing, she pulled one hand out from the quilt and grabbed the wand.

He sat back a little, hands in his lap. Swallowing hard, Y/N hid the wand under the covers, turning it on so he could hear it, sliding it between her thighs. It didn’t even occur to her to fake it, and when the vibrating head touched her clit through her thin panties, she whined loudly.

“That’s it,” he purred, rubbing his crotch through his black slacks. “Aren’t you warm under all that?”

Desire controlled her, overriding her common sense. She pushed the covers down, shifting so she was a little flatter before pressing the wand to her sex again. Dean was stroking himself through his pants now, watching her as she writhed against the stimulation.

“I think you’d cum quicker if you took your panties off,” he suggested.

She nodded, too lust-drunk to fight it anymore, and in a few seconds, her panties were off and across the room. Dean watched as she spread her legs, bringing the wand’s head to right where she needed it. The intense need in her core only got her to the edge quicker, and she shuddered through an orgasm under the priest’s stare, feeling shameful as the pleasure subsided.

“Did that feel good?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whimpered, legs still twitching as she pulled the wand away and turned it off. Her cunt clenched around nothing, and she squirmed, desperate to feel more friction. Dean’s gaze dropped to her slick pussy, and he bit his lip, obviously restraining himself. The realization dawned on her that she didn’t want him to show control… she wanted him to touch her. “Please,” she forced out, chest heaving and breath coming in short pants. “Touch me.”

His lips curled into a sly smile and he chuckled. “Told you so,” he murmured, reaching out to slide his hand over her knee and up her bare thigh. “But you need to be specific. Where should I touch you, Y/N?”

“M-my,” she hesitated, feeling the warmth of his hand so close to where she wanted it, “my pussy.”

He grinned. “You learn quick,” he muttered, finally cupping her sex with his hand. She groaned, unwittingly canting her hips into his palm. “Oh, you’re so wet and warm, little Omega.” A finger dipped inside her, making her mewl pitifully, but he only laughed, teasing her with a little more of it. “Tell me what you want now.”

“I want -” She stopped, licking her lips as her breathing got heavier. “I want you to make me cum.”

“Like this?” He thrust his finger into her up to the knuckle, and she cried out, clutching the sheets underneath her. “So tight too,” he groaned. “You’re going to burn me alive.”

She twisted, nodding desperately. “P-please, more.”

He fucked the single digit into her, letting her body adjust before he penetrated her with the second. Her voice became hoarse, and her cunt throbbed around him, slicking every stroke as he opened her up. His wrist twisted, allowing him to press his thumb to her clit, and her whole body trembled.

“Just opening up for me,” he praised, looking down at her hungrily as he kept his fingers moving at a steady pace. “I bet you’ll gush all over my hand, won’t you, dirty little whore Omega? Look at you, all ready to beg for what you really want.” She moaned and nodded, rocking her hips in time with his thrusts. “Wonder how hard you’ll cum with my knot stretching that perfect little cunt out? You wanna feel my seed in your belly?”

It was too much. With a hoarse shout, she came, clenching hard around his fingers as he held them deep, his thumb continuing to work at her clit until she was dripping down his wrist. She was crying with pleasure, unable to vocalize anything as she shuddered from head to toe, and when Dean pulled his hand away, her legs collapsed, leaving her in a messy heap, eyes closed and chest heaving.

She could hear him lick his fingers clean.

“What do you want now, Y/N?” he taunted, leaning over her. She whimpered, opening her eyes to look up at him.

“Want your knot, Alpha,” she keened, reaching for him.

He tisked, pulling away before she could touch him. “That’s not good enough,” he chided, shaking his head and smirking at her. “If you want it that bad, you’ll come and get it.”

“Wait,” she mumbled, pushing up onto weak arms as he walked around the bed. “Where are you going?”

“Not far,” he replied mockingly, pausing at the door. “Like I said, if you want it that bad…” He trailed off and shrugged, disappearing out of the door. Y/N scrambled to follow, reaching the doorway with only her t-shirt on, but as she stepped out into the hall, it was empty. Father Winchester was gone.

She stared, pouting at nothing. Had she imagined it in some sort of heat fever? No, she could smell him, feeling his lingering touch in her most intimate places - how could he leave her like that? He’d watched her get herself off, made her cum with the briefest of touches, and then he just… vanished?

With her climax, her heat was given a brief reprieve, and her judgment became a little less clouded. She knew what Father Winchester - Dean - was doing. It was immoral and wrong and why was she still craving him? She should have been disgusted with herself, she should have thrown him out, she should have -

But she hadn’t. She’d let him make her cum and she’d enjoyed every second of it.

Shame washed over her. She retreated back to her room, covering her face with her hands as she made a frustrated noise. All she could think about was him, all she wanted was him. It felt like he’d cursed her, when all he’d really done was talk dirty, and she’d broken like a twig.

Maybe she should let his superior know what he was doing. She was fairly certain priests weren’t supposed to seduce their parishioners, especially not with the ferocity Dean displayed. Except… except then he might be made to stop, and that tiny part of her from before was getting bigger and louder by the minute.

She dressed quickly, repeating the same cycle of thoughts in her head. They weren’t really doing anything wrong. He wasn’t the celibate kind of priest, and she was a single unmated Omega. Their only sin was sex before marriage, which she’d never exactly been big on, judging by the three guys she’d actually slept with in college.

By the time she was dressed, she almost had herself convinced. At the bottom of the stairs, she grabbed her coat and keys, pleased her mother hadn’t taken the car. When she opened the front door, she knew what she was going to do, and she was at peace with it.

The church was quiet when she pulled up, the windows sparkling in the afternoon sun. Y/N sat in her car, nibbling at her finger as she watched the door, concerned someone would see her. There didn’t seem to be any sign of life, so she climbed out, taking careful steps up to the door to try the handle. She wasn’t surprised when it opened, and she slipped inside, closing it behind her.

Inside was empty. At the far end by the altar, candles burned, and the smell of frankincense hung in the air. Moving forward, she listened out for anyone lurking, slowly heading for the front pews.

The door clicked loudly behind her. She turned, seeing Dean with his hand on the lock, and he turned his head, lips curled in another filthy smirk. His eyes were dark, almost black, she thought, but when she blinked they were normal. Dismissing it as a trick of the light, she turned to face him, unconsciously holding a breath.

