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witchywithwhiskey · 4 months ago

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For your sweethearts game, I spun the wheel and got sweet talk. Thought Johnny Storm could be a fun combination for the prompt. Hopefully this inspired something 💜

sweet talk

pairing: boyfriend!johnny storm x female reader

summary: in a dark, secluded booth in the corner of a nightclub, johnny storm sweet talks you into getting into some kind of trouble on valentine's day.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, public sex, drunk sex, consensual sexual coercion, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cock warming, hand job (over the pants), roughness and rough body play, choking, marking/hickeys, possessiveness, dirty talk, degradation kink, objectification kink, praise kink, pet names (firelight, baby), aftercare, love confessions, sweet ending, established relationship

word count: 4.4k

a/n: ahhh Em, 'sweet talk' was such a good prompt to pair with Johnny Storm!! we all know that man has a mouth on him 👀🤭 i was originally going to try to write a different fic for this, but then i saw this post going around and i couldn't help but use it as inspiration for our dirty talking Johnny! anyway thank you for playing my sweethearts game, i hope you enjoy ♡♡

sweethearts game masterlist

Johnny Storm could sweet talk you into anything. Even when the thing in question was most certainly a crime and could very likely get the both of you in a lot of trouble. Case in point…

It was Valentine’s Day, and a Friday, and Johnny didn’t want to end the night after the swanky dinner he’d taken you to. So you’d ended up at some exclusive Manhattan nightclub with a hundred disco balls hanging from the ceiling and refracting the strobing lights on the crowded dance floor.

Since Johnny was the Johnny Storm—the most charming and charismatic member of the Fantastic Four—it hadn’t been difficult to get a corner booth on the upper floor of the club with the other VIPs. You’d even been granted your own server, who’d taken your order and returned a few minutes later with your drinks.

The champagne from dinner was still bubbling in your blood as you sipped on the sweet, Valentine’s Day drink you’d ordered. You’d chosen it for the obscene amount of maraschino cherries it came with, and it wasn’t long before half the glass was gone.

The sugar and liquor went right to your head, filling it with fluffy clouds of desire, which thickened the longer you sat on the plush leather seat of the booth, warmth curling in your belly and urging you to act impulsively.

Unable to keep your hands to yourself, you leaned into Johnny’s strong, steady form, your hands smoothing up the planes of his chest, copping a feel of his thick muscles through his dress shirt. He’d shed his jacket as soon as you sat down, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves, making him look a little rumpled in the most delicious way.

One minute you were watching Johnny take a sip of his drink—an old fashioned that had come with its own cherries—your eyes fixed on the way his jaw worked, the long line of his throat bobbing in a way that was far too enticing… Then, the next thing you knew, you were licking the taste of the sweet fruit and bitter alcohol from his mouth.

Both your drinks sat forgotten on the table as you made out with your boyfriend, your lips working furiously to devour each other. Tongues slipped into hot, greedy mouths, while teeth nipped and lips sucked, fingers digging and clinging desperately.

The rest of the club fell away, your hands growing bolder as you sank deeper into Johnny and the haze of lust clinging to your skin. Moans spilled from your mouth unbidden, being swallowed up by the pounding music of the club.

In the dim corner booth, it felt like you and Johnny were the only two people in the world. But the rational side of your mind—which hadn’t been entirely obliterated by the drinks and desire burning through your body (at least, not yet)—was very much aware you were still in public.

So when Johnny suggested you take things further, right there in the club, where anyone could see, you knew better than to say yes.

“Johnny, we could get arrested,” you whined into his mouth, your fingernails scraping through the thick scruff on his jaw. You loved it this length—too long to be stubble, but too short to be a beard. It felt divine against your smooth cheeks, and especially between your soft thighs…

“Only if we get caught,” Johnny said smoothly, his breath ghosting over your lips and teasing you enough that you let out a desperate, keening sound. His smug chuckle sent a ripple of desire down your spine, settling heavily between your already squirming legs.

The bass of the music in the club was pounding through the floor and the seat of the booth, and you could feel it throbbing between your thighs, matching the rate of your thrumming pulse. A heady, almost feral need pumped through your body, and you shifted even closer to Johnny, kissing him again with feverish lust.

Arousal was clouding your mind, blotting out the rational arguments that had seemed so important a moment before.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you shoved Johnny’s hand underneath the hem of your dress. You were so wet, so worked up by making out, it wouldn’t take him long to get you off. If you were quick, maybe no one would notice…

Johnny must’ve been having similar thoughts because, as he kissed down the side of your neck, sucking on the soft skin hard enough to leave a trail of hickeys in his wake, his fingers circled your wrist and tugged your hand away from where it had been planted on his firm chest.

He brought your palm to the thick bulge in the front of his dress pants, and you sucked in a gasp of sheer desire. He was hot and so hard, and you knew instantly how good he would feel inside you. He’d stretch your tight hole so exquisitely, fill up your warm heat so perfectly.

Even more arousal pooled low in your belly, wetness dripping from your slit and making a mess of your thighs—because, of course, you hadn’t worn panties. It was Valentine’s Day, and you’d expected Johnny to try to sweet talk you into some kind of trouble, and you’d figured panties would just get in the way.

But you still weren’t sure taking things further in the booth of a nightclub was such a good idea.

Johnny seemingly sensed your hesitation and abandoned his endeavor to leave your neck covered in hickeys. He dragged the scruff on his jaw up your neck and over your cheek, nuzzling you in a mesmerizing rhythm as he spoke in your ear.

“C’mon, firelight, ‘m so fucking hard for you.” Johnny’s voice was low and deep and so entreating, it made your core pulse with your body’s own answering need. “My cock’s throbbing for you, baby, can you feel it?”

God help you, but you could feel it. You could feel the way Johnny’s hard length was twitching. You could even feel the wet spot on the crotch of his black slacks where his precum had leaked through.

Without even having to ask, you knew Johnny hadn’t worn his usual boxer briefs, and you had to bite back a smile. You hadn’t been dating that long—less than a year—but the two of you seemed to make a good pair.

A good pair with wildly depraved desires that were bound to get you into trouble one day, but a good pair nonetheless.

Still, you’d never fucked in public before. Part of you was worried about whether you could actually get away with it, like Johnny said, while another, increasingly larger part of you was desperately horny and needy for your boyfriend’s cock.

Would it be so bad? People fucked in public all the time, especially in New York City, didn’t they?

“If we get caught…” you began to say without really knowing where you were going. But it didn’t matter, because Johnny was quick to pick up on the fact that you were being swayed to his side.

“We won’t,” he promised vehemently, his voice steady and sure in that way only Johnny could manage. “I promise, firelight, we won’t get caught, I’ll make sure of it.”

Johnny’s hand was so warm, almost scorching, as he pressed down on the back of yours, curling your fingers around his thick length through the crotch of his pants. He felt so big and hard, and you couldn’t help the way your pussy pulsed with the desire to have him buried to the hilt in your tight heat.

You were just about to give in, to admit you’d let Johnny Storm sweet talk you into yet another bit of trouble, but your boyfriend kept talking. Sometimes he didn’t know when to stop talking.

“But even if we do, I bet whoever caught us wouldn’t mind,” Johnny murmured in your ear, his voice picking up speed as he used your fingers to slowly stroke his cock through his pants. “How could they when they’d get to see your pretty pussy stretched around my fat cock.”

A vicious shiver skated down your spine, arousal flooding your body and making you tremble against Johnny’s chest. Your fingers twisted in the soft cotton of his button-up shirt while you pressed your thighs together against the ache his words had inspired. And all the while, you let him use your other hand like a toy, stroking his length.

“They should be so lucky, to get to see you creaming all over my dick,” Johnny was saying, still painting a filthy picture of getting caught fucking in the club. But he cut off suddenly with a curse. “Fuck, I need it, I need your cunt, baby.”

At that point, you knew you were going to give in, you wanted it too badly not to. But the furious pleading in Johnny’s voice was so delicious, you couldn’t help but try to coax a little bit more out it of him before you relented.

“But Johnny, we can’t,” you mewled pathetically, putting so much emphasis on your last word, you were certain he’d know what you were doing.

Sure enough, when your boyfriend caught your eye, there was a spark of knowing in the dark blue depths. An arrogant smirk curled his soft mouth and he leaned in again until his scruff rasped against your cheek. He chuckled at the way your shoulders trembled in response.

“Yes, we can,” he said, his voice smooth and seductive. “No one’s going to see us, I promise,” he went on, unerringly charming as he shifted his hand from the back of yours to slip between your thighs. “They’re all too focused on themselves to notice us fucking in a dark corner.”

You hummed noncommittally, feigning hesitation even as you continued stroking Johnny’s cock through his pants. When he huffed a sound of mild frustration, you had to bite back a delighted smirk.

“I need to feel you so bad, firelight,” Johnny whined, that furious desperation seeping back into his tone. “I can’t wait to get you home, or even to the bathroom.”

His fingers dug deep into the soft flesh of your thigh, hard enough that you knew he’d leave bruises. But you didn’t care, not when it felt so good when he got possessive and greedy like this.

You squeezed his cock in encouragement, urging him silently to go on; he kept talking, words spilling from his mouth like he couldn’t control them.

“Just sit on it, baby, sit on my cock. No one will notice, no one will catch us, I promise. We won’t even fuck, just keep my cock warm, just to take the edge off. Come on, I know you want it—just sit on my cock, firelight, please.”

You knew there was at least one lie in Johnny’s words. You knew that if you sat on Johnny’s cock, you’d end up fucking. It didn’t matter if you were in a club where anyone would see, once he was inside you, there was no way either of you could control yourselves.

But that was okay because he was telling the truth about the most important part—you did want it. You wanted it so fucking bad. All sense and reason had fled in the face of your overwhelming desire for Johnny Storm.

“Well, since you said ‘please’,” you murmured, a smirk curling the corners of your mouth as you stole a quick kiss from Johnny.

He looked a little stunned when you pulled away, like he was surprised by his luck, but then his expression melted into an affectionate grin and you knew, beyond any doubt—and even if you did get caught—you’d never be able to regret what you were about to do.

Glancing around quickly, you made sure no one was looking in your general direction. Even if they were, they wouldn’t be able to see much with the way you and Johnny were hidden in the dark corner booth, the haze of weed smoke and the shadows of the dim club obscuring you from view.

As inconspicuously as possible, you shifted onto your feet and stepped between Johnny’s spread thighs, turning your back to him and leaning slightly over your table. Curling your fingers in the skirt of your dress, you pulled up the back, baring your ass to your boyfriend’s hungry gaze.

