#Elevator Access Control

[advancedelevatoraccesscontrol]

Elevator Access Control | Best Security System

Install an elevator access control system from Infinite Systems Technology Corporation to get a safe system for your building. This enables authorized personnel to access the appropriate floor.

[iidsch]

also more codelyokoposting but I really really dig XANA as a villain. It's not a person with a complex background that led them down the path of evil, it's not a morally grey character you sympathize with but condemn. It's a powerful AI capable of controlling almost anything in the real world. It doesn't have a face or a body, we only know it for its symbol and for the monsters it controls in the virtual world. It's willing not just to kill people through various methods (poisoning, drowning, car crash, fucking space lasers too?) but also Earth as a whole (it tried to blow up a NUCLEAR PLANT and crash two trains with toxic chemicals in them). And we don't even know why it does this, at least not for now. It may not even have a particular reason, just some sort of virus or malware in the form of an AI that seeks nothing but destruction without any goals in mind. This "pure evil" characteristic doesn't come off as childish, like in some children cartoons, it's just kind of scary to think that such an incomprehensible and destructive force exists, almost feels like a natural disaster

[isaacsapphire]

From an access control perspective this fact gives me hives. Like, I know that elevators can have access control because I have worked with ones that used keys and badge readers (could use fobs too) but I also know how much access control is part psychological rather than physical.

On the other hand, shared spaces like hallways and elevator lobbies are kinda a waste of square footage and I would prefer the space be inside the apartment rather than this wasted ghost space that is subjected to the tragedy of the commons and everyone has to pass through.

I am most certainly a city person and an extrovert, but if there's one thing that freaks me out is that somewhere out there are apartment buildings where the downstairs elevator opens directly into your apartment?? Just fucking rawdogging the whole of city life like that? Going commando with essentially nothing but a gust of wind between your private areas and the open public??

[vorbisx]

Replacing physical buttons and controls with touchscreens also means removing accessibility features. Physical buttons can be textured or have Braille and can be located by touch and don't need to be pressed with a bare finger. Touchscreens usually require precise taps and hand-eye coordination for the same task.

Many point-of-sale machines now are essentially just a smartphone with a card reader attached and the interface. The control layout can change at a moment's notice and there are no physical boundaries between buttons. With a keypad-style machine, the buttons are always in the same place and can be located by touch, especially since the middle button has a raised ridge on it.

Buttons can also be located by touch without activating them, which enables a "locate then press" style of interaction which is not possible on touchscreens, where even light touches will register as presses and the buttons must be located visually rather than by touch.

When elevator or door controls are replaced by touch screens, will existing accessibility features be preserved, or will some people no longer be able to use those controls?

Who is allowed to control the physical world, and who is making that decision?

[drdemonprince]

I worry that today’s generation of kids on the internet have never gotten to develop much digital agency or form safe, empowering relationships with older people. More broadly, I think our current culture of isolating children from all unrelated adults, supposedly in the name of their “protection” only causes them to become more ignorant, lonesome, and vulnerable to exploitation.

There are many ways in which restricting youth access to information technology and training adults to avoid all contact with children makes kids even more powerless and dependent.

If a child cannot post their sexual health questions on Ask Alice or go searching around online, then they have to believe whatever they hear from their parent or priest. If a young person longs to taste the freedoms of adulthood but aren’t given any room to explore, then the grown-up in their DMs telling them that they are so mature becomes a hell of a lot more seductive.

And if a kid never gets to search for sexual content online, learn about adult sexual experiences, or touch themselves and find pleasure in the privacy of their own minds, they may never fully learn that their body is them, for them to enjoy and express themselves however they see fit.

For queer youth, the dangers of isolation are amplified. A study published in the journal Child Protection and Practice in April of last year found that LGBTQI+ children face an elevated risk of grooming and sexual abuse because they are discriminated against by peers, preached against within their religious communities, and mistreated or kicked out of the house by their families — and also, because an adult with no respect for boundaries might be the only person offering to talk with them about queerness or sex.

It’s very difficult to know the difference between a healthy relationship and exploitation when a predatory adult is the first queer person a kid ever knows. If a relationship with an abuser is the only way that a teen ever gets to live out their queerness or explore their budding sexuality, then it becomes immensely difficult for them to walk away — leaving the groomer is like tearing off a crucial part of themselves that never gets expressed otherwise, or even seen.

This is also true of children who have the early rumblings of kinky sexualities, too — when you long to be controlled or tied up, you need a safe outlet to learn and fantasize about doing such things consensually one day. If you do not know that such options exist, you’ll settle instead for abuse. The more options that a child has to learn about sexual practices, to meet other queer people of ages, and to form appropriate relationships with unrelated adults, the harder they become to manipulate, and the more power they have to walk away.

...

Being a minor is a position created by legal oppression, but most people consider a minor’s lack of freedom to be so natural and morally correct they don’t even recognize it as oppression. Instead, they see it as protection, a healthy separation between the world of the human and the not-quite-human yet. Though they would never admit it, a minor is not the same thing as a person to them, for a minor can be thrown out of public spaces, locked away, silenced, disregarded, and left to rot in the ways full persons are not.

I believe that we queer adults are failing our younger siblings by refusing to play a part in raising and looking after them. We have chosen to privilege our individual safety from accusations of ‘inappropriate’ conduct over the need for queer youth to see their own sexualities and identities normalized, envision a diversity of possible futures for themselves, and seek aid and understanding when they are mistreated.

For those of us who’ve had the liberty to escape our ignorant hometowns, get on HRT, have joyous gay sex in dark rooms, or even just dance tenderly with a sexy androgynous stranger’s cheek pressed against our own, we have a responsibility to pour from our filled cups, and to remember what it was like to have no such access. As terrified as we are of losing our documentation, our access to medicine, and our legal rights, we must remember those queer people who presently have none of those things, and do all that we can to extend our aid to them.

I wrote about the troubling culture of the "MINORS DNI" bio, and how it contributes to the mass isolation of young queer people. You can read the full piece or have it narrated to you by the substack app for free here.

[vivicendium]

i think something that elevates the hunger games franchise is not just the quality of writing but the integrity of it. tbosas isn’t just a cash-grab by suzanne collins in the age of sequels and reboots (though i won’t pretend that didn’t play a part), it’s a character study of the main antagonist with a different structure than the main trilogy. and importantly, it doesn’t just re-hash the same old themes and beats the main trilogy had, it expands on not just the world of the hunger games but the themes as well, it actually has something new to say about the trilogy’s themes about class, capitalism, power, and control, in a way that couldn’t be explored with the main story because the protagonist of that story simply did not have access to the world that’s being explored in tbosas.

i understand the people who call for books/movies to be made about haymitch, finnick, johanna, different years of the games — we love those characters and want to see more of them! i’d kill for a novella on finnick’s days mentoring tributes, or katniss’s parents falling in love. but at the end of the day we probably wouldn’t be very satisfied with those stories being fleshed out if they had absolutely nothing new to say about the world, they’d be enjoyable, but not as interesting and engaging as tbosas has been.

