#it's about every single fucking musician doing this

[h-f-k]

The thing about musicians relying more and more on "collectible items" is that maybe 2% of those items are actually collectible or worth collecting. Just because you're releasing 70 different versions of the same thing doesn't make it collectible. What is the value you're bringing with said variants? What else are you telling me, visually, with these new versions that couldn't be said/included/shown in the standard edition? What is the story/narrative you want to visually develop with these variants? What is the artistic value you bring with album version #6 that has a similar photo to the standard edition but this time is black and white? Is the medium or image treatment you chose to have as album cover #2 of any significance to what you're trying to say or is it just bc your label needs more variants to make more money and you need them to be on top of the charts?

It makes me sad because these "collectible items" decrease the artistic value of the album and its art direction/design, ESPECIALLY when it comes to artists that have copious amount of resources and contacts, and this and that to make incredible art and instead choose to make effortless (derogatory) album covers just so it's easier to change a few things to make 50 deluxe versions.

[dustofthedailylife]

Brief rant but there is something so appalling to me when I see a writer use AI-generated images (no I won't call it art because it isn't, tyvm) for the header/cover of their writing/fic.

People don't want their work scraped. Be it writing, visual arts, music or voices even. But then go and use AI-generated shit out of an art field they don't actively contribute to. It disgusts me. Have you no conscience or shame?

Most writers are actively against the use of AI. Many people don't want to read fics written by AI.

So for the love of god...

If you're against AI - fucking be against it in all art forms and not just your own. It's hypocritical af!

[youryanderedaddy]

When Life Gives Lemons

tw: female reader, technically non con because of stealthing, baby trapping, breeding, obsessive behavior, reader being a bit rude

You couldn’t believe the irony of your life. You were about to break up with your immature boyfriend, and he still managed to be grossly late to the date, unconsciously digging his own grave deeper. You had put on your best white shirt and the tightest skirt you owned, and you even went through the trouble of booking the latest hipster coffee shop close to the centre. He had been fifteen minutes late, to be exact, and when you brought it up, he simply shrugged a long sleazy smile, dragging his skeleton - shaped metal rings against the edge of the table.

“All in due time, princess.” He took a sip off his coffee - a single shot of espresso with no creamer, as always. “All in due time.” He repeated, reaching in his pocket for a pack of off - brand cigarettes. He really couldn’t afford any of the fancy ones. Once the cigarette was lit, he slowly brought it to his lips and inhaled deeply, letting his head relax against the chair. His thick neck tightened as he swallowed the deadly smoke, and even the sun seemed to avoid his messy dark locks, instead keeping the man in the shadows.

“What does that even mean?” You threw your hands around helplessly, sinking into your chair. “Don’t you want to know?” Axel teased, taking another puff. Although his expression was one of mild amusement, his sharp blue eyes were carefully following your every movement - wondering what will tip you off the most. “You know, you’re so fuckin’ hot when you’re mad, mami.” He smiled in a playful boyish way that once would have made you melt, but now only served as a reminder of his unserious nature.

“Stop playing around. I need to discuss something imp–”

“Shhh, don’t talk, babygirl. I need to show you something.” Axel interrupted, gripping the big guitar closer to his lap. ”I wrote you a song.” His thin fingers grazed the delicate transparent strings, forcing a catchy, although not fully polished melody out of the old thing. He took a deep breath, wetting his lips so the lyrics would come out softer. 

My girl knows how to set me

on flames she goes through 

the motions of the wind she

is a fireball, a fireball, on fire

“What the fuck, Axy.” You pounded your fists at the table, shaking the glasses and spilling coffee all over the wooden surface. You could feel everyone’s judging stare across your back, all of the other patrons were jeering and whispering about the two of you, and your cheeks were heating up by the moment. “I’ve told you countless times to stop writing those shitty songs. They don’t even rhyme, for fuck sake.” You whined, suddenly overwhelmed by helplessness. He was never going to change, was he? “This is exactly why I want to break up.”

The music stopped entirely. His dark sunglasses ended on the ground. 

“You wanna break up?” The musician repeated slowly, suddenly appearing awfully composed - so composed it made you look crazy. After that question he remained silent for a very long time, taking long drags off his cigarette while studying your face for any sign of your true feelings bleeding out. “Real’ funny, babe, real’ fun joke.” He forced a crooked smile, reaching in to squeeze your hand all the way through the table. “Now tell me, what’s wrong with the song? I stayed real’ late to compose it just for our date today.” He winked, which only made you feel worse.

“I am being serious, Axel. Let go of me.” Your tone turned icy and your ex boyfriend quickly released you, eyes filling with raw fear. “Wait, baby, we can talk about–”

“There is nothing to talk about. You’re such a child!” You blurted out, too frustrated to spare energy on fluttery words and sweet apologies. “I want to do my masters soon. You know I’m applying to Metwyorth - I can’t be seen hanging around with a high school dropout who does Saturday gigs for a living.” You continued, pursing your lips together. You knew you were being harsh, cruel even, but this was the only way to push him away. The musician could be awfully clingy, so you needed to be firm.

“A highschool dropout who made you scream your brains out.” Axel responded bitterly through clenched teeth, eyes growing dark with anger. You shook your head bashfully, avoiding his fiery gaze. “Sure, we had our fun,” You gestured vaguely at nothing in particular, trying to hide the shame blossoming on your sides. “But it’s time to wake up. I mean, be realistic. We live in different worlds.” You began to collect your things quickly, standing up to leave.

“Y/N!” He called out to you, causing you to turn back just for a second - you owed him that much for all the good memories you knew you both would have trouble forgetting. “You’re making a mistake. Please, think it through.” The man took a hold of your hand, caressing your fingers gently. “I know I can’t offer you much right now, but I really love you!” His eyes dilated, honest and clear like an untouched sea on a quiet day. 

“Goodbye, Axel.”

***

You meet him sooner that you’d like.

Two weeks later you’re drunk off your mind, dancing the night away with some of your girlfriends when you catch a pair of familiar eyes fluttering across your body from the other side of the room. It makes you feel hot all over - despite what you said back then, you felt each agonising moment of the break up. Even if the logical part of your brain knows you have no future with such a man, your body needs him, craves him. 

Axel keeps staring at you intensely, burning holes through your neck, your thighs, your lips. His yearning gaze lingers, completely miserable, and yet as lustful as the night he first wrapped his arms around you and claimed you as his. He can still feel your nails scratching his back red and bloody, sending shivers down his spine and setting fire in his loins. This staring game of yours lasts for approximately thirty minutes before he gives in and comes over to your table. He doesn’t say anything - doesn’t look at you or greet your friends, doesn’t even pretend to have any reason to approach you. He simply grabs you, swallows an airy pant, and drags you inside the bathroom.

You’re all over each other in no time. His hands are tangled in your hair and your nails are sinking into his warm flesh once again. You can’t breathe for a second, suffocated by a deep, longing kiss that he only spares you of once your lips start to turn blue. He licks your neck and bites at any spot vulnerable enough to steal a gasp out of you - and you return it by sucking on his collarbone until a purple hickey adorns his skin. You swiftly unzip his loose pants and start taking your dress off, but as you try to spread your legs, he turns you around facing the wall. 

“Fuck, I wanna do you from the back, princess.” Axel mumbles, one strong hand gripping your throat as the other gropes your breasts freely. You nod weakly, too turned on to comprehend any of the words he’s saying. “Ngh, wanna be able to pull your hair n’ shit.” His fist wraps around your ponytail, pulling slightly so you expose your neck to his teeth. You can already feel his throbbing manhood prob at your thighs, slowly moving towards your entrance. “Y-you have a condom on, right?” You manage to whimper through the little electric bursts of pleasure running through your whole body as he plays you like an instrument. He mumbles something like “yeah”, and in this state of mind that’s enough for you.

He starts sinking into your heat slowly, letting you adjust to his hard length inch by inch, then once you’ve settled, practically begging him to just give it to you, he begins thrusting painfully slow - really making you feel it going in and out, in and out in a perfect rhythm. Each time his cock brushes against your most sensitive spot, you’re reduced to a slick, desperate mess, but just as your thighs begin to go numb and you slip down, Axel catches both of your wrists and pins them to the wall, keeping you in place. You’re so wet you can hear the slap of skin on skin every time your gummy walls hug his member, but you’re too far gone to care about the nasty sound.

“F-fuck, baby, you’d be so fucking hot as a mother. Have you ever thought about it?” Your ex whispers against you, picking up the pace. You shake your head - kids have never been your priority, since you’re still so young and your education would always come first. “I thought about it. A lot, ‘n fact, when we were separated.” His heartbeat fastens. “Ugh, you’re still so tight, god…” His free hand dances at your hips, ogling and caressing any curve it can find. “When you dumped me, I was completely lost, ya know? Didn’t sober up for three days. But then I dreamt that I knocked you up accidentally. S-shit, did you just tighten up?”

Your whole body stiffens at his words. Your stomach fills with unexplainable dread - this whole conversation is turning you off, but somehow your body seems to have a mind of its own. 

“Q-quit it with the small talk, asshole.” You groan, pushing back so you’d get more friction between your legs. “Just fuck me, okay? I don’t need to hear your weird fantasies.” You hear yourself saying confidently despite the provocative position you’re currently stuck in - you can’t even see his face, but you know he’s probably laughing at your bossy comment. But instead he keeps blabbering on as if you’re not even there. “You were so beautiful, princess. So big and–” He bites his lower lip. “So fucking needy for me - just like now. You were dripping everywhere. You were so excited for our little baby.” He grunted hoarsely, reaching in to stroke your clit - and despite your best efforts, you let out a soft moan. 

“And we were a family - just you, n-ngh, me and the little guy.” Axel utters through clenched teeth, trying to hold out for as long as possible - savouring you in tiny little bites. “No stupid degrees or anythin’, just us two against the world.” He slows down further, now barely moving inside of you. It’s driving you crazy with anticipation - both his story and the way he’s fucking you. “And it made me think, we could really have all that - if it wasn’t for your stupid pride. All I need to do is knock you up. Just think about it.” The man grips your hips roughly, impaling you on his thickness. 

“Your tits will swell, your thighs will thicken; you’ll be so tired you’ll have to lay down all the time. You won’t even be able to touch yourself because of your belly.” He smiles at you gently, although you can’t see it. At this point you’re already so close to climax you can’t break through the cotton cloud haze that’s taken over your mind to truly focus. This is one of the reasons you had to break up with the musician - he could get you cockdrunk with a simple touch, and that vulnerability felt terrifying.

“And I will take care of you through every-” He kisses your cheek. “single–” He kisses you again. “step of the way.” He inhales deeply, thrusting in one final time before he spills inside you. “I love you, baby. I really can’t let you go.”

[fortheb0ys]

FUCK ME LIKE THE MEN BETWEEN THOSE PAGES

Bottom John Price x Top Male Reader

Just Price brain rot🤤 I've always wanted to a model for MLM porn sites ngl so I'm living through this fic🙏 As usual not proofread :)

FEM ALIGNED + MINORS DNI

Prices would be one of those faceless models for those erotic gay romance novels. All his work would be faceless. Just something he did to make money on the side.

It was a secret that was long forgotten. Memories replaced by his military service. His body more scarred than his younger self's. His own books but they were just collecting dust in a box.

When you got together, you had found one of the books Price had forgotten that was on a shelf. Your eyes grew wide as you noiced it was Price's shirtless body on the front cover. A small mole on his left hip was telltale that it was him.

Flipping the book over and reading the synopsis reveals the dirty content of it. All the colour washes from Price's face as he sees what you have in your hand.

Price was about to open his mouth to quickly deny it but saw your giddy excitement. Though Price felt a bit shameful, he told you that there was more. A lot more.

With much hesitation from him and a whole lot more convincing from you, Price lent you the books. His amazing body on every single one of them. A new scar here and there as the

He had been surprised that you never poked fun at him and that you were genuinely interested in his past works.

You'd admit that the sex scenes depicted were the main thing that got you interested. You'd imagine Price vividly as the characters he model on the front covers. It didn't take long for you to read through the lot of them.

When Price would be on deployment, he'd get a text from you.

Cum on the front cover or on the pages. Or others with your erect cock slotted like a bookmark between the pages with the dirtiest scenes, precum dripping onto the sheets.

You'd send worded texts underneath the photo like "Try these with me?" or "What if were we the ones to do this?"

Price hated himself for showing you the books right before the mission, making the wait painfully long.

Sexualy frustrated and slightly pissed he had to wait for his deployment to end, Price would have a lonely wank in his barracks. His fingers didn't feel right. His fantasies never felt like details in the books. Nothing felt like you.

Once he got back, Price had to fight back a boner as the anticipation took over him. He went through countless cigars trying to get his mind on something else. The 141 Boys knew something was up. Soap had to control the intrusive thoughts to ask if you were waiting naked when Price returned home.

Which he wasn't wrong. The moment Price came through that door he was already painfully hard. Before he could even open his mouth to greet you, you were on him like a fly to honey, attacking his neck with bruising kisses. Whispering the dirty dialog from one of the books made Price weak in the knees.

Thus was the beginning of your roleplay sex.

Your playtime is always different. Numerous scenarios with one thing in common: Mind blowing sex.

Price would play a royal guard, and you, the prince. A prince in a loveless engagement to a princess. A guard pleading loyalty as he rides the prince on the royal throne.

A grade slipping college student fucking his teacher in an empty classroom for extra credit. Blowjows underneath desks replaces the outdated method of study and paying attention to lectures.

A hunter who falls in love with a werewolf he's supposed to kill. The wolf is just a dumb puppy who needs to be told what to do. With a collar around his neck, ready to be tugged at and the willingness to please his master, puppy soon becomes skilled at lapping at master's hole.

A rowdy rockstar and his stressed out manager. The musician needing to burn off the adrenaline after the show and the poor management needing the stress fucked out of him. The real show was played backstage. The manager put on quite the proformance, his deep moans sounded much better than your singing.

A sex therapist that prefers to take on a more hands-on approach. That skilled tongue was used more than just giving advice.

Or lastly, a priest beguiled by a gorgeous sinner. Guilt was all he felt but it felt like true heaven. God would forgive any sin if he showed true repentance, right? Wouldn't Jesus have died for nothing if we didn't sin?

Sure, some where terrible written and some were written by women with a fetish for gay men. Seeing you act out the scenes without missing a beat or breaking out into laughter while you quoted the dirtiest and most ridiculous things.

You'd remember every dirty word uttered. Every scenario memorized. Price was starting to understand what those white women on TikTok saw in those fucking books. It was just too bad they couldn't live it out like he could.

[transgaysex]

before i go to sleep. the other day my sibling and i found the song performance we had when we were in elementary school which fucking haunted us as kids and thought was lost to time. its La Maîtresse En Rouge by Moulin À Musique and apparently thats a performance they did in Many Many schools and may still do it to this day ?

