#I’m so sick of all these fucking streaming services

[macaulaytwins]

you can check out dvds from the library. if you even care.

[bioshocked-astroghost]

In case anyone hasn’t heard it yet, apparently Hulu and Disney+ are following Netflix’s clown shoe footsteps and will be cracking down on password sharing starting in March I think?

Apparently that decision earned Netflix “millions of new subscribers” but even without checking I’m willing to call bullshit. Maybe they did but it doesn’t mean anything if you LOST a similar number of subscribers

So anyway. Personally I’m not losing much to those two (esp not d+ cuz I don’t use it) but I figured others should probably be aware

[hellishjoel]

scream queen

6.6k / pairing: ghostface!joel miller x f!reader

← masterlist

summary: A stalker outside your window at night forces you to beg for your life in more ways than one. You do what it takes because you're a survivor. And you kind of like the mask on. A/N: please heed these warnings, as they can be triggering for some individuals. No one is forcing you to read this, and if it sounds unappealing, please keep scrolling. This is far different from what I usually post, but I’m feeling spooky and have rewatched the entire Scream franchise in 72 hours. Indented chat means ghostface’s voice changer is on. Thank you to Emmie @hyzer34 for the FREAKING AMAZING ghostface!joel edits! 

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), horror, dark ghostface!joel, dubious consent (dubcon via manipulation/guilt/survival), reader has a boyfriend (what a drag) so I guess cheating/infidelity, swearing, taunting/stalker behavior, masked anonymous individual, strip show to save a life, male masturbation, threat of violence/death, begging for life, manhandling, spanking, rough oral (face fucking)(m!receiving), pet names, praise kink, degradation kink, clit smacking (?), life-threatening knifeplay, unprotected sex (p in v), the mask stays on ladies, plot twist ending? very barely edited heads-up

You gasp shakily as his hand carefully caresses your tit, thumb featherlight over your nipple, before he cups and lightly squeezes your juicy flesh.  You swallow down a lump and cower before him. You’re afraid for when he goes lower what he might find, how your slick is dampening your thighs, and your clit is pulsating for him. You need him. It’s sick, gross, disgusting, but you need him.  “Please, Mr.,” you trail off, unsure of what to call him.  “Ghostface.” He aids, and you quickly nod as your lips part. Your worst fear is coming true as his calloused hand and rough fingertips guide themselves further down the soft skin of your stomach and to your panties.  “Please, Mr. Ghostface, I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” You can’t help but feel tears welling in your eyes once more.  The masked man sighs and slowly shakes his head in shame.  “I don’t think it’s about what I want to do to you. But what you want me to do to you.”

It was a quiet fall evening. You sat on your boyfriend’s couch, ankles crossed along the extent of the cushions as you leafed through what was available on different streaming services. You wanted something spooky for Halloween but not something that would over-excite your imagination while alone. You’re wearing the same thing he left you in, red panties and an oversized black tee you had snagged from his closet. 

You figure your boyfriend should be home soon, so you start a bag of popcorn in the microwave. You sit up on the counter and kick your feet gently against the cabinets as you watch the time tick down, listening to each pop as it slowly rattles up its pace. 

Your phone’s ring catches your attention back in the living room. You assume it’s your boyfriend as you hop off the counter and swipe it from the arm of the chair. 

Unknown Caller

With a roll of your eyes, your tongue rutting out against your cheek, you deny the call. Probably a wrong number or an asshole troll since Halloween was nearing. You’re about to turn back to the kitchen, hearing the popcorn bag rattling with intensity when your phone goes off again. 

Stopped in your tracks, you watch your phone buzz with uncertainty as the screen flashes with the Unknown Caller tag once more. 

All of a sudden, the air is tight in your lungs, and your body is riddled with goosebumps. Now you were annoyed. You slid across the call button and pushed the phone to your ear. 

“You have the wrong number. Stop fucking calling me.”  You jam the blaring red end call button before huffing and returning to your popcorn. 

The timer slowly counts down, but each pop from the bag makes you jump. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… 

Your body jolts as you hear something pound against the windows, throwing yourself back against the counter with wide eyes. 

“What the fuck!” You gasp as you rotate your head, searching from open window to open window where the banging was coming from. But there was nothing. No one. Your heart rate is slowly increasing, you can feel it jumping in your wrist and your neck.

Your feet quickly skid across the room, locking the house’s back door before running back towards the front entrance, flicking the lock in place. Even if it was nothing, at least you were safe. 

Standing still in the entryway, you observed the home to be dead quiet. Your fears were still nesting on your shoulders, that you weren’t alone. 

Your phone rings again, causing you to jump from the silence you had grown used to. With a distasteful grimace, you glance around as you walk towards your phone. You accept the call with hesitancy.  

“Who is this?” You ask, already maneuvering around the house and shutting all the curtains and blinds in your wake. “Whoever the hell you are, just stop fucking calling me.”  You try not to let the panic that’s sitting in your throat be exposed over the phone. Whoever has called you hasn’t spoken yet. 

“Hello?” You ask, pausing in the kitchen as you finish your rounds around the first floor. 

“Now that is how you answer a phone call.” The voice isn’t familiar, it’s almost… animatronic? It didn’t sound like a person, but the languidness of their voice was all too human. It was low, primal. 

Now, you’ve seen these movies before, you weren’t an idiot, and you weren’t going to be one tonight. 

“What are you going to ask me? What’s my favorite scary movie?” You taunt, yanking the microwave door open and retrieving the piping hot bag of popcorn from inside, sucking in a harsh breath as your fingertips branded red from the heat. 

The voice on the line laughs. It’s almost sinister, not at all comforting. You’re not even sure why you’re entertaining this jackass who’s calling you when all they’ve done so far is giggle at your expense. 

“How did you even get this number, you fucking troll?” You probe, frowning as you squeeze your phone between your cheek and shoulder as you pry open the popcorn bag. Of course, it bursts, sending a few pieces scattered around the kitchen. You simply roll your eyes and sigh at the inconvenience. 

“Why don’t you be a good girl and clean up the mess you made?” 

You squat down to pick up the kernels you dropped, only realizing the extent of what the voice said a moment later. Your eyes widen, and your chest surges with panic. You look around, but all the windows are closed and covered. Was that just a lucky guess, or is someone watching you? 

Out of instinct, you reach for the knife block on the kitchen counter and yank out the biggest one. The blade gleams silver in the light, and you realize how exposed you are. 

You set down the knife on the counter and quickly move around the house, shutting off the lights and concealing you in a dim darkness. 

“What happened to the show? Why did the curtain close?” The low, sinister voice asks, and you whimper quietly in your hand to conceal your fear. “I liked watching you walk around,” he pauses, and all you can hear is your heart pounding, “in those red little panties.” 

You hate to admit that this flicks a nasty switch in you, chased and taunted, talked down to by an unknown figure. As much as you’re scared, a small churning begins low in your tummy, and you clench your thighs tighter together. 

With a shaky breath, you nibble on your lower lip and slowly move towards the front windows. You slowly peek them open, seeing nothing but your reflection and darkness. 

“Can you see me?” You ask nervously, licking at your lower lip. 

“Ahhh, there she is.” The voice praises, forcing you to swallow a lump down your throat. “Push those curtains open all the way. Want to see all of you.” You shiver, and the pooling in your panties only becomes more urgent. Someone’s watching you, and they like what they see. 

Following the anonymous caller’s instructions, you slowly push open the curtains, your body backlist by a dim light still on in the kitchen. The voice hums in appreciation. 

You blame it on your state of panic for not thinking clearly or logically for that manner. This creep wanted you, you could hear the slight desperation clinging to their voice. 

“Promise me you won’t fuckin’ harm me, and I-I’ll put on a show for you. Isn’t that what you want? You said you liked my panties.” You breathily point out, opting to put the phone on speakerphone and setting it down on the bench in front of the now curtain-drawn windows. 

The voice on the other line hums, pondering your offer. A shiver rolls over your spine as you subconsciously cross your arms in front of your body, scared and nerve-wracked. 

“You have a gorgeous body. Let me see it. All of it.” The voice echoes within the quiet home, and you blink back the fear that is resting heavily on your chest. You take in a shaky breath and do as you are told. 

Your hands go to the hem of your top, about to lazily toss it off when you are tsk tsk-ed at. You frown and quickly pull the t-shirt back down. 

“Not like that!” The voice barks, angry and condescending, making you whimper. The voice pauses and takes a breath. “Slower.” 

“Slower..” you whisper back, hearing the voice hum. You still couldn’t see outside, merely darkness and your reflection. You were fucking terrified, but if this was what they wanted, just maybe they’d let you be. 

You try again. Your hands slowly start at the sides of your neck, pretty and dainty fingers cascading down to your clavicle. You push one hand into the hair at the back of your neck, lightly ruffling the strands while the other skims lower to more dangerous territory. 

The heel of your palm skirts down the front of your shirt until your fingers flitter over the hem of your panties. 

It feels stupid what you’re doing, but it makes you feel alive. Your heart has never beat faster. You’ve never turned on a complete stranger, stalker, even. You were in control of the show here. 

You’re not exactly sure what to look at in the window, so you admire the reflection. You hum sweetly as you hook your thumbs into the tops of your panties. You loop them around, from front to back, stopping at the sides and lightly pushing down to show glimpses of your hips. 

The breathing on the other end shuffles. It almost makes you stop. 

“This turn you on?” You ask. “Does this make you have your hand around your cock?” You ask into the phone, smiling lightly as you turn around, lifting up the shirt from covering your ass, giving them a peek-a-boo of you from the back. 

The evil voice echoes a laugh. “How did you know?” 

Being correct makes you all the more turned on. “How could you not?” 

I mean, look at you. You looked gorgeous and confident, silhouetted by the light, awed by a strange man. You can hear them jerking it on the line, murmuring little grunts to try and not get ahead of themselves. The show had just begun. 

With your back turned to the window still, you cross your arms over your threshold, retrieve your shirt, and lift it up and off of you. Your hair cascades and dances around your back and shoulders. You felt bare, cold. Part of you wished they would come inside and warm you up. 

You peer over your shoulder, hearing the approving grunt on speakerphone. You bit on your thumbnail, looking through the glass with big doe eyes. 

“You’re not so innocent, pretty girl. Let me see you.” 

Now, with your body to show, you felt a bit more nervous. Your fingertips twitched, and you felt shaky on your legs. You did as the voice asked, turning to face the window. Your arms are crossed, covering your bare breasts meekly. 

That’s when you see him. A masked man standing a fair distance away out your window. It quickens your pulse and surges you with adrenaline. 

Yet you don’t run. You don’t hide. 

Your eyes flitter down to their hand shuffling up and down the extent of their cock. The sight alone, even in the dark, being able to see his impressive length was enough to make you let out a needy whimper.

“I-I don’t know about this,” you whimper, your head falling a bit shamefully. It’s like your head caught up with your foolish actions. 

“I’m warning you. Put down your fucking arms.” 

You let out a shaky breath and wince at the voice, tears simmering on your waterline. You put yourself in this position, you can’t believe you thought this would work. 

You slowly drop your hands to your sides, exposing your breasts. And how embarrassing they were, taut and at peaks. They were flush with color, begging for attention. You interlocked your fingers behind your back and chewed on your bottom lip, shyly looking down at the floor as you clamped your thighs tightly together. 