You could feel the heat of his stare and you pressed your thighs together in an attempt to ease the ache in your core. It seemed like an eternity that you held yourself in that position—or, at least, long enough for your thighs to begin to tremble with the effort.

Thankfully, Johnny’s warm hand slid around your hip and he guided you down, having freed his cock while you’d been getting into position. You bit your lip against a gasp when you felt the broad tip of his cock press between your folds, but you didn’t stop there.

As slowly as you could manage, you sat down on Johnny’s cock, sheathing his thick length in your dripping pussy in one smooth move. It felt so fucking good, you had to cover your face with your hands and moan helplessly into them, the sound of Johnny’s groan drifting past your ears.

Thankfully, the loud music in the club swallowed up the sounds of both your pleasure. And when you changed a glance through your fingers, no one was paying you and Johnny any mind.

Once you were seated, Johnny curled himself around your back, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he drew you deeper into the booth with him. Your thighs were still pressed tight together, one of your hands clinging to the front of your dress to make sure it kept you covered.

“Relax, firelight,” Johnny urged, his tone dripping with soothing charm. His hands kneaded your plush hips and supple thighs, coaxing your body into letting go of the tension it was holding. “There ya go, baby, relax for me.”

A soft moan slipped from your lips and your head fell back against Johnny’s shoulder, your limbs loosening and your body resting deeper into the cradle of his arms. It felt so good, being connected to him on such an intimate level, his cock filling you so perfectly.

The fact that you were in public, where anyone could see you, added a deliciously depraved headiness to it. One you let yourself enjoy, all fears and worries about getting caught flitting away into the murky gloom of the club.

“Atta girl, firelight, you’re taking my cock so fucking well,” Johnny went on, his voice low and enthralling, adding to the haze of pleasure settling over your mind and body. “Being such a good slut for me, sitting pretty in my lap and keeping my cock nice and warm—you’re such a good toy, aren’t ya, baby?”

“Johnny, don’t tease me,” you whined, your fingers finding his and hefting his arm up over your shoulder. The move allowed you to bury your face in his bicep, hiding the dirty and debauched things his words were doing to your body.

Johnny chuckled, settling his chin on your other shoulder and brushing a kiss to your cheek, making sure his scruff rasped against your skin.

“I’m not teasing you,” he murmured in a sweeter voice. “You feel so fucking good on my cock, so tight and warm and wet—and all for me.”

Warily, you pulled your face from your boyfriend’s bicep and turned to look at him, catching his eye as he leaned over your shoulder.

Once he saw you were looking, his mouth curved into a devil-may-care smirk, and you knew whatever he was about to say was going to make you even wetter than you already were.

“And you are a slut, baby,” Johnny said, his voice even darker and more shameless as he went on, spilling filth in your ear without even pausing to take a breath. “Only a slut would sit on my cock because you were horny, only a slut would let me cockwarm this sweet pussy in public like this—only a slut would get off on the possibility of being caught with my cock buried balls deep in your greedy cunt.”

Johnny’s hands squeezed your hips, rocking you hard on his stiff length while he was grinding up into you. The head of his cock brushed against somewhere deep inside of you, and you felt your pussy clench and gush with even more wetness, your shoulders trembling as you moaned shamelessly into the dark of the club.

“Oh god, Johnny, I’m—please, I need…” you trailed off. You didn’t know what you needed exactly, whether it was for him to keep doing what he was doing or to bend you over the table and fuck you right there in the club. You just knew Johnny was the only one who could give it to you.

A heartbeat later, a gentle weight settled over your lap and you looked down, finding Johnny had laid his suit jacket across your legs. It was big enough that it hid your lap entirely from view, in case anyone happened to peer through the gloom at what you and your boyfriend were doing.

Before you could thank Johnny for the sweet gesture, he was slipping one of his hands beneath the jacket, wasting no time curling his fingers under the hem of your skirt and finding your clit.

The first brush of his fingertip to your tight bundle of nerves felt like he’d set off a mountain fireworks beneath your skin, pleasure bursting and zipping through your limbs.

Your body tried to curl in on itself, every bit of you trembling while pitiful whimpers spilled endlessly from your lips.

But Johnny chased after you, wrapping his other hand firmly around the front of your throat. He pinned your back to his chest while he bounced you on his cock and rubbed your clit.

“Here’s how this is gonna go, firelight, you’re gonna cum on my cock right here in this club,” Johnny growled in your ear, so much conviction in his tone that it was just as intoxicating as the pleasure coursing through your body. “Then I’m gonna drain my balls in your pretty cunt and keep you on my lap, my cock plugging you full of my cum while we finish our drinks. Got it?”

“Yeah-huh,” you mumbled, your head lolling to the side until you were pressed temple-to-temple with your boyfriend.

His skin was damp with sweat, just like yours, and the scent of his cologne mixed with the sweet tang of cherries and whiskey on his breath.

You wanted to kiss him, but all you could do was sit on his cock and take it, moaning loud enough, you were certain he could hear even over the roaring, pounding music.

Johnny’s fingers dug into the sides of your throat, adding a delicious sting of pain but not cutting off your sounds of pleasure. A moment later, you understood why.

“Yeah, baby, let me hear how good ‘m making you feel, wanna hear you moaning while I choke you and bounce you on my cock like a gorgeous fuckdoll,” Johnny said, barely pausing to take a breath, like he couldn’t stop the torrent of filthy talk even if he’d tried. “You’re my perfect cock drunk slut, aren’t you, baby, just a pretty fucktoy who loves being used anywhere and everywhere to pleasure my cock, huh?”

“Yuh huh, yuh huh, yuh huh,” you babbled, in between desperate, whining sounds of pleasure. “Your toy, Johnny, all yours.”

“That’s my girl, such a good slut—my perfect, pretty fucktoy,” Johnny cooed in your ear, his fingers digging into the sides of your neck and choking you harder. Between your thighs, he rubbed your clit faster, his pace merciless. “Now be a good girl and cum on my cock, firelight—come on, I need to feel your cunt milking my cock, baby.”

Johnny’s commanding words, his thick cock and his ruthless hands all conspired against you, and you stood little chance against the deluge of pleasure he was giving you. It was all you could do to cling to him, your nails digging deep into his forearms as your release crashed over you.

Not a second too soon, Johnny’s hand slapped over your mouth and you screamed your pleasure, your mind going completely blank with bliss as wave after wave of your release flooded through your body. You tensed and shuddered in your boyfriend’s lap, your pussy gripping his cock so tight, it was like you were begging for his cum.

Johnny buried his face in your shoulder and shifted his hand from between your legs, gripping the crease of your thigh and rutting into you as he chased his release. A moment later, he found it, grunting his pleasure and pressing his gritted teeth into your sweat-slick skin to muffle his loud groans.

It seemed to go on forever, the twitching and throbbing of Johnny’s cock in your cunt, spilling his seed deep inside you while you rode out the aftershocks of your own release.

Finally, when you were both spent, you and Johnny collapsed back into the booth, your body sprawled on top of your boyfriend’s, both your chests heaving as you caught your breath.

When you were recovered enough, you twisted your shoulders and grabbed Johnny’s face in both hands, pulling him in for the filthiest kiss of the night. It was all hot breath and vicious teeth, your pussy still pulsing around his cock, and his cum still leaking into your tight heat.

“You’re an impossible menace,” you declared when you finally pulled away, the severity of your words dampened by the undeniable affection in your tone.

Johnny tipped his head back and laughed, the sound boisterous and entirely unrepentant. But when he sobered and looked back at you, there was something deeper than affection in his sparkling blue eyes.

“Yeah, but I’m your menace, firelight,” Johnny said. His tone was much more serious all of a sudden, and it made your heart jump and take off in a gallop in your chest.

Belatedly, Johnny seemed to realize he’d taken a turn in a certain direction, and he looked around as if searching for a way to get the two of you back to your typical flirty and fun conversations. Reaching past you, he grabbed your drink off the table and handed it to you before picking up his own.

“And you love it,” he quipped blithely, clinking his glass against yours then lifting it to his mouth.

You watched Johnny drink, his adam’s apple bobbing and wondered if you should let him get away with turning the suddenly serious conversation back to something light.

“I do,” you murmured, sipping your drink and glancing out at the strobing red lights and the endless sea of disco balls, casting crimson sparkles all across the clubgoers dancing below. You chewed idly on a maraschino cherry, the sweet liquor of your drink clinging to your tongue as thoughts swirled in your head.

It was Valentine’s Day. It was a holiday all about love, why shouldn’t you tell your boyfriend how you truly felt about him?

Impulsively, you turned back to Johnny, catching his eye and making sure you had his attention before you spoke.

For a second, your breath caught in your throat and you were scared you wouldn’t be able to say it—which made you sad, because you wanted him to know. And that thought gave you all the courage you needed to just say it.

“I love you, Johnny Storm.”

It was the first time either of you had said those words to each other, and for one terrifying moment, you worried about how he’d respond. Would he’d laugh it off as too much drinking and fucking, or would he take you seriously?

Johnny’s features went slack with surprise, but only for a second. In the next, his mouth was stretching across his handsome face into a wildly happy grin. Love shone in his eyes, and, though you couldn’t be sure, you thought you saw a glimmer of tears before he blinked them away.

“It’s about time, baby—what’s not to love about me?” he teased, pulling you in for a deep kiss, his scruff rasping against your cheeks and his tongue slipping into your mouth. He kissed you slow and sweet, showing you depth of his feelings.

When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours and said the words you wanted to hear. They weren’t more jokes or teasing, or more sweet talk. They were the truth.

“I love you, too, firelight.”

Your heart soared and you couldn’t help the beaming smile that spread across your face so wide, it nearly hurt your cheeks. For a moment, you basked in Johnny’s confession, and then you kissed him. You kissed him until you were breathless. And then you kissed him some more.

Eventually, the two of you finished your drinks—in between many, many more kisses—while reveling in the feeling of Johnny’s cock still buried in your pussy, his cum dripping from your slit. It wasn’t until it came time to leave that you realized just how much of a mess you’d made of his pants.

Like the dutiful girlfriend you were, you walked in front of Johnny the entire way out of the club, his jacket around your shoulders and his hands holding your hips possessively.

To anyone you passed, he just looked like a guy obsessed with his girlfriend—which, of course, he was.

Once you made it back to his apartment overlooking the Manhattan skyline, Johnny proved all over again just how much of a sweet-talking menace he could be, eating his cum from your pussy before fucking another load into you.

Then he fucked it even deeper, crooning in your ear about how much he loved you and your slutty cunt—and your big, throbbing heart.

