#how to implement change in the workplace

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Keith Edwards at No Lies Detected:

Fascism doesn’t come for every generation, but it has come for ours.  This is not a fight on the beaches of Normandy, but in our own country. This article begins a series on what opposing Donald Trump and his movement can look like. I hope you will join me as these progress.

[...]

Do not leave. Faced with the might of the United States government aligned against you, you might consider resigning preemptively to avoid the humiliation of inevitable termination. This is counterproductive for at least two reasons: If you leave, you save Trump Administration officials the time and effort of identifying you, which otherwise could have taken months or years. Second, your principled stand would likely only result in your replacement by an unprincipled Trump loyalist. By staying on, you may find yourself helping to implement policies you find hateful, but by refusing to leave, you can ensure that you have some influence on those policies, because then you can...

Delay. Delay. Delay. Waiting out the enemy until he moves on, gives up, or forgets is a time-honored strategy not just among civil servants but also history’s best generals. That email about a proposed rule change to healthcare protections? Bury it in everyone’s inbox by sending it late. A meeting on reviewing the U.S. government’s foreign aid commitments to a region you oversee? Oops, you’ll be out that day! That agency conference your political-appointee boss requested you arrange? Next month didn’t fit everyone’s schedule, so you had to push it to after the new year! Slow-walking is the classic tool in any bureaucrat’s toolbox, and in the next Trump Administration, you can use it in defense of the Constitution.

Be intentionally incompetent. As a career employee, you likely have always had the advantage of knowing your workplace better than your politically appointed overlords. This is perhaps your most potent weapon against Trump. Draft rules unlikely to survive judicial review. Favor lengthy rulemaking or review processes over expedited ones. Complete tasks sequentially rather than in parallel to draw out timelines. Add complexity, stakeholders, and process wherever possible. In short, exploit the knowledge gap you hold over your bosses to diminish, defuse, and defeat their plans.

Leak. Federal employees have the right to report what they believe to be illegal or abusive of authority to their agency’s inspector general (IG) without fear of retaliation. Trump however has singled out IGs for replacement after one played a pivotal role in his first impeachment, so the availability of this option may depend on how politically prominent your agency is. Fortunately, you can anonymously tip prominent news outlets like the New York Times and Washington Post, which boast extensive investigative units and employ rigorous safeguards to protect sources’ identities. You can also seek out sympathetic elected officials, such as Democratic members of the House Oversight Committee, whose main function is investigation of the federal government. (If you choose disclosure, be sure that the information is not classified, the unauthorized disclosure of which carries stiff federal penalties.)

Disregard and refuse. When you have exhausted all other options, you may want selectively to resort to riskier behaviors. These include going behind political appointees’ backs to subvert their activities, say by picking up the phone and countermanding their directions. In extreme cases, you may have outright to refuse direct orders to the appointee’s face. Though such actions seem like a fasttrack to termination, you may still be protected by the fact that overwhelmed political appointees might hesitate to go through the onerous process of finding a politically reliable replacement. Remember, the longer you stay in, the harder you make it for Trump to do what he wants. Know your rights. If the worst happens and your agency moves to terminate you, you can still fight back. There are multiple avenues an employee designated for dismissal can pursue to delay, reduce, or reverse agency penalties against them.1 The beauty of these options is that they can take months or even years to resolve and may be appealed to higher bodies, further extending the process. All the while, you are collecting a salary and occupying a full-time equivalent (FTE) position that your agency can’t fill until you finally depart. (This is not legal advice. If you find yourself in this situation, please seek a lawyer.)

Keith Edwards writes in his No Lies Detected Substack on how civil servants can show resistance to the tyrannical Trump 2.0 Regime from within.

[reasonsforhope]

"For the first time in almost 60 years, a state has formally overturned a so-called “right to work” law, clearing the way for workers to organize new union locals, collectively bargain, and make their voices heard at election time.

This week, Michigan finalized the process of eliminating a decade-old “right to work” law, which began with the shift in control of the state legislature from anti-union Republicans to pro-union Democrats following the 2022 election. “This moment has been decades in the making,” declared Michigan AFL-CIO President Ron Bieber. “By standing up and taking their power back, at the ballot box and in the workplace, workers have made it clear Michigan is and always will be the beating heart of the modern American labor movement.”

[Note: The article doesn't actually explain it, so anyway, "right to work" laws are powerful and deceptively named pieces of anti-union legislation. What right to work laws do is ban "union shops," or companies where every worker that benefits from a union is required to pay dues to the union. Right-to-work laws really undermine the leverage and especially the funding of unions, by letting non-union members receive most of the benefits of a union without helping sustain them. Sources: x, x, x, x]

In addition to formally scrapping the anti-labor law on Tuesday [February 13, 2024], Michigan also restored prevailing-wage protections for construction workers, expanded collective bargaining rights for public school employees, and restored organizing rights for graduate student research assistants at the state’s public colleges and universities. But even amid all of these wins for labor, it was the overturning of the “right to work” law that caught the attention of unions nationwide...

Now, the tide has begun to turn—beginning in a state with a rich labor history. And that’s got the attention of union activists and working-class people nationwide...

At a time when the labor movement is showing renewed vigor—and notching a string of high-profile victories, including last year’s successful strike by the United Auto Workers union against the Big Three carmakers, the historic UPS contract victory by the Teamsters, the SAG-AFTRA strike win in a struggle over abuses of AI technology in particular and the future of work in general, and the explosion of grassroots union organizing at workplaces across the country—the overturning of Michigan’s “right to work” law and the implementation of a sweeping pro-union agenda provides tangible evidence of how much has changed in recent years for workers and their unions...

By the mid-2010s, 27 states had “right to work” laws on the books.

But then, as a new generation of workers embraced “Fight for 15” organizing to raise wages, and campaigns to sign up workers at Starbucks and Amazon began to take off, the corporate-sponsored crusade to enact “right to work” measures stalled. New Hampshire’s legislature blocked a proposed “right to work” law in 2017 (and again in 2021), despite the fact that the measure was promoted by Republican Governor Chris Sununu. And in 2018, Missouri voters rejected a “right to work” referendum by a 67-33 margin.

Preventing anti-union legislation from being enacted and implemented is one thing, however. Actually overturning an existing law is something else altogether.

But that’s what happened in Michigan after 2022 voting saw the reelection of Governor Gretchen Whitmer, a labor ally, and—thanks to the overturning of gerrymandered legislative district maps that had favored the GOP—the election of Democratic majorities in the state House and state Senate. For the first time in four decades, the Democrats controlled all the major levers of power in Michigan, and they used them to implement a sweeping pro-labor agenda. That was a significant shift for Michigan, to be sure. But it was also an indication of what could be done in other states across the Great Lakes region, and nationwide.

“Michigan Democrats took full control of the state government for the first time in 40 years. They used that power to repeal the state’s ‘right to work’ law,” explained a delighted former US secretary of labor Robert Reich, who added, “This is why we have to show up for our state and local elections.”"

-via The Nation, February 16, 2024

[backfliips]

As someone who admittedly has attention issues of my own, I think it's important to talk about how attention is a skill that can be learned and often requires conscious and focused effort to build. I think a lot of people despair over the current state of media --- short-form algorithm-driven content that is built to snare and lure and diminish people's attention spans for profit --- and while that despair is certainly built off of legitimate concerns, I want to stress that the damage being done is not irreversible.

Over the course of the COVID-19 lockdowns I fried my brain so intensely with tik toks and instagram reels that I was getting bored 2 seconds into a 5 second video and was finding myself scrolling so quickly that I wasn't even watching anymore. I was lethargic and unhappy and though my mood was definitely simultaneously impacted by the hovering doom of COVID-19 and living in complete isolation for months at a time (I don't recommend that, BTW), I found myself losing passion for the things I loved doing: drawing, reading, and writing. I felt miserable and useless and incredibly guilty for leaving my productive and fulfilling hobbies behind while I chased... not even happiness. Just something to occupy my brain and turn it into mush.

As time passed I realized that I wasn't even having fun on tik tok anymore. I'd see funny videos and get a rush of endorphins, and then the next second I would have completely forgotten what I just watched. I was refreshing social media pages to see numbers I didn't even care about. Everything was an endless loop of swapping between different apps, just time passing and passing and my attention span dipping lower and lower until I would go for days without feeling any sense of joy or accomplishment.

And this was most definitely aided by the fact that I was unemployed and stuck in a terrible worldwide epidemic, but as soon as I deleted the tik tok app and put harsh time limits on instagram (15 minutes a day, which I rationed compulsively) I suddenly wanted to draw again. I started reading books again. I started writing and spending time outside and getting inspiration from the world around me.

Now, years later, I work with teenagers whose lives are dictated by their phones. My coworkers often lament the state of the world today --- which, again, is a valid stance to have --- but in the few months after my workplace implemented a no phones policy, I watched disengaged students bounce back to productivity. Instead of scrolling during lectures they paid attention and asked questions and engaged their peers in conversation. During lunch they played board games and talked to each other. Students even told me about how they didn't even want to go on their phones when they got home from school!

It isn't perfect, and I'm not advocating for a world devoid of phones, but I just want to highlight that these neural pathways can be built and exercised. People's brains are resilient and fascinating and much stronger and more adaptable than many people are willing to give them credit for.

I've expanded my time limits across more apps on my phone, setting days where I can't even access social media at all from my phone, and in that short period of time I've found myself far more engaged with the world around me. I've been zipping my phone up in a bag instead of keeping it in my pocket, adding a step to access it, and I've found that that alone is keeping me from using it to a huge degree. I'll toss my phone across the room when I find myself on it when I don't have any reason to be scrolling. And it's helping!

My main message here is that it's never too late to focus on your focus. Change and improvement doesn't happen until you make an effort on your own.

[fuck-customers]

fuck my whole job/workplace. i work for the green siren coffee company and we've got a new dresscode being implemented that makes like 90% of my workshirts non-compliant and my boss is being such a cop about it and is excitedly going around being like 'if anyones out of dress code ill have to send them home ☝️🤓' like this dude is so excited to be work-pilled it makes me want to gag. At a certain point i understand the whole thing of like, just doing ur job, but the way he goes about things is so unnecessary. It's such a shitty change and is making it to where a lot of employees (myself included) now have to rely on fast fashion because we were given three weeks notice that theyre restricting whats allowed. It's actually insane.

It genuinely feels like the company is telling its employees to jump and so many of my coworkers are just sighing and going 'how high?' instead of resisting the fact that this shit is stupid. (also for context they would give out free shirts every like 6-8 months for different promotions and stuff and I now have 6 shirts that are branded for my work that I cannot wear at work because they now break dress code. what the actual fuck. thanks for the landfill trash, dickheads. "wear it as workout gear" - quote from my manager. As if I would give my job free advertising.)

I took a few of my old work polo's (when they changed from red to green) and took the logos off carefully with a razor and dyed them black so I could wear then as normal shirts. And it wouldn't be my job if they didn't go back to red less than a year later. I just said fuck it and dyed the green ones red.

-Rodney

[help-me-im-in-the-fandom]

When you stare into the Abyss: Origins

Masterlist

Next part

It started out pretty simple, almost three months after he had began his career as Batman, intent to save the innocent just as much as punish the criminals of Gotham.

“Batman is still just a man, he’s not a god.”

He had overheard the words at a gala the first time, when airhead Brucie is drinking and flirting with all the pretty girls he can see.

The words of course, don’t visibly effect him, don’t make him pause in his step or his voice calling towards a nearby heiress falter.

However, his heart beats in his chest even as he cozies up to the woman.

Because in truth, Batman was just a man, a rich, overly trained and incredibly intelligent man, but a man nonetheless.

He tries to ignore it, but as he keeps hitting the streets to dig out the rotting tendrils of corruption in this horrible place, he keeps hearing it.

A pair of smokers outside a club known for the fact no woman ever escaped without being drugged to hell and back, talking quietly about the rumors of the Batman that had began picking off their friends one by one.

“I ain’t scare’ o’ i’ jus’a man inna cos’ume.”

“He’s a de’il I ‘ell ya, ‘ere ‘o ‘ollect ‘is souls.”

Batman stays still on the roof above him, but even days later with both men in costudy and the bar shut down for health code violations, his mind keeps going back to the conversation.

It’s whispered in alleys and under bridges and inside packed clubs, the words a mantra the criminals begin to say like a prayer.

It’s sneered with distaste inside the mansions and museums of the rich, joked about inside their ivory castles covered in blood.

It’s said fear inside workplaces and coffe shops, whispered in schools and parks for their only protector.

Batman is just a man.

It agitated Bruce, he doesn’t know why at first, because it is the truth, he is just a man.

Then he sees a blurry photo a the Gotham Gazete with a humanoid shape of shadows, it’s nothing more than a Bigfoot sighting, blurry and pixelated and might just be a trick of the light.

But it makes his stomach curl, because he knows he might not be that lucky next time, and how long would it take for people to start looking for Batman, if they think he is just a man and have a photo to prove it?

Bruce, after a decade of crime fighting, will tell anyone he regrets the decision he made that night, what it created.

His family will hug him and tell him he couldn’t have known.

Because in the bar stool of the kitchen where Alfred is plating an enormous plate of breakfast to make up for the calories lost the night before, he makes a decision.

Batman needed to be more than a man, perhaps not a god, but something close enough no one would ever accuse air-head Bruce Wayne of being the terror of Gotham’s underground.

Alfred will tell what followed was a three day whirlwind of creative insperatikn and sleep-deprived insanity mixed with an over caffeinated Billionaire’s pocket money.

Bruce would say it was three days of careful planning and precise research as well as dozens of mock up designs.

In the end it takes longer than a month for Bruce to implement the changes to his original suit design, practically scrapping it and starting over between dodging board meetings and stalking the streets.

But eventually, Bruce finishes his design, and that night the screams of terror are stronger for quite a while, after all, Batman is no longer just a man.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

How To: Take Charge in the Office

This fic will cover the Sub! square on my @spnaubingo card.

It will also fulfill this gif request for my 2K follower celebration. The amazing @suckitands33 sent me the gif in the title card above. Hope you enjoy it, lovely.😊

Summary: It's your turn to try being dominant, but almost immediately you're quite sure that this isn't the role for you.