“You’re a real beautiful girl,” the voice grunted, flattering you with attention. “Why don’t you let me in.” 

The demand didn’t frighten you like maybe it should have. Frankly, you were turned on to the point where it nearly hurt. You didn’t know who this mystery person was or what their intentions were, but they were getting off to seeing you exposed, scared, and alone. 

“Come on,” the voice continues. You hear shuffling, and when you look up, the masked man outside your window is gone. You move closer and peer outside, but it’s quiet. Empty. 

“Let me take care of you, sweet girl.” 

Breaths fans out hastily from your nostrils, panicked as you looked around slowly from the front entrance to the back. 

The doorbell rings, and it makes you jump nonetheless. 

You bite down on your bottom lip as you retrieve your phone and slowly cross to the door in just your socks and underwear. Your forearm covers your breasts. Your hand rests on the handle, but you have a hard time willing yourself to open it. 

The doorbell rings again, another jump through your bones, but this time, it implores you to swing the door open. And there he was. 

He was tall, you had to crane your neck to look up. Your lips part, doe eyes taking in how close he is, stepping back in shock at his appearance. Broad shoulders cloaked by a black hooded robe. It was tattered, lined with rips and tears at the seams that draped from his arms. He also wore large, black, combat boots. The scariest thing of all was the mask. It was white with black eyes and a sloped open black mouth. 

Whoever was behind the mask was fit. Their toned body could be discovered even behind the robust black robe. He wore black gloves, too. You don’t realize that as you’re taking him in, the protective arm you had concealing your breasts has since lowered. 

“Scary night to be alone, isn’t it?” The voice is still animatronic as the masked man’s head tilts and observes you through the black cloth eye holes. 

You nod your head, its pace quick. 

“Invite me in. Don’t want you to catch a chill.” 

It was disturbing to admit how stupid you felt letting this freakshow stalker into your boyfriend’s home, but in a really weird and taboo way, you found the anonymity of the man attractive. You saw his cock while he stood outside, his large hand stroking over himself at the sight of your body. You figure he must have put the gloves back on once he wanted to come inside. 

As if he could read your mind, the masked man stepped inside with his tall stature looming over yours. He slowly plucked off one of his gloves, and you see his flesh. 

You watch him carefully as he brings his hand to cup your cheek. You flinch at first, but there is truly nothing to be frightened of. He strokes away a dry, panicked tear from earlier. You can’t help but let out a shaky, wavering whimper. He touches you with such delicacy but hides behind a mask that scares you to your core. 

“Just as I thought,” His animatronic voice echoed, his hand dropping to your hair that fell around your face and sweeping it behind your shoulder. “You’re beautiful.”

Your hair was no longer concealing your breasts. You gasp shakily as his hand carefully caresses your tit, thumb featherlight over your nipple, before he cups and lightly squeezes your juicy flesh. 

You swallow down a lump and cower before him. You’re afraid for when he goes lower what he might find, how your slick is dampening your thighs, and your clit is pulsating for him. You need him. It’s sick, gross, disgusting, but you need him. 

“Please, Mr.,” you trail off, unsure of what to call him. 

“Ghostface.” He aids, and you quickly nod as your lips part. Your worst fear is coming true as his calloused hand and rough fingertips guide themselves further down the soft skin of your stomach and to your panties. 

“Please, Mr. Ghostface, I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” You can’t help but feel tears welling in your eyes once more. 

The masked man sighs and slowly shakes his head in shame. 

“I don’t think it’s about what I want to do to you. But what you want me to do to you.” He aggressively cups your sex, feeling his fingers squish with the soaked material of your red panties. You whimper and clutch his arm, biting back whimpery moans that you’re so desperate to let out. You were secretly begging to be touched. Your thighs clamp around the man’s hand. 

He deviously chuckles. “This is all for me, sweet girl?” 

The man walks you backward until your back is flushed to the wall. You’re still holding his arm in place between your thighs. His fingers add pressure to your bundle of nerves. You lightly grind your hips down into his fingers and let out an embarrassed little moan. 

“Y-Yes.” Admitting in defeat made your stomach churn. “But I want to hear your voice.” You whisper, unsure if you can even make demands in your position right now. 

Ghostface sighs weakly but plucks something out from under his mask. It looks sort of like a smaller walkie-talkie. It was a voice changer. Your eyes flitter to the eyes of his mask. It was black, empty. Finally, you would hear his true voice, and you prayed it was as sexy as he looked. 

“Is this what you wanted to hear, darlin’?” 

You lightly gasp at the southern drawl, deep and guttural, musk-filled and leaving you in a tailspin. His voice was hot, causing a pool of your white-hot heat to leak once more into your panties. You finally nod to his question and let your hands skim across the man’s front. He was toned, like you imagined, with hardened plains and a toughened, thick torso under his black cloak. 

“You’re comin’ with me.” The voice growls. He leans down and scoops you up, throwing you over his shoulder as you gasp and whimper, feeling him trail you up the stairs. His black combat boots echo loudly through the stairwell. He’s so strong. How he knows the layout of the house scares you and implores you. It’s like he knows you, and you may know him. 

He takes you to the master bedroom, the one you share with your boyfriend. Fuck, your boyfriend. A naughty sin to cheat, a naughty sin to like it. It’s hard to picture him right now with the man above you captivating your full attention. 

Your breasts jiggle when he throws you back onto the mattress. You scramble further up it, putting a safe distance between you and Ghostface. He grips you at your ankles and pulls you to him in an eager yank. A cry escapes your throat, but it’s just because you’re nervous. You saw how big he was in his hand outside, and now, soon, you’d hope he would be inside of you. 

“Please,” you whimper, and Ghostface tilts his head. “I-I..” you trail off and shake your head, embarrassment and shame pumping through your veins. 

“You, what? Spit it out, pretty girl.” The voice says as he slowly takes off the hooded robe. He wears black pants and a black t-shirt under it but keeps the mask on. You like the mask on. 

“I… I need you, Mr. Ghostface, please,” you whimper. Since he pulled you by your ankles back to the edge of the bed, your centers lightly graze one another. You make it a point to grind your hips eagerly into his, smearing the front of his pants with your slick. 

The masked man hums in appreciation. You feel his hardened length concealed by his pants. Whimpers leave your mouth as you sit up and reach forward, unbuttoning the black pants with shaky hands. You unzip him and yank him free of his confines. You nearly freeze at his length, prominent veins lining up and down his cock from his pink tip to his swollen balls. 

“You wanna live tonight, baby girl?” The low southern voice asks. You quickly nod, big, desperate eyes wanting to fill his every carnal need. 

“Then get on your fucking knees, m’gonna fuck your throat.” 

He’s aggressive as he pulls you down onto the floor by your hair. You scream out of instinct, but the heat on your scalp brings needy relief. 

You quickly scramble properly to your knees and shuffle your hand over him. One hand isn’t enough, so you add your second. He’s so large and girthy. Fucking your mouth would hurt so good. You hope you’re a slobbering mess for him once he’s done with you. 

“Did I say your hands?” You frown and slowly stop, shaking your head. “I said your throat, want your fucking throat, you little slut.” 

You whimper and force yourself to put your hands behind your back, your breasts perking out more as you spit over him, watching it glide down his shaft and spill onto your shaking thighs. You lick your lips and wrap your mouth around his sensitive tip. 

The masked man seethes through his teeth. He takes off both gloves and knots his fingers into your hair. You’re intimidated by his size, anyone would be, so you try to relax your throat and let him sink further and further in. 

Your eyes go wide as he rams himself down your throat impatiently. Your hands instinctively fly up to his thighs, smacking at them and clutching desperately, trying to explain with a lack of words that you’re choking on him. You cry out, but his cock muffles you. 

“M’not a patient man, I’m warning you now.” 

You clench your teary eyes closed and sniffle, trying your best to swallow around him and breathe through your nose. Your black mascara tears turns him on, and he twitches in your mouth. 

With a shaky breath, you try again. You have to start slow at first, but you remember how impatient he is. You slick his cock with your spit, trying to work up his shaft inch by inch. 

“Open your mouth up, nice and wide for me.” The sight of his mask makes you twitch, but you do as he says and drop your jaw for him. You even go as far as to stick out your tongue for him. 

“Wow,” he admires, as both of his hands wind up into your hair and carve out sections of your hair to create ponytails in his fists. “Such a good girl f’me.” 

His praise makes you purr, bringing your hands up to your front as you massage over the squishy flesh of your tits. 

You let out a low mewl as he stuffs your mouth again, stuffing your face with his cock. It takes a few moments, but you gradually learn how to accommodate him. He hits the back of your throat repeatedly, and he likes it when you choke around him. You try to see him through your teary eyes, whimpering around his cock. 

The masked man’s grip on your hair tightens as he pulls you into his cock and holds you there, balls flushed to your mouth as they smack against your chin. He groans, long and low, holding you down as his cock suffocates your throat. You swallow around him, tasting drops of precum, whimpering around him as you struggle to breathe. Despite it causing you to choke even more around him, you stick out as much of your tongue as you can and teasingly lick at his balls. 

He sucks in harshly through his teeth and moans, gripping the ponytails even tighter, making your scalp sear in pain. But it was all worth it because he was so goddamn big in your throat. You hoped he would split your pussy. 

With a harsh yank, the masked man rips you from his cock. You instantly cough and gag, trying to swallow around the excessive puddles of saliva grouping in the back of your throat and now dripping out of your mouth. You looked like a disgusting mess.

You plant your hands on the floor and drop your head, looking like a dog as you shakily regain your breathing. You slowly look up, seeing his hardened cock slap up against his toned stomach, dripping with your slobber. 

You meekly wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and stand up, your legs shaking beneath you. With as much courage as you can muster, you reach for Ghostface’s hand and slowly pull it to your center as you sit on the edge of the bed. 

“Please,” you beg in a meek whisper, swallowing the messy amount of existing saliva and precum down your throat as you blink through black, mucky, mascara tears. Your eyes flutter as his long, meaty fingers slowly circle around your clit through your panties. It’s jaw-dropping, stomach-fluttering madness. It’s like he knows you like the back of your hand. “Please, fuck me.” You whisper desperately, pulling him slowly towards the direction of the bed. Towards you. 

You don’t feel any more safe with him, but you like the excitement of feeling on the fence. Would he be rough or gentle with you? Call you his sweet girl or his little slut? The edging of unsureness and torrid manipulation has forced white hot heat to pool into your core, and you sure as hell spoiled these red panties enough. 

The masked man drops his gaze to your mound. His hands reach up to the sides of your hips. 

It’s slow and desperate at first, he almost fools you. Ghostface weakly chuckles before he begins to rip the measly material from your lower half. You yelp out as it causes your body to get tugged around. Your panties are now a mess of threads on the floor. You whimper desperately, clamping your thighs closed on instinct despite wanting the opposite. 

Ghostface grabs your ankles and forcibly parts your legs, turning his head slowly as he watches your glistening core. 

“Y-You could have a taste, y’know, if you take off the mask.” You offer, your heart pounding in your chest. You loosely hook your leg around his hip and pull him closer. Ghostface plants his hands on either side of your head, hovering over you as his heavy breath puffs through the mask. 

