#Personalized Caller Experience

[zentranstech]

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[hotwings0203]

"I swear, if she had just stayed with the group like a normal person would, she would've saved herself at least 30 more minutes of screentime," your friend says on the other side of the couch.

In retaliation, you playfully chuck a few kernels of popcorn at him and gesture wildly at the screen. "It's the classic bimbo trope! She's wearing a miniskirt and high heels in the forest for gods sake, it practically screams 'Murder me!' on her clothes."

You both squabble for a few minutes like this until the sound of violins coming from the t.v. cues you in for the next foreboding jumpscare. Both sets of eyes turn back to the dimly lit screen and lock in on the gore-fest about to unfold.

The main heroine cautiously creaks a door open in front of a tunnel and warbles out, "H-hello? Is anyone there?"

It's so cliche you could roll your eyes, but yet your heart is still pumping...

And your "friend's" body shifting a mere few inches away from you isn't helping the palpitations.

The two of you had been dancing around each other the past few months in some sort of premature courting method, the flirty remarks and jeers from your mutual friends egging you both on to seal the deal and admit your feelings for one another.

But, like every young romance blooms, the fear of wilt is just as strong.

And so you opt to get as close as you can to the real thing by being satisfied with his arm not-so-subtly thrown over the back of the couch , so softly playing with the ends of your hair so as to not disturb you.

You can barely focus though, as the girl on the screen inches closer to the end of tunnel, the boy behind you also creeps his other idle hand towards yours resting on the cushion.

It takes an incredible amount of effort to keep your breathing even and hands still as you watch from the corner of your eye as his veiny hands trail closer...his fingers outstretching towards yours...and...

Rrrriiinnngggg!

It's like a tidal wave comes crashing down as the woman on screen screams in tandem with your phone ringing.

You feign a groan as you shoot the disappointed man on your couch an apologetic wince, and try not to let your heart fall as he nods back with a barely understanding grimace. You round the couch and let the movie continue playing as you hit the green button and pick up the intruding call.

"Hello?" You snipe.

"Get rid of him."

For the second time in the night, your heart falters, but the former experience is something you'd beg for rather than this.

"H-how did you know someone's at my house?" Your voice drops to a shaky whisper and you throw a panicked glance into the living room to ensure that your lover/friend hasn't picked up on your tone. You duck into your bedroom and close the door slightly, your hands trembling as you do so.

The gravely voice on the other end chuckles, but the sound has anything but mirth in it.

"That's a funny way to phrase it sweetheart. Your question makes it seem as though I stopped keeping tabs on you."

A minute-long silence ensues after that, your mouth gaping open and closed like a fish out of water. There's no sound except for the low hum in the background of your living room, and your caller's shallow breaths on the other end of the line.

"You begged so nicely last time for me to leave you alone, even made it to the cops at one point. I granted you a shred of mercy, a bit of pity after the cops failed to take your report seriously- I mean, I don't blame them. Their time is precious, y'know? They've got bigger things to worry about than a dumb little girl whining about some invisible stalker jizzing all over her and her room when she sleeps," he snickers meanly at the sound of your choked gasps.

The taunting of your trauma is a slap to the face, a wound cut open again. You thought you got rid of this anonymous stalker a couple months back, you thought a police report and growing reclusive from your social life would dissuade any unwanted interactions from this psycho. You felt backed into a corner, dirty and ashamed as the threatening calls became more frequent. Love letters with ominous fluids coating the expanse of the papers started showing up at your front door when you changed your number. He'd attach polaroids of you in your undergarments, when you'd shower, when you'd cook, and so many other unassuming intimate domestic scenes in the envelope, and then when you couldn't take the terror anymore...it stopped.

The calls, the letters, the pictures, all of it...poof.

You had slowly started to hope that he had gotten bored of you and the lack of social life, lack of thrill in general at you losing your color.

With that hope, came bravery. Your friends started coming around again, the parties ensued, you switched your college class from virtual to in-person again, you even met the guy nestled comfortably on your couch currently.

"How many bodies did you think you could hide behind?"

The voice on the other end of the phone croons softly, but pulls you just as violently out of your dread.

"What do you want?" comes your shaky whisper, your fingers gripping the phone tighter in sync with your throat closing up.

"Ohhh sweetheart, now that's a loaded question. You and I have all the time in the world to uncover that, but your boy toy on the other hand..." His teasing lilt twists lower into something akin to a growl, and you can't help the whimper that escapes you.

You don't want to find out what his threat alludes to, or how serious he is.

Slow-burn romance be damned.

"J-just give me a few minutes-"

"Now."

Your teeth sink into your lips to hold back a frantic curse as you duck your head out the doorway to check on the living room.

He's still there, unassumingly checking his phone.

"Okay, okay. I-I'll tell him something came up, just dont-"

Your voice catches in your throat and you force yourself to swallow, taking in a deep breath at the sound of your stalker's pleased hum on the other end of the line.

"I'm watching you. Don't try to pull anything smart with me, unless you're eager to taste my blade in addition to my cock."

You blanch as the call ends, and try to quickly blink away tears of frustration. Wiping your sweaty palms on your shorts, you inhale deeply again before turning the knob and opening the door to the living room.

Rounding the couch, you softly pad your way to your lover and force the tense muscles in your back and arms to loosen, not wanting to give any indication that something's very, very wrong.

"Heyyy, you're back!" He drawls with a loose smile on his face. "Thought the movie scared you too bad and you ran off."

You force yourself to let out a faux chuckle and try to prevent your smile from looking too strained. He seems to unfortunately notice it though, because a crinkle appears between his brows and he sits up, tossing the phone in his hands aside.

"Woah, you okay? Did something happen?"

"No, no! It's nothing like that at all. Actually, this is really embarrassing but one of my girls called and I think she's blackout drunk at the bar near downtown, I gotta head out and pick her up. I had no idea I'd be on babysitter duty tonight, I'm so sorry," You frantically wave his concern off and try for another carefree laugh, but your shaking hands are a dead giveaway.

He stands up and grasps your hands tightly in his, the large and smooth planes of his palms enveloping yours before you can react. Your head spins as the realization of him touching you for the first time under these less-than-ideal conditions overwhelms you.

"Hey, y/n, look at me-no, look- you're okay, alright? It's no big deal, we can always finish the movie another time, seriously."

And before you can move back to save him, he leans forwards and pecks your cheek.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The second the door closes shut, your phone rings.

Your hand, still on the door handle, drifts up to your lips as you nibble on your nails haphazardly.

You're terrified to know the consequences you elicited. You don't wanna pick up.

And yet, you know if you don't, he's capable of so much worse.

Your thumb slides on the green button when his voice breaks through the call with barely-concealed rage, the waver of fury coating his venom as he spits, "He touched you. He kissed you."

"I tried to back away! I tried to-"

"And I tried playing nice, but looks like we both failed each other, huh?"

The excuse dies in your throat as his hiss overpowers yours.

"I should carve his fucking lips out for touching whats mine," he continues after a beat, an incredulous and ragged laugh erupting from the other end of the call, making you wince.

"It would be so easy to get rid of him too. That shitty little apartment he scrimps and saves for at his 9-5 hasn't changed the locks in the complex for years now, he walks solely at night with his earbuds in, his bones would be so easy to break-"

"Please don't hurt him," you finally break his monologue with a sob of your own, unable to fathom being the reason why your lover would suffer such sinister endings. You throw your hand over your mouth to prevent him from hearing you cry and your legs give out from their mindless, panicked pacing around the house. The soft duvet comforters of your bed provide ample cushion for the fall, but not enough to swallow you whole and hide you from his inevitable wrath.

Your stalker pauses as he listens to your muffled cries, your skin prickling as he lets out a ragged moan at no doubt your misery. You can hear the sound of rustling clothes and a belt buckle hitting a floor of some sort.

"Are you scared pretty girl? Are you scared I'm gonna hurt you, or him?"

"Yes," you breathe.

"You should be."

The call drops, but you dont move for what seems like hours.

Your body feels like stone as you eventually burrow under your covers, mountains of stress weighing you down heavier than the blankets and pillows you use as meager protection. All the doors in your apartment are locked, the windows bolted shut, the knives taken out and placed under your bed, and your phone fully charged.

And yet, you might as well have been naked for the lack of protection you feel as the clock strikes past 1am. You jump every time the branches outside your windows smack the glass, and grip the edges of your covers tighter at the slightest creak from your aged abode.

You're curled in fetal position, tense and alert, ready to call 911 at a moments notice. You wont, you can't let him get to you, mentally or physically.

But eventually your body fails you as you drift off to sleep, the adrenaline high wearing off and lulling you into an exhausted state of rest.

You only awaken when you hear his voice.

"Hereeee kitty kitty"

Body locking up before your mind is fully aware, you freeze under the duvet as you see his silhouette from under the opaque material.

He's merely a few feet away from you, leering over your lumpy form.

Your eyes dart to where your door is, and you can make out the shape of it being opened.

How the ever-loving fuck did he get in?

You can't move, you cant blink, you cant even breathe as he inches closer to you, settling to perch by your feet.

He chuckles and snakes his lithe fingers from underneath your comforters, trailing up your feet up to your ankle, letting his offensive touch rest there as a faux show of affection.

"You're like a present underneath those blankets."

You let out a shaky whimper and tense up even more as he leans in, the dark shape of his head right over your face.

"Does the little slut want me to unwrap her? I think i've won my prize fair and square."

The hand on your ankle moves up to your calves, then your knees, all the while you start to squirm and wrestle against his hold.

He laughs lightly with sick glee as his hold on you tightens, allowing himself to indulge momentarily as one of his hands shoves itself between the apex of your covered thighs, the other squeezing and pinching up your torso to any part of you that he deems soft enough.

You both writhe like this for a minute or two while you fight for air underneath the increasingly-stuffy covers, and you know he's reveling at your losing battle.

Eventually he must get tired of playing with you, because you feel the bed dip and shift as he climbs on top and straddles you. As a last-ditch attempt to free yourself, you throw the blankets off, exposing yourself to him. You try to scramble away after dislodging him, but he's too fast. He grabs you by the neck and slams you down against the bed with a snarl, his hair mussed and disheveled as his hands encircle tighter around your throat. Adrenaline courses through you along with the blood pounding your head as you try to scratch at his face. The harder you fight, the tighter he squeezes, and through the black spots in your vision you can see his salacious grin, his hair falling over his face and barely concealing the victorious and manic look in his eyes.

You feel his skin pile up under your fingernails as you rake down a particularly soft side of his cheek, but instead of him drawing back, he fucking moans as blood blooms through the new cut.

He feels you hesitate for a split second in your awed disgust, and uses the momentary reprieve to rock his hips against your clothed mound.

You gasp feels like its ripped out of you all the while he shakes with tension and laughter.

He feels high off the mix of fear and disgust at your body reacting to his ministrations.

You thrash like a fish out of water in his hold, your desperation a sick contrast to the firm and controlled motion of his body eliciting responses out of you that you never wanted to give to him of all people.

"Fuuckkkk, thats it baby, just give in," he croons and shushes the sound of you choking. A shudder passes through him as he feels your throat constrict under his unrelenting hold, and his eyes roll to the back of his head as he thrusts again into you.

He must hit a good spot, because he feels your legs twitch. To reward you for reacting to his touch, he lets up ever so slightly on your abused throat, and opts to duck his head down and replace his hands with his mouth.