[ajortga]

love at first glance

pairing: tara carpenter x bass guitarist!fem reader

word count: 5.5k+

summary: in which tara admires your bass skills, then admires you even more.

author's note: please bear with me, i don't know what i'm doing but i'm just hoping these scrambled words just go well. tv girl mentioned!

-

based off request!

tara carpenter x masc! fem reader and reader is in a band, maybe like lead guitarist or bass? but like tara goes to a concert with all of the core 4 (+anika cuz i miss her) and like is mesmerized by reader. maybe they make eye contact during a song or sum? they leave the concert and tara is still thinking about reader and reader is still thinking about tara. cut to like later maybe at a party or a bar and they bump into each other and chop it up, but reader is like awkward-ish?

-

You’ve always had a love for anything that was related to music. Your parents made you take singing lessons ever since you were little. 

At first, you hated it. Singing Mary Had a Little Lamb in different keys was not entertaining. But as you grew older and probably didn’t need to sing that song every practice, you began to use your house’s grand piano that was left untouched for years. And then, being able to sing and knowing your keys inside and out wasn’t so bad after all. 

You spent countless times in the living room, the echo of your voice lingering against your house as you learned your favorite songs.

You wrote songs and composed as you experimented with your voice and the keys. It was almost never surprising when your parents caught you up late at night under your pillow, pencil scratching notes across lined pieces of paper. In every single talent show, audition, or musical, your name would be signed. Everyone in your family knew that one day, you’d grow to be a musician. 

People would even begin to see you whenever they were at warehouses and you’d be playing a piano. At every gathering, your relatives would ask, “Where is that little Y/N?” And your parents would look at each other with a knowing glance, both saying confidently, “Probably in the living room with that damn piano.”

You loved listening to music, making music, playing music, feeling your emotions in music, god, every time you’d go out, your earphones would be in your pockets.

So when you were gifted an acoustic guitar for your 12th birthday, to say the least, you were fucking thrilled. Instead of playing the piano 7 days a week, you’d play guitar for half those days. Gosh, was it hard learning a string instrument after playing piano for half your life? Maybe. But you loved it. 

You’d practice and practice, gradually getting better, then you’d play the electric and bass. And was the bass guitar a hell of a sound, you loved it. 

Then, the best thing ever happened to you. You had grouped up with your friends and quickly became a band with all your talents combined. Slowly but surely, did you begin to realize how far you had gone. Because in a blink of an eye, you were at concerts, fingers pressing down on your strings as it electrified through stadiums and arenas while people cheered. 

Cheered for you. That’s something you’ll never regret in your entire life.

-

You turn your bass’s machine head, plucking each string as you tune them before your concert. Nights like this never get old, you’d always be left with the adrenaline from every concert, like your body was refreshed when you slept under your hotel room’s covers.

As your hair and makeup stylist’s makeup brush dabs across your cheeks, you trace the outline of your bass guitar and look at yourself in the mirror. Layered hair, a black tank top over your toned arms, hidden beneath a red leather jacket. Your favorite part would probably be your nails painted red to compliment your hands. You had to keep them short though.

What would this night bring you? Everytime you close your eyes and listen, you can hear the faint echo of your bass vibrating through, lights swaying into the crowd, a smile forming on your face.

Every night had something different, there were different people, a different crowd, it makes you feel different every time. Yet you still feel the thrill and pride swell against your chest.

Junia, one of your closest friends that plays the drums, pops her head in. “You look hot,” she grins, “Jess said she’d come to pick us up at 40. You’re going to kill it, Bass.”

Bass. What an original nickname, you lean your chin into your palm as you raise your eyebrows, “You know it, June.” 

7:45.

-

Tara looks at herself in the mirror, Mindy and Chad screaming at each other while playing Jenga in the background. She pushes a stubborn strand of hair away from her eyelashes while she curls them. 

“CHEATER!-” Mindy yells, making the brunette flinch and breathe in frustration. She was not going to get her eyelashes pulled out.

After Tara was done with a cropped graphic tee, a jean skirt, and a cute little white bow in her hair, she walked through the hallway and into the living room, still adjusting her gold hoops.

There, Anika and her sister seemed the sanest out of them all. On the other hand, the twins were fighting over the remote. 

“Babies,” Sam mutters, pushing her dark brown hair back.

Anika pulls the remote out of both of their hands easily while Chad mutters ‘what the fuck’ under his breath. 

It was like being in a daycare. Tara ate a cookie while watching Anika throw the remote onto the sofa, wearing a lace tank top with jeans, “Mindss, why don’t we just leave the remote and find something else. Your hair is getting all poofy.” 

“And a little dingussy,” Chad adds.

Mindy smacks him, “Don’t ever use ‘dingussy’ to describe something. It sounds sexual.”

Before they could say furthermore, Tara jumps in, mentally begging them to shut up for a moment, “You have the keys, Sam?”

Sam pulls them out of the pocket in her jeans. 

Tara gives a small nod, looking a little over Sam, “Anika, tickets?”

“Yep, 5 of them,” she says, pulling out each ticket one by one with one hand and smoothing out Mindy’s hair with the other. When it was 5:30PM, they were all off, crawling into Sam’s car. Tara immediately sat in the passenger seat. 

I’m not sacrificing my hair by sitting in the middle seat, she thinks as she looks back at Anika, who was basically separating the two twins that were probably yelling in her ear at this point.

“You guys will love them. Jess has always been one of the most talented people I know in music. I have no doubt her band will be the best on stage.”

When Anika had first mentioned when she won a giveaway for a concert. It was for a barricade, but it was stated that they were allowed to be in the front row, the tickets she won had granted her that. Tara wasn’t very interested. Music just wasn’t something she always listened to on a daily basis. But there were 5, and no way would she miss out. 

So she listened to a song, played it on Spotify while walking to class. 

The scene shifts to a local coffee shop in Woodsboro.

“Let me tell you, the bass was fucking amazing! Brilliant!” Tara yaps excitedly to the four people in front of her. She loved how well the drums, electric, lyrics, and bass sounded. The bass blessed her ears. She had immediately added it to her favorites. 

“Bass, huh?” Anika smiles while drinking her coffee. “I think that’s one of the leads, Y/N. Jess always talks about how good she sounds, she usually comes up with all the riffs and lines.”

Y/N. It was unique, Tara made a note to remember it. Yet, she forgot about that conversation no less than 2 days after.

-

They all stepped out once they could see people lining up and buying the light up sticks that were controlled throughout the concert. Tara found it cool that the sticks had stars on them, in fact, the lights were one of the parts that made a concert a concert. 

Mindy was yelling happily and doing a little dance once their tickets got scanned and they all ran to the front row. 

Anika gave a cocky grin, “Maybe they’ll notice us because we’re in the front!”

It was thirty minutes until the background music came to a stop and the lights slowly started to dim. People were screaming, Tara’s heart was pounding against her chest. It was dead silent, whispers and occasional excited screams echoed.

“Oh my god, it’s happening,” Mindy whispers loudly, holding onto Anika as they look at the curtains.

They wait a moment, then two, and by the third one, drums begin to echo. ‘Tsst’ being echoed, before it follows with a loud 16th beat of drums. Then, the curtains open as Tara’s eyes widen.

Are you sick of me?

Would you like to be?

I'm trying to tell you something,

Something that I already said

The drums softly fill Tara’s ears, as she watches them play, she finally notices you. Perfect layered hair, messy in all the right ways. The bass girl. Something about the way the warmth of the light danced across your face in all the right ways captivated her. The way your deep red leather jacket hung over your shoulder, exposing your defined collar bones and toned arms while you pressed on strings.

Oh god, it felt as if a new story line with different love interests began to change for Tara. She could see the veins against your slim hands as they traveled across your guitar with ease. You mouthed the lyrics, enjoying yourself as you close your eyes and sway softly to the beat. 

You like a pretty boy,

With a pretty voice

Who is trying to sell you something,

Something that you already have

The drums left Tara’s thoughts, now hearing you and the way that your bass adds on to the magic of it all. You’re just standing there, your bangs swiping across your features as you tuck it to your sides, smiling to yourself as you scan the crowd for a moment then look back down to your strings.

Maybe it was the way you looked like you were the right person for this part–to be on stage like you were meant for it. Or maybe it was the way your gaze flickered to the front row and landed on Tara’s wide ones. She could see the way you tilted your head and gave her a curious, wondering look, before giving her a small smile. 

Oh my god, your smile was so cute. If she could describe it, it’s like the kind of smile that made her all giggly and was so contagious that she felt herself slowly smile.

The lights shine over your face, making everything about you glow. You pluck at the strings as you mouth the chorus to Tara. Her eyes searched all over your face. You don’t break eye contact with her.

But if you're too drunk to drive,

And the music is right

She might let you stay,

But just for the night

“And if she grabs for your hand, and drags you along,” Tara mouths back in time with the song.

One of your eyebrows raise as the light shines onto you once again, god, she can almost hear your soft, breathy voice teasingly singing, “She might want a kiss before the end of this song..”

Anika screams, jumping up and down and hyping everyone up, waving her heart stick in beat with the song. 

Because love can burn like a cigarette…

-

By the end of the concert, Tara was love struck. Very very love struck. It was late when her and the four of her friends walked out, the stars shining just a little brighter. She couldn’t get you out of her head. She might have grown gray hairs. How could you be more than any other celebrity crush?

She prayed to the universe that it would align you both together. Just like each star was in the night sky.

It’s bad, Loving Machine is playing and she can only think about you strumming your guitar.

Here she comes walking down the street,

Maddie Klein and her fabulous loving machine-

“Earth to Tara, hello?” Anika pauses the music, waving her hand into the girl’s face. It was almost like a record scratch moment as Tara blinked and looked around. “Oh, sorry, what?”

“Did you like the concert?” She asks, holding onto her star light up as the red light makes the glitter under her eyes sparkle. Anika was now in the middle, the car a little quieter since Chad was now in the passenger seat.

“Oh yeah, I loved it.” Tara answers, half of her attention slipping away. She starts to see you from a camera, lighting cast against your tan skin, a TV effect on you, making your movements jerky. 

The rest of the people are fading away, their voices, so loud and eager. Blah blah blah blah… Y/N.. Bassist. Love of her life.

Dreamy sigh.

Blah.. Blah.. “Yeah the bassist was hot.” Mindy’s voice suddenly being processed.

“What?” Tara immediately turns away from the window and looks at Mindy on the opposite side. Oh god, now she was going to have to fight for you? "No! Go find someone else to admire!” She grumbles, before immediately looking away.

The whole car shakes as they all laugh, playfully hitting Tara. “See? She was literally summoned, baby!” Anika giggles, talking to Mindy. “She wasn’t giving any shits when we were talking, and as soon as we talked about Senorita Y/N, she was like poof!”

Sam looks from the rearview mirror, an eyebrow raised, “Already? One concert that lasted two hours and she’s already wrapped you around her little finger?”

Little fingers, those veiny hands that played so smoothly across the-

Chad turns around excitedly, like a child peeking at surprise presents, “She was literally captivated the whole damn concert! You should’ve seen her, a love sick puppy!”

Her sister cackles, the car moving as she keeps snorting, “Gotta admit though, she’s fine wine.”

“Sam!” Tara rubs her cheeks, she seriously hoped she wasn’t going to have to battle till death for you.

“Chill!” Sam coaxes, putting one hand up in the air, “I would totally go for her if you weren’t interested. Didn’t think you had a thing for ‘Sam accepted’ girls.”

The freckled cheek girl couldn’t help but sigh, the thought of you still lingering in her mind. Like a twinkling little Melody who’s lyrics couldn’t get out of her mind, even when she slept.

-

It had been a week. Tara says that she doesn’t think of you too often, but every single time she hears your band’s song, you end up in her mind for the whole day. Every time she steps into a coffee shop, she wonders if you’d be the person to give a free concert. 

She wonders if you’re as sweet as your name sounds. She wonders if you’d hold doors for others or walk old ladies down the street. She wonders if your hand would fit hers. She wonders if you had even thought of her after the curtains closed.

She wonders if you smell good, if you’d smell like a musky, sweet, fruity vanilla-y scent with leather undertones. She sure hoped so.

To say the least, you’ve thought about the brunette just as much. You were having fun, strumming your guitar and feeling the beat radiate off your skin. Until you lay eyes on her. She had wide, brown doe eyes that made your knees buckle. 

She was heaven-sent. You could even make out her tan freckled cheeks. And you were almost in denial when she was looking at you. It was always who was singing that people looked at, heck, you did too. But you were looking at her. And she was looking at you.

Plenty of people might have looked at you, but she was different. Like she was mesmerized by how you played. Like she was a moth to your flame. 

In fact, you don’t know if anyone has ever looked at you with that much admiration.

The girl was so beautifully written, you wished you knew who she was. Instead, she was one out of 8 billion people out there, in a blink of an eye, a close of a curtain, she was off.

-

Tara looked at herself in the mirror, standing there like.. She didn’t even know, her serious eyes trailing down to what she was wearing, before turning to Anika slowly.

“Anika, I look like a hot dog.” She cries, looking at the way the costume swallowed her whole in the fitting room.

“That’s because you’re wearing a hot dog costume, Tar. But you look like a steaming hot hot dog!” Anika shakes her head, her head only visible since she was basically a whole mustard bottle. 

Mindy waddles through the living room, a red ketchup bottle, a red dangling earring complimenting her poofy hair. “Has anyone seen my earring? I can’t find it! It was in my purse and I thought if it looked good, I’d totally buy this.”

Chad walks in the girl’s fitting room, slightly peeking as Sam walks out of her dressing room, a serious expression on their face, a cookie and milk costume. 

Tara wants to laugh, but no way in hell was she going to wear this at a costume party, at least not at a serious one.

-

After actually taking it seriously, Tara decides on a pirate outfit, tying up her bandana. 

She can almost hear the music blasting from her apartment, which is filled with laughter and chatting from her ‘family.’

Her eyes skim over her board, looking for her calendar that was usually meant for school, roaming around the small photos of you and a heart drawn over your face. She traces over it, before getting ready to leave, not even looking at the calendar. 

Maybe the calendar was just an excuse.

After 5 songs and a half of your band’s music, the core five, including sweet Anika, open the door. A heavy scent of booze fills their senses, sweat, and a mix of perfumes all lingered. Not to mention, it was stuffy.

“Ugh, do they ever think about AC?” Sam grumbles, clearly not a party person as she gets whacked across the face from a toilet plumber that belonged to a person who was wearing a damn toilet costume. Mindy cackled, before tripping and almost crashing into them, luckily her girlfriend tugged her back.

They pushed against cowboy hats and random inflatable dinosaurs, across the dance floor, and to the drinks station.

Tara did not leave empty handed, her mouth gulping down the bubbly bitterness of alcohol. 

She was buzzed, a few drinks here and she was flushed and giggling, so she made sure to think about her intake. As she parted from the other four to find a trash can, scanning the groups of people. Sometimes she found people she knew at school, cute boys, just people she’s seen.

Tara took a different route back to her friends, the music growing louder in her ears when she got near the dance floor, slivering through bodies. It was almost inevitable that her nose would scrunch, too strong of a perfume, or just sweat.. It made her nauseous. 