Ghostface pulls one hand away to his side and shucks something off his belt. You gasp and flinch your eyes closed as a large knife glimmers in the moon’s light. 

“You think I’m going to show you my face, you stupid bitch? Huh?” He taunts you, wielding the knife closer and closer to your throat as you cry out, but clamp your legs tighter around his waist and pull your centers together. You can feel his fat cock sliding up and down your exposed folds. You’re so needy, and it’s repulsive. 

He sickeningly laughs, jutting the tip of his knife against the underside of your chin. It hurts, it stings, and you hope it leaves a mark from him so you can look at it later when you replay this night in your mind. You hope he spares you so you can think endlessly about him. 

“I-I want you to keep the mask on.” You purr nervously, your hand drifting down your stomach towards your exposed mound. 

Ghostface chuckles, low and demonic. “You want me to fuck you with the mask on?”  He asks slowly, trilled with curiosity. 

It fills you with a pit of guilt and shame in your stomach. But you slowly nod. You were willing to risk everything, your boyfriend, your safety, your life, just to ensure this man filled you to the brim like you know he could. 

“Please do. Fuck me, Mr. Ghostface.” You beg. Though you can’t see, you imagine him smirking behind his mask, looking at you with a sense of intrigue and disgust. How could you be so twisted? 

“My pleasure.” He says goadingly, ripping the hold you had on the sheets and yanking you closer to the edge of the bed. You cry out as he forcibly spreads your legs with his body and slaps his cock against your aching center. You’re so sensitive from waiting, you needed to have him this very second. 

A smirk twitched on your lips, but you forced yourself to bite it down, shakily moaning as Ghostface tucks away his knife and wraps his large hand around his cock, lining up his tip to your dripping center. You flinch every time he purposely flicks your anxious bundle of nerves. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, your hand clutching his bicep greedily. “Please, need to feel you inside of me.” You whimper. 

Ghostface reaches up and smears his hand down your face, your cheeks smudged with your mucky tears as you whine like a little brat. For your insolence, he strikes you across the face before nastily grabbing you by your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. 

“Bein’ a real fuckin’ brat for a stranger’s dick, such a fucking hungry cock slut, aren’t you?” He degraded you to your very core, soiling his cock in your gushing slick. You were pretty sure that if he even just breathed over your mound, you would come. 

Ghostface enjoys your desperate whimpers for his dick. He’s more than happy to deliver. He angles his tip to your entrance and notches himself inside. Your gasp surges his adrenaline as he parts you egregiously. 

You hook your hands on the underside of your legs, keeping yourself wide and spread for the masked man above you. Inch by inch, you feel your head lose focus, your mind floating as you see stars that consume your vision. 

The moans you give him are heavenly, he thinks he’s never heard a more beautiful thing. He’s a sadist watching you take his cock, knowing it hurts, knowing you’re forcing yourself open for him, knowing how much you’re drunk off it. He just can’t help himself to wait. 

Air is knocked from your lungs when Ghostface decides he’s, again, not a patient man. He fucks the last few inches into you and hard, pushing you to your limits and filling you to the brim. 

Your head is thrown back as you scream in shock, never having been fucked by someone who feels so good. You sob as your walls flutter around him, attempting to accommodate the size in such a short amount of time.

“Yes! Jesus Christ- Fuck!” You moan out, to which Ghostface chuckles lowly. 

“Take me so well,” he’s trying to breathe through being squeezed so tightly by your walls, even he finds it difficult. “Such a pretty girl, just needs to be fucked to keep her- shit - her goddamn mouth shut.” The man growls behind the mask and starts to fuck you at an earth-shattering pace. 

You cry out in shock, gripping Ghostface at his biceps and whimpering at how strong he is. He pulls himself nearly all the way out of you before he flushes his hips right back to you, slapping your ass cheeks with his clothed thighs. That’s when he really begins to rail you. 

You see stars, still adjusting to his size, your slick pooling around him with excitement. You hazily smile, fucked dumb by a stranger, filled to the brim as you stare at the ceiling. Your visions jumps up and down as Ghostface pounds you senselessly. The bedframe rattles and the legs skirt against the hardwood floors. 

Impatient whines from you fill the room as he pulls himself from your pussy, moaning out for him needily. He manhandles you, grabbing your hips forcefully and flipping you over onto your stomach. 

“Ass up, let’s go.” He commands. 

You were still in a funk, head wiped empty of any palpable information. You whimpered as you tried to move but at the pace of a snail. 

His impatient hands grip you tightly at your hips, forcing a broken yelp from your throat as he pulls you up to bend over, shoving your face into the mattress and angling your ass up for him to use. 

“Yes, please use me,” you whimper desperately, reaching your hands back and parting your ass cheeks for him. “Finish inside me, use me as your cum dumpster.” Where was this language coming from?! This wasn’t you, you didn’t sound or look like you. He was turning you into someone new, someone satisfied by his anonymity. You’d never know who was fucking you senseless, and it might drive you mad until you find out, if you ever will, that is. 

Your thoughts are squashed from your mind as a harsh slap followed by a greedy grip is splayed across your ass. A yelp is pulled from your throat, instincts telling you to flinch away and protect yourself. 

“Ah-ah,” the man teases, his angry fingers creating bruises on your hips as he pulls you back to the edge of the bed to be his little sex servant. “Good girls take what they are given, so take it,” Ghostface says as he smacks your other cheek, reddening them both, jiggling the flesh much to his appeal. 

His large palms seared his prints into your ass, gripping your ass and pulling you to his cock. He lines himself up, and you take him again. 

You don’t understand unless it’s happening to you, how it feels like you’re floating in space, fucked numb but also feeling like you’re on pins and needles. It’s indescribable to enjoy being fucked by a stranger, but it’s happening, and it’s happening to you. 

He penetrates you, parting your walls, making himself a home inside you. You squeeze around him, and he moans. It satisfies you so intensely.   

“Beg for me,” he mutters through the mask, grunting with each thrust. He must be close.

“P-Please, keep fucking me so good, please Mr. Ghostface-”

“No!” He strikes your pretty ass again, hard, and your warm flesh singes with heat. You whimper, imagining how red, angry, and large his handprint looks stamped on your ass. 

“Want you to beg... for your life.” His voice had turned as cold as stone, ridged with a sadist tone that left goosebumps bubbling on the surface of your skin. A scared feeling sunk into the pit of your stomach. You swallowed a lump down your throat and shyly peeked around your shoulder to take him in. 

“P-Please… I want to live,” you whimper, your hands fisting the sheets as Ghostface slowly picks back up the paces of his thrusts. He’s turned on by this. 

“Oh my- please, I know you d-don’t know me, but I’m good, l-look how good I’m being for you,” you begin to cry as he fucks you harder, your ass clapping aggressively against his thighs and the grip he has on your hips intensifies. 

He loves fucking you until you cry. Such a sadist. 

Ghostface gives a few last gut-twisting thrusts, and his tip kisses your cervix repeatedly. He’s so large you can feel him in your tummy. His hand reaches around your hip, and the other stays gripping your ass while he spanks your clit lightly with his fingers. 

“Fuck!” You cry out, beginning to throw your ass back into him, creating your own unique rhythm together. You’re so sensitive, and you’re coming before you can even fully register it. 

“Mr. Ghostface, please,” you whimper. “I-I’m coming so fu-ucking hard,” you mewl for him, your thighs twitching along with your walls that squeeze around him, begging to milk him for his seed. 

Ghostface’s thick and angry cock twitches inside of you, desperate to fill your needy hole with his sperm. He grunts and pants into the mask, filling his own body with a heat that makes him sweat. He pounds himself into you until you’re flattened against the mattress, begging for release, begging to live. 

There’s something about your obedience that he gives into, his cock twitching deep inside the warm comfort of your walls and between your beautiful ass cheeks. He pulls out and pants, handling his cock as he paints your ass white. 

The warm droplets of come make you twitch, but it’s so hot to be painted white by the man who praised you and degraded you all night long. 

You’re a heap of nothing strewn about the mattress. You can’t seem to calm your shaky breath. You lay there limp, unable to move, unable to think. All you can think about is the man behind the mask and how irate and perverted he is. And how much you fell into his trap. 

Shame twisted your guts enough, forcing you to get up and turn around and face your stalker. But when you turned back, he was gone. How long were you not paying attention? 

You quickly retrieved your robe, forcing yourself to walk despite your legs feeling like liquid gelatin. Checking room to room, you survey your boyfriend's home and are left empty-handed. It’s like he was never here. 

From the top of the stairs, you hear the door open and close.

“Honey?” Your heart sinks, hearing your boyfriend kick off his shoes on the mat. 

Rushing down the stairs, you collapse into his arms and cry out of guilt. You tell him everything. Everything besides the show in front of the windows and getting fucked by Ghostface in his own bed. There’s more to leave out than to leave in, but the short story is that you were taunted over the phone by a masked man, scared to death, and begged for your life. 

His first reaction was to call the police, and despite how much you hesitated, you let him. Two nice offers responded to the call. They sat you two down separately and asked you what had happened. You were wrapped in a blanket and your robe, shaking in disappointment. 

It was scary, lying to the cops, withholding all of the truth. Making sure not to overshare any details. You also didn’t want to give away that you liked it. To the bone, you liked it. 

You were hunted like prey tonight, used, fucked hard until you couldn’t breathe. Left in the dark, feeling a little crazy if it even happened in the first place. But you could feel him still inside of you, stretched and still leaking between your thighs. You tugged your robe tighter, smiling weakly at the officer as he closed his notebook. 

“We’ll figure out what we can ma’am. For now, keep everything locked up. I wouldn’t leave the house alone.” You wipe away the mucky mascara on your cheeks and sigh, nodding as you walk with the officer to the door. 

His badge read J. Miller. He was older, stippled with grey hair within his dark curly locks. He had an aquiline nose and plumish-rose lips. His broad chest strikes something somewhat familiar to you. He glances behind you at the officer who is still asking your boyfriend a few questions. 

Officer Miller sighed, looking over the door frame curiously. 

“Said you locked the doors?”

You hesitate but nod compliantly. 

His pointer finger shapes over the lock, then the entry metal hinge. “No forced entry.” He notes, looking at you curiously. 

You evade his eye contact and conceal yourself tighter in your blanket and robe. “I.. I don’t know how he got in.” Your eyes find the floor, planting themselves there as you stare at Officer Miller’s familiar black police boots. 

He hums curiously, looking over you slowly. 

“You’re tellin’ me everythin’ that happen to you tonight?” 

Your doe eyes go wide, your head snapping up to Officer Miller’s. “I-I promise, please, Officer Miller-” 

He holds up a hand to cut you off, and you weakly stand there with your lips parted. Then he starts to nod and slowly smile. “That’s a good girl.” 

It strikes you like a bolt of lightning, fear and curiosity consume you. You hear footsteps behind you, the other officer, and your boyfriend, who collects his arm around your shoulders. 

Officer Miller watches you with a glint of intrigue but nothing more. His eyes shift to your boyfriend’s arm protectively wrapped around you. It makes him twitch up a stomach-twisting smile before he turns to his fellow officer. 