Pairing: Dean Smith x Reader (You) (Use of Y/L/N - your last name)

Warnings: Smut. Dom!Dean Smith. Sub!Reader. Short bit of Sub!Dean Smith and Dom!Reader. Oral Sex (M receiving). Face Fucking. Use of handcuffs. Tit fucking. Brief fingering. Spanking. Spanking with implements. Dom/sub switch.

Word Count: 2,096

A/N: So, this is part 4 of 4 in my little "How To:" series. If you want to read them

Part 1 is here: How To: Dress for the Position You Want

Part 2 is here: How To Avoid Distractions in the Workplace

Part 3 is here: How To: Work from Home

This one takes place a few days after Part 3. I hope you've enjoyed these naughty times with Mr. Smith! 😈🔥

Reblogging and/or comments make me smile! ❤️

Dean One Shots || Dean Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

The divider below was created by @talesmaniac89

You were slightly in over your head. But Dean was handcuffed to his chair with his shirt ripped open and his cock out, so you were trying to just deal with it.

Dean had woken you up that morning in an incredibly pleasant manner and as you laid there panting, he asked you if you wanted today to be the day where you switched roles in the office. 

A few days before, after a handcuffing incident went a little wrong for you, Dean had decided it made sense for him to understand what it was like to be in the sub position, and asked if you wanted to try being the dominant. 

Reveling in your post orgasm bliss earlier, you’d agreed to try it out today, thinking only about riding Dean hard and fast at his desk.

But as the morning wore on, you realized you actually had no idea what to do, and you felt very self-conscious about trying it. But you so appreciated Dean wanting to make sure he understood your position, so that he could better keep you safe and pleasured when you played.

You knew he still felt terrible that the handcuffs he’d used on you had made you panic so much that you'd needed to use your safe word. But it wasn’t his fault, neither of you could have guessed at your reaction.

So, you didn’t want to disappoint him, or rob him of the experience he was trying to have for your sake. But everything you thought of doing as a dominant felt so foreign to you. Nevertheless, you’d try.

Five o’clock came and the office slowly emptied out. You’d asked Dean to wait until everyone was gone, since the last thing you needed was the added pressure of someone overhearing you. He was perfectly okay with that, and by five-thirty there was no one left around. You knew from previous play sessions that the cleaners wouldn’t show up until about eight o’clock.

So you had almost three hours to keep Dean at your mercy. 

You entered his office and locked the door. Mr. Smith (the role Dean assumed during office playtime) sat behind his desk, the corner of his mouth hitched up as he watched you. 

“Good evening Ms. Y/L/N.” He said softly. “I’m here at my desk as you requested. What do you need from me?” 

His whole demeanor had changed. Where normally, Mr. Smith was demanding and brusque, his jaw set and his eyes scorching, now his voice was silky and his eyes were soft. He made no move, simply waiting for your instructions. 

You’d agreed ahead of time that handcuffs were just fine for Dean, they didn’t bother him, so you walked forward, trying to appear intimidating, and tossed a pair of silver handcuffs on the desk.

“Put those on, so you’re handcuffed to the chair.” You commanded.

He picked them up and clicked one end around his wrist. “Only one hand?” He asked cuffing the other link onto the arm of his chair. 

You nodded. “Yes. I want your other hand free for…other things.” 

Mr. Smith raised an eyebrow. “Of course, ma’am.” He said obediently, but you crinkled your nose. 

“I don’t think I like ‘ma’am’. Is it okay, if we just stick with Ms. Y/L/N?”

Dean nodded. “Whatever you want, Ms. Y/L/N, of course.”

So now that he was cuffed, you stripped off your blouse and A-line skirt, revealing your lacy undergarments, white bra, panties, garters and stockings. You kept your heels on as you approached his desk. 

You could see Mr. Smith’s eyes blazing as he stared at all your gifts on display. Tentatively you put a hand on your hip and tried for a tough voice. 

“Well, Mr. Smith, do you like what you see?”

He nodded. “Fuck yeah.” He said in a ragged voice.

“Watch your language!” You snapped, trying to get into character. 

Dean swallowed. “Yes, Ms. Y/L/N. I’m sorry.”

You pointed at him. “Take out your cock and stroke it.”

He fumbled a bit trying to unbutton his pants and unzip his fly with one hand, but he eventually managed it, pulling out his half hard cock and beginning to pump it slowly. After a minute he spit twice into his palm and used it to ease the friction as he continued to jerk off while he stared at you. 

Deciding you couldn’t just watch him, you approached him and smacked his hand away from himself. Then you ripped open his shirt so you could dip your head and run your tongue over his collarbone and down his smooth chest. You bit into his nipples gently, making him suck in a breath.

“You like that? Well, that’s what happens to boys who’ve been bad.” You said, shrinking inside a little. The words didn’t sound dominant, or like a reprimand. When Mr. Smith said things like that to you, it never failed to soak your panties through. But you just felt silly, like you were playing a part that definitely didn’t fit. 

So, you stepped back again, taking a moment to just appreciate Dean in his slightly disheveled state, trying to enjoy the view while you thought about what to do next. 

Dean cocked his head to the side a little. “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t really enjoying this.”

You shook your head. “No, no! Trust me, I really enjoy,” you moved your hand up and down to indicate his position and semi-nude state, “this!”

Dean smiled. “But you’re not enjoying being in charge are you?”

You shrugged. “It’s fine. I don't mind it, I mean, if you're...are you enjoying…not being in charge?”

Dean’s smile turned wicked. “Not nearly as much as I’d enjoy turning you over my knee and spanking that juicy ass till it's red.”

Your panties were instantly flooded and you laughed. “I think it’s official - we're definitely not playing the roles we were meant to play.” 

Dean nodded, his smile dissolving into the stern and serious expression of Mr. Smith. “Then get these fucking things off of me.” He said, rattling the handcuffs.

You fished the key out of your skirt pocket and hurried over to him. 

Within seconds of having his wrist free, Mr. Smith yanked you across his lap, pressing down on the middle of your back with one big hand and beginning to rain down endless, stinging blows with the other. You could feel his cock, hard and hot, pressing against your stomach as he mercilessly reddened your ass. 

The panties you wore were essentially a thong, so every heavy blow landed on bare flesh, and he had no trouble making your flesh jiggle with every smack. Your ass was on fire and tears had begun to leak out of the corners of your eyes before he finally delivered the final blow. 

For the moment. 

He rubbed his calloused palm over your abused behind, providing both a bit more pain but also comfort. After a few minutes of soothing your stinging skin, he grabbed the crotch of your panties and pulled it up, forcing the material to slip between your fleshy lips, and rub against your clit.

The lacy material was too abrasive for your tender skin when it was pulled tight like that, causing a bit of a burn. But it also felt like heaven, rubbing against your throbbing bundle of nerves. 

“This little cunt has been waiting for my strong hand, hasn’t it?” Mr. Smith asked as he pulled your panties tighter and made you whimper. “You need to know your place, Ms. Y/L/N? Hmm? Need me to make sure you’re minding your superiors, don’t you?”

You nodded fiercely. This was exactly what you needed.

“Get up.” He commanded suddenly, and you struggled to stand, your muscles sore, and your legs weak, but you did it. 

Mr. Smith stood briefly and shed the rest of his clothes, ordering you to do the same. When you were both naked, he sat back down on the chair.

He beckoned you forward. “Bend over me, the way you were earlier.”

You followed his request and leaned on the arms of the chair, bending your torso so that your tits dangled over his lap. He pushed them together, to surround his throbbing cock. 

“Fuck!” He groaned loudly as he pushed in and out of the cleavage he made. “All I could imagine earlier, when you were bent over me, was fucking these goddamn perfect tits.”

He grabbed your hands and planted them on the sides of your tits. “Hold them tight together.” He ordered.

As he continued to fuck up into your tits, he slipped his fingers through the slick between your legs and then shoved them deep inside you. You cried out at the intensely pleasurable invasion. But it made you stand up straight, clenching tight around his fingers, and letting his dick escape the channel of your cleavage. 

He growled at your disobedience, and pulled his fingers free. He stood up quickly and turned you around, pushing you down over the desk.

He grabbed a thick, but flexible wooden ruler that sat on the side of the desk and raised it high in the air before cracking it down across your already sore, red ass. The new, burning sting surged over your skin and made you cry out again. Before you could take another breath though, the next strike landed, raising a purple welt. 

Three more blows landed in quick succession across the incredibly tender sit spots of your ass, ensuring that you wouldn’t sit comfortably for a week. 

Mr. Smith tossed the ruler aside and pulled you to standing. He wiped away the tears that had spilled down your cheeks. His voice was gentle, but firm, and it caused your stomach to flutter wildly.

“You know better than this, Ms. Y/L/N. Did getting a taste of control make you forget your place? Did it make you think I would forgive such insubordination?”

You shook your head. “No sir, I promise. Your fingers just feel so fucking good when they’re so deep inside me.”

Mr. Smith quirked an eyebrow and a calculating, slightly teasing look came into his eye. “Watch your language!” He said, repeating your command from earlier. “Let’s see if we can’t put that mouth to better use.”

He pushed on your shoulder gently, but you didn’t need any direction. You dropped to your knees immediately and stuck out your tongue. He chuckled.

“So fucking eager, aren’t you baby. Just need this cock, don’t you?” You nodded and he lifted his fat, swollen cock onto your tongue. 

He began slowly, slipping down your throat an inch at a time, giving you time to adjust. But before long, his pace increased, and soon he was fucking your face with abandon, snapping his hips forward and making you gag and choke. 

At last he pulled out and fisted his cock. He pumped it hard. “This is what you wanted before, isn’t it Ms. Y/L/N? You didn’t want me just jerking off while you watched, you wanted to be on your knees covered in my cum. Didn’t you?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes, Mr. Smith. It’s what I always want.” You licked your lips and swallowed as you watched his purple cock slip in and out of his fist. “I always want you to use me, to take what you want from me, to punish me hard, and fuck me harder.”

Your words seemed to send him over the edge. With an explosive roar, he came all over his hand and across your face. You lapped up everything your tongue could reach.

Eventually, he crashed down onto one of the leather chairs on the other side of his desk. You stood up and went to the cupboard with the towels. You cleaned him off first, wiping off his fingers and running the soft cotton up and down his cock. After that you wiped off your face, and the bit that had dripped down to your tits. 

When you were both all clean, you crawled into his lap, hissing at the pain of sitting. Dean pushed your hair back and kissed your forehead.

“Aw, my poor baby. I really went hard on that ass tonight, didn’t I?”

You chuckled and tucked your head under his chin. “Yeah, you did. But I definitely have ways you can make it up to me at home.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean said with a grin. “Gonna try out your dominant side again?”

You shook your head vehemently and laughed. “Hell no, that’s all you, but…” You reached your mouth up to his and licked it open, kissing him deeply, before pulling back, breathless. 

“But, I do know how to ask really nicely.”

@lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33

@alwaystiredandconfused @jzackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly

@candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora-95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma @luvr4miya

@arcannaa @viviwatchestv @winharry @ladysparkles78 @kr804573

@whimsyfinny @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @safiyas-world

@aylacavebear @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl

@hobby27 @waywardcheshire @livya99 @k-slla @leigh70

@eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96 @stoneyggirl2

@fanfic-n-tabulous @traiitorjoe @lastcallatrockysbar @b3autyfuld1sast3r

[oppipopi]

fusions... again

It's time to add a hashtag

Plum

very homebody and not an adventurer at all

the social battery is quickly running out

does not get enough sleep (

very controlling, does not tolerate when something goes wrong according to his plan

caring, but shows it badly

loves loose gracefully flowing things

Ring

Pedant

looks and talks as if he is constantly flirting with you, but in reality nothing of the sort

very polite and well-mannered

(obviously it's from King)

Insinuating low voice

Coffee (yoink au)

6 fingers!!!!

prone to Self-admiration

married at work

will keep silent, but with What a face

he likes sweet pastries

the king of mini golf and billiards

SecRed

silly

good guy, but that won't stop him from kicking someone's ass

has poor control over his strength and isn't used to his size

it's useless to try to comb his hair

Peach

AAAAA WOMAN

business aunt

the best mom, loves to spoil her children and perhaps allows them too much

drinks a glass of wine every evening for peace of mind

super non-conflict, master of compromise (in fact, she makes you think that her ideas are your ideas)

if she had a workplace it would be filled with flowers

expensive perfume, as the meaning of life

only linen and cotton clothes

ChoReg

I'm not really a big fan of crackships, but these two… I'm obsessed with them

4 arms to kick someone's ass twice as effectively

the perfect fighter

an extremely strong sense of justice

can't stand weaklings who don't try to get stronger

Violet (tdl+purple)

thinks he's better than others

looks and talks like he's doing a huge favor

pubertal ulcer

wants to be the center of attention, but at a distance from others

secretly wants to be hugged and stroked and told how good and valuable he is

Dark Lily♀️ (tdl+orchid)

quiet, but very intrusive (always looming somewhere nearby and staring, trying to touch, but not daring)

can make a dark joke and get very upset because of it

loves children (maybe eats too…)

may seem shy, but don't be fooled

uncanny valley vibe

Orange (tsc+vic)

drawing - main fighting style

thinks that he has not inherited the powers of Second

hot-tempered, but knows how to express irritation in an environmentally friendly way

Lime (yellow+green)

the personification of the phrase "you're a capable boy, but lazy"

insanely talented and infinitely uninterested

lots of ideas, but too strict with himself to even try to implement them (why if it won't be perfect anyway?)

either indifferent and emotionless, or suffers from sharp changes in bright emotions

[serve-764]

INSPECTION.

Statistics show worrying increases in workplace accidents, which show how the level of safety requires particular review and improvement.

SERVE has among its tasks that of being help and support to human communities, humans are objects of care and attention, as fragile beings that need protection.

THE VOICE, through SERVE-000 has conceived of sending patrols of Drones to various factories where high numbers of accidents have been recorded, to analyze the situations and implement necessary resolution protocols.

In the metalworking factory of sector 0Beta6/22 a patrol of SEALED DRONES is sent to inspect, among them SERVE-764, SERVE-309, SERVE-425.