“Well, well,” he chuckled, swiping a thumb across his full lower lip. “You didn’t waste any time.” He strolled towards her, bumping his hand off of each pew as he went. “It’s barely been an hour.”

She bit her lip, watching him draw closer. There was weakness in her knees, and her heart pounded in her chest so hard, she thought it might burst. Dean chuckled, slowing to a stop just within reach.

“Father Winchester,” she whispered, trying not to sink to her knees. He bared his teeth and she swallowed. “Dean.”

“Try again.”

A shuddering breath left her lips. “Alpha.”

He hummed, reaching out to grasp her chin in his fingers. “Yes?”

She knew what he wanted, what she had to say in order to get what she wanted, what her body was craving like an addict. Still, she struggled to get the words out, unused to expressing her sexual needs aloud. “I need... I need your knot,” she whimpered.

He tisked, releasing her. “Not good enough.”

Her legs gave out, and she dropped with a frustrated cry. “Please,” she wailed, “please, Alpha, I need it. Need you to knot me.” Dean groaned, palming his crotch, looking down at her hungrily. Y/N lifted her head, panting as she pleaded with him. “Need you to fuck me.”

His jaw hung half open as he tore at the buckle of his pants, pulling his half-hard cock free. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him, watching as his erection thickened and filled out, the bulge of his knot obvious at the base. “You’re learning,” he mumbled, stroking himself as he stepped closer. “Open up.”

She obeyed, kneeling a little straighter as he offered himself to her, tapping the heavy crown against her bottom lip.

“Wider.”

Her jaw ached already but she did as she was told, instinctively brushing her tongue across the weeping head. His taste was tangy on her tongue, and she swallowed it down, lifting one hand to touch him. He didn’t resist, watching with his chin tucked into his chest as she took the initiative and started to explore his shaft with her tongue.

“Keep going,” he murmured, stroking her face before cupping the side of her head. “That’s it. Good little cocksucker.”

She moaned around him, feeling her own body respond to what she was doing. Her pussy throbbed and her skin prickled with heat, and her movements became more enthusiastic, much to the Alpha’s delight.

“Take it deeper,” he instructed, and she complied, eager to please him. His cockhead nudged the back of her throat and she gagged, pulling away at the fear of throwing up. Dean stopped her going far, quickly tugging her back. “Keep trying,” he ordered. “You’ll get used to it.”

Cautiously, she opened her mouth again, feeling the weight of him on her tongue. He thrust forward a little, and she swallowed, concentrating hard to control her gag reflex. Dean moaned as she kept doing it, rocking his hips to keep up the pressure.

“Fuck, you got a sweet mouth,” he groaned. “But I bet your pussy feels even better.”

He pulled away without warning, and Y/N spluttered as she landed on her hands, gasping down air. Dean’s hand slipped around her upper arm, pulling her to her feet; she stumbled, grabbing onto him for stability. Without waiting, he tugged her toward the altar, roughly pushing her against it.

“A dress would have been better,” he commented, yanking her pants down to her ankles as she squeaked in alarm and grabbed the cloth-covered altar table. Two fingers quickly pressed against her sex, sinking into her without warning. She cried out, clutching the table, bending over without thinking. “Still so wet,” he muttered, fucking the two thick digits into her.

“Please,” she wailed, unable to take any more teasing.

“Impatient now,” he chuckled, pulling his fingers free. “Don’t worry, baby,” she heard his pants drop as the heavy belt buckle hit the floor, “gonna make you feel all better.”

He pressed in behind her, letting her feel the weight of his cock as he slid between her thighs. Holding it against her pussy, he reached around for her throat, pulling her up straight.

“Look up,” he commanded quietly. She obeyed, lifting her eyes to the wooden crucifix above them, the carved image of Christ staring back. “I want you to look at Him while you’re taking my knot.”

He pushed into her, and she cried out, digging her fingernails into her table underneath her, struggling to keep her gaze where he wanted it. His thick shaft settled deep in her warmth, creating a pressure in her belly that threatened to overwhelm her.

“Fuck,” he cursed, his grip on her throat loosening for a second. “Just as good as I imagined.”

Y/N whimpered, fighting to keep her head up as Dean started to fuck her with slow, purposeful strokes. Her hips dug into the altar with every thrust, and his hand kept a steady grip on her throat, forcing her to look into the eyes of the crucified messiah as he defiled her.

It felt too good to care.

Her first climax came quickly, and her cries bounced off of the stained glass windows, echoing around the old building. Dean didn’t slow or stop, grunting in time with the slap of his skin on hers. His other hand grabbed her breast through her shirt, squeezing without a care for how rough he was being but her only noises were of pleasure. She was getting off on the way he used her, the bruises he was bound to leave on her skin.

“You really are a sinner,” he groaned, feeling her pussy clench around him again. His hand dropped to her belly, the fingers at her throat forcing her up a little straighter. “Bet you’re ripe right now,” he murmured, close to her ear. “That empty little womb just begging to be filled.”

The thought of what he was suggesting shouldn’t have made her wetter, shouldn’t have had any effect on her at all, but she would be lying if it didn’t. Her whole body shuddered at the depravity of even thinking about carrying his spawn, and she let her eyes roll back and fall shut. Dean chuckled, slowing just a little to watch her slick cunt swallow him over and over.

“I’m gonna knot you,” he panted, palming her ass, releasing her throat as he kicked her feet apart a little wider. Her belly and breasts came flush with the altar, and he hummed when his cock stabbed a little deeper. “Oh, baby,” he purred, “you’re so ready to be filled up.” Y/N whined, pushing up onto tiptoes to stop from slipping. “I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

His hips snapped into her with more force, punching a cry from her lips. He started to fuck her hard, hard enough that she knew she’d have physical marks from the wood colliding with her hip, if not from his fingers gripping her flesh tightly. She couldn’t hope to stop herself from screaming, cumming hard as she felt his knot beginning to swell.

“That’s it, Omega,” Dean growled, slapping her ass as she clenched around him. “Fucking cum on my knot.”

With one last thrust, his knot popped, thickening inside her as warm spurts of cum filled her belly. His teeth found her throat, and in the throes of pleasure, she didn’t resist, crying out as he broke the skin and left a permanent reminder of his touch. She slumped forward when he released her, gasping through the last of her orgasm, going limp as he finished. He groaned with a low chuckle, squeezing her ass again, enjoying the last few squeezes of her warm walls around his cock.