“Got everything you need?” Officer Miller asks, tucking his thumbs into the front of his belt while he observes the other officer’s notepad. The officer nods and places his small notebook and pen in his breast pocket. 

“Got everything we need. You two stay safe.” 

The other officer ducks out first and nods curtly, Officer J. Miller stands there a moment longer. 

“Happy Halloween.” He said with a sickening smile. “Be sure to lock the door behind me.” 

You gulp as you look over Officer Miller meekly before he disappears outside and into the night. Where he belonged.   

---

here's my masterlist!

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[sometimesraven]

Everyone on xitter is fighting over the midnight streaming release and so many people on both sides of the debate are missing the point

Doctor Who was one of the only shows of its kind that survived the cultural capitalist shift to streaming services. There was a real sense of community that came from sitting down in the same approximate place (on the sofa, with family, in front of the TV) at exactly the same time watching exactly the same thing. Sharing your raw reactions and opinions and theories at exactly the same time that millions of others are doing the same. Logging on after the episode and seeing a rush of people doing the same.

Yes, if you missed the episode you had to avoid spoilers, but largely that was easy because you could just avoid social media for that first couple of hours after the episode airs and the spoilers would taper down afterwards and be easier to avoid.

The pressure of HAVING to watch a streamed show all at once and HAVING to get to it ASAP because if you see spoilers it’s YOUR FAULT for not watching it all yet and the spoilers are all staggered because absolutely everyone is watching at a different time— it’s just exhausting.

The main problem with this midnight release shit is this: it’s the beginning of the end. They’re testing the waters. How long before they decide to drop a whole season of DW at once like they do with streaming shows? The community around it will be utterly crippled as DW, like all live tv shows, relies on staggered individual episodes that people have time to digest and think about before the next one.

I’m sick of this consumerist hellscape and the day it takes DW too will fucking end me

((And before any USAmerican twat comes into my notes saying “well you get Disney+ American shows first” I am hitting you with a hammer. DW is not a streaming show. When you get live aired TV shows we have to wait up to a YEAR to get it on any of our streaming services and god knows which one it’ll end up on and if I have that service or not. Y’all have been getting shit way before us for DECADES.))

[sunlightmurdock]

Operation Apollo | 1.2 | Jake Seresin x Reader AU

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Her long term detail is about to retire and needs replacing, only — she isn’t the easiest to work with. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warnings: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst, mentions of death

…

Jake wakes up late, sun streaming through the curtains, directly into his eye line. He groans in complaint, pushing onto his side with his back to the window. His arms curl around her middle and he pulls her back against his chest.

After sleeping on the carrier for the last three months, this bed feels like a cloud. But it always does.

His head spins. It’s too warm in here, really, but Jake doesn’t make any effort to unwrap himself from her.

Jake breathes deeply, memories of the night before filling his head. Getting home mid-afternoon, partying with Lizzy until the early hours of this morning, all three of them trying to sneak in last night without making noise. Smashing the plant pot in the hallway. Fuck. The plant pot in the hallway.

She seems to remember it at the same time he does, groaning softly in realization. Jake presses himself closer to her, his knee between hers.

Dani turns in his arms, pressing her face into his chest. Jake rests his cheek on top of hers without opening his eyes.

“I’m so fucking hungover.” She mumbles against his skin, already knowing that the chain of his dog tags are going to leave an imprint on her cheek.

“Shh. Don’t speak it into existence. We’re fine.” Jake mumbles into her hair. He’s hungover too, trying desperately not to think about it.

She chuckles softly, scooting forwards and pressing herself firmer against him. Jake holds her tighter. They’ve been stuck together for three whole months, it’s their first morning back on solid land — most people would be sick of the sight of each other by now.

There are three loud bangs at the door.

“Go away.” Jake complains.

“Are you two having sex?” Lizzy calls through the door, knocking again. Jake groans.

“We don’t have sex.” He answers tiredly.

They do. Regularly. It’s been that way since flight school, but the story remains the same. Just friends. Really, really good friends.

Lizzy twists the door handle and lets herself in, making both Jake and Dani groan in unison. She giggles, leaning against the doorframe — she’s annoyingly chipper for the time of morning, especially considering she drank too last night. Just not as much as they did.

“Leave us alone, we’re dying.” Dani mumbles softly into Jake’s chest. Jake hums in agreement. Neither of them open their eyes to bother looking at her.

“Mom made me bring you this.” Lizzy explains.

Jake opens one eye and squints at her. She’s holding a plate of bacon and cut fruit.

“Leave it on the desk.” He decides, pulling the covers up higher. They’re already covering his shoulders and it’s hot, but he’s cold at the same time.

“Are you naked?” Lizzy frowns.

“I’m not.” Dani answers, still pressed firmly into his chest. She’s wearing one of Jake’s shirts. Jake shrugs his shoulders,

“I have no idea. I might be.” He’s too exhausted to check.

“He is.” Dani answers for him, Jake chuckles softly.

“You guys are so gross.” Lizzy rolls her eyes and leaves the plate on the desk. They giggle tiredly against each other as she swings the door shut behind her.

Dani lifts her head, groaning in complaint as she tries to open her eyes. She rubs at them until she thinks they might comply, and then tries again, still squinting through the bright morning light.

Jake blinks, trying to keep his eyes open.

“Welcome home, Lieutenant.” Dani mumbles, a soft smile on her lips. Jake’s lips lift into a smile, he leans forwards and kisses her tenderly.

“Welcome home, Lieutenant.” He copies back.

If she wasn’t so motion sick, she might have lifted her hand to salute him. Instead, she presses her cheek into his chest again and groans softly.

“You want to go shower and then eat that fruit?” Jake asks, voice half muffled by her hair.

“Mhm. Just five more minutes.”

Jake flinches when he wakes up to lips on his cheek. He blinks his eyes open, brows furrowing slightly. You kiss his chest sweetly, then his shoulder, his neck, his jaw.

He turns his head slightly, letting you kiss his lips. His brows furrow. He hates waking up thinking about her. It’s even worse that you’re here this morning. He wraps an arm around your waist and looks around the room tiredly.

It’s exactly the same now as it was then. Jake half expects there to be a plate on the desk.

Jake has made a habit of getting up early these past few mornings to avoid exactly this issue.

“Took you forever to wake up.” You tell him, trailing your fingers along his stomach. Jake hums softly in agreement, pressing his lips to the top of your head delicately.

“Have you been awake for long?” Jake asks, his voice deep with sleep. You shake your head and kiss his chest,

“Just a little bit.”

He nods, draping an arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun. His chest feels tight this morning. It always does when he wakes up like that. He does his best to ignore you kissing him. His jaw, his neck, his shoulders — you’re trying to get his attention, Jake just closes his eyes.

“Come on… wake up.” You tease playfully, lowering your mouth to kiss at his stomach. Jake’s lips quirk slightly. You dip below the covers, trailing kisses down to his hips.

He peeks one eye open and chuckles at the sight of the lump under the covers from where you’re sitting between his legs.

Jake throws the covers back and smiles, brushing your hair back off of your face. He tugs softly at your wrist, you move to straddle him. It crosses his mind that you’re going to have a hard time adjusting when you go back home.

You can’t keep coming into his room there - there are cameras all over the house.

Still, there’s no news on a lead back in California so you’re going to be here for at least another week. Jake likes the person that you are when you’re here. He likes the person you’re allowed to be, rather.

He’s increasingly certain that if you weren’t who you were - if he had just run into you somewhere random, he would have been besotted with you. The circumstances had made it hard for him to get to know you - and Jake can get a little mean when he’s stressed, but here, like this, it’s better.

He’s half tempted to hope that a lead doesn’t pop up - so that you can stay here.

You turn his jaw and press your lips to his throat.

Twice last night and now again this morning - Jake’s starting to realize exactly how much you wanted him after all of that teasing. He takes your hips in his hands, slowing your movements as you grind yourself against him.

“Jake, sweetheart?” Two knocks at the door.

Jake groans softly as you pepper kisses along the length of his neck. You pull yourself closer to him, grinning against his skin.

“Yeah?” He calls back.

You hum softly, leaving open-mouthed kisses on his skin as your work your way down his toned chest, confident that whatever she wants can wait.

“The girls are looking for you.” His mother calls back gently. Jake sighs, knowing they won’t give up until they find him. You push softly at his chest, keeping him down against the mattress, kissing his hips.

“I’ll be right there!” Jake answers.

You whine as he slides a hand into your hair, curling his fist into your roots and pulling you back to look at him. You pout your lips.

“Don’t give me that look,” Jake smiles, shaking his head softly, “They’ll bust in here if I don’t go out there.”

You shift to straddle his waist, pressing your palms flat against his chest, tilting your head slightly, “We could be quick.”

He sits up, wrapping his arms around your middle, pressing his lips softly to yours, “You’re such a romantic, honey. Now get dressed.”

He pushes you off of him and you land on the bed with a slight bounce.

“Jake…” You frown at him, rolling onto your front and resting your chin against your fist. He’s already standing, stepping into clean underwear and pulling on a pair of gym shorts. He pulls a shirt over his head.

“You can entertain yourself for a couple of hours.” He leans over and smacks your ass playfully, then heads for the door.

You sigh as he closes the door behind him, pressing your thighs together. All night last night, most of the morning already today. It isn’t enough. You roll onto your back and stare at his ceiling.

You think back to the last guy you hooked up with, and how pissed off he would be to know that Jake has pleased you more within twenty-four hours than he managed in three months.

You’re laying in his bed, in nothing but his shirt.

You sit up, scooting to the edge of the bed to grab your phone from the bedside table. It drops down between the bed and the table. You groan softly, standing up and kneeling down to grab your phone from under the bed.

Sighing softly, you lean forwards and pick it up, eyes landing on a cardboard box under the center of the bed. Written on it in uniform black marker is Dani’s Things. You sit back on your knees and look up, towards the closed door.

It would be insane to go through the box. You know that. You know who Dani is - it would be insane to go through Jake’s ex-girlfriend’s things. But it’s also weird for Jake to have a box of her things under his bed in his Mom’s house.

You shoot another look towards the door.

You pull the box out from under the bed and lift the top off of it. Your stomach drops. You stare at the dog tags and the funeral procession card sitting right at the top, looking back at you.

She’s smiling in the picture they used. Reddish-brown hair and a beaming smile. The girl from the picture in Lizzy’s room. She’s in uniform in this picture, wearing her dress blues.

13th January 1989 - 28th August 2018.

You drop the lid back onto the box and shove it back under the bed, leaving it exactly as you found it.

Heart pounding, terrified that Jake’s going to know what you did, you rush out and head for the bathroom, twisting the lock behind you. You stand under the stream of the shower, staring at the tile.

It all starts to piece together.

Jake leaving the Navy. Four years ago, that would have been right after she passed away.

He’s outside with the girls. It looks like he’s making a rope swing. You close your eyes and look away from him.

“Hey, I was looking for you - your dad called.” Manny announces as he strolls into the living room. He follows your gaze and looks outside to Jake.

“If I tell you something, can you keep a secret?” You whisper to Manny. He nods his head- he keeps plenty of people’s secrets safe every day.

“I was in Jake’s room and-“

“What were you doing in Jake’s room?”

“Snooping.” You answer, Manny seems to believe you. “But I found this box under his bed with Dani’s stuff written on it.”