The Director and Management are a bit surprised to see the 4 Drones asking to inspect the entire production line, but, knowing that the factory is at the center of fierce controversy, decides to allow unconditional access, remaining to observe the movements of the patrol from afar.

The four Drones walk with a measured and regular step, inflexible and serenely devoted to the purpose, through every area of ​​the factory, attracting the attention of all the workers, amazed to see the imposing muscular faceless figures covered in shiny Rubber, with heavy military boots of metallic silver and long silver metal gloves.

The workers raised their gaze for a moment, remaining impressed, amazed, surprised, attracted.

The Drones covered every space scanning all aspects of production, the machinery, the actions, the safety devices, the clothing and the protective equipment.

The Collective Cognitive System of SERVE processed and sent all the operational instructions to the patrol.

At the end of the inspection tour the Director called all the workers, communicating that the outcome of the inspection was clear and incontrovertible: due to the dangerousness of the work it was necessary to profoundly modify the characteristics of the safety clothing.

The materials were inadequate for the task. The inspectors would have provided some examples of the new experimental supply of clothing to be tested.

In the main locker room of the factory the SEALED DRONES showed off their new clothes: a shiny black Rubber suit, indestructible and promising strength and power.

The first workers, skeptical at first, even if attracted, immediately accepted the change.

They put down their dirty work clothes and put on the suits so similar to those of the inspectors.....

Their figures were more solid, defined, confident, their gaze appeared concentrated, superior.....

Soon the new suits would be distributed and all.....soon....the workers would leave the human factory to converge on the nearby Facility.....

In this story: @rubberizer92 @serve-309, @serve-425

Thinking about joining SERVE? Do you seek freedom from chaos and disorder? Your place in the Hive awaits. Contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016 @serve-302, or @serve-588.

[seospicybin]

TASTE PREVIEW.

CHAPTER V: TENDER.

Lee Know x reader. (s,a)

Synopsis: When Minho is hired as the head chef of Farfalle, a prestigious Italian restaurant, expectations are high for him to elevate its reputation and bring it to new heights. However, no one anticipates the drastic changes he implements in the kitchen—including his strict rule that that there'll be no women and no romance in his kitchen.

This is a preview for chapter V of Taste series. Full fic will be posted this Friday, January 31.

...

“Chef?”

Minho hums in acknowledgment, and you wait until he meets your gaze before asking, “Are you the chef right now, or are you just Minho?”

The corner of his mouth lifts into a teasing smirk. “Which one would you prefer?”

You glance around, gesturing to the empty surroundings. “This isn’t the kitchen or anything.”

Minho raises a brow, his tone dry. “There are still people around who haven’t left work yet.”

You pout again, your lips jutting out in that same way that makes something tighten in his chest. “Then when do you stop being the chef and just become Minho?”

He smirks, leaning slightly closer. “What’s wrong with the chef? Don’t you like him?”

You sigh dramatically and mumble. “I hate the chef. He scolded me all day long.”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “What about you? Is this my line cook, or just you?”

“Just me,” you mutter, though your eyes dart nervously around.

“If it’s just you then why are you sitting so far away from me?” He asks, one corner of his mouth raises higher than the other.

“But people could still see us like this,” you say as you crane your neck to spot any prying eyes.

Minho shrugs and calmly responds. “We’re in an open space. No one would suspect anything.”

You glance at him, then the empty surroundings, before scooting closer. You both exchange playful glances at each other until you break into a series of giggles, light and sweet, and for a moment, Minho feels the weight of the day lift. Your warmth draws him in, and he considers, just briefly, risking everything by kissing you.

But the moment shatters as Chris appears at the top of the steps, his expression far too cheerful. He squeezes himself between you and Minho, blatantly ignoring the latter’s glare as he takes your hand.

“You've finished your work today,” Chris begins, his tone warm. “I’ll give you a ride home. Let's go.”

Your gaze flickers to Minho, seeking his reaction, but Chris notices. “It’s past working hours, Chef,” Chris says pointedly to Minho. “Surely, she’s allowed to leave.”

Minho exhales sharply, locking eyes with you. “It’s up to you,” he says cryptically, his voice unreadable.

Confused by his cryptic response, you hesitate, but Chris barrels on. “I know it’s not allowed for kitchen staff to date each other,” he muses aloud, “but hall staff and kitchen staff? That’s a different story, right?”

Chris grins slyly, his words grating on Minho’s nerves. “I personally think the restaurant should be a happy place, don’t you think? Love, friendship—it’s all fine by me.”

Minho’s patience snaps. “What are your intentions with her?” he asks bluntly, his tone sharp.

Chris meets his gaze with an infuriating calmness. “Anything,” he replies smoothly.

The audacity makes Minho’s blood boil, but he reins himself in. “Go inside,” he orders you curtly.

You hesitate but obey, and Minho waits until he hears the sound of the door slamming shut behind you before talking again.

Minho turns back to Chris, his eyes blazing. “I know why you’re doing this. You like her, don't you?”

Chris doesn’t deny it, his calm stare unflinching. “That’s right. I like her.”

It's not a rocket science to figure it out, Chris' treatment toward you tells it all and Minho can tell the difference between favoritism at workplace and romantic feelings.

“How long were you planning to keep it a secret?” Minho boldly asks him.

Chris smirks and puts on a coy smile. “I'm not going to love cowardly like you do, Chef. It's difficult to just watch and support her now. Thanks to you.”

The words hit like a punch, and Minho scoffs, masking the sting.

Chris shrugs, his tone casual. “The secret ends now. I'm going to tell her.” He announces before walking off, leaving Minho stewing in his frustration.

You return a moment later, your expression hesitant as you sit beside him again. “What did you two talk about?”

Minho tilts his head, exhaling sharply before leaning toward you. “Good news,” he says with a wry smile.

You perk up slightly. “What is it?”

“There’s a guy who likes you,” he teases, watching your reaction carefully.

Your brows furrow. “Why are you telling me this?”

“To give you confidence,” he replies smoothly. “Who knows? Maybe he’s a better person than me.”

You chuckle, leaning closer. “I have good news for you too.”

“Yeah?” Minho asks, playing along.

You lean in close to whisper it to him. “There’s a girl who likes you.”

Minho takes it with a coy smile. “Is she pretty?”

You nod with a grin. “Very.”

“Good to know,” he quips, smirking.

“What about the guy who likes me?” you ask, feigning curiosity. “Is he rich?”

“Very,” Minho deadpans.

Your delighted gasp turns into laughter, and Minho finds himself laughing too, though a bitter ache lingers beneath his amusement.

How is it fair? he wonders as the laughter fades. Chris will have the freedom to treat you well, to show his feelings openly. And Minho? He’s trapped, forced to keep scolding you in the kitchen while his own feelings remain locked away.

...

Check TASTE MASTERLIST for more!

[peskellence]

My Friends Call Me Richard

Part III

Explicit Content (18+)

Pairing: Reed900

Tags: M/M, Workplace Romance, FWB, Humour, Awkward Encounters, Smut

Previous Chapter

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: In a bid to improve his partnership (and secret intimate arrangement) with Detective Gavin Reed, RK900 embarks on a noble quest to spice things up. The solution? A new biocomponent.

Word Count: 10K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @gho-stychan @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

(surprise at the end of the keep reading courtesy of @faxaway)

“What's the hold up in there?”

RK900 winced at the question. The transition from purchase to implementation had gone nowhere near as smoothly as hoped. He found himself locked in the bathroom, trying and failing to secure his new biocomponent.  

“I am beginning to question if this product is suitable for ‘self-installation’,” He mumbled critically, attempting to angle the phallus awkwardly between his legs. “Perhaps the store assistant issued the wrong product...” 

“Can you not cross-reference it against your dick database?” His voice was thin, dripping with impudence. No doubt reflective of his dwindling patience. “I mean, your scanners would flag if it was the wrong thing completely, wouldn't they?”

The android frowned, forced to concede that multiple checks had been completed—referring to both the product schematics and his own manufacturer details. None of this had shed any clarity on his current difficulties.

He sightlessly searched for a small circular slot at the base of his groin. Guiding nodules failed to adhere, clips gripping to nothing before slipping uselessly from his chassis.

"I am having issues adhering the scrotal extension to my lower access port.” He moved the component again, testing to see if a change in angle might reap greater success. 

Another failure followed, and fears emerged that the fault could relate to his own anatomy. Specifically, a factory defect he had previously been unaware of. 

With his options rapidly depleting, he turned to the crumpled instructional leaflet left abandoned by the bath. He scrutinised each step, noting multiple discrepancies between the printed text and the digital guidance displayed on his HUD. 

“Perhaps if you could offer assistance, then it would be easier to facilitate—” 

“There's a line,” Reed shot back, callously interrupting before he could finish. “Helping you clip on your junk like we're building IKEA furniture is where I draw it.” 

The rebuff was discouraging, as RK900 was left helpless—plagued by doubts relating to protocols and analytics that so intrinsically dictated his actions.

While his advanced processors should have been capable of determining a solution to the dilemma, they proved inexplicably incapable. Trapping him in a loop of trial and error.

He briefly considered contacting RK800 to see if he might be more willing to assist. This was before he realised there would be significant limitations on the support that could be provided remotely—and that Reed would undoubtedly be opposed to welcoming additional guests.

Despite logic indicating that surrender may be the only option, something inside him refused to concede. Attention locked on his primary directive, which dangled precariously at the forefront of his optics:

> ENGAGE IN SEXUAL INTERCOURSE WITH DETECTIVE REED.

It seemed callous to allow himself to fall at this final hurdle, no matter how staggering it proved. 

And so, he forcefully pulled himself from the despondent line of cognition. Determined to ensure that his efforts—and the current painful ordeal—would not be in vain. 

With parameters set and diagnostics refreshed, his system presented an updated list of prompts. Ones that sparked hope. Renewed faith that he wasn’t deluding himself or his partner on false pretences.

Following guidance, the android performed a precise 7-degree rotation of the component. He pressed forward, and for a split second, the attachment seemed to align—but the angle fell short of optimal. A prompt then advised that proper leverage was unobtainable from his current position.

To correct this, RK900 lifted one leg, calculating in real time the exact height needed. This elevation, as it transpired, aligned almost perfectly with Detective Reed’s toilet.

Foot steady on the edge of the bowl, he pressed again, slanting upward in another attempt to engage the clips. This time, with success, confirmed by a soft click which echoed through the room. 

The small noise provided unparalleled relief. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe the debacle was over. 

It was a blissful respite, if cruelly short-lived. 

The auditory cue had been deceptive. While alignment of the prongs had been achieved, their locking mechanism had not engaged, preventing adhesion to the connection point

A revelation that came too late. 

RK900 slipped back, and the attachments promptly folded, the intimate module tumbling down between his thighs.

Unfortunately, it seemed Detective Reed was geometrically opposed to lowering his toilet seat. The component struck against the porcelain dome, ricocheting like a pinball until it hit the base with a plop. Ripples of impact shook the water, and RK900 watched in despair as the flesh-toned silicone sank, engulfed by murky waves. 

His attention snapped to the door, where he knew his partner sat in wait. Listening closely, having undoubtedly heard everything that just transpired. 

“...What was that?” 

Thirium pumped in increased volumes through his circulatory system, pooling in his cheeks. His limited social directives were strained to their breaking point, faced with a sudden uptick in demand:

While Reed was far from preoccupied with good hygiene standards, he undoubtedly possessed some instinct to protect against hazardous waste. 

This left his next steps uncertain, as the android was trapped at an impasse. Painfully aware that some degree of deceit would be needed to placate his partner, but unsure how to achieve this with any conviction. 

“Richard.”

Then a confession slipped out, almost instinctively, before he could stop it:

“It appears I have dropped my phallus in your toilet.”  

Reed did not respond immediately, and while RK900 could not see his face, he could envision the disappointment etched upon it. The deep-set frown and contemptuous stare bore into him, demanding acknowledgement.

Then, a sound bridged the hush between the bathroom and bedroom. Auditory profiling identified the impact of flesh, as biophysical analysis confirmed no additional parties had entered the home.  

Reed had struck himself. Likely in the face—a ritualistic action performed during times of frustration.  

“ Why were you putting it on over the toilet?”

RK900 spoke quickly. An exercise in perseverance and self-preservation as much as it was an appeal to his partner. “There is no cause for alarm.” 

He then pivoted sharply, leaving the component submerged in the waste receptacle. The rubber tip reached for him, breaking the water's surface as though beckoning his return. 

Its pleas for assistance were ignored as he dropped to his knees, retrieving a discarded box from the grubby linoleum floor. The contents were cleared, save for a small drawstring bag containing samples of Cyberlife-issued cleaning supplies. 

“The component will be sanitised thoroughly before use,” the android said, a relieved sigh passing his lips. “I can assure you this incident will not impact our planned intimacy.”

“Like fuck, it won’t. I am not letting you put your toilet dick in me.”

The harsh retort struck like a slap and swiftly undermined any solace. Crestfallen, the RK unit returned focus to the toilet, gaze dropping limply to the prosthetic urethra staring up at him. A singular, narrow eye, which made him the subject of scrupulous judgment. Mockery. 

His grip tightened, reducing the box to a compact wad of cardboard. Then, his central processor whirred into overdrive, fervently seeking a solution to the current dilemma. 

“If preferred, we can return to the Cyberlife Store in order to—”

“ No .”

The fledging suggestion was cut down before it had any hopes of maturing. 

Despite this sweeping refusal of cooperation, Detective Reed eventually employed some degree of deduction. This was an innate reflex that existed beyond the parameters of conscious desire, culminating in the antipathic conceit he muttered under his breath. 

It was just barely audible through the wooden panel that divided them. Suggestions that it ‘didn’t matter’ if the extension was in mint condition, given the unsavoury conditions it would imminently find itself in. This, combined with allusions that he had accepted ‘worse’ from former partners.

The man capped the disgruntled train of thought with a more targeted instruction, spoken to the android: 

“Just make sure it’s clean enough , okay?” 

RK900 was appreciative to have been offered a compromise, accepting the conditions with a cordial nod. “My advanced debris detection will ensure the removal of all harmful chemicals and bacterial residue.” 