The whole ordeal can't have been going on for more than a couple minutes, but it feels like your overstimulation has been lasting eons. You feel the adrenaline crashing down, your defenses rendered useless as he uses both his hands to envelope your own and lace his fingertips with yours, bringing both your intertwined hands up next to either side of your head. He locks your legs under his, ensuring that you can't wiggle out of his grasp, and lifts his head up slightly off your neck from the galaxy-covered hickies he left on the empty planes of your neck to look at you properly.

No makeup, bared open and vulnerable for him, hair looking like a rat's nest from the struggle, neck littered in violent splotches of blue, purple, and reds, lips bloated and shiny from tears trespassing down the planes of your face and down your chin. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, he feels your body tremble as you fight off the waves of exhaustion threatening to capsize your efforts. Your eyes, teary and bloodshot, ensnare him most of all. He feels as out of breath as you as he gazes lovingly, sickeningly down at you with unread emotions.

Love, hate, defiance, disgust, fear.

To him, you look ethereal.

"Why do you make me do this to you?" he whispers, pulling one hand out of your own to gently move strands of hair out of your face to see you better. He bites back a frustrated growl as you flinch and turn your head to the side, burrowing as much of your face into the pillow as you can. You don't want to see or hear him gloat, you just want him to take what he came here for and to leave you the fuck alone.

"Stop fucking-no, look at me," the hand that ever-so gently caressed your hair hardens as his entire hand grabs the lower half of your face to face him.

You try to mumble something out, but his invading hand covers your mouth. He doesn't seem keen on moving it or hearing what you have to say from the way he merely presses harder against your ajar lips.

"I can fulfill you better than that wimpy fuck could ever dream," he hisses, leering over you. Your muted scowl doesn't phase him as he continues, "And you don't need friends anyways. I'm enough for you. I'll take care of all your needs, financially, emotionally, and physically."

At this, he presses his hips right into your cunt, and holds his body there, groaning at the way you pulse for him even under the layers of clothing.

You squeal and try to squirm, but your displeasure proved moot as he uses a free hand to slither under the waistband of your short and dip lower.

This brings around another round of muffled screaming, your back arching as his fingers dance over your soft mound, finally claiming his prize and swiping his digits through your lips.

He makes sure you watch as he brings his fingers back up to his mouth and licks them clean, moaning and closing his eyes in bliss as he does so. Your horror is practically palpable as you freeze at the bizarre show, the violation leaving you speechless.

"You should have told me you were enjoying this, you fuckin' brat," he scoffs and wipes his spit-covered fingers across your cheek, chuckling as you scream in rage.

"Had I known you wanted to play rough like this from the start I would've fucked you raw in front of all your little friends."

He leans in, savoring your terror.

"After all, all a brat like you needs is a fat, hard cock stuffing her widdle pussy until she breaks."

He uses your frozen state to flip your entire body over with one hand, immediately closing in on you and covering your prone body with his own. One hand braces dangerously close next to your face to balance himself as he uses the other to grab a fistful of your locks and pull back, craning your head to meet his eyes once again.

Your back and stomach shake with the effort of holding yourself up in this painful and awkward position, and his hips slot themselves against your backside as if it was their rightful place.

He's not lying, you realize with dread as you can feel his thick and hard imprint nestle between your asscheeks, your shorts riding up in the process.

"But don't worry," he pants as he pulls aside your shorts and panties and begins thrusting himself up and down your wet slit, all the way up to your ass, making careful sure to tap his tip against your clit a couple times, making you jerk and whimper at the buzzing sensation.

"I'm not letting you go anytime soon. We have the rest of our lives to break you and put your pieces back together," he bites your earlobe as he hisses the promise, moaning loudly in your ear as he lets his tip indulge in your entrance, barely pulling back and pushing in inch by inch.

You wince and try to move your body forwards to escape the inevitable, but he twists your supporting arm behind your back painfully and lets your head fall back on the pillow in defeat with a hoarse sob.

"You're fucking mine."

[theorphicangel]

𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬 | 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | PART ONE

synopsis: finding out that your fiance is cheating on you just hours before you meet at the altar isn't exactly the wedding experience you were hoping for. but when everything goes to shit you can always count on your childhood best friend to be there.

word count: 1.7k

part two | part three

tags: childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, unrequited love, eventual smut, angsty, fluff, comfort, tw: mentions of vomit, tw: blood,

taglist: @http-bell @tyyqqaaa @13-09-01 @celear @moxieisanalien @ehcilhc @amberbalcom14 @thoreeo

join my taglist here!

Your wedding day was supposed to be the happiest day of your life. 

If there was one thing you hadn’t expected it was spending your wedding morning sitting on cold bathroom tiles whilst you cry your heart away through your beautiful wedding make-up. Right before you were supposed to be leaving for the chapel a piece of news came telling you that all your wedding make-up, hair and dress that you worked hard to prepare for wouldn’t be needed anyways.

Because you got cheated on. By a man you were about to call the love of your life in less than an hour. And instead of standing by the altar spewing your vows, you were sitting next to the toilet bowl spewing up last night's dinner instead. You had thrown up from not only the shock of finding out that the affair had been going on for months during your wedding planning but even thinking about the text messages you had seen made bile rise up your throat. 

The very same man whom you were about to share the rest of your life with had been devoting his love for another. 

And finding out on your wedding day was the biggest fuck you that the universe could have ever given to you. 

The bathroom door remained locked and you refused to see anyone. Next to you, your phone buzzes on the tiles. Your eyes were too blurry to even see the caller id. It could be your parents calling, your bridesmaids, your friends or even him. You ignore them all, shivering in your own cold sweat of disgust and shame. You couldn’t bear to see how their proud expressions would quickly switch to expressions of pity. Or maybe even judgement that it took you this long to catch on.

How stupid were you to not even see this? You gloss over it all as you stare at the bathroom sink in a daze. The late nights spent at the office. The excuses that he had to sleep at the office because of an important deal currently in the making. The so-called ‘work trips.’ This was just a typical cheating case of a business man. The signs were all there, you were just too blind to notice.  

You begin to sob again, a knot in your stomach forming once again. By now a migraine hits you and your body is totally exhausted from your crying. Your body moves to grab another rack of toilet paper to wipe your tears but you freeze hearing a knock on the door.

It’s so soft you almost miss it but your sniffles come to a stop. 

You don’t reply, wanting nothing more for the person behind the door to go away and leave you alone. You don’t want to see anyone, pushing away everyone who attempts to come in. You didn’t need to see their pity on their faces, fake concern over something that you should have spotted a mile away. 

The knock comes again. It’s not loud or demanding. It doesn’t force you to get up and answer, instead it sounds more like a question, something awaiting your permission and if you reject it then they will accept your answer and leave. 

Like an outstretched hand awaiting for you to make the decision on whether to take it or not.

You don’t move a muscle, waiting to find out who’s on the other side. You wait for a few breaths, the only sound of air exhaling and inhaling from your mouth before a voice finally appears. 

‘It’s me,’ the familiar voice that you recognise immediately at the tone. ‘Suguru.’

For a split second at the sound of his voice and clarification of his identity you find yourself relieved.

 Relief that it wasn’t someone else. That it wasn’t him.

A choked sob nearly escapes from your mouth but you force it to remain inhabited in your throat. 

‘You don’t have to let me in but…’ he pauses, the sound of his soothing voice travelling through the closed door is equivalent to you receiving a warm hug from him. ‘I wanted to make sure you’re okay.’ His words are soft and patient and willing to do whatever you please. They sound so familiar that they ground you back into reality. 

You wipe your face with the back of your hand and somehow find the strength to stand up. The cold bathroom tiles on your bare feet run through your spine. You take it slow, step by step to reach the door. 

Suguru hasn’t said anything since but you can still feel his presence, the warmth of him never leaving. You’re sure that even if you had told him to go away you’re sure that he would remain sitting in front of the door, making sure that you’re safe no matter what. Even if it means having to sit and listen to you cry your heart out for hours. 

You twist the lock in a swift twist of your wrist. 

Slowly, you pull the door open. You’re suddenly aware of your state, disheveled and hurt unlike the perfect and well put together bride you had pictured to be a mere few hours ago. 

But you know Suguru cares nothing about that. 

In a glance his eyes look over your body to make sure that you’re not hurt and once satisfied his shoulders seem to drop in his own state of relief. You’re avoiding his gaze, staring down at your own bare feet in shame and self guilt. 

Suguru can read you like a book, he knows how much you’re beating yourself up. He’s known you since the two of you were kids and he was one of few people who knew you better than you knew yourself. At least now, he becomes the only one. 

Suguru’s eyes studies you, waiting for your permission to enter,

to hug you,

to console you,

to be let in.

And your answer is yes. 

You move aside, letting him in before shutting the door behind you and twisting the lock again. 

Before turning to face him your face crumples up and the wave of emotions hits you all over again like you found out for the first time. It hits you heavy and thrashing as if you had momentarily forgotten and it all comes back to you. Like a magnet you fall straight into Suguru’s arms and he holds you. He holds you until you can’t stand any longer from the grief of your heartbreak and you fall to the ground. He joins you without complaint. He never separates from you even when you stain his suit with tears and it’s not the happy tears that he was expecting at your expected wedding reception. 

Suguru cradles your body with his blood stained fists and you shake in his arms, tears flowing. But he doesn’t complain. If anything he murmurs comforting words that it wasn’t your fault. 

‘M’sorry.’ you finally croak, your throat completely raw from crying. For now it seems the hurricane of tears has come to a gradual stop. You sniffle, fiddling with the array of tissues in front of you. It’s quiet besides the occasional drip from the bathroom tap filling the silence.

‘Hey, look at me.’ He murmurs, a hand cupping your chin. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for, it’s that bastard who should be the one apologising to you.’ Towards the end of his sentence you notice him choke up, his throat closing up.

‘I’ve ruined your suit.’ You say, trying to lighten the atmosphere. A finger rubs at your cheek in response. It’s soothing, distracting. (distracting you from the dried blood on his knuckle)

Suguru lets out a humorous huff, ‘That’s what you’re worried about right now, my love?’

You look down at your lap. You’ve exhausted yourself out from your crying, your eyes are red and sore from continuously rubbing at them. It takes you a while to form the words. They’re in your throat but you struggle to say it aloud, evident from the way that your mouth opens and closes. 

But Suguru will wait for you. He always does. 

‘S’okay, I know, I know.’

You shake a little before you speak. Your lips trembling from the aftershock. ‘I just feel so stupid, you know?’ you hiccup, wiping away tears which come to your eyes. ‘Like I should have known, it was right fucking there in front of me for months and I was just too stupid to see it.’

Suguru shakes his head. 

‘I was so absorbed in planning the wedding that I didn’t even notice his excuses or care enough when he came home from work abnormally late and-and-and–’

You trail off and if you had any more tears to spare they would all come pouring out right now. But your mind and body seems to be truly spent.

Suguru is quick to disagree as takes your hand and forces you to look at him again. He’s nothing more but a blurry grain but you can still make out the amethyst shade of his eyes. 

‘It’s not your fault, you hear me? It doesn’t matter whether you caught on now or whether you caught on from the beginning, that bastard still made his choice at the end of the day and now he has to deal with the consequences.’

You sniffle, wiping at your nose. ‘I can’t believe I nearly married him.’

‘And I’m glad you didn’t. He didn’t deserve you.’

You let out a shaky sigh before crashing into Suguru’s arms again and he holds you.  

‘I don’t know what I’ll do now.’ you mumble, fiddling with your white dress. 

You can feel Suguru’s chest vibrate as he speaks. ‘And you don’t have to have it all figured out right now. Take small steps and remember that you have so many people around you that care about you and love you, including me.’

‘Thank you Suguru.’

‘Anytime.’