By the time the both of you were sated, and had said ‘I love you’ a genuinely sickening amount of times, the sky was beginning to lighten on the morning of February 15, the day after Valentine’s Day.

But you didn’t care what day it was, you were just happy to fall asleep in the arms of the man you loved, the one who could sweet talk you into anything—Johnny Storm.

sweethearts game masterlist

#johnny storm #johnny storm fanfiction #johnny storm smut #johnny storm x reader #johnny storm fan art #chris evans #chris evans characters #chris evans smut #chris evans fanfiction #witchywithwhiskey's sweethearts #witchywithwhiskeywork #writing-for-marvel #established relationship #valentine's day

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 months ago

Text

“The Fagin figure leading Elon Musk’s merry band of pubescent sovereignty pickpockets”

This week only, Barnes and Noble is offering 25% off pre-orders of my forthcoming novel Picks and Shovels. ENDS TODAY!.

While we truly live in an age of ascendant monsters who have hijacked our country, our economy, and our imaginations, there is one consolation: the small cohort of brilliant, driven writers who have these monsters' number, and will share it with us. Writers like Maureen Tkacik:

https://prospect.org/topics/maureen-tkacik/

Journalists like Wired's Vittoria Elliott, Leah Feiger, and Tim Marchman are absolutely crushing it when it comes to Musk's DOGE coup:

https://www.wired.com/author/vittoria-elliott/

And Nathan Tankus is doing incredible work all on his own, just blasting out scoop after scoop:

https://www.crisesnotes.com/

But for me, it was Tkacik – as usual – in the pages of The American Prospect who pulled it all together in a way that finally made it make sense, transforming the blitzkreig Muskian chaos into a recognizable playbook. While most of the coverage of Musk's wrecking crew has focused on the broccoli-haired Gen Z brownshirts who are wilding through the server rooms at giant, critical government agencies, Tkacik homes in on their boss, Tom Krause, whom she memorably dubs "the Fagin figure leading Elon Musk’s merry band of pubescent sovereignty pickpockets" (I told you she was a great writer!):

https://prospect.org/power/2025-02-06-private-equity-hatchet-man-leading-lost-boys-of-doge/

Krause is a private equity looter. He's the guy who basically invented the playbook for PE takeovers of large tech companies, from Broadcom to Citrix to VMWare, converting their businesses from selling things to renting them out, loading them up with junk fees, slashing quality, jacking up prices over and over, and firing everyone who was good at their jobs. He is a master enshittifier, an enshittification ninja.

Krause has an unerring instinct for making people miserable while making money. He oversaw the merger of Citrix and VMWare, creating a ghastly company called The Cloud Software Group, which sold remote working tools. Despite this, of his first official acts was to order all of his employees to stop working remotely. But then, after forcing his workers to drag their butts into work, move back across the country, etc, he reversed himself because he figured out he could sell off all of the company's office space for a tidy profit.

Krause canceled employee benefits, like thank you days for managers who pulled a lot of unpaid overtime, or bonuses for workers who upgraded their credentials. He also ended the company's practice of handing out swag as small gifts to workers, and then stiffed the company that made the swag, wontpaying a $437,574.97 invoice for all the tchotchkes the company had ordered. That's not the only supplier Krause stiffed: FinLync, a fintech company with a three-year contract with Krause's company, also had to sue to get paid.

Krause's isn't a canny operator who roots out waste: he's a guy who tears out all the wiring and then grudgingly restores the minimum needed to keep the machine running (no wonder Musk loves him, this is the Twitter playbook). As Tkacik reports, Krause fucked up the customer service and reliability systems that served Citrix's extremely large, corporate customers – the giant businesses that cut huge monthly checks to Citrix, whose CIOs received daily sales calls from his competitors.

Workers who serviced these customers, like disabled Air Force veteran David Morgan, who worked with big public agencies, were fired on one hour's notice, just before their stock options vested. The giant public agency customers he'd serviced later called him to complain that the only people they could get on the phone were subcontractors in Indian call centers who lacked the knowledge and authority to resolve their problems.

Last month, Citrix fired all of its customer support engineers. Citrix's military customers are being illegally routed to offshore customer support teams who are prohibited from working with the US military.

Citrix/VMWare isn't an exception. The carnage at these companies is indistinguishable from the wreck Krause made of Broadcom. In all these cases, Krause was parachuted in by private equity bosses, and he destroyed something useful to extract a giant, one-time profit, leaving behind a husk that no longer provides value to its customers or its employees.

This is the DOGE playbook. It's all about plunder: take something that was patiently, carefully built up over generations and burn it to the ground, warming yourself in the pyre, leaving nothing behind but ash. This is what private equity plunderers have been doing to the world's "advanced" economies since the Reagan years. They did it to airlines, family restaurants, funeral homes, dog groomers, toy stores, pharma, palliative care, dialysis, hospital beds, groceries, cars, and the internet.

Trump's a plunderer. He was elected by the plunderer class – like the crypto bros who want to run wild, transforming workers' carefully shepherded retirement savings into useless shitcoins, while the crypto bros run off with their perfectly cromulent "fiat" money. Musk is the apotheosis of this mindset, a guy who claims credit for other peoples' productive and useful businesses, replacing real engineering with financial engineering. Musk and Krause, they're like two peas in a pod.

That's why – according to anonymous DOGE employees cited by Tckacik – DOGE managers are hired for their capacity for cruelty: "The criteria for DOGE is how many you have fired, how much you enjoy firing people, and how little you care about the impact on peoples well being…No wonder Tom Krause was tapped for this. He’s their dream employee!"

The fact that Krause isn't well known outside of plunderer circles is absolutely a feature for him, not a bug. Scammers like Krause want to be admitted to polite society. This is why the Sacklers – the opioid crime family that kicked off the Oxy pandemic that's murdered more than 800,000 Americans so far – were so aggressive about keeping their association with their family business, Purdue Pharma, a secret. The Sacklers only wanted to be associated with the art galleries and museums they put their names over, and their lawyers threatened journalists for writing about their lives as billionaire drug pushers (I got one of those threats).

There's plenty of good reasons to be anonymous – if you're a whistleblower, say. But if you ever encounter a corporate executive who insists on anonymity, that's a wild danger sign. Take Pixsy, the scam "copyleft trolls" whose business depends on baiting people into making small errors when using images licensed under very early versions of the Creative Common licenses, and then threatening to sue them unless they pay hundreds or thousands of dollars:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/24/a-bug-in-early-creative-commons-licenses-has-enabled-a-new-breed-of-superpredator/

Kain Jones, the CEO of Pixsy, tried to threaten me under the EU's GDPR for revealing the names of the scammer on his payroll who sent me a legal threat, and the executive who ran the scam for his business (I say he tried to threaten me because I helped lobby for the GDPR and I know for a fact that this isn't a GDPR violation):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/13/an-open-letter-to-pixsy-ceo-kain-jones-who-keeps-sending-me-legal-threats/

These people understand that they are in the business of ripping people off, causing them grave and wholly unjust financial injury. They value their secrecy because they are in the business of making strangers righteously furious, and they understand that one of these strangers might just show up in their lives someday to confront them about their transgressions.

This is why Unitedhealthcare freaked out so hard about Luigi Mangione's assassination of CEO Brian Thompson – that's not how the game is supposed to be played. The people who sit in on executive row, destroying your lives, are supposed to be wholly insulated from the consequences of their actions. You're not supposed to know who they are, you're not supposed to be able to find them – of course.

But even more importantly, you're not supposed to be angry at them. They pose as mere software agents in an immortal colony organism called a Limited Liability Corporation, bound by the iron law of shareholder supremacy to destroy your life while getting very, very rich. It's not supposed to be personal. That's why Unitedhealthcare is threatening to sue a doctor who was yanked out of surgery on a cancer patient to be berated by a UHC rep for ordering a hospital stay for her patient:

https://gizmodo.com/unitedhealthcare-is-mad-about-in-luigi-we-trust-comments-under-a-doctors-viral-post-2000560543

UHC is angry that this surgeon, Austin's Dr Elisabeth Potter, went Tiktok-viral with her true story of how how chaotic and depraved and uncaring UHC is. UHC execs fear that Mangione made it personal, that he obliterated the accountability sink of the corporation and put the blame squarely where it belongs – on the (mostly) men at the top who make this call.

This is a point Adam Conover made in his latest Factually podcast, where he interviewed Propublica's T Christian Miller and Patrick Rucker:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_5tDXRw8kg

Miller and Rucker published a blockbuster investigative report into Cigna's Evocore, a secret company that offers claims-denials as a service to America's biggest health insurers:

https://www.propublica.org/article/evicore-health-insurance-denials-cigna-unitedhealthcare-aetna-prior-authorizations

If you're the CEO of a health insurance company and you don't like how much you're paying out for MRIs or cancer treatment, you tell Evocore (which processes all your claim authorizations) and they turn a virtual dial that starts to reduce the number of MRIs your customers are allowed to have. This dial increases the likelihood that a claim or pre-authorization will be denied, which, in turn, makes doctors less willing to order them (even if they're medically necessary) and makes patients more likely to pay for them out of pocket.

Towards the end of the conversation, Miller and Rucker talk about how the rank-and-file people at an insurer don't get involved with the industry to murder people in order to enrich their shareholders. They genuinely want to help people. But executive row is different: those very wealthy people do believe their job is to kill people to save money, and get richer. Those people are personally to blame for the systemic problem. They are the ones who design and operate the system.

That's why naming the people who are personally responsible for these immoral, vicious acts is so important. That's why it's important that Wired and Propublica are unmasking the "pubescent sovereignty pickpockets" who are raiding the federal government under Krause's leadership:

https://projects.propublica.org/elon-musk-doge-tracker/

These people are committing grave crimes against the nation and its people. They should be known for this. It should follow them for the rest of their lives. It should be the lead in their obituaries. People who are introduced to them at parties should have a flash of recognition, hastily end the handshake, then turn on their heels and race to the bathroom to scrub their hands. For the rest of their lives.