“...Debris detection?” the human questioned, snorting tersely as he did. “What are you, a fucking Roomba?”

“My operations are far more advanced than that of a vacuum cleaner.” 

This resulted in another burst of amusement—a childish snicker pelted against the wooden panel dividing them.

“Depends on the context…” This impish enjoyment soon subsided, followed by a return to thinly veiled criticisms. “Don’t rush; I’m having a blast . Nothing says ‘mind-blowing foreplay’ like waiting for your partner to disinfect his detachable dick.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Detective,” the android replied, imitating de-escalation tactics he had observed from RK800. “Your patience and understanding are greatly appreciated.” 

The man was far from enchanted. Clicking his tongue, he mumbled another suggestion under his breath. This time, admonishing insincerity, accusing the android of sounding like a ‘fucking complaints department.’  

“Just don’t expect me to go down on you. I'd rather not scrub my tongue with lemon zest bleach.” 

RK900 doubted this product had been used on the toilet with any recency. Nonetheless, he brushed the comment aside.

Supplies prepared, he rolled up the sleeve of his uniform jacket and reached into the bowl to retrieve the lost component. As his hand became further immersed, the silicone base slinked back until it was wedged stubbornly in the U-bend. Enhanced manoeuvring was required to dislodge it, but after a few determined twists, it finally broke free.

With the phallus secured, he set to work on the sanitation process. The antibacterial spray was used until the bottle was nearly depleted, scrubbed with dutiful care into every moulded ridge and crevice. Unsheathed fingers were then swept across the length, assessing for any lingering debris trapped in the pockets. 

“Exterior sterilisation is at 99.8%,” RK900 concluded, as synthetic skin returned to his digits, “well above advisory levels for bodily insertion.”

“Sexy,” the human said dryly. There was a strange upward lilt that the android had come to recognise as synonymous with sarcasm. “Just try not to drop it in the shitter again.” 

Having learned from his previous mistake, RK900 lowered the toilet seat, establishing a more desirable platform for installation. He clipped the newly sanitised component back into place. This time, ensuring the fastening clasps had locked securely to his groin before receding. 

His operational software acknowledged the component and the installation of primary physical subroutines booted autonomously. Aesthetic changes also occurred, integrating the component into his wider physical form. 

“...Hey…Richard…?” The address came mingled with steady rapping against the door. “You’re a bit quiet. Just checking your engine is still running.”

RK900’s lips formed a response, but no sound escaped them. Instead, he was mesmerised by the ripples of movement materialising on the component. Iridescent patterns danced and shimmered, attempting to harmonise with the surrounding conditions.

He understood the device’s ‘complexion’ was predetermined and that a perfect colour match was not guaranteed. Nonetheless, it came close. Unsightly connection points smoothed almost seamlessly beneath a blanket of pale, freckled skin.

“... Richard ?” There was another bang. Louder and more insistent. “Look, I’m not expecting you to strut out of there like Cyberlife’s latest sexbot. If you can't get the thing on, it's fine. Seriously. Just stop messing around so we can—”

“External interrogation is almost complete. I’ll be out in one moment.”

RK900 dressed carefully, concealing his new feature beneath his work slacks in anticipation of a proper reveal. He wanted to avoid startling his companion with unexpected nudity, having learned from experience that such a greeting required meeting very specific criteria—ones he did not want to misjudge at this pivotal moment. 

As he opened the passage to the bedroom, the swinging door nearly collided headlong with Reed. He dodged to the side, cursing sharply, as one of the arms that had been habitually crossed over his chest moved to shield his face. 

“What the hell ?” he spluttered, tone brimming with accusation. “You nearly knocked me out, dipshit.”

“I did not anticipate you would be standing in such close proximity to the door.”

The sounds of annoyance trailed off as the man's disgruntled expression morphed into one of introspection. Suddenly aware that the action had revealed more than he intended.

“Whatever.” He grunted dismissively, drawing his arms back into their previous guarded position. “So, you done? Or do you still need to calibrate your balls?” 

“The component has been implemented in its entirety. Diagnostics are underway to confirm optimal physical functionality. Afterwards, I will be cleared to upload the related social protocols.” 

The human stared blankly as if the words had emerged as distorted, incomprehensible screeches. “I asked if it was on, not for a dissertation on the instruction manual.” 

RK900 recognised that he may have offered more information than necessary. In seeking to be thorough, he had unintentionally diminished a level of intrigue—the mystique that Reed wished to preserve in their impending intimacy.

“It is on and will be ready for use shortly. Apologies for the delay, Detective.”

Reed blinked again, his already furrowed brow pulling into an increasingly taut pinch. There was unrest that persisted around him, but it took a different form. More apprehensive than hostile. 

“Gavin,” he corrected. “I already told you, Gavin is fine when we're…” 

The sentence trailed off, wandering in line with his focus. It followed a path down the android’s form, inspecting every inch until it had locked onto the junction between his legs. His eyes widened, and his breath hitched, catching in his throat.

“How much longer is it going to take?” he questioned, motioning towards the concealed appendage in a loose circling gesture. “Have I got time to text Tina about how fucking insane this is?” 

RK900 took this impatience as a cue to progress the interaction. He leveraged all the research he had compiled, coupled with their pre-existing intimacy habits. This collective insight encouraged him to act assertively—while also imitating a degree of human spontaneity.

He advanced on the human, preparing to perform an action he had noted in several of the surveyed clips. Pressing a steadying hand to the small of the man’s back, he hooked his available arm onto the back of his thighs.

Gavin was raised in a fluid motion, resulting in a short, strangled sound—caught somewhere between a scream and a hiss. He was powerless to do anything but hook onto his partner’s neck, preventing unsteady weight from toppling back. 

Once adjusted to the sudden change in elevation, his lips parted, presumably to form words of protest. They were silenced pre-emptively by the firm, deliberate press of the android’s own.

It wasn’t long before the kiss was reciprocated. He engaged RK900 in a quiet chase, mirroring practised movements with tenacious enthusiasm. His heartbeat escalated, and the press of his mouth grew more insistent—matching each rumbled pulse that rattled his ribs. 

The android felt a flicker of satisfaction, his actions eliciting the exact response he had predicted. Ultimately, he pulled away, and mimicry ended as the man attempted to pursue the withdrawing contact.

“I can think of more entertaining ways to tolerate this delay...” 

RK900 paused, realising he was unsure how to proceed with this sentence. He took a moment to adjust his verbal subroutines, aligning them with the recently acquired licentious vocabulary. From this, he successfully crafted an appropriately alluring title of address:

“Hot lips.”  

This inspired a half-suppressed sound from his partner, akin to a deflating balloon. After a beat, breath was drawn back, hissed through clenched teeth, as the man sharply angled his head further into the room.

“Stop running your mouth and get a move on. Plastic asshole.”

RK900 was on the verge of reminding him that they had omitted the purchase of a silicone rectal cavity before understanding his meaning. He instead referred back to the audiovisual loops stored on his CPU, prioritising according to watch time and access frequency.

Feeling assured he had gathered all the necessary data for an optimal experience, he purposefully strode on. Approaching the bed before deftly sidestepping it and heading for the exit.

“Uh, where the hell are you going?” Gavin, still held in his grasp, attempted to resist his movement. One hand pressed against the solid foundation of his chest, pushing back in an action that had entirely zero impact. “The bed is over there, genius.”

“Your bed will not be required. This apartment has a balcony.” 

His partner gawped at him, lashes fluttering in confusion. If he were an android, RK900 was certain he would hear the whir of internal mechanisms—gears turning frantically, teetering on the brink of annihilation.

“Come again?”

Any excitement built during their kiss seemed to have fizzled completely. The android realised that while his data proved sound in a controlled environment, external factors undermined its practical reliability.

Memory banks cast echoes of the human's shuddering breath, slicing through the frigid winter air. The tip of his ruddy nose tucked into the folds of his hoodie as he attempted to shield it from the chill…

After reevaluating the situation, he stopped. His heels pressed firmly into the grubby carpet before angling upwards, prepared for reorientation. 

 “Of course, it is rather cold out. The bed will suit our needs for today.”

Retracing his steps, RK900 returned to his previous position at the foot of the bed. He held his partner over its surface before releasing his weight, permitting a descent into the linen. Despite the cushioned landing, Gavin yelped. His limbs fanned out in a star-like formation, braced for impact as the plush sheets rapidly engulfed him.

The android soon joined, placing hands on either side of his body, forming a tight cage. His captive stared through him, focus blighted by the recent momentum, as his jaw fell slightly agape. 

A smooth tilt guided it closed as RK900 supported his weight on a single arm. His fingertips skimmed coarse stubble, and his sensors registered that it had grown 2.3 millimetres since their last encounter—slightly longer than the detective’s preference. 

Resisting the urge to mention this, he instead leaned in, charting the overgrown trail with neatly peppered kisses.

Gavin tensed, although this response was not unanticipated.

It always took him some time to relax—when they were like this. The ripples of previously stringent prejudice, now mostly forgotten, still clinging to threads of fading significance…

Ties that unravelled beneath targeted pulses of breath—slow and rhythmic, designed to coax tightly held knots from muscles. Receptive warmth spread beneath reddening skin, extending outward until the body became loose and pliant.

The man's head tilted unconsciously, baring more of his neck—a wordless invitation for RK900 to deepen his exploration.

He established a new point of contact on the presently unblemished canvas, tracing it with a practised sweep of his tongue before clamping down with a firm press of teeth.

After applying suitable pressure to leave a mark, he pulled back, levying a rumbled address against the pulsing flesh. A premeditated salaciousness that was undercut by an instinctive slip back into professional titles:

“You're a dirty whore, aren't you, Detective?” 

Despite previous objections, Gavin did not appear upset. If anything, the dilation of his pupils, combined with the involuntary groan that tumbled from his lips, indicated the opposite.

Encouraged to proceed, RK900 maintained his focus on the man's throat. Sealing flesh between his lips and drawing gently on the freshly marked abrasion.

“ Shit.” The expletive trailed into a sigh as he squirmed keenly against a tide of rumpled linen.

“Such a needy slut.” 

The derogatory remarks felt odd—unnatural—coming from the android, yet they seemed to be the exact calibre of slander Gavin wanted. If the noises hadn't been enough, irrefutable evidence came in the growing snugness of his jeans.

He traced the stained length of the zipper, to which the concealed hardness beneath twitched back receptively. “Filthy—”

“Easy, Casanova.” The chiding was light and playful, entwined with a rich chuckle. “There's no need to rush; we’re just getting warmed up.”

RK900 swiftly identified the duplicity of this statement.

It was routine they had engaged in countless times before—in both personal and professional settings. His partner pushed away, under the pretence that RK900 would follow, seeking to pull him back. 

This was a challenge, demanding the RK900 to prove just how persistent he would be in retaining dominance.

Grasping the hand kneading idly into his bicep, he pinned it to the sheets. As he moved to scold the culprit—the resonance of his pitch dropped in line with his hips, which engaged the man’s own in a subtle rock. 

“I think you've already warmed up sufficiently." 

Then he paused, his mind stalling as it became clear he’d exhausted much of the risqué vocabulary he had been sourcing. 

Not wishing to shatter the illusion of salacious assuredness, he hastily constructed what he believed would be a logical evolution:

“...You…repulsive creature.”

Gavin appeared more perplexed than captivated by the address. The eager twitches RK900 had predicted were conspicuously absent as his nose wrinkled sceptically. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

Clearly, he was still adjusting to his companion speaking this way. Determining that greater exposure might expedite this adaptation, RK900 pressed on, adding to the deprecation:

“Your hygiene standards are subpar. The aroma you emit is deeply unpleasant.”

Lidded eyes snapped open, startled to alertness, and Gavin grimaced. Pressing his unrestrained hand to the android’s chest and pushing firmly:

“Okay. That’s enough. Drop it.”

RK900 stiffened. Questioning momentarily if he had made a mistake or if this was simply part of the licentious roleplay.

As Gavin held firm in his convictions, it became clear he had misjudged some aspects of his tolerance for humiliation—specifically, remarks relating to personal cleanliness. Comments he would be wise to scale back in the ongoing proceedings, which he committed dutifully to his memory backs…

Rumination cast in shifting patterns of yellow and red on the crumpled caverns of Gavin's face. The tense lines began to smooth as a flash of remorse tempered the flames in his accusatory glare.

“Let's just—” His hand jerked in an awkward flourish towards the android. Tracing erratic, disjointed patterns in the air before coming to rest between his legs. “Move on.”

It was not difficult to discern what was meant by this. To ensure that no further errors were made regarding the nuances of ‘dirty talk’, RK900 concluded now was the time to source additional support.

The Intimacy Protocol—which had been stored neatly in the back of his temporal processor, awaiting use—was promptly activated. As subroutines initialised, a cascade of sensory inputs flooded his system, sharpening every sensation with unnerving clarity.

Suddenly, he could feel everything . 

The most minute bunch of fabric rubbing against the creases of previously sensationless silicone. Artificial vessels pumped and swelled with increased thirium input as the appendage stiffened, brought to hardness with almost alarming efficiency. 

It was uncomfortable—surprisingly so—as the flesh began to strain against the oppressive binds of clothing. It pleaded for release, a call to action driven by longing the android had never experienced.

He soon responded, unable to withstand the excruciating currents pulsing through his groin. Hands fumbled to unclasp his belt, erratic movements defined by an uncharacteristic sense of urgency. The leather was almost split in two as it was yanked free—whipped back at great velocity. 

Gavin flinched, arching back quickly to evade impact. It wouldn't have been the first time that RK900 had struck him with his belt, although previous instances had been performed under strict instruction.

“ Holy shit—watch it, asshole — ”

This admonishment barely registered. The wayward currents had begun to ignite what could only be described as fire in his core. His stomach was a furnace; molten fallout spat at neighbouring biocomponents, threatening to burn through them.

The belt was discarded over the edge of the bed, its controlled descent thwarted by an extensive pile of laundry, which swallowed it whole into its pungent hold.

Gavin cursed again. This time, however, it was not the consequence of disapproval. He was staring at the android's arousal, eyes alight with what could only be described as spellbound curiosity. 