“Who’s Dani?” Manny asks.

“I think they were dating. But there’s a funeral card at the top of the box.” You explain. Manny raises his eyebrows, leaning on the edge of the window as Jake continues outside, oblivious. That makes sense.

“Shit,” Manny breathes. He sighs softly, “Now I feel bad for calling him a dick all the time.”

You fold your arms over your chest, “Do you think I should talk to him about it?”

“I think that’s the worst idea you’ve had since you were dating that weird little violin player.” Manny replies, shaking his head. He turns his head to look at you, completely serious, “I know he’s chilled at the minute - but he’ll freak out if he knows you did that. If he wanted us to know, he would’ve said something.”

You frown, biting the inside of your cheek. Jake’s attention turns, he catches sight of you and Manny standing by the window and smiles at you.

“Fuck.” You whine, leaning your head back.

“Yeah, you fucked up.” Manny agrees.

You avoid Jake as much as you can for the day. He finally catches up to you in the late afternoon.

“Found you - is it my turn to hide now?” Jake teases, adjusting his sunglasses as he crosses the grass towards you. You look up from your book and stare at him. You feel like it’s written all over your face.

“You alright?” Jake’s face falls slightly as he reaches you. You’re sitting on the hood of an old pickup with your book in your lap. He squeezes your knee softly.

“Fine.” You answer.

“What is it? - What’s wrong?” Jake shakes his head softly, grabbing your knees and parting them, standing between your legs.

You set the book down, open, on the hood. You shake your head softly, “Nothing. Just bored.”

Jake nods, he leans forwards and lifts his head. You kiss him softly.

“Well, Michelle just picked the kids up, so I’m all yours.” He squeezes your thighs, offering you a small smile. You turn your head away from him. Jake’s brows furrow. “Come on, what is it?”

“Why’d you leave the navy?” You ask quietly.

Jake’s brows scrunch.

“What? - What makes you ask?” Jake frowns slightly at you.

“I saw your medals framed in the hall.” You lie, giving a soft shrug of your shoulders, “Seemed like you were good at what you did - and you don’t seem to like this job that much… I just don’t get it.”

Jake looks over your face, then shrugs, “Was just time for a change.”

You know he’s lying to you. There’s no way that you can call him on it without him finding out that you went through his stuff.

“They’re both pretty dangerous jobs.” You comment. Jake stares at you. You can tell he thinks that this conversation is a little out of character for you to have just brought up out of nowhere.

He moves on, lips quirking up into a soft smirk. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. That’s not your job.”

He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to the edge of the hood, lifting his chin. You kiss him softly, humming against his lips.

“Want to go for a drive?” Jake offers, tapping the hood with his knuckle.

“In this piece of crap?” You answer instinctively.

“This piece of crap used to be mine.” Jake taunts. You furrow your eyebrows and turn to get a better look at it, then look back at him in disbelief.

“If you stop asking me weird questions, I might let you drive.” Jake decides, helping you down from the hood and grabbing your book. You scoff, shaking your head quickly.

“No way.”

…

@alanadetigy @thedroneranger @momc95 @basicchelsea @perpetuelledaydreaming @cherrycola27 @eviesaurusrex @xoxabs88xox @desert-fern @fuckyeahhangman @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @khaylin27 @cowboybarbie @the-mouse27 @someinsanefangirl @marchingicenotes7 @marantha @lgg5989 @herladyshipxx @chaoticweirdogeek @mak-32 @obiwankenobis-lap @diamond-3 @wolvesofthewinter

[undrgrnd-nft]

Tezos Goes Big

I really didn’t want to write this, I swear. I have real work to do, podcasts to edit and my daughter is home sick; but, it’s like holding in a sneeze, when I have something to say it’s best to get it out.

This is not about the @tezos event at Art Basel Miami. It may be what is driving the conversation but this is not really about the displays in a lobby of a hotel.

This is the culmination of years of disrespect to a driving force of adoption and endemic of the crypto space (and society) at large.

Art rejuvenating dead space is not a novel concept. In fact, in Miami, there’s an entire area that could have been used as a template by all blockchains. It’s called Wynnewood, look it up and you’ll get the New York Times article I reference all the time.

What was once an industrial park became a hub for restaurants, music and entertainment: culture.

Why? Because some graffiti artists began painting on the cold gray walls of a concrete jungle.

Did those artists share any of the financial gain brought to the neighborhood? No, but think of the exposure!

Web3 was not built by nor built for creatives like us (yea, I’m putting myself in that group, shut up about it). It was built by boys and men that look, talk and act like me (white, male, presumable douchey based on appearance) but lack a moral and emotional foundation.

They use the right words, have picked up key phrases and platitudes, but at the core it’s not about the things many of us value. It’s not about art.

It’s not about a reorganization of institutions that were built to keep specific classes, races and sexes subservient.

It is not building a utopian-Marxist future where the moral and decent are rewarded financially for their collective effort.

Look at the state of streaming services: Netflix, Hulu, Paramount, Peacock, Max. What was once meant to disrupt the cable industry has now become Cable Networks 2.0.

The same is true in crypto. What started as a revolution has become a hype parade led by influencers masquerading as cultural relevance.

Remember the @TezosFoundation Permanent Collection drama? In a Twitter space shortly after things began to spiral downward, one of the leads made a comment on the criticisms, “if this is the response maybe we won’t do this again.”

We all knew it then.

But many of us came here to create something better. So we, many of them my friends, gave second chances, put a positive spin on it and took their opportunity when it was offered.

I was jealous.

Because I would have done the same.

UNDRGRND is just me: a stay at home dad, taking care of a toddler who disrupts the means of production constantly. I know how hard it is to put together something and share it with an audience.

But so does every artist I write about.

So when we watch people with large budgets, people who are able to make a living on crypto already, getting paid to present the work of others and the result is done with the level of care it takes to hang a Missing Cat poster on a telephone pole, it’s infuriating.

Many of the artists I’ve gotten to know over these past three years were creative directors in their web2 lives. Do you know what they could have done with a fraction the amount of money @tezos has in its war chest?

It’s disrespectful.

It always has been.

I’m going to push post on this in a few minutes and the anxiety is rising. I know others are going to criticize what I’m launching in the coming months.

I’m in a glass house throwing rocks.

The difference is I’m not deluded enough to think I have all the answers or have an ego like I’ve done anything yet.

I’m just a guy writing about the things I like while my four-year-old sleeps on me.

This was never about the display.

It was about the devaluation of creatives for years and the continuation of a broken social contract that promised an idealistic future.

So heed the lesson because we’re tired of this shit.

And I’m fucking coming…

- Founder of UNDRGRND, @NFTjoe

[litter-basket]

episode 12 of million little times, available on all streaming services now!

here's the snippet.

“Hey,”

“ Hooooooly shitting fuck,” He said, almost tripping over himself as he stared at Peter. It felt like he was mapping him out with his eyes. He snapped in his face, breaking him out of the weird trance.

“My eyes are up here, buddy.” He teased. Deadpool breathed out a long exhale. 

“I thought the twinning thing was cute, but damn is this an improvement.” 

“I kept getting mixed up with this crazy street deviant. Got sick of correcting people, I guess.”

“ Crazy street deviant???? Wow. I thought we were friends.”

“Mmh, that’s debatable.”

“I’m being a good samaritan and everything! Don’t do me like this, Spides. You wound me.” Deadpool emphasized his point by gesturing behind Peter, directing his attention toward the guy who was still eating the concrete below him.

Right, he should probably deal with that.

He grabbed the man by the shoulders, hauling him up and against the brick wall in a sitting position. He looked a little more roughed up than Peter may have left him; a bloody nose dripping into a split lip and a welt underneath his eye that had already started darkening. He was knocked out, but at least he wasn’t dead. Peter webbed his head against the wall to keep it elevated, securing him with some extra webbing around his shoulders. 

“I thought you hated vigilante work?” He noted, and Deadpool made an exaggerated gagging noise at him. 

“Ugh, gross. Don’t call it that. I got bored waiting for you and heard this asshole being an asshole. So I, the only non-asshole in the room apparently, needed to step in.”

[psychicbergara]

I just wanted to say thank you so much for your posts about the Watcher streaming service update. The negative response has been absolutely insane and it’s honestly made me a little sick reading so much misplaced anger and hate for them, especially the borderline racist shit that people have been saying. I’m so glad that I’m starting to see other people who have more positive opinions about the new pivot to streaming and not just the overwhelming negativity!

ah thank you so much love!! 💖 and it's not people being upset or sad that i don't understand, i totally get why people can't or don't want to pay. it's people literally being overwhelmingly angry that's so insane to me. like the absolute hatred and racism is fucking crazy. these people need to get a grip for real. and honestly, those racist people don't even deserve to have watcher's content if they're behaving this way lmfao. like they need to leave.

but yea, most of my moots have been really positive!! they're so excited and it's so nice to see 🙏🏽 and some are also ambivalent but that's okay too. mixed feelings is not a bad thing, i have some too <3 we're all out here doing our best. i hope you're having a good day!!

[lynntbw]

Hoping I can watch Clone High season 3 soon since I don’t have Max which btw is such a garbage generic name for a streaming service, also the whole season was dropped all at once and I’m just so fucking sick of that release strategy at this point.

[unpopularly-opinionated]

I’ve just found out Archive 81 AND 1899 was cancelled so yeah, Kaleidoscope was good and all, but I’m so done w/ Netflix, or frankly all streaming services at this point. I’ve reached the point they want me to be at where all the good shit has been watched and/or cancelled, and all I’m left with is the mediocre-to-bad shit that they want me to watch instead because it’s cheaper to make. It is literally a lose-lose situation they put you in by cancelling shows so often and so randomly that you’re disincentivized from watching anything new that comes out, which inevitably dooms those new shows to be cancelled too. The streaming issue goes WAY beyond the whole “omg now there’s 20+ streaming services I have to subscribe to” because now we’re all beholden to said-streaming services to actually create the damn content, and they cancel them as soon as they’ve peaked at acquiring new viewers. I’m so fucking sick of it. TV is effectively dead at this point.

Back to rewatching the same shows/movies for the millionth time, anime, and the occasional bucket list item I’ve missed…

[ginjointsintheworld]

i’m so fucking sick of streaming services/platforms and netflix in particular. unless it’s a show with a Star Name attached they provide little to no effort marketing it and the only way to get a chance at renewal is if somehow the show becomes a mega hit that breaks streaming numbers in an absurdly short time period with absolutely no support from the platform. they make renewal/cancellation calls after 1-2 MONTHS. it’s a miracle for a netflix original content to get past season 1 now and virtually unheard of to survive past season 2. as a result we have this graveyard collection of content that writers, directors, actors, everyone puts their heart and soul into that will never see the light of day again. despite being objectively GOOD content. at least with traditional tv networks shows that get canceled they have a chance at being picked up somewhere else as we’ve seen with brooklyn 99, manifest, supergirl. but with these fucking platforms like netflix they own total rights over the content and would rather burn their own money than sell a show.

if netflix just wants to produce movies, limited series and documentaries then go right fucking ahead. but these streaming services can’t continue getting away with taking all these shows and churning them out just to slaughter it especially when it’s content that upholds POC, LGBT and other diverse groups that get so little made for them in the first place.