[vampfire1]

accessibility is not just a (usually too steep) ramp and a half working elevator you need a key for. it's also:

access to mobility aids

closed captioning, interpreters, and transcripts for those who need them OR those who prefer them

sensory safe enviroments

dim lighting

flexible seating, lights, and noise control

online forms and websites that screen readers are able to access properly

elevators that are free for everyone to use

wider doors

braille

clear signage

transit that is easy to navigate

if your "accessible" space has a ramp that doubles as a slide and a sketchy elevator you need a key for, you're fucking doing it wrong.

[carnalcrows]

STAY QUIET

pairing: rockstar! male OC x male reader [faceclaim]

synopsis: The scandal should’ve ended with damage control. But when the video keeps resurfacing—and the trail leads back to a grudge older than Jiho’s debut—you realize this was never about bad PR. It was personal. Now you're spiraling, Jiho’s not letting go, and someone’s about to find out what happens when a scandal turns into strategy.

content warnings: 18+, idol/manager dynamic, bottom male reader(he’s tired, ok), jiho is younger and terrifyingly in control, mild yandere energy, fingering, p in a (reader receiving), possessive behavior in soft lighting, revenge plot, workplace betrayal, low-key emotional blackmail, they catch the guy but at what cost. also: sheets were changed after, i'm not a monster.

word count: 2.5k [pt 1 here]

You don’t tell anyone he stayed.

No one asks.

When you return to work the next morning, your pass still works, but you notice two things before you’ve even cleared the lobby.

Your name is no longer on the artist schedule.

The lady at the front desk doesn’t look you in the eye.

The building smells like cheap cologne and too much coffee. Somewhere upstairs, Jiho is probably already in makeup. You’re not technically supposed to be there, not on paper, but no one told you not to show up, just like no one said the scandal was real. Just like no one ever tells you anything directly.

You keep your head down and head for the second floor, hoping the PR director’s still out at the brand meeting.

She’s not.

She’s waiting in the boardroom with two people you don’t recognise and a company-issued iPad pulled up to the paused frame of the video.

You blink once. Twice.

“Have a seat,” she says. Not unkind. But definitely not kind.

You sit.

The man beside her—suit, subtle luxury watch, no name tag—leans forward like he’s about to explain a security breach, not your job’s slow death.

“We’ve reviewed the clip. It’s clear there was physical contact that could be interpreted as inappropriate.”

You exhale slowly through your nose. “It was a collar.”

He nods like that’s tragic.

“We’re not here to accuse you. But the clip didn’t come from an audience member or a fan. It was internal. Shot from the floor’s restricted side angle. Only ten or so staffers have access.”

You freeze.

“You’re saying it was leaked on purpose?”

He doesn’t answer. That’s not his job.

The PR lead clicks her nails against the screen. “What we need from you right now is stability. Don’t escalate. Don’t comment. Don’t reach out to Jiho directly, even privately.”

“Why?” you ask, despite knowing better.

She tilts her head. “Because this isn’t about what happened anymore. It’s about what people think happened. And what they want to believe next.”

You leave the meeting with your jaw locked and your hands shaking.

The elevator’s slow. The hallway feels tighter than usual. Your phone buzzes once.

It’s Jiho.

Where are you?

You type out: Don’t. Not right now.

Then delete it. Then type it again. Then delete that too.

The elevator stops on the rehearsal floor. The doors open.

Jiho’s standing there.

He’s alone.

Hood up. Cap low. A water bottle dangling from his fingers like he forgot to let go.

You step back into the corner of the elevator without meaning to.

He doesn’t get in.

Just tilts his head. “Come with me.”

You should say no.

You don’t.

You’re not sure if it’s gravity or muscle memory. All you know is that by the time you’re halfway down the hallway, trailing a few steps behind him like it’s still your job, your pulse is up and your mouth is dry.

You don’t ask where he’s taking you.

Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s instinct. Maybe it’s just easier to let him lead than to admit you’ve lost control of the narrative—of your job, of this… whatever this is. You just follow Jiho through the corridor like you’re still the one managing him. Like you’re not the scandal the company’s hoping will quietly phase out.

He doesn’t speak until the elevator doors close behind you.

Then: “They told you to stay away from me?”

You don’t answer.

He tilts his head, smiling like it’s funny. “So why are you here?”

You give him a look. “You asked.”

“That was a test.”

You scoff. “Of course it was.”

The elevator dings on the basement level. Not parking, not storage. The old staff lounge—the one the company stopped using after a remodel. It’s empty now, lights dim, couch still there with a rip in the armrest and one of Taeyang’s old hoodies folded like someone meant to come back for it.

Jiho walks in like he owns the place.

He sits. Doesn’t gesture for you to do the same. Just watches as you hover in the doorway like you’re waiting for a better option.

“What is this, Jiho?”

He shrugs. “Time alone.”

You press your fingers to your brow, exhausted. “You really don’t care, do you? About the fact that this could ruin your reputation, your future—”

“You.”

The word cuts through your sentence like a knife.

You stare.

He leans forward, elbows on knees, fingers laced. “It’s not about me. It’s not even about the company anymore. They’re not scared because I touched your collar. They’re scared because they think I might do it again.”

You’re quiet.

He continues. “They saw something they weren’t supposed to see. So did everyone else. That’s the problem. That I looked at you like that. That you looked back.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did.”

You open your mouth. Close it.

He stands slowly. Walks over until he’s just in front of you, blocking the doorway. Not touching. But close enough that your brain short-circuits the idea of leaving.

“I’m not going to make you do anything,” he says, voice low. “I don’t need to.”

You flinch. “What does that mean?”

Jiho looks at you like it’s obvious.

“It means I already have you.”

You don’t remember when you started shaking. Only that you’re still shaking twenty minutes later, in the stairwell, back against cold concrete, your phone buzzing in your pocket.

You answer on the third ring.

It’s Doyun.

“Hey,” he says casually. “You ghosting me or something?”

You glance at the wall across from you. Your brain’s still spinning. “I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, I figured. PR’s been sprinting across the building since 9 a.m. I think someone cried.”

You rub your eyes. “Did they say anything?”

“Not officially. But you know how this place works. The stylists know everything before management does.”

You wait

Doyun exhales. “They think it came from inside.”

You go still.

“The clip,” he clarifies. “Not a fan. Not a leak through press. It was shot from the side—restricted angle. One of the old camera hallways that’s staff-only now.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“Was it… recent?” you ask, slowly.

“No clue. But it was posted through a dummy account with a weird handle. Someone’s been watching for a while, maybe.”

The hallway feels colder now. Too still.

Doyun hesitates. “You think Jiho knew?”

The question hangs in the space between you. You don’t know how to answer it. You don’t even know if you want to.

“No,” you say. “Probably not.”

Doyun doesn’t push. “Yeah. Probably not.”

But he doesn’t sound convinced.

And you aren’t either.

You’re called in on a Thursday.

No warning. Just a message from the assistant coordinator that says "9:45 a.m., 3rd floor. Bring your badge." You don’t ask what it’s about. You already know.

The room’s smaller this time. No full boardroom. Just the head of artist management, a legal rep, and your new handler—some fresh-faced guy from planning who speaks in phrasing like “potential optics challenges” and “staff-artist ambiguity threshold.”