Naming these people isn't enough to stop the plunder, but it helps. Yesterday, Marko Elez, the 25 year old avowed "eugenicist" who wanted to "normalize Indian hate" and could not be "[paid] to marry outside of my ethnicity," was shown the door. He's off the job. For the rest of his life, he will be the broccoli-haired brownshirt who got fired for his asinine, racist shitposting:

https://www.npr.org/2025/02/06/nx-s1-5289337/elon-musk-doge-treasury

After Krause's identity as the chief wrecker at DOGE was revealed, the brilliant Anna Merlan (author of Republic of Lies, the best book on conspiratorialism), wrote that "Now the whole country gets the experience of what it’s like when private equity buys the place you work":

https://bsky.app/profile/annamerlan.bsky.social/post/3lhepjkudcs2t

That's exactly it. We are witnessing a private equity-style plunder of the entire US government – of the USA itself. No one is better poised to write about this than Tkacik, because no one has private equity's number like Tkacik does:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

Ironically, all this came down just as Trump announced that he was going to finally get rid of private equity's scammiest trick, the "carried interest" loophole that lets PE bosses (and, to a lesser extent, hedge fund managers) avoid billions in personal taxes:

https://archive.is/yKhvD

"Carried interest" has nothing to do with the interest rate – it's a law that was designed for 16th century sea captains who had an "interest" in the cargo they "carried":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/29/writers-must-be-paid/#carried-interest

Trump campaigned on killing this loophole in 2017, but Congress stopped him, after a lobbying blitz by the looter industry. It's possible that he genuinely wants to get rid of the carried interest loophole – he's nothing if not idiosyncratic, as the residents of Greenland can attest:

https://prospect.org/world/2025-02-07-letter-between-friendly-nations/

Even if he succeeds, looters and the "investor class" will get a huge giveaway under Trump, in the form of more tax giveaways and the dismantling of labor and environmental regulation. But it's far more likely that he won't succeed. Rather – as Yves Smith writes for Naked Capitalism – he'll do what he did with the Canada and Mexico tariffs: make a tiny, unimportant change and then lie and say he had done something revolutionary:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2025/02/is-trump-serious-about-trying-to-close-the-private-equity-carried-interest-loophole.html

This has been a shitty month, and it's not gonna get better for a while. On my dark days, I worry that it won't get better during my lifetime. But at least we have people like Tkacik to chronicle it, explain it, put it in context. She's amazing, a whirlwind. The same day that her report on Krause dropped, the Prospect published another must-read piece by her, digging deep into Alex Jones's convoluted bankruptcy gambit:

https://prospect.org/justice/2025-02-06-crisis-actors-alex-jones-bankruptcy/

It lays bare the wild world of elite bankruptcy court, another critical conduit for protecting the immoral rich from their victims. The fact that Tkacik can explain both Krause and the elite bankruptcy system on the same day is beyond impressive.

We've got a lot of work ahead of ourselves. The people in charge of this system – whose names you must learn and never forget – aren't going to go easily. But at least we know who they are. We know what they're doing. We know how the scam works. It's not a flurry of incomprehensible actions – it's a playbook that killed Red Lobster, Toys R Us, and Sears. We don't have to follow that playbook.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/07/broccoli-hair-brownshirts/#shameless

#pluralistic #Maureen Tkacik #the american prospect #corporate sociopaths #pixsy #luigi mangione #propublica #doge #coup #elon musk #guillotine watch #adam conover #private equity #citrix #tom krause #looters #marko elez

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d-z20 · 8 months ago

Text

A Risk of Ruin (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: At a lavish black-tie gala, Agatha teases you relentlessly before leading you to a secluded room overlooking the party. With the ever-present risk of being discovered heightening the tension, what begins as playful flirting quickly turns into a heated, intimate encounter.

-OR-

Agatha's too horny to wait until you get home so finds a semi-hidden place to fuck you at the party

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, Top Agatha, feminine reader, small bit of degradation and praise, semi-public sex, smut obvi, kind of possessive Agatha she wants to get caught

Words: 2.8k

A/N: Let's pretend that Agatha's outfit would actually be allowed at a black-tie event okay? Read the request

AO3 | Masterlist

The grand ballroom is a masterpiece of extravagance; every inch of it designed to impress. Glittering crystal chandeliers hang from vaulted ceilings, their light refracting over marble floors and gilded accents. Servers weave expertly through clusters of finely dressed guests, trays balanced with champagne flutes and hors d'oeuvres. It’s the annual gala for one of the most prestigious foundations in the city—a celebration of opulence and power.

Agatha had insisted you come as her date, brushing aside your hesitation about not fitting into her world. Now, standing next to her, you realise you needn’t have worried. Dressed in a striking black suit that hugs her frame perfectly, paired with an understated black bralette visible beneath the lapels, she looks every bit the powerhouse.

You, on the other hand, had spent far too much time agonising over your own look. But the moment Agatha saw you in your sparkling black gown, its high slit teasing the curve of your exposed thigh, she had whispered something sinful in your ear that left no doubt about her approval. The heat of her breath on your skin and the dark promise in her words still linger, making your heart flutter every time you replay the moment in your mind.

The evening begins smoothly enough. Agatha is a natural in these circles, effortlessly charming the other guests while keeping you close at her side. Her hand frequently finds the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd as she introduces you to various city officials. Every glance she casts your way, full of quiet possession and smouldering admiration, leaves you feeling flushed.

By the time the two of you make it to the bar, you’re desperate for a moment to collect yourself. She has been teasing you all night—an intentional brush of her fingertips along your arm here, a low murmur against your ear there. You’re so flustered, you barely taste the champagne she hands you.

"Excuse me for a moment," you manage, your voice shaky. Agatha’s eyes flick over you, her lips curving in a knowing smirk. She makes no move to stop you, but you can feel her gaze follow you as you make your way to the restroom.

The powder room is as opulent as the rest of the venue, complete with gleaming countertops, a marble basin, and a uniformed attendant stationed by the door. You offer a polite nod to the woman and make your way to the sink, grateful for the momentary reprieve from Agatha’s intoxicating presence.

Taking one of the pristine white towels on the counter, you run it under cold water before wringing it out carefully. The cool fabric feels heavenly as you press it to your wrists, then dab it lightly against your neck and chest. You’re mindful of your makeup, ensuring none of the effort you’ve put into tonight’s look is ruined. But even with the cooling touch of the water, your thoughts are still clouded by Agatha—her scent, her touch, the commanding way she has been looking at you all night.

"Need any assistance, miss?" the attendant asks softly, her voice smooth and professional.

"No, thank you," you reply, offering a polite smile. You exhale deeply, bracing your hands on the counter for a moment. Get it together.

When you finally feel composed enough to return, Agatha is waiting for you just outside the powder room. She leans against the wall, one hand in her pocket, the other holding a champagne flute. The sight of her nearly undoes all your efforts to cool off. Her dark hair frames her face in soft waves, and her suit—tailored to perfection—emphasises her every movement as she turns to look at you.

"You disappeared on me," she teases, stepping closer. Her free hand comes up to rest on your waist, her thumb brushing against the fabric of your gown just below your ribs. Her voice is low and sultry. "Couldn’t handle being around me, hmm?"

"Not everything is about you," you reply, though the breathlessness in your tone betrays you.

"Oh, but this is," she says, her lips curving into a wicked smile. Her gaze drops, lingering on the slit in your gown, and you feel her fingers skim the bare skin of your thigh. A shiver runs through you, every nerve in your body sparking to life at her touch. "Let’s find somewhere a little less... crowded."

You barely have time to process what’s happening before Agatha’s hand is in yours, her grip firm yet unhurried. With practiced ease, she guides you through a side corridor and up a discreet staircase, her confident stride giving you little choice but to follow. Moments later, she leads you into a small, lavishly decorated antechamber.

The space is secluded but far from silent. It overlooks the grand ballroom below, the gilded railing framing the glittering crowd like a painting. From this height, the noise of the party seems amplified—the cheerful hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the swell of orchestral music blending together in an intoxicating symphony. It’s a stark reminder that the two of you are just one careless sound away from discovery.The risk sends a thrill rushing through you, your skin buzzing with anticipation as Agatha closes the door softly behind her.

When she turns to face you, the look in her eyes steals your breath. There’s a smouldering hunger there, barely restrained, and it sends a shiver down your spine. Your pulse pounds in your ears, your breath quickening as her gaze pins you in place.

“Now,” she purrs, stepping closer, her hands settling on your waist as she backs you gently against the wall. Her lips curl into a wicked smile. “Where were we?”

Agatha doesn’t wait for an answer. The thrill of the noise from the ballroom below, the ever-present risk of being overheard, seems to only excite her more. Her hands slide around your waist, pulling you flush against her body as she claims your lips in a searing kiss. Her dominance is undeniable, the sharp nip at your bottom lip drawing a soft gasp from you that she swallows with a low, pleased hum. The taste of her is dizzying, the kiss consuming, as if she’s determined to leave her mark on you in every possible way.

"Careful, darling," she murmurs against your lips, her tone dripping with amusement. "We wouldn’t want to give the partygoers below a show, would we?"

Her hands begin to roam, one trailing up your back to tangle in your hair while the other slides down to the slit in your gown. Her fingers brush against your exposed thigh, sending sparks through your entire body. Your breath stutters, heat pooling low in your belly as her fingertips blaze a path across your skin.

“You’re breathtaking tonight,” she says, her voice low and husky. “Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me all evening? This dress…” She punctuates her words by pushing the fabric aside slightly, her fingers tracing the sensitive skin just above your knee. The deliberate slowness of her movements leaves you squirming, your body aching for more. “...is a masterpiece, but it’s been driving me insane.”

Your breath hitches as her fingers travel higher, her touch deliberate and maddeningly slow. The cool night air from the balcony kisses your skin where her hands expose it, heightening every sensation. She leans in, her lips brushing against your ear.

“Be quiet for me,” she whispers, her voice dark and commanding. “Think you can manage that?”

You nod; your words caught somewhere in your throat. The command sends a jolt of desire through you, your body tightening at the intensity in her voice.

Agatha rewards your compliance with a wicked smile, her lips claiming yours again as her hand moves higher. She slides her thigh between your legs, her movements calculated and precise, as if she knows exactly how to drive you wild without uttering a word.

Her fingers brush over your bare skin, and she pauses, a low chuckle escaping her lips. "No underwear?" she purrs, her voice thick with amusement. "How typical of you... so eager, so ready to be touched." The comment makes you arch into her subconsciously—a soft whimper escaping your lips as heat pools between your thighs, your body responding involuntarily to her words.

Before you can gather yourself, Agatha presses her lips to your ear, her breath hot and teasing as she whispers, "You’re desperate, aren’t you?" The tip of her finger traces slow, teasing circles, making your breath catch. You feel your pulse quicken, the anticipation of her touch building, and the friction of her finger grazing your clit leaves you weak at the knees.

The first stroke of her fingers through your folds has you clutching at her suit jacket for support, your legs threatening to give way. She chuckles softly, her lips moving to your neck as she sets a torturously slow rhythm. Every motion is designed to unravel you, and she watches your every reaction with a predatory gaze, savouring the way your body responds to her touch.

