#Employee participation initiatives

[marketxcel]

Top 10 Employee Engagement Activities for a Positive Workplace

Elevate your workplace culture with these top 10 employee engagement activities. Foster a positive environment, boost morale, and enhance teamwork for a more productive and enjoyable work experience.

[xenosagaepisodeone]

my sister was telling me a bunch of facts she read on the naruto fan wiki and now i cannot get out of my mind how the existence of the akatsuki being the fault of konoha government employees giving people the tools to participate in violent political conflict to further the goals of the state only for said people to eventually use the tools they were provided to initiate violent political conquest of their own within a world made dysfunctional by said government's violent political conflict functionally makes the akatsuki ninja al qaeda

[aziraphale-is-a-cat]

DPXDC Power Struggle

After the defeat of Pariah Dark and subsequent dissolution of the GIW, Danny Fenton didn't have much preternatural bullshit to handle anymore. He had initially found the lack of responsibility freeing and finished up highschool with stellar grades. But slowly, the more he found himself falling into a normal life, the more he started to realize he just couldn't go back. As much as he resented the life he used to lead, he craved the adrenaline rush.

And so, when he received an invitation to work as a non-civillian contractor to the infamous Taskforce X, he ignored every better judgement and took the deal. Sure, this Waller lady seemed like the type to gut him like a fish, but, aside from the obvious power difference dissuading her, that's exactly the type of environment he was familiar with.

-

Amanda Waller stared pointedly at the confirmation email on the screen in front of her. She'd taken a risk doing this, her hiring style wasn't exactly characterized by targeting willing participants, but power like the kind Daniel Fenton held in his hands was wasted as a civilian. She needed someone at least somewhat loyal as well, her work with Flag had proven telling as to what could happen when an employee becomes more loyal to the rogues than to her.

So yes, it was a gamble- but one that she hoped she could make work if she could only just pull the wool over the Phantom's eyes.

[tarjapearce]

The Immorality Of Love (Prologue)

Duke! Miguel O'Hara x Courtesan! Reader

Synopsis: Pretty Woman but Victorian Era Inspired ~ jskjs.

A/N: So, watched Pretty Woman a bit ago and thanks to all of you that participated in the poll, you picked a Victorian Era Inspired! 🤭 And here is it, our new wee series :'). Hope you like! Thanks to my beta reader @oharasmommymilkers00 ❤️. Feedback is always appreciated ~

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Mentions of death, character background, Angst, mentions of blood, implicit sexual activities, a bit of historical inaccuracy for the sake of the plot, Working and low class struggles, No use of Y/N, Violence, grief, social struggles.

Maybe it was the rain, the ever cold and gloomy weather that made Nueva York the antagonist of its neighbors states.

Bustling with the unceasing life through the day and night. The city never slept really, full of people chasing their dreams on a daily basis, despite dangers lurking around in every dark and forsaken corner.

Tall buildings and factories reached towards the sky in an attempt of growing larger than their competitors. The bigger the better, right?

Cause that would mean to have more employees to cover up the demand, right?

Wrong.

Despite the city flooding with rich and proud buildings, little were the amount of people that actually got to experience the decent living novelty.

Something surreal, a borderline utopia for those in the slums and west district as economy only seemed to thrive in the prettiest sectors of Nueva York, keeping the rich richer and the poor, poorer. Perpetuating the cycle of endless inequity among its gaunt and empty looking denizens.

Forsaking everything in the way of those that didn't have the luck of being born in a warm golden crib. The king had been having other project in mind, leaving his initials intentions of helping, behind.

But how long ago had he promised a change?

It didn't matter. Not when hunger, diseases, poverty and other horrors chased those excluded from privilege. They preyed on the weakest and sickest, working like a self imposed reaper, specially in what was considered the live sewers of the city.

Raggedy and rickety walls extended at every turn of sight, filled with children and their parents, bathed in filth and ash coming from the polluting factories, whose machinery always reminded the poorest of how life was. Creaking, loud, cold and unforgivably unstoppable.

Clothes were either stolen from others or simply removed from the bodies that succumbed on life's hardscrabbles without much thought.

Bodies were often tossed to the river as a cemetery charged a small fee for receiving the dead. Not even a spot in the earth was allowed for the unfortunates as they barely had the enough money to eat, much less to afford for their perpetual rest.

Choosing between burying a friend or relative and eat at least one time a day for a couple of days, was the constant doubt many had.

And so, the tradition of tossing bodies at the river started. Only to be stopped a few years after as the river fed the livestock, making them sick. A shortage of food and other miscellaneous had started.

If poors already suffered, the water's scarcity walloped with all it's might the slums, pushing people into desperate ways to survive, even if it was prolonging the suffering for another day.

Overripe bodies, swarmed with flies were often found by the police in the already tattered homes, the rumor of miasma running rampant in the slums only made the west district of Paxton more susceptible to inhuman treatment by the rich.

Back breaking jobs were in every way. Laundry that had the women and even men folding over a wall at the end of the day because their back ache was too much. The factories with their ominously tall chimneys spilling the same dark filth their occupants inhaled daily; The coal mines that had turned into a living gravestone, costing lives in a weekly basis among them.

Yet, the spots for a job were the main reason there were many revolts.

The situation turned critical when some richer fellows forbidded people from the slums to work in their factories. As some stole the goods.

The Prince however came up with a temporary solution that provided some relief for the oppressed. He forced the owners to either sell their companies, or provide 50 spots for the people.

For the rich it was rather easier to hire people than giving away the fruition of hard work over decades, just cause the prince thought occasionally in others.

Many families were benefited from the initiative. Including yours. And by family it'd mean, your mother and you. Both  working class ladies renting a paltry room in the outer lands of the real slums. Your father had been long gone in a mine accident, or so you were told often. But in truth, your birth had been the outcome of an affair between a nobleman and your mother.

The man died in mysterious conditions a couple of months later. A heart attack apparently.

Your mother knew a bit of everything, earning a couple of favors here and there that slowly made you go to a community school.

"Just because we're poor must we remain ignorant and dirty."

Your education and hygiene always seemed her main concern, as she always talked about how you'd be a good society lady while she scrubbed the dirt off your childish fingers. How well you'd do on your own, and how you'd get a good husband to love you and cherish you.

But your youngling brain was only focused on working enough to get food. You'd understand her wishes later.

You worked in tandem with her in the factory. Children willing to work were given a relatively small payment depending on their labors.

Yours were daily food and occasionally clothes and other things, as grown-ups received money. Some saw it as an humiliation, others as help, since the parents wouldn't have to worry about their children being used as thieves, or worse, abused out there in the streets or being malnourished.

It worked well for a while, until death cut your mother's life thread in a vicious chop. The fumes in the factories often costed the health of so many, leaving children at the mercy of church or orphanages. Another problem that was addressed as soon as the upper class started to complain about the kid's gangs that snuck in the wealthy districts.

A police officer held you as you tried to reach for your mother's lifeless body. Imploring her to wake up from her forever rest as you were dragged away to an orphanage. You knew you wouldn't see her again, you knew they'd throw her to the river and feed the alligators and birds of prey with her flesh since she was mistaken as one from the slums.

The only memento you were allowed to keep from her in the orphanage was her golden chain. A trinket an officer gave to you before your mother was disposed off.

----

The first of the many nights in the orphanage were unforgivable cold. Girls of all ages remained within, the smaller ones cried for their mothers, others for her fathers. The eldest ones were either compassionate or bitter, there was no in between.

But you couldn't complain, you got food, a bath every day, clothes and soon established a little friendship with a girl named Aveline as you did your daily chores at the settlement. Daughter of a courtesan that was killed a couple months ago. She was fourteen, you were twelve.

At your sixteens you escaped with her, finding life in the orphanage too cruel and simply not good enough. She was eighteen, she was legally an adult and could take care of you. However, freedom didn't last much as she was arrested for disturbances and indecency, meaning being drunk on the streets as you were awaiting outside the bar.

You were dragged back to the authorities, but this time, instead of a orphanage they sent you to a convent. Trying to fix the rebel out of you, to leave a demure soul perfect for a working man.

But the solution only proved to worsen the problem. You escaped at your seventeens and to your surprise got reunited with Aveline, or Daisy as she went by on the streets.

She took you to her home, a room in the many brothels in Paxton. She had worked her way out of jail and met Madame Grevaille, that didn't hesitate into offering you a job.

"With a pretty girl like you, you'd have your own place soon!" The lady spoke, but neither her and Aveline pushed you into prostitution.

You helped around the brothel during busy nights, even after a long day at the factory. You caught the eye of a couple of noblemen as they visited Aveline, but politely, you rejected them. Mainly out of fear.

"I'm pretty sure that you'd get more money than I do. Just look at you! and look at me."

Aveline would slur sleepily as you caressed her hair. Your friend's health was slowly deteriorating thanks to an excessive lifestyle.

"You know I couldn't do it. I'm not as brave as you are."

"Imnot brave." She yawned, "I'm just a young woman that must work in the world's ancient labor to be able to eat and provide."

"I'm sorry. For being a burden." A tinge of shame washed over you upon knowing that Aveline was the one that basically carried the burden of rent in her shoulders. Even though you had a job, it didn't pay enough to help Avy, as you called her, the way you wanted to.

And Madame Grevaille was always willing to teach you the arts of seduction, to lure the right kind of gentlemen that paid more than enough to subsist for couple of weeks. Or. months if you knew how to properly play your cards.

"You're not. I know this is everything but what your mother would want for you, but... we've never been a priority to those with power unless we fill even more their pockets, my dear." She curled in your lap, relishing in your soft caresses. An appalling contrast of some of her rowdy client's treatment.

"I know. I know you don't do this cause you like it."

"The only thing I like is when they pay and leave. Except for Mr. Nimeux. That man can use me at his whims all he wants." She giggled sleepily as a fleeting memory of the man came into her head.

"Ugh, Avy, stop."

"Just saying, You'd make a whole lot of money with your virginity."

You gasped, faking offense, "Who says I'm a virgin?!"

"Oh, stop it. Jacob Billard doesn't count."

You both laughed. But deep down in your mind knew it was the only way a woman could get afloat. The new Duke seemed to be lax enough to approve a law to let women work in several other jobs. Construction included. There were revolts, as usual, but again, it proved to benefit the poor.

Your position towards royalty was everything but good, of course you acknowledged their attempts of improving the city since the king was currently busy with other royal things that couldn't wait.

But it also shaped your 'Deeds not words' mantra. You believed more in actions than fancy words.

Even though the years had passed by, there was little changes in the slums. Thankfully, you and Aveline had been able to move to the outer and west district's brothels with the help of another Madame called Susan Lewis, once you hit your eighteens.

Away from the true mess that walloped nonstop the people. You got a tattoo to celebrate it. A beautiful violet on your back.

But despite moving, people's mindset remained the same. Men's specially. And the man that accompanied Aveline for the night wasn't any better.

Her room was often visited by strangers, always perfumed with rich lavender incense around the room to conceal the smell of sex in the air. Some were gentle enough to leave Avy a tip, others made every penny worth by asking the most ridiculous of things. Or so Aveline told you.

But this one was definitely being not nice to her. Despite the many times you tried to intervene with her clientèle, Aveline always told you that she was alright, that it was all part of the fantasy.

Sometimes her client was angered by the intrusion and left. This would make Avy to remain angry with you for a couple of days. However, upon hearing her calling for help, flared your alarms right away.

"You must remain quiet!" The loud slap, a bottle breaking and Aveline's shriek was more than enough for you to bolt in the room without much thought.

The man was big, a bit burly, and was definitely manhandling your best friend way too rough for her and your likings.

Aveline fought, despite her being naked, you took the broom and broke it on the man's back, that grunted and staggered away in pain. Anger and fear pumped through your veins in equal parts as you grabbed the jagged bottle and pointed it at the man.

If you were both to die, at least you'd go fighting.

"Back the fuck off!" You yelled

The man snarled and tried to reach for you, but if mingling with prostitutes and thieves had taught you something, was to defend a friend, even if you were terrified to your very core.

"You whore!" 

You slashed with the sharp part of the bottle, wherever it landed. To your luck it went on the assailant man's face. Slicing flesh on his right cheek.

He roared in pain, but looked at you fascinated, angry and horrified. A chill ran down your spine.

"Get out! Now!"

Despite your limbs trembling, you sliced through the air with silent warnings, the man escaped when Aveline started to call for help through the window while you protected her.

You made sure the man had escaped and locked the door, just in case he decided to take a proper revenge on you both. Aveline's arms went immediately around you, crying with pained yelps and sobs.

"Hey" You mumbled as she wobbled,

"I'm here, it's over." You whispered while helping her to the bed, covering her bruised body with the sheets to spare her some dignity. Not that you were ignorant to a naked body, you helped Avy to get ready or draw her and the others at the brothel a bath after all.

"It hurts." She whined as you wiped the blood out of her cheekbone and nose.

"I'm sorry, Avy."

She grunted as she closed her eyes "D-Did he pay?"

Your heart sunk both in anger and sadness. This was exactly one of the reasons why you didn't become a courtesan. Too many risks, including the probability of getting beaten or killed by your clients, if not their wives.

"He didn't."

----

Madame Lewis and Grevaille were the first in appearing in the scene, they tended to Aveline's wounds and let her rest. You were in your room, racking your brain over the events, when Madame Lewis approached.

"You did a good job protecting Aveline."

"I was as scared as she was, Ma'am."

"Still, you did it well. May I sit?" You nodded as the lady sat a few inches of your bed.

"Have you... considered my proposal?"

"Against all odds. Yes. I wanted to avoid this as much as I could but... Avy is beaten, rent approaches, the factory doesn't pay me well enough and we have to eat."

"Being a courtesan is far from being honorable, dear-"

"With all due respect, ma'am, respect won't bring food to my table. I knew that sooner or later it would come to this."

"Need pushes us to do the unthinkable, dear. But fear not. If you work for me, I'll teach you the right kind of people to seek."

You heaved a defeated sigh, mentally asking your mother for forgiveness for the path you were about to take.

"Could you give me a couple of days more? I want to have enough money to buy all those things you told me I'd need."

"Of course, dear. Please let me know if you need something else."

----

"Even though I'm not that fond of you turning a courtesan, Im happy we'll finally get to leave this damned place. I was thinking in getting an apartment on Brasswood Avenue. Men in there are clean, and they're not animals like these fuckers."

Avy mumbled as you got ready to leave for work at the factory.

"I need you to help me pick some stuff, can you accompany me?"

"Of course! Will get you to this pretty store. I've befriended the owner. One of us, actually."

You stared at her for a moment.

"Have you picked your name yet?"

"My name? What's wrong with my name?"

"Well, it's pretty but you need like an alter ego, so in case police gets hungry with our money, you give them a fake name."

"I don't know. I didn't know I needed one."

"What about... Violet? Like your tattoo?" Aveline secured your apron on your back as you combed your hair.

"Hmm. Doesn't sound bad."

"Then Violet is it!."

You took your pouch of money and hid it.

"Remember as soon as you leave, come meet me at Millport's Avenue. We'll go shopping!"

Avy sung and you chuckled.

"Goodbye, Miss Daisy."

"Goodbye, Miss Violet."

You left, without knowing those words would turn into a bitter reality.

---

Four pm and still no signs of Aveline. Five soon arrived, and Millport's avenue was bustling as usual with people but today it seemed crowded.

"A woman was found dead. Dear god..."

You blinked at the overheard information. But soon the police's rushed steps alerted you as they turned into a familiar corner.

Heart pounded in your ears the more you approached. Breath hitched as you waded in the small crowd that gathered in an alley you crossed during the mornings.

"Back away! Leave the police work, dammit!" One of the police officers yelled at the journalist and curious that gathered to witness the macabre scene.

Tears couldn't help but flood your eyes upon your sight landed on the ever familiar blonde strands that you sometimes found in your hairbrush.

No...

Now stuck to her face, thanks to the bloody glue that stained not only her neck but the cobblestone floor too. A deep gash in her throat had been done. Your best friend had been murdered

"Aveline!!" You cried and rushed to her side. But the police prevented you from going further.

"Stop!"

"Avy! No! Let me go! She's my best friend!" You sobbed in between struggles against the officer's arms, that were everything but comforting to your aching soul.

Everyone watched in horror as Aveline's body was covered, her horrified eyes remained in your mind. Forever burnt into your memories. She died being afraid and not of an old age and rich as she had confessed you once.

The police interviewed you, but what was the point, knowing the investigation would turn into another cold case? Like the many before? None was really safe.

Madame Lewis and Grevaille visited you that night, but their comfort was little. There was no solace you could find in them. You had lived with Aveline for three years. Her short life had ended at twenty two, her mother's story resonatiin her own. And there was no signs of the culprit nor the police's intentions to find him.

But life kept going. The world wouldn't stop for a moment to give you truce to mourn.

Madame Lewis took you in since the rent on your place was too much on your own. It felt like receding big time. But what could be done?

Aveline shared your body size, but even so, you refused to steal from your freshly murdered friend. The only thing you did was to save her most important things in a bag. Papers, some books she loved despite them being intact.

It gave Avy a sense of importance, since she always adviced you to be as knowledgeable as possible. That some men loved that.

And the praying beads she stole from the sister that loved to spank the little girls back at the orphanage you both met in.

Madame Grevaille kept the jewels and dresses as a payment for what Aveline owed her. Despite the cold hearted action, she allowed you to keep one thing of each.

You kept a pearl necklace a nobleman had gifted Avy once and made you promise to keep it safe, and a black cashmere shawl she always put on when parading herself in the streets.

It was your own way to have her close.

Aveline was no more. Forever lost into a man's derangement. So many doubts plagued your mind, but one thing was certain, you were to leave Paxton's district. One way or another.

------

Night had just started, and you had just finished your makeup. A bit of powder on your cheeks, rouge on your lips in  subtle yet inviting way always did the trick, some violet perfume misted your skin, giving a delicate yet enhancing aroma.

Dress in a perfect blue and white with black frills, Black stockings and boots, Avy's shawl draped on your shoulders along a matching bonnet.

You took a bag and left your apartment. Located in Brasswood Avenue, a relatively middle class area in Tevinter's district. Just like Aveline always wanted.

Five years had gone by since her murdering, five years that had you working your way out of Paxton, to finally be comfortably living in the outskirts of Manhattan.

And still, the courtesan mantle never left you. Thanks to it you could afford what you had, your clients were middle and upper class men that paid you enough to not suffer hunger or insecurity.

Madame Lewis's advices had taken you this far. The carriage dropped you to your usual spot, only to walk for a few minutes before arriving at your clientèle's location.

Beautifully decored homes, and buildings  Aveline used to boast about, were now your daily route. Donning the streets with your presence and violet and citrus infused perfume. Five pm was a good hour to start, tonight's goal was to make at least enough to buy that rose perfume you saw at a shop in the Manhattan area.

A smell that would definitely attract royalty even.

Some men stared your way, discreet yet leering smirks hidden behind a polite facade. Some had their companions, whose disdainful and undignified stares were more than expected. Specially if their husbands stared for too long.

Others, despite the rich-looking clothes and apparent status, sent whistles your way. Those were the kind you avoided as they often either ended up paying half or got violent if something wasn't done their way.

Your type would be men, that barely glanced your way or gave a brief scrutinizing gaze, widows or recently divorced, cause one way or another you'd end up their contact list.

Some had been clients over the years, some stopped as they remarried or have kids, only for them contacting you again to have an outlet from their domestic life.

Even women had joined in your repertoire. But au contraire of men, they only called for talk. It was rare when they indulged you physically.

Thanks to that, you gained a bit of reputation within those inner circles that somehow shared a table at social gatherings. Everyone knew their role as pretenders, even you.

Getting attached to clients were out of the list. Thankfully none you shared your charms with had said intention, and it was perfect. It worked in immaculate harmony with your rules and profession.

Clock hit soon six pm and the streets seemed a bit less busy. Soon, the smile of a familiar face came your way

"Hey, Vi!"

Violet. The name had stayed for good. The persona you transformed yourself almost every night in had taken over to stay. Your own persona way too dormant and comfortable in a corner to wake up, letting life happen.

She stopped coming out to life's stages ever since Aveline's murder.

"Any news so far, Jeannie?"

Jeannie or Jeanette, your occasional roomie and new friend. A similar story of yours, with the only difference was that she never really knew her family and was too rebellious to be kept in the convent or orphanage.

She was tall, a ginger with the most adorable set of freckles you've seen so far. Beautiful green eyes and would easily pass as a noblewoman with the right set of clothes adorning her model like body. Jeanette was gorgeous.

You took her in after you found her in the streets of Millport, beaten, with a black eye. Her client had been too rough with his fantasy and her madame was everything but helpful.

You got her to Madame Lewis which gladly took her in. And now, after shooing away another intruder in your zone, she hugged you. Her cherry perfume tickled your nose, announcing it's presence to your demure floral scent.

"None. Been waiting here for quite a while. Just drunkards, until a gorgeous nobleman asked me to wait here for him."