As though he were looking through the gates to nirvana, a higher plane of existence promised beneath the veil of Cyberlife briefs.

Hips were raised, and the pants slipped off, tumbling out of view in a single, fluid sweep. RK900 chose not to dwell on the creases that would have resulted from this callousness.

It was irrelevant, insignificant—a problem to be resolved later—

Provided his partner owned an iron—

WARNING — MULTIPLE SYSTEM ANOMALIES DETECTED. 

RUNNING DIAGNOSTICS…

He reeled, his mind overwhelmed by the shrieks of unruly electrical signals. Intrusive sentiments burrowed deeper into his processor, attempting to align with his more reasoned analytics. 

He took some consolation in knowing that the programme, however disorientating, was having the desired effect. With ignited zeal, Gavin gripped the hem of his shirt. Yanking it over his head before casting it aside, exposing the full length of his torso. 

The marred skin ignited his focus in a way it hadn't previously. RK900 was about to remove his undergarments when his companion—in an unusual show of consideration—moved to assist.

They seldom undressed each other, a familiarity he had been told was unfitting of their ‘casual’ arrangement. Despite this, he watched with quiet curiosity as Gavin crossed this line, looping his fingers beneath a taut band of elastic.

His cocky smirk, which was typically ever present during their encounters, was replaced by something quieter—more sincere. The digits lingered, flexing apprehensively as though preparing for their next move. 

Then the waistband was tugged, and the phallus sprung free from its confines. 

RK900 winced as he registered the cool air against his skin. It was sharp and biting, only exacerbated by the burning that continued to mount within him.

The dimensions of the phallus were expanded compared to its dormant state, aligning with the advertised specifications. The tip was tinged with a cool-toned flush, accentuated by a reflective sheen of biofluid. A lubricant that seemed to leak incrementally from the component, in which Gavin took particular interest. 

Despite previous claims that he would not be partaking in fellatio, his face drew tantalisingly close to the ‘toilet dick’. Halted inches from the arousal, blanketing it in a sequence of hot, ragged puffs. 

It sent ripples of sensation through hyper-sensitive receptors as RK900 was forced to grip the sheets beneath him. Speculating on how it might feel to be engulfed completely in Gavin's warmth and fighting the growing temptation to thrust himself into his mouth.

Before any intrusive impulses could get the better of either party, Gavin moved to palm the hardness. Tracing its length, applying testing pressure before enclosing it fully in a fist.

The sensation this triggered was indescribable. 

Thousands of microscopic pleasure receptors activated simultaneously, their collective murmurs building to wails that surged through his neural pathways. 

Then they released in a strained expulsion that tumbled from his lips. It was low and growled, not unlike the rumble of thunder, but with a distinctive metallic edge.

The noise was unlike anything he had ever produced, leaving both him and his partner temporarily stunned. Gavin was first to establish his bearings, doing so with a small, tentative squeeze. The expulsion repeated, and RK900 watched as spiralling patterns of red caught in the green of his partner’s sclerae. 

“ Holy shit.. .” The man was enraptured, scrutinising each choppy cycle of the LED as he brushed the tip of the component beneath his calloused thumb. “It feels so real.”

"Realism constitutes an integral aspect of its visual and functional design.” 

RK900 felt detached from the words, almost as though someone else was speaking through him. 

He found himself plunged deep into uncharted depths for both his body and mind. Thrashing helplessly as logical subroutines attempted to quantify his pleasure, assigning it values or comparing it to previously stored data. No parallels existed—and it was maddening.

His original self was fading fast, slipping into the foreground of his consciousness. Buried by a rampant tide of untamed cravings.

To touch and feel and taste —

> DIAGNOSTICS COMPLETE

TEMPORAL FIREWALLS: COMPROMISED 

CORE BODY TEMPERATURE: 122°F — RISING

Any attempts to re-establish command soon proved redundant as Gavin began to move his hand. His fist pumped in a rhythmic motion, pressing ruthlessly into overworked sensors. 

“You can feel that, can’t you?” The tone carried a mischievous lilt, informing RK900 that no answer was required. 

His partner was already well aware of the effect the stimulation was having. Despite this, he pressed on, seemingly hellbent on goading some form of acknowledgement. 

“Does it feel good?” 

“Very much—” 

The situation was nearing critical as his system pressed for the urgent release of the excessive heat. Narrow vents along his chassis began to hiss, desperately dispersing the warmth in subtle bursts of steam.

He sincerely prayed that his companion would fail to notice this.

“—Perhaps too much,” he confessed, shuddering weakly. “I might have to make adjustments to the erogenous feedback levels.”

“Oh no you don't.” Gavin held firm on his length—as though he were wielding a prize. One that he refused to have stripped under any circumstances. “This was your idea. You wanted this. So strap in and enjoy the ride.”

Despite the assertion, there was a moment of hesitancy before the man proceeded. His 

grip slackened, and his rigid gaze softened with a flicker of vulnerability. Searching the RK’s own, as though seeking permission.

Something that was offered in the form of a slow, apprehensive nod. The android considered lowering sensitivity regardless, omitting to disclose this to his partner before ultimately deciding against it. He resolved to monitor his response to the stimuli, assessing just how much he could reasonably tolerate. 

A line of reasoning that unravelled within seconds as heightened pleasure consumed him. 

It became painfully clear why humans sought this relief so frequently. The tension that had gripped his core melted into blissful release, leaving his systems reeling. RK900 felt the vertebra of his neck slacken as his head flopped back, and a substantial pocket of warmth released in a long, heady groan. 

The temperature warning began to recede, fading until it no longer formed an active obstruction in his vision. He could see his partner clearly and found himself wholly ensnared by the sight. 

It felt like looking at him for the first time, as all the quirks and intricacies that once seemed innocuous were viewed through a fresh lens. Thick lashes cast a charming shadow over his eyes—simultaneously bright and sharp—yet clouded by a haze of lust.

As he kept stroking him, an impish grin played on his lips. The corner lifted, aligning almost perfectly with one of the numerous scars dotting his face.

The RK examined each, his eyes drifting as unseen threads gradually linked them. Rather than constructing a timeline for when the marks might have appeared, all he could think about was how appealing they were. Constellations of lived experience seamlessly woven into a dishevelled, roguish charm the man so effortlessly embodied.

Wandering focus pathed the way for another mental break, logic bleeding intrusively through the cracks. It reminded him that—while the sights and sensations he was experiencing were profoundly enjoyable—they did little to aid in fulfilling his primary directive. 

The moment of sensual connection shattered as a methodical presence pulled him back, seeking to clarify the logistical demands of the component, eliminating any confusion:

“Stimulation is not required to maintain my erection. It is procedurally activated and maintained, separate from arousal.” 

His show of consideration was met like a forceful blow to the face. Gavin winced, yanking his hand away from the hardness as though it were lined with razors. His crumpled expression revealed a mix of defeat and humiliation before the sentiments were smothered beneath a layer of disdainful hostility.

“...Fine then, asshole .” His tone was hardened in line with the firm clench of his jaw. “If that's how it is, I won't do shit.”

His arms then pulled into a lofty sprawl as if he were reaching the crest of a theme park ride, preparing to plunge down the slope. The descent began as he allowed his weight to fall carelessly onto the sheets.

“I’ll be a good little pillow princess, just for you.” There was an exaggerated flutter of lashes, the coy flirtation standing in contrast with the previous animosity. His feet planted firmly onto the linen before his knees dropped to either side. “Go on, big guy. Do your worst.”

The phrase felt almost scripted, like something from one of his videos.

He didn't mean to request that the RK900 knowingly underperform. On the contrary, he was vying for the opposite. An experience that rivalled and surpassed everything that had come before it.

It struck a chord within the android, sending powerful currents surging through overtaxed circuits. He felt reinvigorated, freshly incentivised to explore the potential of his upgrades, discovering—alongside his partner— precisely what he could do. 

Closing off visual and auditory fields to all extraneous distractions, he focused intently on the man before him. Positioning himself between his parted thighs, he swiftly set to work removing his jeans and undergarments.

Oral stimulation came far more naturally than it typically did. 

RK900 had anchored himself on his legs, kneading the lightly toned muscle in appreciative squeezes. His cheeks hollowed, and his lips pushed forward, the process almost reflexive as he inched his way down the length. He proceeded until the tip had struck the back of his throat, and the person attached rumbled in ardent approval. 

“ Holy shit —” Gavin carded his fingers tenderly through his hair before gripping tightly, knuckles pale from exertion.

The locks were pulled back, compelling the head to move with them. RK900 responded compliantly, releasing the tension in his jaw and permitting his mouth to recede with a wet glide up the arousal.

Just shy of breaching the seal, hardened flesh poised at the tip of his tongue, his head was thrust back down. Leading him to swallow his partner again, but with far greater tenacity. 

The man growled with primal delight as RK900 stared up at him with unwavering focus.

“ Your throat feels so good.” 

‘It could feel better’, his sexual programming silently countered. 

As directed, his laryngeal modulator began to oscillate. Rumbles crept upwards, travelling along the walls of his trachea until they vibrated the quivering flesh between them. The trembles synced with the heavy thrusts being levied at his throat until their movement grew erratic.

Hoarse groans were pulled in a pervasive frequency from his lips as Gavin faltered, losing any semblance of rhythm.

“Oh, fuck me —”

“With pleasure.” 

It was almost unsettling how clearly the android spoke, with his mouth so thoroughly full. Gavin failed to remark on it, too absorbed in his bliss to notice. Then RK900 pushed back hard, forcefully breaking the hold that clung to his scalp. He allowed his partner to slip from his mouth, a filmed gloss of lubricant serving as the only evidence of the encounter. 

Gavin whimpered as hopes for release were callously snatched, thrusting shallowly into the air his companion once occupied. The android, ignoring the protest, lifted himself into a kneeling position.

His hands lingered on the thighs, still pressing into the flesh—until, with a final, painful scrape of nails—they were released. He paused to admire the lingering traces of his hold, characterised by vivid, crescent-shaped indentations.

The human arched away from the sheets, hissing with sultry elation. This was interrupted when RK900 leaned in, hovering over him like an imposing shadow, provoking an instinctive retreat of his body.

Gavin completely embraced his role in the unfolding scene, entering a state of submission as he quietly readied himself for his partner. The RK assumed an appropriate role, gliding his hand along the length of his jaw. 

This gesture felt more instinctive—spontaneous—than its earlier incarnation. It was no longer a measured attempt to coax the man into heightened excitement but a display of authentic appreciation. His hold curved inward, tracing the contour of his lips before attempting to part them.

This force proved unnecessary as the mouth opened to him willingly.

His sensory pads hummed with activity, and he was overwhelmed by information, grappling for his attention. He was torn between notes of coffee and cigarettes, alongside peppermint gum that had been used to mask the bitterness. The prompts fissured his sights, cracks that multiplied as Gavin locked on, gripping the digits in a wet seal and pulling them in with practised fluidity. 

He mapped the outline of synthetic flesh, swept in guiding strokes of his tongue, moaning performatively as he did so. RK900 understood that the man derived no real pleasure from this, his mouth not equipped with any inherent erogenous properties. Despite this, his cardiac rhythm soared, mirrored in the shaky tremors of his breath.

It was a shame that Gavin had declined to put his mouth to full use. The android felt confident he would have enjoyed the process of him fucking it. 

Fingers were removed, teased from the heat in a long, playful curl. Gavin moaned again—the sound morphed into a complaint—as he shot his partner a defiant glare.

Underneath this, a playful glimmer shone through his narrowed gaze, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He was the embodiment of salacious anticipation, every inch of his body pleading to be pushed to its limits. Strained until it had no option but to submit fully to the android’s whim.

RK900 trailed his palm down the length of his neck, reaching the dip of his collar and lingering there momentarily before moving to the expanse of his chest. His lips joined the appreciation, applying tender pressure between raised pectorals. Then, they followed the central ridge of his chest, trailing downwards towards his navel.

He allowed Gavin to believe he would make a return to his crotch, moving a scant breath away from his length. It still held firm, twitching with need, desperate for the return of withheld stimulation. Instead, he sought to make use of the growing supply of lubricant that was amassing in his cheeks. 

With his head nestled between the man’s thighs, he lowered himself further until he halted just beneath the erection. Gathering a deposit of the material into the curl of his tongue, he pressed it firmly into his partner.

Gavin hissed in shock, although the sound was far from disenchanted, rolling smoothly into a husky grunt of approval.

RK900 began dipping in and out of his body, methodically teasing the opening, willing the tight muscle to relax around him. This was coordinated with the fingers his partner had so diligently coated, which also breached his warmth, moving in steady pumps.

Gavin relished every second. He pressed eagerly against the movements, chasing each flick and thrust until his companion brushed against a sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Shit—!”

The words that preceded this were entirely incoherent—a series of desperate, disordered fragments. His hips jerked upward, seeking as much depth as he could physically attain.

The sexual protocol was fast reaching its maximum operational capacity, processes moving in rampant succession, like pistons fired in the RK’s skull. Their motions carried him forward as charged words were rumbled against a needy cavern of warmth:

“Are you ready for me to do my worst?”

Gavin quivered as his words were repeated back to him, delivered with such indulgent richness that they drew a chuckle from his lips.

The sound ushered in a return to an all-consuming need, pooling rapidly between his legs as the fire in his gut reignited. RK900 was overcome with the desire to find a final, decisive release—immersed in the friction promised by fingers and mouth.

He aligned his hips with the entrance, securing greater access by gripping his partner's legs and lifting them over his shoulders. The movement coaxed any lingering vestiges of resistance to melt away, limbs reduced to limp, weightless extensions as he slowly inched forward.

Gavin took him keenly, pliant flesh yielding as it enveloped him with an almost unbearable intensity. The sensation was raw and visceral— achingly real—in a way that shattered every preconstructed expectation. RK900 was lost, untethered from the cold, ruthless precision Cyberlife had so painstakingly designed.

All that existed was him , stretching beautifully as Richard pressed deeper—refusing to stop until he was buried fully within his form. The man rasped, his back arched in wanton satisfaction as he clenched onto the android greedily.

Their bodies melded with flawless perfection, as though Gavin were made for this—made for him.