As you moan softly, Agatha pulls away from your neck, her gaze sharp and commanding. "Shh, doll," she whispers, her voice a dangerous mix of affection and control. "You need to be quieter for me, understand?" She strokes your cheek lightly, the touch almost tender, before her hands move lower once more, continuing their slow, deliberate rhythm.

The heat pooling in your core intensifies as her fingers tease you, sliding through your slickness with agonising precision. You squirm under her touch, your hips shifting instinctively to chase the pressure you so desperately need, but Agatha is unrelenting—keeping her rhythm excruciatingly slow.

A wicked smirk plays on her lips as she tilts her head, her voice a low murmur. “Are you that desperate already?”

Her words are a dark caress, and when her thumb finally brushes over your clit, it sends a jolt of electricity through you, your knees nearly buckling as a strangled gasp slips from your lips.

"Look at you," she murmurs against your skin, her voice thick with desire. "So perfect, so sensitive... I could keep you like this all night."

You whimper softly, your grip tightening on her as her pace increases. The muffled sounds of the party below only add to the thrill of the moment, the constant threat of being overheard making it impossible to think clearly. All you can focus on is Agatha—her hands, her lips, her voice.

Agatha's fingers never falter, each stroke purposeful, her rhythm teasingly slow. “You like this, don’t you, doll?” she purrs, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction as her teeth graze the sensitive spot on your neck. “You’re such a mess for me already, and we’ve only just begun.”

You let out a shaky breath, your body trembling against hers, but Agatha isn’t done with you yet. With a devilish hum, she shifts, pressing her thigh more firmly between your legs, pinning you harder against the wall. “There, that’s better,” she murmurs, her free hand snaking up to cup your jaw, tilting your face so she can drink in every reaction. “Eyes on me, darling. I want to see everything.”

Her command sends a shiver down your spine, and when your gaze meets hers—those dark, hungry eyes fixed on you—it feels impossible to look away. Agatha smirks at the heat flooding your expression, her thumb brushing your bottom lip as her fingers continue their torturous work. “So beautiful when you’re falling apart for me,” she croons, the praise laced with just enough teasing to make your cheeks burn.

Your hips buck instinctively, chasing her touch, desperate for more, but Agatha only slows her pace, her movements maddeningly deliberate. “Oh no, doll,” she murmurs, clicking her tongue in mock admonishment. “Don’t get greedy. You’ll take what I give you, won’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp, the word tumbling from your lips before you can stop it.

“Good girl,” she praises, her smile downright wicked as she rewards your obedience with a firmer, faster rhythm. Your head tips back against the wall, a strangled moan escaping you before you can stop it.

Agatha stills immediately, her hand leaving you aching and empty as she grips your chin, forcing your head upright to meet her gaze again. “What did I say about being quiet?” she chides softly, though the dark edge in her voice betrays just how much the sound excites her. “Do you want everyone down there to know how filthy you are being for me?”

You shake your head quickly, swallowing hard as you bite down on your lip to stifle another sound. Agatha grins, clearly satisfied by your submission, and leans in to press a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. “That’s better. I knew you could behave for me.”

you with a practiced confidence that leaves you trembling. Each touch is deliberate, calculated—her fingertips sliding through your slickness with maddening precision before circling back to tease your clit. Her movements are agonisingly slow, designed to keep you teetering on the edge, and it works. Your breathing grows uneven, with shallow gasps escaping as the tension coiling in your core tightens with every passing second.

"Look at you," she murmurs, her voice a dark, velvety caress. "Falling apart so easily."

Her words send a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body, and when her thumb presses more firmly against your clit, a loud whimper slips past your lips. Agatha chuckles softly, the sound low and predatory, her breath ghosting over your ear. "Careful, darling," she warns, though there’s a note of amusement in her tone. "I told you to be quiet."

Her free hand snakes up to your jaw, her grip firm yet tender as she tilts your head to face her. "Focus," she commands, her dark eyes pinning you in place as she continues her slow, torturous rhythm. "I want to see every little reaction."

The weight of her gaze makes you feel exposed, vulnerable, yet utterly consumed. Your body betrays you, hips shifting instinctively to meet her hand, but Agatha only smirks, pulling back slightly—just enough to make you whine in frustration.

"So greedy," she hums, her tone dripping with smug satisfaction. "You want more, don’t you?" Her fingers trace an achingly slow path, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves before pulling away again. You nod, your body arching against the wall as you chase the relief she’s withholding.

"Say it," she demands, her voice a low growl as her fingers hover just out of reach. "Tell me what you need."

Your cheeks burn at the command, but the ache between your thighs drowns out any sense of embarrassment. "More," you whisper, your voice shaky. "Please… I need more."

Agatha’s lips curve into a wicked smile as she leans in, brushing her mouth against your ear. "Good girl," she praises, her words sending another shiver through you. Without warning, she thrusts two fingers inside you, resuming her rhythm with a renewed intensity that leaves you breathless.

The tension building in your core feels unbearable now, each stroke of her fingers driving you closer to the edge. Your legs threaten to give way, your body trembling uncontrollably as pleasure coils tighter and tighter within you. Agatha watches you intently, her eyes dark with desire and triumph.

“Come for me, darling,” she whispers against your ear, her voice low and commanding. “Let go. Be good and fall apart on my fingers.”

It doesn’t take long—her words, her touch, and her sheer presence are too much to bear. Your body tenses, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your nails digging into her suit jacket as you try desperately to stay quiet. Agatha holds you through it, her lips peppering soft kisses along your jaw as she slows her movements, letting you ride out the aftershocks.

“There you go, doll,” she murmurs, her voice softening, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “So perfect for me. Just like I knew you would be.”

You exhale shakily, your cheeks flushed as your gaze flickers toward the railing, a wave of awareness crashing over you. The crowd below continues to laugh and dance, blissfully unaware of what has just transpired above them.

“Relax, darling,” Agatha murmurs, catching your chin between her fingers and tilting your face back to hers. Her smirk is confident, unshaken. “No one saw. And if they had... " She leans in closer, her voice dropping to a velvety whisper. “I’d want them to know exactly who you belong to.”

Your breath hitches at her words, your heart pounding all over again. Before you can respond, Agatha slips an arm around your waist, pulling you effortlessly into her side. With a satisfied hum, she guides you toward the door, back to the centre of the party waiting below. The warmth of her touch lingers on your skin, and her promise of what awaits you later dances in the air, sending another delicious shiver through you.

-----

reblog if you want Agatha to fuck you at a fancy party <3

-----

I felt like the side room was more elegant than them fucking in the restroom as that would've been a little cramped speaking from experience I mean that's what I imagine it would be

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ms-demeanor · 6 months ago

Note

Maybe I should wait for the PDF, but I’ve been thinking about password managers lately and might forget to check for that. My problem is that if there’s one thing I want to never ever put on the cloud to potentially get compromised, it’s my password information. But if there’s one thing I don’t want to lose access to, it’s also my password information. This seems to rule out both local options like KeePassXC and remote ones like Bitwarden.

I've started to become somewhat annoyed by the "there is no cloud, there is only someone else's computer" thing (this is a general thing, not specifically directed at you but you reminded me of it).

The risks of putting things on the cloud are that the internet or the provider will go down and you'll lose access to your data OR that the data will be compromised because the information is essentially public because it's on someone else's device.

Losing access because the provider crashes and burns or because there is a global internet outage is a distinct possibility, however with most password managers it is very very easy to download a copy of your data, which you can then store as an encrypted file on your desktop.

With companies like Bitwarden and Proton, which have open source encrypted cloud storage, your risk of compromise from being on someone else's computer is essentially zero. It IS important to make sure that you're finding a provider who is actually encrypting your shit and is not holding onto your password, which is why Bitwarden and Proton are the providers I keep recommending (privacyguides.org has recommendations here; bitwarden, protonpass, and keepassxc are all on the list, all of these are extremely safe options).

And that's where I have the problem with the "other people's computer" thing. I would have zero problems with storing a properly encrypted file in the comments of a facebook page. If a document had good encryption I would post it on livejournal and not worry about people getting into it. If you are working with good encryption, there is zero risk of compromise when keeping your shit on someone else's computer.

So I actually think the solution for either side of this conundrum is the same: If you're worried about losing access to your password manager because a service shuts down or the internet blows up, download a copy of your data to your desktop and store it in an encrypted folder on your computer. If you're worried about losing access to your password manager if your physical hardware is damaged in a disaster, export a copy of your data, save it as an encrypted file, and upload your encrypted file to gmail for all it matters - they will straight up not be able to get into it.

But that's also all kind of beside the point because a major feather in Bitwarden's cap is that you can self-host. It doesn't need to go on someone else's cloud, you can put it on your own server and never worry that someone else is going to tinker with your password manager.

Either way, you are sort of worrying beyond your means because if you're not using a password manager right now you are almost certainly at greater risk of credential stuffing attacks than anything else and need to put out that fire.

Anyway if you're at Harvey Mudd have you tried Dr. Grubbs across from where Rhino used to be? Everything on the menu is great but there is this jalapeño garlic sauce they've got to go with their mains that is so good that I want like two gallons of it.

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kingofthewilderwest · 9 months ago

Text

To everyone who asked, and to everyone who didn't:

Yes. I have somewhere between 1,000 and 2,000 of TwoSet's videos, all in HD quality. LINK BELOW

Earlier this year in 2024, I downloaded every single TwoSet Violin public video from their YouTube and scoured other sites like Bilibili and Facebook to get videos they'd deleted from at least one platform. My goal was to make some fandom compilation videos that'd require going through every video.

I do not have the last few months of 2024 (which I'm kicking myself for... I literally almost did a download update on SUNDAY). But I have almost everything.

2 mil, 3 mil, 4 mil, Fantasia, Hilary Hahn or Ray Chen collabs, Producer Shaun, professional versus beginner, violin charades, that cheeky skit you shared on Facebook in 2016

Their world tour VODs, including my own personal captures of their latest VOD stream

Some of the content from their Facebook kickstarter livestreams that I found from other fans.

I've been collecting all their TikTok videos currently, too. I've downloaded a spattering of their Instagram stories from 2024 and might have a small collection of recent Instagram videos, too.

I do not have everything, but I have a fuckton and I want to share it with as many people as possible, and collaborate with as many people as possible to fill in the missing pieces.