They don’t ask you what happened.

They ask what you’re willing to say on record.

You sit there, palms flat against your jeans, wondering how the hell this became your life.

You don’t name Jiho.

You don’t need to.

They tell you that "a quiet, internal phase-out" might be the best path forward. You ask what that means. They say you'll still get paid. You ask how long. They don’t answer.

Then they tell you a second clip has been posted.

It’s shorter than the first. Just three seconds. From a different angle—shakier, a little out of focus.

But it’s still you.

Still Jiho.

He’s brushing past you in a hallway, hand grazing your back. It could be nothing. It is nothing. But the caption under it says:

“so they’re still seeing each other huh 💅🏻”

It has thirty thousand likes in under an hour.

You ask if they’ve traced it.

They say no.

You ask if Jiho’s seen it.

They don’t answer that either.

You leave the office with your head pounding.

You don’t go home. You don’t go to the studio. You end up at a small café four blocks away, the kind of place where no one looks at you twice if you stay too long and don’t order a second drink. You sit in the back corner with your phone face down and your thoughts crawling like ants in your skull.

You don’t know how long you’re there before someone sits across from you.

You don’t have to look up to know who it is.

“I was followed,” Jiho says quietly.

You look up then. He’s not wearing a mask. No hat. Just a hoodie and glasses and that blank expression that always looks like he’s either thinking too much or nothing at all.

“By who?”

“I don’t know.”

He sips from a plastic cup that you didn’t see him buy.

“They weren’t close. Just enough for a blurry shot. They didn’t care what I did. They just wanted to see where I went.”

You don’t speak.

Jiho leans in, elbows on the table.

“I went to see you.”

You close your eyes.

“You knew that would happen.”

“I hoped it would.”

“You—” your voice is too sharp, too loud. You swallow. Start again. “You’re being followed. And you still came here?”

He nods. “Now they know where to look.”

Your chest tightens.

“Jiho,” you whisper, “what are you doing?”

He’s quiet for a long time.

Then: “I’m making it impossible for them to erase you.”

---

You’re half-asleep when Doyun calls.

It’s not unusual—he’s the kind of person who only remembers you exist when the world’s ending. But this time, his voice isn’t teasing. It’s quiet. Measured.

“I know who leaked the clip,” he says.

You sit up immediately.

There’s silence on the line. Then: “His name’s Jisoo. Does that ring a bell?”

You close your eyes. “Yeah.”

Trainee. Cut just before debut. Replaced by Jiho.

You’d heard whispers, back when you joined—something about missed rehearsals, a bad attitude, internal tension. No one ever said it out loud, but everyone knew: Jiho took his spot.

Doyun exhales. “Apparently he still had access to the system. He’s been reposting the video from a buried staff login. PR’s keeping it quiet while they figure out how far it goes.”

You rub your eyes. “Why are you telling me?”

“Because I think he’s not done. And because I saw Jiho earlier. He’s not doing great.”

You freeze. “What does that mean?”

“I mean,” Doyun says carefully, “he looked like someone who’s about to make a problem permanent.”

You hang up without saying goodbye.

You find Jiho in the old green room. The one they stopped using after the remodel. He’s sitting on the floor, hoodie up, guitar untouched beside him. He doesn’t look surprised when you walk in.

“They know,” you say. He doesn’t look up. “Yeah.”

You close the door behind you. “You could’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want you involved.”

“You got me fired,” you snap. “No,” he says. “They tried. I stopped them.” 

That shuts you up.

You sink into the chair across from him. The air between you is still sharp, brittle.

“Why did he do it?” Jiho finally looks at you. “Because I got his spot.”

“That was years ago.” He shrugs. “Some people hold grudges better than they hold choreography.”

You almost laugh. Almost.

Then: “We need proof.” Jiho blinks. “We already have it.”

“Yeah,” you say, “but we’re not the ones holding the company leash.”

The plan is messy.

You dig through the backend system and find the last IP log-in. Then you run a bait file through it—an early version of a sponsorship contract with a fake date and Jiho’s name highlighted like something’s off. Then you sit back and wait.

It doesn’t take long.

Thirty-seven minutes later, the file’s been opened. Duplicated. Shared to a Discord server you didn’t even know existed.

You bring it straight to legal.

They call you back the next day.

“It’s done,” they say. “We’ve locked him out. He won’t be bothering anyone again.”

You expect that to feel better.

It doesn’t.

You don’t even knock. He opens the door like he was already standing behind it.

Jiho’s not surprised. Not smiling, either. Just calm, quiet, eyes flicking over your face like he already knows why you’re here.

You walk in.

He closes the door behind you—slowly. No words. No questions. Just lets the silence stretch until it turns into something else.

Then: “Take your shoes off.”

You do.

You’re not even halfway through the hallway before he’s got a hand on your jaw, turning your face to his, breath warm across your lips.

“I’m not going to ask what this is, Hyung,” Jiho says, voice low. “I already know.”

And you should respond. You should say something—something level, something safe—but the way he looks at you strips that instinct clean. So you just nod.

That’s all he needs.

He has you stripped down before your head even hits the pillow. Every movement is intentional. Every touch calculated.

He kisses like it’s not optional. Like it’s permission and punishment all at once. Your pulse spikes the second his hand slips beneath your thigh, pulling you open, making space for him.

“Hold still,” Jiho says, just above your ear.

You try. You fail.

He moves slowly—not for your comfort, but for his own satisfaction. Like he wants to feel every inch of your body adjust around his cock. Like stretching you out means something more than just prep—it means possession.

The first thrust is too much. The second is worse. The third has you gasping, your fingers twisting in the sheets, legs trembling under the pressure of his pace.

Jiho doesn’t slow down.

He stays close—pressed to your chest, hips moving in a steady rhythm that makes it hard to think, let alone speak. His breath is hot against your throat. His grip unshakable.

“You feel that, Hyung?” he whispers. “That’s me.”

You groan—half pleasure, half disbelief.

He presses deeper. His body locks into yours like muscle memory, like a song he’s played a hundred times but only now gets to hear out loud.

You’re already close—your spine bowing, your mouth slack, your vision buzzing at the edges—and when he pulls your leg up over his hip, the angle makes everything shatter.

You’re gone.

You come like your body’s been waiting for it all week—hips stuttering, breath caught, eyes shut tight—and Jiho doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking you through it, pace tight and focused, until he’s cursing into your neck and spilling inside you with one final thrust that leaves your whole body pulsing.

He doesn’t pull out right away.

Just stays there.

Breathing hard.

Chest rising against yours.

Then he lifts his head. Looks down at you. Quiet. Sweaty. Still a little smug.

“You’re mine,” he says again, voice hoarse.

And this time, you don’t even try to deny it.

Later, you lie there tangled together, skin damp, hair in your eyes, breath slowly evening out.

Jiho’s arm is thrown across your waist, lazy but possessive.

“You think they’ll still try to split us?” you ask.

He exhales against your collar. “They can try.”

You close your eyes.