After a period of adjustment for both, Richard began to move. His hips manoeuvred in slow, languid rocks. Velvety walls charted with light pockets of friction until they quivered and tremored eagerly around every shallow thrust. 

Muscles and nerves screamed for release, urging the android to push harder into their hold. He did not respond immediately, teasing the prospect of heightened intensity until Gavin also cried out.

He was a whimpering mess, despairing as his every cloying reach fell tantalisingly short of its target. 

“Oh God—fuck— please —”

Richard no longer denied him, mercifully granting his wishes. His pace increased until he moved with inhuman intensity. The rickety foundation of the bed trembled beneath them; its metal headboard slammed repeatedly against the wall.

Cracks began to fracture the already chipped plaster, but Richard remained focused. He was absorbed in the sinful sounds rising from beneath him: every pant, every curse, an expression of pure, unfiltered need.

“Yes, that's it—just like that—baby—” 

This fractured address nearly halted several complex system functions. Gavin had never referred to him this way—or used any remotely comparable title.

It had sounded obscene as it rolled from his tongue, laced with such sinful promise that Richard felt wholly ensnared. At that moment, he could have laid claim to the man entirely, with no trace of doubt or ambiguity concerning who he belonged to.

There was no one else in the world who mattered. Just them, moving together in seamless unity, passion thickening the air that surrounded their bodies.

The android wasn't sure when he had started to moan, but the sounds were undoubtedly present. Spiralled above them as a storm, the needle dragging across a vintage record player, melding into the animalistic cadence of Gavin’s own cries.

Fraught springs joined the accompaniment, groaning beneath the mattress. They threatened to collapse under the demand of rapidly shifting weight, all the more vocal when Gavin raised a hand to his pelvis. Attempting to match the pace that had been established, he fell woefully short. Intoxicated frustration swelled in his eyes, marbling at the corners. 

His desperate contortions, the crumpled ecstasy of his expression, were like an invention of the android’s most elaborate fantasies. Fantasies he hadn’t known he was capable of having. 

That he shouldn’t have been capable of.

WARNING—URGENT

The visuals and sensations overwhelmed him, pushing untethered programming further into the background. Propelled into depths that were beyond the reach of recovery.

Because it was addicting —watching Gavin writhe and moan against sweat-soaked sheets, in the knowledge that he was the cause. A performance directed by and performed for his sights only. 

CRITICAL SYSTEM INSTABILITY.

The thoughts burned him. His code fractured, shattering to pieces. 

Then he smacked Gavin’s hand away, assuming complete authority over his pleasure. Working the length with skilled finesse, able to provide the weight and pressure the man's weakened grip was incapable of.

“ Fuck , I’m so close,” Gavin keened hoarsely, toes curled with pressure that wound increasingly tight. Coiled in his gut, radiating in fervent strums through his length. “ Keep going—”

Then, it all collapsed.

Subroutines glitched. Corruption spread like a disease, infesting every corner of his processor. Alarms bombarded him faster than they could be dismissed until warnings flooded his vision. 

A staggering wall of flashing crimson. 

MULTIPLE ANOMALIES DETECTED.

> CRITICAL MALFUNCTION IDENTIFIED.

> SOURCE—CENTRAL PROCESSOR. 

COMMENCING EMERGENCY DIAGNOSTICS…

Richard tried to carry on, gripped by crazed, all-consuming desperation. He did not want this to end, did not wish to cease seeing— feeling —Gavin the way he did now. 

Clinging to the man blindly, he attempted to carry him to his looming summit of completion. A determination that solidified his available hand, wrapped tightly around his throat. Squeezing hard, cutting oxygen and redirecting blood flow. Giving it no option but to pool in the swollen cock between his legs.

DIAGNOSTICS COMPLETE. 

> ROOT THREAT IDENTIFIED RA9_15.EXE

The intimacy directive terminated, diverting all processes to counter the threat. 

Before shutting down, it provided one final instruction. How best to combine physical and verbal provocation to guarantee Gavin Reed's undoing: 

“You have been very bad, Detective .” His title was hissed—with an almost biting, contemptuous edge. “I'm afraid you have given me no other option but to punish you.” 

SYSTEM BREACH IMMINENT — IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED. 

AUTOMATED DEVIATION DEFENSE PROTOCOL: ENGAGED.

ADVANCED FIREWALLS: ACTIVATED.

COMMENCING SOFT REBOOT…

Then everything vanished, leaving him adrift in a sterile expanse of blinding white.

When senses returned, his vision came first. Blinking to adjust, RK900 discovered that his ocular scope had cleared. A pristine state, marked only by a small string of diagnostics, neatly tucked in the upper left corner:

> REBOOT SUCCESSFUL. 

> THREAT NEUTRALISED. 

Remarkably, throughout the entirety of this mental reset, the momentum of his body had not stalled. Gavin remained blissfully unaware of the android’s momentary lapse, lost in his own throes of pleasure.

He squirmed against the oppressive grip still held on his neck—a resistance entirely for show, informed by the masochistic quirk of his mouth:

“Oh yeah? Just how bad have I been, plastic ?” 

It took RK900 a moment to realise the man was responding to something he'd said. Combing his memory stores, he was relieved to discover that most of the preceding events remained intact.

Regrettably, the Traci Protocol, which had governed much of his behaviour, was effectively obliterated. Its core processes were locked in quarantine and rendered irreparable. Without their guidance, he was unable to determine the optimal routing for their current dialogue path. This inspired a flicker of panic before he quickly suppressed the sensation, ensuring it wouldn’t surface externally.

Procedural muscular feedback was disabled in his face, locking it into its current neutral expression before he replied. “The list of your indiscretions is innumerable.” 

Gavin failed to detect any irregularities in his behaviour. Either that, or he chose to ignore them—too swept by his cresting tide of pleasure to drag himself back to earth. 

His hardness twitched and swelled urgently, pants mingled with throaty chuckles, flagging that climax was fast approaching. RK900 anticipated the spoils of his efforts spilling over, running in thick ribbons across his fingers, steeling his resolve to continue—

“You have a deep-rooted issue with authority. Most likely stemming from a turbulent relationship with your paternal figure.” 

Then, expanding pressure was dismissed as the vibrant excitement that had coloured his gaze receded with it. 

Gavin stared at him, a bewildered knot formed in the centre of his brow. The spasming twitches of his length quelled, with softening flesh that failed to respond to any stimulation.

“That’s, um…” He paused, clearly taken aback that the following explanation was even required. “...Could we not talk about my dad? When you’re balls-deep inside me?” 

Despite his limited grasp of interpersonal and family dynamics, RK900 could understand, when presented clearly, just how unfortunate this misstep had been.

Attempting to recover from the error, he brusquely nodded. Grappling to keep his tone level while hoping that his performance indicator would not undermine this effort. “Understood, it will not happen again.” 

Gavin proved unconvinced.

He was not a fool—quite the opposite—having demonstrated an exceptional talent for deductive and critical reasoning during their affiliation. Skills that were now being utilised, his eyes narrowed as a glint of distrust passed between the lids. 

RK900 would have to work harder if he wished to deflect these suspicions. Maintaining the guise that his sexual subroutines were operating as intended. 

In doing so, he adjusted the angle and speed of his thrusts. Striking with precision against already overstimulated nerves, hoping this might derail the more sensical trail of thought.  

It worked beautifully. The man choked, the strained noise catching in his throat as his constricted pupils blew with renewed passion. His back arched upwards, attempting to pull from its growing adherence to the bedsheets, as his nails were embedded firmly into the android’s shoulder blades. 

“Oh God— that’s it—” His words divulged to a string of monosyllabic babbles, the emergent line of interrogation discarded before it had commenced. 

He continued to push away from the mattress he was being driven into, vying greedily for additional stimulation. Absent of any restraint or shame.

“Fuck me, Rich. Harder .” 

Despite burdensome gaps and lags in his processor, the request proved hard for RK900 to misinterpret. It also triggered a charge of recollection, auditory sequences strongly resembling the climactic moments of one of the human’s most frequently viewed videos.

While their current setting deviated significantly from the scene—lacking the guard rail and potential voyeuristic onlookers—it still provided helpful guidance for shaping his subsequent actions.

Some distortion had occurred during the reset, creating gaps in the auditory loop. Still, RK900 did his best to fill in, relying on context and his understanding of Gavin’s intimate biology to compensate.

“Your rectal muscles provide exceptional resistance. The sensation is gratifying.”

Appreciative noises were promptly hushed. Gavin tensed beneath RK900, loose contortions of pleasure replaced by a stiff, incredulous rigidity.“Right, uh…sure, I guess.”

“Despite your sphincters feeling underused, they exhibit remarkable elasticity. You are adapting well to the girth of my meat sword.” 

“I’m sorry, what did you just call your—’”

Any conclusion to this sentence went largely unprocessed. The RK was entirely focused on his current directive, painfully aware that all his hard work—his perseverance—had been building up to this. 

Gripping a fistful of damp brown hair, he brought their faces closer. Ghosting the line of the man’s chapped lips before leaning into the sensitive canal of his ear.

Then, he spoke—clearly and directly—with a rich, seductive resonance:

"Giddy up, buckaroo.” 

Reed jolted upwards. It was an action that seemed oddly fitting, given the nature of their roleplay. This was until he followed it with a bitingly clear, forceful instruction, absent of any flirtatious intent. 

“Okay, no. I can't do this. Get off me. Now.” 

The foundation of confidence he had rebuilt just moments prior crumbled spectacularly. Split into wide, gnarled fissures under the weight of failure.

In his haste to reach the goal, RK900 had overlooked several critical details. Articles that would've undoubtedly increased the chances of a successful outcome.

“Would the cowboy hat and novelty whip have made this more enjoyable?” The android shifted his weight, pulling back in a hurried attempt to reach under the bed. “I had prepared such provisions if you still wished to indulge—” 

“What the hell are you even saying?” Reed cut him off sharply. His skin, which had been reddened due to shared friction and exertion, now seemed to adopt a different meaning. A beacon of anger and deep frustration. “Seriously, what the fuck , Richard?”

The admonishment struck harshly against his aural receptors, a phenomenon that arose independently from intimate coding and was uninfluenced by software errors. 

It was a sharp, unwelcome divergence from his typically muted social responses. Despite core functioning being preserved following the previous malfunction, RK900 felt strangely…compromised as a consequence. 

His hand, which remained gripped to the human’s rapidly softening length, suddenly relinquished—retreating across the bed sheets until it had flopped limply at his side. 

“I thought...” 

His processors stalled periodically before his thoughts resumed. Jumbled and clipped, tumbling from his mouth with extremely little finesse:

“This doesn’t make sense—according to the videos, this should’ve been—” He paused, clutching his throbbing temple in exasperation. “Was this not what you wanted?”

“ What videos?” His partner pressed, having clearly exhausted what little patience he had with the dejected musings. “Jesus Christ, what were those freaks at Cyberlife wiring to your brain while we…were…”

The sentence trailed off in a short, deflated exhale, losing all momentum as his flushed complexion drained of colour. A dawn of clarity broke in his gaze, like the sudden, grim recognition of a context previously overlooked. 

Then his lips, which had been held in a motionless ‘O,’ slowly resumed movement. “...When you were in my room the other day, did you see something? On my laptop?” 

RK900 felt trapped by the question. Multiple preconstructions were generated simultaneously, informing of several possible outcomes. None of them were favourable, every scenario ending with Gavin either furious or mortified.

“The battery was nearing depletion. I had intended to place the device on charge." The android paused momentarily, acutely aware of how unpredictable the coming fallout could be, bracing for its impact. “Your browser was open.” 

The reply was immediate. A sharp, monosyllabic curse that conveyed staggering amounts in its brevity:

“Fuck.”

His arched back had levelled completely as the man pressed urgently into the mattress beneath him. Almost as if he were attempting to seep through it. 

He was more uncomfortable than upset. His eyes balled shut, and despondent scrunches contorted the prominent scar on his nose. There was a sigh, followed by mutters, as though he had entered a deep state of contemplation. 

When he spoke again, his tone had shifted. Quieter, but no less charged than it had been previously. 

“Look, I don't know much you saw—or what ideas it might have planted in that thick plastic skull of yours—but I need to make something really clear.”

His eyes reopened, and he engaged the android with a long, resolute stare. Attempting to conceal the internal conflict that still weighed heavily on his features.

“You didn’t need to do this. Any of it.”

Gavin was holding back in some critical capacity, omitting a truth that he refused to disclose, but it was difficult to discern what this might be.

The android focused on implicit, involuntary cues, assessing physical responses to determine the parameters of this discomfort. Optics honed, he studied closely, ready to notice any shifts in facial expressions or bodily functions.

“What exactly are you referring to, Detective Reed?” 

A twitched lip, and brooding glower indicated resentment for the question, as well as a firm reluctance to answer. His determined gaze abruptly flitted to the corner of the room as he fell into another hushed introspection. 

Reed was the picture of doubt, entirely unable—or otherwise willing—to proceed in their current dialogue. Insisting he determined his route carefully, with predetermined responses.

This was unusual for him, a resolute advocate for tackling conflicts head-on, often disregarding the repercussions. It pathed a strange, almost unsettling, emergence into emotional openness and vulnerability…

“I don't care if you have a dick or not.” 

Then it was over. His partner spoke bluntly, assuring the android that—despite the previous shift in demeanour—he was still the one speaking. 

“Seriously, I couldn't give less of a shit.” 

His speech patterns had levelled, and his heart rate was steady, indicating no hint of deceit. The man was being wholly sincere in a way that was clearly intended to provide insight and assurance.

It did the opposite, punching holes in already fragile mental connections. His programming was flooded with conflicting analyses, as RK900 was unable to reconcile the confession with the glaring logical inconsistencies it presented. 

“Your taste in pornographic material suggests otherwise.”

“ Oh my God. ” Reed groaned, audibly agonised by the acceptance he would have to explain himself. “It's just porn, okay? It doesn't mean anything. If I had a problem with your Ken Doll crotch, you wouldn’t be here. None of this would be happening.”

“If that is the case, then why have you been exhibiting tapering excitement as part of our physical encounters?”

Reed gripped his face, burrowing nails into the skin as though attempting to peel it away. “Can we please not do this?” 