Please contact me if you have your own archives or know people working on other archives. I'm talking with a few people about starting a Google Drive project, but I don't know the big names in the TSV fandom and thus could be missing out on people who've done a lot of other work

It's more likely that this will clear over in the coming days / weeks / month / whatever and we'll have their official channel again. I'm still going to keep believing that. But it doesn't erase the importance of making sure the media we love doesn't become lost media. I have respect for content creators to monitor what does and doesn't stay on their platform, but for the sake of preservation of media, for the sake of helping a community, I want to make sure this archive is in place and widely accessible to TwoSetters.

My current cloud server is VERY MUCH a work in progress. I am in the middle of an extremely busy week and trying to do this around an office job and a half. It will take me time to upload everything, and even more time to organize everything. But the cloud server link is active, and I will keep people updated about the progress of my archiving through a PDF text file (not yet uploaded) in said cloud. If I collaborate with people for Google Drive systems, if I do other backups, I will let people know there and on my other social media accounts.

I am new and naive to Terabox. I started with Terabox because it's free to upload up to a terabyte of content. I think it should be free to download everything in full quality, but I don't know. People should inform me how it works. It's currently -- I'm sorry -- VERY poorly organized and requires Scrolling (TM), but short of that issue (which will be fixed with organization), I hope it gets people what they need.

Also: Reddit has suspended me for a few days lol (really I'm getting a slap on the wrist for how blatantly I was marching about), so if people want to start spreading this link to others in private chats elsewhere with known TwoSetters, the more the merrier! The purpose of this is to be a resource, either short-term or long-term.

#TSV #TwoSet Violin #twosetviolin #music #classical music

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porterdavis · 6 months ago

Text

From the essential Letters from an American by Heather Richardson:

"Shortly after 1:00 this morning...“[a] 25-year-old engineer named Marko Elez, who previously worked for two Elon Musk companies [SpaceX and X], has direct access to Treasury Department systems responsible for nearly all payments made by the US government.”

What follows is a journey into the unthinkable. A half-dozen downy-cheeked codebros in the employ of a South African billionaire have seized control of the beating heart of the entire US financial system -- the computers that write 90% of the checks issued by the government as well as those that receive payments to the government.

Included in that, of course, is the complete financial data of every taxpayer and every corporation in the country. The leverage there for coercion, extortion, outright blackmail as well as general malicious mischief in delaying or cancelling payments is almost incalculable. And this is on a national level.

It's probably already too late. Those codebros, sucking down Red Bulls and sleeping on mattresses carted into the server rooms by their boss, have doubtless loaded all the data up into the cloud. There will be no Keifer Sutherland beating a ticking 24 clock arriving in the nick of time to press the cancel button. The horses are out of the barn.

The response so far has been laughable. The general public bears the bulk of the responsibility of this for petulantly choosing against voting for a Black woman, instead supporting a felonious conman. The Democrats in Congress know what's happening yet can only muster a few megaphones to stand in front of the Treasury building (the scene of the crime) and bark slogans to the believers.

The kids in the server rooms are there illegally, no matter what pretext Donnie or Elon attempt to sell. They need to be dragged out by force. I'm not talking about the Brooks Brothers republicans who swarmed the counting rooms in Florida in 2000 and swayed the election. I'm talking the SDS students who seized the administration buildings at Brown and Columbia in the 60's. Yes, it is illegal and yes, there could be physical confrontations with militia and/or police, but as the GOP itself used to say -- freedom isn't free.

Now for those of you who might call me out for calling for 'good trouble' from the relative comfort and safety of Canada, please be aware that I actually did walk the walk, paid in blood. Chicago Convention 1968. Campus shutdown and interrogation by the FBI in 1969. Other actions for which the statute of limitations has hopefully expired but will remain private. But do the math. I'm old. Nonetheless if circumstances seem to me to dictate it, I will break my boycott of the US and head to DC to at least provide cannon fodder.

But I really want to call on every concerned citizen to DO SOMETHING. Call your congressman (don't write or email, they view that as too easy to be meaningful). Show up at the field offices.

The American Democracy experiment is 250 years old and has suffered a grievous wound in the last three weeks. It's survival hangs in the balance. The best options if it fails is the US becomes Hungary, an 'illiberal democracy'. Next on the scale would be becoming like Russia, a totalitarian state run by a dictator and the oligarchs.

Last, of course, is Gilead.

DO SOMETHING.

#coup d'etat

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serial-killers-hope · 10 months ago

Note

May we have some Ronin facts? Things that build up him as a person, why he came to be this way, and what goes inside his pretty little head?

My my, getting desperate Odxny?

Well, of course I’ll indulge you. Don’t worry.

CW :

-Spoilers for Killer Chat.

Ronin… The Devil Incarnate

- He’s not one to gloat in public. He’s a tease, a flirt if you will. Calling you darling with that tinge of love / affection that you were oh so desperate to get when you first started dating.

- Ronin’s mind is usually clouded. A mess if you will, always running and never quiet. But if he’s occupied with the server, you, or murder… he’s always distracted. (Maybe he’s enjoying his time with you, one couldn’t tell what’s going on in those pools he calls eyes.)

- Ronin wouldn’t ever admit this, but he’s infatuated with you. He won’t show it, he won’t enact on it, but if you do end up finding out; oh god wouldn’t that be delightful darlin’?

- He’s a sweetheart in denial. Ronin never really would say that he loves being sweet or close at all. But he’s cuddly in bed.

- Angel is essentially the “wingman” for him. She was practically shipping you and him once she noticed the banter you two upheld. Ronin wouldn’t ever amuse her with what she wants. But in private messages, you’re all he talks about.

- Every day, every voice call, he steals sound bites of your voice. Not for anything malicious (necessarily…) but he always listens to them when he needs to hear your voice. Comfort, missing you, the works.

- “My my my… isn’t my little sunrise so…“ Pet names. Ronin enjoys teasing you to hell and back. Especially with cute names and little things to poke at.

- When he notices you, V, and Misaki hanging out in the voice chats. Immediately, he gets jealous. Going in just to pull you out with the little message: “you’re a lil’ mean to me… Ain’t you?”

Enjoy.

#killer chat #killerchat #killer chat ronin #headcanon #headcanons #writing #y/n #reader insert #killer chat vn

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ghostly-writes-stuff · 6 months ago

Text

So this is a request from one of the discord servers I'm in so anyways...

Cloud, Aerith and Sephiroth with a Fem! Reader who has ADHD and Anxiety

Cloud

Cloud suffers from anxiety himself so he can help with that, however he's at a loss for ADHD

He would try his best but he knows he's not the best

"Um... if I can help let me know."

If your feeling anxious in public, he'd first try to find the source and help from there

Crowded? He found a empty spot for you to relax at. Strangers talking to you? He'd help with the conversation

If your anxious in private... welp prepare yourself for cuddles and a lot of talking from him (a lot in Cloud standards)

If you have ADHD, and you feel hyper all the time, he'd try to get to you train with him.

If you have a hard time focusing, Cloud will get frustrated at first but later he knows better.

He'd remind you of the details later. He remembered them for you!

Aerith

Sweetie pie.

She is like the best person for this

Anxious? Around her? Suddenly you are given a flower meaning lesson.

Got Adhd? She'll let you run around her garden when you get hyper.

There's a small path around the flower beds so you don't trample her flowers.

Can't focus to save your life? She's got your back. She'll keep you on track and keep you updated.

Sephiroth

So he's... a pick.

"You're quite a unique one"

He's always watching you tbh so good luck trying to keep your anxious thoughts from him

Somebody make you anxious? Lol they gone.

Something makes you anxious? He'll help you make it less stressful.

If you got adhd... good luck/hj

You'll be running around and his eyes will watch you run. Kinda creepy.

If you get distracted easy, he'll go "welp. You on your own" or give you a very simple recount of information.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

(Sorry this took so long!!!)

#final fantasy #final fantasy vii #final fantasy x reader #final fantasy vii x reader #cloud #aerith #sephiroth #cloud x reader #sephiroth x reader #aerith x reader

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dgsurfers · 5 months ago

Text

There is a parlor that is said to be established somewhere off Tumblr Avenue. However, it is not accessible to many. I will relay the story of the parlor that an old Tumblr colleague of mine once told me.

Smooth and trim, shelved between a Likes page and an archive, the parlor does not make an effort to exhibit its business inside. One might be surprised at the gaudy interior past the prairie-grille doors. A fitting entrance, seeing that “doors” are the top trade inside the building.

You might be surprised by this--I was, over blintzes and sugar cubes with my colleague--but there is quite a large market for “split-wood”, a term coined in the business for doors with graffiti on one side. A home or store owner might wake up one morning, greeted by tenuous white lines of illustration on their doorway. No one knows whether it is one artist, a collective, or divine chance; either way, if your building is met with this fortune, you can take the door to this parlor to be auctioned or sold, as regulars believe the illustration contains certain prophetic qualities for their life.

The interior may feel very congested at first, according to my colleague. It's not tall, but stretches a bit towards the back, and the low, blooming lights are disorienting. Leather cushion seats are clustered and scattered at the whims of the current attendees. A terrible layer of smoke clouds the bar, which is adorned with metal chains and wires. The six owners of the building all share a similar taste, and thus the decoration stays. My colleague once sat in on an auction with his friend from a Server school.

His friend, who I will name as NV, was a man with a bad habit of taking pictures of strangers in public. It was his attempt at “candid photography”, but often it would result in him peeking through windows, waiting behind corners, and following poor saps down dark alleys. He would at times tell his dreams of amorphous shapes that encouraged him to “capture people in their true state”. He was gregarious and at the same time aggressive--once we met at a Blogger’s beach event and, noticing my timidity toward the water, bulldozed me in by the shoulders. At this auction, my friend had been invited by NV, who had already become a regular for the past several months.

Waiting at the bar for the event to begin, NV mouthed through his cigar something unexpected. The split-wood being auctioned that day were fraudulent. This particular NV had commissioned for a low price to mimic the shared style on four doors, store-bought. It was his idea that that must be the origin of most split-wood auctioned there, unknown to the oblivious auction-goers. It was easy profit, and the parlor was covert enough to dip in and out of. He’d come with the intention of hiking the price, the money going to a stand-in party who agreed to give it all to him. When the auction began, all four illustrations faced the wall.

The painted sides would only be revealed to the audience once all were bought, so as to preserve the lure of their supposed prophetic meanings. NV and my colleague were stuffed somewhere in the rows of leather chairs as the auctioneer began to sound off prices. The first door slowly made its way up to 2900, and then pushed from a 4100 bid by NV to 7500. The second and third were sold for similar prices, 12700 and 16500 respectively, much higher than the average auction. When the fourth came around, NV seemed to be completely feverish, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief and adjusting his cuffs. As for my colleague, he was quite relaxed by the smoke and din among the small audience.