Where was she going? She didn’t know, she stood on her tippy toes, her ruffled blouse crinkling as she searched for her friends.

Her face smacked right into someone, her hand automatically being placed on their chest. She opened her mouth, about to apologize and prepare for a scolding until her nose twitched. A fruity and sweet vanilla-y smell, and a light leathery contrast.. No?..

“Shoot,” you look down, your drink almost spilling on yourself as you look at the shorter person as you smooth out their hair. Did you ruin it? “I’m sorry, are you okay?”

Tara looks at her outfit, perfectly fine, no stains. Hearing your soft, breathy voice, it was unrecognizable to her at first.

“No, it’s totally fine, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Tara says, immediately looking up and seeing your big curious eyes.

Oh my god.

Your eyes search hers, like you’re scanning her. Like you feel you’ve seen her before. No, you know you have. But where? The trace of her nose, doe eyes, oh! Tara almost puts a hand over her mouth because she can almost see the swirling sense of recognition in your eyes.

You opened your mouth to say something, maybe to ask about the concert, but you closed it. You don’t even know if she noticed you, maybe she was spacing out and was not acknowledging you during your concert a few weeks ago.

When it came to people, especially ones you crushed on, you were all stuttering words and pink cheeks.

The shorter girl sees the way you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and she registers what you’re wearing as her eyes trail down. And fuck, you looked angellic. Seriously.

A halo over your head and wings enveloping your sides. A black corset and ruffled skirt that showed a little of your legs, which were covered with tights. God, she thinks she can see the muscles as you cross one leg over the other.

It immediately makes you think she’s judging you. This costume was not your cup of tea, but your friends invited you to match with them, all angels in different colors.

The little pirate instead gives you a genuine look, “I like your costume,” she says, focusing a little too much on your toned arms and slightly flushed cheeks.

“I um.. Thank you..?” You bite your tongue, not knowing her name. In what chance do you get to meet the girl that made you think soulmates were real once again? At least a 1 in 300 chance. 

“Tara,” she answers for you, pretending she didn’t already have your name embedded in the back of her head. 

“I’m Y/N,” you bite a smile, she probably didn’t recognize you. You take a small sip from your drink, nose scrunching at the taste.

“You’re good at the bass,” she says nonchalantly, and you almost choke on your drink. 

You didn’t think she’d recognize you, but now knowing that, you tilt your head. “Thank you. It comes from years of practice. What did you think?” You were genuinely curious.

“I think you’re just so good at the bass..” She mumbles, again, trailing off, before clearing her throat. “I mean, the bass always makes the songs so much better! You know? It’s like realizing how amazing something really is when you notice it-”

“I appreciate it,” you say, now aware of your surroundings because instead of where you two just bumped into each other, you were sitting at a table. You turn your head, looking at where you were, probably near the back. 

Tara took the opportunity to notice your damn jawline, so perfect and sleek and defined-

“I like your freckles,” you admit, voice breathy. You turn back to look at her while batting your eyelashes, Tara’s eyes trained on how your hands.. Veiny hands lifted the cup to your lips.

The compliment almost catches her off guard, because with all the compliments she might get, freckles were usually not on the list. It used to make her insecure, but the way you said it and looked said otherwise. The alcohol was definitely taking a toll on you, because you were staring at her with no shame whatsoever.

Wide, searching eyes, it looked as if you were trying to memorize every detail. 

The flutters in Tara’s stomach would’ve lasted longer. Except her eyes teared away from yours as she could see a very familiar ketchup and mustard costume and two other people behind them.

“Oh my god!” She groans quietly, covering her face as she scoots deeper into the booth.

She completely forgot that she slithered away from them, getting side tracked.

The brunette could die from embarrassment. You on the other hand.. Just prettily sitting there with a curious look on your face, the small warmth of the lamp casting a glow onto your face.

You bite your lip, trying to fight back a small giggle as you peek at the costumes that you can almost kind of guess who they are to Tara.

-

“SHE’S LOOKING THIS WAY!” Mindy hollers, tugging the mustard bottle next to her as Chad scribbles something on a piece of paper.

“Tara’s literally hiding from us.”

“Hold it up!”

-

They’re screaming at each other. You can’t hear it from all the music and party chatter, but you can definitely figure it out from their expressions. For a moment, they turn away from you, so you can’t see them.

You slip on a leather jacket that was in your bag.

A hiding Tara is in the corner of the booth, you raise your eyebrows at her.

It doesn’t take long before the four people across the room slowly turn to you in synchronization. 

“Um, I don’t-” You start, feeling a little awkward.

They hold up a paper, and you can’t even see what the words are saying. It’s at least the size of a penny. And from here, you can’t even make out the words.

-

“Dingus,” Mindy shouts to her twin, noticing the confused expression on your face as you try to understand what the paper is saying. She finally turns the paper around after holding it up. “It’s too small, that’s why!”

-

One of the four holds up a finger, signaling you to give them a moment as they adjust, before turning around.

‘Give her your numbar’ The sign says, you still don’t get it. Oh, number. You grab a tissue from the booth, and take out a sharpie from your pocket. Sharpies were always needed whenever you went out. To write down something on your hand, to sign autographs..

You slip the paper to Tara, giving her a small smile. She was definitely embarrassed. She didn’t even notice you slipping it to her, because after 5 seconds of you sliding it to her again, she still was clueless! The girl, instead, turned around to look out, immediately still seeing her stupid friends.

You sigh, putting the paper into your pocket. You feel a little bad for her.

Party lights fill the empty crevices of the room while you scoot out of the booth and stand up, pretending you didn’t notice the four people who were staring into the back of your skull.

“I think my friends are playing some Uno, you wanna come?” You offer, guiding her out of the booth as you look down at her.

“Sure.”

-

As the game went on, the last two players in the center still battling it out, Tara could see you were all fuzzy and flushed. 

You were definitely drunk. Too drunk to drive.

Your knees were nudged against hers, a little closer than expected, cuddled into her, but she didn’t mind. God no she definitely didn’t.

She was talking a lot, and you were always open ears and one of the best listeners. And then you would ramble and Tara would listen. It made you both feel heard and understood.

After a moment, you remember something. 

“Can I borrow your phone real quick? Uh, my phone is dead right now and I have to text a friend where I’m at.” You lie, your words slightly mushed together.

“Sure,” Tara says, unlocking her phone and handing it to you, a little drunk. You try to ignore the fact that the wallpaper is you from the concert she attended weeks ago.

You slip into the contacts, adding your contact and changing the name to; y/n, the bass guitarist ♡.

She didn’t even notice for the rest of the night.

As the sun slept at night, Tara stared at the ceiling, her vinyl spinning while a crackled “Say Yes to Heaven” reverberated around her bedroom.

She wished she could’ve stayed so much longer, but her friends had to leave, and there was no way she was taking an Uber or driving when tipsy.

Tara wanted to ask for your number, but because you never asked, maybe you didn’t because this didn’t mean as much as it did to her.

Curiosity was getting the best of her as she checked the messages on her phone, wondering how you typed like to your friends. But to her surprise, there were no messages to a number she didn’t recognize. The last number was just to Sam.

Her nose wrinkled, swiping to check the apps recently opened as she clicked the recent one. 

Dimples creased against her cheeks as she saw your name with a little heart. She immediately clicked to message you. But to her surprise, you had already done so.

 y/n, the bass guitarist ♡: whatcha doing? i hope ur not asleep yet>:(

tara ☆🧭: thankfully not yet, i’m in bed. u know, i was going to be a little sad than i’d like to admit if i didn’t get your number. 

 y/n, the bass guitarist ♡: i did hand you a paper, but you were hiding in the corner of the booth and i thought it would be easier this way

It took her a moment to think of what to say, before she thought of something she never thought she’d do late at night.

tara ☆🧭: do u wanna call? maybe just talk to each other till one of us falls asleep.

You usually weren't the person to connect over facetimes and calls, sometimes you didn't know what to say in the moment. You don't know..

She doesn’t get a response for a minute, before her phone vibrates in her hand and she swipes to answer.

Your hair was let down loose, in an oversized tee that even then she could still see your collarbones. You give a sleepy smile.

“Tara,” you say softly, and something in Tara thumps because you look so happy to see her. She grins back, shifting so she could see you better.

“I’ve never really done one of these,” your quiet voice says, a warmer tone casting over your face. “Do you want to say hi to Cinnamon? He’s my puppy.” You say, pushing your hair back.

The brunette nods, “Puppies are so cute, my sister isn’t very fond though. They sometimes make her sneeze.”

“Oh, allergies you could get a poodle breed or something, Cinnamon doesn’t shed much,” you agree, your camera slightly shaking as she can slightly hear you call your dog's name in a cute voice. “Come here, boy!”

Seconds later, you bring out your puppy, which lolls outs his tongue as you press a kiss to his head. Tara can see your red nails as you mess up his hair.

“Tell me about yourself,” Tara says, looking at you through the screen with pure curiosity.

“I-” You pause, thinking for a moment before shaking your head. “I think you should tell me about yourself first. It’s late and I want to listen to you. As much as I’d try to stay up, I’d fall asleep if you went second.” You murmur, cuddling with Cinnamon.

What you said made Tara feel something she doesn’t feel often. Appreciated? Well, she always wants to listen to others when calling, then she might go second, but when you brought up her going first? That made her feel fireworks.

“Okay, what do you want to know first?”

“What’s your favorite memory and why?”

-

As an hour, then two passes, you begin to tell Tara about yourself. She’s never felt so heard before. Both your lamps are off, now the only light from each others screens.

She can tell you’re beginning to doze off. The way you’re pausing and blinking sleepily before murmuring a little too softly. 

“What is something that you hate?”

You don’t say anything for a moment, your light breaths heard on the other end as you shift slightly and prop up your phone.

“Peppercorns..” You yawn, keeping your eyes half open. “They’re fine for seasoning, but when I bite into them, god.. It tastes so bad..”

You pause again, eyes heavy as you blink. “When you feel like you have to change for other people to like you. When you have to be someone you’re not because of people that don’t make you feel like you can be yourself.”

Tara nods, rubbing her eyes as she admires your defined features, even from the darkness. She could see the softness too. If she looked enough.

“I think those people make me feel the worst. Not wanting to be the one laughed at so you change to the one that’s laughing. Or when people talk down on the things you love. It hurts. And that’s something that I hope no one goes through.”

Wow, something about that makes her get to know the kind of person you are by a landslide.

“That’s a good response. What about your favorite fruit?”

“Mmm.. Watermelon. The sweet ones.. It’s so refreshing and…” You trail off, your eyes closing as your breathing evens out. Your lips were slightly parted, your puppy making a small whimper as he snuggles into you.

It’s silent, except for the faint white noise from Tara’s ceiling fan. You looked like a dream. Everything you talked about made Tara see nothing but good. And knowing that makes her feel like she should start seeing things the way you do.

A car passes by, the softest lyrics playing, it lulls Tara to bed.

We were listening to lovers rock

In her bedroom

You both fall asleep on call, maybe people were meant for each other.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

MIT libraries are thriving without Elsevier

I'm coming to BURNING MAN! On TUESDAY (Aug 27) at 1PM, I'm giving a talk called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE!" at PALENQUE NORTE (7&E). On WEDNESDAY (Aug 28) at NOON, I'm doing a "Talking Caterpillar" Q&A at LIMINAL LABS (830&C).

Once you learn about the "collective action problem," you start seeing it everywhere. Democrats – including elected officials – all wanted Biden to step down, but none of them wanted to be the first one to take a firm stand, so for months, his campaign limped on: a collective action problem.

Patent trolls use bullshit patents to shake down small businesses, demanding "license fees" that are high, but much lower than the cost of challenging the patent and getting it revoked. Collectively, it would be much cheaper for all the victims to band together and hire a fancy law firm to invalidate the patent, but individually, it makes sense for them all to pay. A collective action problem:

https://locusmag.com/2013/11/cory-doctorow-collective-action/

Musicians get royally screwed by Spotify. Collectively, it would make sense for all of them to boycott the platform, which would bring it to its knees and either make it pay more or put it out of business. Individually, any musician who pulls out of Spotify disappears from the horizon of most music fans, so they all hang in – a collective action problem:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/21/off-the-menu/#universally-loathed

Same goes for the businesses that get fucked out of 30% of their app revenues by Apple and Google's mobile business. Without all those apps, Apple and Google wouldn't have a business, but any single app that pulls out commits commercial suicide, so they all hang in there, paying a 30% vig:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/15/private-law/#thirty-percent-vig

That's also the case with Amazon sellers, who get rooked for 45-51 cents out of every dollar in platform junk fees, and whose prize for succeeding despite this is to have their product cloned by Amazon, which underprices them because it doesn't have to pay a 51% rake on every sale. Without third-party sellers there'd be no Amazon, but it's impossible to get millions of sellers to all pull out at once, so the Bezos crime family scoops up half of the ecommerce economy in bullshit fees:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

This is why one definition of "corruption" is a system with "concentrated gains and diffuse losses." The company that dumps toxic waste in your water supply reaps all the profits of externalizing its waste disposal costs. The people it poisons each bear a fraction of the cost of being poisoned. The environmental criminal has a fat warchest of ill-gotten gains to use to bribe officials and pay fancy lawyers to defend it in court. Its victims are each struggling with the health effects of the crimes, and even without that, they can't possibly match the polluter's resources. Eventually, the polluter spends enough money to convince the Supreme Court to overturn "Chevron deference" and makes it effectively impossible to win the right to clean water and air (or a planet that's not on fire):

https://www.cfr.org/expert-brief/us-supreme-courts-chevron-deference-ruling-will-disrupt-climate-policy

Any time you encounter a shitty, outrageous racket that's stable over long timescales, chances are you're looking at a collective action problem. Certainly, that's the underlying pathology that preserves the scholarly publishing scam, which is one of the most grotesque, wasteful, disgusting frauds in our modern world (and that's saying something, because the field is crowded with many contenders).

Here's how the scholarly publishing scam works: academics do original scholarly research, funded by a mix of private grants, public funding, funding from their universities and other institutions, and private funds. These academics write up their funding and send it to a scholarly journal, usually one that's owned by a small number of firms that formed a scholarly publishing cartel by buying all the smaller publishers in a string of anticompetitive acquisitions. Then, other scholars review the submission, for free. More unpaid scholars do the work of editing the paper. The paper's author is sent a non-negotiable contract that requires them to permanently assign their copyright to the journal, again, for free. Finally, the paper is published, and the institution that paid the researcher to do the original research has to pay again – sometimes tens of thousands of dollars per year! – for the journal in which it appears.