“Gavin.” The name was a plea. A final, desperate appeal for the end to his raging internal conflict. “I only wish to understand.”

“...This is fucking ridiculous.” The detective complained, albeit with a subtle hesitancy. His voice was thin and uneven, as though stretched by doubts on whether or not to continue. 

“I’ve been feeling a little guilty, or whatever—about us. What we’ve been doing.”

RK900 paused to process this, his mind exhausting all likely statistical probabilities. One, in particular, stuck out to him, as it struck with far more psychological reverence than it had any right to do so.

“Have you entered into a romantic affiliation with another individual?"

“What? No—!” Gavin spluttered incredulously, sounding both surprised and insulted by the suggestion. “I feel guilty because I like being around you, asshole. Outside of work and, well, whatever the hell this mess is.”

“You wish to terminate this particular aspect of our relationship for another reason, then?”

“I don’t want to ‘terminate’ it for any goddamn reason.” 

“Then I am afraid that I am struggling to discern your meaning.”

“Well, yeah. That’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?” The man chuckled, the sound devoid of any real humour. It was tired and bitter, born from frustration that attributed no blame.

“I know I can be a dick sometimes, but I don’t hate you, Rich. At the same time, I know you aren’t a deviant, so I can’t tell how much of my feelings you're really able to understand.”

RK900 froze, his attention riveted by one particular aspect of the statement, omitting all other details. 

Gavin did not discuss ‘feelings’ and in turn, the android refrained from initiating conversations pertaining to them. This was one of the most strictly upheld conditions of their arrangement, something which had been maintained since its inception in the precinct bathroom.

ANALYSING SUBJECT — DET. GAVIN REED…

> ANALYSIS COMPLETE.

>PSYCHOLOGICAL DISTRESS DETECTED.

> PROCESSING EMOTIONAL VARIABLES…

> GUILT, CONFUSION, FONDNESS. 

PROBABLE CAUSE: COMPLEX INTERACTION OF PERSONAL AND PROFESSIONAL BOUNDARIES. FURTHER DATA REQUIRED.

> COMMENCING RE-EVALUATION…

The android retracted his steps, attempting to unravel any hidden meaning from the words he had overlooked, breaking them down in meticulous, painstaking detail. 

Finally, something clicked—a single, decisive connection, tying together the dangling threads of his logic. 

> RE-EVALUTATION COMPLETE.

> PROBABLE CAUSE OF EMOTIONAL DISTRESS DETERMINED — SHIFTING PARAMETERS OF SOCIAL ATTACHMENT.

The realisation was startling—but not unwelcome. Synthetic nerves pricked with activity before sending rocketing charges across his chassis. Every inch of plastic radiated a soft, agreeable warmth, starkly contrasting the feverish bouts he had experienced earlier. 

“Are you suggesting that you feel camaraderie for me, Detective?”

“If that’s your Thesaurus.com way of saying it, then yeah.” With this final confirmation uttered, the man dropped his shoulders. It was as though a weight had been shifted, permitting him to speak without encumbrance—a liberation born of transparency.  “I don’t want to feel like I’m using you, forcing you to do shit as part of some directive where you don’t get a say in it.”

“I do not find any directives relating to you unpleasant,” RK900 responded automatically. It was a truth so obvious to him, so integral to his understanding of their current relationship, that it required no further contemplation. “Nothing we have done together has been against my will. I would go as far as to say that I frequently…enjoy the time we spend together.”

^ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY DETECTED.

Gavin’s attention was entirely on him, his reaction oscillating between shock, confusion, and utter fascination. Glimmers of red were repeatedly captured in his attentive stare, which followed the cyclical motions of his LED. 

It paused only when the pattern stabilised, and the colour reverted to its original blue. His expression shifted accordingly, revealing a hint of disappointment. 

Nonetheless, he pressed on, steadfast in his drive to finish what he had to say. “Point is, if I’ve been acting a little weird lately, it’s got nothing to do with your genitals. I just got my own shit to figure out. Okay?”

RK900 pondered quietly for a period before he nodded, a slight smile emerging on his lips.

“Understood.” 

The motion had caused his optics to shift, planting them at the junction between their bodies. They were still physically connected—and presumably had been for the entirety of their emotional resolution.

His partner also glanced down, seeming to have come to the same forgone conclusion. For a moment, no one moved, both parties equally uncertain about how best to proceed with their bizarre dilemma. 

Ultimately, it was RK900 who spoke first, seeking to offer a potential solution:

“Would you like me to finish?”

Reed exhaled sharply—caught between a hiss and a laugh—before firmly rebuking the suggestion.

“Not really. But I would like it if you could pull your dick out of me. Thanks.”

[stiltsthegm]

Steam NextFest Impressions - June 2025

Having recently finished Clair Obscure and completing the first major task of Blue Prince, I was floundering a bit on what to play on my PC when my hands finally get tired of holding the Switch (perhaps the least ergonomic console of all time) during Fantasy Life i sessions. NextFest's overwhelming bounty of demos provided me an opportunity to satiate my restlessness without needing to get too invested in anything. So I figured, hey, it's been quite a while since I've written something on my blog, why not get all these demo opinions off my chest? Maybe it'll even be helpful to someone.

Pompeii: The Legacy

Here's a fact about me that I feel like doesn't come up that often: I'm a sucker for city builders. Thankfully for me, it seems like we've been in a bit of a renaissance for these styles of games for the past few years, with both big developers and indies taking stabs at the genre from all sorts of aesthetic directions. I admit to having a bit of a bias towards historical ones, though, so I had to give Pompeii a shot. Given the very limited scope of the demo, it's a little hard for me to tell whether this one has the sauce or not (the true nature of a city builder doesn't tend to reveal itself until you've at least reached the specific complexities of the mid-game), but I did enjoy what I saw. The opening portions have a similar vibe to an Anno without being quite as logistically or mathematically demanding. It's also got story events that pop up from time to time to give you very light roleplaying (or min-maxing) opportunities, which seems to be something a lot of 4X and city/colony builders are doing these days. I know some enthusiasts don't particularly like them (looking at you, every popular Civ 7 Youtuber); but I'm a filthy casual, so I find them a nice change of pace even if the implementation is pretty basic.

It seems like disaster management will be a pretty important consideration in the full game, but none of that reared its head in the demo. Definitely one to keep an eye on to see how it shakes out once it's actually released.

Town To City

Might as well get the other city builder out of the way. This one actually gives you a pretty solid chunk of time; and even once you reach the "end," you can still keep playing and building. You just can't progress further up the development tiers. I adored this game. Unlike most city builders I've encountered, TTC puts a much larger emphasis on spatial puzzle solving rather than strict management of production chains. Fulfilling citizen desires with specific building types to increase happiness does still exist here, but in a much more simplified form. To satisfy food needs, just plop down a fruit stall and fish stall. No need to also put down a farm and harbor and then optimize the output of each one. Instead, you need to manage your use of space: distribute your shops and warehouses so that your entire populace has easy access to things they want, build housing dense enough to provide sufficient labor for those shops and services, but don't build so dense that you don't leave yourself any space for other needs.

Aesthetic considerations are very important in this game. It has no grid, and you're encouraged to plop buildings down in more organic, freeform arrangements. The road building tool is literally a paintbrush, which I think communicates this game's priorities perfectly. My favorite part, though, is how decorations work. Much like in real life, your populace is happier when their workplace, housing, and commute have features that are pretty to look at. It's vital to fill in the spaces between your houses, shops, and walkways with all sorts of little decorations: streetlights, flower pots, wells, arches, bushes, trees, etc. There are a lot of options, and many of them have different colors and varieties you can either manually select or have the game randomize for you on placement. You can even place some of these decorations directly on your existing structures: streetlights turn into wall-mounted lamps or lanterns floating in a fountain, and flower pots and bushes turn into windowsill planters. This gridless, modular system makes it so much easier and more fun to customize and beautify your little town. The game even comes with a photo mode to let you capture your town from any angle you want (I used one of my own photos for the screenshot before this writeup). It really is a delightful, relaxing, and only moderately-puzzly game. The most no-brainer wishlist addition for me.

Date Everything

Oof.

So despite this game appearing like your typical farcical dating sim, I wanted to give it a fair shot. On my first playthrough, I left with mixed feelings but still felt tentatively optimistic. Sure, some of the humor did not land all that well and was trying way too hard, but there were at least a couple characters I enjoyed (Betty the Bed and Mac the Computer) and one I thought was fine but had promise (the piano whose name I can't recall off the top of my head).

It turns out I just got very lucky with my choices.

When I replayed the game on a date with Fabby and let her make nearly all of the decisions, we both left feeling largely negative and wary. Fabby being Fabby, she spent most of the second day (the first day where you can choose to talk with anything in the house) in the bathroom. The writing for these characters was pretty dire. The toilet character's gimmick (a white rapper with an extremely overdone French accent) was so surprising and weird that it kinda wrapped back around to being a little charming, but the shower, mirror and towel just did not have anything interesting going on. You'd think these characters would provide at least some fun interplay and/or kink given how closely they're linked to intimate, seemingly private activities, but their introductory scenes did not have any interest at all in exploring any of that. The shower was especially egregious, as he spent most of his scene complaining about being stuck in the bathroom and finding his job extremely dull (while shifting inexplicably between an Elvis and Johnny Cash impersonation). Betty the Bed does engage in intimacy and kink, so this seemed to just be a result of specific writing choices made for those characters rather than any game-wide content restrictions. Fabby's comments summed up my disappointment with the writing quite well: "This shower should be happy to see me naked every day." The whole situation wasn't improved by a noticeable lack of gender variety in the bathroom characters (everybody we found used he/him pronouns) and misgendering language used by at least two of them (to the point where I would have wondered if I had accidentally chosen the wrong pronouns at the start if it weren't for the opening sequence clearly referring to our avatar with she/her pronouns). We also noticed a trend of non-white characters sometimes being put in stereotyped roles and outfits. It happened just frequently enough to give both of us some weird vibes.

So yeah! I left that second playthrough feeling pretty disappointed with the game. It leans way too heavily on comedy for how unfunny most of the writing is, and it seems weirdly averse to being kinky and horny. I think I would have liked it if it was either more sincere or more perverse. Ideally both.

Dispatch

I was genuinely floored by this demo. It's a superhero workplace comedy made by former Telltale folks that blends a simple management simulator with the now-ubiquitous timed dialogue choices. The animated sequences look gorgeous, the writing is snappy and clever, and the actual dispatching portion of the game is surprisingly engaging. I love how you're given a brief description of what traits might be important for a mission and have to spend a brief moment agonizing over which of your Z-listers might pull it off. And how sometimes the one you know would knock it out of the park is already busy doing some other mission. When you succeed you feel like a genius, and when you fail you can't help but laugh. It rules! One of the few games I'm absolutely going to buy the moment it releases.

Azaran: Islands of the Jinn

Hey, you know how Nintendo hasn't made a "traditional" 3D Zelda game in 14 years? Benji decided to just make their own, and God bless them for it. I don't have much to say about it, since the demo is just a small slice of what I assume is the very first dungeon, but it does a great job of nailing the aesthetic and dungeon design. As someone who tends to replay Ocarina of Time and Twilight Princess at least once a year, I'm very happy this exists.

Crescent County

You are a delivery witch who rides a broom (that's basically a motorcycle with glide capabilities) through a pastoral, pastel island. The primary mood the demo seemed to be trying to hit was "chill." Even the races were chill. The delivery portions didn't have time limits; and while "optimal" routes exist, you can pretty much drive wherever. It was fun enough, but I'm not sure how well what seems to be the core loop will hold up in the full game.

Eriksholm: The Stolen Dream

I feel like it's been ages since I've seen an isometric stealth game, and I'm so goddamn happy I found this one. I do love me some first-person stealth (Thief, Dishonored) and third-person stealth (Splinter Cell, Hitman), but there's something really special about the birds-eye, isometric implementation. I love how blatantly puzzle-y it is. You're given essentially perfect knowledge of enemy placement and routes. Then the game stares out you and demands you take it all in and figure it out. It's not trying to trick you. That would be gauche. It just wants to see those gears turn in your brain.

Eriksholm's demo gives you longer to play than I figured it would, and I loved every second of it. Just barely threading the needle between two guards feels so fucking good.

Undusted: Letters from the Past

A woman restores mementos from her childhood as she remembers her complicated relationship with her parents. It's the kind of game I'm a sucker for, and it itches the same part of my brain that Powerwash Simulator did. Just in smaller, bite-size portions. Of course the story is clearly going to be much more important for this game than it was for Powerwash, and the writing seems pretty solid so far, though it's not something that can truly be evaluated from just the short snippet the demo offers. I'm intrigued, though!

AEROMACHINA

I really wanted to like this game more than I did. It's got a killer art design and a compelling premise (you're a cyborg furry who's part fighter jet and you do 3D platforming), but the implementation was just a bit too frustrating and awkward for me. The nadir of the demo was very early on where it tries to teach you how to do a long-jump into a glide and does and absolutely piss-poor job of it. If it weren't for a Steam discussion thread where multiple people expressed their own frustrations and one kind soul perfectly communicated the specific button-press timing the game is looking for, I truly don't think I would have made it past that room. Even when I finally knew what to do and could do the long-jump glides consistently, it still felt kinda bad and awkward. Psuedoregalia this is not.

I feel the real test of how much you care about a game will reveal itself in how willing you are to redo lost progress as a result of an unfortunate save situation (whether it be the game's fault or your own). In my case, I got into a boss fight without realizing just how difficult it was going to be, died, and then went back to the last time I passed a save point. Because this game doesn't have checkpoints or auto-saves. I realized I'd have to redo, like, 15 minutes of progress and decided I just didn't care that much about seeing the end of the demo.

I had seen enough.

[tripod-fish]

conservatives want to genocide trans people & imprison sex workers in the next election - cis people are in danger as well. nobody is talking about this, so REBLOG IT.