[dirk-rider]

TT: I’m here.

TT: I knocked for like five minutes and you still didn’t come to the door goddamn.

TT: Are you taking a massive shit or something?

TT: I bet you’re on the toilet going “Aw damn Dirk’s coming over and my toilet smells like a horse’s asshole right now”.

TT: That’s totally what you’re saying to yourself.

GT: Sorry im on my way to the door right now!

GT: I was just putting dinner in the oven my apologies!

TT: Dude it’s 13:00 why are you making dinner already. You probably just finished eating lunch.

GT: Well yes but im making ham! You cant undercook ham or youll feel ill and have to go home early and i dont want you leaving so soon!

TT: I don’t particularly mind being sick. I’ll just vomit all over your grandpa’s fuckin’ bearskins.

As Dirk sent his message, the door swung open in front of him and he was quickly pulled into a tight hug.

“Dirk, it’s so good to see your face! I’m so glad you could make it this early!” Jake said, giving Dirk a rough pat on the back.

Dirk coughed a bit into Jake’s neck at the force before replying “Yeah man, you said this series was long as hell. Figured we should start early.”

Jake let go of Dirk and stepped back. “Yes it is! Downton Abbey is quite a cinematic marvel, it’s a wonder it went on as long as it did!” He gestured towards the door. “After you!”

So Dirk stepped inside and looked around, still not entirely used to the… odd decor Mr. Harley used. He didn’t particularly dwell on it, though - the kitchen was already wafting out scents that made Dirk feel hungry. He felt his stomach rumble and put an arm around it reflexively, blushing a bit at the noise.

“Didn’t eat lunch again?” he heard from behind him, and spun around quickly to face Jake.

“Um,” was all he managed to reply. Of course he hadn’t eaten lunch, who has time to eat lunch? He was a busy guy and he didn’t need food, anyway. His mind had been occupied with other, more important things, like researching the best way to use a hydraulic system in a partially animated stuffed animal, as any normal guy would.

“It’s alright, I figured as much,” Jake chuckled. “I set out some snacks for you in the living room.”

“Uh thanks man. You didn’t have to do that, though,” Dirk tried saying, before his stomach let out another sharp growl. He grimaced. “Fine, I’ll eat something.”

Jake smiled. “Sweet! Well then, go make yourself comfortable! Just wait one moment for me to finish what I’m doing, and I’ll be right on out to join you!”

Dirk nodded. “Alright, see you in a minute.”

He made his way down the hallway until he found the living room, and was admittedly quite grateful for the sheer mount of snacks Jake had piled up.

He flopped down on the couch and grabbed the remote, quietly mumbling to himself as he turned the television on and started flicking through streaming services looking for whatever the fuck Jake wanted to watch. Some show about British people, that’s about all he knew.

Eventually he got to Jake’s watchlist and began scrolling down, looking for anything vaguely British looking. Jake was the only person he knew who actually used the watchlist feature, but hey, someone had to.

As he was scrolling he reached down and grabbed a handful of potato chips from one of the bowls Jake had laid out, leaning forward a bit as he shoved them into his mouth. He was really quite hungry, no matter how much he denied it. And he’d do pretty much anything to make the embarrassing noises from his midsection go away before Jake got back.

Finally he found the show and squinted his eyes to read the description.

“This historical drama follows the lives of the Crawley family and their servants in the family's Edwardian country house.”

Goddamn this sounded boring already.

Oh well, Jake seemed pretty excited to show this to Dirk, so he figured it’d only be nice of him to bear through it.

Especially since there was food.

He blushed a bit again but didn’t stop shoving chips into his mouth, only hoping he could eat enough before Jake got back so he didn’t have to embarrass himself.

After about five minutes, Jake came waltzing into the room and plopped himself down on the seat next to Dirk. He smiled when he looked at the television.

“Oh, good, you found it already!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands a bit. “You’ll love it, I just know it! Maybe in a sort of ironic fashion, but love it nonetheless!”

Dirk snorted. “What do you mean I’d enjoy it ‘ironically’? This shit looks so fucking real. Real as shit,” he said sarcastically. “Seriously though, I’m already asking myself why you’re so into this. Is it really that exciting?”

Jake grinned wider. “Oh, heavens no! It’s the most boring shit I have ever seen!”

Dirk sighed, then laughed a bit as he said, “Well turn it on already, I’m so damn excited you don’t even know.”

So Jake did just that, and Dirk leaned back a bit as the show began. And yep, it was pretty much as good as he expected.

As they watched, Dirk would make occasional comments and jabs at the characters, and soon he became so preoccupied with this that he hardly noticed how much he was eating. He only really went quiet when his hand reached the bottom of the bowl.

“Is everything alright?” Jake asked, looking to face Dirk.

Dirk quickly looked away before replying, “Uh yeah, sorry. I just, uh, finished that entire thing. Heh.” And lord, had he really?? Admitting that was almost… arousing.

No, it was definitely arousing, and Dirk knew it.

“Oh, that’s alright!” Jake replied. “There’s more, you know! One more bowl of chips and a box of cookies, all storebought but still quite good!”

“Uhh yeah. Thanks, man.” Dirk flushed a bit. God, he really wanted to eat all of that.

Really, the only thing stopping him was that he felt Jake had started catching onto what he was doing.

See, Dirk had began playing this little game with himself. He’d known since he was young that something about food was incredibly arousing to him, and when he realized how oblivious Jake tended to be, he began challenging himself to eat as much as he could on their dates. It made him incredibly flustered, but also incredibly aroused. Knowing he was doing something he would regularly get off to, right in front of his oblivious boyfriend, was like some sick kind of foreplay to him.

Recently, though, he got the feeling Jake was catching on. He’d ask questions, like “how much are you planning on eating today?” And he’d offer him more and more food, and he was just acting… different. So Dirk decided he had to cut back around Jake, at least for the time being.

At the same time, though, he didn’t want to be rude and just ignore all this that Jake had set out for him…

He grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved that into his mouth, too.

About five episodes in Dirk had gone through another bowl of chips, a bowl of popcorn, and an entire box of cookies. Jake had also gotten up momentarily to “check on the food”, and had come back with an orange soda, which Dirk had downed as well.

His stomach was already gurgling quietly, but after so many months of regular sessions similar to this, he knew he could still get more food in there if he wanted.

He noticed Jake occasionally looking over at his stomach, but he never said anything, so neither did Dirk. Instead, he would fill space where they should be talking with admittedly less and less ironic rambles pertaining to the characters.

As he was cursing out a character named Matthew for not making any moves towards a girl named Mary (holding quite a few parallels to how he used to feel towards Jake, though he’d never admit it), he heard a bell ding.

“Oh, dinners almost ready! Alright, Dirk, I’ll be back in a jiffy to grab you!” Jake exclaimed, getting up.

Dirk looked up at him. “Man alright, take your time.”

“Will do! Should be about ten, fifteen minutes, give or take,” Jake said, flipping the light switch on. “I’ll see you then!” And he was gone.

Now that Dirk was alone on the couch, he felt safe pulling his shirt up a bit and admiring his stomach. It was shaping out nicely around his jeans, and he had a slight bloated muffin top, but he exercised enough that he still had a nice set of abs beneath it.

He pulled out his phone to take a quick picture, then went to scroll through his social media feeds while he waited for Jake to come back. As he was scrolling, he rested his free hand on his stomach and rubbed small circles around it, knowing this would ease the bloating at least a bit and make it easier for him to eat dinner without looking exceedingly stuffed. He patted his stomach and forced out a short belch to clear out some more space that was filled with gas bubbles from the soda he’d downed, and sighed.

God, he wished he could absolutely fill himself to the brim with good food, but he knew he couldn’t, not without fear of Jake calling him out. So instead he just continued on readying himself for the next meal and tried to distract his mind through reading mindless drivel.

Eventually, he heard his name, and looked up to see Jake standing over him. He quickly pulled his shirt down, hoping to look casual while doing so.

“Dinners ready!” Jake smiled down at him. “And I hope you’re hungry, because I made a lot!”

Dirks face reddened and he hoped to god that Jake didn’t notice as he replied, “Alright, I’m coming.”

“Swell!”

So the two walked down to the dining room, Jake leading the way.

When they got there, Jake pulled out one of the many seats for Dirk before heading to sit on the opposing end. The table was one meant for large gatherings, so the two sitting across from each other without anyone there made for a slight dissonance, but Jake seemed used to it by now. He’d already placed dinner on the table, too - half of a glazed ham sat in between the two, alongside a large bowl of assorted fruits (most of which Dirk couldn’t even name), and a few toasted bread buns.

“I hope you like it!” Jake smiled, resting his hands underneath his chin.

“Wow, man, this is… this looks so good. This smells so good. …You’re really spoiling me, huh?” Dirk chuckled lightly, and Jake looked very pleased with himself.

“Of course I am! I am your boyfriend, after all!” Jake smiled back at him. But there was a slight malicious undertone that Dirk wasn’t sure he was imagining.

To distract himself, he cut out a chunk of the meat and laid it on his plate. And as he took a bite, his eyes widened.

Dear lord if this wasn’t the best thing he’d tasted in a while.

He quickly cut out another bit and shoved it into his mouth, too, and then another, and another. And this time, he wasn’t even intentionally doing this to get off - it was genuinely amazing food.

As he was reaching for more of the ham, Jake’s voice came from across the table.

“Make sure to get some of the other things I’ve set out as well! I didn’t put all of this work in for nothing!”

Dirk nodded and took an admittedly large portion of the fruit plate (much larger than he’d intended, it was a really big spoon) and one of the bread rolls.

“Sorry I didn’t have too much variety in this meal, by the way! I figured you’d be more comfortable with something I know you like, so I really only set out things we’ve previously discussed.”

“Are you kidding? This shit slaps, man! You’re fucking fantastic!” Dirk replied, looking up and across at Jake. And he really meant it. Despite how he felt in situations like this, the sexiness factor was currently almost entirely replaced by admiration. It meant a lot more than he could ever put into words.

“Oh thank you, haha! I just wanted to make sure you could get good and full!” Jake replied.

Shit now the sexiness factor was back.

Dirk blushed a bit but said nothing, instead just going back to his own plate of food.

As the two ate they chatted about the series they’d been watching moments earlier, Jake going on a bit of a monologue quite a few times as he explained how “the narrative really almost plays second fiddle to just how much they put into this camerawork!” and stuff like that. And Dirk didn’t mind, honestly he was just relieved he didn’t have to say too much, as his stomach began filling out more and he couldn’t focus on too much else.

The pressure in his gut was becoming a lot if he was honest, and he was trying desperately to not find arousal in this, not now. He had to stop soon, he told himself, before his feelings made themselves known.

So Dirk put his utensils down and leaned back in his seat, hoping to say without words that he was done.

Jake noticed, though, and quickly interrupted his own ramblings.

“Aww, come on, Dirk! I’m sure you can fit just a little more food in that stomach of yours!” he exclaimed.

Shit if that sentence wasn’t enough to pop a boner.

“Sorry man, I’m stuffed,” Dirk replied, closing his eyes for a moment.

Next thing he knew, though, Jake was at his side, putting another few slices of meat on Dirk’s plate, alongside two more bread rolls.