A comfortable silence fills the room. Already you feel calmer and much more composed. Especially with Suguru here. There aren’t enough words available to explain how grateful you are for him. You’ve known him for all your life and he’s never faltered to be by your side. 

After a while you speak up again. This time with a favour to ask him.

‘Suguru.’

‘Hmmm.’ You feel the vibration of his hum on his chest.

‘I don’t want to be alone tonight.’

He knows exactly what you’re asking for without you even having to elaborate.

‘I understand, I’ll stay with you. Always.’ He adds on in a whisper until death do you both apart.  

thank you for reading!! comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

[apartmentsmoke]

BuckTommy Fic Recs: 25k+ Fics

Going on a plane ride or settling in for a cozy night on the couch? Enjoy some of these longer BuckTommy fics, and be sure to let the author know you liked them with a comment and/or kudos! allying too close to the sun by leashy_bebes [35k, E]

Evan Buckley, self-appointed wingman to newly-out Tommy Kinard is very confident that he is an ally and nothing more, in spite of increasing evidence to the contrary. or ally (noun): a person who helps or cooperates with another; a supporter, an associate; a friend Reccer's Notes: Super cute, fun fic that reads like a rom-com.

A tunnel to crawl through by prufrocks [25k, E]

Evan sits back on his haunches, unweighting Tommy's legs, and he feels like maybe he could float away from here, unmoored as he is from the bed, from the situation. He's in trouble now, or he will be in a few seconds, but for just this moment he's removed from the forces of gravity, and it feels nice. "Tommy," Evan says, a tremor in his voice, and that's enough to bring Tommy rocketing back down to Earth. "That wasn't a sext, was it." Tommy makes a decision. Buck meets him halfway. Reccer's Notes: Fantastic fic exploring what Tommy's mindset may have been post-8x06. Read the tags - tunnel fic is emotionally heavy.

Bet My Life on Snake Eyes by Mugatu [40k, E]

Getting drunkenly married in Vegas had been just as easy as movies and TV shows led Tommy to believe. Where reality fell short was how easy it was to annul such a marriage. It was, in fact, just as difficult to annul a marriage to a near stranger as any other kind. You could get married in five minutes by a knock-off Elvis in a twenty-four hour wedding chapel, but you actually had to go to court and sit in front of a judge to dissolve it. Tommy and Evan never got around to it. Reccer's Notes: Pre-series Buck and Tommy get drunkenly married in Vegas - it's a great canon-divergent fic that explores how their relationship would fare. Part of an ongoing series.

Buck to the Beginning by LadyEyre [103k, T]

What if Buck time travels to the beginning of season 01 when he's struck by lightning? What will he do when presented with the chance to fix his mistakes and help his friends and family avoid their worst tragedies? Reccer's Notes: I love a time travel fic and this one delivers - Buck trying to remember and work through all of the early seasons is a lot of fun, and I love his relationship with Tommy. Part of an ongoing series.

half a page of scribbled lines by Cecily_v, liminalmemories [25k, Not Rated]

Snippets from a life well lived. But Bobby dying had changed things, fundamentally altered every equation. Reccer's Notes: Wonderful exploration of what Buck and Tommy's life together could look like post-8.15.

heard the risk is drowning by maidoforleans / @adiprose [88k, M]

Aging Arizona Coyotes defenseman Tommy Kinard hooks up with hotshot Florida Panthers goalie Evan Buckley at the 2024 NHL All-Star Game. He's traded to the Panthers a week later. Reccer's Notes: Every fandom needs Hockey AUs, and risk is a fabulous one - the Tommy PoV is great, as is the reimagining of canon events to fit in the world of a hockey AU.

pinch-hit hero by ashesandhalefire [35k, E]

Station 118 makes what Tommy would call decent porn. Under new management now, the studio rolls out story-based features with impressive regularity. The problem is that most good writers aren’t scripting pornos and most porn stars can’t act worth a damn, at least in Tommy’s personal experience, so what comes out of post-production is usually just…decent. It’s passable. It’s an improvement upon what’s generally offered, sure, and Tommy is a sucker for a good romance plot in his erotica, but there's a lot to be said about the importance of the right chemistry. And a decent line read. Honestly, Tommy just wishes it was better. He also wishes it was gayer—but that's a separate issue. Still, when his phone rings with a call and he sees Howie Han (118 Office) as the caller ID, he swipes his thumb across the screen and answers immediately. The material they produce can certainly be a whole lot better, but the paycheck is always fantastic. - or: the one where Tommy is a veteran porn star, Buck makes a wish, and Chim calls in another favor Reccer's Notes: Hot, fun, emotional AU that gives a twist to the instant chemistry Buck and Tommy have.

the shaky things we've seen by origamifrogs [42k, M]

Her name was Annabelle. She was so small, Tommy worried that if he looked away, she'd be lost in the crook of Evan’s arm forever. But before Annabelle, it was a Tuesday, early afternoon, the sun breaking through the clouds of a blue sky—and it was a bad shift. Or, after a 118 call gone awry, Buck and Tommy become emergency foster parents to a three month old baby named Annabelle. Or, Tommy begins (and begins again). Reccer's Notes: An emotional journey! Lovely exploration of Tommy's past, his feelings, his and Buck's relationships, and his feelings about parenthood.

what are your intentions? by screamlet [143k, E]

It's Tommy and Buck—the family they find and the family they make. Reccer's Notes: Written pre-8.06, what are your intentions? is a gorgeously-written dive into Buck and Tommy's relationship over the years.

you may find yourself (in another part of the world) by indigostohelit [66k, E]

APRIL — 1805 NAPOLEON IS MASTER OF EUROPE ONLY THE BRITISH FLEET STANDS BEFORE HIM OCEANS ARE NOW EMERGENCIES Reccer's Notes: Absolutely incredible Age of Sail AU. I cannot recommend this one enough. I love the re-imagining of canon; I love Buck and Tommy's relationship in this; I love it all.

[angels-hideaway]

Stick In The Mud

Jinx x fem!reader

Summary: After a bad experience, Jinx refuses to give you another tattoo, much to your annoyance.

Warnings: smut that’s it

For @cheesecakeseacake

“Please?” You begged your girlfriend for what was probably the hundredth time by now. “I told you, not doing it.” Jinx crossed her arms and blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Ugh, you always say no! You’ve given me a tattoo before! I don’t see what the issue is.”

“The issue is that you have the pain tolerance of a two year old! I can’t give you a womb tattoo cuz you’d be crying and squirming around the whole time. Those things are hard already.” You pouted and rolled your eyes. Ever since you got Jinx to give you a tattoo, one of her monkey bombs on the small of your back, she refused to touch you with the gun ever again. And yeah, maybe it did hurt like a bitch but they looked cool and you wanted another one.

“Come on, Jinx! You’re never a stick in the mud. Why now?”

“I’m not being a stick in the mud, I just don’t like hurting you.” You were frustrated. You wanted this tattoo so badly, and the only one you wanted to give it to you was Jinx. But no, all of a sudden she wants to play it safe. 

“Don’t dwell on it. Well, I’m headin out. See you soon.” Jinx grabbed her things, and skipped away. You weren’t going down without a fight though.

That evening, Jinx got back from whatever she was out doing. You couldn’t care less. You were giving her the cold shoulder after all. “Hey babe.” She said casually, tossing her gun onto her desk. “There a reason you’re ignoring me? It’s not about this damn tattoo is it?” She turned on her speakers and puts some music on. You ignored her. “Hey, What’s got your panties in a twist?” She flicked your shoulder playfully. “Oh nothing…” you responded sarcastically. 

“Are you being sarcastic right now?Seriously? I told you, I’m not tattooing you.” Jinx wandered around, lip syncing to the song. “Oh well.” You said, adding a tinge of trickery to your tone that made Jinx turn around. “Whenever you talk like that it’s always something I don’t like.” You rolled your eyes playfully, and grabbed a sketch of the tattoo you wanted. “No, it’s seriously nothing. I’ll just go down the the tattoo place, and have someone else mark me up.” The wording was not lost on your girlfriend. “What are you getting at?” 

“I just have to let someone else see me up close and personal, maybe without any pants since it’s on my womb…you know, I wanted it to be you, since we’re dating and all, but since you don’t want to that badly…” 

“Hey that’s not what I meant!” Jinx huffs. 

“Then what did you mean?”

“I meant no tattoo. If I don’t give it to you no one does.”

“Why? Don’t want anyone to touch me or something like that? Because ‘I’m yours?’” You mimicked a cheesy tone. You were seriously trying your best to be as obnoxious as possible. “Well duh! Why would I want that?” You felt her hands on your shoulders, turning you around to face her. “What, are you jealous?” You sneered, getting up in her face. Your girlfriend responded by pulling you closer for a rough kiss. You were rendered speechless.

“You can be really annoying sometimes, you know that?” Jinx said, moving one hand down your stomach to underneath your clothes. You felt her fingertips brush your clit, and stumbled back against her desk. “It’s stupid to say, but you’re right. I don’t like it when other people touch you,” she slid one finger in, talking directly into your ear. “I don’t like it when people even look at you. I can’t stand it. Don’t even mention cat callers.” She added another finger, speeding up her movements to an agonizingly quick pace. “Jinx!” You whined, she scoffed. 

“You’re pretty wet for someone who was trying to ignore me…Tell you what, if you can come on my fingers I’ll let you get that tattoo you want soooo badly~ My only rule is that I give it to you. Not some other creep.” At that offer, you rocked your hips in time with her fingers, moaning pornographically all the way. “You freak…” Jinx said in response, smiling at you slyly. “Coming…” you whined, moving your hips faster. “Yeah? You are?” Her fingers were incredibly fast, but she’s never once hurt you with them.

When you finally came, Jinx laughed softly, and kissed your cheek. “Alright pretty girl. Lay down and I’ll get started.” She removed her hand from your clothes and gave her fingers a lick for good measure. “Hey! You felt yourself becoming aroused all over again. “What? You taste good. I’m not going to waste it.” She turned around and winked at you. “Now hurry up or I won’t tat’cha.” 

Taglist @cheesecakeseacake @starryeyes-7 @caitlynsbathwater @halle5s @riotstemple29 @mxchi-mxxn @thinkviolets @commanderraccoon @madalinee @gwscloq @seisei18 @paigeilicous @cottagegirlworld-blog @cenizajskp @kittymrtnezz69 @jiryelle @vivienneswhispers @all-things-lilac @marve1stranger @trulysapphic @b7ue8erry @poeticrenaissance @whatthefuckisthisapppppp @girlsatourbest @st0nerlesb0 @butchpuppyy @yearningandstillnotlearning @eyehatesex @sunsetzzzzzzz @kaylovesmatcha @venuswarmlight @mellowdreamlandpost-blog @ggutpunch @detergentclog @sillypuppy77 @abbyandcaitlover @sevikas-whore @rainfalls77 @dvrkhcld @missaerys @goiabadaisa @ispendwaytolongonhere

[barleyo]

Make the Most of Freedom.

Father! Sukuna X Daughter! Reader (smut)

A/N: can you tell i'm going through a sukuna obsession right now? ^_^ he's literally my everything currently, and i love him as a father

Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), slight mentions of abuse and forced marriage, sexism and heavy misogyny, oral (f receiving)

Wordcount: 1.7k

Your father was decent enough to you, as fathers went. None were particularly good, but you had recently heard gossip of a man who married his daughter off to the town's local pervert in her eighteenth year, convinced by a lump sum of silver, so, certainly your old-fashioned, stern father was a lucky draw. For all the so called "decency" your old man had, though, he had a certain distaste for women. Girls more so. 