The sound of the auctioneer’s gavel seemed to pass over his ears and make NV flinch to attention as the fourth door’s sale began. It went from 1000, to 4000, to 6000, 6500 (by NV) and then in the end, 12000. All in the audience looked around wordlessly, waiting for anything more, but that was final. NV had begun nervously thumbing his chin and chuckling, attempting to withhold any excitement. The man excused himself silently to smoke a cigar outside, telling my colleague to meet him in front at any time he was ready. With a wink, he left the parlor. However my colleague lingered inside, out of the simple curiosity to watch for a minute the swindled folk.

Donned with black leather gloves, the parlor’s handler swiftly exited from the back hall to rotate the doors for the buyers. Those who had stood to see suddenly slowed--then an outburst of murmurs between gloved hands and folding jackets took over the room. On each split-wood, the previously white lines had come to violently render black boxes of varying sizes, with materials unintelligible.

The depictions were unlike any previous piece, and any details that could have been interpreted for fortune had been rendered null. Only the shape of the rectangle remained. Anyone who looked out the window at that point would have seen the incapacitated NV locked inside the tight lattice of a metal enclosure, to which he could not escape. It was said he lay on the concrete completely stifled. After the panicked attention of my colleague, then those inside the building, followed by the street crowd and the fire department and the local metal workers and finally the moderators, NV silently succumbed and deactivated.

That is simply the story as I heard it, and I did not feel up to finishing my sugar cubes after.

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deepdreamnights · 1 year ago

Text

Hey, you know how I said there was nothing ethical about Adobe's approach to AI? Well whaddya know?

Adobe wants your team lead to contact their customer service to not have your private documents scraped!

This isn't the first of Adobe's always-online subscription-based products (which should not have been allowed in the first place) to have sneaky little scraping permissions auto-set to on and hidden away, but this is the first one (I'm aware of) where you have to contact customer service to turn it off for a whole team.

Now, I'm on record for saying I see scraping as fair use, and it is. But there's an aspect of that that is very essential to it being fair use: The material must be A) public facing and B) fixed published work.

All public facing published work is subject to transformative work and academic study, the use of mechanical apparatus to improve/accelerate that process does not change that principle. Its the difference between looking through someone's public instagram posts and reading through their drafts folder and DMs.

But that's not the kind of work that Adobe's interested in. See, they already have access to that work just like everyone else. But the in-progress work that Creative Cloud gives them access to, and the private work that's never published that's stored there isn't in LIAON. They want that advantage.

And that's valuable data. For an example: having a ton of snapshots of images in the process of being completed would be very handy for making an AI that takes incomplete work/sketches and 'finishes' it. That's on top of just being general dataset grist.

But that work is, definitionally, not published. There's no avenue to a fair use argument for scraping it, so they have to ask. And because they know it will be an unpopular ask, they make it a quiet op-out.

This was sinister enough when it was Photoshop, but PDF is mainly used for official documents and forms. That's tax documents, medical records, college applications, insurance documents, business records, legal documents. And because this is a server-side scrape, even if you opt-out, you have no guarantee that anyone you're sending those documents to has done so.

So, in case you weren't keeping score, corps like Adobe, Disney, Universal, Nintendo, etc all have the resources to make generative AI systems entirely with work they 'own' or can otherwise claim rights to, and no copyright argument can stop them because they own the copyrights.

They just don't want you to have access to it as a small creator to compete with them, and if they can expand copyright to cover styles and destroy fanworks they will. Here's a pic Adobe trying to do just that:

If you want to know more about fair use and why it applies in this circumstance, I recommend the Electronic Frontier Foundation over the Copyright Alliance.

#AI discourse #long post #copyright #copyleft #fair use #AI art #adobe #PDF

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adamstanheightsleftshoulder · 1 year ago

Text

go on, roll your eyes || adam stanheight

SMUT!!!!! (minors dni tq)

x afab!gn!reader | 2306 words

this is my first time um ever writing smut for public consumption so i would love to start off by saying i do not know what i am doing! eye yam raw dogging this <3

id also love 2 say ily 4ever hot girls love saw discord server for literally inspiring this whole thing,, enjoy spotting things we said in chat :3

Adam’s main goal is to make your eyes look directly into the back of your own head - conveniently, this is one of the things he does best. He barely has to try.

Doesn’t stop him from always giving it his all, though.

And he loves it. Loves it.

Loves the way you lose yourself, the way your head falls back and you say his name like it’s the only part of reality your brain has held onto.

It happens when you’re at the mall - and God only knows why you’re even there, neither of you particularly like the mall - as he watches you in the afternoon sun from the skylight above. Watches you like you’re his world.

For all intents and purposes, it’s been a perfectly normal and sweet afternoon.

“I’m just saying this mall wouldn’t have the reputation it does if anybody cleaned up after themselves,” You say, leaning on the food court table, “I mean look at that guy- five bucks says he gets up and leaves everything right where it is,”

“I’m not taking that bet, we both know you’re right,” Adam laughs and presses a kiss to your cheek, gentle smile on his face.

You watch as the aforementioned guy stands up from where he was eating, wipes his hands on his pants, and abandons everything on his table - six steps away from a bin.

Time seems to slow down for Adam as you roll your eyes at the sight. His eyes glaze over - you, tangled in the sheets, twitching, on cloud 9. He feels like he’s there now, buried deep in you, filling you up, his teeth sinking into your collarbone and your nails in his back.

His smile drops, his heart flutters, and… oh, there goes a rush of blood. How strange, such an innocuous motion can cause Adam to just about see stars.

“What’s up with you?” You ask, confused smile on your face. He doesn’t budge. He’s white knuckled, gripping the table. “Seriously, Adam, what’s going-“

But you recognise that look in his eyes. You know the way his breath stutters.

Adam is falling apart. There is a tent growing under that table.

Suddenly a warm, trembling hand is on your wrist and you’re being dragged away from the table, leaving everything behind (and becoming the same as the person you were just mocking).

Before you really even register you’ve left the food court and entered somewhere else, your back is against a cool tiled wall and he’s pressed against you like he’s trying to crush you.

“God, you get me so worked up, you don’t even have to try,” His voice is a low rumble, halfway between a growl and a desperate plea.

“You can’t be serious,” You whisper into his ear as he kisses down your neck, “From one little eye roll?”

Suddenly his hand is on your face, gentle but firm, holding you in place so you have to maintain eye contact.

He can read it in your eyes, you’re no good at hiding it, not from him. He’s got you wrapped around his finger by now. You want him BAD.

He smirks, drinking in the sight of you like this. He hasn’t even touched you yet.

“If that’s all you think you did, then go on,” He challenges, and as he presses himself somehow even closer to you you can feel just how rock hard he is, “Roll your eyes,”

“Make me,” You bite back, and Adam just grins.

“Oh, I intend to,”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply. He kisses you feverishly, like he’s on death row. His left hand stays on your face and his right drifts to your hip, his fingers digging into the flesh so hard he can feel the bone under his thumb. He presses one knee in the space between your legs.

You whimper into his mouth and he groans. He knows exactly what this mix of pain and pleasure does to you. He knows that he’s ripping you into ruin.

Adam then drops to his knees, like this bathroom stall is Church and you are holy.

His eyes are wide and pleading, he looks almost hungry, like he’s been in the desert for a thousand years and you are a blessed mirage.

He looks at you like he’s going to eat you whole. In a way he is.

Adam raises his eyebrows for a second, just a twitch, as if to ask if you’re sure you want him doing this. You nod with vigour. How could you not want this? Adam and his perfect lips…

Your head falls back as he unzips your jeans, yanks them down with the gusto of someone who’s been waiting to unwrap their present for years.

Your hand finds his hair. He lets a pathetic little groan fall from his lips in response - it gets louder when your nails graze his scalp.

“God, look at you. Fucking barely holding it together,” He quips, kissing up your thighs, “Eager little whore,”

You try to speak, try to banter back; tell him he’s being mean. He swings one of your legs over his shoulder before you can, and he takes the words out of your mouth as he teases his fingers under the very edge of your underwear. He laughs low in his throat as your hips roll against nothing. He wants you so bad he could tear you to shreds about it.

“Use your words,” He breathes, “C’mon, baby. You’re not that far gone yet, talk to me,”

“Please,” Whispered like a prayer, “Please, God, Adam- Please,”

“Good enough,”

He tucks your underwear out of the way with one hand, his breath makes you quiver just a little as it hits your sensitive skin.

“Needy slut,”

One hand firmly gripping your thigh and the other allowing him access, Adam kisses along the very very sensitive inside of your thigh, until he reaches right beside the dripping wet, wanton hole that belonged, truly, to him.

Oh, yes. Adam wants you to see stars. Adam wants you to walk out of here on legs made of jelly. Adam wants to make those eyes roll.

He presses his tongue flat against that bundle of nerves he knows how to find so well, and you cry out in a strangled voice - “Adam!”. He flicks his tongue and you twitch.

Adam has never been this hard in his LIFE. His jeans are suddenly a prison. But he has to take care of you first, he has to make the risk of a public bathroom worth it.

“God you taste perfect, baby,” He whispers, and then his tongue is right back where it was a second ago.

There’s little gentleness involved. It’s like he’s trying to find a way to say he loves you, but the only way he can is through devouring.

His tongue is harsh in its flicking, in how he focuses hard on your already sensitive clit, the way his nose gets pressed against you makes you worry he might hurt himself - but there’s no sign of him stopping. If anything he’s getting worse.

Every noise you make eggs him on. Tentatively at first, he presses one long finger inside of you. When your back arches off the tile, you feel the way he moans, before he pulls the first one out only to add a second finger.

He’s like clockwork. You manage to find the will to look down again, to find he’s closed his eyes, focussed.

He curls a finger inside of you, and you’re ashamed to admit how close you are to coming undone already. You don’t have to admit it though, Adam knows. He can feel you clenching around him, and if he had the brains right now to do it he might just laugh at how desperate you are.

His fingers pound now, setting a pace that is quick and even but rough. Adam needs you. Adam could cum in his jeans right now from the way you squirm on his fingers alone.

You rock back and forth against his face and he just about loses his mind. HIS eyes are in danger of rolling back. He eats you out like a man starved, like he’s begging for more despite being the one in control.

It takes you over before you realise you’ve reached that point - no warning, and you’re jerking back and forth, a twitching mess, fingernails in his scalp - and you cum. It washes over you, and you have to grab Adam’s shoulder for stability.

If he didn’t know any better, if he didn’t know what you always wanted (more), he’d stop here. Thank God Adam knows better.