“Wanna hear a secret?” he murmured, pulling her up and holding her there, practically impaling her on his knot. His lips brushed the shell of her ear and she shuddered, almost wheezing in his grip. “I’m no priest.”

Was he expecting her to be surprised? No priest acted the way he did.

“Then what are you?” she asked, expecting him to say anything but what came out of his mouth.

He chuckled. “I don’t think you’re ready for that, little Omega.”

How she had made it out of the church and home without anyone seeing her was a stroke of luck, and she managed to avoid her mother for the rest of the day. Her heat subsided quickly after her encounter with Dean, but she still wasn’t entirely satisfied. After their encounter, he’d disappeared without answering her questions, and every time she’d returned to the church later on in the week, there was no one there. The mark on her throat ached, and though it hadn’t been deep, she still kept it covered to avoid questions from anyone who might see it.

Shame kept her from attending church on the Sunday, having decided by that point that Dean had used her. She feigned a migraine, letting her mother take her car, and then she ate junk food in her room while watching reruns of old sitcoms on television. When her mom returned a few hours later, it was with surprising news.

“Father Taggart passed away,” Judith said after Y/N came down to see what had happened. “No one is sure what happened, only that the bishop is saying they didn’t send any replacement for Father Grayson, and no one knows what happened to Father Crowley or Father Winchester.”

“That’s strange,” Y/N mumbled, recalling Dean’s words while he’d been buried inside her. The majority of her soul was in pain at the abandonment of an Alpha - again - and that this time, he’d left something of himself inside her.

“Oh, and did I mention?” her mother continued. “Mrs. Whiting was found dead two days ago. Another mystery. Her husband is still missing.”

Judith carried on, musing over all the gossip she’d heard today, and Y/N tuned it out, trying not to pay any attention to the emotions crushing her chest. She should have been more careful, should have been wary of the handsome Alpha - she definitely shouldn’t have offered herself up to him like a brazen hussy.

She had to keep her involvement with him quiet. The last thing she wanted was attention from the police. It was easier to keep her head down and carry on, deal with her own stupidity and not let herself be fooled again.

When a few days passed, she let it sink in. A night of crying to the most tear-jerking movies she could think of, and she felt a little better. She kept going, and days turned into weeks, and Dean was a brief thought that flitted through her mind occasionally. His mark faded to an easily-disguisable scar, and she continued on with how her life had been before, ignoring the longing for excitement that he had brought her. The only change was church, despite her mother’s protests.

She never expected to see him again but she wasn’t sure she could walk back into the place where she’d let him own every part of her.

It was almost a relief when her period came. His comments about her fertility had lingered in her mind, burrowing deep until she was in a panic. But her cycle continued as it had before, and she thought she could finally forget him entirely.

She didn’t notice the black car parked along the street, didn’t recognize it at all, though she’d seen it before. She didn’t even pay attention when she saw it outside her office, or at the grocery store. It was only when she walked past it for the sixth time outside the pharmacy, and the door opened, that she finally saw who it was.

Dean stared at her over the top of the Impala, and Y/N froze on the sidewalk, feeling like time had slowed down. He smiled awkwardly, unlike the predatory smirk from before, and she frowned, tilting her head at him.

“You’re back,” she blurted out.

“Kind of,” he replied haltingly.

It had been about six weeks. She was due her heat again. “What do you want?” she asked.

“To talk.” He sounded sincere at least. “To explain.” There was something in his voice, something that tugged her forward. “You’re my Omega, Y/N.”

She took a breath, knowing without even thinking about it that she’d listen. “What if I don’t want to talk?” she challenged. “What if I don’t want an Alpha?”

Dean smiled again, but once more she noticed the difference in him. “Is that true?”

“No,” she confessed quietly.

He gestured to the passenger door. “You wanna get in?”

It felt like opening that door would lead her somewhere, and not just into this man’s arms. Whatever he had to say, she felt like she needed to hear it, that this was not only the door to his car, but the door to her future. She looked up, smiling at the bright sunny sky, then dropped her gaze back to him.

“Yeah.”

Feedback is appreciated!! Thanks for reading 😘

[haggishlyhagging]

It would take Diane Joyce nearly ten years of battles to become the first female skilled crafts worker ever in Santa Clara County history. It would take another seven years of court litigation, pursued all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court, before she could actually start work. And then, the real fight would begin.

For blue-collar women, there was no honeymoon period on the job; the backlash began the first day they reported to work—and only intensified as the Reagan economy put more than a million blue-collar men out of work, reduced wages, and spread mounting fear. While the white-collar world seemed capable of absorbing countless lawyers and bankers in the 80s, the trades and crafts had no room for expansion. "Women are far more economically threatening in blue-collar work, because there are a finite number of jobs from which to choose," Mary Ellen Boyd, executive director of Non-Traditional Employment for Women, observes. "An MBA can do anything. But a plumber is only a plumber." While women never represented more than a few percentage points of the blue-collar work force, in this powder-keg situation it only took a few female faces to trigger a violent explosion.

Diane Joyce arrived in California in 1970, a thirty-three-year-old widow with four children, born and raised in Chicago. Her father was a tool-and-die maker, her mother a returned-goods clerk at a Walgreen's warehouse. At eighteen, she married Donald Joyce, a tool-and-die maker's apprentice at her father's plant. Fifteen years later, after working knee-deep in PCBs for years, he died suddenly of a rare form of liver cancer.

After her husband's death, Joyce taught herself to drive, packed her children in a 1966 Chrysler station wagon and headed west to San Jose, California, where a lone relative lived. Joyce was an experienced bookkeeper and she soon found work as a clerk in the county Office of Education, at $506 a month. A year later, she heard that the county's transportation department had a senior account clerk job vacant that paid $50 more a month. She applied in March 1972.

"You know, we wanted a man," the interviewer told her as soon as she walked through the door. But the account clerk jobs had all taken a pay cut recently, and sixteen women and no men had applied for the job. So he sent her on to the second interview. "This guy was a little politer," Joyce recalls. "First, he said, 'Nice day, isn't it?' before he tells me, 'You know, we wanted a man.' I wanted to say, 'Yeah, and where's my man? I am the man in my house.' But I'm sitting there with four kids to feed and all I can see is dollar signs, so I kept my mouth shut."