“I bet you can at least eat this much,” he said. “I made all of this for you, you know! Would be a waste if someone didn’t eat it!”

Dirk opened one eye to look up at him.

“Can’t you just leave it for leftovers?” he mumbled, furrowing his brow and hoping to god Jake didn’t look down at Dirk’s pants.

Jake chuckled a bit. “Well of course I’ll leave some for a later date! But it’s still best fresh out of the oven, you know?” He patted Dirk on the shoulder. “So eat up!”

Dirk groaned slightly. If Jake would stop saying hot shit he might be a little more agreeable, but he knew he’d just keep pestering him until he finished what was on his plate, so he picked up one of the rolls and brought it to his mouth. Jake seemed pleased by this and went back to his side of the table.

As Dirk continued eating, he looked over at Jake. “Why don’t you have more? You’re real insistent on getting me all good and stuffed like a thanksgiving turkey, but you’ve hardly eaten half of what I have.” He forced a laugh to hopefully sound more playful.

Jake smiled smugly. “Dirk, you have a stomach of steel! I don’t think anyone could fit nearly as much in there as you can!”

Dirk let that run through his mind. He couldn’t find any counterarguments, so he just continued plowing on. The pressure in his stomach only became more and more noticeable, though, and with it so did the pressure in his pants. A few times as he was eating he had to stop to let rumbling belches into his fist, which only really made the problem in his pants worse. And then Jake would give his own plaudits on each one, which really cemented it all.

After what felt like forever, Dirk’s plate was finally empty, and he sighed as he slouched forward to put his head in his hands.

“Okay, man, I’mmrrUurp - fuck, sorry. I’m done.”

Jake grinned as the eructation forced itself past Dirk’s unwilling lips, and Dirk’s face heated.

“Oh, goodie! And look at you, too, all nice and filled up. You did extraordinarily, I’d say!” Jake told him, getting up from his seat and taking his diningware in one hand. “Oh, dear, apologies - could you slide that over to me?” he then asked, nodding towards Dirk’s plate, and Dirk nodded back as verification.

When he tried to get up, though, he realized his stomach was much heavier than he had previously thought. His brow furrowed, and he huffed as he got up to hand the plate to Jake. The table was wide enough that he couldn’t really reach Jake’s not-so-outstretched hand, so he had to lean forward. And leaning forward had the side effect of making sure the edge of the table cut directly into Dirk’s distended gut, forcing out a lengthy belch.

“bwoooOOAAaaaarrrphhh!!”

Dirk’s eyes shot open behind his shades, and he clamped the hand not holding himself upright over his mouth. Sick fuck that he was, of course he enjoyed the feeling.

“Oh, wow, Dirk, that one carried some absolute heft! I didn’t think you’d have room in your stomach to even hold that after such a dense meal. Nice work, bro!” Jake took Dirk’s plate from his outstretched hand and began walking back to the kitchen.

“Be a dear and go turn the telly back on?”

Dirk once again nodded, unwilling to open his mouth until he was alone once more. Jake was fucking with him, he just had to be fucking with him, there was no way he wasn’t fucking with him.

As Dirk made his way back to the living room, he found his second trip there much slower than the first due to the weight he held internally. He used this time to mull over whether Jake was finally certain one hundred percent in Dirk’s kinks. The way he complimented him wasn’t too far off from how it was when Dirk had first started, true. But it also felt as though Jake was now indulging Dirk, trying to get him to a point that he couldn’t deny his interest if his life depended on it. He was cooking larger and larger meals, feeding Dirk more and more, and now he was becoming pretty damn insistent, too.

When Dirk entered the living room, he took a precautionary step and took a blanket out of the basket (of course the English-Harleys had a blanket basket) to hopefully cover his arousal.

After he plopped down on the couch, he placed it atop himself in a way he hoped looked casual, as though he was totally not hiding anything at all. Because what was there to hide. Nothing, that’s what. Or, that’s what he told himself, at the very least.

He used one hand to hit the “on” button of the remote as his other hand ran through his hair, and he allowed himself a shaky breath out. He had to go full on denial mode, not allow his thoughts even a taste of arousal.

To do so, he went back to scrolling through his previous mindless online drivel, and it worked for the most part. His gut was still gurgling, and the sounds would pry his focus away from his distractions. But only for a few seconds, before he’d remind himself that now was most certainly not the time, not if he wanted to keep up the charade.

By the time Jake joined Dirk, Dirk had managed to get the majority of his blood back where it belonged. He looked up at Jake.

“Back so soon?”

“I told you I’d be no more than two shakes of a lamb’s tail!”

As he said this, Jake gave Dirk another pat on the back, which forced out a bit more gas than Dirk would have liked.

“Oopsadaisies, I nearly managed to forget your overburdened state. My bad, heheh.”

The tone he used, though, made it quite clear he had not forgotten. Not in the slightest.

“Well. Make yourself comfortable, I’m ready to continue where we left off if you are.”

“Right-o!”

So Dirk hit the play button and the two quickly got back into the swing of things, Jake pausing every so often to go on rants and rambles, restating his own marvelings, and Dirk swinging right back with his own disses.

At some point while the two were talking, Jake had managed to wiggle his way beneath the blanket as well, scooting a bit closer to Dirk as he did so. Dirk would have commented on this move, but he didn’t want to risk having anything thrown back at him, any questions asked about the reason for the cover in the first place, so he instead continued his speech.

“So. We can agree that there’s an absurd contrast between the A plot and the B plot, right? Like… they’re expecting us to take a flower show as seriously as a real, honest to god murder coverup. What the fuck.”

��There’s also feminism!” Jake added.

Dirk laughed at this, and the exhalation allowed another small burp to follow. “‘Scuse me, goddamn-“

As he excused himself, Jake placed his rough hand against Dirk’s abdomen, only for Dirk to reflexively grab it.

“What are you do-oouurp- what are you doing??”

Jake put on an apologetic face, but there was a smile threatening to break out from beneath it.

“What, can a guy not give his good pal a much-needed tummy rub?” he asked, fluttering his lashes. “Your eructations are becoming interruptions, I figured I’d try to get things settled so we could enjoy the show-!”

“The only show you’re enjoying right now is taking place inside my abdomen, English,” Dirk interrupted before he could think through his own word choice. He let go of Jake’s hand, though, and allowed it to fall back atop his distended middle.

Jake fell silent for a moment, before he began softly moving his hand against Dirk’s warm flesh.

“…I’m only enjoying it because you seem so enamored by your own gluttony, my good man.”

Dirk nearly choked on his own tongue.

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. He felt his face return to the bright red he was becoming used to tonight, but kept his mouth clamped shut.

“Not that that’s a bad thing, mind you! Really, I find your games quite charming.” Jake hit pause on the television.

“But you didn’t seriously think you were hiding it, did you?”

Jake’s ocular attention was now entirely directed towards Dirk’s face, and he looked away, unable to face the guy.

“Hiding what?” he asked, strained. Dirk suddenly felt the need to take a drink, his throat absolutely parched by nerves.

Jake’s expression turned thoughtful for a moment before he began once more.

“Your arousal, I suppose. That’s how this all appears to me, anyway,” he chuckled. Then he leaned in towards Dirk’s ear, as though he were readying himself to tell a secret.

Instead of a secret, though, Dirk’s senses were flooded with the sound of one of Jake’s own gaseous outbursts.

“There’s no use in denying it, Dirk. I see the way your fists are clenched, your breaths labored. I can feel your heart beating against my hand. You are loving this, Dirk.”

He leaned back a bit and thumped on his chest once more, then followed with another low belch. As he let it out he grabbed Dirk’s hand and guided it lower, then lower still, before he took the blanket off of the both of them and was met with a rather unsightly bulge on Dirk’s end.

“Peekaboo! Would you look at that, Dirk, hardened by eructations. Be they yours or mine, you enjoy the sound regardless.” He let go of Dirk’s hand and palmed around Dirk’s crotch, humming a bit.

“Oh, look at what I’ve done to you, Dirk. You’re bloated beyond belief and still have the capacities to get hard. You only have so much energy, and right now it all seems centered in one area.”

Dirk grunted at the touch but said nothing.

“Dirk, were you ever going to tell me how you felt about all this? Or did you enjoy the thrill of voyeurism too much? Has this all been a part of some sick ritual I’ve been forced to help indulge?”

“…When did you figure me out.”

That was all Dirk could really muster at this point. He’d been stripped down to his barest desires, exposed for the pervert he was, and it was driving him wild.

“Ohh, hmm, what a toughie… let’s see here.” Jake made a big display out of counting his fingers, and Dirk’s brow only furrowed further as he did so. Eventually Jake looked back up and grinned at Dirk.

“Well, I guess I’ve had an inkling for quite some time by now. I can’t quite pinpoint when I became certain, but the evidence just kept piling up until it became hard to say that you WEREN’T getting off to this, haha!”

Dirk groaned.

“Fuck, Jake, I’m. I should have told you. I guess it is pretty fucked up of me to get all hot and bothered, work towards my own pleasure, and not clue you into that fact. I just- you’re- you kept making it so easy, so hot, and-“

Jake cut Dirk off with a peck on the lips.

“Oh, hush, you,” he giggled, “I find the whole thing rather endearing.”

Dirk finally met Jake’s eyes. “Real- really, now..? You aren’t just saying that, rrrooUuurph… ngh, fuuuck.”

As he spoke, Jake hit a rather tight spot in Dirk’s gut and forced out another small belch.

“If I minded so, I wouldn’t be so eager to indulge you, now would I? I wouldn’t be making such meals, caressing your bloatation, allowing your crass noises to continue, now would I?”

Dirk sighed shakily.

“I- I guess not, no. Probably not.”

Jake grinned and began unzipping Dirk’s jeans.

“So why don’t we do something about this?”

[miscelunaaa]

hiatus announcement

content warning: mental health struggles and salt with the community at large. 

I’m taking an indefinite hiatus from Tumblr.

My policy with this space has always been one of openness. I think open lines of communication help humanize me as a writer, and it helps remind me that the people I interact with are human too. 

I’m not going to lie, I came perilously close to deleting my blog last night. A number of things stopped me, including the shred of rationality I cling to even now. Knowing that this space is the only way some folks access my work also stopped me, because I don’t want to rob them of something they might need when they need it. Much as I prefer a space like AO3, this one has been important for me too; blowing it all away like dust in the wind just doesn’t seem right, tempting as it may be. 

I’ve been forthcoming with my mental health struggles. They’re not fun. They’re not cute. My anxiety is like this beast that just sits around my shoulders and whispers shitty things to me to think about myself. I can’t lie, this community isn’t really friendly to that. There are individuals in this community that are just genuinely obsessed with themselves and frankly, I’m not here to feed egos anymore. I’m not here to give writers the attention they so crave. I crave it too; we all do. So why is it a problem when I don’t read your work, but when you don’t read mine it’s just whatever? That’s like really fucked up, right?? Not just me?

I have been in the weeds for like two months now. More than, really; this festering feeling started before I’d finished posting Cuffing Szn. And when it comes down to it, it’s because this community is obsessed with attention and beating whatever algorithms are at play on this platform. I’m so fucking sick and tired of people asking for attention and engagement. Y’all have lost the plot on what fan fiction is. 