The academic publishing cartel insists that the millions it extracts from academic institutions and the billions it reaps in profit are all in service to serving as neutral, rigorous gatekeepers who ensure that only the best scholarship makes it into print. This is flatly untrue. The "editorial process" the academic publishers take credit for is virtually nonexistent: almost everything they publish is virtually unchanged from the final submission format. They're not even typesetting the paper:

https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s00799-018-0234-1

The vetting process for peer-review is a joke. Literally: an Australian academic managed to get his dog appointed to the editorial boards of seven journals:

https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/olivia-doll-predatory-journals

Far from guarding scientific publishing from scams and nonsense, the major journal publishers have stood up entire divisions devoted to pay-to-publish junk science. Elsevier – the largest scholarly publisher – operated a business unit that offered to publish fake journals full of unreveiwed "advertorial" papers written by pharma companies, packaged to look like a real journal:

https://web.archive.org/web/20090504075453/http://blog.bioethics.net/2009/05/merck-makes-phony-peerreview-journal/

Naturally, academics and their institutions hate this system. Not only is it purely parasitic on their labor, it also serves as a massive brake on scholarly progress, by excluding independent researchers, academics at small institutions, and scholars living in the global south from accessing the work of their peers. The publishers enforce this exclusion without mercy or proportion. Take Diego Gomez, a Colombian Masters candidate who faced eight years in prison for accessing a single paywalled academic paper:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2014/07/colombian-student-faces-prison-charges-sharing-academic-article-online

And of course, there's Aaron Swartz, the young activist and Harvard-affiliated computer scientist who was hounded to death after he accessed – but did not publish – papers from MIT's JSTOR library. Aaron had permission to access these papers, but JSTOR, MIT, and the prosecutors Stephen Heymann and Carmen Ortiz argued that because he used a small computer program to access the papers (rather than clicking on each link by hand) he had committed 13 felonies. They threatened him with more than 30 years in prison, and drew out the proceedings until Aaron was out of funds. Aaron hanged himself in 2013:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aaron_Swartz

Academics know all this terrible stuff is going on, but they are trapped in a collective action problem. For an academic to advance in their field, they have to publish, and they have to get their work cited. Academics all try to publish in the big prestige journals – which also come with the highest price-tag for their institutions – because those are the journals other academics read, which means that getting published is top journal increases the likelihood that another academic will find and cite your work.

If academics could all agree to prioritize other journals for reading, then they could also prioritize other journals for submissions. If they could all prioritize other journals for submissions, they could all prioritize other journals for reading. Instead, they all hold one another hostage, through a wicked collective action problem that holds back science, starves their institutions of funding, and puts their colleagues at risk of imprisonment.

Despite this structural barrier, academics have fought tirelessly to escape the event horizon of scholarly publishing's monopoly black hole. They avidly supported "open access" publishers (most notably PLoS), and while these publishers carved out pockets for free-to-access, high quality work, the scholarly publishing cartel struck back with package deals that bundled their predatory "open access" journals in with their traditional journals. Academics had to pay twice for these journals: first, their institutions paid for the package that included them, then the scholars had to pay open access submission fees meant to cover the costs of editing, formatting, etc – all that stuff that basically doesn't exist.

Academics started putting "preprints" of their work on the web, and for a while, it looked like the big preprint archive sites could mount a credible challenge to the scholarly publishing cartel. So the cartel members bought the preprint sites, as when Elsevier bought out SSRN:

https://www.techdirt.com/2016/05/17/disappointing-elsevier-buys-open-access-academic-pre-publisher-ssrn/

Academics were elated in 2011, when Alexandra Elbakyan founded Sci-Hub, a shadow library that aims to make the entire corpus of scholarly work available without barrier, fear or favor:

https://sci-hub.ru/alexandra

Sci-Hub neutralized much of the collective action trap: once an article was available on Sci-Hub, it became much easier for other scholars to locate and cite, which reduced the case for paying for, or publishing in, the cartel's journals:

https://arxiv.org/pdf/2006.14979

The scholarly publishing cartel fought back viciously, suing Elbakyan and Sci-Hub for tens of millions of dollars. Elsevier targeted prepress sites like academia.edu with copyright threats, ordering them to remove scholarly papers that linked to Sci-Hub:

https://svpow.com/2013/12/06/elsevier-is-taking-down-papers-from-academia-edu/

This was extremely (if darkly) funny, because Elsevier's own publications are full of citations to Sci-Hub:

https://eve.gd/2019/08/03/elsevier-threatens-others-for-linking-to-sci-hub-but-does-it-itself/

Meanwhile, scholars kept the pressure up. Tens of thousands of scholars pledged to stop submitting their work to Elsevier:

http://thecostofknowledge.com/

Academics at the very tops of their fields publicly resigned from the editorial board of leading Elsevier journals, and published editorials calling the Elsevier model unethical:

https://www.theguardian.com/science/blog/2012/may/16/system-profit-access-research

And the New Scientist called the racket "indefensible," decrying the it as an industry that made restricting access to knowledge "more profitable than oil":

https://www.newscientist.com/article/mg24032052-900-time-to-break-academic-publishings-stranglehold-on-research/

But the real progress came when academics convinced their institutions, rather than one another, to do something about these predator publishers. First came funders, private and public, who announced that they would only fund open access work:

https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-018-06178-7

Winning over major funders cleared the way for open access advocates worked both the supply-side and the buy-side. In 2019, the entire University of California system announced it would be cutting all of its Elsevier subscriptions:

https://www.science.org/content/article/university-california-boycotts-publishing-giant-elsevier-over-journal-costs-and-open

Emboldened by the UC system's principled action, MIT followed suit in 2020, announcing that it would no longer send $2m every year to Elsevier:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/12/digital-feudalism/#nerdfight

It's been four years since MIT's decision to boycott Elsevier, and things are going great. The open access consortium SPARC just published a stocktaking of MIT libraries without Elsevier:

https://sparcopen.org/our-work/big-deal-knowledge-base/unbundling-profiles/mit-libraries/

How are MIT's academics getting by without Elsevier in the stacks? Just fine. If someone at MIT needs access to an Elsevier paper, they can usually access it by asking the researchers to email it to them, or by downloading it from the researcher's site or a prepress archive. When that fails, there's interlibrary loan, whereby other libraries will send articles to MIT's libraries within a day or two. For more pressing needs, the library buys access to individual papers through an on-demand service.

This is how things were predicted to go. The libraries used their own circulation data and the webservice Unsub to figure out what they were likely to lose by dropping Elsevier – it wasn't much!

https://unsub.org/

The MIT story shows how to break a collective action problem – through collective action! Individual scholarly boycotts did little to hurt Elsevier. Large-scale organized boycotts raised awareness, but Elsevier trundled on. Sci-Hub scared the shit out of Elsevier and raised awareness even further, but Elsevier had untold millions to spend on a campaign of legal terror against Sci-Hub and Elbakyan. But all of that, combined with high-profile defections, made it impossible for the big institutions to ignore the issue, and the funders joined the fight. Once the funders were on-side, the academic institutions could be dragged into the fight, too.

Now, Elsevier – and the cartel – is in serious danger. Automated tools – like the Authors Alliance termination of transfer tool – lets academics get the copyright to their papers back from the big journals so they can make them open access:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/26/take-it-back/

Unimaginably vast indices of all scholarly publishing serve as important adjuncts to direct access shadow libraries like Sci-Hub:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/28/clintons-ghost/#cornucopia-concordance

Collective action problems are never easy to solve, but they're impossible to address through atomized, individual action. It's only when we act as a collective that we can defeat the corruption – the concentrated gains and diffuse losses – that allow greedy, unscrupulous corporations to steal from us, wreck our lives and even imprison us.

Community voting for SXSW is live! If you wanna hear RIDA QADRI and me talk about how GIG WORKERS can DISENSHITTIFY their jobs with INTEROPERABILITY, VOTE FOR THIS ONE!

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/16/the-public-sphere/#not-the-elsevier

[bonesandthebees]

guys. we are missing out on the potential of an elementary school PTA au for qsmp. think real housewives kind of drama. quackity is the PTA president because he's old friends with a lot of the school board even though he doesn't show up to like half the meetings because he's busy. there's so much gossip about who the father of his kid is and he definitely gets judgemental side eye from the other parents about it. tilin is doing well at least? even if they do spend more time at roier and jaiden's house than their own sometimes.

bad is another other single parent but he doesn't get gossiped about because he always runs the bake sale fundraiser and does a great job at it so no one wants to upset him. bad and dapper are the type of parent child duo where bad keeps dapper up to date on ALL the drama going on with the other parents (to a child friendly degree) and dapper is going to grow up to be the worst gossip just like his dad.

no one knows what the fuck is going on with charlie and mariana's marriage. if you ask charlie they're in the middle of a divorce. if you ask mariana they're doing perfectly well they just got into a couple's spat this week and charlie is dramatic. what do you mean it happens every week? no no you misunderstood they're doing fine they're definitely not getting a divorce. literally the only thing they have going for them is how both of them went to bat for juanaflippa when she told them she was a girl it's the sole reason the other parents respect them. what's a more pressing issue is that juanaflippa keeps trying to start fights on the playground and instead of discouraging her charlie and mariana both cheer her on and give her lessons on how to punch people.

phil is one of the older parents and is already experienced since he has an adult child and wasn't planning on having another, but he's done the parent game before which is probably part of why chayanne is at the top of his class while also excelling in his karate classes, softball practice, cross country team, etc. missa is his trophy husband who's just happy to be there. literal "she's everything / he's just ken" moment.

yknow when there's that one mom in the PTA group who is very stereotypically attractive and everyone is convinced she was the mistress for her current husband and caused his last divorce? that's foolish. no one trusts him to be around their partners despite the fact that he didn't cheat!!! at the same time, the minute doors are closed everyone is trying to flirt with him and gets frustrated when he insists he's loyal to vegetta. at least leonarda seems happy.

jaiden and roier are like the picture perfect parents with bobby. he and chayanne constantly compete for the top spot in their class. both jaiden and roier work as lawyers and there was a rumor going around that they were representing charlie and mariana respectively for potential divorce number 3 but this didn't seem to cause any tension between them. roier takes over to lead the PTA meetings when quackity can't make it while jaiden sits in the corner awkwardly trying to keep charlie from getting into an argument with mariana again.

no one has seen spreen in ages. there's another rumored divorce going on between him and fit but instead of making it as public as charlie and mariana's problems fit just makes snide comments about his absent husband here and there.

tallulah transferred to the school in the middle of the year and phil invited wilbur to the PTA meetings so he could be involved in the school. quackity and wilbur are exes and while wilbur insists tilin isn't his kid no one quite believes him. he's a very young single parent though and clearly has no idea what he's doing so even if it's a bit strange that his kid is almost the same age as his little brother chayanne, the other parents are relieved that phil seems to be taking the reigns to help him out. also wilbur is a famous musician and he's gotten asked for autographs from some of the other parents of kids in tallulah's class.

dan and maxo only showed up to the first PTA meeting and never came back. trump transferred schools and no one has heard from them since.

[redstarwriting]

the clash | iii. black planet

hobie brown x goth!reader

word count: 2.5k

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings: language, insults, hobie hating you, you hating hobie, needles mentioned, slight injury from said needle

a/n: is this one long? yes. do i care? no because it was fun to write. it was 3 am when i finished this and make this a draft, so you know i had fun with this chapter. also, i’m about to go into work, so i will probably not be here but i wanted to post it beforehand so i can just worry about working on chapter iv later. and just wanna say i’m grateful to everyone who is reading and interacting with the posts! this has been such a warm welcome back into writing for the marvel universe and i appreciate each and every one of you :)🖤 also i have a question, feel free to answer in the comments or pm me, do i go all the way in the angst for this, or only some angst?

now reading: iii. black planet

previous chapter: ii. time bomb

next chapter: iv. london calling

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You open a portal to your world, and dramatically motion everyone inside. Gwen, Miles, and Pavitr step into it, and you glance at Hobie. “Are you actually coming, then?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says sarcastically, stepping into the portal. You enter last, walking until you’re in the familiar darkness of your apartment. “Welcome to my home,” you say, going to your kitchen to get a glass of water. As you’re pouring, you hear one of your guests speak up. “Is that… a real skull…?” Pavitr asks, pointing to a human skull above your fireplace mantle. “Sure is. She’s my aunt,” you say, taking a sip of water. They all look at you with a look that reads ‘is it… that aunt?’

You nod.

It isn’t brought up again.

Hobie sees a vinyl player and immediately walks over to it. He observes the multiple albums and singles and then comes across vinyls that don’t look like they belong to any band in particular. “You press your own vinyl?”

“Obviously. There’s just something better about vinyl than listening to it on my phone, so I press my own playlists,” you say, and Hobie glances up at you. “It sounds more real. Scratches and all, makes it feel authentic,” he says, placing a record on your player and placing the needle on it surprisingly gently. You raise your eyebrow at him. ‘Of course he would get the record thing,’ you think to yourself, ‘he is a guitarist after all.’

“I totally agree,” Gwen says, and you nod. Musician things. Ambient sounds accompanied by faint guitar riffs fill the room. You nod in approval. This is one of your favorite songs. Gwen smiles. “Your place is so fucking cool, (Y/n),” she says, walking over to the crystal ball and various tarot decks you have set up on your kitchen table. “Thanks, I take pride in it,” you say and Hobie makes a noise. “Could be better. Tell me, do you consider any color? Ever? Like what the fuck kind of plants are these that they’re all black?”

“They’re called Raven ZZ plants, and actually, they’re a bright green when new leaves sprout, but no. Color is not for me. The only reason I have the tiniest bit of pastel pink on my spider suit is because I need to continue to throw people off my scent.”

“How d’you reckon a tiny splash a’ color will do that?”

“There are various different types of goth. If I only used my own style, it would make the likelihood of me being me much higher than I would like,” you explain, and Miles looks around. “So… this place haunted?” he asks and you grin. “Yes.”

“Ghosts aren’t fuckin’ real.” Hobie scoffs, and he has to bite back a laugh at how quickly you turn your head to him. He actually does believe in ghosts, just a tiny bit, but doing anything to piss you off has become his new motto. Even if he has to lie.

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll make one of them possess you,” you say icily, and a cold breeze rolls through the room and blows out some of the candles. Pavitr shrieks and jumps into Miles’ arms. Gwen mutters something about that being ‘so cool.’ Hobie looks virtually unimpressed and you two glare at each other until you all get an all too familiar feeling of danger. You all turn your head toward your balcony, and you see an explosion in the distance. “Fuck,” you mumble, jumping into action immediately. You pull your mask on, and jump without a second thought. It’s a new thing when you glance over and see Hobie right by you. “Was that a bomb? Who could that be?” Miles asks and you sigh. “Probably the Green Goblin,” you say, and Hobie opens his mouth to say another sarcastic remark but is cut off when he gets to observe what your swinging is like.

You literally move like the wind. It’s fluid and smooth in nature, and he pays special attention to how you barely make noise when you land on a building to run. It’s actually impressive, and it makes him lose whatever rude comment he thought of. It’s the complete opposite of how he is. Erratic and loud. He doesn’t know whether to respect it or make fun of you for it later. Probably the latter. “Hey (Y/n)? Is the sky normally this dark? I thought it was like 6pm,” Pavitr asks as you all swing and you nod. “The sun is only out for like 2-3 hours a day here,” you respond. “Damn a little sunlight never killed anybody,” Miles says, and you shrug. “Honestly, here it might.”