Perhaps it was when your mother died that he gained this sneering mentality on the opposite sex. Likely that being left with you, a girl he was forced to raise on his own, was what caused it. Either way, Sukuna's affections for you only ran so deep.  Not abusive, necessarily. Distant was more like it. Neglectful where it mattered most, you often thought, but diligent in your personal matters. 

He practically had a legion of homebound spies to keep him up to date on you.

Choices were not something you often got to make in your life. Every day seemed to be planned out down to the second for you. Servants crowded you and equated you to a pampered house pet. Practice this, say that, eat this, but definitely don't eat that. Look this way. Look there. 

Do not look at him. 

Boys were a nonstarter. Romance was hardly allowed to be the subject of your fantasy. If Sukuna could gain a monopoly on your mind and control your every thought, he would. Without a second thought. He could not, though, so luckily for you, you could peer around a wooden beam on the veranda and watch one of the younger servant boys walk around your father's estate. 

To catch a glimpse of a boy was a rare treat with how often Uraume, on your father's order, tasked you with some type of busy work or etiquette training. Still, you enjoyed your cheeky voyeuristic moments. You savored them, knowing that the spare moments you had to yourself were your only chances at feeling normal. 

Normal girls at your age had other normal girls to chat with about boys. Normal girls had suitors and gentleman callers. Normal girls' pursuers did not disappear randomly after attempting to court them. Normal girls did not have fathers who were feared across all lands. No, that was a you-problem. 

Then again, normal fathers did not love their daughters as much as Sukuna loved you, despite how terribly horrid he was at showing it.

Like every other day, you were aimlessly trapped inside your home. Perhaps not trapped. There were plenty of places to go—your father owned more land than any man could reasonably need—but where else would you go? Outside to be teased by the sight of assorted servants and concubines enjoying the simplicity of their lives? Or, perhaps you could go to the servants' quarters, where Uraume would grill you on your posture and wipe nonexistent smudges off of your face. As wonderful as those exhilarating options sounded, you felt that staying inside the four comforting walls of the main house would be in your best interest.

You leaned against the sliding door parked at the entrance of the house. Trailing your fingers gently over the wooden frame, your found that the door was slightly ajar. A careless servant must have left it open, and you must have been too lost in your thoughts to feel the cool draft wheedling through the crack. Your finger pads pushed against the doorframe to slide it shut, but a familiar voice stopped you. 

That boy. That wonderfully, blissfully ignorant boy. 

You envied him on a few days, but desired him on most. In essence, he was free. Freer than you, at the very least. He seemed your age, but he walked with the experience of a man your father's age. You wondered if he knew things you did not. If he could teach you—touch you.

Sukuna disliked the younger boys that worked on the estate. Lazy, the lot of them. Lazy and easily rousing to the otherwise whorish women who worked with them. You assumed your father simply did not like people, with the way he had a complaint for every make and model of society. 

Women were inferior sluts. Girls were stupid and vapid. Men were arrogant and audacious. Boys were impure little bastards and something you would have nothing to do with under his roof.

He made that very clear when you attempted to ask about leaving the estate with the boy. He pleaded for you to ask your father, and stupidly, you did.

Your father looked at you with what could most plainly be described as disgust. Shame, you would say, if you thought your father was capable of feeling any. 

"Leave?" 

You knew you made a mistake the second the words left your mouth. No phrasing or tone change could have saved you. 'Leave,' 'home,' and 'you' were words Sukuna wouldn't tolerate in the same sentence, unless of course the sentence was: 'I shall never leave home or be away from you, father.'

"For what?" he asked, clenched hands resting on the top of the table. Uraume, knowing what was about to happen from the guilt-stricken look on your face, had disappeared into the servant's quarters right after presenting dinner. "That boy?"

Such venom was spat in the word. Such degradation forced into a single syllable word. You bit your tongue for a moment, feeling offended on the behalf of your tawdry crush. 

"Why, I have half a mind to lock you up. He is the one who had put these ideas into your head, isn't he?" Sukuna asked between bites of his dinner. The idea angered him to his core, but the idea of such a pathetic man-child attempting to take his only heir was humorous enough to keep his temper even enough to eat. "You probably think you love him, right? Foolishness."

He scoffed and waved his hand at you dismissively, nose crinkled. After a thick gulp of his wine, he continued, practically speaking to himself as you fumed silently in embarrassment. 

"He's just a boy. Swine, really, and you—" his eyes sharpened— "are not to see him again."

That shattered any hope you had left. The small window of freedom you had, the small glimpse of a future, was snatched. 

"That is not fair!"

Childishness, as Sukuna had expected. He sighed and ignored you. What he hadn't expected was the quick, flagrant backtalk you spat out. 

"He isn't just a boy. He's a man, and I am a woman now," you said, voice rushing to match the pace of your furious mind. "I'll leave whenever I want to. If I want to go into the city with him, I will. A woman can choose..." you trailed off, obviously not being as experienced as an independent woman as you claimed to be. 

Sukuna's expression never shifted. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink—he simply stared at you, his gaze sharp, predatory. The silence hung heavy in the room, oppressive, thick with the weight of unspoken things. His eyes bored into you like a vice, until you began to regret every word that had left your mouth.

"You are a woman," he said loudly, his voice a low rumble of danger and fact, "it's what I hate most about you. Just like any other woman, look at how you turned out. Spoiled. Pampered. I'll bet a whore too," he added, peering down at your body for a beat too long, seeing the way the silks trapped your matured form. "Is that why you set yourself out to leave? Lover-boy knocked you up like some common whore?"

You could tell by his tone he didn't actually think so lowly of you, but the relentless taunts broke you. Any pretense of womanhood shattered under the embarrassment of father chiding you. 

"Well, who will want you now, hm? Not a pretty, little virgin anymore. See what boys do?" Sukuna stood and pulled you up by your shoulder, forcing you to his level. 

"They ruin you."

If boys ruined you, what did men do? With your father's hands digging into your hips and with his tongue attacking your rosy clit, you reckoned that they saved you. 

Yes, saved. That was the word for it, when Sukuna's spit baptized your dripping cunt, you felt saved. How such a feared, demonic man could make you feel such heavenly things, you knew not, but that wasn't what was important. What was important was that you could hardly remember the name of the once tempting boy you had fought so hard to go with. 

Many nights after the argument with you father, you tried to force yourself to leave. You made it to the door each time, sometimes further into the garden, before returning back to your room. Your scarce knapsack was unpacked quickly and you tucked yourself back into bed like nothing had happened. 

The night that you made it to the estate gates, you ran back home as fast as your bare feet would take you. You clawed at your father's bedroom door, splintering the tips of your fingers as you cried it for him to let you in. 

You would admit it. He was right. As always, regretfully. You were a stupid girl with the dreams of a woman and eyes bigger than your true appetite. As you sobbed into your father's robes, sick gratification crossed his features. 

"Not your fault," he mumbled between your thighs, licking agonizing stripes through your folds. "Y'never learn. I know."

Your body laid bare before him, showing every curve and blemish, every sin clear as day, you seized and rocked on the mattress. Your blood was hot and your chest was uneven. 

Inexperienced and needy, you gave into your father the second his hands slid down your panties. You let him guide you. Your shepherd, his sheep. Your white wool was his for the taking, and he harvested with interest. He took all you had to give. Ever noise you could make, every gasp, he stole from your chest greedily. 

He could have you, all of you. Nobody else could match him in that moment. As your cunt melted into his mouth, he peered at you through heavy lashes with pure ownership.

How could you ever leave the man that finally made you a woman?

[waitingonher]

NIGHTS LIKE THESE — [hoo boys drabbles]

summary: how they react to your bad dreams.

author's note: i wrote leo's + jason's part imagining that the cabins/barracks have individual rooms sooo...also ik this trope is so ran through in the pjo fandom but it's just toooo good i couldn't help myself

percy jackson

percy has always been the type of person to pick up the phone no matter the time. even as he’s on a lone movie marathon and the scene reaches its long-anticipated climax, he’s reaching for his buzzing phone that’s lost beneath the sheets. having found it after the third ring, percy checks the time and the caller id. why are you calling him so late? he answers, “hi babe. i thought you had to wake up early this morning, why are you awake?” 

“hi percy,” your voice was shaky and congested, as if you’d been crying. percy immediately sits up, alarmed at the state of your voice, “did i wake you up?” 

“no, no, i was up watching movies. what’s wrong? is everything okay?” he’s seated at the edge of his bed now, anxiously awaiting your response. 

you force him to sit in silence as you think of an excuse, “yeah, um…i’m okay. i just wanted to hear your voice. but i’ll see you on thursday, okay? goodni-” 

“(y/n), what’s going on?” percy runs a hand through his hair as he heads out of his room to his kitchen. he rips off a napkin from the roll and snatches a pen from the drawer. on the napkin, he writes a brief message to sally, saying that he’d be over at your place and not to worry. 

“nothing. i’m fine, percy,” you mutter. but your boyfriend knows you too well. the way your voice quivers makes it sound as though you were trying to convince yourself that everything was okay, and you were failing miserably. 

percy places his phone between his ear and shoulder as he ties his shoes, “don’t leave me in the dark, (y/n).” 

“don’t worry about me. i’m fine it was just-” 

“babe, i’m coming over, okay?” and with that, percy hangs up. 

he’s walked this path over a hundred times, usually for dropping you off after dates or simply for hanging out with you. but this time, all percy can think about is how you sounded over the phone and that he needs to seriously pick up the pace. 

upon arrival, percy climbs up the fire escape ladder as quickly and quietly as possible. it’s only now that he’s grateful for his experience from all of those laborious quests. reaching your floor, he knocks delicately on the glass. 

“percy, what are you doing here?” you ask after he closes your window, “i’m sorry, you really didn’t need to come all this way. it’s like three in the morning and you-” 

your boyfriend silences you with a gentle kiss, “i’m okay. it’s you i’m worried about. what’s wrong?” 

“it was just a dream.” 

“just a dream?”

“yes, it was just a stupid dream.” 

percy grabs your shoulders, forcing you to look at him, “(y/n), you’re one of the strongest people i know. so if you were crying over it, then it really must be something.” 

you slump on your bed, and percy joins beside you. it's no use hiding it from percy, so with a sigh, you confess, “well, you’re here now. but it just felt so real,” your eyes begin to prick with tears again, “you were laying on the floor…and there was just so much blood, and i tried to stop it—i really did try—but it just kept coming and there was nothing else i could do.” 

honestly, percy didn’t know what to say. but he did know that if your dream was anything like the ones he had about you, they were emotionally and physically crushing. so, he decides that if he can’t say anything, he’d rather show you. percy gently guides your body, until the both of you are laying down. with a strong arm wrapped around your figure and the other rubbing slow circles on your back, he can only hope you understand the message he’s trying to convey. 

“i’m here, (y/n). everything’s going to be okay,” percy continues to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. slowly but surely, your crying mellows into only soft sniffles. 

as you lay on his chest, you can feel the rise and fall of his breathing body. it wasn’t at all like that dream of yours; his cold body eerily still on the floor. not at all like that. you allow yourself to slowly drift off with the rise and fall of his chest, strangely as if it were its own lullaby, “thank you, percy,” you manage to whisper. 