For the first time since it all started, you believe him.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

Taglist: @axetivev @yyuinaa @zaynesyumei @sageofspades @onyxmango @puccigucii @the-ultimate-librarian @sooobiinn @sooniebby @i2innie @tintenka1@timaas-blog @darlinqvi @horrorsbeyondreality @rednugget @lysanderplume @leron1108 @kauo-writez @the0ishere @calgurl @kissenturine @bleedingbl0ssom @gayaristocrat @hyppernovva [comment to be added, or send an ask]

[amaditalks]

Abortion Is On The Ballot

In ten states, there are ballot measures or questions which will be decided in the November election which will impact the future of abortion access in those states. Here’s what you need to know.

Arizona

Arizona Proposition 139 the Right to Abortion Initiative will amend the state constitution to provide for the fundamental right to abortion that the state of Arizona may not interfere with before the point of fetal viability unless justified by a compelling state interest.

To enshrine abortion rights protection in the state constitution Vote Yes

Colorado

Colorado Amendment 79, the Right to Abortion and Health Insurance Coverage Initiative will amend the state constitution to create the right to an abortion and authorize the use of public funds (Medicaid) to pay for abortion care.

To enshrine abortion rights protection in the state constitution Vote Yes

Florida

Florida Amendment 4, the Right to Abortion Initiative, will amend the state constitution to declare that "no law shall prohibit, penalize, delay, or restrict abortion before viability or when necessary to protect the patient’s health, as determined by the patient’s healthcare provider.” The current constitutional provision requiring parental consent for minors' abortions will not be affected.

To enshrine abortion rights protection in the state constitution and overturn the current six week abortion ban Vote Yes

Maryland

Maryland Question 1, the Right to Reproductive Freedom Amendment, will amend the state constitution to establish a right to reproductive freedom, defined to include "the ability to make and effectuate decisions to prevent, continue, or end one's own pregnancy."

To enshrine reproductive rights protection in the state constitution Vote Yes

Missouri

Missouri Amendment 3, the Right to Reproductive Freedom Initiative will amend the state constitution to provide the right for reproductive freedom, which is defined as "the right to make and carry out decisions about all matters relating to reproductive health care, including but not limited to prenatal care, childbirth, postpartum care, birth control, abortion care, miscarriage care, and respectful birthing conditions," and providing that the state legislature may enact laws that regulate abortion after fetal viability.

To enshrine broad reproductive rights protection including abortion in the state constitution and overturn the current complete abortion ban Vote Yes

Montana

Montana CI-128, the Right to Abortion Initiative will create a constitutional "right to make and carry out decisions about one’s own pregnancy, including the right to abortion," and allow the state to regulate abortion after fetal viability, except when "medically indicated to protect the life or health of the pregnant patient."

To enshrine broad reproductive rights protection including abortion in the state constitution Vote Yes

Nebraska

The Nebraska Prohibit Abortions After the First Trimester Amendment will amend the state constitution to elevate the current twelve week abortion ban law to a constitutional provision with limited exceptions for medical emergencies or in cases of rape.

To prevent the current legislative abortion ban from being enshrined in the state constitution Vote No

Nevada

Nevada Question 6, the Right to Abortion Initiative will amend the state constitution to create a constitutional right to an abortion, providing for the state to regulate abortion after fetal viability, except where medically indicated to "protect the life or health of the pregnant patient."

To enshrine abortion rights protection in the state constitution Vote Yes

New York

New York Proposal 1, the Equal Protection of Law Amendment will amend the state constitution to provide that people cannot be denied rights based on their "ethnicity, national origin, age, and disability" or "sex, including sexual orientation, gender identity, gender expression, pregnancy, pregnancy outcomes, and reproductive healthcare and autonomy."

To enshrine equal rights protection for pregnant people and abortion patients in the state constitution Vote Yes

South Dakota

The South Dakota Constitutional Amendment G, the Right to Abortion Initiative will amend the state constitution to protect the right to an abortion based on a trimester framework, with no restrictions permitted in the first trimester, only limited medical need restrictions permitted in the second trimester and allowing deeper restrictions in the third trimester except "when abortion is necessary, in the medical judgment of the woman's physician, to preserve the life and health of the pregnant woman."

To enshrine abortion rights protection in the state constitution and overturn the state's current full abortion ban Vote Yes

If you live in one of these ten states and abortion rights matter to you, get registered or double check your registration and make your voting plan today. Every single vote matters significantly in amendment questions.

[anna-scribbles]

i feel like if Nathalie had told gabe that he was acting like Emilie's father (Lord dickface) he might've changed his ways the last couple of weeks(probably just crash out more tbh)

see that is totally possible except I really think that gabe lowkey idolized that man. like a reverence borne from humiliation. okay hold on i actually have a lot to say

like, I think that when gabe and emilie came crawling back to the graham de vanily's begging for help, emilie's father just completely humiliated gabriel. made it clear that he would never see him as anything other than a poor dressmaker unwelcome in their family and unworthy of his daughter. and ever since then, gabriel just had this deep insecurity festering inside him. he spent the rest of his life trying to claw his way up in status and wealth and respect.

and when emilie would complain about her parents, gabriel would agree and comfort her. but deep down, he didn't hate emil like emilie did. he respected him. he envied him. he wanted to be powerful like that. he wanted to be so important that no one could make him feel like a poor stupid dressmaker ever again.

I think that if nathalie had brought up emilie's father there at the end, it might've even had the opposite effect. that comparison might've bolstered his ego, made him even more confident in his decisions. he was the man of the house, the one calling the shots. no one could look down on him ever again.

and of course, this bled in obvious ways into gabriel's relationship with adrien. gabriel was obsessed with power and control, and dealt with his deep insecurity by elevating himself in importance above everyone else in his life. one of the most accessible ways for him to feel powerful and important was to exert control over adrien. and in many ways, this was gabriel re-enacting his own dynamic with emil, but giving himself the upper hand this time.

but it never worked. none of gabriel's power plays ever actually healed his insecurity about where he came from. he never, ever received emil's approval. all he ever did was drive himself insane and hurt everyone around him in the process.

[advancedelevatoraccesscontrol]

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[winkofcharm]

Spinning, Spinning, Spun - Chapter 2

I wanted more for this chapter, but apparently I'm travelling this weekend so it's all I could do.

batfamily x reader {platonic}

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Alfred thinks he may rival any of The Flashes in how quickly he moves. Any aching joints or stiff knees that may slow him down are forgotten in his hurry. He does not call Stephanie back to inform her, throwing all his attention into getting into the Batcave as soon as he can.  There is no time to waste, for if Stephanie is right - you haven’t been heard from in at least a week, a week too long. If the laughter at the end of your voicemail is real, then you’re not just missing, you’ve been taken.

‘It’s all too familiar’, Alfred thinks, punching in the access code before stepping into the elevator. ‘It’s happened again, another child - gone’. The past replays in his mind, over and over again. Jason, gone, dead, killed by the same grotesque creature that now holds you. 

Alfred is forced to wipe his eyes, clear away his forming tears, so that the retina scanner works. And as soon as he is able, the emergency alert goes out. He knows it will wake Bruce and Tim, and he knows it may take a few minutes for Dick and Barbara to join virtually - but sure enough, his family fills the cave. 