“Is that why you’re so moody and negative? Only light you get is from the moon?” Hobie asks and you roll your eyes. “Actually, I was born that way. My style of living has nothing to do with my moodiness and realistic outlook,” you shoot back, emphasizing the point of realistic and not negative. He just shakes his head.

You all arrive at the location the explosive went off, and you notice there are still people inside the parking garage that was hit. “We’re on it!” Gwen says, motioning for Pavitr and Miles to follow her. The three of them take off in an instant, and you keep your eyes peeled and ears open to hear the wings of the Green Goblin’s glider. Hobie hangs back, not saying anything for once in his life. Until he gets an uneasy feeling. “Something’s close.”

“I know, idiot, I have the sense too.”

“I was just sayi–”

He’s cut off by a tiny bag of… powder… being thrown between the two of you. You both leap out of the way immediately before it explodes. “Found you!” Hobie hears a maniacal laugh, “Ohhhh and you brought a friend!” The Green Goblin of your universe giggles, and he realizes that the glider she’s on is a giant taxidermy bat accessorized with mechanical elements making it able to fly again. “Not their friend,” he yells at the Goblin before addressing you, “What the actual fuck is ‘at?” Hobie yells and you sigh. “That’s the Green Goblin of my universe, she’s a fucking lunatic who wants to turn me into a taxidermy sculpture and sell me at an art auction.”

“She an Osborn?”

“Yes, Harriet Osborn,” you say, dodging another… bomb? Hobie honestly doesn’t know what the fuck is happening. “Well, I’ve killed one Osborn already, what’s another,” he says, and you make a gasping noise. “Oh no… don’t tell me…”

“We can’t kill Harriet!”

“Why the fuck not?! She’s tryna kill you!”

“Because of personal reasons! You’re not about to come into my world, and kill my villains, asshole!” you scream, and he groans. “Fuckin’ fine. Whatever, we take her down, we don’t kill her,” he says, and you nod. “I take her down. Like I have countless times before.”

“Uh uh uh, I’m here for a reason, we take her down.”

“Gods, fine. Whatever,” you huff and the both of you dodge another explosive. You point to Miles, Gwen, and Pavitr who are motioning to you that they got everyone out of the garage. Without speaking, the two of you develop a plan. You immediately web into the garage, going down to the bottom floor. Of course, your Goblin follows you, completely disregarding Hobie even being there. He follows behind. It’s dark in here, all the lighting has gone out inside and the black sky outside makes it difficult to see. You use the stealth he observed earlier to your advantage. Even he has trouble picking out where you are, and he has super senses. He makes his way to a pillar that supports the garage as quietly as he can, which, luckily, is quiet enough that he goes unnoticed. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he hears in a sing-songy voice.

He carefully picks up a rock and glances around the garage. He’s behind a pillar that will help bring the whole thing down, he just needs to deduce which of the other pillars will assist in that. Lucky for him, you’re there too. He hears a noise behind one of the pillars, and sure enough, an explosion soon follows. He quickly realizes where the other weak points are and throws a rock at one of the others. Boom. Explosion. And then one more. He glances to his left to see you right next to him. You both nod at each other, and he hits a power chord. You roll your eyes. “A little flashy, don’t you think,” you say as the two of you leap out of the way and there’s one more explosion. “Not flashy enough, love,” he responds as the garage starts to shake.

The two of you expertly navigate the falling rocks as you make your way out of the collapsing building. Right when you get out, your eyes widen, and you twist your body so the glider doesn’t impale you. You land on top, and the Goblin turns around. Half of her mask is broken and she’s bleeding from being hit by one of the rocks. You can tell the glider was hit, too, because it seems to be stalling every now and again. It does get you farther away from your spider-companions, but they start webbing after you. “Found you,” she says. “No shit, Harriet. It only took you demolishing ONE building to do it this time, feels like a new personal record for you,” you respond, and she throws a punch at you. You dodge, and then see her pull out an unnecessarily large taxidermy needle. “Ah, shit,” you mumble as she starts wielding it like a dagger. You’re able to dodge most of her attacks, but the last one grazes your side. You hiss and realize she put another attempt of a knockout serum on it as well. Great. She laughs.

“Stupid spider! I didn’t need to stab you; I just needed a little graze! See, I put a special kind of toxin on my needle, and now it–” She gets knocked out by a single punch to the face. “You talk way too damn much, girl,” you mumble, webbing her to the side of a building as she falls off her glider. Oh shit. The glider. You leap off, despite the pain in your side and the woozy feeling that’s starting to show up and web the glider. You then go water skiing without the water. Or the skiis. And on the road. Oops.

You do your best to control the glider, swerving between cars and making sure it doesn’t run into any of the skyscrapers in downtown Night of Yore City. That’s when you realize it’s about to run straight into a building. You narrow your eyes. It’s time to do your Spider thing. You yank back on the glider, causing it to stall. You leap up onto the side of a building, detaching three webs onto it and leaping to the other one. You repeat until a full spiderweb is formed, blocking the glider’s way to the building, and repeat so it’s underneath the glider as well. You quickly web up the giant claws of the taxidermy bat, ensuring they can’t cut through your webs, and wrap the glider up, swinging around it in a circle. You attach the end of the web to the big spider web you just made and watch it slow down even more. It goes into the web in front of the building, and slightly indents into it, but that’s the further it gets.

You crouch on a lamppost, watching to make sure nothing bad happens. When you’re positive everything’s fine, you stand. A few citizens yell some thanks you’s, more glare at you because you just ruined their day, and some just ignore you completely. You look up and see the four other Spider-People chilling on the side of a building. You quickly join them. “Never seen someone make a web that fast and efficiently,” Gwen says, motioning to the web you wove. You shrug. “Thank you.”

“Unfortunate a buildin’ had to come down in the process,” Hobie says, not giving you a break or any type of praise. You roll your eyes. “Let’s not forget you were part of the reason the building came down.”

“I could have done it without the destruction.”

“Like you would have.”

“I wouldn’t have, but I could have. Obviously, you couldn’t,” he says, and you flip him off as you all begin webbing back to your apartment. Once you get there, you assess the damage the needle did to you. Some weird green toxin was in the cut, and you sigh. “Wait, (Y/n), that looks kind of serious,” Gwen says, noting the discoloration of the toxin compared to your skin. You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. She keeps trying to make a knock-out serum to use on me. None of them are strong enough,” you affirm, the slight wooziness you had felt earlier is completely gone. Now you just need to wash and dress this, and it should be healed by morning. “Or maybe she’s just a shit chemist.”

“Thank you, Hobie, for your doubt that I’m a capable Spider-Person,” you say, and he nods at you. “Always.”

You get out your first aid kit and clean your wound up. It stings, and you wince, and the others know that feeling all too well. “Right, well now that we’ve seen this gloomy, depressin’, dark ass world, why don’t we go see an actual fun world, eh?” Hobie says, starting to press some buttons on his watch. “Go to your world? What so I can be blown away with too loud amps and catch on fire because some dumbass thinks they can make a flamethrower with some sort of cleaning spray and a lighter? No thanks,” you mumble, and he rolls his eyes. “Not like I want you there anyways, love,” he says. You hate this new nickname he’s picked for you. It’s not endearing, it’s annoying. And he knows that it bothers you. You angrily put your first aid kit down and glare at him. “Fine. But hold on one second.”

You scale your wall and reach into an impossibly high cupboard, pulling out some cat food. Suddenly, the four spiders see two bright green eyes in the darkness of what appears to be your bedroom. You fill up a bowl, and your black cat saunters over to you. You pet his head, giving him a few scritches between the ears, his favorite spot. Hobie’s grateful you’re preoccupied with your cat because he does not need you to see the expression on his face. He loves cats. Especially black cats, they’re a perfect symbol of rebellion. Maybe he’ll come back here one day but only for your cat. ONLY.

“Alright, now that you’ve fed the cat, can we please leave? I can feel my soul bein’ sucked out of my body the longer I stand here,” Hobie says, impatiently, and you roll your eyes. “That’s the ghosts doing that, you know.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

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[y3ager]

STORYTIME I (26 F) FUCKED MY SUPERSTAR CLIENT (24 M) AFTER MONTHS OF SEXUAL TENSION!

— ‘i’m a manager for a pretty big music label and my client is the biggest dickhead in the world but i fear i fucked him after one of our usual arguments.. 😵‍💫’

eren y. x black!fem!reader

tags: modern au, smut, porn not much plot, hate(?)sex, cunnilingus, cowgirl, reader gets called ‘mama’ and ‘boss’, unprotected sex, mild choking, musician!eren, manager!reader. minors do not interact.

my first collab entry MAKE SOME NOISE YALL WTF!!! but no seriously thanks so much to @k9nto for letting me join your event i had a blast writing this! hope you all enjoy! 🤭

YOU’VE ENCOUNTERED SOME annoying people in your life. in kindergarten, a boy taunted you by picking up one your fallen hot pink knocker-balls and refusing to give it back to you. in high school, some chick named tiffany ripped down all of your junior class president posters that you spent weeks designing and printing out on the highest quality paper. your college advisor had been completely useless, you’d still be dragging yourself through your bachelor’s degree if you didn’t stay on your toes and realize the classes you were dropped in were a waste of time. but all of these people, and many more that have slipped your mind, shaped and molded you into the woman you were today. strong, tenacious, independent, a go-getter who never gave up and thus was able to reap her hard work, in the form of three nice crisp degrees and a never pitiful bank account.

but eren yeager, grammy award winning singer, songwriter and musician, with multiple weeks spent at the top of the billboard hot 100 and 200 charts, millions of units sold worldwide, and stadiums packed to the brim, took the fucking cake.

you were warned he’d be difficult. every manager he’s assigned quits before one of them ends up in a body bag. none of them have a single nice thing to say about him, and he finds that hilarious.

for better or for worse, you took the challenge because you’re a sucker for them. nothing in life comes easy, and you figured that the managers before just didn’t come hard enough. maybe eren’s fame and status made them falter, but such a fate wouldn’t befall you.

you dragged him to his magazine shoots, you kept his mouth in line during interviews, you kept his socials clean. he was never a second late to rehearsals and recordings. he was a reflection of you, and if you were perfect goddammit he was going to be too.

until today.

“i’m not putting in another extension, eren. the label is starting to get really irritable. we need to go to the studio now.” you furiously swiping along your ipad, pacing around the singer’s deluxe hotel room. while you’re dressed for the day in clean crisp clothes, sharp stilettos, and jet black lace front expertly melted and laid, eren’s still in the bed. the covers are everywhere, his shirt is next to a couple pillows on the floor, and he’s laying on his back eating a croissant from room service, paying you absolutely no mind. it takes everything in you to not chuck your device at his big head. “i’m serious. get. up.”

“and i said i’m not,” he mocks your assertive tone, voice oozing in sarcasm. “going.” he coughs, obviously faking. “my voice hurts. can’t make those greedy bastards money if my vocal chords ache. they’ll live.”

“you are on a strict deadline this era. if you want to catch award season, this album needs to be finished and dropped in the next month. amidst the press tour, your window of recording time is dwindling fast.” dates in your digital calendar glare at you, red and angry. every time you check something off your to do, ten new things pop up. you feel your jaw clenching, teeth gritting together uncomfortably.

“i’ve won enough awards. i don’t care. i’m not getting up.” eren finally raises up from the bed, narrowed green eyes meeting yours. it’s fire against fire, an unstoppable force that is a manager determined to do her job versus an immovable object, a musician who’s not budging from his spot. “it’s my album. it’s my music. i finish it when the fuck i get ready. that label will burn before they drop me.”

“if you don’t follow contract, they will drop you. they put a lot of money into you-”

“money i made back for those dumbasses-!”

“they are your bosses, without them-”

“they need me way more than i need them-!”

“get,” you toss your ipad over to a small couch, storming over to the bed. you snatch the edge of the covers and yank hard. enough is enough. if he won’t get up, you’ll make him get up. “the fuck out of this bed, eren, now!”

“you need,” the cover is yanked back, tugging you forward along with it. you lurch momentarily before righting yourself upwards, leaning back to give yourself more leverage in this childish tug of war you find yourself in. “to calm the fuck down, ___. i’m not going and that’s fucking it.” eren may be lean, but he’s toned like a MMA fighter, muscles rippling under tan skin when he calls upon them. another tug and you topple onto the california king bed, one expensive heel sliding off your foot and falling across the room.

your heads snaps up from the covers, brow furrowed deep in anger. “stop being so fucking difficult, you moron!” emotions welling, you grab one of his arms, preparing to drag him out of this bed. your to do list is a nagging itch on your brain that by the grace of god you are going to scratch. you’re not about to let this bad-with-authority dickhead best you when all he has to do is record a fucking vocal.

“oh, we’re doing this?” easily, too easily, so easily that you register your back hitting the soft bed before you realized he even grabbed you back. he pins you down easily, slightly calloused hands grip your upper arms firmly, pushing them down. he places his legs other either side of your hips so yours are forced in between them, but doesn’t keep you from writhing to free yourself. “whatever fucking—stop doing that—chip you have on your shoulder, you need to fucking solve it because shit’s not going your way today. i’m not going and that is final.”

the tussle leaves you two of you panting, eyes boring into each other’s. eren’s long chocolate brown hair is disheveled not only from a night’s sleep but from this impromptu wrestle. small beads up sweat trickle down his naked chest. your writhe again, and he presses down against you, a synonymous hiss sliding through both of your mouths.

“i hate you, eren.”

“whatever helps you sleep at night, ___. looks like you wanted an excuse to feel up on me.”

“oh, like you wanted an excuse to hump me like a mutt?”

there’s another beat of silence as you two watch each other. eren’s hands tighten their hold just a tad before he presses his hardening length hard against your clothed cunt. against your better judgement, your head tilts back and a small moan fights against your bitten bottom lip.

eren hums lowly, his dick bulging against the constraint of his boxers. “hate me too much to actually fuck me, huh? i’m only worth a dry hump.”

oh how eren frustrates you. how he makes even the simplest things in life painstakingly difficult. how he makes you want to smoke ten packs of cigarettes after a day of dealing with him. but oh, how handsome he looks under the lights at photo shoots. how his deep, smooth voice reverbs in your ears. how his fingers move so deftly on his guitar, as if it’s merely an extension of his body. who wouldn’t fantasize about that late at night, him bending you over and snatching down your pants to fuck the stress out of you, or yourself knocking him down a peg and making him beg to let you cum inside.

“shut-” another roll of his hips makes you gasp. “up..”