"Oh? What did he look like?"

"None like the hunks you attract, thats for sure."

You chuckled.

"I've got a feeling tonight's gonna be a good night."

"I hope so. I need that new perfume and some new ribbons."

"Oh? You wanna go for the top dogs?!"

You giggled, and shook your head.

"No, well, yes. Maybe. I smelled it? And I went to heaven. Can you imagine the effect it could have in a man?"

"More money, obvious."

Jeanette giggled but quickly stopped upon looking at a carriage approaching.

"That's your cue, Violet."

"You think?"

Some people gasped upon the carriage suddenly hopping on the walk, startling some. Horses neighed, uneasy.

The carriage rider hopped off, muttering a flurry of Spanish gibberish while grabbing his luscious hair in an angered fit. Tall was a measly word to actually describe him.

His fancily dressed chest heaved as he backed away from a neighing horse. Defeated and irked.

You watched curiously as the man pulled out a map from his pocket and glared holes at it. Confusion was evident ad he turned the paper around

Jeanette elbowed you softly. Making her signaling less obvious as if saying 'Stop playing and go for him'

"Fine. If I get killed, you know who to blame."

You hushed before adjusting your corset and cleavage, Jeanette pinched your cheeks to give them a bit more of blush.

"Relax, it's gonna be a good night, remember?" Jeannie winked your way and pushed you on your way, gently.

With a deep breath, and your shawl secured, you approached to the man.

----

[mosaickiwi]

14DWY As a Drama AU

Hey remember when I said I’d post this in February oopsies!! (don’t ask me about demon!ren i will cry)

Open at your own risk this thing is LONG. Tried to give everyone at least a little something! upon putting this in my drafts i realized olivia exists i'll add her at some point uhhh. Also you can tell how much I love Elanor... hehe

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

The cult classic romantic thriller, 14 Days With You, is now a drama! Coming to all your favorite streaming platforms this summer. A whirlwind romance gone right and wrong that you DON’T want to miss.

Cast List

[REDACTED]

🖤 Quiet kid that used the after school theater program to delay returning home. Never wanted to perform, but loved doing costumes, make up, and correcting others (in his mind) on how to portray their roles. 

🖤 Spent a little extra time perfecting the costumes of a certain someone who didn't even know they existed. He always traded house chores with his sister so she'd sit in the audience to solely film Tree #2's performance.

🖤 Was an apprentice special effects makeup artist after graduation at first, particularly for horror films, but it didn't exactly pay the bills when they left home.

🖤 Easily rose to the top in their acting career due to his dedication for crafting characters to perfection. 

🖤 Dolly Parton/Lady Gaga-esque in their separation of work and life—completely unrecognizable in their regular civilian attire. Paparazzi have never gotten a picture of them in all their years trying.

🖤 Has zero issues getting into character, but does "method acting" on occasion to make sure people leave them alone on set. And also to fuck with directors and producers they don't like. Notoriously difficult to work with because of it + their overall attitude towards others, still gets hired somehow.

🖤 Got offered the role as the main love interest in 14DWY without an audition, thanks to a previous manipulative pink haired character he played in a film that ended up never being released. (2017 Ren because it's funny)

 Angel (you!)

💜 Participated in the same after school theater program as [REDACTED] and Leon for a few semesters before you got bored of it. Curiosity for acting resurfaced later in life.

💜 Newbie actor at the recently formed talent agency of your friend. Only starred as non-speaking roles or background characters in small productions until the drama. You moved back to Corland Bay after uni for the better industry prospects.

💜 You initially auditioned for a very small role in the drama as an employee in a seaside shop at first, but somehow you wound up as the lead? (un)lucky you.

💜 Feel free to fill in the blank for any whys and hows you think of to fit your OC/self/sona as you so please <3

Elanor

💖 Normally an actress and casting director, first time as an executive producer for the drama. Dreams of bringing her own romantic screenplays to life. Hasn't quite proven herself the way she wants in the industry to feel confident enough in them. 

💖 Catalyst for the drama being made. A "friend" mistakenly recommended the 14DWY book to her. She absolutely loathes all the psychological horror of it but sees the potential it has.

💖 Also the reason [REDACTED] was immediately cast, and you as well once she saw your chemistry with him while reading for a minor role. He hadn't shown a fraction of as much interest when reading lines with other potential candidates, so she decided to take the risk of an untested talent as the headliner.

💖 Refuses to use her family's name to get her stuff made. She wants her works to speak for themselves. Very picky about who she works with due to her family having hands in most of Corland's entertainment industry so she hardly gets a genuine interaction beyond ass-kissing.

💖 Always partial to working with Conan's small studio since he was the only director to give her any sort of criticism in spite of her family, as gentle and polite as it was. She still cried a little in the dressing room though.

💖 Genuine confusion when Conan wants her to act as both a producer and assist with direction. She only intended to bring it to his interest. But how could she say no to someone whose judgment and opinion she respects so much?

Conan

💖 Runs and owns a small scale studio in the Bay that seems to pick and choose its productions at random. It is in fact Alice sneaking into her dad's home office and putting scented stickers on the ones she likes. (She only reads the titles)

💖 Extremely proud of Elanor for getting so far on her own, and would take on one of her dozens of scripts no questions asked if she'd only work up the courage to show him one. So imagine his surprise when she comes to him with a romantic horror instead of one of the fairy tale romances he sees her scribbling notes on during breaks.

💖 While he’s the one with the final say, he does try to let Elanor have as much free reign as possible on the project in the hopes to boost her confidence.

Kiara

💖 A super-star actress and model that got her start in Corland’s local industry, but quickly hit it big. 

💖 When she isn’t drowning in work, she’ll swing through town to check in on her sister.

💖 Desperately wants to star in one of Elanor’s productions, but respects her sister’s desire for independence. Though she does like to tease about certain casting decisions on the drama when made aware of them.

the rest of the cast are unfortunately very silly i couldn't resist

Moth

💖 Started a talent agency out of spite for the terrible castings in their favorite media. Got further invested upon realizing they could read the scripts before the movies or show adaptations were even announced.

💖 The one who pushed you to audition for a minor role in the production once the rumor about who was cast as the main love interest reaches them. They've heard all the horror stories about [REDACTED] so wanted the inside scoop. Horrified and fascinated to find out you get the lead role. It’s like watching a train wreck.

Leon

💖 Joined the theater program initially because of you, but got really into it. Moved away to attend a performing arts school until his mother got sick.

💖 Took every wacky infomercial or street performance gig he could find to pay the hospital bills until Teo found out and swooped in.

💖 Eternally grateful for the burden of financial ruin being relieved, so he always accepts the jobs Teo gets for him. He definitely won’t complain since he’s not dressed in an animal costume and shouting nonsensical slogans for cleaning products.

Teo

💖 Met Leon through a shared production and quickly bonded. Attended a different performing arts school and met Jae as a child.

💖 Almost the exact opposite of his game character purely for the funnies. Shy, introverted, can’t flirt to save his life. Still a nepo baby but he can hold his own in acting. Doesn’t like his character much, but is extremely jealous of the confidence he oozes.

💖 Leon and Jae are his only friends in the industry so he uses his sway to get them parts if they haven't already gotten a call back. Gets REALLY nervous on set for certain roles so he needs their support.

Jae

💖 Attended the same school as Teo when they were kids, and is constantly pitching intentionally bad ideas and joking on set to reassure his friend.

💖 A little bit of a thrill seeker, so does all his own small stunts if he thinks he’s capable. Stands there and gawks watching the more extreme stunts, loudest to clap when they go well.

💖 Kept bringing Maple to the shoots cause how could he even think about leaving her at home? She would occasionally break her leash and wander into a scene for head scratches and kisses. The film crew always booed when a PA came to take her off set.

Violet

💖 Completely terrible at caring for plants. Inspired by her role, she starts vlogging about her plant mom journey before shooting even begins. All her advice is completely wrong and terrible. Her personal assistant keeps her in the dark by tending to the plants themselves to fix her mistakes.

💖 Finds out she has a talent for flower arrangement, though. Does thank you vases for the cast and crew on all her future productions that last a lifetime because her PA made sure all the flowers were fake.

Exposition

(silly on set shenanigans)

🎬 Scenes get retaken quite a bit, since you’re still extremely new to it all. Most of the cast and crew expect anger out of [REDACTED] after the 4th call for a re-shoot on the first day’s library scene, but he’s surprisingly cracking jokes about his dye job and reassuring you that you’re doing great. The infamously ill-tempered actor is smiling somehow… even being patient? Not glaring down his co-star for minor slip ups? They cannot recognize this person.

🎬 Violet and [REDACTED] naturally butt heads on set. She respects their acting, not the actor. Zero hesitation to snap back if he’s getting snarky with a PA. You’re the one people have to beg to separate them, and you’re completely baffled that [REDACTED] doesn’t treat others as nicely as he treats you.

🎬 Even though Elanor is a nervous wreck about the first real thing to ultimately make or break her career, she’s scarily efficient on set—as long as no one distracts her. She does get sidetracked once in a while, only because she loves chatting and answering any questions the cast or crew might have. She even brings one of her own cats to set during a slower day to see if they can get along with Maple. Leaves Conan in charge when the horror scenes are being shot. They’re both put off by how vivid they feel, but Conan at least can grin and bear it. 

🎬 You and Leon manage to catch up on set while [REDACTED] is otherwise occupied shooting said horror scenes. You tease him about a few infomercials you saw when looking up his actor reel, and Leon teases you back about your unlucky streak of being a tree or a rock in every play the theater program put on when y’all were younger. Laughs even harder once he finds out your most prominent roles until then were “unnamed zombie #5 at the bottom of the pile” and “sleeping train passenger.”

🎬 Try as he might, [REDACTED] doesn’t convince Elanor to change up a few crucial parts of the script for his benefit. His offhand threats of leaving the production fall on deaf ears, as she is all too happy to do re-shoots to make Teo the lead. His innocent hints to you about the shoddy script fly over your head for some reason! You love how it's turning out, what does he mean?

🎬 Super shy Teo prefaces and warns his co-stars before acting in every scene of his character being excessively flirty. Most of the actors have worked with him at some point or another beforehand, so they let him go through his routine without issue. Some crew members love the whiplash of him switching between overly courteous and smarmy, others vastly prefer the flirty character and mourn the loss as production comes to a close.

The Build Up

📺 The higher ups pressure Violet to start a short-lived streaming career to boost interest, since she’s hopeless with plants. She amasses a cult following for her MMO reviews, blind raids on new patches, and her wild ride of a Minecraft playthrough. In the end she winds up preferring to play games off stream, but once in a blue moon she’ll do a first time raid stream so her more dedicated fans can join and watch her alliance get wiped. Creative trolling is highly encouraged.

📺 Teo, Jae, and Leon appear on a late night TV show for promotion. It was meant to be for Teo and [REDACTED] at first. (Where’s the leading lover? [REDACTED] refused all promo appearances or sit downs without you being involved in them.) The host plays a clip that Teo’s particularly embarrassed about, and he hides his face in shame when the crowd hoots and hollers praise about his portrayal.

📺 [REDACTED] comes across as doting and overprotective of you once you’re pushed into the spotlight of celebrity, and shows increasingly concerning behaviors as the premiere looms closer. Depending on your response, they’ll back off to a point or dial it up. Interviewers and consumers mistake it as the eccentric actor’s “method acting” so the red flags just slide right past.

📺 Elanor and Conan guest star in a podcast for off-the-cuff romance enthusiasts. Their strangely cagey and joking comments like “there were so many retakes we couldn’t keep track of what was meant to be the actors messing around or part of the final cuts,” and “we’ve actually sent all the reviewers 1 of 14 versions with completely different endings,” leave listeners all the more curious to see the film.

The Climax

🎉 Reception is huge, in good ways for most. The majority of the cast see a surge in popularity if they didn’t already from the hype. 

🎉 Teo bemoans his endless offerings for sarcastic pretty boy jobs, Leon makes enough to get picky about his roles (and pay Teo back), Jae somehow cons a studio into an action film starring Maple—and subsequently adopts every single one of her stunt doubles. 

🎉 Moth throws the agency away to start adapting anime and manga themselves. Elanor finally feels validated enough to bring one of her romantic screenplays to the big screen, starring her sister Kiara and a very enthusiastic Violet as the leading couple. 

🎉 Conan’s studio is overloaded with scripts, and Alice runs out of scented stickers that much quicker. They are severely backlogged send help.

🎉 One determined conspiracy theorist sets out to prove those missing 13 versions of the ending are real, based on minor cuts and inconsistencies purposefully left in the public release.

The End, Roll Credits

choose your own ending

Bad End 💔 - A Falling Star

💔 If you respond negatively to [REDACTED]’s demeanor during shoots and promo: he plays the waiting game, uses his connections and blackmail to make sure all your roles without his name attached don’t garner nearly as much attention as the ones where you’re co-stars.

💔 Your negotiating power quickly plummets as you fall out of demand and end up begging just for the non-speaking roles you once loathed.

💔 The careers of anyone you got close to on set fall apart much faster than yours, before they’re outright blacklisted in the industry.

💔 You begrudgingly call up your last option. He can’t do much for your friends, but their offer to help you make a comeback is always open.

Neutral End 💌 - Just One More Try

💌 If you respond indifferently to [REDACTED]’s demeanor: the drama leads to you getting more offers, though a handful are for playing opposite of [REDACTED], as the on-screen chemistry was too much for studios to ignore for cash grabs.

💌 Elanor has rid herself of the drama’s subsequent rights, despite positive reception, so a sequel sprouts up in the works at a different studio. One that doesn’t mind catering to the whims of their actors when it comes to script integrity.

💌 You arrive on the set to find that not just one, but all of your cast mates except for them were written to have much smaller parts in the sequel. In fact, you rarely find a scene in the revised script where [REDACTED] isn’t alongside you.

💌 Sadly the contract is air tight, just put up with it until it’s over… What’s this clause about further sequels?

Good End 💍 - Off Into the Sunset

💍 If you respond positively to [REDACTED]’s demeanor: you’ll sadly announce at the post premiere press conference that acting was a one-and-done adventure for you. Retired effective immediately, no farewell interviews.

💍 You’re spotted around town for a few weeks in a mask with a tall, darkly dressed companion at your side before you disappear from the public eye and Corland Bay all together.

💍 A few of your friends at least have an idea of where you are, and they meet up with you whenever you're in a nearby city. None of them can recognize the man glued to your side, though. Not that he'd say anything to clue them in.

💍 After months of near inactivity, [REDACTED] mysteriously deletes their socials without a word, sparking confusion and outrage among hardcore fans still desperately hoping for a sequel.

[nanowrimo]

A Message from the NaNoWriMo Board of Directors

Dear NaNoWriMo Community Members,

Thank you for reaching out to us with your inquiries about the forums, your support, offers to volunteer, and your legitimate concerns.

Our inbox has been flooded, and we appreciate all of the thoughtful responses from participants and volunteers who genuinely care about NaNoWriMo, our fellow writers, and the community as we do. It is impossible to respond to each message individually, but we wanted to let you all know we are working with purpose and sincerity.

Please see below the breakdown of the work that has been done since we last shared an update with the community. Our intention is to keep you abreast of all we are doing to make NaNoWriMo a better, safer, place:

We’ve overseen a full-scale review of business practices led by former Board Member, Kilby Blades, who has stepped in to assist the organization on an interim basis.  

We’ve begun to implement new procedures around community safety, including:

Full revision and legal review of our employee handbook and codes of conduct.

Full revision and legal review of our Municipal Liaison(ML) agreement.

Development of a formal contract agreement for all (non-ML) Volunteers.

Development of a stricter vetting process for all volunteers (which includes identity verification and background checks, wherever necessary).

Licensing of a digital constituent management system that will enhance volunteer management capabilities.

Comprehensive background checks for all current employees.

Checks and balances to ensure that standards of conduct and ethics are adhered to (e.g., better leadership training, volunteer training, tech mechanisms, and active oversight).

We’ve made staffing changes and revised our staffing plan.

We have rescoped certain roles and initiated some staffing changes. (However, certain employees who left the organization voluntarily are in pursuit of their next opportunities.)

We believe that learning from this moment through addressing skill gaps in the organization is healthy and we will go through a hiring process to fill necessary gaps in open roles.

We’ve listened to other community feedback and are still in listening mode.

We’ve disabled the mechanism on the YWP website that allows users to self-identify as educators for the purpose of creating classrooms, and we are researching mechanisms that will allow us to verify adults as educators.

We’ve revised our technology roadmap to address usability issues and are hoping to introduce new features in 2024.

We are midway through a deep dive on forums and forum moderation; this has included benchmarking with other organizations with similar challenges.

In February, we will hold focus groups for continuing MLs. We are also thinking through the logistics of Town Hall meetings and other gatherings.

We’ve processed dozens of pages of community member feedback and are integrating it into our thinking.

With the staffing changes mentioned above, we are open to hearing from those of you who have reached out with offers to help and/or be a part of the organization’s future. Get notified about future job opportunities at NaNoWriMo.

We are excited about the future, and expect it to be brighter! We hope you feel seen and heard, and that you will stick with us as we continue supporting the writing community and our organization.

Kind regards,

NaNoWriMo Board of Directors

[schildpadkneus]

Since there is a lot of misinformation when it comes to the "incident" that got Joost Klein disqualified I figured I'd put a post out with information from actual news outlets and not speculations from social media users.

If you are too lazy to read everything, here's a summary of everything I've been able to find:

After his performance in the semi finale, Joost was filmed despite agreements he wouldn't be.

The camera woman did not listen when he asked her to stop several times.

Joost got angry and made the camera woman in question feel so threatened the police was called on Joost.

Despite what fans think, it was confirmed by Dutch commentator Cornald Maas that the Israeli act and their delegation were not involved. I understand the frustration with their participation and I ranted about their disgusting behaviour at Eurovision here, but they were not involved with this incident.

He did not hit or even touch the woman involved.

Nor did she make any remarks about his parents.

STOP SPREADING MISINFORMATION.

Continue to read for more details.

Edited only for later addition (as indicated) and slightly changed the wording because I was rambling in the initial post.

According to Avrotros (the Dutch broadcaster of Eurovision), Joost had made a threatening motion towards the woman.

According to the Swedish Aftonbladet, multiple witnesses say he behaved very aggressively and damaged/broke(?) the camera.

The rest of this will be speculating. Hopefully as unbiased as possible.

Based on other interviews and discussions about the incident in Dutch media, it sounds like Joost was probably just very overwhelmed. It is reasonable to think the artists are under a lot of pressure to perform well, and it's fair to conclude the controversy of Israel's participation has only added to artists' frustration and the pressure. Add the whole aspect of this being Joost's childhood dream and the passing of his parents and the fact he had already complained about the many many rules of eurovision and you get this explosion of emotions and frustrations. Apparently he also gets very emotional during the outro, and I imagine such a performance does come with loads of adrenaline.

Considering that nice little cocktail of stress, frustrations, emotions and adrenaline, it is likely he just snapped. He was already on the edge, and then the employee filmed him when he didn't want to be filmed and didn't back off when he asked her to, so he did something stupid and irrational.

That is a human response, I don't think he's a bad person for that, I just think he did something stupid in the heat of the moment. If it was something really bad he would've been arrested and locked up, so I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. That does not mean he should go unpunished, however.

Whatever he did, he made this photographer/camera woman (sources alternate between which one it was) feel so threatened the police got involved. I trust this judgement.

Don't get me wrong, I do think she should have stopped filming when she was asked, but we don't know the full story here. She could have misunderstood the situation, maybe she was unaware of the agreement she should not have been filming him, maybe it was just a stupid mistake.

Regardless of what truly happened, I hope we can all agree both were in the wrong but both have also been punished enough now.

The employee in question should not have been filming in the first place and stopped when asked.

Joost should not have done whatever it was he did.

For the love of god, please stop meddling in situations we know virtually nothing about and definitely stop taking sides. It is never ok to wish horrible things upon anyone.

We don't know what happened and chances are we will never fully know. We don't even know any of these people, we don't know what they are like, we only have little bits and pieces.

I also really want to know but it's not that difficult to just shut up and not say anything in favour of or against anyone until we have more details. You can condemn people for their actions but not when we don't even know what those actions were.

They both should have been punished and they both were.

A bunch of you should have been punished for the vile things I've seen you spout about Joost or this poor woman.

Basic fucking decency and common sense is not that difficult.

Later addition: (I've calmed down a bit)

I posted this about an hour ago but I want to add I do support Joost and feel bad for him but if it is true he punched and broke a camera it disqualification was not an unreasonable punishment. The awful rumours were just an unnecessary kick in the stomach.

If it turns out he did not damage the camera I will happily eat my words.

It is a pity he did not perform in the grand finale considering the huge potential it had but we can't excuse that behaviour. I hope he learns from this situation enough to prevent himself from getting in more trouble.