Social media (which, fight me, Tumblr is still unequivocally a social media service, even if it is also a blogging platform it talks the talk like a social network) is ruining fics. We’re not cherishing cultivating a tiny community of our own any longer. Writers are hungry for growth and fuck, as if this is some influencer market, it’s just killing creativity. No one feels the need to innovate or get weird with their stories. No one wants to fucking grow as a writer anymore, they just want to grow their follower base so they have a constant stream of riotous praise regardless of if their writing or ideas are even fucking good.

Does that not seem fucked up to anyone else? 

I’m not looking for feedback on this. If you want to talk, you can bring it to me on Discord. I know I’ll regret this shit in an hour. In minutes. I’ve made a lot of generalizations that don’t hold out when you just take a moment to really look and find writers to love. They do exist. There are wonderful people in this community. The shitty ones are just being louder than I can tolerate right now.

tl;dr

Fics shouldn’t be a popularity contest and yet they are. I’m having a hard time taking part in this shit because of it. So I’m taking a break. I’ll be back when I feel like I can be, on my terms. 

[letmeliedown]

i changed every single one of my passwords as soon as my ex moved out but i can still log into their [proprietary streaming service] account. just makes me think of how they would never watch anything with me and then the tv broke and they gaslit me into fully believing that i broke it and forgot somehow, so then it was my fault we never watched stuff together. it feels fucking weird using their account anyway, like they’re looking over my shoulder or like they’ll use this as proof that they weren’t actually abusive because they’re still letting me use their thing. i feel so sick and i’m so tired. i keep compulsively looking at their blog every few weeks but it’s always the same stuff and never any indication of what they think or feel except consensus with the prevailing public opinion. rapping on their skull like an empty fish tank. hello? hello??? nothing. thousands of square miles of nothing all folded up and gently egg washed with spite and resentment

[floatingcatacombs]

annual music post.

12 Days of Aniblogging 2022, Day 6

I am sick.

No, it’s not covid. My immune system and I have been doing a remarkably good job of dodging covid, all things considered. Nor is it any of the other 8 respiratory infections going around this winter. It’s something in my gut, and I’ve been dealing with it for quite some time now.

Back in October of last year, my acid reflux meds stopped working, leaving me with soreness and the lingering sensation of something in the back of my throat. My gastroenterologist wasn’t able to help and by January I was dealing with the new terrible symptoms of generalized abdominal pain and constant burping.

After months of delays due to the medical system collapsing from covid, I finally got some important tests done in May. They confirmed that the problems were real and esophageal in nature, but ultimately did not help one bit with trying to figure out how to treat them.

As this year has gone on, things have gotten slowly worse. The stomach pain has gradually intensified, as has the belching. More and more foods started giving me indigestion until finally it’s just every meal, no matter what. Some grosser symptoms which I don’t want to write out crept up on me. It’s no good, and while I’ve gotten my shit together and am much better at working with doctors, I’m no closer to being well.

If I hadn’t lucked out in being able to work from home, I would definitely be out of job and money by now. How am I supposed to be professional when I belch for hours after every meal? Or when I need to lie down for hours a day in pain? It’s as embarrassing as it is life-ruining.

_

When you’re in hell, and want to listen to music, there are two different routes you can go down:

Seek out the most downcast, most abrasive stuff you can handle and wallow in it.

Immerse yourself in fluffy, happy, relaxing, or otherwise escapist songs.

I’m really good at the former! If my previous music writeups and Spotify years-in-review are any indication, my taste leans strongly towards the negative emotions. But there’s only so much despair you can take, and sometimes you need a change of pace. So this year, I’ll be writing about the musical niche I carved out: Japanese musicians with English-language releases, most of which are a significant tonal shift from my usual.

Flipper’s Guitar

This is Keigo Oyamada’s band from before his work as Shibuya-kei legend Cornelius, and I feel like a lot of people gloss over them for that exact reason. But Flipper’s Guitar is a real delight throughout their quick 3-album run. Their first album is sung entirely in English, owing to its inspirations in 60’s American music and 80’s British jangle pop. It’s straightforward and cheerful stuff executed perfectly, and the second album is a solid rerun of these ideas but with more of it sung in Japanese. It’s their final album which is the most interesting, as it’s an eclectic mix with more of a psychedelic dance-pop sound that seems to have directly led to the development of Shibuya-kei. There’s even a shoegaze song for good measure! This album isn’t on streaming services, probably because of its extensive sampling, so the easiest way to listen to it was a Youtube upload by now-terminated channel Asian Shoegaze. The thing is, they fucked up and accidentally uploaded the tracks in alphabetical order. After listening through both this and the original track listing, I’m actually of the opinion that the alphabetical version flows better. Life is funny like that.

Poison Girl Friend

You know how the Spotify algorithm will occasionally propel an obscure musician into millions of streams? That’s how most people discovered Poison Girl Friend this year, similar to how Youtube turned Plastic Love into a decades-late international hit a few years back. But I, being a weirdo, knew about Poison Girl Friend years ago, from her being inspired by pervert pop artist Momus (her stage name is a reference to the second Momus album!). Her debut album, all self-produced, has a spacey trip-hop sound to it, right on the dial for 1992. The breathy vocals and relaxed tempos lead to an excellent atmosphere, with THOSE WERE THE DAYS getting stuck in my head the most.

In what should be a success story, Poison Girl Friend successfully caught the attention of Momus, who went on to produce her second album. The thing is, compared to her own work, his production here is dogshit! Never meet your heroes, I guess, especially when they’re Nick Currie.

Coaltar of the Deepers

not their best album, but easily the one with the best art

Oh man, these guys are legit. If my description of the final Flipper’s Guitar album made it come off as an eclectic genre mashup, then this band is downright overwhelming. We’ve got band members who are really into noise rock and abrasive metal. Others are clearly here for the shoegaze. And finally, there’s the one guy on synths who does electronica that sound like it’s destined for Ape Escape. Their early works jump between all of these from track to track at a breakneck pace, but they finally release a more coherently organized album with 2007’s Yukari Telepath. It starts off with some of the most aggressive metal you’ve ever heard, which gradually softens into shoegaze as the album goes on, with some spectacular dreamy electronica in the middle. When the breaks in Aquarian Age come on, or the jaw-dropping xylophone solos later on, you will understand.

Coaltar of the Deepers have a bunch of side projects with different lineups, and as expected they lean into the strengths of the members working on them. There’s the hardcore BP, glitchy electronica Watchman, and more atmospheric Sadesper Record. The CotD extended universe been one hell of a rabbit-hole to fall down, but they’ve kept me very busy.

Honorable Mention: Shonen Knife

Yellow Loveless is mostly a wash, but Shonen Knife’s cover of When You Sleep is better than the original.

_

I’ve spent most of this past year miserable. My physical health has decimated my mental health, and it’s bad enough that I couldn’t ignore the problems even if I wanted to. I’ve shied away from considering myself chronically ill so far, but when I write it all out and reflect on just how much all of this lowers my quality of life, it gets a bit more imaginable as a way to understand myself as I currently am.

One silver lining to all this trying meds and running tests and failing to be diagnosed is that we’ve eliminated a lot of the scariest possibilities. No cancer, no allergies, nothing that would show up on an abdominal CT scan, and my lungs are powerful and sexy and not the source of my intermittent breathing problems I forgot to mention earlier. I’m not going anywhere. But at the same time, it’s hard for me to even conceptualize a future where I continue to feel like this every day, for years or decades on end. I have to get better. In the words of Sufjan Stevens, I want to be well.

Hopefully next year’s music post comes with good news alongside the good tunes.

[siderealscribblings]

I posted 481 times in 2022

187 posts created (39%)

294 posts reblogged (61%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@ladyserendipitous

@lilyellowink

@frostedpuffs

@markrial

@ladynoirist

I tagged 120 of my posts in 2022

#writeblogging - 10 posts

#my writing - 10 posts

#mwd - 6 posts

#mending warped designs - 6 posts

#rift wars - 3 posts

#thanks! - 3 posts

#ladynoir fic - 3 posts

#guilt anger and anxiety babyeee - 2 posts

#thank you! - 2 posts

#the rift wars - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 126 characters

#i have been meaning to reply to this with something more profound but i am mentally exhausted from work so gonna keep it brief

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

When you find a promising fic but see “Character Bashing” in the tags

28 notes - Posted January 22, 2022

#4

Sometimes when the burnout is real and I’m fucking sick of writing the same tense, awkward relationship I hand Chloe the mic. 

29 notes - Posted October 20, 2022

#3

Mending Warped Designs: Deconstruction Site

Paris, France

Nino slid a box off the top shelf, kicking the closet door closed as he dragged the box over to his desk in a study he shared with Alya. There were few things that made him nervous these days; being nigh invincible meant that the world was running out of things to seriously hurt him with. But sitting around while Alya was on patrol without him always set his teeth on edge.

Maybe it was just a reminder that his shield had its limits.

"Where the hell did I put that stupid DVD…" Nino muttered, rifling around the box for a movie he promised Chloe he had tucked away somewhere. If he had to go back out to the living room and admit that it would be easier to rent it on the internet, he would never hear the end of it. And the last thing he needed was to give Chloe one more thing to needle him over.

The fact that she was still crashing with them made things all the more complicated.

He liked to think he and Alya were on the same page about the direction their life was going; college, marriage, careers, and kids (maybe). But Chloe, as she always did, seemed to complicate things to the point where the map he had in his head no longer worked for them. Or maybe he was just pushing off responsibility onto Chloe so he didn't need to worry about where he stood with Alya.

Rifling around in the box, Nino paused as his hand landed on a worn newspaper clipping stuck to the underside of a picture frame. He could see his younger self, smiling with his arm wrapped around Rena Rouge on one side with a bony black arm jutting out from behind the frame on the other. Carefully, he tried to tug it out, wriggling his hand gently to avoid ripping it in-

"Did you find it or do you owe me thirty euros plus the cost of Zoolander on streaming services?"

Rip!

Chloe's voice over his shoulder startled Nino and the newspaper came apart in a sudden rip with a Chat Noir's disembodied arm dangling off the corner of the page.

"Ooh, hope that wasn't important," Chloe said with a wince as Nino fished the other half of the picture out of the box. It was an old pic taken around the time they were sixteen, fresh off an Akuma fight and looking happy to be alive. On the other side, Ladybug had her arm wrapped around the waist of a weathered-looking Chat Noir.

"It used to be," Nino said, laying the torn picture on the table and lining it up as best he could. "Hasn't been for a while, I guess."

Read More...

30 notes - Posted February 23, 2022

#2

Just had a thought of Luka and Kagami having a competition on who got told the worst lie back when they were dating Marinette and Adrien

Luka: she told me she had to cancel our date last minute because she had to go christmas shopping with her mom. It was June.

Kagami: he said he couldn't go to my archery competition because he had dinner with his dad.

Luka:...ok you win.

Luka: Marinette once told me that her cat was on fire and I believed her for half an hour

Kagami: Adrien said that he forgot that he was meeting someone for a movie.

Luka: That doesn't sound so-

Kagami: We were at the movies

31 notes - Posted August 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

We stay grinding; we stay winning

35 notes - Posted November 2, 2022

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