“i want you, ___,” eren confesses. his hips don’t falter, his cock becoming hungry for release. “i want that pussy. i wanna fuck that little attitude out of you, can i? i see how you look at me and i stare right back.”

you shiver, hand rushing to undo your dress pants and feel more of eren’s dick against your dampening cunt. his hands work with your perfectly, yanking your pants down. it’s a whirlwind of clothes, your sweater, bra, your other shoe.

eren reaches up to grab your breasts, rolling them in his palms, squeezing the supple flesh, pushing them together. “oh, pretty girl. pretty fuckin’ tits.” leaning down, he kisses down your sternum, stomach, inching closer and closer to your center. he wastes no time grabbing your thighs and licking a nice, long stripe against your drooling cunt and sucking on your clit.

your back immediately arches up and your hands fly to grip eren’s hair, tugging at the locks and pulling him in closer so you can feel everything. “oh my god, eren.” the singer’s not shy at all, audibly sucking at you and reaching up to twist and pinch your pebbled nipples.

with another languid lick eren pulls himself away. he pulls his boxers down on and off, freeing his dick from the constraint. he rubs the thick, weeping tip up and down your slit, staring hungrily at the juices leaking out. the feeling of it makes you shiver in anticipation.

“mmm, mm-mm.” you push yourself up. “let me get ‘n top..” there’s a greedy look in your low eyes as you place your hand on eren’s solid chest and lay him down on the bed.

“take charge here too, huh?” your forwardness makes him chuckle as he watches you straddle his waist. “okay then. ride me.”

you brace yourself on your toes as his hand and yours grasp his shaft, directing it to your pulsing hole. you slide down gingerly onto him, his size quickly stretching you out. “ahh, fuck, eren. fuck…”

“you got it,” he assures you, one hand on your thigh as you sink lower and lower, taking him in inch by inch. he bites his lip at the wet tightness of your walls, squeezing and sucking him in. it makes him throw his head back, a couple of small pants escaping his mouth. “mmhm, fuck that pussy feels so good. take that dick, boss.” his hand raises only to land on your ass check with a sharp slap.

you start out slow at first, letting yourself adjust to the wideness of his dick but that quickly gets old. you’re soon addicted to the feeling of him fitting inside so perfectly. gripping his free hand in yours, you swivel and raise your hips faster and faster, effortlessly, desperate for that feeling of him pounding that oh so sweet spot. your juices slide down his length, the slap slap slap of your ass against his muscled thighs filling the room. “‘s so big, feels so good,” your voice slurs.

eren hisses from his spot under you, eyes trained on where you two connect. mouth slightly agape, he watches your cunt swallow him up and the fluid that leaks out. “yes, mama. keep fucking me just like that. feels.. f-fuckin’ amazin’…” his hands grab your plump ass cheeks, fingers digging in hard as he thrusts his hips up, driving the tip of his cock even deeper inside you and pulling a loud moan from you. “keep goin, mama, ‘m almost there, don’t stop, please..”

his pleading make you clench even tighter around him, and that feeling deep inside your tummy aches for release. you place a hand around his throat to better balance yourself, relishing in his low groan. your thighs quake and tremble, your hips meeting his eager thrust perfectly. “oh, my god; oh my god. i’m— shit!” you throw your head back in ecstasy, cumming hard enough on your client’s dick to leave you numb.

“aw, fuck, boss.” eren thrusts up to push his cum deep inside, holding you against himself to ensure a single drop doesn’t leak. “take it, take it..”

the two of you are left panting hard, bodies sweaty and gleaming with the afterglow of sex. you gingerly pull away, cunt left sore and spent from a round of sex months in the making. eren reaches over to caress your ebon lips, admiring the smooth, wet feeling once you roll onto your back. “no more attitude from you, yeah?”

“no more attitude from the man reduced to calling me ‘mama’ and begging to cum either, i’d assume.” your teasing laughter is cut off by him purposefully sinking three fingers deep inside you. “mmh…”

“mhm, sure.” roles reversed, eren climbs on top of you and stares down with green eyes aflame with lust through his tousled brown hair. “now i want to see what i can make you call me.”

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Summary: Eddie's guard is back up after overhearing people gossiping about a secret that only you would know about. When he lets his animosity take over, the damage may be too great to repair.

Warnings: angst, Eddie is really mean to Reader, mentions of CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's, slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 3.7k

Chapter 4/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie is still fuming when he pulls into the music store’s parking lot. He’s opening today, and his hands tremble as he fumbles with the keys. All of those parents are going to know that he’s a failure of a father.  The Munson reputation clung to him like a bloodsucking leech, regardless of his numerous attempts to shed it. He’s destined to be an outcast at best and a monster at worst. 

Finally managing to unlock the door, Eddie flicks on the lights, blanketing the shop in a hazy glow. The silence is deafening, and he swears that his brain will implode if he doesn’t get some background noise. He walks to the section labeled ‘METAL’ as if on autopilot, grabbing Metallica’s Master of Puppets and shoving the cassette into the player. Ash insists that they play classic rock over the crummy little sound system; something about it being ‘palatable’ for the customers, but she’s not here to scold him. 

He thinks back to when this album was released, towards the end of his third senior year. The good ol’ days, when I only worried about passing O’Donnell’s class and planning Hellfire campaigns, he thinks wryly. But, no; that isn’t quite true. He’d had to worry about the trailer getting repo’d, or whether he and Wayne could stretch their food stamp budget enough to feed two grown men. Concerns that his uncle had tried to hide from him until he no longer could. 

“Ed, you’re eighteen now,” Wayne had said, just one month after Eddie’s birthday, “and I’m gonna need you to start payin’ some bills around here.”

At the time, Eddie thought he was just being a bastard. It wasn’t until a few days later when he’d spotted the envelope marked PAST DUE in bold, red letters that he realized it wasn’t a punishment, but a necessity. 

He’d been selling for Rick ever since. Well, until now. 

“Battery” fades out to “Master of Puppets,” and Eddie flips the CLOSED sign to read OPEN. He glances at the calluses on his hands and smiles sadly, thinking of all the hours he spent learning the chords in his room. After weeks of non-stop practicing—Hetfield’s solo was a bitch—he’d raced down to Gareth’s garage and played all eight minutes straight through. Watched as his friends’ jaws dropped in awe. Gave him a standing ovation. Told him he was a fucking rockstar. 

“You’re a rockstar, all right,” Eddie sarcastically grumbles now, clanging a roll of pennies against the counter before dumping them into the till. “Getting ready to drop your new hit single: Do you want a receipt with that?”

His morning has been nothing short of monotonous: help the customer find what they want, ring them up and make small talk, and then organize (or, in his case, pretend to organize) the store when it’s not busy. 

There’s too much down time for him to be left alone with his thoughts. As soon as he has a moment to himself, he’s ruminating on his regrets of the past. He turns up the music volume in a half-hearted attempt to drown them out, but they manage to worm their way into every nook and cranny of his brain. 

Eight years ago, a twenty-two year old Eddie Munson left his podunk town of Hawkins, Indiana to pursue rock stardom. He’d driven to Chicago with only the pocket change he’d saved up and his guitar on his back. A big city for a man with even bigger dreams. 

It didn’t take him long to realize that being Eddie Munson meant next to nothing in a place that was bursting with musicians desperate for the chance to become famous. He appreciated the anonymity at first; he could blend in without being chased by taunts of Freak or Loser. But after nearly a full year of auditions where he was just another guitarist who could carry a tune, he’d started to lose hope. Prepared to return to Hawkins with his tail between his legs, he’d stopped at the nearby bar for one last drink. 

“We can’t go on without a lead singer and guitarist!”

A frantic voice captured his attention, drawing his gaze from the pint of beer in front of him. 

“Well, Sam bailed. Again,” another man points out, tone heavy with irritation. “So either we go on without him, or we don’t go on at all.”

Eddie finds himself standing up and walking into a conversation where he was never invited. “I, um, play guitar. And sing?” He winces as it comes out like a question. “I can show you, if you want.” What was he doing? He couldn’t line up a gig to save his life, and now he’s offering to play for some band he doesn’t even know?

The two guys, both about his age, exchange a dubious look. “All right,” says one with shaggy dark hair. “Let’s hear what you got, Guitar Boy.” He hands him his own guitar, and Eddie adjusts the strap before diving headfirst into the chorus of the first song that comes to mind:

If you think I'll sit around as the world goes by You're thinkin' like a fool 'cause it's a case of do or die Out there is a fortune waitin' to be had You think I'll let it go you're mad You've got another thing comin'

The other guy cocks his head, a delighted smirk spreading across his face. “Judas Priest. Solid choice.” He paces a bit, twirling a drumstick between his fingers. You got a name, Guitar Boy?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “Eddie Munson.” He sticks out his hand, silently willing it to stop trembling, and shakes theirs.

“I’m Marcus,” the shaggy-haired man says. “This is Bryan. I play backup guitar; he’s on drums. Our bassist should be here soon; his name’s Pete.”

“And Sam was our lead guitarist and singer, but he’s a fucking asshole,” Bryan quips, and Eddie chortles at his brazen attitude. “Anyway, we mostly do covers…check out the setlist and see what you know.” He hands Eddie a crumpled piece of paper, filled with familiar songs and artists.

“I can do any of these,” Eddie says, a satisfied warmth filling his chest as he watches the guys grin even wider.  

“Tell ya what,” Bryan says, plopping behind a drum set plastered with a logo reading Hard Knox. “If you don’t suck tonight, you can play with us permanently.”

“Yeah,” Marcus agrees. “We’re gonna be big, man. We just need someone to help us get there.”

“Let me run back to my place and grab my ax,” Eddie tells them, adrenaline propelling him to his apartment. This was it. This was the break he needed. Just as he was about to give up, God or fate or destiny or whoever was finally giving him a chance to prove himself.

The show went off without a hitch; Eddie’s guitar skills bringing a normally quiet audience to their feet. Bryan clapped him on the back as he looked at Pete and Marcus; the three nodding at each other. “Welcome to Hard Knox!” he announced.

“Sam leaving was the best thing to happen to us,” Pete laughs in agreement. A bartender in a tight skirt and fishnet stockings brings over a round of shots, and the four men clink glasses.

“Fuck Sam!” Eddie shouts before taking the drink. The tequila burns as it coats his throat, but he doesn’t dare reach for the lime. No, he has something to prove.

“Fuck Sam!” the rest of the band echoes enthusiastically. Their choral response reminds Eddie of the way Corroded Coffin used to be before he’d left: when he’d say something, Jeff, Gareth, and Danny would listen. He was born to be a leader.

Things started to fall into place. His one night endeavor with Hard Knox turned into a biweekly gig at the bar, which eventually turned into shows almost every night at various venues across the city. He’d even convinced the guys to play some original work of his, reminding them that cover bands don’t get record deals. 

He had a steady income. A group of friends who appreciated him and his music. Beautiful women who eagerly threw themselves at him at the end of the show. And then it would repeat the following night in a new place. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Last night’s chaos has you all disheveled; it wasn’t until you got to work this morning that you realized you hadn’t even packed your lunch. You try to convince yourself that you can wait until you get home to eat, but about fifteen minutes before your break, your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl.

“I’m gonna run to the deli and grab something,” you tell Will, throwing your jacket over your shoulders and digging out your car keys. “Want me to pick up anything for you?”

“Uh, Tylenol?” he grimaces, rubbing his temples. The kids had music class today, and the sounds of ten preschoolers singing off-key combined with their clashing tambourines served as a recipe for a pounding headache. “And maybe a bag of sour cream and onion chips?”

“You got it.” You shoot him a thumbs-up as you make your way to the parking lot as quickly as possible, determined to get your food before the lunch rush starts.

You manage to just beat out the crowd of hungry nine-to-fivers, grabbing a veggie wrap to-go. Crunching on a cucumber slice as you take a big bite, you start back towards your car, but the music store next door catches your eye.

A check of your watch confirms that you have a few minutes to peruse, maybe grab a copy of the new Toni Braxton cassette you’d been wanting. If there was ever a day to treat yourself to a little gift, it’s today. Your mind is foggy and your body feels like it’s dragging sandbags as you make your way over. You knew that taking care of an ailing relative would be physically demanding, but you weren’t prepared for the emotional toll it would take. Seeing your grandma helplessly laying on the bathroom floor scared drew all of the oxygen from your lungs, filling your body with worry. And just a few hours later, she was furiously swearing at you, claiming to hate you. She’s an ever-swinging pendulum, and you’re downright exhausted.

A small glob of hummus lands on your lower lip, and your tongue licks it off haphazardly as you push open the door to the music store. The jingle of the bell is meant to alert the employees that a customer has entered, but when you look around, there’s no one there to help you.

You walk towards the aisle labeled R&B, starting by thumbing through the “B” section–nothing. Perplexed, you make your way to the “T” section, still with no luck. Was Toni Braxton so popular amongst Hawkins residents that they’d bought out every copy of Secrets?

“You can’t eat in here,” a terse voice calls out. You’re so startled, you nearly drop your sandwich. A piece of tomato flies out of the tortilla when you jump, hitting the linoleum flooring, and the irritated person sighs. “Aaand this is why.”

You pick up the fallen vegetable and turn around to see Eddie Munson standing before you. “You scared me!” you say, but your body visibly relaxes. Twenty-four hours ago, you never would have guessed that he would have a calming effect on you. How quickly things can change, you muse silently. “Can you help me find the new Toni Braxton? The Secrets cassette?”

Eddie scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can you follow simple instructions? No. Eating. In. The. Store.” He rolls his eyes. “Just because you teach preschoolers doesn’t mean you get to act like one.”

The smile that briefly danced across your lips slips into a frown. What the hell happened in the few hours since he’d dropped Harris off at school? Did you imagine that you two had gotten along?

“Are you okay?” you ask, brows furrowed in confusion. “I-I can put the wrap in my car, just give me a sec…”

He shakes his head. “No, actually, I’m not okay,” he sneers. “But I bet you knew that already.” He shifts his posture so he’s standing a bit taller. “Y’know, you have some fuckin’ nerve, coming in here after what you did.”

“Did I miss something?” Your voice gets smaller with the gnawing feeling of brewing confrontation acting as a brick on your chest. “I thought–”

“Tell me what you thought,” he interrupts, leaning on a box of tapes. “Wait, no; let me guess. You thought that because I rejected you, you could go around blabbing my personal business around the school.” He scrunches up his face, biting his lip as he looks at you. “Did I get it right?”

“Your personal business?” 

“Mhm,” he answers pointedly, spinning a skull ring around his finger. “Is that not it? Was it because you were embarrassed that I heard your grandma say that she hates you? I don’t blame her, by the way.”

Your force your gaze to remain trained on him, staring into his brown eyes that have hardened with fury. “She doesn’t hate me,” you breathe out, “she just can’t remember me anymore. When she knew who I was, she loved me. A lot.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t take away from the fact that everyone and their goddamn dog knows about the CPS report.” 

“What CPS report?” you ask, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach. “Is Harris okay?”

He takes one look at your puzzled expression and barks out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Seriously? You can drop the innocent act.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about!” you snap, frustrated at his unwillingness to hear you out and your own lack of understanding. “All I know is that this morning, you didn’t hate me–or maybe just hated me a little less–and now you’re back to being the worst human being I’ve ever met.”