Batman, Robin, Red Robin, Batgirl and Spoiler are all gathered within a half hour. Nightwing’s and Oracle’s faces each on a monitor. Spoiler, Stephanie, is pale, her face twisted into a look of guilt, eyes staring into Alfred’s as he begins to speak. 

The words are slow to form, and choke him as he forces them out-

“I was made aware not long ago that,” Alfred pauses, not purposely, but long enough to give a shuddering sigh, “The young master has -” His eyes settle on Stephanie, who has yet to divert her eyes from him. It is a slight movement, but her head is shaking, back and forth, a silent prayer for him to not finish. “Has been taken.” He finishes. 

Stephanie shrinks into herself, it was not the answer she wanted, but the one she received nonetheless. Alfred shuts his eyes, refuses to look upon the others as he provides more information, the only information he had. He forces the words out, as if speaking them is carving them into stone. He knows he will have to say them, no matter how little he wishes to. He will have to open his eyes, and bear witness to a world in which you most certainly have been harmed. 

He tells them all he knows.

He tells them how Stephanie had noticed your lack of online presence, how she had reached out to him, and he had tried to contact you, and how your voicemail had been…altered. How the laugh at the end could belong to only one person. He finishes, and silence takes over. The only sound he hears is his own heart pounding in his ears - waiting for someone, anyone, to tell him that he was wrong. That you were in fact safe and sound, that you were upstairs in your room, wrapped tightly in blankets and securely asleep. 

Barbara is the first to speak, her voice coming from the speakers, bouncing around the cave with a slight echo. 

“They failed to check in with me today, but they did yesterday. It’s unlikely they’ve been gone that long - “ she explains, Alfred can hear the tap-tap-tap of her keyboard through the surround sound system. She remotely takes control of the computer, various screenshots of conversations popping up as she does. The very latest is dated yesterday, 5:15pm for its final message. 

The picture above your final message (‘Your last words’ Alfred thinks) is cut off, but he catches the end of a runway, and the top of your seated legs.

K. 

That’s it. 

5:15pm: K.

“According to their schedule, they should be in Milan for fashion week - huh. Strange -” Barbara stops mid-sentence. Her brow furrowing as she types rapidly, “But the jet’s in New York, and has been for-” she cuts herself off again. Typing getting faster, a frown overtaking her expression. “Three weeks - what? They’ve been sending pictures from all over the place?” 

Stephanie’s eyes widen, and she steps forward. 

“That picture is from last year,” She pulls out her phone and pulls up profile, scrolling back through a years worth of content, “See! It’s the same one!” She claims. She sends it wirelessly to the computer, and it pops up squished between Babara and Dick’s faces. 

Even from what little he could see of your messages from Barbara, he can tell it’s the truth. The lights are the same, the runway and laying in your lap are identical, down to the tiniest of stains on the knee of your pants. 

Barbara proceeds to pull up more and more of the pictures you have supposedly sent her these last few days, and sure enough - each one is a duplicate to an earlier post. Panic and fear bubble in Stephanie’s chest as she confirms each one, and Alfred watches as the rest of his family begin to realize - 

You were gone.

Someone had your phone.

That someone had been pretending to be you.

If the laugh at the end of your voicemail was any indication - 

Joker had you, had had you for a week, at least. 

And no one had noticed. 

It’s only when Bruce steps forward, that Barbara and Stephanie fall silent, and back into line. His eyes are steel, cold and hard,  flickering over all the presented information. 

“Nightwing, come back to Gotham, you and I will focus on the Red Hood case. Spoiler and Robin, I need you to investigate the Jet, check it over, see if anything is out of place,” He pauses, deep in thought before continuing, “Oracle, track their digital movements. Phone records, previous posts - everything. Red Robin, Batgirl, try and see if they have any enemies. Anyone who may have wanted them hurt, or wanted to hurt the Wayne family.” 

Bruce stops, and looks over his team, his family, as he gives his instruction. Splitting their attention at a time like this, with a new violent vigilante on the loose in his city, wasn’t ideal. He would make it work - he had to. Red Hood was targeting the Robins, Red Robin in particular, this gave him both an excuse to get Tim off the Red Hood case, and onto your disappearance. He hopes they aren’t connected, and hopes he can keep the rest of them from realizing they might be. 

It would be easier for him to take Red Hood on with Dick alone; and if it means letting the rest think Joker - who is still firmly locked in Arkham - took you, then so be it. 

Bruce dismisses his team, his family, his children, and watches them all flit off into the night. Oracle signs off with a flourish, but Dick remains behind - the computer automatically adjusts so that his face, and his face alone takes up the entire monitor. Bruce is turned away from the monitor, and despite the distance between them, he can feel his son's eyes burn into his back. He knows that Dick is frowning, knows what he will say when he turns to face him. He lets out a sigh, there is no preventing what is to come, his shoulders fall slack, and he finally turns to face what he knows is coming - as if he is the son to be scolded by his father. 

Dick is angry, is disappointed, and frustrated. He may not have been as close to you as he could have been, but you were still part of his family. He was once told that keeping you at arms length meant keeping you safe, but he learned long ago that was a lie. 

He was already Nightwing by the time he had met you, but he had known of you for far longer. He learned of you from bits and pieces, crumbs dropped by those who barely let a thing slide. Written reports on a desk that he was technically forbidden from reading, early morning phone calls between Alfred and some secret stranger - everything pointed to a secret, and Dick was really, really good at figuring out people's secrets.

He discovered you, and then, to his regret, left you alone. He was gone by the time you finally came home, and with Jason arriving nearly the same day to replace him - his attention was diverted to the most pressing matter. He did visit occasionally, and met you through those visits. 

You didn’t know about the Batman thing, and he was fine keeping that from you. He also didn’t think he had to make sure Jason knew about keeping the Batman thing secret from you, but maybe he should have. There was such a clear divide between you pre-knowing, and post-knowing. 

Dick can’t help but think that if he had tried just a bit more, things may have been different. He appreciates all that you do, really he does - it’s just, he doesn’t know you the way he knows everyone else. Doesn’t know what makes you happy or sad, doesn’t know your favourite foods, favourite colours, or even who your friends are ( do you even have any, outside of those you work with?). Now it may be too late, he thinks. If Joker has you, and you’ve really been gone for as long as they think - it’s Jason all over again. He wonders if he’ll see you too, in the dark corners of his mind. If an apparition of you, molded by his own mind, will taunt his failures as Jason’s ghost does. 

It’s not even the first time you’ve been kidnapped. They all have, at some point or another, but they all had training to get themselves out. You hadn’t, and yes, most of the time it was some low ranking organization or crook looking for a quick buck, thinking you an easy target (and you were an easy target), it didn’t change the fact that it’d happened. 

Didn’t change the fact that after the first time, Dick had promised he’d spend more time with you (and then didn’t). Then it happened again, and this time you weren’t even rescued by a family member, by a familiar face. Maybe it was one of the Supers? Or maybe a Flash? You were brought home by a Green Lantern once (twice). Each time he’d promise himself, he’d treat you better, each time he promised you’d be safer and it wouldn’t happen again - and then it did. 