“i love you, (y/n). i’m not leaving you, ever. i promise,” percy whispers back. 

leo valdez

leo’s used to waking up several times in the middle of the night. considering the demigod dreams, he hasn’t remembered the last time he’s gotten a full night's rest, which is why he’s not surprised to be awake at the crisp hour of two a.m. he can’t even remember the dream this time, but leo bets it was another dream foreseeing his imminent death or the end of the world. 

as he stares at the pipes and wires running along the ceiling of bunker 9, a familiar ringtone sounds from his phone. leo quickly wipes the sleep from his eyes and picks up the phone from his nightstand, “(y/n)? are you okay? it’s so late.” 

there’s a silence, followed up by quiet sniffles. were you crying? “hi leo, i’m sorry i probably woke you up didn’t i? go back to sleep, i was-” 

“no i was already awake, what’s wrong?” the moment your boyfriend noticed your shaky voice, his attitude completely changed. suddenly awake and full of energy, he tears off his blanket and reaches for his hoodie and shoes.

considering the fact that you never really call so late alarms him. you calling either meant that you had a nightmare or you were hurt…and leo prayed it was the dream. 

“i’m sorry…” you take a deep breath, “i just had a bad dream, like one of those dreams, you know?” leo knows all too well what you’re talking about, and if it’s anything close to the dreams he has, he can only imagine what you’re feeling, “but i swear i’m okay now. i’ll see you later?” 

but leo’s already out the door as you finish your explanation, “i’m coming over, stay there.” 

“wait leo-” 

he hung up. 

the trek through the forest was usually something one would avoid, especially at this hour, but leo couldn't give less of a shit as he thinks about you crying in your room. a few minutes later after practically sprinting to your cabin, he arrives. locating the window to your room was easy, he’d done this several times before for your sleepovers. leo knocks as quietly as he can on the glass, hoping he doesn’t disturb any of your other siblings. 

surprised, you pull your curtain aside and are face to face with none other than your boyfriend. he looks sweaty and out of breath. leo ran all this way? pushing your question to the side, you rush to open the window and let him in. 

for the first time, leo really gets a good look at you. your eyes are red and puffy; you look at him with such desperation and he can’t help but pull you into a rib-cracking hug. 

“you actually came.” 

“what? of course i did, (y/n),” he takes your face into his hands, rubbing soft circles on each cheek. suddenly, tears begin to flow freely down your face. was it something he said? was he not supposed to come? 

you pick up on his confusion, “i’m sorry, i’m just…glad you’re alive,” leo sits you on your bed, and continues to wipe away the tears, his concern growing with each passing second. your boyfriend urges you to go on, “it’s just the same thing every night. i’m at your grave on the hill, and i’m all alone and it’s raining and i just-” 

“(y/n), breathe,” leo pulls you into his chest once more. he holds you so impossibly tight, ensuring that you know he’s there and he doesn’t plan to ever leave. his sacrifice during the final battle against gaia will forever be amongst one of leo’s biggest regrets. not because he had saved the world, but because of how hard it impacted you. without a doubt, you could easily say that those months where leo was gone were the hardest times of your life. and not a day goes by where leo thinks he can ever forgive himself for it, “i’m here. i’m alive.” 

you nod, your sobs turning into quiet hiccups. leo moves the two of you guys to be laying down, and as final reassurance, he gently guides your hand under his hoodie, allowing you to feel his steady heartbeat. your boyfriend’s skin is warm to the touch and you count his heartbeat…one…two…three. and that was proof enough, “you’re alive.” 

“i am,” leo soothes. he places a gentle kiss atop your head and pulls the covers over your bodies. his arms wrap tightly around your figure, holding you close, “sleep, (y/n). i’ll be here in the morning.”

jason grace

it’s late nights like these that jason has slowly come to appreciate. these scarce nights where he’s completed his praetor duties for the night and he allows himself to indulge in some self-care, which usually consists of a cup of hot herbal tea and a good book. 

usually, jason prefers historical books, oftentimes concerning roman myths or the occasional diary of some war general. what can he say? he likes to be all-knowing when it comes to these things. but this time, as he’s curled up in his bed, he reaches for the book that you had recommended to him: a classic romance novel. jason laughs to himself as he recalls you teasing him about his taste in literature. if he remembers correctly, you called him a “history-loving freak?” 

just as jason’s about to open the book, an unexpected ringing sounds from his phone. he huffs, momentarily disapointed. that is, until he sees who’s calling, “(y/n)? hi, are you okay?” 

“oh, hi,” jason noticed the way your voice sounded off, like you’d been crying, “i didn’t think you’d actually answer.” 

confused, he puts the book back on his nightstand, “of course i would, my love. what’s going on? you sound like you’ve been crying.” 

“no, everything’s okay i just…” you pause, “had a bad dream, so i wanted to listen to your voicemail.”

jason’s heart squeezes at the thought of you going so far as to listen to his own ten second voicemail as a method of comfort. but the feeling goes away just as quickly as it came upon hearing you had a nightmare, “oh i’m sorry, my love. do you want me to come over?” 

“no,” you reply, “it’s okay. i’m better now that i’ve heard your voice. you can go back to bed, jason.” 

despite you declining his offer, jason’s already up and putting his shoes on, “i’ll be there in a few, okay? i love you,” and he hangs up. 

within a handful of minutes, jason reaches your cohort’s barracks. the square windows look impossibly similar, but it’s all thanks to practice that he recognizes yours. even as praetor, he still has to enforce the rules and sneak around. with a quiet knock on your window, he waits in the dark for you. 

“you’re here. you’re alive, jason,” is all you can muster up as your boyfriend stands tall inside your room. his expression is clearly written with worry as he closes the gap between you with a hug. as hard as you tried to fight it, the tears came again in a fresh wave. 

“yeah, i’m here, (y/n). i’m not leaving,” he replies, concern laced in his words. jason notices your tears and gently wipes them away, “c’mere, tell me about your dream,” he beckons, guiding you towards the bed. with a gentle plop, he settles down and opens his arms, inviting you to join him.

settling against jason’s chest, you take a shaky breath as he places kisses on your temple, “i was at your funeral, and you looked so peaceful, like you were sleeping. i just can’t stop thinking about how you looked asleep. and then they expected me to, you know, give a speech in front of the entire camp about you, and i just…i can’t imagine a world without you, so please, you can’t leave me like that.” 

“woah, woah, (y/n) i’m okay, breathe,” jason hushes you, rubbing soft circles on your arm. to be frank, he’s pretty shocked about what you had just said. he can’t get over how shaken up you are by this. but jason can’t even blame you, because if it were him who had the dream, he bets he would also be like this, “i’m here and i have no plan of ever leaving, okay? i’m afraid you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life,” he jokes, hoping to get at least a smile from you. 

jason’s joke succeeds as he feels your body shake with a quiet giggle, “good. i wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

your boyfriend checks your face once more, ensuring that you’ve stopped crying. seeing that you have, he places delicate kisses on each cheek, “hey, how about we go to sleep now? i’ll read you that book,” jason motions to the book on your nightstand, which happens to be the same one you recommended him. 

you nod tiredly, “only if you do different voices for each character.” 

“of course, only for you,” jason quips. 

after adjusting your bodies, jason reaches for the book and opens it to chapter one. but before he begins, he pulls the covers completely over your body and places a chaste kiss on your forehead, “i love you so much, (y/n). and i hope you know that i’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

[confetilly]

I NEED to get this off my chest somewhere and I think that you may be the only person delusional as me about this(/j/pos) so ur my victim haha.

I'm almost COMPLETELY CONVINCED that the evidence so far points to kerdly being canon, from the weirdly flirty roller coaster fight to the infamous "you, me, festival" and it's DRIVING ME INSANE

like does ANYONE ELSE SEE THIS?????

and this one part i get so hung up on, like on noelles blog where berdly talks abt the prank caller who helped him fix minecrap on his computer, and noelle goes "that's actually... kind of.. cute??"

like she HAS to know it's Kris, right?

they've known each other since BIRTH.

and NOELLE is surprised at Kris's interaction with berdly being "cute"!?!?!?!?!?

like?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??

And like, a slowburn kerdly would be objectively the best direction for the normal route to go in my opinion.

and also berdly is SOOOO projecting his crush on kris to susie, like ooh look you learn that this edgy depressed teen with pica who has hair over her eyes and doesn't care abt school likes to play video games and now you're obsessed with her???? those sound a whole lot like the reasons you consider yourself rivals with kris, care to elaborate????????

and kris seems like the only person to interact with berdly for reasons other than neccecity or pity, which i find interesting.

also its objectively the funniest ship and if its not canon i think i will experience actual physical damage to my body

thank you for your service to the kerdly community

may our delusions be proven true

I ENJOYED READING THIS

Please you literally read my mind like a scanner

P

Thank you thank you for sharing this...

[lvmimis]

cw: vergil x lady in red!reader. mature but no explicit smut.

Your steps are quicker than usual, far too eager for a lady of the night, but you’ve been beckoned, yet again, by your gentleman caller for what is not the first time and hopefully not the last time.

The other women for sale find you a curiosity - those that are thought of as nothing more than property and pleasure have learned to smile but it has never truly reached their eyes, not the way yours does… There’s a sort of envy you can feel accenting the rouge of their cheeks as they watch you glide down the halls.

You were called. You were summoned.

Perhaps you are living a fantasy in your head, one where you are something more than just a warm body to lay on top of for much less than a pretty penny.

But you were called. 

You want to see him. You want him to see you.

—

Vergil doesn’t know why he keeps coming back. His coat pocket weighs heavy with coins - your price isn’t high, but there is some extra money he plans to leave with you, something the brothel will not be able to get his hands on, and he has no idea why. 

There is one sole thing that brought him here the first time. Not love - no, love is not found in a place like this that deals in depravity and possessiveness and commodification of a human body - but a desire to experience human warmth, something that he has been missing for many, many years, ever since that night. 

It is far too easy to shirk off your humanity when you are barely that to begin with, but this one desire, the need to feel warm skin against skin, the beat of someone else's heart through one’s fingertips, is far too stubborn to leave him.

The urge does not leave, and thus he pays for sex.

Although, he only pays for it with you. Just you.

—

You still don’t know his name, but you’d recognize the icy blue eyed-stare, the stern glacial brows, and the ethereally white hair anywhere. 

And as such, you’d never forget the gentle way he touches you. Not speaking with his lips, but terribly communicative with the way his tongue laves over your body and through the tenderness and desire in the varied pressure of his palms and fingers. You suspect his disposition is less sweet than serious, but you can hear something in his sighs that is too heavy for one person to bear, something that is only burdensome to a naturally sensitive soul. You’d like to carry some of that weight with him, for him even, but you suspect you may never understand.

He’s younger than he looks despite his pale features but when he’s no longer looking at you, taking you in, you sense the faraway stare of a man that has contemplated too much and found it tiresome. Still, he appears resolute always when he’s done feeling you. He never leaves immediately, but when he rises to his feet it’s with the weary sigh of an old lover who is forced to part.

“Will you tell me your name?” you ask finally, the marks of particularly zealous kisses starting to bloom on your neck, your shoulders, your upper arms, your breasts.

He doesn’t answer, and his back turns. 

You should be hurt, but you can tell if he could he would. Instead you smile to yourself.

“I’ll wait for you again tonight. I like you more than my other customers,” you remind him.

He tenses but he says nothing as he slips his pants back on in the dead of night. He glances at you, his lips parting but with nothing coming out to comfort you, to confirm what you feel he holds deep in his chest.

Perhaps you’re only imagining that he’s different from your other johns, but you cannot be that far off, can you?

“Be well.”

A sack of coins is set on the countertop, far more than he’s ever offered you before, and you know automatically to keep it from the madame, to share it amongst the other playthings of the lodge.

He moves to leave, and you can feel something tugging at your chest.

This might be the last time, a sort of parting gift.

“Where are you going?” you ask, tentatively. You don’t expect an answer from him despite the fact that you ask - you are demanding too much and his thoughts are held close to his chest, but god almighty, if only he would tell you.