He retracts his fingers and watches as you clench on instinct around nothing. He wipes his mouth a little, but not enough to wipe the taste away. The taste he savours, the taste he craved and craves more often than he should ever admit.

A wreck. He’s making a wreck of you.

He stands, letting your leg fall back to where it can try to support you.

You practically fall into his firm chest, and he chuckles down at you.

“Good, hm?” He asks, as if he’s not sure, “You terrible thing,”

You can only hum in response, half sex-drunk, clinging onto him for dear life.

“Can’t get enough, can you?”

He’s teasing you? This is his fault! That asshole-

You whimper again, and he comes undone.

“Fine,” He concedes, making quick work of his own jeans, “Ready?”

You in fact started to nod before he’d even finished saying ‘ready.

And then, bliss - you feel him start to line his thick cock up with your entrance, the very tip of the head poking just inside.

You feel like you could gush just at that contact.

He kisses you quickly as he presses himself in, catching the cry of pleasure and surprise that you let out between his lips. He groans, deep in his throat - a deeply, deeply satisfied sound. Adam’s been waiting so patiently.

“Taking me so well,” his whisper fans across your face and you lose any contact with the world of words.

Adam doesn’t wait any longer because he CAN’T. He pulls himself almost all the way out, only to slam himself back in again a second later.

Adam fucks you like he hates your guts. Like he detests everything about you so much he has to rearrange your insides into something he can stand.

“A-Adam,” You choke out, and if it weren’t for the hand he’s just begun to rest on your cheek, you’d forget that he loves you. The harsh feeling of his teeth in your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder… you’d be forgiven for forgetting that he’s capable of being gentle. You roll in time with the violent pace he’s set, your hips slapping together so hard you know it’ll bruise.

“G…God,” He breathes against your now bruised neck, “You’re so good,”

Your core tightens and you know the second orgasm is coming, quickly. You cry against him, fingers digging into his back.

“Go on,”

It’s like it was a taught command. He tells you, you cum.

He’s nowhere near done yet. He’s got too much in mind. He can’t stop until you’re all but faded away from that pretty little head of yours. Until you forget your own name, but remember his.

His pace never lets up, never even pauses. You’re making sounds that are obscene, bordering on pornographic, and if Adam wasn’t so determined he’d bust right here and now.

Your head is pressed against the tile again, crying out like an animal in heat, when his hand covers your mouth and he stops moving completely.

A whine comes from you, unwillingly. You’d be embarrassed of the sound if you could be right now.

“Sh, sh sh. Someone’s going past,” He whispers, pressing his sweaty forehead to your own, “Wait, baby. Don’t want to get caught, do you?”

You shake your head but your body betrays you. Adam watches, jaw dropping a little at just how fucking perfect you are as you squirm around him. He’s still fully inside, fully sheathed. He’s hitting every place in there and he’s STOCK STILL. It feels cruel, crueller when you realise how much he’s enjoying watching you suffer in the stillness.

You whimper against his hand, and he only presses it to your face further.

“Stay quiet,”

There’s a threatening edge to his voice and it doesn’t take long to realise why. The thumb of the hand that’s not desperately silencing you reaches down and plays with your clit - you could explode at this point. He barely has to do much, you’re squirming so hard and he’s so close to letting go inside of you-

It seems he decides the threat to your privacy is gone, and your torture is over, as he kicks back into action like a machine again.

He loses himself, now, it’s his turn. The most desperate sounds you’ve heard him make echo on the bathroom walls.

“God- Fuck, fuck- baby, I- Can I- Please, please, can I- I need to, I-“ He stutters against you, getting a little sloppy but no less violent in his thrusts, “Let me fill you,”

You keen and he takes it as a green light, painting your insides white with his orgasm, and your third of the day comes crashing over you as he grunts your name.

Everything gets tensed for a moment - his fingers in the skin of your face and your hip, his jaw. His head falls to your shoulder for a second. He catches his breath, slow final thrusts pushing his own spend in and back out of you.

He looks at you now, assessing the job he did.

“You beautiful thing,” He pants, swallowing harshly, “There they go. Those fuckin’ eyes,”

#I DONT KNOW WHAt I AM DOING #richie dont look #I love you hot girls love saw discord #this is for u #especially neon skunk and vamoose #adam faulkner stanheight #adam stanheight x reader #saw fanfiction

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homestuckreplay · 2 months ago

Text

i bet the SORD….. deals negative damage to enemies

(page 1817-1828)

After a long four days without updates (it’s convention season), Homestuck is BACK and I am so excited to be back. We pick back up with this beautiful panel of Jade’s dreambot surrounded by clouds, stars, lilypads… and frogs. Frogs which have previously been referred to as ‘Cherished Idol[s]’ that ‘play a special role in [John’s] quest’ but are also ‘ILLEGAL CONTRABAND’ (p.1358), and are simultaneously ‘sacred/illicit’ (p.1359). So the fact that they’re just hanging out here on Jade’s very Skaia-influenced island, hours at most before her entry into the Medium, has to be relevant.

Jade has built Dave’s house up to the First Gate here, and we previously saw Dave so the same to Rose’s (p.1689) so everyone is ready to progress in the game except for Jade herself, who’s stuck until John finds that disc. Jade is also directly in the narrative text again, which isn’t even weird because she’s so used to engaging with cosmic forces far beyond her control, I just find it worth noting each time. Finally, Jade has an entourage of Prospit agents watching her build, which is very cute. Maybe this tweet from a day before this page was posted has something to do with it.

Jade then reveals that her ‘neighbor in the other tower is supposed to be waking up soon’ (p.1819) which simply does not feel right. John has such a full schedule – he’s in the veil, he needs to do some ectobiology that he put on the suit for, he needs to talk to carcinoGeneticist again, he needs to go back to LOWAS, find the server disc and get Jade into the Medium, he needs to tell his friends about this Reckoning that’s about to happen, he might still be trying to save his dad, and now he’s also got to take a nap?? Of course he should sleep if he’s tired but his to do list within the story is REALLY piling up while everyone else is just alchemizing and building. We gotta cut back to John soon because I’m worried about him.

Then, Dave wakes up and starts alchemizing, and gets a little weird with it. He has more base materials to work with than Rose as he has all of future Dave’s stuff and I think he’s also less interested in being economical with grist, so here’s what he’s made so far.

iShades (Sunglasses && iPhone) – I think there is no need to give Apple this free publicity but it is cute that the Daves now have matching sunglasses.

Turntop (Timetables && Computer) – oh it has time powers you say?? perhaps the power to send messages through time? That almost doesn’t seem right because I feel like future Dave would have sent messages to his friends in the past if he later developed that power. Still, it’s possible the trolls did get those powers through some smart alchemy combinations. Anyway the two half keyboards feel intrinsically wrong somehow even though I know in my heart that is how typing works.

Red Plush Puppet Tux (Suit || Red Smuppet) – Hey Dave, why exactly do you want to wear a puppet? Why do you wanna be wrapped in the thing that’s tormented you your whole life? Also much like Rose’s velvet/wool dress, this thing will get WAY too hot for adventuring. These kids have never heard of breathable fabrics and Dave is on a lava planet. Dave also speculates about how the original suit was made, ending with ‘That's how you would have made it anyway.’ (p.1823). I don’t think this will get answered but I’d personally like it if Dave was wrong about this, just like he was wrong when he told John Davesprite ‘wouldnt give a shit’ about being told he wasn’t the real Dave (p.1692). Honestly I think that past versions of me would also misunderstand and misinterpret my current self so seeing that played out with Dave, especially when he’s so confident he’s right, is super interesting to me.

Broken Scarlet Ribbitar (Broken Caledscratch && Ruby Frog) – This is the first time we’ve seen the name of Dave’s sword, ‘Caledscratch’. A quick search for ‘caled sword’ pulls up a 2008 Arthurian mythology article saying that Caledfwlch was the early Welsh name for Excalibur, and Caladbolg was a sword belonging to an Irish folk hero, both from the Welsh/Irish word for ‘hard’. So ‘Caledscratch’ = ‘hard scratch’ which, yeah, that’s exactly what a sword does I guess. ‘Scratch’ could also refer to a record scratch, appropriate for the record on its hilt. Sometimes the names of things in this comic annoy me because in all my years of DMing I’ve never come up with anything this good.

Scarlet Ribbitar (Unbroken Caledscratch && Ruby Frog) – This is confirmation on how the sword actually works – Dave ‘dial[s] back CALEDSCRATCH'S little turntable, rewinding the sword to a point in its history before it was broken’ (p.1826). This was sort of implied by seeing it in action during ‘[S] Dave: Accelerate’ (p.1641) but it stated outright here. Anyway, neither this or the broken version get made because they cost millions of a mystery grist, perhaps a frog themed grist given the importance of frogs. Either way, I think combining anything with a frog will be an expensive item. Also I’d love to see what the reverse combination (Caledscratch || Ruby Frog) would look like – a frog with a sword for a tongue that can rewind/fast forward between tadpole and frog??

SORD….. – (Prop Sword && Hella Jeff) – This costs 0 grist and is completely unusable as a weapon. Sburb is like I don’t care just have this and get it away from my fancy technology. The fact that it turns not only the sword but also Dave himself and the panel he’s in to a SBAHJ quality level - and turns the alchemiter display font to Comic Sans - is potentially very disturbing, and could maybe be weaponized (for example, prototyping a sprite with a SORD….. might depower enemies a whole lot). I actually really badly want to make a SORD….. in real life and to cosplay this version of Dave at Comic Con this fall or something even though I super don’t have the time/money. Its design is as compelling as it is ridiculous.

Snoop Dogg Snow Cone Machete (Snoop && Air Conditioner || Caledscratch) – Okay I was confused about the Peanuts characters but having researched this, Snoop Dogg was a big fan of Peanuts and took his name from Snoopy, so it does make sense, even though I think Dave would find Peanuts way too earnest. I guess it makes sense for Dave to make an ice themed weapon given the heat of his planet, but this honestly reminds me of John’s Wrinklefucker (p.1068) – it’s a cool idea and looks useful, but doesn’t perfectly fit the character’s vibe.

To be continued, probably. We haven’t yet seen a panel of Dave surrounded by all his sweet loot so I’m sure he has more up his sleeve.

#homestuck #reaction #i met some new cool people the other day and they are basically persuading me to get back into writing fiction #i have some vague ideas for a wizard story i might have to start putting to paper #rose’s mom would be proud of me maybe #(also one of the people i met was like 'is that a homestuck sticker on your laptop?' if only they knew.....)#chrono

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