She got the job. Three months later, Joyce saw a posting for a "road maintenance man." An eighth-grade education and one year's work experience was all that was required, and the pay was $723 a month. Her current job required a high-school education, bookkeeping skills, and four years' experience— and paid $150 less a month. "I saw that flier and I said, ‘Oh wow, I can do that.’ Everyone in the office laughed. They thought it was a riot. . . . I let it drop."

But later that same year, every county worker got a 2 to 5 percent raise except for the 70 female account clerks. "Oh now, what do you girls need a raise for?" the director of personnel told Joyce and some other women who went before the board of supervisors to object. "All you'd do is spend the money on trips to Europe." Joyce was shocked. "Every account clerk I knew was supporting a family through death or divorce. I'd never seen Mexico, let alone Europe." Joyce decided to apply for the next better-paying "male" job that opened. In the meantime, she became active in the union; a skillful writer and one of the best-educated representatives there, Joyce wound up composing the safety language in the master contract and negotiating what became the most powerful county agreement protecting seniority rights.

In 1974, a road dispatcher retired, and both Joyce and a man named Paul Johnson, a former oil-fields roustabout, applied for the post. The supervisors told Joyce she needed to work on the road crew first and handed back her application. Johnson didn't have any road crew experience either, but his application was accepted. In the end, the job went to another man.

Joyce set out to get road crew experience. As she was filling out her application for the next road crew job that opened, in 1975, her supervisor walked in, asked what she was doing, and turned red. "You're taking a man's job away!" he shouted. Joyce sat silently for a minute, thinking. Then she said, "No, I'm not. Because a man can sit right here where I'm sitting."

In the evenings, she took courses in road maintenance and truck and light equipment operation. She came in third out of 87 applicants on the job test; there were ten openings on the road crew, and she got one of them.

For the next four years, Joyce carried tar pots on her shoulder, pulled trash from the median strip, and maneuvered trucks up the mountains to clear mud slides. "Working outdoors was great," she says. "You know, women pay fifty dollars a month to join a health club, and here I was getting paid to get in shape." The road men didn't exactly welcome her arrival. When they trained her to drive the bobtail trucks, she says, they kept changing instructions; one gave her driving tips that nearly blew up the engine. Her supervisor wouldn't issue her a pair of coveralls; she had to file a formal grievance to get them. In the yard, the men kept the ladies' room locked, and on the road they wouldn't stop to let her use the bathroom. "You wanted a man's job, you learn to pee like a man," her supervisor told her.

Obscene graffiti about Joyce appeared on the sides of trucks. Men threw darts at union notices she posted on the bulletin board. One day, the stockroom storekeeper, Tony Laramie, who says later he liked to call her "the piglet," called a general meeting in the depot's Ready Room. "I hate the day you came here," Laramie started screaming at Joyce as the other men looked on, many nodding. "We don't want you here. You don't belong here. Why don't you go the hell away?"

Joyce's experience was typical of the forthright and often violent backlash within the blue-collar work force, an assault undisguised by decorous homages to women's "difference." At a construction site in New York, for example, where only a few female hard-hats had found work, the men took a woman's work boots and hacked them into bits. Another woman was injured by a male co-worker; he hit her on the head with a two-by-four. In Santa Clara County, where Joyce worked, the county's equal opportunity office files were stuffed with reports of ostracism, hazing, sexual harassment, threats, verbal and physical abuse. "It's pervasive in some of the shops," says John Longabaugh, the county's equal employment officer at the time. "They mess up their tools, leave pornography on their desks. Safety equipment is made difficult to get, or unavailable." A maintenance worker greeted the first woman in his department with these words: "I know someone who would break your arm or leg for a price." Another new woman was ordered to clean a transit bus by her supervisor—only to find when she climbed aboard that the men had left a little gift for her: feces smeared across the seats.

In 1980, another dispatcher job opened up. Joyce and Johnson both applied. They both got similarly high scores on the written exam. Joyce now had four years' experience on the road crew; Paul Johnson only had a year and a half. The three interviewers, one of whom later referred to Joyce in court as "rabble-rousing" and "not a lady," gave the job to Johnson. Joyce decided to complain to the county athrmative action office.

The decision fell to James Graebner, the new director of the transportation department, an engineer who believed that it was about time the county hired its first woman for its 238 skilled-crafts jobs. Graebner confronted the roads director, Ron Shields. "What's wrong with the woman?" Graebner asked. “I hate her," Shields said, according to other people in the room. "I just said I thought Johnson was more qualified," is how Shields remembers it. "She didn't have the proficiency with heavy equipment." Neither, of course, did Johnson. Not that it was relevant anyway: dispatch is an office job that doesn't require lifting anything heavier than a microphone.

Graebner told Shields he was being overruled; Joyce had the job. Later that day, Joyce recalls, her supervisor called her into the conference room. "Well, you got the job," he told her. "But you're not qualified." Johnson, meanwhile, sat by the phone, dialing up the chain of command. "I felt like tearing something up," he recalls later. He demanded a meeting with the affirmative action office. "The affirmative action man walks in," Johnson says, "and he's this big black guy. He can't tell me anything. He brings in this minority who can barely speak English . . . I told them, 'You haven't heard the last of me.'" Within days, he had hired a lawyer and set his reverse discrimination suit in motion, contending that the county had given the job to a "less qualified" woman.

In 1987, the Supreme Court ruled against Johnson. The decision was hailed by women's and civil rights groups. But victory in Washington was not the same as triumph in the transportation yard. For Joyce and the road men, the backlash was just warming up. "Something like this is going to hurt me one day," Gerald Pourroy, a foreman in Joyce's office, says of the court's ruling, his voice low and bitter. He stares at the concrete wall above his desk. "I look down the tracks and I see the train coming toward me."

The day after the Supreme Court decision, a woman in the county office sent Joyce a congratulatory bouquet, two dozen carnations. Joyce arranged the flowers in a vase on her desk. The next day they were gone. She found them finally, crushed in a garbage bin. A road foreman told her, "I drop-kicked them across the yard."