He smiles for the first time, and it’s a painful, beautiful thing.

And then he is gone.

You will never see him again.

—

Your son is a few days old. A shock of white hair adorns his soft, round features, and his eyes are the same blue, unburdened and clear like sky rather than hard like ice. You caress his face once before you set him at the foot of the church, the sack of gold at his side.

You expect that he’ll have a better fate than you, filled with love and light. You retreat to the dark alleys, a tainted woman of the night.

[viridianriver]

I want YOU to fuck with Elon Musk's finances!

Apologies for the nerd-talk here, but I have a easy political action for you!

Right now, the Tesla stock seems to be held afloat not so much by individual investors, but by investment banks which include the stock in index funds. The sort of funds that many people's 401ks are in. (I've been watching the stock, the 'sells' are many and small, the 'buys' are fewer and large, likely indicative of big-banks propping up a failing stock.)

And you, yes you, if you have a IRA, 401k, or other retirement investment which includes Tesla, can fuck Elon up today. (If you don't have one, send this post to any cool Boomers you know who might!)

What you're gonna do is call whoever you or your employer banks with (Vanguard, Schwab, TD, whoever) and tell them the following:

You're concerned by their reliance on TSLA in their indices, a volatile stock whose value is not based in investing fundamentals.

The intrinsic value of the stock (discounted cashflow / relative valuation) is $46 while the stock is trading at over $200

The current valuation is defended by the following flawed arguments:

a. Sales to consumer vehicle market - The majority revenue source. However sales across the globe are dropping compared to this time last year; 73% in Germany, 65% in Australia, and 49% in China. b. Potential Autonomous vehicle? - Promised for years, as a retrofit to existing vehicles - has not materialized, even after competitors (Waymo) succeeded in fielding the technology. c. Potential Humanoid Robotics? - An industry Tesla has no experience in, and is facing significant competition in from well-established well-funded competitors such as Boston Dynamics. d. Potential "AI"? - Unless specified further, with a concrete path to profitability this seems to be vaporware. e. Elon's personal brand - Has been losing credibility, due to partisan political behavior. He has also been failing to perform his fiduciary duty to shareholders, by neglecting his role as CEO to become politically involved. f. Battery Technology - Has a high reliance on imported materials such as Lithium, the availability of which is dependent on the unpredictable geopolitical situation in Ukraine.

And you are HUGELY worried about the impact on your finances when the stock corrects itself towards it's true value, and returns to trading along financial fundamentals. (If you want to get spicy with it, you can say you feel they too are failing in their fiduciary duties to you by continuing to invest in TSLA. But, from what i know of finance bros, that's fightin words, so use with discretion.)

So... If you want to have an outsized impact on this hair-plugged skinhead's finances, all you gotta do is call the finance nerds and speak their language a little. (I know phone calls suck but I literally gave u a script!) Most retirement investors are passive, so even a handful of upset callers can have an outsized impact.

Embrace your inner Karen if you want. (You're doing WHAT with my money? Propping up a failing overvalued business?)

Good luck, and tell me how it goes if you do this!! (disclaimer: this is not financial advice)

[zentranstech]

Streamline Operations and Enhance Customer Service with IVRS

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[reyrapidsbutgayer]

Ranking All Elden Ring Bosses by Fuckability

It was only a matter of time until I made a post like this. (And an equally horrible post featuring the DLC bosses.)

In this hypothetical all of the bosses can be reasonably communicated with and are not actively trying to kill you.

Repeat bosses not included, duo bosses counted seperate.

It should also be assumed that all of these bosses have access to their magic/items/resources to benefit them in bed.

Explanation of Grading system:

Ineligible: (Cannot give consent)

These characters are not sentient enough to communicate consent, or are physically incapable of sex.

Unfuckable: (Can give consent, but does not DESERVE sex)

Character sucks so badly that they do not deserve to experience pleasure in any shape or form.

Uninterested: (Can give consent, does not WANT sex)

These character are fully capable of sex but would never participate in sex due to lack of interest or overabundance of moral convictions.

Not worth it: (Can give consent, is terrible in bed)

I mean, you COULD have sex with these characters but why would you?

Acceptable: (Can give consent, would be fine in bed)

These characters are average in bed, nothing crazy or noticeable. Some might end up in this category because they ARE good at sex, but the entire process would be inconvenient or uncomfortable to initiate.

Good Time: (Can give consent, would be great in bed)

These characters are good at sex, give or take a few points depending on their mood or situation.

Knock your socks off: (Can give consent, would be amazing in bed)

These characters excel in giving pleasure and would be well worth the time and effort involved.

Sex God: (Can give consent, would be the best in bed)

These characters would be so good at sex that all other factors are irrelevant. They are serving and we are here for it.

Evil Sex God: (Can give consent, is a terrible person but you’d make an exception.)

These are characters that should fall lower in the rankings, but their sexual prowess supersedes their inherent awfulness to a noteworthy degree.

Full list below the read more. Obviously it's not going to be sfw.

Ineligible: (Cannot give consent)

Dragonkin Soldier:

Mindless beast

Astel, Naturalborn of the Void

Weird rock alien, doesn't/can't understand.

Fia's Champions:

Ghosts, simps.

Regal Ancestor Spirit

Animal

Erdtree Avatar

A plant

Great Wyrm Theodorix

Mindless beast.

Ulcerated Tree Spirit

A plant, no junk

Tibia Mariner:

Skeleton

Red Wolf of the Champion:

Animal.

Full-Grown Fallingstar Beast

Weird rock alien, doesn't/can't understand.

Abductor Virgin

First off, just some snakes in a robot. Second, virgin.

Erdtree Burial Watchdog

Stone gargoyle

Crystalians

Non-organic

Mad Pumpkin Heads

Unable to consent due to madness.

Cemetery Shade

Unable to consent due to mind controlling parasite.

Spirit-Caller Snail

Animal

Runebear

Animal

Miranda the Blighted Bloom

A plant

Guardian Golem

Stone gargoyle

Starscourge Radahn:

Unable to consent due to madness

Unfuckable: (Can give consent, but does not DESERVE sex)

Elden Beast:

Too catholic.

Sir Gideon Ofnir, the All-Knowing:

Dick game weak - unironically posts joker memes.

Omenkiller:

Basically a cop.

Necromancer Garris:

Killed his family, not a good husband.

Royal Revenant:

Won't stop screaming (in an unsexy way)

Godrick the Grafted:

Incel - Also all that murder and torture business but mostly the Incel stuff.

Uninterested: (Can give consent, does not WANT sex)

Valiant Gargoyle:

Could probably have sex if it wanted to, but is kinda going through a lot right now. Ya know, that whole "Is made of several corpses mashed together" thing.

Malenia, Blade of Miquella:

Look, I ALSO wanted her to higher up on this list, but let's be honest here. Her body is rotting and falling apart, she just isn't up for sex in her current form. In her prime? She'd be top of the list. She's the daughter of Marika and Radagon, she'd be playing fuck/marry/kill with every warrior who crossed her path. (in that order)

Death Rite Bird:

I think it might be physically capable of sex, but is too busy burning corpses to bother with stuff like that.

Black Blade Kindred:

Same reason as the Valiant Gargoyle but you might have like 2% more of a chance because they are goth.

Maliketh, the Black Blade:

Would normally be a sex god, but is too religious. Probably took a vow about this sort of thing.

Morgott, the Omen King:

You kidding me? This guy has the same energy as a repressed youth pastor. He's gonna be a virgin till the day he dies. The dude sided with the same religious order that locked him a sewer and tried to kill him. He's not out there getting phone numbers he's too busy praying and judging others for their 'impure thoughts'.

Draconic Tree Sentinel:

Married to his job, also physically chained to his horse. He ain't taking off that armor anytime soon.

Wormface:

Too sad, leave him alone his face is full of worms.

Tree Sentinel:

Same as the Draconic Tree Sentinel but he's a tiny bit more naive so you might have a better chance.

Elder Dragon Greyoll:

Too sleepy, but still kinda a milf.

Grafted Scion:

There might be some genitals in there somewhere but I don't think they know how or even want to use them.

Not worth it: (Can give consent, is terrible in bed)

Esgar, Priest of Blood:

No sense of hygiene, is always covered in blood (in an unsexy way)

Mohg, Lord of Blood:

This loser is dripping with all the least sexy bodily fluids and he has sharp horns sticking out of him. Even if you got him in bed you'd only enjoy like 5% of it. Plus you just know he'd be all needy afterwards and try to get you to join his MLM.

Borealis the Freezing Fog:

Too cold, not a snuggler.

Elemer of the Briar:

The armor stays ON during sex.

Kindred of Rot:

It's like all the worst possible aspects of alien biology, it won't be nearly as fun as you hoped.

Sanguine Noble:

Same as all the other Mohg followers, too sticky and too smelly.

Decaying Ekzykes:

He's sick right now, leave him alone.

Acceptable: (Can give consent, would be fine in bed)

Loretta, Knight of the Haligtree:

I'm sure she'd be a decent lover. Maybe a little overzealous but she'd has good intentions.

Grave Warden Duelist:

I mean these guys are hot and probably fuck like a truck but they are not the most caring lovers, also they are covered in live snakes so there is that.

Night's Cavalry:

If you like goth knights I'm sure they'd be fine.

Alabaster Lord:

Their skin probably feels like stone, but I bet they can pull off all sorts of freaky zero-g sex stuff if you ask them.

Onyx Lord:

Same as the Alabaster Lord but slightly more goth.

Fell Twins:

Once you get past the horns and stuff I bet the Omens are actually pretty good in bed, just watch out.

Demi-Human Queens:

I feel like all Demi-humans are pretty good lovers but their biology probably has some unexpected drawbacks.

Stonedigger Troll:

If you can get past the texture and the size I bet they could be decent in bed.

Flying Dragon Greyll:

A surprisingly unsexy dragon, but a dragon is a dragon and still worth at least a one night stand.

Glintstone Dragon Smarag:

A dragon willing to kill racist magic users, earns them a few extra points.

Beastman of Farum Azula:

On one hand the Beastmen probably have crazy mating skills, but they are also zombies, which detracts some points for all the decay.

Battlemage Hugues:

Contrary to popular belief, Wizards are not very good at sex. They spend all their time studying instead of partying, at least Hugues is willing to get his hands dirty.

Commander O'Neil:

Seems like a decent guy, but probably won't shut up about his time in the military. Also he is infected with scarlet rot so that might be a mood killer.

Bloodhound Knight Darriwil:

The bloodhound knights are probably pretty wild in bed if you can earn their loyalty, but good luck with that.

Adan, Thief of Fire:

The dude committed heresy, that has to earn him some sexy points.

Soldier of Godrick:

He's a good boy, he's doing his job so throw him a bone.

Flying Dragon Agheel:

One of the first dragons you encounter, so he earns some points for style.

Demi-Human Chief:

Same as the queens, but probably a bit rougher in bed.

Good Time: (Can give consent, would be great in bed)

Lichdragon Fortissax:

A much sexier dragon, you know they were hooking up with Godwin. Only loses some points for all the death rot.

Crucible Knight Siluria:

A bit gloomy, but I bet the crucible knights can do all sorts of freaky stuff with their animal body parts.

Mimic Tear:

A slippery liquid shapeshifter, need I say more?

Commander Niall:

A way better guy than O'Niel, plus he just a bit more daddy energy.

Fire Giant:

Once you get past his size, his sadness and the giant fell god of destruction in his chest, I bet he's got something going on.

Ancient Hero of Zamor:

Gives me Hercules/Amazonian vibes, I could be into it.