This does not mean I support the ebu btw <3 fuck the ebu

[2kmps]

as part of the @ficsforgaza initiative, I've decided to participate in trying to raise donations for vetted fundraisers. if you want more information on how precisely this works in detail, please consult the blog directly.

sponsor a wip!! ($1/100 words)

it works like this: based on my brief list of wips, you will choose from any of the vetted fundraisers, make your donation, and send me a screenshot as proof with all personal information blocked out. you will then indicate which wip you'd like that word count to go to.

current wips:

better to eat than to be eaten

(the ghoul x reader) 18+

"thou shalt get sidetracked by bullshit every goddamn time" was what the ghoul told lucy back then, and it rings true even now when his supply of chems has dwindled to the last vials and he learns of you, a reputable dealer masquerading as a brothel-keeper in a busy merchant settlement and seeks you out. you end up kidnapped, his plans just keep getting derailed, there's a whole lotta ropes and gunslinging, and you won't stop prying into his business.

word count; 3,840/est. 8.5-10k

persimmon & ink pt2

(yakuza!getō suguru x tattoo artist!reader) | 18+

you're a tattoo artist hidden amidst the bustle of shinjuku city and renown with tourists. due to a misstep of your shady employee, you're visited one night at closing by an eerily beautiful man in a disheveled suit and no tie requesting an intricate back piece done traditionally. the undertaking slowly begins to unthread your life piece-by-piece the closer you get to him until there is no way out.

word count; 4,580/10.5k

requests

($1/100wc max. 500wc per prompt)

how it works: a similar process as donating for a wip, only you'll need to contact me to have a request approved before donating. if nsfw in the request, you must be off of anon with your age clearly visible in your blog + not be an empty blog.

will write for:

jjk; getō suguru, nanami kento, gojo satoru

fallout; the ghoul, john hancock, nick valentine

howl's moving castle; howl pendragon

original; cryptids, monsters, any existing character ive written about

if there is another fandom you'd like me to consider, please ask me about it. same goes to what I'm not willing to write.

disclaimer:

please note that I will do my damnest to respond to your requests and update the WIP word counts on as timely as basis as I possibly can, but my weekdays are often inaccessible for writing, leaving me very spotty opportunities during the weekends. my wips are going to take significantly more time to complete, but I will update you to inform you once the word count has been reached.

your asks with donation information will not be published.

PLEASE REBLOG THIS POST

[racefortheironthrone]

Which federal laws and policies would you get rid of or modify in order to help the American labor movement.

I was looking through the labor law tag on my blog and your ask reminded me I haven't actually written a comprehensive post about this on Tumblr. (Indeed, you'd have to go back to my old, old policy blog from 2009...it's been a while.)

One silver lining of the Sisyphean struggle to restore American labor law that's been going on since the 1970s is that the labor movement and their allies in Congress, academia, think tanks, and progressive media have been thinking through this very issue of "what reforms would make a real difference" for a long time. I'm not going to say it's a solved question, but the research literature is pretty robust.

For the purposes of this post, I'm going to focus on the three most recent reform packages: the Employee Free Choice Act that was the main vehicle during the Obama years, Bernie Sanders' Workplace Democracy Act (which was introduced repeatedly between 1992 and 2018), and the Richard L. Trumka Protecting the Right to Organize Act (PRO Act) that is the current proposal of the Democratic legislative caucuses. There's going to be quite a bit of overlap between these proposals, because it's very much an iterative process where allies in the same movement are trading ideas with one another and trying to stay abreast of new developments, but I'll try to tease out some of the similarities and differences.

EFCA

While EFCA contained a number of provisions that sought to close various loopholes in U.S labor law, the three main provisions largely target the flaws that have made it extremely difficult to win a union through the National Labor Relations Act process devised in 1935 that has turned into a Saw-style gauntlet thanks to the professionalization of union-busting and the Federalist Society's strategy of death-by-a-thousand-cuts:

"Card check." Probably the most common pattern of union-busting in the workplace today is a war of attrition by management waged by an industry of specialized law firms. Generally what happens is that the union files for election with a super-majority of ~70% workers having signed union cards, then management delays the vote as long as possible to give their hired "union-avoidance" firm to systematically intimidate, surveil, propagandize, and divide workers, up to and including illegally firing pro-union workers pour encouragez les autres. Over several months, what happens is that the initial 70% of pro-union support starts to erode as workers decide it's just too dangerous to stick their necks out, until the vote happens and the union loses either by a squeaker or a landslide.

Card check short-circuits this process by just saying that if the union files with a majority of cards, you skip the election and the union is recognized. And for all the pearl-clutching by the right, this is actually how labor law works in many democratic countries, because the idea of a fair election that lets management participate is an oxymoron.

Arbitrated first contract. In the event that enough workers keep the faith and actually vote for a union, management's next move is to draw out collective bargaining for a year or more. After a year, the original vote is no longer considered binding and employers can push for a "decertification" vote, which they usually win because workers either give up hope or change jobs. So this provision says that if the two sides can't reach an agreement on a first contract within 120 days, a Federal arbitrator will just impose one, so that at least for two years there will be a union contract no matter what management wants.

Strengthening enforcement. As I said above, one of the problems with existing labor law is that there are basically no penalties for management knowingly breaking the law; companies literally just budget in a line-item and do it anyway. This provision would allow unions to file an injunction against employers for unfair labor practices or ULPs (at present, injunctions are only required for violations done by unions), and would add triple back pay for illegal firings and fines of $20,000 for each ULP. This would make union-busting much more expensive, because companies routinely rack up hundreds and hundreds of them during a campaign.

Workplace Democracy Act

Sanders' proposal includes the main proposals from EFCA, and adds a bunch of additional reforms, like mis-classifying workers as independent contractors, banning captive audience meetings, making "joint employers" liable for labor law violations by franchisees, legalizing secondary boycotts, and requiring employers to report to the NLRB on all anti-union expenditures during a campaign and barring anyone convicted of an unfair labor practice from being hired for anti-union campaigns and making "union-avoidance" consultants liable for fines for ULPs (which would kill the "union-avoidance" industry, because they commit ULPs for a living).

PRO Act

The PRO Act is very much an updating of the previous efforts we've talked about. It bans captive audience meetings, allows for secondary strikes and boycotts, massively increases fines and allows for compensatory damages, ends mis-classification, speeds up the election process, etc.

It also contains a couple new and ambitious proposals:

it allows unions to sue management in court instead of having to complain to the NLRB, which opens management up to a very expensive legal proceeding and discovery.

it bans "right-to-work" as established by the Taft-Hartley Act.

it requires that any worker who's fired for pro-union activity be immediately reinstated while their unfair labor practice process or civil lawsuit is going through the process. This would be enormous just on its own, because it changes the entire veto structure of illegal firing. As it stands, employers fire people and maybe maybe have to pay some back wages in a couple years when the worker has found another job and is unlikely to come back. This would reverse the balance of power, such that the worker is immediately back and other workers can see that they can speak up without getting fired, which makes illegal firings a giant waste of time and money for management.

In terms of stuff that's not on this list that I would add, I would say that an enormous difference could be made by simply making it illegal for management to lock-out their workers or hire scabs. You do that, and unions can win almost every strike.

[gunsatthaphan]

~ Monthly BL Breakdown: January 2024 ~ 

✨ Happy February!!! 🎭

Disclaimer: ALL shows can be streamed here or here, as well as on Youtube and other platforms. For more info on where to watch what, check out this post! 

New breakdowns are coming at the end of every month - feel free to add stuff! -> previous breakdowns

What came out this month? (green = seen/currently watching)

🌟 BL Drama no Shuen ni Narimashita: Crank In Hen - January 2nd (Japan) 

🌟 Ossan's Love Returns - January 5th (Japan) 

🌟 Refund Love - January 7th (Thailand) 

🌟 Time The Series - January 9th (Thailand) 

🌟 Intern in My Heart (BL side couple) - January 10th (Thailand) 

🌟 Sukiyanen Kedo Do Yaro ka (Although I Love You, and You) - January 11th (Japan) 

🌟 Beside You (mini series) - January 11th (Thailand) 

🌟 I Wish You Love - January 21st (Thailand) 

🌟 Happy Ending - January 23rd (South Korea)

🌟 Love for Love's Sake - January 24th (South Korea)

Monthly likes/dislikes

👎🏻 I've been catching up on some KBLs from last year this month and sadly most of them were very disappointing. I put a few on my watchlist that generally had good reviews but yeah let's just say I'm glad I didn't miss anything in the last 2 years lol. The only one I liked was Love Mate, the rest was pretty much pointless. Hopefully the upcoming ones will be better 🤞🏻

New series & movie announcements

🎥 Beating Again (dance-themed, starring Kaownah K., Earth K. and others) - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 Unknown - Date TBA (Taiwan)

🎥 The Book Store - Date TBA (South Korea)

🎥 Term Begins - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 Mafia Prince and the Bookworm - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 Black Forest - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 Go Alone With Me - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 Can I Love You? - Date TBA (Thailand)

🎥 The Shining Star - Date TBA (Vietnam)

🎥 At My Fingertips (Unintentional Love Story spinoff) - Coming May 2024 (South Korea)

🎥 Connecting To You - Date TBA (Taiwan)

🎥 The Star (movie) - Coming March 2024 (Thailand)

🎥 What's the Nong? - Date TBA (Thailand)

Other news from the BL world

❗️ Actors Mike Chinnarat, Fluke Pusit, White Nawat, Pluem Purim and Lee Thanat have left GMMTV.

❗️ After Korean actor Choo Youngwoo won an award for "Best Rookie Actor" at the recent KBS Drama Awards, he came under fire for not mentioning his participation in the BL You Make Me Dance which launched his career and earned him the award.

❗️ Actors Jin Hoeun (All Of Us are Dead), Kwon Hyuk (The New Employee), Byun Junseo (Perfect Marriage Revenge) and Nam Yoonsu (Extracurricular) have been confirmed to star in the upcoming BL Love In The Big City, which portrays the life and love of an HIV-positive gay writer.

❗️ ZeeNunew and GeminiFourth won an award respectively for "Best Thai Artists" at this year's Seoul Music Awards.

❗️ The Chinese BL Stay with Me is getting an audiobook. The series furthermore recently confirmed its second season, further details are unknown.

❗️ Over a year after its initial premiere, the Thai BL To Sir, With Love won "Popular Foreign Drama” at this years's Vietnam Face Of The Year Awards.

❗️ The Thai BL Playboyy will no longer air on youtube after the suspension of the channel due to explicit sexual content. The show will continue to exclusively air on Gagaoolala, as well as RakutenTV.

❗️ Actors EarthMix had a cameo appearance in Ossan's Love Returns; they will star in the Thai adaption of the same name later this year. Details about the production are still unknown.

❗️ MileApo (KinnPorsche) were announced to star in the upcoming series Shine. The show is an extension/spinoff of Man Suang and focuses on Khem and Chatra's story in more detail.

Upcoming series & movies for February

👉🏻 Anti Reset - February 2nd (Taiwan)

👉🏻 Perfect Proposal - February 2nd (Japan)

👉🏻 City of Stars - February 2nd (Thailand)

👉🏻 Love Syndrome: The Beginning - February 8th (Thailand)

👉🏻 Baka Pwede pa? - February 9th (Philippines)

👉🏻 1000 Years Old - February 14th (Thailand)

👉🏻 My Strawberry Film - February 16th (Japan)

👉🏻 A Secret Love - February 17th (Thailand)

👉🏻 Unknown - February 24th (Taiwan)

👉🏻 Wedding Impossible - February 26th (South Korea)

👉🏻 Kiseki Chapter 1 & Chapter 2 - February TBA (Thailand)

[still-not-over-transformers]

Hii there!

Can I request a Mirage x fem!reader, where the reader is celebrating New year with Noah and the other autobots, and the reader was drinking a lot and got drunk, then became sassy and playful to Mirage.

Thx, I love your writtings btw <3

New Year's Resolutions

ROTB Mirage x Female Human Reader

Word Count: 1400+

Warnings: Drunken Flirting, Alcohol usage, Language

You had been best friends with Noah Diaz since middle school, and remained close while he was in the army. After he was discharged, you often provided him with supplies for his technological tinkering once you scored a job at RadioShack, utilizing your employee discount to get stuff cheap. Noah and his family were like a second family to you, often visiting unannounced at the apartment, bringing snacks and helping Kris with defeating video game bosses. When Noah disappeared whilst on his mission with the Autobots to save the world from being devoured by Unicron, you took care of Kris while his mom went to work. 

After those events ended, you had so many questions for Noah, but he always seemed to give you rather vague answers about a job internship in South America. You knew he was hiding something, but assumed he would tell you when the time was right. Kris was the first to let it slip about Mirage. You chalked it up to a little kid’s imagination, after all Kris played a LOT of video games. 

Then there was the day where you decided to surprise Noah at his shop with the latest tech product Radioshack had released. Since this was to be a surprise, you didn’t announce your presence, instead opting to sneak through the shop. You heard Noah’s voice around a corner, and picked out a second that you didn’t recognize. As you stepped around the corner, you were shocked to find Noah talking casually with a giant fucking robot. Your shock makes you drop the object in your hand, the object clattering on the floor. 

Noah turned around at the sudden sound, clearly not expecting to see you, “Oh shit… Y/N, don’t panic. I can explain.” 

Mirage shot a glare at Noah and raised his arms, “Why are you talking about me like you got caught cheating? Sheesh, that’s the treatment I get, bro?” He turns to look at you, “Look cutie, I’m not gonna hurt anyone here. I’m one of the good giant alien robots.” He winks at you. Mirage leans in towards Noah and quietly whispers, “Where have you been hiding her? Why didn’t you introduce me?” Noah brushes him off, clearly not in the mood for Mirage’s antics. 

While you’re taken aback by the tall, blue robot before you, you’re calmed slightly by Mirage’s chill and somewhat charming attitude. Besides, something about his optics and his dumb smile made you want to trust him. Noah had no choice but to tell you the whole story; how he met Mirage, the deal with the Autobots, saving the world… the works. 

After your initial encounter with Mirage, Noah would go on to introduce you to the rest of the Autobots. Optimus trusted Noah’s judgment and welcomed you into the team, much to the excitement of a certain blue mech. When Noah was busy at work or off with his family, you would find Mirage randomly popping up wherever you were, often claiming he was bored and had no one else to talk to. So over the course of a few months, you and Mirage would spend more time together. You’d get to know Mirage’s dorky sense of humor, and his tendency to want to show off and get attention. Attention would be something you started to crave from Mirage, as you came to realize you may have a crush. 

The end of the year 1994 approached quickly, and that meant one of the biggest holidays in human culture, especially in New York City: New Year’s Eve. With a lot of convincing from Mirage, Noah decided to host a New Year’s Eve party with the Autobots to have them participate in human celebrations in their warehouse base. Of course, you had been invited to the party, and you were curious as to what festivities were planned. As the night began, there was a massive television set on the channel awaiting the ball drop. You assumed it had been supplied by Reek, but didn’t ask questions. 

For the select few human guests, Noah had supplied a small bar with sparkling wine, and other various liquors and mixers. It was New Year’s after all, tradition demanded booze. You started out the night with just one margarita, mixing it yourself at the bar. Meanwhile, Mirage made his way over to you, “Hey Y/N, how’s it hanging?” He had a grin on his face that made you a little weak in the knees. 

“Oh, hey Mirage. I’m doing good. Just making myself a quick drink,” you flashed a nervous smile at him, feeling both exhilarated and embarrassed simultaneously. This is stupid, no way an alien robot would like me that way, your thoughts hung over you as you tried to conceal your nervousness. 

As the night continued, Noah chose to introduce the Autobots to human games. Throughout each game, Mirage stuck close to you, often cracking the corniest jokes in existence. Each interaction causes more butterflies to flutter in the pit of your stomach, in turn triggering you to consume more alcoholic drinks in your nervous state. You did a decent job of concealing your intoxication, until the game of Twister started. As teams were assigned, Mirage volunteered you as his partner, leaving a surprised Noah to pair up with Bumblebee. 

At this point you were tipsy, but you were a composed drunk as few noticed your intoxication as you made your way to the mat alongside Mirage. Mirage leaned down to you, “Have you played this before?” You flashed a tipsy smirk at the Autobot mech, “A few times… As long as you’re flexible and don’t get confused, you’ll win. And you seem very… flexible.” 

Mirage cleared his throat at your reply, his cheeks slightly flush as his gaze turned towards the mat. After a brief reading of the rules, the game began with Arcee in charge of reciting the position and color combos, “Left servo on blue!” All four of you quickly moved your hand onto the nearest blue dot. Easy enough. The game continued for some time, as you were all very competitive, but only one of you was intoxicated. 

After one move, Mirage’s frame hovered over your backside in what could be seen as an… intimate position. In your tipsy state you looked up at Mirage with batted eyelids, “Third base and you haven’t even bought me dinner…” 

Your comment has a direct and clear effect on Mirage, causing him to falter and fall onto the mat. The force of his frame hitting the ground shook you off balance, and you too fell, causing Noah and Bumblebee to claim victory. You briefly came to your senses, realizing what a fool you had made of yourself, you got to your feet and made your way to a secluded part of the warehouse. Waves of embarrassment and shame crashed over you, filling you with the fear Mirage might never wish to speak with you again. 

The sound of familiar footsteps made you pause. “Hey, Y/N. You okay?” Mirage stood behind you, a look of concern on his faceplate. 

You felt yet another rush of heat throughout your body but tried to compose yourself. “...I-I’m fine, Mirage. Just maybe too much to drink,” your words were slightly slurred and you stumbled a bit. 

Mirage approached you casually, before bending down and placing a servo on your back to support you, “Hey, I can’t blame you. It’s New Year’s after all, and you humans go crazy for this slag.” He gently repositioned himself into a sitting position, still supporting you with his servo, “Do you need anything? You look like you need something— not that you look bad, I mean— you look great! As always.”

Your cheeks and entire face flush bright scarlet as you struggle to hold back anymore. “I just need you…” As the words leave your lips, you realize you can’t take them back, and fear rattles through your body as you stare into Mirage’s optics. 

Despite the brief silence, Mirage’s gaze locks onto yours and the mech leans close to your face. As the tension fills the air, both of you can hear the others begin the 10 second countdown to the New Year in the adjacent room. 

You blush madly as you try to comprehend if this moment is real or the effect of tequila and sparkling wine, “Mirage, I’m sorry. It’s almost midnight so you should make your own New Year’s Resolution..”

As the echo of voices counted down: 5…. 4…. 3… Mirage gently pulled you close to him, “Y/N, you’re my New Year’s Resolution.”

It felt as if your heart skipped a beat as the words left Mirage’s mouth. As the countdown continued to its last seconds, you leaned forward. 2… your eyes meet. 1… your lips gently lock together. 

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

----END

Thank you for requesting! I appreciate you❤❤❤

[1800titz]

This little monster came out to 16.8K. Fair warming, it gets BDSM-y — but, c'est a BDSM love story ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also, this is NOT Mega Scary Harry — this is tentative, experimental, first-scene-testing-the-waters-H, but he does show some teeth. I hope you enjoy, and if you do, I'd love a note!

PREVIOUS PARTS HERE

Under normal circumstances, when a stranger approaches you wearing a mask that looks like it's been curated as an exact replica of something straight out of The Purge, and it's not Halloween, you'd want to have one of those knife-knuckle things on you, or, at the very least, pepper spray.

It wouldn't matter if the pepper spray had little plant stickers all over its casing, or if the knife-knuckles had a Jonas Brothers decal, you'd still want to have it. The aim isn't to impress whoever's wearing the terrifying thing.

But this Purge imitation belongs to a staff member, because her name tag says staff (and probably a stage name), so when Isla's approached by the stranger two steps out of the lobby into the lounge, her fingers aren't quick to reach for her purse. Which has her plant-sticker-bedazzled pepper spray. Not that she has her purse on her, anyways. Personal belongings go in lockers in the lobby. Phones, for the sake of privacy and ultimate protection, a phone jail — it's juvenile, but it works.

"Hi. Peitho?"

Isla clears her throat and shows friendly teeth, "Hi. Hello."

"You have a particular admirer! Eros has expressed interest in setting up a negotiation with you tonight. I'm going to assume you've met?"

Isla doesn't suck in a breath. She doesn't balk. She's chill, cool, composed, nonchalant. She's Peitho.

She'd be lying to herself if she said she hadn't spent the prior week ruminating on their ...activities, hadn't thought of his words against her ear, his zippers, his purposeful touch. Hadn't clenched her thighs together beneath her desk as she'd pored through documents at work. She doesn't have a particular engagement calendared in the evening, but even if she did, Isla would be too eager to blow the whole thing off in lieu of pursuing a negotiation with Eros. He hadn't been the ring leader, but he'd become the star. He'd left an impression.

Apparently, she had as well.

It was unusual to be approached by a staff member for these kinds of things. The usual method entailed a dominant approaching a prospective submissive in the lounge for a negotiation, always post some sort of initial interaction and discussion, or vice versa. A staff member meant he'd mentioned her before she'd arrived — that, perhaps, he'd looked for her, but instead of settling for a different, familiar play partner, he'd had a conversation with a staff member to scope her out upon her entry. The thought makes Isla warm.