Eddie scratches at the shadow of a beard that’s formed on his jawline; an itchy reminder that he didn’t get to shave last night. “You should consider yourself lucky if I’m the worst person you’ve ever met. Tell me, what have I done? Thrown some insults your way?” He claps his palm to his chest exaggeratedly. “How ever did you survive?”

“Mock me and my teaching skills, pretend like you’re going to call when you knew damn well that you weren’t, call me a bitch, and your latest and greatest,” you counter, ticking off the instances on your fingers, “accuse me of something I didn’t do.”

He considers this for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “So you’re trying to tell me,” he starts, gritting his teeth, “that we were in the same wing of the same hospital at the same time, but you weren’t the one who told people about the CPS case they opened on me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you hiss. 

“Then how the fuck did Carol Perkins find out about it?!” His volume raises to a roar, and you wince at the sting it leaves echoing in your eardrums. “Because I fucking heard her talking about it with Steve Harrington! So if you, the person who was there, didn’t open your mouth and tell her, who did? The CPS fairy?”

“I don’t fucking know!” you shout, swallowing thickly in a meager attempt to bide time before the tears inevitably leak from your eyes. “I don’t know, but it wasn’t me.”

Eddie rakes a hand through his frizzy curls, smacking the other on top of the nearby box. “Just…just get out,” he mutters. “I can’t listen to any more of your bullshit.” He starts back towards a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY before turning back around, eyes narrowed. 

“Y’know, I wouldn’t have hooked up with you that night if I knew that this is how you handle a one-night stand,” he says, pursing his lips as he steps closer to you. “And I never should’ve let Harris step foot in your classroom. I would drive him to a school in goddamn Timbuktu if it meant having you out of my life.” He pauses, scraping his teeth across his lower lip and exhaling a terse laugh. “It’s too bad I can’t forget about you like your grandma did.”

The words knock the wind out of your lungs. Your knees buckle slightly, and you have to steady yourself on the closest shelf. Tears blur your vision as your legs carry you out of the store; you feel yourself walking, but it’s like an external force has control of your body. The words fuck you sit on the tip of your tongue, or maybe you say them—it’s too hazy to tell. The world is covered in a shiny layer of cellophane; you can see everything, but you can’t touch. 

You’re crying too hard to drive, so you sit behind the wheel, seatbelt clicked in place, letting out sobs that leave your whole body shuddering. It’s all too much, and though you logically know that Grandma didn’t want to forget you, his comment hit a raw nerve.

It wasn’t a straight path; Alzheimer’s never is. A few months ago, she could remember you in the morning but forgot you by the afternoon. She would call you by name at 9 AM but ask who you were at 2 PM. One day you were her granddaughter; the next, you were a total stranger. You thought it couldn’t hurt more than it already did, but the repeated reminders that she no longer recognizes you at all is a constant knife through the heart.

You’ll be late if you don’t start driving back to work now, so you turn the key in the ignition and adjust the gear shift to reverse. As you look up to glance in the rearview mirror, you catch sight of him. He’s dumbfounded, and you could laugh at how ridiculous it is that it took him seeing you bawling in your car to realize that he went too far this time.

Unable to stomach the thought of further confrontation, you take a deep breath and drive away, leaving him to mull over what just happened.

He’d assumed you’d left already when he’d walked outside for a smoke break, placing a cigarette between trembling fingers before he’d even left the store. He almost drops the lighter on his scuffed sneaker when he sees you hunched over, resting your arms on the wheel as your body heaves. He’s not sure how long he’s been staring when you lift your head, exposing tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. Your gazes lock for just a millisecond, but it tells him everything he needs to know. 

It wasn’t you.

When Eddie arrives at the school for pick-up, he scours the crowd of impatient parents for Carol. He finds her talking with another mom; no doubt spreading more gossip about him. Maybe he shouldn’t have pretended that their Satanic cult rumors didn’t bother him when they were back in high school. Maybe if they knew, they would understand that he’s just a goddamn person trying his best, just like everyone else.

“Hey,” he starts, pushing the fear from his voice and willing his strength to remain unwavering. “Who told you about the CPS stuff?”

Carol plasters an obviously fake smile on her face as she responds. “I don’t know what you mean,” she says simply. Her carefree tone pushes Eddie to his limit. 

“Cut the bullshit,” Eddie growls, quickly losing his temper. “I heard you talking to Steve Harrington about it. So either you tell me now, or I’ll make sure your husband knows about that guy I saw you with at the Hideout a couple of months ago.”

Her face blanches, color draining from her cheeks. “It was Jason Carver,” she mumbles, biting her thumbnail. “His wife, Chrissy, is a nurse at the hospital and saw the report. She told him, and he’s been telling, well, everyone else.”

Eddie swears that steam is billowing out of his ears. Everything is coated in a red haze, and he finds himself unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fists. “Where is that sonofabitch? I’m gonna punch him in his smug little–”

“Mr. Munson?” you cut through his rant. His head snaps in your direction. You’ve fixed your makeup; if Eddie hadn’t seen you crying earlier, he would’ve been none the wiser. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammers, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. “Actually, I needed to tell you someth–”

“I think you’ve said enough today,” you say, voice calm but firm. “I just wanted to give this to you before Harris comes out.” You hand him a pink piece of paper. “It’s a transfer slip. Starting next week, Harris will be in Ms. Marion’s class. I didn’t tell him anything about it, so you can say whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.” That’s not quite true; the idea of Eddie feeding Harris lies about you makes your stomach curdle, but there’s only so much you can control. 

Eddie’s, usually quick with a retort, is uncharacteristically quiet. “I, um, I thought…the secretary told me that all of the classes were full.” It’s a cop-out, but he can’t push himself to tell you what he knows now. Not when you’re already bruised. 

“They made an exception because I was the one who requested it this time,” you explain, clenching your jaw. “Looks like you got your wish. You can forget about me now.”

He takes the paper and shoves it in his back pocket. The confession is on the tip of his tongue, an apology not far behind. Say it, he berates himself. Just fucking say it. You might be able to fix this if you just—

“I’ll go get Harris,” you tell him, breaking into his thoughts. “Good-bye, Mr. Munson.”

--

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[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for threatening to become a girl's step dad to troll her into blocking me and stop dragging me in a group chat ? Jenny (23F) blew up because I (24NB) said she'd be a shitty social worker bc of her specific autism symptoms + class bg. My gf (45F) said it was warranted because of how  overwhelmed i got by the wall of text with triggering details of my abuse. I never told my GF that the fight started because Jenny called me a gold digger. I also never mentioned that I ended it an hour later by posting pics of Jenny's mom in the chat, ignoring her ranting and discussing the vacancy left by her dead dad*, and how i could fill said vacancy. 😬😬😬 Might of gone too far with this one.

Backstory: I lived with Jenny when I was houseless indefinitely. She only let me stay for two weeks because it would be too "distracting" to her studies. Jenny was incredibly rich, didn't work, and her parents paid her rent for a 2 bedroom. She admitted she got rejected from every grad school she applied to except for the one her mom was in charge of. Her mom bought her a condo in the city the school was in. She kept asking me how she should decorate it, completely ignorant to how uncomfortable this made me and my other friends. Jenny was oblivious constantly to how she made others feel. She was actually the most incompetent person I've ever met in terms of comforting other, always tone deaf and completely absorbed with her own, single traumatic event. She made constant jokes about the abuser I was fleeing and even compared this stalked to a /serial killer/ documentary she watched, but never EVER showed any signs of internalizing how I almost lost my life to another person, how that might affect me or even just bum me out. Seriously, I've never met someone else who was so incapable of even being sensitive to issues that were /EXTREMELY SERIOUS/. Forget comforting, the stuff she routinely said to me and my other friends to try to cheer us up was beyond degrading. It was wearing on me a lot.

Jenny herself was neurodivergent. She often said her autism prevented her from understanding the feelings others had, reading their expressions, and tolerating crying or loud noise-- she forbid her musician roommate from doing both. None of those mean shes a worthless person, but all of those things would make someone a horrible therapist or social worker. Oh my God, literally every time I talked about my recent trauma, she would talk about herself and then blame her autism when I told her it just wasn't helping.

The final piece of this was I had a nervous breakdown and screamed at her over discord that she was a shit friend and needed to give up on social work, for like an hour. NOT MY PROUDEST, but I ALMOST DIED. I was living with her because SOMEONE WAS STALKING ME. and I would have liked to not have my abuse JOKED about. HOW DID JENNY RESPOND!? She began dragging me, through the mud, in the group chat, for, dating, an, older, woman, who, paid, for, my, air bnb, because, !!!she!!! wouldn't let me live with her for more than a week. I was HOMELESS. It became all about "OP you are such a b*tch, you are with a woman twice your age and she pays for everything now but you are still a miserable and angry person. You are so blah blah blah you are an ableist, you said I can't become a social worker bc of autism blah blah blah you have major major issues, Go back your rich granny and leech off of her you useless, fucked up little gold digger."

U_U Then, she started graphically describing how I deserved my abuse, so I shrimply began to troll. And yes, I pulled out my magnum oppus like fucking playing blue eyes white dragon, oh yeah I slipped her a pristine Jenny's mom facebook photo and said "Hey you never said your mom was so cute. Maybe, I could leech off her next and become your new dad." Yes, her dad died.* She blocked me immediately. Its OK. It was knives out for Jenny as soon as my GF gifted me a pair of $700 Isabel Marant shoes** , the most EXPENSIVE thing ive ever owned in my whole life, and Jenny saw me excited and called her mom to buy her a pair. It's, absolutely OK, if I am the asshole. I wear my crown of thorns, judas that I am, but I really, really think Jenny was being cruel. *he died 18 years ago ** the shoes are no more because i fell into my gf's rich friend's koi pond

[apomaro-mellow]

Every Baby Needs a Daddy 17

Part 16

Eddie's chin was perched on Steve's shoulder, reading through the contents of the letter. There was a bunch of legal jargon that went over his head, but it was purely the fact that his parents sent it that document that spoke volumes about the kinds of people they were. Eddie also took to heart that fact Steve hardly ever mentioned them.

"And what exactly are they asking you to 'cease and desist'?" It was too early in the morning for such small print and lawyer-language. Eddie rubbed his eyes.

"Nothing they haven't said before. "I'm an embarrassment to them and they want me to stop."

Eddie hugged Steve from behind and kissed his shoulder. Then he kissed the back of his neck. As he did, he pulled the letter from his hand and then kissed his cheek.

"I'll let my people look over this, but there's no way they can order you to do anything. And if they keep bothering you, we can counter-sue for harassment."

Steve turned around in his arms and smiled. "You'd sue my parents for me?"

"Anything for my baby. I'd keep them wrapped up in court dates for years."

No one bothered his baby. Especially when he wasn't doing anything wrong. Just the idea of Eddie doing so made Steve swoon a little. This was exactly what he had dreamed of. Being scooped up from his humdrum life, filled with stress and anxiety and disappointment and being embraced by someone not just willing to love on him, but take care of him. Steve hadn't worried about a single bill since he and Eddie got together. The amount of times he'd pulled out his own money to pay could be counted on one hand.

"Hmm, I think we'll let them squirm a bit", Steve finally decided. "They don't get to stamp their feet after ignoring me for years."

And so, the letter was pretty much ignored in favor of other things going on. Steve didn't make any effort to be seen less in public. If anything, he was seen more, on the arm of someone from Corroded Coffin. Steve thought he'd be bothered by being photographed all the time. And while it was odd (he didn't know what the fuss was about him and Gareth looking at stationary) so far no one had caught him in any sort of compromising position.

He and Eddie had fucked in the backseat during a car wash and the most provocative picture the tabloids had was one of Eddie's nose buried in his neck, one squeezing his behind as they tried to do a quick makeout in an alley.

And any negative comments were not only drowned out by the positive ones, but they were also easy to ignore when he had a pack of men showering him with adoration.

One night, his parents called and while Steve would rather not been bothered with them, he felt like a shield was cast over him while he was cuddled up to Eddie on one side and the rest of his pack sitting around the living room. So this time, he answered.

"Hello mother."

"You think you're funny, don't you? You think this is all a joke? Have you even thought about us once? Honestly, every morning I wake up thinking there's going to be a picture of you with your pants down or you on your knees or some other-I just don't know where we went wrong with you Steven but this is truly unacceptable."

"What exactly is unacceptable about all of this? What do you actually know about it?"

Eddie muted the tv and gestured for Steve to put her on speaker so that they could all hear. Steve did and his mother's voice sounded around the room.

"We know you're running around with a bunch of musicians, doing god knows what, probably drugs and ruining our family name. Do you know how many times Irene Netting has had something to say about you? I swear the woman has no life but I can't refute the facts she's telling about you."

"You never bothered to get the facts from me", Steve said.

"Did you read the terms in our letter?"

"You mean the cease and desist order?"

"You are going to stop besmirching the Harrington name. By any means necessary. And if that means we have to drag you back home, well, thankfully there's an associate of your father's that's still interested. He's a beta, but beggars can't be choosers."

Steve could scent the way his pack felt about that and if that wasn't enough, the way they were glaring at his phone told the whole story. Eddie held his hand out for it and Steve gave it over, wondering what he'd say.

"Sorry to disappoint, but Steve is already home. And he's not leaving just so you can sell him off to someone twice his age."

"Who is this!? Steven Phillip Harrington, are you living with those animals?"

Steve refrained from making a comment about how beastly Eddie could be in bed. But decided now was as good a time as any to introduce them all. "Mother, this is Eddie, my alpha. Eddie, my dear mother."

Her sucking in a breath could be heard, clearly about to admonish her son again, when Jeff spoke up.

"You know, if it's just about messing up the 'Harrington name' all Steve needs to do is change it."

"Yeah, but to what?", Gareth asked, like the answer wasn't obvious.

It was clear to Steve and Eddie. It was clear the moment they locked eyes. Steve felt the need to bare his neck, to let Eddie claim that last part of himself and be joined forever. Abruptly, Eddie got up from the couch and got down on his knees in front of his love. Steve hung up the phone without ever taking his eyes off of his alpha.

"Stevie, baby, angel, muse of my soul", Eddie kissed his knee. "Would you do me the honor of taking my last name?"

Steve thought back to the night they first met, when he was certain he'd never have Eddie's attention for more than a night, if only for an hour. And now he was prostrated before him, offering his bite. Unable to help himself, Steve fell to his feet, wrapping his arms around his intended.

"Yes! Now. Give it to me now", Steve pleaded, leaning his head to the side to expose his neck.

Eddie hummed into his skin, kissing Steve's neck and even pressing his lips to that special spot in a tease before pulling back. Steve's pout was almost enough to make him do it right now. But he couldn't. He wouldn't.

"You deserve a proper courtship, baby. And a proper mating." They may have skipped a few steps, but Eddie was determined to show his beloved how much he meant to him. "If you thought you were spoiled before..."