-Susan Faludi, Backlash: the Undeclared War Against American Women

[play-now-my-lord]

i used to be a transcriptionist. i made decent money doing it - $1 per audio minute, which at an industry-average WPM works out to about $15 per hour, this in 2000s dollars. (mind you, my wpm is crazy, so i made more for my time.) i had ADHD that wasn't medicated at the time and would get ready for work by brewing up a huge pot of coffee, letting it go lukewarm, and chugging it in one go. i don't recommend this approach but it worked. it was also hellish on my wrists, my audio processing disorder, etc. after a working day i'd have a hell of a time understanding anything anyone said to me on the phone. i could pay rent with transcription in the 2000s, but rent was cheaper back then and transcription paid better. nowadays you're very lucky to see $.60 per audio minute without any formal qualifications (which are getting harder and harder to get), and the workflow has changed; everyone wants you to "edit" garbage machine translations and pay you with the fiction that you are "editing" them, where the reality is you have to do the exact same work but with an added layer of software wrangling for corporate compliance.

my great-aunt was a transcriptionist in the old days, when instead of VLC having a dial on it to adjust file speed she had to pay for a pedal that slowed down physical tapes. she paid for a mortgage with it, but that was in the 70s and 80s, when mortgages were cheaper (and rates were still at or near a dollar per audio minute, in less inflated dollars).

the existential threat everyone acknowledges to transcription is software, because everyone thinks software transcription is good. (it's not markedly more accurate than a well-trained 90s speech-to-text program, to be completely honest, and if you need a non-verbatim transcription - i.e. all the ums and ahs and doubling-back parts aren't left in - you're completely up shit creek.) the actual existential threat is outsourcing; the cost of living is simply lower in many areas of the anglophone world, people have less ability to take their ball and go home if offered insultingly low rates there. (this is not likely to remain the case forever, as average floor wages have increased by a factor of anywhere from 10 to 20 in anglophone south and southeast asia since 2000, and while they're very low by the standards of the global north, they're also on the order of a factor of 8 or so lower rather than a factor of 20 or 50.)

apparently the opportunities available to mostly housebound people with keyboard skills in america have declined such that the average such person, offered 60 cents a word to hammer out words for hours a day, can't reasonably take their ball and go home either. the competition used to be flipping burgers; now it's uber and grubhub, other gig work bullshit.

this is a long rambling story without much of a point. i miss having that job. i liked it, as shitty as it was. but i can't pay rent with it anymore, and it took too much out of me to be worth what it still pays

[mariacallous]

Last December, Mahesh Odedara signed a contract to live and work for five years in a foreign country thousands of miles away from home and mired in a state of war. Odedara, a 30-year-old farmer from Porbandar, a city in western India, was aware of the risks of working on an Israeli farm. But Odedara’s contract promised him a steady, eight-hour workday, robust workers’ rights under Israeli law, and a 5,571 shekel ($1,500) monthly salary—many times more than what Odedara earned in Porbandar. It was too good to turn down.

Israeli farms are in dire need of agricultural workers like Odedara. Following Hamas’s Oct. 7 attack, the Israeli government barred tens of thousands of Palestinian laborers, a critical component of Israel’s agricultural workforce, from entering the country. By early winter, farms were facing a “manpower crisis.” With no sign of government policy changing, farmers have since turned to importing thousands of foreign laborers from countries such as India, Malawi, and Sri Lanka to stay afloat.

At first, Odedara’s expectations were high. With his newfound salary, he would be able to send home hundreds of dollars each month to support his parents; the money could also go toward purchasing equipment for the family farm. One day, Odedara hoped, he might even be able to buy a home for himself in Porbandar.

But soon after arriving in Israel, Odedara realized that his employers had little intention of honoring his contract. In Ahituv, a farming community in northern Israel, Odedara worked grueling, 11- to 12-hour shifts picking produce; he was forced to work on weekends and was told he would be paid far below the legal hourly minimum wage. Then, at the end of the month, he was not paid at all—Odedara’s boss informed him that his wages had been sent, inexplicably, to his employment agency instead.

(When reached for comment, Odedara’s former employer denied that Odedara had ever worked for him; however, another migrant worker who independently mentioned working for the same employer corroborated Odedara’s claims about labor conditions and missing wages. The employment agency did not respond to a request for comment.)

Odedara’s housing, which farms provide for their workers, also bordered on the uninhabitable. In Khatsav, where Odedara worked for eight days, he slept in a makeshift room erected out of wooden planks and panes of sheet metal; his bathroom was a toilet in an outdoor shack with a dirt floor, and the shower had no hot water. In the first few months, Odedara lost nearly 25 pounds.

Odedara now “really regrets” coming to Israel, he said, even though he counts as one of the lucky ones: Odedara’s brother, Bharat, had already worked in Israel as a caregiver for four years and was eventually able to find him a job at a farm with far better labor conditions.

Yet Odedara’s experiences in Ahituv and Khatsav are far from unique. According to Bharat, abuse and illegal labor practices are widespread. “I used to meet all the new people coming in for agriculture. I was talking to them, and everyone has the same problem,” Bharat said. “They have to fight for their salary, for their rights, for their basic requirements. Nobody is helping them. They are helpless.”

Farming is fundamental to Israel’s national identity, yet the country’s agricultural sector has been reliant on non-Israeli labor for decades. In 1967, after Israel captured the West Bank and Gaza, the government decided to integrate the territories’ residents into the Israeli economy. Since then, “Palestinians have been integral to the Israeli labor force,” said Adriana Kemp, a sociologist at Tel Aviv University who studies Israeli labor. “You could not talk about whole sectors like agriculture or construction without talking about this large number of Palestinians.”

By the 1990s—following spates of violence from Palestinian militants—Israel began “talking about the possibility of opening the gate for overseas labor migrants,” Kemp said. “That’s when they started actually bringing [in workers] from different countries.” But even so, Palestinians stayed in large numbers; in 2021, tens of thousands of Palestinian laborers made up a quarter of Israel’s total agricultural workforce.

Then came Oct. 7. Claiming that agricultural workers from Gaza had provided intelligence to Hamas fighters, the Israeli government barred some 20,000 Palestinian agricultural laborers from reentering the country. (Israel’s internal security service has since partially disputed this finding.) Around the same time, some 7,800 Thai workers, previously the largest population of overseas workers in Israel due to a 2012 Israeli-Thai bilateral agreement, fled after at least 39 of them were killed in the Hamas attack.