She clears her throat, "Yeah. We had a conversation. I think he participated in a scene last week out in the lounge with me, as well."

Before the staff member can question her wording, not that it's her business whether Isla knows or thinks, she motions to her face and clears her throat again, "Uh, blindfold. That's why ...think."

Okay. She was not quite in that suave Peitho headspace, yet. Well. She was, when she'd donned her mask in the privacy of a cubicle out in the lobby, but learning that a particular dominant she was particularly interested in playing with had beckoned a staff member to flag her down two steps into the lounge had knocked her off her game, a bit.

The employee smiles. Julia. That's what her tag reads.

"I'm interested, yes," Isla blows out a breath.

"Great! He's already looked over your paperwork and signed off. If you'd like, I can escort you over to the negotiation room and set you up with his consent forms?"

So Isla tails Julia to the negotiation room and sits one of the padded leather armchairs and stares at its parallel facsimile. Then, Julia leaves to grab his packet, and Isla digs her fingers into the arms of the chair and contemplates Eros sitting across from her in his own seat.

Negotiation. Discussion. Preemptive conversation for a scene. The thought excites her. And when she's faced with his paperwork on a clipboard, a pen, and a bid from Julia that she's to toggle the buzzer on the wall upon completion, her heart starts to hammer behind her ribcage, in a nice sort of way. As nice as nervous can get.

Limits. Soft limits, hard limits, likes, dislikes, interests. Her pupils wend and peruse and scope and she flips and flips and flips through the pages. Reading, research, grounding. This she can do. This she does every day.

Eros, she learns, is a sane man by her standards. If she were to quora aspects of his paperwork, maybe, and someone whose existence adhered to religious principles (possibly missionary intercourse with lights off post marriage, but she's not judging) stumbled upon the page, they'd both probably be deemed damned, but.

He's well rounded! Isla gauges that he's definitely open-minded from his short, albeit sane list of limits. Much of it coincides with her own; fire, needles, knives, blood, bathroom things... a cinch works between her brows at the irony of a soft limit - sharing. She makes notes where she must, signs, and by the time she stands to press the buzzer, the little white clock on the wall indicates that she's spent well over fifteen minutes in the chair. So then, she sits back down. She crosses her legs. She drums on the clipboard. She waits.

It all feels a bit like a doctor's appointment, that perceptual preamble where they call you up out of the waiting room, only to sit you in a room by yourself where you stare at the wall and contemplate your decisions and everything that's led up to this point. Like, was this annual check up really worth missing your nephew's birthday party? When you walk in, you're unsure if you should hop up on the exam table, but, ultimately, you opt for the chair in the corner so you don't botch the creped doctor roll. And then you stare at some picture of a painted foot or a wall of brochures on STDs or ogle a plant in the corner, wondering whether it's real or fake, restraining the urge to get up and touch the leaves, for roughly the next hour or so.

Isla doesn't have to wait long, though.

The door cracks open, and when she twists her neck back, she's met with the sight of Eros, zippers and gloves and business casual attire and all. She inhales.

He talks first, and just like the first time, his cadence catches her off guard, so pleasant and warm and friendly, "Hey."

Like they're old friends catching up over lunch and he didn't spend last Friday night toying her body into submission.

"Hii," Isla tells him, eyes following him as he makes his way from the doorway to the armchair across from her, his own respective clipboard in hand. It's her paperwork. The door clicks shut. It's a privacy that's appreciated, but it leaves her feeling jittery, in a pleasant sense. She clears her throat, "I'm inclined to believe that you were part of a scene with me last week, and I'm also inclined to tell you that I was really flattered to find that you were interested in a negotiation."

"Was I?" his gaze narrows playfully through the slit, and the leather of the chair creaks softly as he sits back in it. His tongue peeks out to glide over the plush of muted berry, "Part of a scene with you last week?"

Isla blinks and swallows. She doesn't have to think about it, despite his teasing, "Yes."

"The way I recall it, you had a blindfold, so you wouldn't know, really," Eros cocks his head at her, "would you?"

The corners of her mouth jolt, "Maybe if you didn't give away that you recall I had a blindfold."

"Maybe I recall from the audience," despite the obvious jest, his tone offers no inkling of it — deadpan in decibel. Sarcasm was a particular quality about him — that she'd already learned.

"You don't," Isla assures, certain in her suspicions, and she crumbles his stoic demeanor with flattery, "You recall because you were the star of the show."

There it goes — the stroking of his ego. Invisible feathers ruffle and emerge in a preen. Harry gives, and sits forward, forearms against splayed thighs, "I'm flattered, but I think you earned that title."

In the pause that follows, he imagines a ruddiness has teemed over the surface of Peitho's cheekbones. He can't exactly see through the dark lace, but the little cue of her lips parting and the inhale she takes certainly creates viable ground for his hypothesis.

Anyways.

"Yeah you," he clears his throat as he sits back, watching her through the unzipped slit over his eyes, "certainly had me interested for more after that taste."

She thinks of it, that taste last Friday; his hands, his voice, the way he'd willed her to tears before he'd given her the taste of his cock. And it was his, she knew.

His stretching her open, his gloved grasp on her thighs, his breathy grunts.

Isla swallows.

"And I'm inclined to tell you that I'm flattered you were interested in pursuing my request for a negotiation," the latex glistens beneath the buttery shone of the lamp beside him.

It's actually a cutesy little room for a negotiation; matching chairs, a rounded side table with a lamp, an overhanging light of gorgeous glass, a rug of mauve hues beneath their soles. If it weren't for the wall decor, the handcuffs hooked onto the drywall, in particular, she'd think she was in her therapist's office.

Tell me your deepest, darkest secrets. That's how it would go there, and she supposes that's how it always goes in here, too.

"I had to sign off on your form to play last week," Harry sets his clipboard onto the side table, "so I already had kind-of-sort-of, an idea going into your paperwork. But that was, like, bare bones kind of stuff. So, d'you have any questions for me?"

Her chair creaks as Peitho sits up a bit.

"Yes, actually. So — sharing, you indicated as a soft limit, but I was just a little confused because, well," she purses her lips, and then they melt into a soft simper, "The scene last week involved multiple parties."

"Right," He rubs over his mouth with a pleather clad forefinger, and now, in better lighting, she can make out that his lips are a ruddy pink, soft-looking. Harry levels with her then, sitting forward, shiny flecks of reflection dancing in his gaze like mischief, "I don't prefer to ...share my play partners, so I don't lead scenes with other doms involved. And I don't usually play in group-settings. If I'm being totally candid, you were the first in a while."

Peitho seems pleased by that, if the slight shift in her posture is any indication.

"Oh, well, I'm flattered."

Flattered seems to be the theme of the night.

"And," her features screw behind her disguise as she releases a laugh, "Sorry? To pull you out of your comfort zone?"

She wrests soft laughter from him at that, and across from her, he shakes his head down at his interlocked fingers, "Don't be. S'what we're here for, right? To consensually be pulled out of our comfort zones?"

"I guess you're right about that," she nods, grinning.

He tacks on, "makes it fun," and licks his lips, his gaze open for questioning and still somehow imposing in its upper hand.

Isla presses her lips together, "Yeah. Yes. I agree. I had another for you, if you don't mind."

"S'what I'm here for."

"You indicated that you enjoy, um, like, really powerplaying up the powerplay, I guess I could say," she notes, staring down at her papers, "Like you emphasized, here, brat taming. So, that's, like. You're not opposed to your partner bratting, then? That's the way I prefer to play, I'm sure you've noted."

"Y'know, now that you mention it," he pretends to ponder for a second, "I have noted that about you, yes," his grin showcases pearly, straight teeth, "And, yeah. I like obedience — obviously."

She watches his gloved palm move as he talks, pupils following the motion, "S'like, the whole point of submission. But, I prefer to get submission the hard way rather than the easy way."

"Rather than... so, how do you feel about struggling?"

"Depends," Eros teases, "Me or you."

"Me," she licks her lips, "struggling."

The smirk that plays over the ruddy plush is easy-going, "Kicking, screaming, crying," the eye contact he makes on the latter feels aimed. It probably is. "Feel free. I'll work with all of it."

Isla takes a deep breath and counts down from five; tries not to let it come out in a shudder to expose how wracked with want the statement's left her.

"Okay, cool, cool, ...cool, follow up question, this one is a little, um, ...just out of interest," she meets his eye through the lace, "Would you consider yourself a sadist?"

"Depends."

"On whether you're wielding the bullwhip or I am?" she simpers.

Harry digs his tongue against his cheek, and teases, "Bullwhip. Is that your implement of choice?" and then he tells her, in all seriousness, "Depends how far it goes."

"How far it goes?"

He pauses, and then splays his arms over the back of the armchair, "Do you enjoy stubbing your toe?"

The peculiar question wrings the corners of her mouth into buckling, "No."

"D'you get wet when you scrape your knee?"

"Can't say I do, no," Isla purses her lips to stifle her mirth.

"I don't like inflicting pain to inflict pain," he tells her, then, smiling like they're talking about their favorite movies, "the same way you don't enjoy the pain of pain. It has to be backed by something, right? And for a masochist, that's pleasure, whether it's derived from a combination of the pain and physical pleasure, or arousal from dirty talk, or, I dunno, endorphins. S'all stuff I'm sure you're very self aware of."

"Right," she tells him. He's right — the pain, the pleasure derived from pain, it's all a sort of graceful balance on a wire spindled from a concoction. "And for you?"

"For me?"

"What makes you enjoy inflicting the pain?"

"Your pleasure."

If Eros notices the minute shift in Isla's crossed thighs, the way they squeeze tighter at his words, he doesn't make it known.

"I mean, there's, like, more to it, obviously. S'the marks, the tears, the fear. But it's the trust, more than anything. The control of making my partner so simultaneously terrified and trusting to let me inflict that pain. But," the rasp to his cadence leaves her stomach coiling with familiar warmth, "to answer your question, I would consider myself a sadist, yeah."

If his explanation didn't leave her with a flurry of butterflies bouncing back and forth along the lining of her stomach, the look he gives her definitely would.

"Yeah, it's a beautiful thing," Isla concurs, "that kind of trust," she blinks down at her left leg. Her grip on it has become obnoxiously tight. His lips crook as his gaze follows her own. Isla swallows, "Okay, yeah, I mean," she unlatches the deathgrip of her fingertips to motion with her hand, "that's — great to hear, because I think that pairs really well with my interests."

Harry eyes the little crescents over her skin abaft her own touch, amused. "Good."

"Okay, yeah," she clears her throat then, as if to ground herself, and her chin dips a bit as if searching for more to ask. Evidently, she comes up short, because she looks up after a moment and says, with a sheepish note to her voice, "I think that's it for me, then. Your stuff was all pretty, like, self-explanatory."

"Sick. First half down," he seizes his own clipboard off the stand beside him as she chortles, and he flips through the print for his own handwritten scribbles of notes, "Second half," he grins and casts his gaze up at her to maintain what would be eye contact, "I had a few questions for you."

"Oh, goody."

The corners of his mouth jolt, and he peers down at the clipboard, "Any allergies not listed?"

"Nope," Peitho rocks forward slightly, and tells him, playfully, "Nothing but pineapple, so please do refrain."

"I'll keep that in mind," he eyes her through the slits in his disguise, wryly amused, and then purses his lips, "Any medical conditions I should be aware of?"

The young woman shakes her head, motioning from side to side, "Nothing."

"Brilliant," the papers rumple and ruffle a bit as he flips through, gaze downcast, and then he glances back up to her, "This is all very fun stuff, I know."

"So much."

"But now," Harry looks through to the next page, "We get to the actual fun stuff. I had a question, here," his pupils skim, and Peitho watches him, seemingly curious and open, "Yes, so," his brows twitch, "Caning is a soft limit, but it's underlined here and linked with fear play, which is listed as a particular interest. Can you expand on what that means to you?"

The actual fun stuff.

"Sure," Isla squeezes her knees with her palms, "It's closer to a hard limit, honestly, but I do really enjoy fear play. It's the only implement that's a hard limit, and introducing it into a scene as, like, a threat turns me on."

Harry purses his lips, the corners of his mouth buckling, "Not spiders, not snakes? Insects?"

"Well," Peitho laughs, "Yes — I'm not a fan of those either, but I'm not particularly keen on you introducing a jar of fire ants while I'm tied up."

Harry tuts, and tells her, tone void of humor, "Shame," and then he digs his tongue against his cheek and tells her, "Kidding."

His eyes scope over the paper again, and he clears his throat, "So, for clarification, it's a hard limit that you would not like to be used, you're simply interested in the threat of it."

"Yes. Exactly. I mean, if you wanted to hit me with it once, as, like, a follow-up to the fear play thing, just to take it a little further, I wouldn't be opposed. But," she lifts a finger for symbolism, "just once, please."

Please. He does quite like the way that syllable rolls off her tongue.

"I do have to warn you, it does really freak me out, and I know it's irrational," Isla waves with her arm, laughing a little, "but if you even, like, bring it over to me during a scene, I'm gonna cry."

"Good," Eros tells her, simply, and then blows out a huff that resembles a short laugh. Whether he means that the information is good to know, or that it's good that she cries at the threat of a big stick, or both, Isla's unsure. Possibly the latter — Probably the latter, and that leaves her nearly squirming in her seat.

She adds, "So, just don't be alarmed if I start, like, hysterically crying at the sight of it, it's just, like, reflex. I'm ...enjoying."

"You're enjoying," Eros parrots, dialect smooth and syrupy and tantalizing, and he teases, "Alright, crying," he cocks his head to embody a link between the two, "Enjoying. Got it."

"On the topic, actually, um," Isla sits up a little, "I really enjoy to cry. So, a lot of times, for me, it's the goal of the scene. And I'll cry from just about anything; pain, pleasure, I don't know. If I'm in the headspace, it's easy to get me there. I," she pauses, her smile teetering on abashed, "love endorphins."

Slowly, Eros cocks his head and then nods, pupils flitting back to the paperwork. There's hints of mirth in his cadence, "I'll keep that in mind." He casts his gaze back up to her,

"You've also got kissing as a limit."

"Yeah, um, just not on the mouth, it's too personal," Isla shifts in her seat, "Elsewhere is," she breathes, her shoulders rising and falling, "...fine."

He doesn't provide any sort of inkling of protest, just nodding and fixing his sight back onto the papers, "Got it."

A pause, then.

"Anal, here, is listed as a soft limit, as well," the man blinks at her, "I'm assuming that means you're open to toys, but not anal sex."

"Correct," Isla nods, pleased and enthused with not only his attention to detail, but his thorough understanding and imbibing of her needs, "Plugs, fingers, stuff like that is all good with me, but I'm kind of a virgin with that region, so. I don't really wanna lose it during play, ...if that makes sense."

"Perfect sense," Eros tells her, "Crystal."

For a moment, his eyes seem to search over the papers in hopes of tying any other loose end, but he seems to come up short, satisfied, as he flips the packet back to its title page.

"Any particular interests beyond the," he lifts the paperwork wedged in his colossal palm, "formalities?"

"I think," Isla licks her lips and tells him with a small voice, "Everything should be in there. Um," she swallows, "I like pain, spanking, spitting, praise, degradation, hair pulling, face slapping, um, oral — receiving and performing."

She nods a little, "I like that a lot. Ropes, gags, cuffs, toys. Like," the young woman motions, "you mentioned with the powerplay, I like that stuff. Putting up a fight and losing. And," her shoulders rise in a shrug. She giggles, "Just really hoping you'll make me cry."

"I will," Harry gives the packet one last flip through, searching for any notes he may have missed, and grins as he casts his gaze up to her, "definitely do that."

Her smile is quite pretty and she shows it, laughing softly with a jerky nod, "Awesome, cool," she motions with her hand and swallows before she speaks, "Some doms are so ...like. I don't know, some aren't into that stuff, which is fine, and some are but get scared that I'm, like, this fragile piece of china, or something. So it's always fun to play with someone that is into it and isn't scared about pushing limits."

"Safe, sane, and consensual, right?" his grin is wolfish, "S'what safewords are for."

"Right."

"While we're on the topic, this kind of goes without saying," Harry's brows pinch, "but you can never be too thorough, you know? Since the aim is to push limits, please don't refrain from using your safeword if anything becomes too much, if anything becomes uncomfortable, if anything goes too far, or if you'd like to take a pause."

"Because," he sits forward a bit, "I have played with you once before, but that was in a fairly controlled setting with another dom that knew you well and understood where that optimal line was right before your limits. I obviously got a taste, and I've been pretty thorough with the paperwork. I have guesses for how far I can push with certain things, but there's a lot that you'd like to do, that I'd like to do," he motions with his free hand, "that we didn't introduce during that scene. Like."

He waves his hand, signifying that he's culling an example, "With making you cry — if that's the goal of the scene, and it's particularly difficult to make you cry, if I'm spanking you with a paddle, I don't want to keep spanking you with the goal of making you cry just for you to be unable to and I'm just, like, genuinely hurting you the entire time."

"I don't want my guesses to become overestimations of how much you can take," Harry pauses and licks his lips behind his mask, "My interests are keeping your enjoyment, your safety, your comfort, and my own in mind, first and foremost, so it's very important that we're careful as we learn to, like, toe the line of each other's boundaries."

Something swoons in Isla's chest. She's in love. Yes. Definitely, she's definitely in love.

It's a crying shame that the man of her affections is wearing a latex hood and that she doesn't know him beyond the fictional details he's spun into his plot. She certainly appreciates his care, concern, and meticulousness. Yes, she's in love with that, Isla decides.

"Of course," she reminds him, "I'm not new to the whole pushing boundaries thing, since a lot of my kinks involve pain and that kind of stuff, so. I really appreciate that you're so thorough with everything, though," she sits back and tells him softly, with a little smile, "Makes me feel very safe and comfortable."

"Wonderful. Trust and safety are the most important aspects with this kind of play, so. Sick. I think we've," he sets the packet down onto the table beside him and claps his hands together, "covered all the bases."

"Yes, it looks like it," she exhales, smiley and buzzing.

There's a lewd foreboding to his words, "We're going to have a lot of fun, I think."

"Definitely," she laughs.

Again, his delicious arms splay over the back of the armchair, and her irises flit from those to his splayed thighs, all hugged by his fancy work attire. She wishes some expanse of skin and muscle was nude enough for her to bite into.

"I hope the formalities didn't take you out of your headspace, too much, because," Eros licks his lips, gold light flickering in his gaze like a dance around a fire, "I'd like to do a scene with you tonight."

Isla doesn't need convincing. The young woman takes only a second, half for composure and half to string him along, before she tells him, giggly and eager, "I'm so down."

His own chuckle is like sweet music to her eardrums, "Yeah? Anything in particular you'd like to avoid for tonight?"

Isla ruminates, "Hm... um, I'm not sure."

"Anything sore, anything you don't want me to touch, any toys you don't want me to use?" Eros prods, coaxing, and after another moment of lull, he half-jests, culling laughter from her, "You're opening dangerous doors, otherwise."

"Okay, okay, okay, um, don't tie me up upside down," she lifts her fingers as she counts off, "actually — no suspension, tonight. No anal play," Peitho squeezes her eyes shut behind the lace and bares her teeth as if pressured under a timer. She's not. Harry listens patiently.

"I think that's it," she tells him, finally.

"Still a lot of very dangerous doors," Harry teases, and when she huffs, like he's prompted her to wrack her brain, the corners of his mouth jolt, "Relax. M'playing. If you think of anything else, do feel free to make it known, or if I do something during the scene and that inspires you to remember, bring it up then. Otherwise, everything I've got planned should feel good," and then he tacks on, half facetious and half not, "If you're good."

Isla huffs, "Ohh, God."

He laughs, and then, for a moment, Eros just seems to watch her, eyes twinkling deviously. Then he asks, entirely nonchalant, "How d'you feel about deepthroating?"

Fuck. Her knees press together. How does she feel about deepthroating? What a casual, conversational topic. Isla swallows, and responds, totally cool, with her vocal chords totally unwavering, "I can do it. I like it. I like it more when the other person takes a little more ...control."

"What about having your mouth fucked?"

FUCK. She does her best to curb the aroused note in her voice when she replies, bordering on nervous laughter, "That's — yeah," she blows out a breath, "Definitely one way to get me wet."

"Good to know."

Isla follows him to the door, paperwork in hand. He opens the door and tells her, smirk dancing over his mouth, "Ladies first."

She looks up at him, and the hedonistic urge that slithers through him, the excitement of watching the upturned corners of her smiley mouth morph into a sobbing pout, much like it was last Friday, is beyond debauched, "Such a gentleman."

Dimples rise awake, concealed from her, as he holds the door for her, "Mm. M'happy to remind you that chivalry's not dead."

"A man who's willing to beat me into submission and holds the door?"