It ate at him, how you’d shrug off each incident without a word. Perhaps, he thinks, he convinced himself that it didn’t affect you, that even if you were snatched up, you’d be saved in the end, so the fact that it happened didn’t matter. But it did matter, it did. He swears it did, and staring down at your shared Father, who had swore time and time again that you’d be kept safe (and being proven wrong, time and time again) it sinks in that this may be the last time.  That those promises he made to himself were never going to be kept, that he was a liar, that for all his bravado about being the best big brother , he was possibly one of the worst. 

“Bruce,” he forces out, words dancing on the tip of his tongue, “You said this wouldn’t happen again.” 

‘This’ being either you being kidnapped again, or having another of his siblings taken away by the clown prince of crime. He isn’t sure which one he means, or maybe he means both - and judging from the look on Bruce’s face, he takes it as both. 

“It hasn’t, “ Bruce starts, and Dick thinks he may have finally lost it. You definitely were taken again, and a good chance it was - “He’s still locked up.” 

What?

“Joker’s still in Arkham, the others will figure that out soon enough,” He continues, and Dick stares open-mouthed at him. If Joker is still in Arkham, then who? Who has you? Harley? Is it an attempt to bust Joker out? To continue his work while he cannot? Dick can’t help but wonder what is worse, thinking Joker or Harley may have you, or not knowing who does. He runs over all the possibilities in his mind, for surely this must be one of their known enemies. Someone who wants to target them, because there was never a reason to target you specifically. 

But there’s a new player on the board, isn’t there? One that’s started cropping up everywhere they look. 

“Bruce, you don’t think it’s him do you?” Dick waits for an answer, and all he gets is the slightest nod of Bruce’s head. “I see. I’ll be back in Gotham by the morning, and then, we’re tracking Red Hood down.” With that, Dick dismisses himself, logging off and finally Bruce is alone. 

He is not a good father. He knows this. He has never pretended otherwise, despite what some may say. They may say he did his best, he did all that he could. They praise him for the way his children have turned out, the ones that survived, as if he is the reason they did so. He knows he is not, especially not when it comes to you. 

There is nothing he has done right for you, not once, except perhaps try to set you free from the darkness. But even that, he thinks, he has done wrong. To let you grow in the sun, he severed your roots. Refused to let them take hold, that someday you might leave him, and his shadows behind, and start anew. Yet he sought to tie you to him, that you might never find that sun, may see it, but never feel its warmth for yourself. 

He is a selfish man, who drags those around him down, he poisons the well from which you drink long before you could find another. In wanting to keep you close, he has driven you away. In wanting to drive you away, he may have killed you. 

You are his first born, one that he did not want, but was no less dear to him. He has never shown you this, never let you know, and now that may be another great failure atop the pile of other great failures. 

He was not there when you were born, didn’t even know you were to be, but when the hospital called, he felt his heart swell. A family, a father in a way that Dick didn’t really need him to be. He didn’t rush, couldn’t rush. It wouldn’t be the first time he was declared the father of an illegitimate child. He pushed for tests, just in case, and when they came back and you were his, he felt himself hope. 

Hope is a fickle mistress, and he found it lacking soon after. He had you placed in his childhood room, the nursery, the one in which all Wayne children had resided in at some point or another. He thought he could keep up with raising a child and being The Batman. He was young, he was capable, he was, he was doing so very very wrong by you.

A baby was different from a preteen, he soon learned. Dick was easy, because for the most part, he could care for himself. He did not need someone to watch him at all hours, didn’t need nappies changed and bottles warmed. It was not care he nor Alfred could give. 

He did what he thought was best, and though it haunted him, he sent you away, and promised he would bring you back when you were older, when it would be better, easier. 

A better time, an easier time, never came. Something always came up, always held him back on bringing you home. He didn’t think that time would ever come, doesn’t know if it truly had. But you came home, the woman he had personally hired to raise you was retiring, and he figured it was the only chance he had to bring you in. 

The date slipped his mind, and on the day you came home, he found Jason. Instead of greeting you, welcoming you, embracing you, he opened his arms to another, letting you slip into the manor like a phantom. 

You were finally home and despite all that you may have needed - Jason needed more. He passed you in the hallways, sometimes at meals, never really stopping to connect with you the way he should have. He learned of you indirectly, through Jason. 

How glad he was, that you held no animosity towards the boy he had taken in. You never gave any inclination towards the idea he may have stolen your place, even if Jason sometimes thought he had. The boy was sensitive, empathetic to a degree Bruce hadn’t known before. And Bruce, for the moment, encouraged it.

Until you found out about Batman. 

He had done what he could to keep you separate. To keep your life and light safe from the dark and dirt that encompassed all he did. It was Jason’s mistake, and Jason would be punished accordingly. But that left you - sitting alone in the study, eyes cast aside until he began to speak and you looked up and oh- 

Your eyes. 

His mothers eyes. 

He had never looked you in the eyes before, never noticed, how could he not notice? You had her eyes. Your eyes, looking upon him in fear, reminding him so clearly of his mothers eyes on that night.  His mothers eyes, frightened of him. 

He panicked. Lashed out, locked you out of the loop and threw away the key. If it meant you hated him, feared him, so be it. He would keep you safe, he would do all he could to keep those eyes in his life. 

And then he failed. Again. He thought by letting you go into the world slowly, he could at least try to keep you safe and content. 

Again, and again, and again, and again. He watched you suffer as he failed you. Then when you finally seem to be escaping his failure, leaving behind all his mistakes, he refuses to let you go. Forces you to play pretend, to put a metaphorical mask on and lie to the world about how perfect he is -

Sometimes he lets himself believe it, lets himself get lost in the fairy tale, that you are a happy child and he is a good father, that he has never abandoned you, that you and he are a team, taking on the world together. He pretends that he has never missed a ceremony or award, that ‘family night’ includes you, that he doesn’t see only your back walking away from him, that he has never walked away from you. 

‘This is the last time,’ Bruce thinks, going back over all your accounts, comparing the recent ones to the timeline of Red Hood showing up in Gotham. ‘After this, I will let them go.’ 