Almost overnight, the agricultural sector lost over a third of its entire foreign workforce. In the early weeks of the war, even though Israeli volunteers stepped in to help struggling farmers, farms hemorrhaged profits. By November, to replenish the labor force, the Israeli government announced that it would allow up to 5,000 overseas workers into the country via a new immigration scheme.

When Orit Ronen heard about the scheme, her immediate thought was that it would lead to “one big balagan”—Hebrew for a “chaotic mess.” Ronen, who works at Kav LaOved, a Tel Aviv-based labor rights nonprofit, was acutely aware of how vulnerable the new arrivals would be, given existing exploitation. Ronen also knew that many farms lacked sufficient infrastructure to house workers, since the farms’ previous Palestinian laborers had simply commuted in from the West Bank or Gaza.

Ronen was right to worry. Since early December, when thousands of new laborers began arriving in Israel, Kav LaOved has received more than 300 requests for information and assistance from workers reporting a litany of abuse. The conditions Odedara and others have experienced are blatantly illegal under Israeli labor law. But ever since the Oct. 7 attack, labor law enforcement has been “less than before,” Ronen said. “And even before, it was low.”

The Population and Immigration Authority (PIBA), the Israeli government agency tasked with labor law enforcement, did not respond to requests for interview. “We have the call center for foreign workers, where they can explain exactly the problem, and they will be checked,” PIBA spokesperson Sabine Haddad wrote in an email.

Migrant workers also often hesitate to contact PIBA’s call center for fear of retaliation; employers “are telling [workers] that we will send you back to India if you will not work as we say,” Bharat said. Employers “can’t do that. I know that, but [the workers] don’t. They are new.” (Israeli law allows workers to stay in the country for 90 days to find a new employer if they have been fired.)

The threat of deportation is especially potent because most workers are effectively stranded in Israel for the duration of their five-year contracts, thanks to the outsized fees they paid before departing for Israel. In Odedara’s case, an agent in India asked him for $6,300 in an under-the-table payment, which he paid for with his family’s savings.

These fees are not a new phenomenon, but labor advocacy organizations scored a major victory in 2012, when Israel and Thailand established a bilateral agreement that eliminated predatory fees for Thai migrant workers. The post-Oct. 7 immigration scheme, which has no such provision, threatens to undo this progress. “The [workers] that come, especially from India, paid thousands of dollars” to brokers, Ronen said. “For them, that’s a very big deal, and that makes them very vulnerable.”

And then there is the war. Melbin Paul, a 29-year-old from the southern Indian state of Kerala, was assigned to work at a poultry farm close to the Israel-Lebanon border, which the Lebanese militant group Hezbollah has fired rockets across nearly every day since Oct. 7.

On the morning of March 4, Paul looked up from trimming an almond tree and saw a missile heading straight toward him and his fellow workers. “There was no time to run,” he said. The projectile, a Hezbollah anti-tank missile, made impact “in the blink of an eye.” Paul’s friend, 31-year-old Kerala native Pat Nibin Maxwell, was instantly killed. Paul, who had stood a few yards away from Maxwell, was left with dime-sized shrapnel wounds scoring the right side of his body.

“Even before the war, it was very common for agricultural workers that work near the Gaza Strip to be injured or killed,” said Michal Tadjer, a lawyer who runs a workers’ rights clinic at Tel Aviv University. Maxwell is one of at least a half-dozen agricultural workers who have been killed by rocket fire in the past decade.

Following the April 13 Iranian strikes on Israel, the Indian foreign ministry urged its citizens in Israel to register themselves at the Indian Embassy and “restrict their movements to the minimum.” The warning belies the reality that the new workers have far less understanding of the security situation than longtime Palestinian laborers or Thai migrants, who have been in Israel for decades.

Paul and his friends had never even been told that their farm was located in a closed military zone that Margaliot residents had evacuated in mid-October. “This is my first time in Israel,” Paul said. “I [didn’t] know where the firing and war” was.

Yet the scale of migrant worker exploitation could soon grow even worse. Fewer than 3,000 new agricultural workers have arrived since November; an additional 8,000 to 12,000 workers are needed to bring farms back to full labor capacity, according to Ronen. A separate deal is already in place to bring 10,000 Sri Lankan laborers to Israel over the coming months. More balagan is likely to follow.

There will also be profound security consequences to shifting away from Palestinian labor. Before Oct. 7, the income of Palestinian laborers in Israel made up about 20 percent of the Palestinian Authority’s GDP. For months now, Israel’s internal security service has called for Palestinian workers from the West Bank to be let back into Israel, warning that increasingly dire economic conditions in the West Bank will lead to further destabilization and violence. But right-wing ministers in the Israeli government have refused to lift the ban, citing the need to move away from Palestinian labor at all costs.

For the workers, their salaries are far beyond the meager sums they could earn back home. For Odedara, there’s much left to do: His current job, while a significant improvement over his previous stints, still pays below what his contract stipulates, and then there is the matter of getting his missing wages back. Odedara is “going to find a solution,” Bharat said. “He wants to stay here but in a good condition—not like this.”

Regardless, the post-Oct. 7 wave of new arrivals will remain in Israel until 2029—meaning that, for at least the next five years, many Palestinian farm workers will not have a job to return to even if the ban on Palestinian labor is lifted.

The only certainty, it seems, is that Israel will have to continue to look beyond its own population for labor. “Israel has relied on noncitizen labor in agriculture for a long time, whether Palestinian or non-Palestinian,” Kemp said. “This structural dependence will not go away.”

[hiiragi7]

A lot of you have such a black-and-white worldview that you take anyone else's experiences as a direct attack on your own.

No, a DID diagnosis is not inherently a death sentence - But to say that a DID diagnosis cannot ever affect your ability to adopt, get accepted for a job, or anything else is false.

Yes, even if it's illegal to discriminate against someone on the basis of a disability. It happens anyway.

I have been seeing a lot of people saying "I just don't tell them I have DID and it's fine" - Have you ever considered not all of us are functional enough to have the choice to hide it like that?

I do not have direct personal experience with DID specifically affecting my ability to get work or adopt or get into a good school, because I was diagnosed as an adult and have never been employed or interested in adoption - I am too sick to even leave my bed most days.

I do, however, have direct experience with systemic discrimination on the basis of having an autism diagnosis since the age of 6.