Harry bites into his cheek, "When's the wedding?"

Isla cranes her neck back with laughter. This man is willing, more than willing to beat her into submission. Her parents haven't had access to her finances since graduation. Thank God.

Harry tails her, the curl of his strawberry mouth somewhat self-assured. "Wedding bells aside," Peitho is still laughing, a little, "I'll go see about a room, if you'd like to mentally prepare in the lounge?"

Mentally prepare. Headspace, headspace, headspace. Yes, she definitely needs to do that. Yes.

"Yes, okay," Isla tells him, still smiley.

And when their paths divide into opposite prongs at the end of the hallway, Harry heads to see about a room, still hungry to sculpt that smiley mouth into sobs.

The White Room is called The White Room because it's white. But Isla kind of thinks that a more fitting sobriquet would be The Green Room.

Isla's played in it before. It's a pretty room, in an insane-asylum-eerie sort of way upon wall-to-floor first impressions, and she's sure that if the room weren't stuffed with verdant hues, she'd feel inclined to wear a straight jacket. The young woman kneels in the center of the room, commonplace practice, joints pressed to chilled linoleum in an uncomfortable way that has her buzzing.

The chair against the wall is hugged by vibrant, forest green faux leather. The bed is not white, either. It matches the chair. In the corner of the room behind her stands a jet X-cross, and the wall beside it has rows of hooks of bondage equipment. The chest beside the chair, she knows all too well, harbors toys. It shouldn't be The White Room, it just shouldn't. Her pupils flit over the textured patterns in the tile beneath her, explorative in her prolonged wait for Eros. Perhaps the whitest thing about the room is the set of LED light bulbs screwed into the ceiling, which cast milky light that bounces off marbled walls to marbled floors and back.

The door clicks open. She's facing the chair, which stands paralleled, and this time, Isla can't twist back to see, because that's impolite. It clicks shut. Then, a slow, purposeful pad of shoes against the tile.

"Look at you, already kneeling like a good girl."

She half expects Eros to ruffle her hair as he walks past her, but he doesn't. He winds around, hands to himself, and she hears him sit down before she sees it. If her gaze travels as far forward as it's able to, face downcast, she can make out his fancy dress shoes and the hems of his tailored trousers through swirling lace.

"You can look at me."

So she does. His thighs, again, splay in resolute assertion of power.

"My name is Eros," the masked male cocks his head a smidge at her, and, if only slightly through the shadow casts between the parted zipper, Isla catches sight of a smile tugging at his lips on the latter fragment of his statement, "But you already know that. I'd hope, anyways. We've had a chat. Or two."

His lips — his mouth. Isla ogles the latex through the peepholes of her own and wonders what shape the rest of his features take, what carves and forges his face, how his nose slopes, the assemblage of it all.

"I think I recall, vaguely," she teases.

"Mm. Vaguely. I'll take note of that. Well, although we are acquainted," Eros smooths his fingertips over the arm of the chair, a lavish facade of plastic masquerading. The latter fragment of his statement prompts the steady bump of her heart to spur behind her ribcage. "You will address me as Master."

Isla swallows. Despite her prior train of thought looping so intently on the tracks to decipher what she believes he'd look like beneath his mask, it's entirely derailed by the serious note in his previously light cadence. She wonders how a mere introduction manages to send such a thrilling rush rolling down her spine. Eros leans forward, forearms braced to his splayed thighs, almost as if to bend to her level.

"Or Sir. Master, Sir, it's all the same to me. Your preference."

Master, Sir. Her knees ache.

Isla inhales and tells him, on the exhale, "Alright."

His head tilts just a bit. "Pardon?"

Isla lifts her chin, her hands still obediently pressed to the tops of her thighs, "Yes, Sir."

If the small instance of insubordination rubs him the wrong way, as intended, he doesn't comment on it. He just sits back, seemingly satisfied.

"I'm Peitho. But you already know this," Isla meets his twinkling gaze, her own shimmery with the inside joke of sorts. The silence in which his eyes rove over her, calculating, nearly sends a shiver down her spine.

"Vaguely," he finally says, lobbing her own sass back at her, teasing, and his mouth quirks, "What's your safeword?"

"Red."

There's only a beat of lull before Harry motions at her with his chin and instructs, "Take your top off."

Her hands don't immediately reach for the clasps behind her back. When she speaks, rather than just complying, there's a challenging degree to her voice, "I want you to take it off, Sir."

For a second, Harry doesn't say anything. His gaze narrows and his tongue sticks to the inside of his cheek. He sees her mouth twitch, is the thing. She's playing a game.

He'll play it too.

His voice is deceivingly soft, but it still carries that note of control, "Take it off."

Peitho stays still for a moment, like she's mulling over her options, like she's deciding whether she'd like to keep pushing him, but eventually, her hands raise from her thighs and wind behind her to work on the clasps. He hears the click as the fabric falls open and and as her arms come back forward the cups slip off her tits. She removes the piece, entirely unabashed by her own nudity, and casts her gaze up to him in question.

"Just set it down next to you. Nicely," Eros supplies. So Isla does that, folding one cup into the opposite and laying it onto the marble. She watches the man watch her for a moment, and then her pupils chase his figure as he stands to amble over, slowly.

"D'you know," his cadence is soft and sultry and low as he looms over her, tracing a cheekbone over the lace with the back of a gloved fingertip, "I've been wanting to play with you for weeks."

Weeks? The sentiment has her pressing her thighs together as she stares up, neck craned back. He cranes it further when his fingers rake through from her temple and wring into her roots. Her mouth parts as she breathes.

"And you," he starts, tone nonchalant, his vision flitting to his other hand as he makes work of his zipper, "Only recall my name vaguely. That's a bit disheartening to hear, innit, pet?"

Pet. She casts her gaze to his pants, where deft fingers tug and open and free. His belt, first, with clinks of metal on metal, and then his button and zipper. Her eyes get kind of ache-y from the strain, but it's worth it, because when he draws his cock through the opening of the zipper, girthy and long, an angry blush painting the tip ruddy, she thinks the scenic view merits the ache.

There's a specific sort of power dynamic that is set by one party kneeling in knickers and the other staying fully clothed. It's undeniable; it's power. Every dominant Isla had ever played with was all too eager to remove articles and leave them pooled in a trail to the bed. Which was fine, Isla liked that. She liked the expanse of skin to scratch, the muscles to bite into. But unlike her prior scenes, Eros doesn't seem keen to remove his clothing. He doesn't finger at the buttons of his dress shirt, drawing them through as he makes his way over to her, doesn't tug his belt out and off through the loops in a swift movement. He keeps his shoes on, and his tailored slacks, and his fancy work shirt. And Eros, with his dick sticking through his zipper, looks like a business-casual sexual deviant. He looks like power.

"Isn't it?"

Isla doesn't have time to feel embarrassed over the strangled little sound that falls from her mouth on its own accord as he yanks at her hair with his fist in emphasis. In contrast to the harsh motion, his tone lacks hardness; it's almost impassive, contemplating, "Sad that you can only vaguely recall me when you were wailing my name last week."

She bites into her cheek as he tips over her a bit, casting his tone into one that drips of mockery, "Eros, Eros, please, Eros, please fuck me, Eros! Please, please, please!"

Her nostrils flare as she inhales, the taunts sending fiery warmth pulsing between her trembling thighs.

"Does that jog your memory a bit?" his teeth show as his lips curl, condescension slithering over each word, and he incites her to respond with another little jerk, "Hm?"

"Yes," Isla grits out, humiliation coiling within her and intermingling with desire when he really leans over her, his grip on her tight and his tone hard.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir," the young woman breathes out, a fusion of relief and arousal spiking when he releases her roughly, nearly shoving her head away as his touch retracts. She tacks on, almost under her breath, loud enough for him to hear for blatant reasons, "It vaguely jogs my memory."

His mouth warps sardonically, all smiles, like the calm before the storm. When he reaches around and coaxes her forward by the back of her neck, triggers a gasp out of her, he's certain it's more out of surprise than anything else. He doesn't tug on her hair, just guides her, although not too gently. And when he steers his tip towards her mouth, that same mouth falls open, eager. Harry watches her tongue twitch, not quite emerging, amused. It's a pretty sight to witness; what had just been such a bold display of cheek melt in order to encompass ardor to feel his dick on her tongue. Despite the way his shaft pulses in his grip, he tuts, sliding his opposite palm around and tangling his fingers into the roots of her hairline.

"So eager," Harry croons, drawing the head against her bottom lip and leaving it slick in his wake, "Aren't you? Just for a taste?"

She doesn't reply, impudent in true fashion, just breathing wetly against him, and that's fine, he'll let that slide. He's let it all slide, actually, because he knows that, despite her seemingly unwavering lip, his leverage and authority is boundless. It's all sort of a game, right? She pushes, he pulls, and eventually, she'll topple. It's an unsaid hierarchy they're both well aware of. But not now, because the game would be no fun if he didn't grant his opponent the opportunity to put up a fight.

When she pokes her tongue against the flushed crown, Harry tuts again and pulls back, "Ah-ah-ah. Put that tongue away. As a matter of fact, go ahead and close your mouth for me."

Peitho obeys, at least for now, despite the initial squaring of her shoulders and the hesitancy behind the submission, the whine of protest he's certain she'll release (but doesn't), and he traces her lips with his tip, somewhat pleased. It's delicate footing, for now.

"Good girl," he can sense she glows beneath the praise, but she falters on the tailing words that wear a smirk, "M'beginning to learn I like you best when you're nice and quiet."

If she's glaring through the lace, the male can't see it, but the thought amuses him.

"Right? Mouth closed makes you nice and easy. S'a shame you'll have to open up, eventually," he sighs, feigning pity.

When her fingers twitch and reach out to latch onto the legs of his pants, gently, he discourages it, tone not so gentle, "Hands behind your back. Let's find a better use for that smart mouth."

And she obeys that, too, drawing the handsy limbs back and opting to cuff her touch palm to elbow, instead. The compliance, Harry learns, just as he'd suspected and expected, is short-lived. Because when he nudges at her strawberry mouth in finality, drawing her bottom lip down for a peep of teeth, and beckons, "open," Peitho doesn't instantly oblige. She just sits there for a minute, with her tongue quiet in docility, and her hands behind her back in submission, but her procrastination serves as symbolism that she's goading.

And he lets her do it, for a second, before he taps at her mouth with his tip, his words firm, "Open. If I have to ask a third time, you won't like it. I can promise you that."

The young woman does open, technically, but it's to spew cheeky retorts, and the whole notion doesn't exactly adhere to Harry's intentions.

"You told me to close my mouth, so I closed it."

She sounds so innocuous, too. Like a perfect little angel, flying through loopholes.

"Yeah? Did I ask for the backchat, too?" Harry entertains it, cocking his head down at her. He'll let this slide, too, he decides. His cock twitches in his clasp.

"I'm not talking back, Sir, you told me to keep my mouth closed," Peitho feigns innocence, her cadence deceptively sweet.

"Maybe," he sighs, narrowing his gaze down at her, "the miscommunication is my fault."

Isla's heartbeat thunders in the surreal, eerie calmness of his tone.

"You think I'm asking. So, how about we clarify this. M'not asking you to do anything. I'm telling you."

In response to his words, the young woman feels a shuddery thrill wrack down the knobs of her spine, and she nearly melts onto the marble then and there.

"And now," the fingers that'd loosened considerably on her hairline tighten into a fist again, inducing her heart to stutter at the flicker of pain, "I'm going to tell you to stick your tongue out, and you will do it, because you are told to do it. Let's try that. Open your mouth, and stick out your tongue."

His dialogue seems to make some footing, because she does it with ease post his little simplification. Harry tacks on, "As far as it will go."

At that, Peitho stretches the muscle and it slinks out a little further, pressing over her chin. Satisfied, he doesn't waste any time before he tucks his cock into her mouth and nudges in, nearly to the hilt. And instantly, she's sputtering around him in surprise. It's not nearly as rough as it can be, but he's not soft and slow about it either. It's a trial run, though. A hint, a preparation lacking preparation. Harry slides out, letting her cough over him in a desperation for air. As soon as he hears her siphon an inhale, he slips back in, a little further this time, and holds himself there for a moment. He feels her tongue flex against the underside of his shaft and her throat spasm around him, her posture lurching.

"S'alright if you gag," the male bites back a hiss, straining to keep his cadence even as warmth and wetness constricts over his tip, "I don't mind. I'll just go deeper."

And Isla does gag, but not by her own volition. It's reflexive, spurred by the combination of her own, stuck-out tongue and the way his cock twitches at the back of her throat. In turn, he follows through on his promise, and nudges further. It's only for another second before he pulls all the way out, but it's enough of a timespan for her lashes to flutter against the lace and for her irises to loll back. As he draws out, the young woman groans, panting, and the only thing that bars her face from turning towards the floor are his knuckles at her roots, seemingly insistent on keeping her head up.

"I'm going to fuck your mouth, and you're going to be beg me to breathe," Harry tells her, eyes half-lidded, and adds, nonchalantly, "and then I'll decide if you've deserved it."

"But how can I beg you when your dick is stuffed down my throat," Peitho questions, slumping a bit as his grip loosens, "Sir."

There's enough cheek behind her tone to indicate that the question has more motives in bratting than actually seeking suggestion, though. There's no inquiry to her words.

Harry digs his tongue against his cheek, and only allows her a moment of satisfaction at his silence before his mouth curls with traces of sadism, "You'll figure it out. Or," he shrugs, and then hauls her to sit up straight by her hair, culling a soft, pained sound he could certainly get used to hearing from that sweet, puffy mouth, "You won't. But then you won't breathe, I suppose," Harry motions with his chin, leaving no window for protest, "Tongue out."

As soon as her mouth falls open he thrusts forward, just halfway, pulls back, and stuffs himself to the brim. Isla screws her eyes shut behind the lace, her fingers trembling and jolting behind her back through the fight against gagging. Above her, Eros groans, and his verbal indication of satisfaction spawns warm wetness between her clasped thighs. The male pulls out all the way, once more, and propels forwards until Isla feels her nose dig against his trousers.

"Fuck, baby, just like that. Take it — just like that."

The praise incites fiery pride to coil within her, snaking through her system and settling in the trench of her tummy, and she squirms with her own arousal.

"Christ, wish I could see those pretty, little eyes looking up at me," he traces a fingertip at the lower seam of her mask, touch uncharacteristically sweet.

The young woman hums around him. Harry ogles the stretch of her mouth over his shaft, revels in the slither and slip of her tongue on the underside, waves of hunger rolling through him. Prompts her hum of agreement to morph into a little cut-off sound as he pumps forward, harder.

His jaw settles into a sturdy line as he bites back a moan, "But I'll have to settle on staring at that filthy, little mouth wrapped around my cock and that snug, little throat taking me down."

Isla's fingers twitch for a different reason, then.

"S'quite pretty, you know," The man grunts, utilizing both hands as his fingers slither and settle on either side of her head, weaving into loose strands, "F'only you could see what a wrecked slut you look, sweetheart."

Peitho moans over him as he plunges forward, and Harry presses his tongue against the back of his top front teeth, chasing the contraction of her throat and the subsequent slew of wordless pleas, "Show me. Show me how that pretty mouth takes cock. Show me how you beg for air."

And she does beg. After a while, despite the steady arousal that spikes and just keeps spiking with the funishment, eventually, it does get hard to breathe. When he really starts to pick up the pace, starts to ram against the back of her throat, clogging her airway, she can't help but to beg. It's wordless, muffled, incoherent hums and moans that strum and vibrate over his shaft, sending shuddery ignitions of pleasure through his being, but it's the best she can manage.

After the first few, wet and choke-y and increasing in desperation, his hips slow, and Harry muses, condescension dripping off his words, "What was that? I can't quite make out," his mouth quirks at an interruption, a frantic whine that melts off into whimpers that increase in decibel as he nudges forward, slowly, just resting at the back of her throat. "Are you trying to tell me something, darling?"

He lets her chest heave for a millisecond before he withdraws quickly, almost ripping a gag from her in the process. Peitho nearly falls forward then and there, bracing her palms against his thighs as she coughs and wheezes. Harry waits a good, long, patient moment, cautious of her state, and he lets her get close enough to composure before he guides her face up and nudges back in. This time, though, her palms stay planted to his thighs, not quite twisting at the fabric, but stationary.

After a little more of those harsh plunges forward, she's back to begging, throat bulging as she chokes around him. This time, though, he wrings it out a little longer, tutting and crooning, "I don't know what that means, pet, you're going to have to be a big girl and use your words."

Seeing beyond the lace detailing is complicated enough with an untainted gaze, but all hope is lost trying to decipher through the gloss of tears that coats her eyes. She feels them slip and trail, wetting the shrouding, and when Eros pummels forward, she taps against the sturdy muscle of his thighs wildly. Quickly, then, Eros pulls back, and his pleather-clad fingers slacken considerably, with one hand unwinding altogether. Isla coughs and sputters, leaning to brace her forehead against the back of one of the palms fixed to his legs. The pads of his digits transform into a comforting caress against her scalp rather than a cruel tug.

"Too much?" Isla hears overhead, but she focuses on gasping and panting for composure, blinking tears away and feeling them soak the fabric of her mask.

When she doesn't answer right away, a seed of worry buds in his chest. He lets her breathe against his thigh a little longer before he pats her cheek with his free hand, gentle, leaning over her a bit.

"Darling, I need you to tell me if you're alright."

Finally, she abides and sits up, reveling in the petting over her cheek and the scratching at her sore scalp, "S'too much? Do you need to safe?"

He's tempted to suggest they take a break from this particular activity altogether for the night, then. And when she tilts her head into his touch and says her derisive words in a tone dripping with such sugar, he nearly grits his teeth and bends her over the bed to whip her then and there.

She clears her throat, and the statement plucks from raspy, strained vocal chords, but it's just as out of line as it would be without her throat bruised, "Don't worry. I don't safeword for mediocre performances."

Harry's mouth sets into a hard line. He'd be lying if her defiance, albeit entirely jesting, doesn't catch him off guard. And quickly, caution and intent to nurture mutates into something much darker.

"I think you're forgetting," he tells her, cadence chillingly calm, and despite his intentions, his touch stays deceivingly gentle; he even caresses her cheek a little while longer, "Which of us has the degradation kink, love."

For a moment, something squeezes in her chest, a worry that she's genuinely offended him, and Isla backtracks, "Wait — I'm sorry." Her voice cracks and his eyes flash dangerously, "I didn't mean to," she chews on her lip, "I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings, I didn't mean it like that. I was just playing."

She hasn't — hurt his feelings, that is. But Harry would be lying if he said he wasn't rightfully irate that she'd prolonged telling him that she wasn't aching for an oxygen tank and played it off with snide backchat. Especially in their first scene.

"Just playing," Eros laughs, void of humor, and suddenly that worry in Isla's chest grows tri-fold into a different direction. He states, deadpan, "So you're fine. You don't need to safe."

"No," she bites into her cheek, the pang flesh between her teeth grounding as shame sprouts, "I'm okay. Sorry. I'm sorry."

Sorry. Yes. That, she certainly will be, Harry decides.

Eros cocks his head down at her, and as his touch falls away and he makes work of tucking his cock, still hard and straining, back into his pants, Isla bites into her cheek harder with a fresh layer of tears glazing her sight. She hadn't meant to, like, insult his manhood. Isla eyes him through the mask, bridling her pout. At least she hadn't made him soft. Her gaze flits to the floor in discomfort.

"S'funny," Harry starts over her, forcing her face up with his hand on her chin, "How such a sweet, pretty girl spews such filth."

Isla's mouth twitches and the corners turn down a bit.

"Stand up," he orders, tone biting. Isla blinks the wetness away, stupefied for only a second before he reaches for her elbow and lugs at it harshly, "Stand up, I said."

So she does, her joints aching from the prior, drawn-out kneel. And she doesn't have time to stretch her limbs before the male guides her towards the bed with a firm grip on her forearm.

"I have put up with a lot from you tonight, darling," the way his mouth curls over the pet name with a sharp edge rather than with praise leaves Isla doused in shame for all the wrong reasons. It sends hunger flooding through her. "But I think it's quite time you learn what proper discipline really is, right?"

"Not just," Harry tells her as the mattress dips beneath his weight, as he yanks her forward over his lap, "fun and games, choking on cock."

He jerks her lacy underwear down over the curve of her backside unceremoniously, pleased with the glinting remnants of arousal on the fabric, "Though I'd be pleased to bruise your throat enough for you to lose your voice," he huffs in wry mirth, "Maybe then you'd finally shut the fuck up."

Isla stares ahead, a furious blush working over her face and warming her cheekbones. Her fingertips burrow into the comforter, but it's tucked and tight and neat, so there's not much give for her digits to twist into it.