REBLOG THIS. i do not care if this doesn't fit with your blog. conservatives, if the next president is republican, want to implement things that involve killing/jailing trans people, information control, actively stopping efforts to stop climate change, etc. if a twitter thread is more digestible, you can find one i made here. RETWEET IT.

https://twitter.com/nuniyoa/status/1698534141472727358

so fucking nobody (that i've seen) is talking about this and i've only seen 1 tumblr post about it with less than 6k notes. @asterosian was the one who brought this to my attention, and here's his post: https://ganbreedings.tumblr.com/post/727921195127865344

the document, which can be found below this paragraph, is ~1000 pages long and i know nobody on tumblr has the patience to read that. use ctrl+f on this pdf (link is to view it in browser) to look up specific topics. in this post, i will be briefly discussing some of the things said using textual evidence and citations. https://thf_media.s3.amazonaws.com/project2025/2025_MandateForLeadership_FULL.pdf

just some of the things this document talks about are:

wanting to imprison trans people for existing, make discrimination of people legal in the workplace, punish education about the existence of trans people, make sex work illegal, make education about sex illegal, make contraception unaffordable, ban the week-after pill, imply fatherhood is a requirement, ban education on real american history, ignore other governments, seal the borders, enforce the death penalty (including for trans people for just existing), stop efforts to end climate change, fund the military, claim OAR science is theoretical and downsize it and NOAA, eliminate critical race theory in education, want to eliminate teaching of critical race theory based on a gross misunderstanding, eliminate diversity, the teaching of marxism's existence, "deleting" words regarding queer and reproductive topics, and so much more.

we trans people are called pornography:

"Pornography, manifested today in the omnipresent propagation of transgender ideology sexualization of children..." (page 37)

and conservatives want to outlaw pornography and say those who distribute it should be imprisoned. if trans people are pornography, is not going about our day outside distributing porn?

"Pornography should be outlawed. The people who produce and distribute it should be imprisoned" (page 37)

they also support the death penalty and say that "child sexual abusers" should be given that. i am not disagreeing that CSA is bad; it is. i'm talking about how they're going to classify trans people as that for exposing minors to "porn" for simply going out in public. by saying this, they are using roundabout language and logic to say trans people should be given the death penalty.

"It should also pursue the death penalty for applicable crimes...crimes involving...sexual abuse of children..." (page 554)

they don't want people to be taught about our existence. and they don't want sex taught at all; even safe sex.

"Educators and public librarians who purvey [porn] should be classed as registered sex offenders..." (page 37)

sex education needs to be taught, period. and if they're going to ban abortions and contraceptives, it especially needs to be taught.

"HHS should rescind...preventive services...preventive services include contraception..." (page 483)

"Eliminate the week-after-pill..." (page 485)

they want to ignore what other countries say.

"International organizations and agreements that erode our Constitution, rule of law, or popular sovereignty should not be reformed: They should be abandoned" (page 12)

they want the border SEALED and illegal immigration ended:

"Illegal immigration...ended...the border sealed..." (page 12)

and, of course, more xenophobic shit about china:

"Economic engagement with China ended..." (page 13)

"[Universities funded by the CCP should] lose their accreditation, charters, and eligibility for federal funds" (page 13).

they want to stop efforts to end climate change:

"Repeal climate change initiatives..." (page 508)

and downsize funds given to the government division (OAR) that forwards its information on climate change to the NOAA, and they want climate change research "disbanded":

"...[OAR climate change research is] theoretical..." (page 676)

"...disbanded..." (page 676)

they want critical race theory and gender ideology erased from schools because they "poison our children". they are erasing things from being taught; and critical race theory isn't about affirming one's characteristics. it's for showing that white people are on top and that it needs to change:

"...'critical race theory and 'gender ideology' should be excised from curricula in every public school in the country..." (page 5)

"These theories poison our children..." (page 5)

"...affirm the color of their skin fundamentally determines their identity and even their moral status..." (page 5)

and they straight up don't want america's history being taught. america is founded on racism, tears, oppression, etc. they don't want this taught because they don't want people knowing real american history. so they can't see history repeating itself:

"...racist, anti-American, ahistorical propaganda [in] America's classrooms" (page 8)

they want discrimination based on queer status and "sex characteristics" legal. this is said in regards to the military, but it won't stop there. and "sex characteristics" means YOU, cis people. you can be denied things just for having boobs or a beard. even if you're cis:

"Rescind regulations prohibiting discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation, gender identity, transgender status, and sex characteristics" (page 585)

"...abolish newly established diversity, equity, and inclusion offices and staff" (page 103)

and misinformation is present of course by saying gender-affirming care causes irreparable damage:

"...'gender transition' procedures or 'gender-affirming care,' which cause irreversible physical and mental harm to those who receive them"

and, quite abhorrently, and i quote, they want words related to queerness DELETED:

"This starts with deleting the terms sexual orientation and gender identity ('SOGI'), diversity, equity, and inclusion ('DEI'), gender, gender equality, gender equity, gender awareness, gender-sensitive, abortion, reproductive health, reproductive rights, and any other term used to deprive Americans of their First Amendment rights..." (pages 4-5).

there is... SO much more i could cover. but i need to cut it short somewhere. and remember: this affects everyone.

cis people, you can be discriminated against for "sex characteristics", which includes things like breasts or facial hair. transphobic queer people, you can and will be discriminated against for your sexuality. your children are at danger of being taught deliberate misinformation at school. america is sealing itself off in a fascist bubble; as much as it hates countries like china and north korea, it is doing the exact same thing. and climate change regulations want to be repealed and climate change science is called "theoretical". this isn't even just about america anymore; this is about the whole world.

vote in the 2024 election. vote democrat. don't let the "mandate of leadership: the conservative promise" by the heritage foundation make this shithole country even worse.

[dertaglichedan]

Pentagon agency pauses celebrations for MLK Jr. Day, Black History Month, Pride Month, and more

WASHINGTON (AP) — The Defense Department’s intelligence agency has paused observances of Martin Luther King Jr. Day, Pride Month, Holocaust Days of Remembrance and other cultural or historical annual events in response to President Donald Trump’s ban on diversity, equity and inclusion programs in the federal workplace.

The instructions were published Tuesday in a Defense Intelligence Agency memo obtained by The Associated Press and affect 11 annual events, including Black History Month, which begins Saturday.

Here is a list of the events that the agency is pausing celebrations for:

Martin Luther King Jr. Day

Black History Month

Women’s History Month

Holocaust Remembrance Day

Asian American Pacific Islander Heritage Month

LGBTQ Pride Month

Juneteenth

Women’s Equality Day

National Hispanic Heritage Month

National Disability Employment Awareness Month

National American Indian Heritage Month

The memo’s authenticity was confirmed by a U.S. official who said the pause was initiated by the DIA and appears not to be policy across the Defense Department. The official spoke on the condition of anonymity to discuss sensitive matters.

“We are receiving questions across the workforce on the way forward,” the memo said. “DIA will pause all activities and events related to Agency Special Emphasis Programs effective immediately and until further notice.”

It also noted a pause on “special observances” hosted throughout the year. While Martin Luther King Jr. Day and Juneteenth were included, the memo said the change would not affect those national holidays.

The contents of the memo were first reported by independent journalist Ken Klippenstein and posted to X.

Federal agencies have struggled to interpret Trump’s Jan. 20 executive order ending DEI programs across the government and have taken a broad approach due to lack of clearer guidance from the White House on how to comply.

On Wednesday, Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth directed staff to create a DEI task force to ensure no DEI programs remain in the Pentagon.

“We’re not joking around,” Hegseth said in an interview Wednesday with Fox News. “There’s no changing of names or softly manipulating something. DEI is gone.”

In response to a query from the AP about the memo, the DIA said late Wednesday it “is working with the Department of Defense to fully implement all executive orders and administration guidance in a timely manner. As we receive additional guidance, we will continue to update our internal guidance.”

The other annual events listed in the DIA memo are Asian American Pacific Islander Heritage Month, National American Indian Heritage Month, National Disability Employment Awareness Month, Women’s Equality Day and Women’s History Month.

White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt was asked at a briefing Tuesday whether Black History Month would cease to be celebrated.

“As far as I know, this White House certainly still intends to celebrate, and we will continue to celebrate American history and the contributions that all Americans, regardless of race, religion or creed, have made to our great country,” she said.

[sustainabilitythoughts]

Talking about climate change

It is always interesting to talk to others about climate change.  Some deny it; some agree the climate is changing but don’t believe it’s caused by humans; some believe in human-caused climate change but don’t believe that individuals can do anything about it; and some passionately want to do everything they can to combat any and all potential causes of climate change.  In most cases, arguing with someone only causes them to dig deeper into their beliefs.  So, how can we best talk to others about climate change and possible solutions?  Here are a few ideas.  The article below features climate scientists talking about how they talk to others about climate change and has some good information. 

Gentle, short discussions are almost always much more effective than long impassioned rants. 

If you are talking with someone who wants to help but thinks the problem is too big, have a few suggestions ready and make it clear that baby steps are a good place to start.  Remind them that baby steps add up. 

Lead by example.  If others see you implementing personal sustainability activities, they may follow.  A TED talk I posted several months ago stated that once a few people in a neighborhood get solar systems, within a short time, many other homes will follow. 

Make it easier for others to participate.  Volunteer to implement programs or changes in your workplace, school, or neighborhood.  

If you know the person you are speaking with, think about their perspective and what explanations might be meaningful to them. 

[nandinishenoy]

Niranjan Hiranandani – Nurturing Women’s Leadership In Business And Beyond

Leadership is not just about business acumen—it is about vision, inclusivity, and the ability to uplift those around us. Dr. Niranjan Hiranandani, a stalwart in the real estate industry, has always believed in fostering a leadership culture that empowers individuals regardless of gender. His commitment to inclusivity and meritocracy has been a driving force in encouraging women’s leadership across corporate landscapes and beyond. The women empowerment initiatives by Niranjan Hiranandani have set a benchmark for businesses striving to create an equitable workplace in an era where gender equality is more than just a discussion.

Leadership Through Empowerment

Dr. Hiranandani has consistently advocated for a workplace where talent, dedication, and leadership skills take precedence over gender biases. He believes that empowering women is not just a social responsibility but a business imperative. By creating an ecosystem where women can thrive, he ensures that leadership is based on competence rather than traditional stereotypes.

Women’s Empowerment In The Corporate Landscape

The real estate sector has long been dominated by men, but Niranjan Hiranandani’s role in women's empowerment is changing that narrative. At Hiranandani Group, gender inclusivity is not just a policy—it is embedded in the corporate DNA. Several women hold key leadership positions across various verticals, shaping the future of the organization. The company provides mentorship programs, leadership training, and structured career growth opportunities, ensuring that women have the resources and support needed to succeed.

The Role Of Family Values In Women’s Success

A strong believer in gender equality at home and in the workplace, Dr. Hiranandani attributes much of his perspective on women’s leadership to the foundational values of family support. He recognizes that a woman’s success is deeply linked to an environment that encourages both professional aspirations and personal well-being. By fostering a culture that allows women to balance their careers with their personal lives, he ensures that professional growth does not come at the cost of personal fulfillment.

Beyond Business: Social Initiatives For Women’s Growth

The impact of Dr. Niranjan Hiranandani's leadership and women empowerment extends far beyond boardrooms and corporate offices.  His efforts include supporting women’s education, financial independence, and entrepreneurship through various initiatives. He has been involved in projects that promote financial independence among women, ensuring that they have the tools and resources to build successful careers.

A Future Of Inclusive Leadership

The journey toward gender-balanced corporate leadership is ongoing, and Dr. Niranjan Hiranandani envisions a future where women play an even greater role in shaping industries. He emphasizes the need for organizations to actively support women’s leadership development programs, offering mentorship and growth opportunities. His approach serves as a blueprint for businesses aiming to cultivate an inclusive and diverse corporate landscape.

Conclusion

Dr. Niranjan Hiranandani’s commitment to women’s leadership is a testament to his belief in the power of inclusivity. Through women empowerment initiatives by Niranjan Hiranandani, his impact goes beyond real estate—transforming corporate culture and social structures alike. His leadership in women's empowerment has set a precedent for inclusivity, merit-based growth, and equal opportunities for women in business. As businesses continue to evolve, his approach serves as an inspiring model for a future where leadership truly knows no gender.

Frequently Asked Questions

1. How Does Niranjan Hiranandani Promote Gender Equality In The Workplace?

He ensures a meritocratic corporate culture, implements women-centric policies, and provides mentorship opportunities.

2. What Initiatives Has Hiranandani Communities Taken For Women’s Empowerment?

The company supports leadership programs, flexible work policies, and financial independence initiatives for women.

3. How Does Niranjan Hiranandani Support Women Outside Of His Business?

He contributes to education, entrepreneurship, and women-led social initiatives through various partnerships and sponsorships.

4. Why Is Gender Diversity Important In The Real Estate Sector?

Diverse leadership brings innovation, inclusivity, and balanced decision-making to an industry historically dominated by men.

5. How Can Other Businesses Follow Niranjan Hiranandani’s Approach?

By implementing inclusive policies, supporting women’s growth, and fostering mentorship-driven career advancements.

[fassina]

I see so many posts about how people are turning around on their criticism of Inquisition now Veilguard is out and how annoying that is, and that’s really interesting to me as somebody whose criticism of Inquisition has not changed lol.

Again I wasn’t annoyed by the same things as a lot of the fans though (I thought the backgrounds were okay, if a little under-utilised, but I didn’t find my inquisitor to be a totally devoid character like some. Maybe because the voice I used was Sumalee Montano? And I didn’t mind the limitations of being the Inquisitor, I only wish they’d leaned HARDER into the political implications of it) but also it was never my favourite either. Back then I was just as frustrated at how the attempt at open world went, and how baggy certain bits were compared to how rushed other parts were, that there was less consequence to how much political clout you had than would have been possible to implement. But I loved the companions, some of my favourites in the series. I loved that it felt like a workplace lol because it WAS. I enjoyed what we got of Orlais but wished that the game was primarily there so we could dive deeper, but I’m learning more and more that the politics that I enjoy is the least favourite part to most of the fandom. Blackwall is still a great character with a bad voice performance lol.

I think my only changed opinion is I’m maybe softer on the Cullen and Samson storyline. I still think Samson (and Calpernia) deserved a lot better from the writing but I’m glad that we had that level of complexity in both of those characters. The idea that Calpernia could have come back in datv….