He knows this is another lie, and chooses to believe it anyway. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Next chapter - Red Hood vs Batman,

and finally, a check in with Reader-tan

@holybatflapexpert @electricgg @xoyumiqls @holderoflostmemories @sleeptimes @galaxypurplerose @sassam @pearlyribbons @bellelamoon @fortunatelydifferentqueen

@randomlyappearingartist @c4xcocoa @whyiseveryuseenametaken @myjumper

@magdalenacarmila @noone1233nobody @bbmgirll @degenerates-posts@rinkydinkythinky @ithoughtthinks @rtyuy1346  @s1mppp @yokesmam

man i'm hopin these tags work

[mrrharper]

mrrharper Masterpost

what's up bros

to make this blog a bit more accessible, this is gonna be an index of all of my stories and other stuff connected with me, neatly divided into themes

also hey, i have a discord server for horny bros that y’all should join asap - here's the link

everything's under this pic of a hot stud

Jock TF

Todd goes to a gym / Academic requirements / A Son, Reformed / Muscles In Chains / The Rookie's Figuring It Out / Headphones In, Guns Out / Waiting For The Roommate / Mandatory PE Class / A Real Jock's Supposed to Be Dumb / Cocky And Proud, By Accident / Elevator Malfunction / Former Friend / There Are Always Jocks / Desperation In College / The Jocks Of Dark Forrest College / Strings Attached /

Jock-focused

Under Armour Jock™ / Coach's Process of Developing a Jock / More Loyal, More American, More The Same / Muscle Memory / Inside A Jock's Mind / Script For A Jock / No-Trade Clause / Taming The Football Beast / Enforcing The Bro Code / Just Let It Go, Brah /

Cop/Soldier reprogramming

Programming Adjustment / Law, Order and Musk / Personal Muscle, Uniform Included / A Guard Programmed To Control And Obey / Summer Bootcamp / Army Surplus / Neighborhood Association / Another Cop For The Collection /

Gym Bro TF (and adjacent)

Gym Bro / Bro Advice / A Workout Break / This Is How You Recruit Gym Bros / Waking Up Huge And Jocked / Empty Eyes, Pumped Bis / The Grindset / Big Bro's Job / The Bro Zone Resort /

Inanimate TF

Not In The Exhibit Brochure /

NPC TF

Player Of The Month / Guarding The Base / Gamer Night /

Biker TF

Fitting Into The Gear /

Other stuff

Discord - I run a discord server for other horny bros, come join us

Commissions - I am open for commissions. Want me to write you a story? Check the linked post for all the necessary details

#AMA - you can see all the questions I have answered from previous AMAs under this hashtag

Ko-fi page - you can support me and my work on ko-fi

[totallynotashieldagent]

Kinktober 2024 - Manhandling

Pairing: Adult!Damian Wayne/Reader

Damian had had enough. He’d been watching you all night. Mingling with the guests, letting them- allowing them to touch your arm, offer you drinks, guide you through the room by the small of your back and through it all, you just smiled and laughed and were so fucking polite. Not once did you tell any of the men to not touch you or that you had a boyfriend. Even when he met your gaze, you just raised a brow at him and then continued on. It was as if you were doing it on purpose. You wanted him riled up.

But so far, he was able to manage it. It was fine- really- no, the glass isn’t cracking under his grip. He was managing it. He was- He was until- until he saw you talking to Conner fucking Kent. Damian could never stand that clone-boy. 

His grey eyes met Damian’s green and it was as if he was testing him. Come get your girl, he almost goaded him. And Damian was so easy to rile up for all his emotional repression, he was just so easy to tease. 

“Kent-” He said tightly, his arm wrapping around your waist, his palm gripping your hip a little too tightly. Possessiveness was obvious. 

Conner just smiled and winked at you, “I’ll see you later, gorgeous,” He said and left you alone with your boyfriend. 

“What was that about?” Damian all but hissed. 

“Nothing-” You said too quickly, making him scowl.

Your name dripped from his mouth like venom, laced with warning. “What was that about?” He repeated, his teeth gritting together, his hand now holding your bicep in a vice grip. 

“N-Nothing, Dami-” You said again, “Wh- Calm d-” His hand tightened even more. “Damian-” 

“You’ve done nothing but parade yourself around this party.” He whispered at your neck. “You’ve let men and women touch you. Touch what’s mine.” 

You dry swallowed, “Damian-” Trying to build a case but it came out like a breathless plea.

He wasn’t wrong. You had been doing it. But it wasn’t because you were parading yourself. It was because it was fun to rile him up. He always fucked harder when he was riled up. But tonight, talking to Conner, maybe you’d overdone it-

You tried to say something again but his glare quieted you instantly. 

“We’re leaving.” His tone left no room for argument. The ride back to his penthouse was painfully silent. 

You could see his tan hands clenching so tight at the wheel that the knuckles were white. Every time you did try to say something, anything, it was met with a glare that shut you up.

“Out.” He said when he parked the car. 

Usually, he would’ve circled around and opened the door for you. But today, oh, today you knew you were fucked. It scared and thrilled you. 

His hand circled your bicep painfully again as he led you to the elevators and punched the button for the top floor. 

“You- You really test my self-control at times.” He spoke through gritted teeth. 

You wanted to laugh, honestly. That it wasn’t your fault he was snapping because you laughed with Conner. But his grip was like a vice that would bruise tomorrow and fucking hell, the idea of being marked was shooting straight to your pussy. 

The moment you both entered the penthouse, you were pressed against the door. Your tits squished to an almost painful degree, your neck craning against the hardwood. 

“Now- what were you talking to that clone about?” His voice was low and controlled but his body was flushed against yours and you could feel his belt buckle digging into your back. 

“Really- It wasn’t-” You tried and his hand twisted your wrists together, your shoulders squishing together, making you gasp. “Dami- It was just-”

“You like it, don’t you?” He growled, his other hand pulling up the gown. “You like riling me up. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re doing it on purpose.” His fingers reached the edge of your panties. Teasing the dampness slowly, sending shockwaves through your spine. “Look at that…” He whispered, his finger hooking the underwear to the side to gain access. 

You could feel his signet ring as he bottomed out his index finger into your tight hole. Clenching involuntarily around his finger, pushing back for more. He grunted and pulled out. 

“You think you’ll get more after behaving like that?” Damian chuckled darkly against your neck. “Not tonight, princess. You’ve been a brat and you’ll be treated like one.” He let you go, making you almost falter and slump down. “Sit on the couch. And if you touch yourself-” He warned, pulling off his jacket, draping it onto a chair and folding his sleeves to the elbows. 

You swallowed and sat on the couch, your hands clenching and unclenching in anticipation.

Damian took off his rings and gestured for you to stand. Sitting down behind you, his hands guided you back into his lap. His hardness was obvious but you knew you couldn’t say a word right now. 

“Now, you know before we start what you like, I need to punish you-” He said sweetly, kissing your shoulder, one hand held you in place and the other’s knuckles glided over your arm. You nodded a yes and he gently guided you over his lap. 

Your face squished against the cushions and your ass laid across his muscular lap. 

“Count for me, darling.” He said softly, pulling your gown up to reveal the damp underwear that was still twisted to the side uncomfortably. 

One arm was draped over your lower back and the hand was tucking your underwear so your ass was fully exposed and your folds were peaking out. 

“Ready?” He asked, his hand caressing your behind. Before you could even say yes, a hard slap cracked down your ass, making you yelp, clenching your thighs together. He kneaded and massaged the flesh gently, a sharp contrast to how hard he’d just slapped you. 

“One-” You croaked out softly. Your hands grip the cushions tightly, and your breath is already getting ragged.

“Good-” He mused and then came another hard slap on the other ass cheek. You again, yelp and gasp. He’s not giving warnings before striking down. You whisper a moaning two. 

“Now…” His fingers gently caressed your folds a little. He pulled down the underwear just till the thighs and one finger started to tease at your entrance. “Drenched already, my love. You like being punished, don’t you?” 