"For a first scene," her ankles cross as she feels his hand stroke over the globe of one cheek, "pushing boundaries can be tricky, right? S'like, you want to satisfy, but you don't want to push too much. And when I'm asking you," the young woman gasps when his hand suddenly comes down, hard — harder than she'd expect for a first strike, "If you're okay after I've not let you breathe," she jolts forward when another blow is delivered, right on top of the first, "and you decide to lob some cutesy, little comment at me, it's careless and beyond insufferable."

She blinks down at the mossy green, pointing her toes and releasing a high, little unph when he smacks her again.

"If you're going to be a little brat, that's fine by me," another strike, a loud one that bounces off the walls, "because I will show you how I treat brats." Isla bites into her lip as two land in rapid succession and she squirms a bit. The young woman inhales sharply through her nose when, as she braces for another impact, instead she finds him digging his fingers into the reddened skin, pinching harshly.

"I get it," Harry watches her, the sadistic streak within him thriving, beaming, glowing at the squeak he incites as he squeezes over her curves sharply. He clears his throat, "You play with a new dom, you wanna push the limits, right? You wanna see how much you can get away with, what slides. Unfortunately," he bites back a smirk as he smacks her and coaxes a loud cry in the process, "You will quickly learn that my limits don't have much give."

His voice is suddenly dark and serious, no traces of play to his warning, and Isla wonders how can shift so seamlessly from easygoing rumination to stern disciplinarian, "Because I think, typically, you get spanked, you stomp your little foot, you whine, and then you go right back to being cheeky because the lesson didn't stick. I will assure you, this will stick."

Isla gnaws on her cheek.

"But I suppose actions speak louder than words, right, sweetheart?" he punctuates the rhetorical question with another blow that culls a breathy, girlish grunt from her, "So, I'm going to give you a taste of what it will be like if you keep pulling little stunts like that."

He can feel her shudder over his lap, and Harry pets over her curves, satisfaction flourishing at the ruby hues that bloom post his touch. For the first time tonight, she doesn't protest with a slick, unwarranted opinion. She's not impish, or playful, doesn't poke at him. For the first time, she's proper docile.

"You will absolutely not make snide little jabs when I'm concerned over the safety of our play, and if we are going to play," three more hits have her stretching forward, "this is going to be nipped," he punctuates, "in the bud," each word, "now," with a smack.

Isla presses her cheek to her arm, chills spreading over the expanse of her skin at his words almost as rapidly as an uncomfortable shame spreads through her chest.

"And later, if you are just aching for a reminder, I'm always happy to oblige. Perhaps next time I'll put pretty stripes all across the backs of your thighs with the cane that you've expressed you love oh-so-much," his blow is tailed by Isla's squeak, "How's that sound? I think marks would be a pretty solid reminder."

When she doesn't respond, he can tell that she's sensed there's genuine disappointment there, despite his cruel teasing. He digs his touch into her flesh, culling sweet little sounds from her mouth and siphoning warmth to her skin with each harsh fondle.

"This will serve as your warm up," Harry clears his throat after a little while. "I've learned that you apparently don't need me to check in with you. So I won't be."

Isla shifts over his thighs, and holds her breath when she feels the fabric of his pants brush against her calves as he throws his leg over the both of her own.

"Kick, scream, cry," her face burns as he talks, "I don't particularly give a fuck. Your safe word is there. Safe out if you need to. Otherwise, you can shut the fuck up and take it. If you behave like a brat, you will take the consequences that brats get from me."

When he starts really spanking her, Isla learns the blows she'd received during his scolding had truly served only as a warm up. A handful of smacks, dispersed by his words, solely for the purpose of drawing heat to the skin, as loud and as hard as they had been, don't even come close to her actual consequences. Because the warm-ups had breaks, they were distributed, he hadn't honed his focus on one particular spot and smacked her there over and over and over and over with no hint of give, like he does now. Hadn't propped up her hips to fixate on her sit spots again and again and again. And the thing with pain play and masochism was that, in spite of the eventual release of endorphins, there was always that initial little window of fuck, this sucks, why did I ever sign up for this?

It's sort of like getting into a cold pool, right? You tread from dry land to ankle, to shin, to knee, to hip (where you lungs lock up and lose function for a moment at the chill), and at first, it fucking sucks a little. But eventually, you adapt. Of course, a cold pool doesn't necessarily equate to a release of endorphins that leave you floaty and agreeable, nor does it entail screwing your eyes shut and digging your teeth into the back of your hand as someone hits you over and over, but. Same sort of difference.

Isla finds herself stuck in that fuck, this sucks purgatory period a bit longer than usual, twisting and writhing over him. And she knows that ultimately, she'll succumb to a haywire release, like she always does, hormones and chemical reactions that override her response to the pain entirely, but for now, God, it fucking sucks.

True to his word, Harry doesn't check in.

He doesn't even make any sarcastic digs at her, despite any urges to do so, muzzling the "having fun?" that sits on the tip of his tongue as Peitho squirms over his lap. He doesn't want to give her any clearance to make digs of her own. Though, Harry's sure that she's not exactly keen to do so in her vulnerable predicament. And even though the punishment is meant to correct behavior, the goal isn't to make her safeword, so he does take special care to differentiate her whines and the genuine sounds of pain, listening in and focusing on particular spots testingly. He doesn't exactly ease up when he strums a sound of discomfort from her, but he only directs his attention there for a short while before his concentration shifts towards other areas. He's a sadist, but that doesn't mean he isn't considerate. And he's still painfully hard beneath her, is the thing; every time a pretty cry spills from her mouth, every time she squirms, every time she kicks out with her foot, he can feel his cock pulse against its constraints. Despite this, he doesn't directly chase a note of pain once he's harvested it.

She stretches one of her arms out, kicking her feet up off the floor when he centers his palm over her backside and fixes a smattering of blows over the same area again and again and again. It leaves her skin burning, sparks of pain zapping like fireworks over the surface of her flesh with each strike, and each strike, driven with purpose, comes down like the aim is to tattoo the sparks into her. He's making it stick, true to his word.

Isla reaches her hand back in a half-hearted attempt, crying out, a sheen of familiar tears over her eyes, "Sorry, I'm sorry, please, please."

When he grapples for her wrist, interlocking their fingers and binding the stray limb to her back with his grip, she feels that shift. The teeter of pain into pleasure. It's slight, it still hurts, she's still sort in that fuck, this sucks headspace, but she feels herself starting to roll into it. It's kind of a snowball process. Everything gets fuzzy, tinges of pleasure intermingling with the pain, and then her body starts to buzz and her brain sort of resets and circumvents.

Harry tuts, tongue clicking against his teeth, and tells her, with no signs of give, "I don't know what that means. Are you asking for more?"

She just sort of groans for a moment, burying her forehead against her hand, nipping at the blanket with her teeth, and then he draws a squeal out of her and she lurches forward, "No, please, no more, I'll behave."

"I don't think you've quite gotten the message," the male shakes his head, her whines and whimpers satiating something wicked and vicious in him.

"I have! Yes I have," Peitho gripes, "I'll behave!"

He gives her five more before he turns his head around towards her, gaze cast against the back of her head, "Will you? Behave yourself?"

"Yes," Peitho tells him, but he can see that she's started picking at her nails and that there's an unsavory note of defiance latched onto her cadence.

"Yes, what?" he prompts, but his tone is neither hard nor gentle. It's apathetic with testing.

She takes a moment too long to respond, shifting on her tiptoes, and Harry sighs and smacks her again. The young woman squeaks, going lax and planting her face into her arms. Her next statement is muffled, "Yes, I'll behave."

"That's not what I'm looking for," he trails pleather sheathed pads over her heated skin for a second, wallowing in her hum and the white tracks that accompany his touch.

When she doesn't eagerly correct herself and take advantage of the opportunity, Harry gives her the benefit of the doubt and tells her, hinting firmly, "Yes, Sir. Say it."

He watches her back move as she inhales and huffs into the mattress, sighing, "Yes..." and then her voice just trails off, like paint off a brush dragged down the expanse of a canvas. Dot, dot, dot. Just like that. Harry waits. Peitho wriggles. He sighs. She sighs, too.

O-kay.

Learning limits, that's what tonight is about — for the both of them, apparently.

"I had higher hopes," the man practically snorts before he manhandles her hips back over his lap and starts striking over the peachy flesh. The protests, unlike her willingness to obey, come instantly. And first they come in whiney wails and stray hands, and then they come in shattered whimpers.

"I'll behave, Sir! I'll behave, please, please —" he shakes his head as he locks that wandering hand back over her back, just as he'd done before. It's appalling, honestly, how pliant and agreeable she gets under his palm and how quickly she snaps back into her prior tactics when he takes any sort of pause.

"You won't behave, and now that I know you won't behave I'm not going to be so generous."

"Yes I will, I promise I will — ouch! Please—"

"Your promises don't mean much to me, unfortunately. We can spend the whole scene like this, if that's what you'd like. S'shame, I had so much planned, too."

Despite the pain from his hand, her body betrays her, as it always does, fiery want licking along her nervous system and pulsing off her nerve endings each time he strikes. Isla knows she's gushing, knows he'll see, because she aches with need between her legs. And despite all of this, it still fucking hurts.

"And y'know," he tells her, his scoff incredulous over her sharp cry, "the saddest part is that I'm being so nice to you right now. Because I'm accommodating and reasonable. And what are you? Hm? An ungrateful, little slut."

The coarseness of his words, his tone, that does something. It sends an erotic wave of hunger rolling through her, and Isla groans before melting off into practically incoherent thank you's that mesh with shrill, breathy moans and gasps and pleads and Sir's. And then ...something just clicks. Something magnificent clicks, like two gears that wedge together just right, and her moans and gasps and pleads morph into sobs.

And that's where Harry wants her, he learns. That's the breaking point, the sweet spot. Because then, she gets pliant, and sniffle-y, and docile, and she just sort of takes what he gives her with the occasional, soft "please." He learns it when he pauses to shake out his cramping hand, fully intent on going right back to it, when he picks up on her whimpers, even as he's withdrawn, and his face pivots to drink in the sight of her, sprawled and docious. His gaze is curiously calculating for a moment, and he smooths his hand over her backside in lieu of smacking deeper hues out. Peitho sniffles in response.

His voice carries a purposeful degree of firmness when he asks, again, "Are you going to behave yourself?"

There's a soft breath, a sluggish shift in her muscles, another sniffle. And then, a small, unmistakable, "Yes, Sir."

This is the push and pull — this is the topple. Harry draws his hand over her bare back, palm drifting gently, and he takes his leg off the both of her own. Her calves twitch and tendons protrude as she stretches.

"There's a good girl."

He lets her bask in his touch for a moment, using his opposite palm to stroke over her backside, and he eyes the pretty artwork he's left inscribed over her skin with a cruel sense of pride coiling at the colors left behind. His fingers drift lower, prodding, and she stiffens upon the explorational touch. The corners of his mouth crook when his hand withdraws and arousal glints and emphasizes the jet tips of his gloves.

"Poor baby," he coos, the softness in his tone contrary to the harsh edge it'd previously exhibited. The man leans over her a bit, using his other hand to tug up on one of her bruised cheeks, and he pries a subdued little hngh from her in the process, "S'it hurting?"

Isla's unsure whether he's referring to her backside or her cunt. It's all starting to get a little foggy, if she's being honest. But, yes, she decides. Yes, to both. So she answers, minding her manners with no hesitation (for the first time in the night), "Yes, Sir."

Eros tuts.

"Poor, little, soppy cunt," — her cunt, she deduces, he'd meant — and her digits scrabble for purchase at the sheets when she feels him spread her and spit. It's sacrilegious, he's — he's a sex demon, Isla decides, then and there. The mirthy, devious, little hum Eros releases over her as his gloved fingers brush between her legs, parting her to spread the saliva has her simultaneously rocking back into it and spreading her legs.

And he obliges, middle and index running along either side of her clit in a delicious 'V' that pointedly avoids exactly where she needs him most. Sex! Demon! He's self-aware, too, is the thing, laughter soft as her hips shift and grind against his lap, against his fingers, and then his touch retracts altogether, only to come prodding into her, and that's, just. That's — Christ.

"Christ, you're a snug little thing," has her writhing as his digit sinks in, to the hilt, "Gonna squeeze over my cock like that?" his head twists to find that her cheek is pressed to the comforter and her mouth has fallen open, "Hm?"

Harry indulges in those sweet noises she makes as he slides his finger out to the first knuckle and stuffs it back in, revels in the tremble of her thighs. A sly smirk stretches over pillowy rose as he thumbs at the bundle of nerves and a shiver tumbles over Peitho's shoulders. Then, in true, evil fashion, he slips the finger out and removes his palms altogether, fixing his touch onto her hips and squeezing as a cue that he'd like her to move. The young woman shuffles her feet, the beginnings of a whine working its way through her vocal chords, but Harry stifles that with another smack, and that seems to do the trick. With no lingering objection this time, Peitho lifts her head and cards a hand through her hair before she plants her palms against the mattress and pushes herself up.

It's not her mewls that remind Harry of his own arousal. It's not her squirmy hips, her taut muscles, her cunt spasming around his finger — though, those certainly add to it. It's her face as she stands and slots, body language abashed, between his splayed thighs. Her skin is flushed, and tracks of her tears shimmer in the light, no doubt from the movement of the lace as she'd burrowed into the sheets. It's her mouth, swollen from nippy teeth, wet with the sobs she'd expelled over his knee. He can't see her nose or her eyes, but he yearns to, more than anything in that moment, certain that her lashes are clumped and that the whites around her irises are bloodshot. It's that thought that reminds him that he's still so painfully hard.

He reaches out to thumb at her mouth, pleased in the way she just lets him smush over her lips, lets him draw her bottom lip down. The opposite hand rests on the small of her back. He takes a slow controlled inhale, slinking his palm to her tender backside and squeezing. Harry's cock jolts at the pained sound that escapes her, and after a moment, he taps on Peitho's hip in decisive finality, coaxing her to take a step back and allow him room to stand.

"On your back."

He doesn't watch her to make sure she follows his instructions before he winds around her to the wall with hooks of ropes and ties and cuffs, but Harry does hear the bed sink, so he assumes she's wise enough to comply. A braided black cable runs over his palm as he examines, contemplatively.

Isla's heartbeat had managed to slow considerably post his rough touch, but watching him muse over the plethora of bondage equipment through the lace causes the muscle to hammer away, just a smidge faster. She's flat on her back in the center of the mattress, just as Eros had directed, and her desire spikes as he seems to settle on his choice, starting to work on unwinding a series of thick, dark cords. These are shorter in length, an indication that he's interested in fastening numerous body parts down rather than weaving shibari patterns over her skin, and the notion has her squeezing her thighs together.

When he makes his way to the foot of the bed, binds in hand and gaze dark, he really does look the part of The Executioner. And when he sets the ropes down and his eyes rove over her, her heartbeat spikes in worry that she's done something more to displease him. Instead, his pleather clasp hooks onto her ankles, gently. The shift from the gentle grasp to the rough drag as he jostles her towards him has Isla gasping sharply. Eros yanks her to the foot of the bed, forcing her knees up, and standing between her parted legs. The way his pants brush against her tender thighs leave her aching with another flood of craving. Wordlessly, he takes one of the ropes and winds it about one of her ankles, working to secure knots with deft fingers that she's sure have done this time and time again. Her evidence is the length of the process, the strength of the bonds, the way, after he's bound one taut to a column on the four-poster bed, she tugs with her leg experimentally and there's absolutely no give. The dominant makes quick work of the other, pausing before moving on to her hands to drink in the view. Isla squirms under his gaze, and when her knees fruitlessly attempt to clasp, suspended and fastened, his mouth crooks.

Harry tilts his head a bit, "Thought you liked being ogled."

She doesn't respond, biting into her lip, and her cheek turns away against the mattress. Harry huffs, amused. He makes quick work of her hands, kneeing his way onto the mattress at her side. Binding those together, he loops the cord through the vale in between the two with consideration before he sets her arms up over her head, providing just enough give for her elbows to bend a smidge and making sure that her circulation isn't being cut off. He's intent on hurting her, but not like that. Once the other end of the rope is secured to a bar in the headboard (he's never been more pleased that a bed offers so many points to secure a rope), he sits back, satisfied.

"Try to get out," he demands, voice hard.

Peitho tugs at the restraints, and the half-hearted attempt has him narrowing his eyes.

"Really try," his mouth purses as she wriggles, "Come on, darling. Should I get the cane? Really make you kick and scream to see if these are," he grapples onto the tensed cord secured to her arms, inducing a gasp as he jostles over it roughly, "suitable?"

The implication sends a shudder through her, and Eros seems to be content as her limbs thrash to no avail.

"Lovely," he exhales, standing and palming over his bulge. For a moment, a spark of terror ignites within Isla as she watches him head off towards the wall of implements, but he simply squats in front of the chest and rummages through it.

When he withdraws a set of nipple clamps linked by a chain and a corded vibrating wand, she swallows. The dominant blows out a breath before standing back up with his collected items, and he swings the chain around his finger as he makes his way over, lackadaisical. He pauses as he passes over a bowl of condoms standing on a (probably) decorative dresser (Isla's unsure, she's never actually perused through the drawers of those things), and he backtracks, literally taking a few, slow steps backwards to retrieve a couple of condoms.

"It's only fair, right?" Eros tells her as he slots between her thighs and sets the clamps, the wand, and the condoms beside her on the bed, "I've made your throat sore, your arse, I'm about to make your cunt sore."

Isla's hands tighten into fists.

His mouth quirks and he motions with his chin, his touch on her thighs deceptively soft, "Last piece of the puzzle is those pretty tits."

One of his hands stretches over her to tweak a nipple, and she stays impressively still. Then, he pulls back and leans over to retrieve (she assumes) an extension cord for the wand from just beneath the foot of the bed. Her hunch is proven correct when he unravels the cord of the toy and slips the plug into one of the sockets. Then, he plucks one of the condom packets and tears it open with his teeth, extracting lube-y latex with his digits.

"Hm. Banana," he says thoughtfully, sight flicking over the label, and he casts his gaze up to her face, somewhat teasing, "Want a taste?"

It's mercurial, the way he switches from discussing his agenda to abuse her tits to jesting whether she'd like to sample a banana flavored condom.

"What's the other one, Sir?" her voice is small.

"S'plain."

He stretches the condom over the bulbous head of the wand, rolling it over the silicone, and once that's done, he picks up the clamps. Isla takes a deep inhale for courage. Eros pinches at one of her nipples, rolling the bud between his fingers, and the other hand opens a clamp. She blows the breath out.

"Deep breath," Harry encourages, waiting to hear her comply before closing one of the clasps over the same nipple he'd caressed into hardness. As Peitho throws her head back, wincing, he opens the opposite clamp, brows pinched and tone concentrated, "Very good."

"Fuck," Isla groans, the pain that radiates from the sensitive bud sending her endorphins into overdrive. She'll never quite get used to that sensation, and before Isla has time to gather her composure over the one, the man is already focused on the opposite, rolling it between his index and thumb.

"One more for me," Eros instructs, and when the second clamp closes over the opposite nipple, Isla's grunt slips through cracks of gritted teeth. Her exhale is choppy.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"S'hurting?" the male runs his palm over her stomach, aimed to be comforting and somehow falling into the category of anything but soothing. Isla nods jerkily in response.

"Yes, fuck."

When he toys with the chain — the chain, she'd forgotten all about that God awful chain — tugging lightly, Isla arches into it just to curb the pain the motion incites.

"Wonderful."

At least when he focuses on his zipper he redirects his attention from that horrid chain. He tugs himself free, then, through the zipper, and strokes over his cock with one hand while the other recovers the second condom — the plain one. Again, he tears the packet open with his teeth, and proceeds to roll it over himself.

"Still hurting?" he questions after a moment, and it is, Isla thinks, but not in the same, biting way the initial pinprick of metal pinching had been. Now, the sensation's dulled into an irritating ache.

"It's — tolerable, kind of," she grits her teeth as he uses one hand to guide his cock towards her entrance and the other to wring the goddamn chain.

"Yeah?" The man's previously stable cadence wavers as he dips himself in, just the tip, and whether her mouth falls open at the intrusion or the subtle, upwards tug on the clamps, he's unsure. Once Harry's able to free the hand that'd guided his cock, he picks up the wand and tells her, "Let's see if this makes it a little more tolerable."

When the vibrator presses to her clit, even flicked onto the lowest setting, all apprehensions regarding the unpleasant twinges that bloom from her chest are out the window. The young woman throws her head back, mewling as Eros rocks forward shallowly.

"Is that better?" Harry's jaw clenches, and Peitho's nodding frantically, even as he tugs on the chain. He slides forward slowly and pulls back out in an impressive feat of self control, bit by bit, rewarding her and himself more and more with each pump forward, until he's bottomed out and the chain is wrapped around gloved knuckles, tense in its pull. A groan slips from his strawberry mouth, accompanying her own as the clamps jerk in his grip and the toy vibrates where she's needed it most.

"Christ, baby. Missed this sweet, little pussy all week long."