Certain schools would not accept us or would make us move schools because they saw autism and did not want to deal with "a kid like that". Our very first school kept suspending us and sending us home and punishing us and refusing to follow our learning plan and eventually just told our parents to move us elsewhere. This was first grade.

Growing up, our autism diagnosis was what justified abuse, which they called "treatment".

It was also used as a tool to question our ability to do things, communicate, and know what we want.

Our autism diagnosis generally either meant we could not possibly make our own decisions or it was played up for the entertainment and feel-good of neurotypicals.

We ended up in news articles and events occasionally as a little kid. They all focused on our autism. Do you know what a big deal it is to neurotypicals when a kid "like that" can deliver a speech to hundreds of people? You end up being the talk of everyone, you're an inspiring story for "overcoming" this "disease" they called autism.

And yet they still will be cautious accepting you into whatever school you wanted to go to because they doubt your abilities and believe your parents must have faked your writing to sound as cohesive and well-written as it did when you applied. We were gifted in english. But we were autistic.

And then they turn around again and use you as good PR.

Your first introduction anywhere you go is "This is X, they have autism!"

"Look at what good people we are for accepting such a child into our program!"

And then they turn around again and mistreat you for that very thing they will publicly brag about.

They will also see your diagnosis and want to use you for free or reduced labor cost. I do not remember anything about this relating to us, but kmow for a fact this did happen to many of our fellow SPED kids in highschool - They'd have programs to employ autistic youth where they paid you solely in "work experience" and "social skills".

You do not get paid - You get "to learn life skills".

I also know of many programs where, while they technically pay you, they make use of disability laws that allow them to pay disabled people less than minimum wage. "They're all living with their parents anyway because they can't live on their own, so it's basically just like an allowance."

Even moving away from us for a moment, we have known people personally who had their ability to parent their child questioned in court because they had one or more mental health diagnoses on their papers.

Do you see what I'm getting at yet?

No, a DID diagnosis does not automatically mean you will be discriminated against on a systemic level and outcast from society - But to say it is not possible at all is to ignore a very massive and glaring ableism issue that is a very real lived reality for many, many people with DID and other disabilities.

It is not "misinformation", it is often not even "fear-mongering" to point this out.

We live in a shitty world - To tell someone with worries of getting a DID diagnosis that "That won't happen, don't worry!" in regards to discrimination is incredibly misleading.

No, do not say that an official DID diagnosis is some kind of monster that forever seals your fate as to how you'll be treated within society and that nobody should ever get diagnosed unless they plan to stay in an institution for the rest of their life or whatever. That's stupid.

But for the love of god please stop telling people that they will not be discriminated against just because you haven't been. You are brushing the experiences of the rest of us under the rug in doing this.

[bebsibby]

Being on medical leave and receiving sick pay not from my job, but from a government program got me thinking a lot about UBI.

I'm obviously not doing much now, since I can't, and I AM reveling in just being able to sit and play around on the computer all day, but its day 3 after my surgery and I've already gotten bored. A LOT. Sometimes I can swap tasks and its fine, but that doesn't always work. I'm a relatively active person in my day to day, and I'm looking forward to my 1 week post-op to hopefully get cleared for a higher activity level. I'm looking forward to doing again and am stress free because I don't have to worry about money.

When it comes down to it, all of the times I've gotten overly stressed and had a breakdown was due to finances. I spend 11 hours a day, 4 days a week doing a job I no longer enjoy and get paid LESS than what it takes to cover all my bills. AND I get above minimum wage!

There are so many other things I want to do but do not have the time and the money for. I always come home exhausted with hardly any money to even try to engage in hobbies, new or old. If I heal fast enough, I'll be using whatever is left of my leave to finally enjoy being a person for once. Trying out new things, reconnecting with old hobbies, even just being free to go on a walk without it feeling like a waste of time. It could be possible for me and everyone else to do that for the rest of our lives, but we can't right now!

UBI could fix so much, and I really hope it comes into commonality in my lifetime. If you're reading this, learn as much as you can about UBI if you haven't already. Tell everyone you know about it. Most people, regardless of political lean, would actually very much enjoy and benefit from it, but are just too firmly in their ways to see it, or are too busy parroting the popular counterpoints (Humans are just lazy, no one does anything for free, etc) to listen. Make them listen, help them understand.

[brigdh]

Brigdh, these are *wildly* evocative titles! I need you to know that I waffled so so much on this choice, but the one I think I need to know about the *most* is war criminals doing compensated dating.

The WIP meme!

@napneeders and @likethehotsauce also asked for this one, thank you all!

And thank you for liking the titles, but I don't think I can take any credit for them; they're just the prompts I used for inspiration. Case in point: this one! This is from when everyone was describing their favorite characters as war criminals (maybe we're still doing that? I feel like there was a peak in the term over the summer), and then someone combined that with angsty high school AUs, and voila, a bizarre combination that I somehow found incredible compelling. (Also, if you're unfamiliar with the term compensated dating, it's basically the same as a sugar baby/daddy relationship, but often with the connotation that the baby is still in high school.)

This is one where I can't really post it as finished fic because that set-up is too complicated to explain in an author's note, so you've got the whole thing below. Modern AU, Ed-focused.

Ed’s dad wasn’t around anymore. That was fine – good, actually, it was a good thing – but it turned out that the old man had paid more in rent than he’d wasted on booze. Ed should have known. His dad was a shit father and a shit husband, but he was white, and still had his high school footballer muscles, and had a way of talking to other men that made them laugh with him instead of at him. He’d never had any trouble holding down a job, no matter how often he went in late and hungover.

Ed’s mom never had a bruise on her face, these days. She never walked funny or flinched too easily. But she still wasn’t happy. She started getting home late; the few times Ed glimpsed her in daylight, there were bags under her eyes, and her mouth was pinched and thin. Ed caught her hunched over the kitchen table, writing with one of the Bic pens he brought home from school. She didn’t hear him come in, and he got close enough to read the first few lines over her shoulder before she noticed him. It was an application for the night shift at the little grocery store down the road.

“When would you sleep?” he asked.

His mom made a little sound, half snort of amusement and half exasperated sigh. “A lot of people have a second job, Ed. We should be grateful that I can work.” She smiled at him, eyes crinkled and warm. She really believed it, was the thing. All the things she said about how the world worked, and it made Ed’s instinct to shout that it wasn’t fair, wasn’t right, feel small and childish. “Besides, it’ll be temporary. Just until your father gets back.”