Cleanrot Knight:

Lesbian activities detected.

Crucible Knight:

These guys have tails, horns, wings and big old throat sacks. Imagine the possibilities.

Glintstone Dragon Adula:

Has a sword. If you hear "Dragon holding a sword" and your pants aren't already off, we can't be friends.

Bols, Carian Knight:

He seems like a good boy.

Scaly Misbegotten:

I feel like the Misbegotten have some really interesting possibilities with their animal biology. I bet they have bonobo type societies and that could be fun.

Leonine Misbegotten:

Same as the other Misbegotten.

Misbegotten Warrior:

Same as the other Misbegotten.

Knock your socks off: (Can give consent, would be amazing in bed)

Crucible Knight Ordovis:

Has all the desirable traits of a Crucible Knight but I also imagine they are super into threesomes.

Perfumer Tricia:

She seems really nice, and would be a super attentive lover. Plus she probably has access to crazy drugs and could hook you up.

Nox Swordstress & Nox Priest:

You just know that the Nox were getting up to crazy hot and crazy unethical experiments in their underground cities. These two probably get up to some wild shit and they are inviting you to join them.

Rennala, Queen of the Full Moon:

As she is now, I bet she'd be too sad to really be in a relationship again. But she kept up with Radagon and you just know she has some tricks up her sleeves that could make you abandon the golden order.

Sex God: (Can give consent, would be the best in bed)

Dragonlord Placidusax:

Has two male heads and three female heads, imagine...

Ancient Dragon Lansseax:

Formed a whole freaky dragon/human cult and you just know they got into some eyes-wide-shut orgies behind those doors.

Godfrey, First Elden Lord (Hoarah Loux):

We all knew he'd be this high on the list. He was just a normal dude but he managed to keep pace with Queen Marika (Who is basically a goddess of fertility) for a good long while. He will fold you in half (on the battlefield and in the bedroom.)

Evil Sex God: (Can give consent, is a terrible person but you’d make an exception.)

Radagon of the Golden Order:

He sucks in all the worst ways, but I mean... You can't NOT. Both Radagon and Marika are the embodiment of evil but they managed to suck and fuck their way across an entire continent for generations. You HAVE to give a try at least once.

Godskin Duo:

Oh my god will it be awful with all those flayed human skins, but you know you are still gonna have to. They can stretch and do all sorts of freaky stuff with their bodies, plus they kill gods and nothing is sexier than heresy.

Vyke, Knight of the Roundtable:

The dude is a mad killer but... he can still probably get it, might as well give it a try.

God-Devouring Serpent / Rykard, Lord of Blasphemy:

Personally I wouldn't, he's a loser and will probably kill you. But he is also a giant snake made up of squirming hands doing all sorts of sexual experiments, I can't blame you if you want to give it a taste.

Black Knife Assassin:

They committed a whole lot of treason but the power of armored lesbians is too hard to resist.

Patches:

If you are already having sex with from software characters, you gotta give Patches at least one attempt. When you wake up he'll have robbed you, but you knew what you were getting into.

[sashayed]

I haven't said as much about electoral politics this year as I have in previous cycles, because I am exhausted like everyone else and have nothing new or helpful to add. That is still true, so caveat lector I guess lmao!!! Happy American Election Day Fellow Sufferers!!

I have been experiencing an internal backlash the last few years to my extremely Sorkinpilled D.C. private school upbringing -- my childhood spent as a kind of convent schoolgirl in the faith of The System Is Good If We All Participate, which of course has a uhhh let's say generously a minimal engagement with the ways in which many of us are by design shut out of participating. I don't think idealism is necessarily childish, but I think MY idealism certainly has childish qualities, an undergirding of 90s feel-goodism, of civic participation as a subtle ego stroke and of voting -- although I would never have consciously put it this way -- as a way to feel superior to people who don't vote.

Lately there has bubbled up in me a sludgy, adolescent fury at this whole stupid country that has made it very very hard to feel like I should do even the bare minimum. For these people? AMERICANS? The ones that not only want Donald Trump to be president but saw what happened the first time and were like, We love this, do it again but worse? Whatever, fuckos. "I hope you people get your dearest wish and it chews you to death slowly," I may have thought.

I have also thought: why is it so controversial to ask elected officials to stop funding a genocide? Why are we treating people who make that ask, who are watching the current administration directly fund death on a mass scale and objecting to that choice, as if they are being babies and just need to get over it? How are they supposed to get over it? Why is anybody over it?

Anyway all this means that I, a known chipper door-knocker and caller of congresspeople, have been pretty low-key this current cycle. I think that is OK. I don't want to make this a big dramatic confessional about how I didn't write enough postcards or whatever. We all get exhausted and this was my turn.

But it has also been an illuminating cycle in that it's made it clear to me how much at my big age I still want politics to make me feel good, and when they don't, I still have the urge to throw a lil tantrum about it! I can get very superior and intellectual about how right-wing operatives manipulate their voters emotionally WITHOUT EVEN NOTICING that I too have been manipulated, in my case into the feeling that nonparticipation is a kind of revolutionary act.* Just absolute "I threw it on the GROUND" logic happening inside my head. "Maybe if I don't vote I will be doing Quiet Quitting, which is uhhhhh anticapitalist." I'm not a part of your system!!!

Anyway, I am trying to have self-compassion about it, and one way for me to do that is to project my internal experience onto a theoretical reader. That would be you, my imaginary friend who clicked on this post for some reason even though you have already decided not to vote! I just want to tell you that I am more sympathetic to your point of view than I have ever been in my whole life, and I'm sorry I have historically been a glib, holier-than-thou asshole about it in ways that may actually have made you MORE resistant to civic participation.

And you're right: it doesn't make that big a difference whether I personally vote or not, or whether you do. But if there are hundreds of us, and I think there are, then each of those people individually do starts to matter.

I guess I would humbly request that you and I both pay attention to what people who need help are actually asking for. I would ask that we both notice who wins when we abdicate this single responsibility. I would remind us both that participating in the electoral process is not some kind of weird either-or with participating in decentralized community building and mutual aid, and the best people we know do both. Isn't it interesting that somehow, insidiously, without even consciously becoming aware of this belief, we have started to think that you can only do one or the other? Who is telling us that story? Who does it serve?

Anyway. I took the stupid 90 minute round trip to my polling place which was VERY hot for some reason and I stood in the stupid line and some babies waved at me and I cast my vote for Kamala Harris and I'm glad I did it in the same way I'm glad after I do the dishes or take a stupid shower. Doing work doesn't always feel like anything. I also saw a really wonderful small black and white dog that I thought was a cat on a leash. I would not have seen that dog if I hadn't gone to vote. So politics can still make you feel good!!!

*I mean all this analysis is cute and everything BUT ALSO i did switch antidepressants twice in the last year, an astonishingly grueling process that almost made me [affect the trout population]. Could these things be related? hmmmmmmm, don't understand the question, won't respond to it.

[redcoralpot]

U Malatu - Mike Schmidt x M! Reader

Summary: Mike gets a call back on the ad he had sent out for a new babysitter for Abby. While they were interested in the job, Mike was more than interested in them.

Warnings: NSFW content (masturbation), and mentions of murder.

Word Count: 1.55K

Notes: Consider this a gift for the gay Mike simps!!

-

Mike had expected nothing of it, really. He had paid a newspaper company a few dollars to display ads for a babysitter in their daily papers; a last ditch attempt before starting his new job at a local pizzeria. He was working the night shifts, and with his office being in the middle of a highly dangerous, abandoned building, he hesitated in bringing his little sister along. Abby was only ten years old– who knows what she would get into?

So, when his phone rang with a call from an unknown number, Mike immediately answered, “Hello?”

Radio silence from the other end. His mother always had warned him about spam. 

His finger hovered over a red button, ready to end the call, when a noise froze any movement, “Um… are you Mike Schmidt?”

“Yeah, this is him.”

The caller cleared their throat, “Okay, so, I’m calling about a babysitting ad I saw at a local diner; I’m interested. Is it possible for us to meet there to discuss details?”

“Woah, hold on. What’s your name?” Mike questioned, folding his jacket over a chair.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll meet you outside of Sparky’s at four o’clock. I’m looking forward to it!”

“Wait–” That was the only thing he could respond with before the line cut out, and his home screen went back to normal.

Suspicious. Maybe he should have gone a different route than dropping the opportunity of watching over a vulnerable child into just anyone’s hands, but it was too late to turn back now. Sparky’s was a public place, at least, so this person would not be able to hurt Mike without getting caught. If he got any weird feelings from them, he’d immediately call it off and go home. 

Mike glanced at the oven clock, ticking away at time like it was nothing. Currently, it was only three, and the drive to the popular diner was only fifteen minutes away. Well, shit. He was too desperate to pass this up, not with the court constantly watching his back. Mike groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose, dreading his first shift already.

He ended up needing that extra time to get Abby comfortable enough for him to leave, and oh, how stubborn she was. Mike had to carry her over his shoulder just to get her into her bedroom, where she had plenty of sensory toys and items to occupy herself with. Additionally, Mike had put extra care into making sure she had the opposite too, such as noise canceling headphones in case the neighbor decided to mow his lawn again. The last time he saw her, she was huddled up on her desk again, using crayons to draw scribbly pictures of her imaginary friends. Yeah, imaginary. They weren’t real, as much as Abby claimed they were.

By the time he had gotten in the car, started it, and driven to Sparky’s, he was five minutes late. Yet, from his windshield, he could see a man in a quirky uniform sitting outside the main doors. Mike couldn’t see the details of the stranger– he needed to get his eyes checked– but he witnessed them flinch at the sound of his car door slamming. As he approached, the man jumped up with a sparkle in their eye, and held out a hand.

“Mike Schmidt?”

He didn’t shake it, causing the hand to fall awkwardly to your side, “Yeah.”

“Uh, anyways, I saw your ad. The diner hands out a paper full of ads with their menus, you see, and yours caught my eye.”

“You mentioned that.”

The man had a lopsided grin on his face, and you chuckled; the sound sent a spark up Mike’s spine, “Yes, yes I did. I make decent money, but I’m also looking for a bit of a side job too. Babysitting was on the top of my list, ‘cause I love kids.”

“Do you have any actual experience with it?”

“I was a babysitter for my first job in highschool,” he rambled, “my favorite kid was a little boy from a local daycare. His mom said he got diagnosed with autism and she needed extra help taking care of him during the evenings. He was a delight!”

“Why did you stop?”

“Ah, it’s a shame. Fritz, the little guy, was one of the kids that went missing at a pizzeria a while back. His mom was never the same after that, and I felt guilty that I wasn’t there.” You shuffled closer to the doors, shoulders tense.

“A pizzeria?”

You shrugged, “It got shut down soon after that. I guess when a couple of kids disappear into thin air in a restaurant, parents aren’t keen on bringing their children there anymore.”

Mike opened his mouth, ready to ask another question, but you stopped him, “Listen, I gotta go, this was my break. You have my number, right?”

He nodded, and you replied with your pinky and thumb sticking out of a fist, held to your ear. Mike watched as you disappeared into the diner, curiosity and another, more unknown feeling creeping up his chest. He remembered it so well, looking back on it.

-

Nowadays, Abby loves you. Mike could lean on the doorway, and a smile would tug on the corners of his lips as he watched you make shapes with your hands. A light was set in her room specifically for this purpose, as the shadows cast would mimic whole storylines. His little sister would view it in glee; the tales always accompanied by voice acting, your doing. Mike even started, in the back of his mind, to prefer the idea of spending the night like that instead of in front of a collection of security cameras. He observed your hands, how your body moved, your face, and more embarrassingly, your lips.