You whispered a desperate yes as you waited for another spank but it didn’t come. Instead, his finger just traced the edge of your pussy’s hole. Making you clench on air but not giving in. Before you could try to understand why he wasn’t finger fucking you already, a light slap landed on your cunt. The moan that escaped you and the way your ankles twisted together even surprised you. 

“Well, well-” Damian fingers rubbed you carefully to remove the soreness. You mumbled three, not to rile him up any further. You’d just gotten yourself to calm down a little when the second slap came, the shock it sent through your clit made you clench harder, whining against the cushions.

“Damian- Please-” You rasped. Needing more but still at his mercy. 

“Please, what?” He goaded you, his index finger still circling at your hold but not going in. 

“I need- need more-” You whined, trying to push back, force his finger into you but he held you in place easily. 

“Misbehaving again?” He laughed softly. “Seems like it’s going to be a very long night, my sweet.” The fourth slap that hit your clit made you dizzy. You were on edge and nowhere near it either.

"Three?" You gasped.

“You lost count, my heart. We’ll have to start again now.” He cooed at you sweetly.

Kinktober 2024.

[hunzzzzz]

OBX TWEETS: part 14 (Rafe Cameron x reader x John B SMAU)

“Stop manhandling the AC controls, you’re gonna give it whiplash,” Rafe swatted your hand away.

“I’m currently marinating in my own sweat over here,” you huffed, yanking your hair up into a messy ponytail that probably made you look like a wet rat. 

Honestly, summer was a mixed bag. Sure, the extra daylight hours were great for avoiding your responsibilities, but the feeling of your thighs doing the sticky-seat tango was a special kind of torture. And then there was your hay fever, that sneaky little bastard that lay dormant until the most inconvenient moment, like right when you were trying to look effortlessly cool on a first date with your nemesis. So far, the pollen ninja hadn't struck, but you were on high alert.

“You’re more dramatic than a daytime soap opera,” he rolled his eyes, though there was a smile playing on his lips. “Give it, like, two seconds to actually work.”

“Two seconds in this mobile greenhouse feels like two years in hell,” you sighed with exaggerated despair, fanning yourself with your hands like you were a Southern belle who’d just heard some shocking gossip. “You’re actively trying to cook me alive in this metal death trap.”

“You have the imagination of a caffeinated squirrel,” he chuckled, glancing over at you.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you scoffed, narrowing your eyes.

“Like what?” he asked innocently, though you could see the mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Like a goddamn pervert who’s mentally undressing me.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, shaking his head and laughing. “Time out. A fucking pervert? You seemed perfectly fine with my face squished between your thighs. But now I’m a pervert?”

You smacked his arm lightly, though you quickly looked away to hide the blush that was creeping up your neck. “You’re so fucking nasty.”

“I was going for ‘passionately persuasive,’” he pouted dramatically, reaching over and placing a hand on your thigh. At that exact moment, the AC finally kicked into high gear, blasting you with a glorious wave of icy air that made every hair on your body stand up in delighted shock.

You somehow made it to the bowling alley without resorting to actual violence. The fluorescent lights were as flattering as ever, and the smell of stale popcorn and rented shoes filled the air. Putting on those ridiculously oversized bowling shoes immediately elevated the whole experience to a new level of awkward chic. And of course, because you were both competitive psychos, a wager was immediately established.

“If I win,” Rafe said, looking up at you while tying his shoelaces with an unnecessary amount of focus, “you have to be… nice to me. For a whole entire day. No insults, no eye-rolls, the whole shebang.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed, trying to tie your own laces. “And if I win…” You paused, tapping your chin thoughtfully. “Hmm…”

“What’s your price, princess?” he asked, a knowing smirk on his face.

“…..if I win…… you have to let me have free, unrestricted access to your phone for a full hour.”

“What?” He looked up sharply, shaking his head with an incredulous scoff. “No. Absolutely not. Are you insane?” He dusted off his trousers, standing up with an air of mock indignation.

“Scared I’ll uncover all your deeply embarrassing TikTok dances?”

“No, but knowing you, you’ll probably post some truly heinous shit and get me cancelled so hard I’ll have to change my name and move to Antarctica to become a penguin whisperer.” He was sassier than ever now, planting his hands on his hips with an air of mock outrage. “People still think I’m a Trump supporter because of all the false shit you tweeted about me.”

“Fine, be a pussy,” your smirk faltered slightly when he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that had absolutely nothing to do with the questionable cleanliness of the bowling alley.

“You’re on, princess.”

“Okay, that’s enough internet terrorism for one night,” Rafe said, making a grab for his phone as you cackled maniacally, your thumbs flying across the screen as you crafted yet another tweet that would undoubtedly confuse and possibly enrage his followers. Something about pineapple on pizza being a human right seemed particularly inflammatory.

“Hey!” You slapped a hand against his chest, warding him off with a playful shove, your other hand still firmly clutching his precious device behind your back. “Loser keeps their hands to themselves! I won fair and square, remember?”

“I let you win!” he exclaimed, inching closer to you as you scrambled further back on his bed, a ridiculous grin plastered across your face.

“You're just a sore loser. Cry me a river and then build a bridge and get the fuck over it, princess.” you retorted, scooting back until your butt hit the headboard.

Rafe lunged, grabbing your legs and yanking you back towards him with surprising strength. You landed with a soft thump, your back flush against the sheets as he hovered over you, his forearms resting on either side of your head, effectively caging you in his arms. “Hand it over, you little menace,” his hot breath tickled your ear.

“Make me, baldie.” you dared him, your heart doing a little flutter-kick despite the compromising position you were in.

“Yeah?” His lips brushed against yours.

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[hadesoftheladies]

“what oppression do women face? what rights don’t they already have?” let me explain something very simple to you. having laws that permit women to have jobs, divorce men, abort, or kill in self-defense is literally 25% of the battle. why? because of infrastructure and societal bias.

for example, it is technically illegal to rape (legislation) yet few rapists are ever convicted and even if they are, their sentences never match the crime. why? for one, it’s hard for girls and women of challenging socioeconomic backgrounds to access services or resources like rape kits or information on how to seek legal assistance; and in the course of this, the police men are likely to sexually abuse them as well, resulting in more trauma and reducing their chances at seeking justice (infrastructure). even if a woman were to get a job (and the law doesn’t allow discrimination), if the social bias is that she can’t perform well, she is still less likely to be hired. if she is hired, she is more likely to be underpaid (read up on the velvet or pink ghetto).

government (legislation and judiciary) are reflective of social consciousness. they may agree with the rights of women (sometimes) on paper, but whether or not they are meaningfully enforced is completely up to those with the most socioeconomic power, which, for now, is largely still men (in that men maintain most of the wealth, property, and high opinion in a populace, they also control most popular metanarratives via religion, education, pornography and entertainment which means they largely control public perception). because men in patriarchal society keep their resources to themselves and seek to elevate only themselves. racism can be illegal, and still rampant, in a country. so it is with misogyny and homophobia.

if men hate women in a system that has long been organized to benefit them, a few legislative changes won’t automatically change that system. it has to be altered structurally and socially as well.

and that takes a whole lot more fighting