His confession culls a moan from her and he grinds forward, spewing pornographic filth that sends her spiraling towards an impending climax, "Fuck — Thought about how tight and warm and wet it was. The way it pulsed around my dick, just like it is now, the way it milked my cum out so well."

His next statement has her whining as he picks up the pace and toggles the wand onto the next tier of intensity, "Thought about what a good girl you were, thought about those pretty little cries, the way you begged me to fuck you. To hurt you."

"All," he punctuates his words with his thrusts, "week," Isla keens, "long. Been aching to fuck you," his hips swivel, his voice smooth and slow as molasses, tantalizing to her ears, "just like this."

She writhes beneath his attention, his admissions, whining as he pummels forward, punching stuttered little breaths from her, and smut spills from him as his jaw clinches, "Give it to you nice and hard, sweetheart, just the way you need."

Harry revels in the tremble of her thighs, the view of her tits bouncing with each rock forward, his mouth fondling over a soundless moan at the sight before he goads, "Right? Nice and rough?"

"Yes," Isla gasps, crying out at he jerks the chain, and her pleasure pours out as a seamless mantra, "Yesyesyesyes, fuck! Fuck!"

As the tempo of his hips grows harsher, faster, and the toy buzzes incessantly at her core, she feels her stability chipping away, crumbling with the loom of imminent crest as pleasure weaves through the cracks.

"Sir!" Peitho moans helplessly, just Sir, for now, and then, "Please, I'm gonna, please—" As Harry retires the wand altogether and still within her, flush to her entrance, her pleads thaw off into a mewl.

"No, you're not," he tells her, somewhat breathlessly, twisting at one of the clamps and drawing a loud cry that leaves him with an open-mouthed grin.

She clenches over him, frantically, when he resorts back to the chain and tugs up, slowly, until she's forced to arch her back up into the torture, hissing, cadence pathetic and a smidge hysterical, "Please, please, I'm good, I'm good—"

"You are good," Harry underlines his words by jerking at one of the clamps, and the motion tears a sharp cry from her as a clamp detaches from one of the buds roughly. He praises over her wail, "Such a good girl for me. Such a good, willing, little whore."

"And you are, aren't you?" he leans over her to palm over her face, over her cheeks, over her mouth, and her spongy walls spasm around him deliciously, "Willing?"

He doesn't wait for a verbal indication of agreement before his voice dips into quieter territory, softer, gentler, a stark contrast to the cruel ministrations, "Willing to let me do anything I want to you, baby?"

He hears her moan whelmed against his hand, feels it, feels her core squeeze over him at the words. Yes, she is.

"Yes, please — Sir!" she grunts when he stands back and, with no warning, yanks the opposite clamp off. The pain is — it's indescribable. It's profound, it's fuck, this sucks, it's extraordinary. It sends all the wrong signals hurtling through her nervous system, as if misfiring, and ripples of pleasure coil over and enmesh with the bite. Her "oh, God," spills as a sob.

Harry eases his palm down the center of her sternum comfortingly, just below her tender breasts, and pulls out just a smidge to rock back into her, the left corner of his mouth twitching wickedly, "Still gonna cum?"

The way Peitho's response comes with no hesitation wrests laughter from him, "Yes."

And the way he reattaches one of the clamps has Peitho's own laughter faltering into a whine. That whine grows in decibel as he reaffixes the second, and that same whine pares down into a high, pretty moan when he replaces the vibrator back to her core on the highest course of intensity. It buzzes alive, buzzes something through her, makes her buzz. Her head falls back as he starts fucking her with a fervor.

"Feels good? You feel good, all tied up, just bouncing helplessly on my cock?" Harry grits out, opting to surprise her by redirecting his attention to her breast rather than the clamps, fondling over one harshly. Her response is a garbled concurrence and he curses, relishing the tight squeeze over his shaft as he plows into her.

Isla feels the tears glazing over her eyes, a sought-after, welcomed twinge of burning, and she feels herself slipping off into that coveted headspace of worriless enjoyment, the kind she gets from a really good scene that just hits something right, the kind that she gets from being fucked well. The kind where her inhibitions spill over and leave her an unrestrained vessel. The kind where she just sort of lays moonily over sheets post the scene, savoring soft touches and soft words. The kind that typically leaves her body racking with sobs. Eros slows in his pace, but he keeps fucking into her.

"Smile!" he digs his thumbs into the corners of her mouth and tugs up, "There you go! You're happy."

Isla is going to die, she decides. She's simply going to combust.

He withdraws the digits and when the corners of her mouth dip he tugs on the chain slowly, still fixed to one of the buds, his tone hard, and nearly slows to an entire stall, "Smile."

And she does, teary-eyed behind the lace, her lips trembling. The toy rumbles loudly.

"Pretty girl with a pretty smile. So happy to have those gorgeous tits played with, aren't you?" He yanks on her hair, "Aren't you?"

"Yes," she chirps, all smiley, her lips shuddering and fighting against curving down into a reflexive sob, and he rewards her by picking the pace back up with a hiss.

When Eros jerks the opposite clamp off, that — well, that. It does something, triggers something, and she feels herself absolutely overflow. Her whimper is cut off by a jagged inhale and she squeezes her eyes shut, the tears flowing freely and leaking against the lace.

She's crying now, definitely, Harry thinks, if the tremble of her pillowy lips is an indication, the shudder that falls over her shoulders as she coils in on herself as best she can with the bindings. But Harry doesn't have many thoughts, right now, there's sort of no room for them behind his skull, because the tissue is all kind of a haze of need, need, need. Need to chase his looming orgasm, need to forge her own. It's all a blur of basic, biological urges and Peitho keening beneath him, Peitho squirming in the binds, Peitho clenching over his dick.

But the crying, that definitely helps.

"Fuck — fucking, Christ," he groans, driving himself into her over and over and over.

Her hands just open and close, open and close, and she breathes through it all, whimpering pathetically, until she's —

"Oh, oh, please, can I — please —"

"May I," Harry grits out in correction, tone hard, "May I."

Her toes curl in futile attempts of restraint, "May I, Sir, may I cum? Fuck — I'm gonna — please!"

Harry digs his fingers into the back of her thigh, a growl emanating from his chest, absolutely primal, and his other hand holds the vibrator to her cunt when he coaxes, loudly, "Cum, cum — fuck. Gush all over that cock, baby, go on."

So she does. She lets herself topple over the precipice, and warmth envelops her as she spirals, spasming over him the entire way as he pounds into her. A shudder works its way from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes as the crest abates and dwindles.

Harry follows, tailing close by and tumbling along only shortly after, his heart hammering, his muscles rippling and clenching with nearly incoherent grunts and curses streaming from his mouth as he spurts ribbon after ribbon into the condom. He takes a few, lazy, drawling pumps as the wave of his climax ebbs and then stretches over her, his touch on her a stark divergence from what it had been only moments prior. Her breaths are hiccupy beneath him, and she's still crying softly.

His hand is soft, kind, nurturing, now. It cascades over her cheek and palms at the flesh gently, and the other tucks frizzed, haywire strands behind her ear. He coos, cadence prideful, "Such a good girl, Peitho. Such a sweet girl."

He stays over her like that, whispering and stroking until the jerk of her shoulders settles and all that's left behind are soft sniffles.

"Made me very happy tonight, darling," Eros tells her, and there's a genuine quality to his cadence that leaves her basking in bliss

Her exhale, despite its shaky quality, is satisfied, especially as she feels his thumb drift along her puffy mouth. There's a comfort to his warm weight against her, a comfort to the pads of pleather clad digits scratching at her scalp.

"M'going to undo the knots, and then we can have a cuddle, alright?"

She's in that fuzzy, warm limbo as his praises spill over her, and it gets chilly once she feels his body heat escape her, once that soft touch retracts as he withdraws to ease out. Isla bites into her bottom lip, shifting in the binds and searching ahead of her, only to discover him discarding the condom he'd worn and tucking it into its mangled wrapper.

She feels a pout tugging at her mouth, but then he turns and tells her, softly, "Put that lip away."

And then his touch is at her side. He works on her wrists first, the order backwards from the initial pattern, and once those are freed from the binds he tosses the rope off and towards the headboard and rubs the joints in his palms.

"Are these sore?" he ponders, thumbing along from her wrist to her palm and following through with the opposite, as well.

They are, Isla decides, but in the same pleasant ache-y sort of way they always are when she's bound. It's the type of ache she relishes in the next day, spotty, euphoric reminders as she goes about errands and responsibilities.

"In — in a nice way, Sir."

His hum is somewhat amused, and Eros sets those down as he winds around to work on her ankles. He undoes the right first, briefly massaging over the joint just as he'd done to her wrists before setting it down and directing his attention on the opposite. Once both are freed, he picks one of her legs up and kneads and strokes from her ankle to her thigh for a while longer than he'd done in the ongoing process of unbinding her. He mirrors the action on the other, taking special care with his hands over her muscles.

Harry pauses his ministrations as her teeth chatter, and his mouth twitches. "Cold?"

Her hands have pasted themselves onto either side of her, glued to the bed, which is silly, she thinks, all things considered, and once he verbally reminds her that she's cold, it's like the trance snaps. She wraps her arms about herself, shivering. She's not too floaty, anymore, she realizes, because she's able to make out a jab.

"Maybe a little. God, what do they keep the AC at in here?"

Wordlessly, Eros sets the leg he'd been tenderly caressing onto the mattress softly, and he winds around her. She's not sure of what exactly he's doing until she feels herself jerk, and then she realizes that he's untucking the corners of the blanket that'd been folded in so tightly.

"Comfortably frost-bound," the male snorts, and the way the blanket unceremoniously falls over her, at first, has her brows pinching in mock indignation.

"Hey, keep TLC-ing me," Isla pouts.

"Keep TLC-ing you?" There's an amused note to his cadence as he makes his way to the conveniently situated, electric water dispenser. He discards the wrapper with the condom tucked away into the bin beside the dispenser first, and then he takes a couple cups off the top of the broad, plastic container. The man grins down at the slow pour as the bubbling of the jug infiltrates his hearing. When the first little plastic cup is filled to the brim, he sets it aside and reaches for the second.

She groans over the electric grinding, in true incorrigible fashion, and tells him, jesting, "Well, yes, after I've been manhandled and beat up, I prefer to be TLC-ed."

"I will TLC you to your heart's content," Harry promises, turning to make his way over with that exact purpose in mind.

She's rolled onto her side and rests in the fetal position with one end of the blanket haphazardly tucked over the upper portion of her body. As he takes a slow sip from his cup, the other (intended for her) in hand, Harry catches an eyeful of her bruised backside, painted in pleasant tints of pinky reds. When he makes his way over, setting the cups onto a side table first and foremost, he knees his way onto the bed and runs his palm over the skin softly, wincing. He can feel her stiffen up at the touch.

"Ouch — what arsehole did that to you?"

When she meets his eyes, peeking up with her own from under the makeshift comforter cocoon, they're soft and playful.

She sighs, feigning woe, and shifts beneath the fluffy sheet, "A very mean man."

"Mm. Well," Isla feels herself being jostled, and lets him manhandle her again into being TLC-ed — it's gentle, this time, "I'm sure he had his reasons."

She slots between his parted thighs as he settles against the headboard and cradles her, still in the blanket cocoon, with her legs lifting to lay over one of his thighs. The young woman lays her cheek against his shoulder and huffs as he tucks the blanket tighter around her, "Maybe something like that."

Again, she's jostled when he reaches over to the stand and brings a cup to her mouth. "Drink, please."

"'Please,' look at that," Isla jokes, raising her eyebrows behind the lace, "Look at how the tables turn..."

Harry just tuts and smushes the lip of the cup to her smiley mouth, pleased she's got it in her to joke around. She complies, taking a few sips, until her hands untuck for the blanket to hold onto the cup.

"I reckon the mean man's a pretty decent guy, otherwise," He grins lewdly after he's handed the refreshment off, "He did reward you for your trials and tribulations with a pretty earth-shattering orgasm, I think."

"Earth-shattering, was it?" a smile tugs at Isla's mouth at the haughtiness of his statement, and she presses back to his shoulder.

"Well," he smooths a hand over her cheek softly, teasing, "by the way you were crying, as I recall, I think it certainly did something for you."

"Oh, you recall?"

"I do, you don't?"

"Mm," she hums, and then her voice succumbs to a peal of giggles, "Vaguely." They only increase as he sighs.

Once her laughters settled, he thumbs at her cheek as cue that he'd like her to lift her head. And when she does, despite the view of his obnoxiously terrifying, hardcore-BDSM latex hood, she can tell that his expression is soft behind it, "Tell me more about the crying."

He'd been with criers before — they were his favorite, in a way (for unsavory purposes the average bystander would probably frown at him for), and he understood the general basis. The endorphins, the release. Some girls just cried during sex, whether in moments of rapturous pleasure or as a receptivity to pain. Some girls didn't cry at all. But the thing with criers like Isla — the ones who specifically craved to cry, there was a dangerous sort of precipice to dance along. Because, even with safewords, that kind of stuff could get a little ...murky. There's an aspect of assessment that comes with experience, and he's pleased she's trusted him to test those boundaries, but there's also a specific aspect of divergence between experience with kink and experience with a specific partner. Where the shift is. How it goes. When play treks into dangerous territory. When to turn around.

He supposes that kind of stuff just comes with time.

Isla shrugs, her mouth settling into a wordless line and breaking as she expels an abashed breath, "I don't know. I've always — it's always been kind of a thing for me. Like, it's cathartic, and it," her brows furrow, "It happens when I'm overwhelmed with anything."

"It's intense," he tells her in a smile, nodding, but there's no judgment to his tone, no mockery, "And, for me, too. Because that kind of play can be tricky. Honestly, I just want to make sure I didn't break you too bad."

Isla curbs her snort.

He licks his lips, "That everything was all good, in the scene."

She simpers a little, burrowing back against his button-up, and hums. "Yes, yeah. Everything was good. Splendid, in fact."

She can hear that his exhale wears a grin, "Good."

"Mm," her voice is soft, "I'd do it all over again, if I could."

"Would you?" He tucks her hair behind her ear, rubbing along her scalp with the pads of his digits in a way that has her eyes slipping shut and her leg nearly kicking like a well-scratched dog, "What about next Friday?"

Isla blinks her eyes open, a note of delighted surprise plucking at her vocal chords, "With —with you?"

"Mm. With the very horrible, mean man," his mouth sets into a line that breaks as soon she lifts her head and he imagines the indignant look behind her mask.

"O-kay, now you're just putting words in my mouth, I said mean man, I never used the word horrible."

He hums in mock-understanding, rubbing against her arm over the blanket.

"Yes," he squeezes at her tricep, the sensation muffled by the comforter, "With me. Next Friday."

Isla pretends to contemplate.

"Let me smack you around a bit more next week," he teases softly, his tongue peeking out to graze over his pillowy, pink lips, but there's a dirty, familiar connotation to his words that sends a shudder down the knobs of her spine, "I'll make it worth your while."

"I'll have to check my schedule," the young woman feigns indifference, lifting her shoulders in a shrug that's somewhat restrained (how familiar, truly) by his arm cradling her, "You know, there's lots of people interested in smacking me around."

Harry's brows furrow behind the latex and his mouth parts as he looks to the side contemplatively, "Y'know," he bridles a laugh, "I can't say that surprises me, darling."

"Hey," she whines after a moment of introspective lull, and his chest rumbles with laughter. The corners of her mouth buckle, and after a while she tells him, "Yeah. Smack me around again next Friday."

"Yeah? You want that?" the hand that'd been glued to her hair slips to the bare side of her calf that peeks from the blanket cocoon.

"Yes," she exhales, and when he prods, after a second, "Yes, what?" a devious glint to his eyes, she feels warmth coiling in her tummy.

"Yes, Sir."

Yeah. He likes the prospect of hearing more of that.

"Let me know when you're proper TLC-ed," Harry tells her after a beat, his mouth slipping into a soft smirk, "Need you to flip over, after. Wanna see that gorgeous color a little longer."

TDIAG MASTERLIST HERE

[mouseferretaliengirl69]

smiling friends as discord mods ; ☆

crazy ass idea

— glep (8/10 discord mod)

actions ☆

i think of him as the social media manager of the company and if mr. boss trusts him that much to maintain a positive image of the company online then being a discord mod would be a breeze

can control some semi-complicated stuff in the server like role-setting with reactions and unlocking different channels by reacting to a message, definitely improves this function if he thinks its faulty

^^^ any technical difficulties within the server are

takes being a discord mod pretty seriously yet he has the ability to be lighthearted about it sometimes

often mass bans people over spamming or any other offense without alerting everyone else, so like no context banning

^^^ ppl initially had a problem with it but then they lightened up a little when they noticed that those mass bans actually improved the server

^^^^ he still scares the shit out of everyone though

always online and monitoring the server

profile ☆

has definitely splurged money on discord nitro and those discord profile decor and effects

his profile would be decked tf out and follow a purple/green aesthetic

^^^ he has the clyde invaders icon skin and his account profile is purple

^^^^ idk if he has an anime girl pfp or not bc on one hand he would definitely have one but on the other hand he'd have a profile pic of a character he likes from a game.

one thing's for sure tho is that he never felt the need to change his discord profile picture unless he was in a server made for his job then he'd just change that server's profile pic to put his face and that's it lol

discord username is probably like theamazingGlep69 or something

his discord bio is definitely a random video game quote and that's it

his spotify, xbox, and steam account are the only things connected to his discord

extras ☆

always energized by those gamer-advertised energy drinks

^^^ no specific preference for like g-fuel or gamer supps or something he just grabs whatever he can get his grimy little hands on

selectively sends friend requests to people and never accepts friend requests from randos

^^^ in fact he INSISTS on being the one sending the friend requests to people instead of it being the other way around

^^^^ as a result he has less than 15 people on his friends list and he's happy with it

he definitely unadds ppl he hasn't spoken to in a while though to keep it ~fresh~ or something

— mr. boss (6/10 discord mod)

actions ☆

ok so like

he isn't TERRIBLE at modding he knows the basics

he's just very... lax. he's the type to not see anything wrong with spamming or other similar offenses just because he genuinely doesn't think it's a big deal

^^^ he'd be like oh what theyre just expressing themself idk

^^^^ or like when it comes to random ppl dming mods he'd be like idk what if they just wanted to ask a question but were too shy to do it in the main server YKWIM?????

he already lets his employees do what they want during their shifts so it wouldn't be very different in a discord server

because it's online, he already doesn't take it very seriously lol he'd just find any chaos amusing

it's like a giant group chat!!!!