Mike studied how gentle and sickeningly sweet your voice was when you praised Abby, but also the stern expression that played in your eyes when she misbehaved. You would glance up at him sometimes, the manner still stained, and a heady feeling would slam into his brain. The experience always only lasted a few seconds, when his little sister would grumble again, and you were pulled back towards her. Frankly, there were times when Mike wished you would continue, though he’d never admit it. He pushed it down with everything else.

Alas, that can only work for so long– a man has needs. Those needs surface at the worst possible time, and for Mike, that was on his endless night shift at the pizzeria. He cursed under his breath, feeling his dick straining against his jeans. The feeling of your hand manhandling him out of his own front door was imprinted on his shoulder, even if his uniform vest covered it. Just thinking about it sent a shiver down his spine, and he closed his eyes as his eyebrows scrunched together.

“F-fuck.” He whispered. 

His seat shook as Mike shifted in it, fidgeting, unable to focus on the bright screens on his desk. The more he tried ignoring it, the more depraved thoughts infected his head. A finger trailed up the seam of his pants, his breath hitching, where it finally landed on the button holding it all together. Mike bit his lip and unbuttoned it, a whine escaping him as he palmed himself. 

He imagined it was you that was doing it, your strong palm cupping his crotch as easily as you did a mug at home. He snaked fingers into his boxers, sliding himself out of the top, and rested his forehead against the wood under the cameras. His dick twitched at the movement, and he brushed against the tip. Mike huffed as he slid his hand down, and then up, repeating; spreading precum as it came out. What else could you do with that strength?

Could you manhandle him on his hands and knees? You could, he knew, and you would trail your hands down his body. So very gentle, so very kind, for what you were about to do. You could hold his hips still to prevent him from thrusting up into your hand, as he whimpered in complaint. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he felt the stickiness grow in his hand; you could call him the most pathetic things and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. A pet, a slut, a little whore.

Mike let out a quiet moan, “Please…”

He’d face away from you as you thrust your own against his cock, not even earning the privilege to look at you. You would treat him as only a toy to use, whenever, and however you wanted. His ass would be red from how hard your skin slapped against his; the sting only sending down zaps of pleasure. You wouldn’t even bother taking off your own clothes, only his. 

“That’s it, that’s a good boy,” you’d grunt.

That same heady feeling slammed into Mike again, but this time was different– this time it was accompanied by a white flash in front of his eyes. His body seized upwards, drool smearing against the desktop. The guard felt warmth drip down his palm, onto his pants and the floor. For the first time in what felt like forever, he let out a deep, shaky breath. 

The stain was going to be hard to explain.

-

[lunewolf13]

Jason is rereading Sense and Sensibility when his phone rings. He looks at the caller ID to make sure it's not Bruce. It's not Bruce, so he picks up.

Jason bookmarks the page and puts the paperback down: What's up, Shrimp?

Tim, sounding actually, genuinely sad: Despair.

Jason straightens: What? What's wrong?

He's two seconds from grabbing some guns and sprinting to his bike when Tim's voice interrupts that plan.

Tim: No one's dead! Chill! I just need some emotional support. Just tell me I'm not useless and this isn't a reflection on my competence.

Jason breathes out and relaxes back on the couch: If that's what you want, then why'd you call me?

Tim: Because it's Dick's mandatory self-care day and Babs threatened us to leave him alone even if the world is on literal fire.

Jason: So I'm your second choice.

Tim: No, Alfred and Cass are busy.

Jason: So I'm your fourth choice.

Tim: No, but Kon and Steph would laugh at my despair.

Jason: So would I.

Tim: Yeah, but at least you'd offer to feed me if I told you that I genuinely need emotional support right now.

Jason opens his mouth to say something snippy, then gives up and sighs.

Jason: Ugh. Fine. What's up?

Tim sniffs forlornly into the phone speaker: Despair.

Tim: I was trying to pick up my orange juice. And I lifted it too fast.

What.

Tim: So the drink went everywhere. On the floor. On the counter. On me. My place smells like orange juice and it's all my stupid arm's fault. Oh, and there's also glass everywhere. So I used my broom to pick up the glass, but it got on the orange juice and now it's sticky?

'Don't laugh don't laugh don't fucking laugh.'

Jason clears his throat, struggling to control his breathing: So did you clean it up the juice?

Tim: Yeah. But now my shirt's gross and I haven't done my laundry so I'm stuck with no shirt until I wash it.

Jason: Have you put the laundry in the washer yet?

He can just imagine Tim rolling his eyes through the phone: Yesss mom. Can you give me my pep talk now?

Jason: Gimme a sec.

He mutes the call and spends ten seconds laughing hysterically, holding his stomach and laughing until there are tears in his eyes. When that's done, he unmutes and in the most casually reassuring tone begins his Timbit Pep Talk.

Jason: Okay. I'm good.

Tim: You just laughed at my expense, didn't you.

Jason: Maybe. Not important. Listen here, what happened with your juice was an accident. Happens to the best of us. It doesn't change your worth as a person or your skills. You're still a kick-ass hero and everyone's still proud of you.

Tim: ...Wow. That actually made me feel better. Thanks, Jason.

Jason rubs his neck, embarrassed: Yeah yeah. We can watch a movie and eat some pizza before patrol, if you want.

Tim: With bacon, artichoke hearts, and onions?

Jason scowls: Ugh. Yes. I'll order your monstrosity. Come over in an hour.

Tim: Sounds good. Still a little worried about my arm though. It's never just jerked up like that.

Jason: Should probably see a doctor for it.

Tim: Yeah, probably. Man, I knew I should've said no to the electric shocks. I told Damian it wouldn't be effective.

Jason widens his eyes and prays he just misheard: What.

Tim: Oh right. We didn't tell you about the experiments.

Oh for the love of—

Jason: EXPERIMENTS???

Tim: It's not as bad as it sounds! We were just researching invasive thoughts! Just dabbling in neurology!! Totally safe! DON'T TELL BRUCE.

Jason as he's dialing a number on his second burner phone while holding this phone to his ear: Why the fuck would I tell him?!

Tim: Right. Okay, then DO NOT TELL DICK.

Jason scowls as Dick fails to pick up: Fine. But only because I value our kinship as forgotten middle children.

Tim: He didn't answer, did he.

Jason: Nope. He better be having a good fucking time after leaving me with this shit. Now I have to call Alfie and explain to him that you two fuckwads are experimenting on humans.

Tim: First of all, I'm the only one who was experimented on. Second, I'll give you twenty bucks if you don't tell anyone.

Jason: No deal.

Tim: Thirty and you can borrow Alfred for a week.

Jason wrinkles his nose: Alfie's not yours to barter with. I'm telling him that you tried to sell him off.

Tim: Not Alfred the human. The cat.

Jason: Not much better. The squirt's not gonna like you offering his cat.

Tim: He's part of the problem. He should help me fix it.

Jason taps his chin, contemplating: I want a favor from you both and the cat for a month.

Tim: Damian won't agree to losing Alfred for a month. How about two favors from us and no cat?

Jason: No. I want the cat. One month.

Tim: Two weeks.

Jason: Three.

Tim: One week, and I'll throw in a blackmail pic of Steph falling off a roof and landing inside a rat-infested Batburger dumpster.

Jason: Two weeks, and you have yourself a deal.

Tim: One week, and I'll give you the pic and a box of that super nice chocolate B likes.

Jason: ...Fine. I still want the two favors from you two. If anyone asks about what you and the squirt are doing, I know nothing about it.

Tim: Pleasure doing business with you. I have to go put my clothes in the dryer now.

Jason: Yep. See you later.

They end the call. Immediately Jason gets up to do some stress baking. Why do all his siblings have to be freaks? It's so fucked up that the Dead Robin, the literal Crime Lord, is the most normal one.

Jason decides to make caramel pecan cookies.

[ofgeography]

Hi Molly! Congrats on your book and all of the exciting stuff happening in your corner; long-time listener/first-time caller here, it is fantastic to see you putting art of all kinds out into the world. If you're at all inclined, would you be willing to talk a little about how you got into the studio to record your albums? How did you choose your producer or studio/what was the process working with studio musicians like? How fleshed out were the demos that you brought in, in terms of instrumentation/polish/etc.? I'm very curious, as I'm slowly amassing songs I'd like to record, but have no idea where to start/what to expect. Thanks!!!

hello my sweet! i'm happy to talk about this, although i'm not sure how replicable my ~process is.

i originally started recording because at my mom's house, whenever she has a party, it almost always devolves into everybody playing music and messing around. and at one of these, my mom's friend john, who is a professional musician (slash deep-sea fisherman), was like, hey you're actually pretty good do you want me to introduce you to a producer i know who lives on the island (my mom lives on an island). and i was like.....sure. so in terms of "choosing" a studio or a producer i don't have any good insight for you because i was just like. introduced to a man named greg, who i happened to vibe with super well and everything just kind of worked out.

that being said! there are a ton of websites where you can put in your location and pick from profiles; the one i think has the best rep is SoundBetter.

most of my songs were pretty fleshed out, in terms of lyrics/melody/structure, and i worked with greg to be like, okay, now that i can hire people to do stuff, what would i want to build this song into? (for example, mile magnificent has an accordion in it. i do not play the accordion.) plus, i am good enough at the instruments that i play that i can make myself a demo that's like ... "this is how i want the song to go, and the vibe i'm looking for," but i certainly can't shred on guitar or whatever, so most of the songs (except a couple) i hired a guitarist to play it. or made my brother do it, because he's a very gifted instrumentalist (bastard).

but there were certainly bits where i was like, "i like the meat of this song but i don't love what i'm doing on the bridge" or whatever, and then it was a matter of messing around in the studio to figure out what worked better.

this also means there's songs where i'm sharing songwriting credit with (for example) greg, because he meaningfully contributed to changing something about the song. that's something we worked out based on vibes after the fact, but don't do that. that worked out for me but it's not like. an actual process you should follow. you should be clear with the person you're working with and they should be clear with you.

really the number one thing i think probably is important is you find someone to work with who you like. you could have, idk, jack antonoff or whatever, but if you guys don't vibe, it's going to be a bad experience, and you're probably not going to end up with music that feels authentic to you. so that's what i'd say in terms of choice.

final thing: i don't have a record label, which means that i paid for all of my music. greg very sweetly didn't charge me for studio time, but most people probably will, plus for whatever services they're rendering (musicians, mastering, production, etc etc). it's a sliding scale of cost, but obviously the harder you go the bigger the expense. i want to be transparent about that. i was able to pay to play because i was able to pay to play.

recording in a studio with a producer is one way to do it but it's an expensive way if you don't have a label (and even, frankly, if you DO have a label). and you don't make a lot of money streaming, so it's income you probably won't get back (unless you blow up!). i would say i make between $200 - $400 from streaming, every ... few months? and don't get me wrong, that's great, i'm very grateful! but the cost going in was like. $9k (about $3k per album). so given all of my streams, which is more than 2 million, even using the highest streaming revenue it took me 2 years to make back.

if that's not possible for you, there are TONS of ways you can do it yourself. it won't be the same experience! but the product can end up just as great, and honestly sometimes better. for example there's stuff like:

soundtrap (probably the best non-Logic Pro track builder, not free though)

audacity (no-frills, but free)

cakewalk (free! and very intuitive.)

all of these can help you record yourself. and sure, you CAN buy all the fancy microphones and stuff, but frankly, you don't have to. iphones & computers etc have gotten to the point where you can do really good work with just those. so i don't want the money stuff to discourage you, i just want you to go in with your eyes open.

i hope this helps!!!