Ed had fucked up. He’d already known that, of course, but now there was a whole new side to how he’d fucked up.

Obviously the solution was for him to get a job, but nowhere that hired teenagers paid over minimum wage, and when Ed counted up the hours he could skip school before the social worker called the house, it didn’t add up to enough. Jack had offered to teach Ed how to pick pockets in exchange for Ed blowing him, but he suspected lifting a few wallets here and there might be fun drinking money, but it wasn’t the kind of thing that paid the rent. Ed would have to get into harder crimes to make it work, stuff with real risk if he wanted the real rewards.

Or. There was a girl who came to school every day now with designer clothes, jewelry with real stones, the newest model phone that she updated practically every month. She lived not far from Ed, and he knew none of it came from her parents. She didn’t have a lot of friends, though she’d been nice enough when they were kids. Now people whispered whore and skank when she walked by; her eyes never flickered and her fingers tap-tap-tapped on the strap of her Birkin bag.

That was Ed’s other choice. Less dangerous than crime, probably; certainly less chance of his mom finding out, since technically compensated dating wasn’t illegal. And anyway, Ed wasn’t really a virgin, so why not?

People looked at him, sometimes; he knew that. He liked it, usually. He’d been figuring out how to dress to make them look longer. When he walked home along the side of the road, sometimes a car honked at him. Not to tell him to get out of the way, but because of what they saw.

The girl with the fancy clothes, people called her needy too. Said she had no self-respect, that anyone could have her. A sick curl of recognition had squirmed in Ed’s belly. He was like that – he needed people to want him. It was like he was hungry and other people’s attention was the only thing that filled him up. It scared him: how much he needed it, the stupid things he’d done to get it. So he tried not to think about it, to stomp the craving down into the dark places of his mind where he put the things that bothered him. He could never get rid of it for long. though. He hated how weak it made him feel, how desperate.

The idea of people paying to look at him, to touch him – that didn’t sound so bad. If someone wanted to give Ed things, just because they desired him, ached for him, even loved him, maybe that would soothe the hunger in him. He could make them be the ones who needed.

In the end, it wasn’t really much of a choice at all.

[bigbadwolfy]

So I thought of a thing

Me and my friend ( @ichigoofficial ) started working on this way back in August 2023 ish and I decided to go back to it and refine the idea. It’s this really cool FNaF AU with angsts and stuff and OCs and self inserts :3 me and my friend are still getting the characters we want in there, but I have a basic summary! (under the cut)

—————

Fazbear Entertainment’s Mega Pizzaplex only hires human workers for security, technicians, and general jobs. Mostly. There are two other, special jobs. The Handlers and Stage Hands. They were part of something called “The Handler Initiative.” The handlers were originally there from the beginning. The Stage Hands were later added to boost ratings on their T.V shows and ad campaigns.

Handlers had to be Adults 18 and up that could lead the animatronics to their gigs and birthday parties, and be there in case something goes wrong. Stage Hands However, were children and Teens between 8-16 who could show up with the animatronics as assistants and performers in commercials and T.V segments. They were mostly accessories to the animatronics, there to boost ratings and animatronic morale.

Wherever an animatronic was, their Stage Hand would be right behind them along with their Handler. Everything was perfect for them. The kids and adults got paid the same, very surprisingly large wage, and the animatronics got a few new friends they could enjoy hanging around.

But of course, when everything is going right, something has to go wrong.

Just as the Handlers were taking their Stage Hands to clock out, the stations stopped working. First, the Roxy Raceway. Then Monty Golf. Fazerblast, Mazersize, Astro’s Acrobatics, Bonnie Bowl, Pirate’s Cove, and Lastly, the Superstar Daycare and Theater. Figuring they could just open the doors and leave, explaining the glitch to management later, the groups made their way to the main entrance.

The nearby station, however, turned off just as Freddy’s Handler moved her hand even slightly close.

Confused and afraid, the group came up with ideas to maybe call the police, or straight up call management and complain. Just then, the speaker came on with the same, annoying voice that rang out all announcements across the day.

“All Handlers and Stage hands, please report to the main security office for special instructions!”

Assuming management had found out about the glitches, they made their way to the main office. The animatronics followed them, knowing the big surprise and wanting to congratulate their best friends on this new… forceful opportunity once they got out of the meeting.

After they all got comfortable, the computer screens started to play that same old commercial that played for everyone who walked through the building’s doors. The stage hands and their respectful animatronics showed off their special areas and a small clip of the animatronic’s main show played at the end.

They had seen it all before, not really caring about it anymore. They had to re-record it every 6 months or every new event to keep up with times. They knew every moment by heart. Soon enough, the Fazbear C.E.O’s voice rang out over the spinning logo. They explained the reason the stations were unavailable. The shocking truth.

Fazbear has started a new stage of the Handler Initiative. They would now be living on site, in the new employee housing connected to rockstar row. Their possessions and pets had now been moved to their new housings and they were expected to move in immediately. Immediate family members that weren’t already there with them would be transported there as well.

This wouldn’t have been so bad if they were warned, but the staff eventually came to a bitter understanding.

There was a catch.

There was always a catch.

Employees would have no more contact with the outside world that they couldn’t get from the news or guests, nor were they allowed contact with any extended family.

They were outraged. This just had to be illegal! It was illegal! Unfortunately, in the fine print of their contracts, they had agreed to participate in upcoming Fazbear Projects and Programs relating to the Handler Initiative, even if they didn’t want to.

They still argued.

The C.E.O informed them that they have told extended family and friends they will only be seeing them on holidays because they will be too busy with the initiative. The staff is never allowed to speak of this to anyone.

This is all to increase worker productivity, after all.

Fazbear’s cruelty seeks no end.

They will do what they must to reach their goal, even if that means breaking a few minds along the way.

—————

YOUVE PROLLY HEARD OF HANDLER AUS, BUT HAVE YOU HEARD OF ONE LIKE THIS?! (No seriously pls tell me if you have, I would hate to accidentally copy someone ): )

And pls remember this AU isn’t fully fleshed out, and I’m also having brainrot of the main AU and another AU so pls just bear with me 😭

AUGH theres a playlist now btw