BUT DESPITE ALL THAT, he's really good at organizing server events like giveaways and movie/game nights

he'd always make sure to make the events fun and accessible for everyone

as a result most of the server usually participates in the events

he's just not good at... moderation in general

he also doesn't enjoy the banning/warning ppl aspect bc it makes him feel really bad

profile ☆

he has an anime girl pfp and/or has matching pfps with ppl for a certain amount of time ONLY if they match his profile theme

his profile is a cutesy kawaii light pink anime girl aesthetic

^^^ he'd have the cat ears icon skin and his profile would be pink

^^^^ an evil part of me wants to say he has a sailor moon pfp

yes he also has discord nitro

what else will he do with the money he earns

he has cutesy kaomojis in his bio too and probably has the initial of someone in a text heart like < b 3 (b for brittney LOL)

only his spotify is connected to his profile

extras ☆

also brittney was his discord kitten

^^^ they had matching anime couple pfps

^^^^ they'd always vc

^^^^^ have fallen asleep on vc once

he uses cringe text faces like uwu or owo just bc he knows everyone hates it

^^^ he thrives off of the negativity idk

everyone in a server he moderates would probably feel the safest dming him out of every other mod

^^^ his dms r always open

ok so i know that he has normal ass headphones but hear me out. give him pink cat ear headphones. it's perfect

he has more than the usual amt of discord friends

he always has aesthetic ass discord statuses

has his online status set as idle bc its cuter

— allan red (7/10 discord mod)

actions ☆

he's the mod that everyone complains abt

definitely rewrites the rules and makes sure they're enforced at all times

he's the typa person to call someone out if they break the rules in any capacity

"@/feetlicker Please change your name, that is not appropriate"

"@/charlienipples No memes in general chat, go to #meme-channel."

unlike glep though, he gives a lot of context as to why he'd ban someone

^^^ maybe 2 much context

^^^^ in fact he very rarely bans ppl, the most he sends out is a very detailed warning in dms

always types in full sentences

most server members are afraid of dming him actually he's sorta intimidating

he definitely keeps the server in order but his reputation is just not the best

but he is very confrontational so if someone is causing a problem he isn't afraid of getting it dealt with

he's usually tagged during disputes bc he's level-headed enough to deal with them and offers good points

^^^ that doesn't stop others from thinking he's annoying though :((

very misunderstood but has good intentions

he has a set schedule on when he logs in and moderates, then gives himself free time

so basically he isn’t online all day

profile ☆

he’d have one of those blank discord profiles

like he’d make it normal-ish but he wouldn’t care too much abt sparkly text themes or connecting any of his other socials to it

uses a picture of himself as his icon and has a matching red background that is randomly generated by discord

^^^ (he didn’t pay for discord nitro)

^^^^ (everyone point and laugh)

^^^^^ (he just doesn’t find it necessary since he isn’t online THAT often)

his username is either his full name or a very absurd npc name (like scaryantelopes2536) theres no in-between

he never has a status set

clean profile but its boring to look at basically

extras ☆

takes online status very literally— if he doesn’t want to be disturbed, he puts dnd, if he’s online, he sets it as online, etc etc (so surprisingly very honest)

his profile pic looks professionally done in a studio then unfortunately it got very pixelated as a result of discord itself so its kinda funny looking

his friends list is only the 4 other ppl from smiling friends

doesn’t know or like brainrot or modern internet slang so when ppl say skibidi toilet or sigma rizz he genuinely has to get up and walk around outside to stay sane

is usually the one being trolled/pranked

IS the one that cringes at mr. boss using uwu or owo

— charlie dompler (5/10 discord mod)

actions ☆

HE'S THE TYPE TO be really good at it first then he'd lose interest

he'd get a high from it bruh

just the idea of having power would be enough to get him rolling

for the first couple months he'd be all up in the server channels being hella active

he'd stay up all night just moderating bc its exciting to give someone a warning if they act up or whatever

^^^ if he gets sleepy he drinks an energy drink

*someone fucks up in a server* "Ooh, oooh-- this is my favorite part, man. Watch, watch." *sends a 2 word dm to the person that just says 'warning One'* "Oh, haha! that--that was so fun."

yea he'd be riding on dopamine hits of doing good for the server

since he'd be sleep deprived he'd misspell a lot and send short answers so if someone asks why they were banned he'd give very short answers

"hey why was i banned lol" "bad" "what" "yeah"

i don't think he'd do much in the server other than moderate and make new channels

then he gets bored.

uh oh

all of a sudden he's very relaxed about everything so he would probably stop moderating so much

he would probably be doing the bare minimum now lol

5/10 bc he goes in and out of caring and not caring so i guess sometimes he's pretty good

discord is probably one of the only socials he is really active on

he would give himself dumbass roles just bc

profile ☆

some sort of meme/cursed profile icon with flaming sword icon skin

would definitely have an orange-themed profile in general bc he thinks its a color with an unfair reputation

every social he has will be linked to his damn profile

has a dumbass username

^^^ probably one of the only one of the 5 who doesn't use his real name on discord

^^^^ he would change his dn every once in a while JUST BC to be funny or something

its so stupid he would call himself the Poo Meister after letting a smooth one out

he's always on DND

uses his discord status to ask someone to play a game w him

extras ☆

he joins random meme servers just for the emotes

he's already a discord mod for like 3 servers rn and he's given up

he has a lot of online friends which is why he doesn't use his real name

he's always in a vc with someone

he's very very social online (i bet he has a popular twitter gimmick account too)

he made his current discord account when he was really young and he just stuck with the same one

he adds all the bots to servers he moderates bc he thinks he has amazing taste

— pim pimling (7/10 discord mod)

actions ☆

he would be the one doing all of the accouncements and questions of the day

he takes those jobs so serious

he types with caps on and uses encouraging gifs and emoticons (yes emojis too)

he never really moderates, he's the one just announcing things tbh he has a lot to say

even when he conveys bad news he'd do a little :P at the end just to soften the blow

(he's also the one who usually kindly lets people know why a certain mod banned them just in case said mod doesn't wanna elaborate)

his positivity pisses ppl off sometimes

don't shoot the messenger

he just logs in every morning, and writes a whole paragraph in announcements to wish everyone a happy day! then he types up the question of the day and logs off until the night

pim pimling is a very busy man

checks his notifs throughout the day tho (just in casies)

he just spreads positivity

one of the most important people in the server he's in at all times

he does intimidate ppl sometimes just bc of his role but he does try to be as not-intimidating as possible

if he's confronted on anything he does wrong he is quick to take responsibility for his actions

^^^ doesn't depend on the person's role, like if he bans someone's friend and the person pleads their case, he's very quick to apologize

^^^^ might cause him to be perceived as someone with no backbone but he's just very empathetic and understanding

profile ☆

his icon is definitely a picture of his face, probably some sort of cute selfie

similar to allan, he uses his full name in his discord dn and user

he does have nitro but he only uses it to change his discord background to a picture of nature

his bio would be long as shit. "Hi! (grin) I'm Pim Pimling and I'm 34 years old!" etc etc etc

^^^ definitely overshares in his bio too

has no socials attached to his profile at all

very straightforward profile

he uses his status a LOT to say the most random things?!>>W "Currently eating a bowl of cereal!"

extras ☆

he has a lot of people on his friends list bc despite everything ppl do have a soft spot for him

he had discord for a while like charlie did but he only ever used it to text friends and thats it

really interactive and responds quickly to dms

his dms r very open

he loves emoji reactions so much

he helps mr. boss with server events a lot

^^^ he also participates in every one

he likes using video calls in a vc

hallo ^w^ i just want to end this off by saying i now have an ask box to submit any headcanon requests if needed!! yayy

[magz]

Palestine Summary from LetsTalkPalestine April 14 to April 21, 2024.

April 14.

Day 191

•⁠ 43 Palestinians killed, 62 injured in Gaza in last 24 hours

💰Israel likely spent $1bn+ to intercept & counter Iran's attacks yesterday

🇯🇴 Jordan summons Iranian ambassador after Iran warned Jordan could be next target if it cooperated w/ Israel. Jordan says it intercepted Iran's artillery in its airspace to protect citizens, despite causing shrapnel to fall on neighborhoods

🇺🇳 UNSC yet to reach consensus on Iran's strikes so no condemnation, but they also didn't condemn Israel's attack on Iran's consulate in Syria that triggered the retaliation

•⁠ Israel vows to "exact a price" after Iran's attack but no details. US trying to dissuade Israel + confirmed US won't participate

•⁠ ⁠Israel to mobilize 2 reserve divisions to Gaza, despite earlier withdrawal of most troops. Announced postponing of date of Rafah invasion

•⁠ Largest wave of Israeli settler attacks w/ IOF protection across West Bank, even amid Iran's attacks last night, so far killing 2 and injuring 55+

April 15.

Day 192

•⁠ 68 Palestinians killed, 94 injured in last 24 hours

🇮🇷 Israeli military chief threatens escalation vs Iran. Israeli war cabinet agrees to respond to Iran but divided on how. US insists won’t join attack. Iran says it wants to avoid escalation but will retaliate if Israel attacks

•⁠ Israeli settlers kill 2 Palestinians & injure 1 in Nablus as West Bank experiences escalating settler attacks

•⁠ ⁠2 mass graves uncovered in north Gaza: 10 patients killed by Israel’s latest siege of al-Shifa Hospital + 20 decomposing bodies in Beit Lahia

•⁠ G7 condemns Iran’s recent retaliation on Israel, saying G7 is open to imposing sanctions on Iran & allies

•⁠ Israeli military ramps up airstrikes on displaced Palestinians in Nuseirat camp killing 4+, injuring 32 today

🇱🇧 4 Israeli soldiers injured after infiltrating Lebanese territory by explosive devices planted by Hezbollah

•⁠ ⁠Undercover ​​Israeli special forces kill Palestinian & injure 2 while raiding home in Nablus (West Bank)

April 16

Day 193

• 46 Palestinians killed, 110 injured in last 24 hours

🇮🇷🇺🇸 Wall Street Journal: Pentagon reveals US involvement in intercepting Iranian projectiles, using intelligence and airspace access from initially hesitant Gulf countries (🇸🇦🇦🇪) as a "shield" to help Israel

• At least 11 killed, most of whom were children, in an Israeli attack on densely populated Maghazi refugee camp

🇮🇷🇯🇴 Iran labels Jordanian interception "strategic mistake" after it opened its airspace to Israel to combat Iran's recent retaliation

🍞 An Israeli attack on a police vehicle kills 8 aid enforcement officers working to distribute aid to starved northern Gaza

🇲🇦 Moroccan activist receives 5-year prison sentence for criticizing Morocco's normalization of relations with Israel

🇺🇳 UN to launch $2.8 billion global appeal, with 90% allocated to Gaza, citing reduced budgeting from initial $4 billion plan due to Israeli restrictions on distribution capabilities

April 17

Day 194 - Palestinian Prisoner’s Day

✊ Palestinians in West Bank rally for release of the 3,500 Palestinian captives held by Israel without charge. 9,000+ Palestinians are held captive by Israel, 5,000 of them since Oct

•⁠ 56 Palestinians killed, 89 injured in last 24 hours

💰 Israel approves 5-year $5bn plan to rebuild settlements around Gaza damaged on Oct 7

🇱🇧 18 Israeli soldiers injured by Hezbollah attack on Israeli military facility

🇪🇺 ⁠Top EU diplomats agree to impose sanctions on Iran soon, while refusing to sanction Israel

🇺🇸 Biden uses Iran attack to revive $14bn aid package to Israel & Ukraine that’s being stalled by Congress

•⁠ Google employees arrested after 9-hour sit-in protest against Google’s $1.2bn contract w/ Israel & Amazon

•⁠ HRW: Israeli settlers & soldiers “entirely uprooted” 7 Palestinian communities in West Bank since Oct, backed by top Israeli authorities

🇺🇳 UNSC to vote on resolution for Palestinian UN membership on Friday, US expected to veto

April 18

Day 195

• 71 Palestinians killed, 106 injured in last 24 hours

⚖️ Israel received intel that the International Criminal Court (ICC) may soon issue arrest warrants for Netanyahu & other leaders for war crimes. Israel is worried & lobbying to prevent it, hoping Germany & UK will help pressure the ICC

🇺🇳 US vetoed Palestine’s application for UN membership at the UNSC

🏥 30 bodies uncovered at an al-Shifa Hospital mass grave deliberately hidden by Israel. The bodies show signs of forced executions. Terrifyingly, it’s still unknown what happened to about 1,000 medical staff and journalists who were in the hospital when Israeli forces entered

• Israeli forces abduct 40 people in the West Bank yesterday, on Palestinian Prisoner’s Day

• Israel withdraws from Gaza’s Nuseirat refugee camp after brutal days-long attack, leaving 13,000 housing units destroyed, 75 Palestinians killed, 348 injured, and 100 missing under rubble

• Israeli attacks on Rafah today killed 11+ people including 5 kids

April 19

On Iran:

Israel’s attack on Iran.

Small drones were somehow launched from within Iran targeting an airbase in Isfahan. Iran shot them down, reporting no damage caused

It’s a limited response to Iran’s retaliation which launched drones & missiles at Israel after Israel attacked Iran’s consulate, killing 16. Israel is yet to confirm the attack but it told US last minute of the operation

The attack’s limited nature is Israel balancing US pressure to de-escalate while trying to show regional military dominance, consistent w/ reports that US & Israel agreed on a Rafah invasion in exchange for no Iran escalation. An anonymous Israeli official said it was to signal Israel’s ability to strike inside Iran

Iran is downplaying the incident, likely so they won’t have to respond. An official called it “reckless fireworks”

Unclear if Israel will attack again; Iran said they don’t plan to retaliate. Seems there’s no Iranian or Israeli desire to escalate, especially w/ mass global calls for de-escalation

-

Day 196

• Total death toll surpasses 34,000, including 10,000 women, but @ euromedhr puts the real number including the thousands missing under rubble at over 41,000

• Ongoing Israeli raid on Tulkarem (West Bank) since last night, concentrated on Nur Shams refugee camp as bulldozers cause widespread destruction; 5 Palestinians killed incl. a 16-year-old. Fierce battles between resistance fighters & Israeli forces, with IOF killing the leader of Tulkarem Brigades (local resistance group), marking an escalation. More info tomorrow [April 20]

🇪🇺 EU sanctions 4 Israeli settlers for committing violence against Palestinians

• Israeli airstrike on Rafah kills 7, injuring many others

🇺🇸 US sanctions 2 entities that raised money for US sanctioned Israeli settlers

• Columbia University authorized police to arrest 108 pro-Palestinian protesters on its campus

April 20

Israeli forces arrest dozens of Palestinian men in Nur Shams Refugee Camp in West Bank (middle east eye)

🚨 Ongoing 48-hour Israeli raid on Tulkarem causing worst destruction in the West Bank in decades

Fierce battles in Nur Shams camp in Tulkarem between Israeli soldiers & Palestinian resistance fighters who target IOF w/ explosives & gunfire, causing IOF casualties. Israeli drones hovering over Tulkarem since Thursday; reports of explosions & IOF sending reinforcements

Yesterday, IOF executed Mohammed Jaber, leader of Tulkarem Brigades (local resistance group), marking an escalation, but the group said it’ll continue to resist

4 other Palestinians killed, incl. a teen. Death toll likely to rise given ongoing battles. IOF claims to kill 10 Palestinian fighters

Today 11 were injured: 7 by bullets, 4 beaten by IOF soldiers. Videos show soldiers abusing the injured & blocking ambulances. 15+ Palestinians abducted by IOF (📹👆) + IOF seized homes to set up detention centers, forcing out families

Widespread destruction by IOF as 60+ military vehicles demolish homes, roads, shops & sewage lines

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Day 197

•⁠ 37 Palestinians killed, 68 injured in last 24 hours, lowest daily death toll since start of the genocide (except for 1-week Nov truce)

🇺🇸 US sources say US will soon sanction 1 IOF unit for human rights violations in West Bank, to cut military aid & training. Would be 1st US sanction on Israeli military

🇺🇸 Congress passed aid bill giving $26.38bn to Israel, incl. $14bn unconditional military aid

‼️ Overnight strikes on Rafah kills 10+ people. Several Israeli surveillance drones hovering low & more troops on Rafah outskirts, suggesting an impending invasion

•⁠ ⁠Israeli settlers raid Ramallah, Hebron, al Saywah & Nablus, killing a Palestinian ambulance driver

•⁠ ⁠IOF raid of Tulkarem kills 14 Palestinians + army raided a hospital, attacked medical staff & abducted paramedics. For details scroll up

🚚 Gaza gov’t media office says only 130-150 aid trucks enter per day; not Israel & US inflated number of 300

💰 Israel considering raising taxes to fund more attacks on Gaza

April 21

Day 198

• 48 Palestinians killed, 79 injured in last 24 hours

• Israeli airstrikes on Rafah kill 24, incl. 18 children & 6 women; invasion seems imminent as Israeli intelligence drones hover low over Rafah

• In 2 incidents; 2 Palestinian teens + a woman were killed by IOF in West Bank, IOF claims they tried to stab soldiers

🏥 180 bodies deliberately hidden by Israel in a mass grave at Nasser hospital incl. elderly women & kids, expected to find 700 bodies buried. Many were found w/ their hands tied suggesting summary executions

• 7 Palestinians killed & many injured in Israeli strike targeting home in Nuseirat refugee camp (central Gaza)

🇺🇸 The report that US will soon sanction 1 Israeli military unit sparked harsh remarks from Netanyahu + Israeli minister asked US to reconsider the sanction, marking growing US-Israeli tensions

• Israeli forces continue Tulkarem raids (West Bank) after 3-day intensive raid of Nur Shams camp in Tulkarem that killed 14, incl. 3 kids + abducted 50

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Erin Reed at Erin In The Morning:

On May 17, the National Park Service officially determined that park rangers and other employees cannot attend Pride festivities and parades in uniform. This decision reverses a long history of allowing such participation and even having official delegation in Pride parades across the United States. Anonymous LGBTQ+ employees report feeling betrayed and note that official Pride participation in major cities is uncertain as multiple parades finalize and applications to participate in parades remain unprocessed. The move comes amid increasing crackdowns on Pride flags and LGBTQ+ people nationwide. In most cases, Republican legislators and appointees have been behind such bans, but this time, it appears the National Park Service, led by a Biden-approved director, is restricting park participation in LGBTQ+ celebrations.

The decision was first disclosed in a memo to NPS employees that did not directly address Pride but stated that “requests from employees asking to participate in uniform in a variety of events and activities, including events not organized by the NPS” conflict with National Park policy. The specific provision cited states that NPS employees cannot wear the uniform to events that would construe support for “a particular issue, position, or political party.” Applying this provision to bar Pride participation drew ire from LGBTQ+ employees who assert that LGBTQ+ Pride is not about an “issue, position, or political party,” but about identity and diversity. Employees also pointed out that the internal ERG guide allowed for participation in Pride events and that park employees had participated in Pride events with approval for years under the current set of rules.

[...] The determination that participation in Pride events could be too political is questionable. The founding documents for Stonewall National Monument relate directly to the “resources and values” of the LGBTQ+ community. Furthermore, National Park Service Resources currently live on the site call for people to “Celebrate Pride,” citing Stonewall National Monument to state that “The LGBTQ experience is a vital facet of America’s rich and diverse past.” This resource emphasizes the importance of not rendering LGBTQ people invisible, stating, “By recovering the voices that have been erased and marginalized, the NPS embarks on an important project to capture and celebrate our multi-vocal past.” By barring employees from wearing pins showing their identities and by pulling out of Pride festivals, the NPS ironically may appear to be erasing and marginalizing its LGBTQ+ employees. National Park Service employees have marched in uniform for years. According to the Bay Area Reporter, in 2014, Christine Lenhertz of the National Park Service requested that a group of LGBTQ+ park service employees be allowed to wear their uniforms in the Pride parade. They were initially banned from doing so, prompting the group to file a complaint. She then sought a ruling from the Office of the Solicitor for the Department of the Interior, who ruled that there was no reason to ban her and other LGBTQ+ people from participating in uniform. Since then, many National Park Service contingents have participated in Pride events.

Shame on you, National Park Service, for caving into anti-LGBTQ+ extremists with this cowardly move to bar their employees from attending Pride parades and events while in their NPS uniforms!

[dailyanarchistposts]

If we stop, the world stops

Millions of women around the world participated in events for International Women’s Day (IWD) on March the 8th. The most militant action was in the growth of the ‘Women’s Strike’, with 5.3 million people on strike in Spain. In Britain, the interest in the tactics of the strike on IWD is relatively new, yet still 7,000 women pledged to strike. In addition, links were made to grass roots unions such as the Cleaners and Allied Independent Workers Union (CAIUW) with support for their pickets for a Living Wage. Sex workers also co-ordinated their own actions for decriminalisation and trans women held an action over the problems of access to NHS services.

The organisers in Britain made it clear that the strike should focus on demands for working class women, including those who often face the most exploitation and discrimination, like migrants, sex workers, trans women. It is not just a strike about traditional work but also about ‘invisible labour’, such as care, domestic and emotional labour, and against male violence. The historical origins of the day make it clear that the purpose is not to have more women politicians or company directors (see box). Instead it is focused on the majority of women who are at the bottom of the pile, both in the workplace and in the home. According to one organiser of the Women’s Strike in Britain: “We are instead taking action – action against our exploitation under capitalism, where the domestic and emotional work we do for little or no pay is made invisible, while austerity measures force us into a more and more vulnerable position. This is feminism for the 99%”.

It was in Spain, however, that the strike was the most successful. This was partially because of the support it got from the mainstream unions. However, it is clear that they were forced into support as a result of the massive upsurge from the grass roots organisations. According to one source (thefreeonline.wordpress.com): “An important feature of this strike is that it has been promoted and organised from the bottom up, and not the other way around. That is to say, the initiative of the strike has been born first in the streets, in the neighbourhoods and districts and has developed in open assemblies. It has not been a proposal of the unions, but of the feminist movement.” The mainstream unions only called for a 2 hour strike whereas unions such as the CGT and the anarchist CNT called for 24 hour stoppages.

Despite calls for the strike to be based on working class women, it is uncertain to what extent many women could actually participate, given that they are the ones in the most precarious position. In Spain, headlines were given to women in media and other professional jobs. In Britain, the strike was most successful in the universities, with 61 universities taking part. However, the link to CAIWU and sex workers showed that there certainly was support outside the universities.

If women are to truly win all the demands put forward on the day then we must go beyond demands for equality in the system and call for both the end of capitalism and patriarchy. So how is this going to happen? The strike in Spain may have been very successful in terms of numbers on the streets but what will it achieve in terms of winning demands? Politicians and even bosses may pay lip service to the aims of IWD but they are unlikely to do anything about it. In the end, using the success of March the 8th, women and men must continue to organise at the grass roots level and build up a movement that lasts much longer than a day. The linking up of a number of groups on the 8th provides a good basis on which to move forward.

Origins of International Women’s Day

March 8 is International Women’s Day. This date commemorates March 8, 1909, when 129 employees of a cotton textile factory in New York were killed when their own owner set fire to the factory while all of them were inside making a protest demanding labour rights. In addition, the colour of feminism is violet because, it is said, the smoke that came from that fire was violet, like the fabrics that were there that day. At an International Congress of Socialist Women in 1910, Clara Zetkin proposed this date as the International Women’s Day in honour of the cotton workers.