Steve kissed him and then kissed him again. He couldn't wait and wanted it now. But also the thought of being courted, like an old fashioned courting from back in the day. He also couldn't wait for that. And Eddie wasted no time.

The very next day, Eddie went in full force. Steve was met with courting gifts, Eddie got the approval of Robin, and even the rest of his home pack when they barged in on the video call with Robin.

"I'll withhold my full approval until we can meet in person, Mr. Munson. But for now, you have my permission to court him", Robin said.

When Robin was finally able to come down and meet him, Steve was excited to introduce her. What ended up happening was that he had two menaces on his hands. But that just meant that Robin saw him as an equal and thus perfect for her Steve. And so, two months after announcing his intention, Eddie took Steve on a nice night out. After shopping for an eye catching outfit, they went to a show, dinner, and then when they returned home, Eddie took them right to their bedroom.

By now, their den and nest had become one and Steve knew that he'd never have to take it apart unless an item needed to be washed or re-scented. Tonight, as Eddie lay him down Steve reveled in the scents there. More than one item was fresh. The boys must've scented their clothes while they were on their date.

"I can't believe we waited so long for this", Eddie said while kissing at his belly. "Wanted this since I first laid eyes on you."

"That long?", Steve breathed out, squirming a little as he felt that sinful tongue on his hips.

"Mmm", Eddie hummed against Steve's mound, taking his time, loving that they had time. "That long. I've wanted you to be my mate, bonded and pupped up that whole time."

Steve released a small moan as Eddie spread him and then blew on his cunt, watching it twitch with anticipation. Eddie didn't tease for long, wanting to build up before he sunk his teeth into Steve's neck. Only when Steve was putty in his hands, filled to the brim with his knot, crying out his name, did he finally take the plunge.

When they were catching their breaths, still tied up, and Eddie licking at the new bite, Steve tried to speak between his panting.

"Me...me too..."

"Hm?"

"I've wanted this, since the first night too", Steve finished. "Wanted you forever." He rocked against Eddie. "Wanted you and your pups. The others too now."

Eddie reached down to rub at Steve's clit, making his eyes roll at the sensation. If that's what his baby wanted, his baby would get it. There was enough seed to go around to keep Steve pupped up year round if he desired.

"All you gotta do is ask, sweetness. Fuck", Eddie bucked up into him, making Steve yelp. The thought of him, round with any of their pups was almost too much. For both of them.

It only took a few talks with the whole pack for Steve to stop taking his birth control. Steve was so excited to announce it that he hopped on the first dick that he saw, which was Gareth's. Eddie found them like that in the kitchen, Steve bent over a counter and he took his own turn when he found out what the celebration was for.

Three months later, Steve felt a series of symptoms that had him going to the doctor. And by the next visit it was confirmed: twins. While the doctor was giving him more information, Steve's thoughts were wrapped up in the hope that it was not just Eddie's, but Jeff's too. His body warmed at the memory of having taken both alpha's cocks.

Pictures began to surface of him and his new belly, tracking his progress and of course, speculating on which member of the band was the sire of his new pups. But as the gossip and rumors spread, they made sure it was clear they were reporting on Steve Munson.

End

And that's a wrap! I miiiight do an epilogue on what happens after but for now, that is the end :) thank all yall for reading and leaving such wonderful comments!

Here's that epilogue

Tag Team

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[toskarin]

just because I'm thinking about it, here's one of those periodic posts where I list off a few random youtube channel recommendations I've been enjoying lately (or have been enjoying long-term (or for any length of time really))

Masaru. - I like fishing. but I can't do it at the moment. Masaru also likes to fish. he free dives, he brings a fish up, he cooks the fish, then he says how it tastes. sometimes it is an unusual fish. sometimes it tastes good. sometimes it tastes wretched. he will tell you. this singlehandedly solves basically every single complaint I have with most cooking/fishing channels. this is cocomelon to me

MIQ(MIO) - it's MIQ! one of the strongest anison vocalists of... well, basically ever. it's her official channel! she uploads concert recordings, karaoke advice for her own songs, and general updates on what she's doing here. I'm always aghast when I see how low her viewcounts are, given that she's an industry legend who's been going strong for over 40 years.

bellykelly - vinyl collector, uploading some really good cuts that you'd be hard-pressed to find anywhere else. one of those channels where I'm always up to date on uploads, and when I fall behind, I just playlist it all to catch up

Xerxes Vinyl Classics - vinyl collector, hasn't upload in a while, but has lots of older releases and remix pressings that are otherwise pretty rare. has some of the higher quality recordings of cantopop releases that are otherwise a little difficult to listen to in acceptable quality

Zuka Zhvania - music-enjoyer and song-uploader with a VERY frequent upload schedule. he's (as far as I know) not an official promoter or anything, but he's pretty damned good at keeping the tunes coming. if you're looking for someone to set you on some obscure industrial and house cuts, check out this channel

LIVING ONLY RECORDS - official channel for a doujin label with some absolutely fantastic noise rock, punk, and shoegaze bands on it. it's my understanding that this is less of "a record label" and more of a way for 群青リボン and friends to book out live houses together while selling merch at one table. which is a pretty noble cause

Someone45356 - probably laying pretty safe claim to the title of "most genre-firsts in the touhou doujin scene," Someone45356 is a strong recommend just for the level of care they put into their arrangements. I love their video thumbnails and their arrangement notes in the video description. a great channel at any level of musical interest (but an ESPECIALLY good channel if you're also a musician)

UPROAR24 - sick and tired of plguin and samplepack demo videos that are 75% ad copy by volume and still don't manage to show you the stupid thing in action? tired of looking at questionably-useful free vsts and not being able to tell whether you're even comfortable having that rubbish on your pc? UPROAR24 runs a channel that's pretty explicitly a reaction to this, making dodgy demos of dodgier plugins. works lovely as a catalogue to browse when you're looking for a new toy

USUDA - the pillar of the Armored Core fan community, USUDA has arranged more Armored Core music than anyone else short of actual FromSoft staff. he also releases his music for free download, including his midi arrangements. very friendly guy in all the interactions I've seen, and also pretty good at remembering people he's seen in other comment sections. I'd honestly shoot him a message first if I had any questions about arranging songs from these games lol

Ricardo Cruz - if you've listened to any portugese (br) covers of anison, you've heard Ricardo Cruz. even if you only listen to originals, there's still a pretty fucking solid chance you've heard him, because he's a JAM Project contributor. absolutely wonderful channel if you like watching skilful singers duet with other powerhouses

Saint Mauve - the best Hellsinker channel on youtube, which isn't an especially competitive title. but I think Saint Mauve would probably still be the best Hellsinker channel on youtube even if there were more than like three. my qualifier for when I've found something weird in the Hellsinker periphery is when I haven't seen Saint Mauve post about it. also plays other (often HS-adjacent) doujin stg and has good opinions on them

Tom Green - this is a weird recommendation but if you don't intuitively understand the appeal of a now-early-50s Tom Green calmly talking about his farm animals and riding around on a horse for hours at a time, I'm really not sure I can sell you on it. oddly calming

mercurytower - this channel is run by Asa, the musician behind Souvenirs to Forget. before they started releasing their original work, this was mostly used to upload guitar covers (which are good, but guitar covers aren't really enough to make me give a glowing recommendation of a channel). Souvenirs to Forget is a really exciting solo project and one I'm personally keeping an eye on. naturally, they upload their releases to this channel

Trance Classics - vinyl collector, records videos to go with the music, focuses more or less entirely on trance. I've got no excuse here. I just fucking love trance and always have, so you can pander to me really easily by just making a channel like this. if you like trance, it has hours and hours of trance

SJ HanStone Lee - the early-gen Mabinogi composer, among a lot of other things. it's been a while since he's posted anything new on this channel, but I check in every now and again. by my reckoning, one of the best mmo composers (and honestly one of the best game composers in general) of the past two decades. there's some stuff on here and his soundcloud that serves as wink-wink-nudge-nudge loveletters to his time working on the early Mabinogi soundtrack

[fleet-of-fiction]

Jake Kiszka // Female Reader

Summary: It's your job to translate. But when Jake asks for private Spanish lessons, it complicates things. You try to fight it, but one night the fight gets all too real. And you realise you need him more than you ever thought you could.

Trigger Warnings: Mild S/H. Physical Violence. Full penetrative sex. Foreplay including oral. All the usual smut warnings.

"En español, Jake!" You admonished, tapping your finger down onto the page with vitriol.

He looked up at you with a frustrated sigh. As if the words were swimming around in his head but simply refused to spill out of his poised mouth.

"I'm so sorry." He apologised, slamming the book closed. "I just can't imagine why you haven't punched me in the face yet."

You had a little sympathy for him. Learning a new language in adulthood was fastidiously hard. You'd watched him for hours trying to curl his tongue around the way things were spoken in conjunction to how they were written down.

"The thought may have crossed my mind." You replied playfully, stashing the book back in your bag.

He watched you gathering your things together. Leaning back in his chair, arm draped casually down the back as you tried to pretend that you weren't aware.

"Why won't you let me take you out for a drink?" He asked, again, leaning forward onto the table. "It's just one drink, where's the harm?"

You slipped your bag over your shoulder and gave him the same balanced look you had given him all the other times he had tried to convince you to go out with him for a harmless drink.

"Jake, I can't keep doing this with you."

His arms were crossed as he leaned on the table. Long, lithe fingers locked together as he tried to downplay the disappointment. There was a sadness there in his eyes as he tried to smile.

"I know. I'm sorry, I just lose my head around you sometimes." He uttered, cracking his knuckles as he got up to walk you to the door.

You stopped in the hall to slip your shoes back on. Conscious of his eyes burning into the back of you. It would have made you uncomfortable were it not for the fact that every single time you had told him no a small part of you had died inside. These stolen moments where you knew he was studying your body were all you could enjoy.

When you turned around he was holding the door open for you. A thousand things on his mind that he ached to say, but couldn't.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this anymore." You suggested, "I mean, it was a crazy idea to begin with. I'm not a Spanish tutor, I'm your fucking translator. I'm already on the payroll. It'd be like dating my boss. You know that's why I have to say no, right?"

It was a downright lie.

He raised a hopeful eyebrow. "And not because you don't think I'm sexy?"

He was insufferable in the way you couldn't stand the fact he made you laugh. That had been the reason you had agreed to give him Spanish lessons in the first place. Because he had made you laugh with his goofy silliness. His self deprecating manner was endearing. And you hated him for that.

"Comportate, por favor." You told him, slipping out of the door before you changed your mind.

You weren't averse to dating rock stars. There had been times, in the past, where you had been hired to go on tour with artists who didn't speak the language of the countries they were moving through. It had been your job to liaise with concert venues, hotels and media outlets. Sometimes allowing yourself to be courted by these melodic creatures. There was something about musicians that drew you in.

Perhaps it was because they were poets. They valued art over everything else. To you, language was the most powerful art of all. To have the knowledge of words that could be understood the world over was truly a gift. And you could speak eight of them.

When Jake had asked you to teach him one of your gifts, initially you had balked at the idea. There was something about Jake that made you nervous. He made you feel like a song with just a fleeting glance. You weren't sure of yourself around him. It felt as if at any given moment something beautiful might happen. He wasn't a temporary fuck on a job you knew would only last a few weeks before moving on to the next. You knew, intrinsically, that if you allowed him to touch you there was no moving on from it.

He was peering at you from his porch steps as you got into your car. Patiently waiting until your seatbelt was on before waving sweetly. Like a Grandma would. Only stopping when you were out of sight.

"Damn you, Jake..." You whispered to yourself as you turned the corner, wishing you could rescind the past seven days.

~

You slammed the overhead locker shut and slumped into your seat below. Eye mask lingering on your forehead, ready to be pulled down so that the fluorescent lights on the plane didn't give you a migraine. Your skin was moisturised, your hair coiled in loose braids down each shoulder. Ready to sleep for the next eleven hours.

You watched the rest of the crew and management team take their seats. The unspoken rule of long haul flights being that nobody conversed. Nobody disturbed the other. It was a time to rest and reflect before chaos ensued.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" He asked, swinging himself into the seat beside you before you could protest.

Your mouth agape, you watched him get comfortable in the space where you had planned to put your feet.

"Jake?" You sighed. "I thought you were sitting with your brothers up front?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I wanted to sit here, with you."

You were still waiting for him to embellish as he pushed his shoes off and stretched his feet out. He was wearing those blue jeans with the cut in the knee he had worn every day the previous week, with a ripped hem shirt that was only buttoned half way. His chains hanging against his flesh between the opening.

You wondered how a person could endure eleven hours in clothes like that, but Jake always seemed to put style over comfort. It was one of the first things you'd taken in about him. Every single facet of his being was a token of his personality. He was his own canvas.

You couldn't help but smile.

"Ok, fine." You allowed, "But we're not having an impromptu lesson or anything, I plan to sleep."

You slipped down your eye mask and tried to hide the fact you were terrified of flying as the plane took off. The rumble and strange loss of gravity churning your stomach as you gripped the arm rest. Only settling once you were in the air and the subtle sounds of people sleeping and turning the pages of books was all you could hear.

He kept silent while you slept. And when you awoke to find your legs splayed across his lap, you flinched involuntarily. His head snapped up from the back of his seat. Eyes wide and for a moment neither of you could remember where you were.

You weren't sure how you'd ended up in the position you found yourself in. If he had placed your legs there himself, in some act of kindness you'd not asked for. Or if you had done it yourself in your sleep, and he had simply allowed it.

"Sorry." You grumbled, taking back your feet and slipping the eye mask around your frazzled braids.

"You don't like flying, huh?" He asked, running a hand through his knotted locks.

You were quick to defend yourself. "What makes you say that?"

The most heart breaking memory seemed to come to him. Smiling as if he may never have that time back. You felt the blood rush to your head as he looked at you. His deep brown eyes catching yours for the briefest of moments.

"You reached out for me in your sleep." He replied, almost in sadness.

You blushed. Turning away from him hastily, busying yourself with the book on the small table in front of you. Feeling foolish. As if you had spoiled something already.

"I didn't mean to." You said quietly, fixating on the page without being able to focus on any of the words.

"You worry too much." He commented, straightening up in his seat to reveal that all of his buttons were now undone.

As he stretched, he revealed a smooth chest and small ripples of flesh around his stomach. The muscles above taut and lean from years of grinding into his guitar.

You excused yourself to the bathroom. Brushing past him as you climbed out of your seat. Feeling dizzy as you walked down the aisle towards the illuminated rest room sign.

Splashing your face with cold water did little to dispel your nerves. Staring at yourself in the mirror, telling yourself to hold your reserve. He didn't deserve to hold your attention like this. How had he crawled beneath your skin so easily?

It wasn't exactly love at first sight. But it was something akin. The first time you had spoken. You felt it. The ache. Like a little electric burn. Because of him.

You sucked in your breath and uncoiled your braids. Ran careful fingers through your hair until the waves were smooth. Reminded yourself that it was just another job. And walked back to your seat with irrational confidence that you could endure the rest of the flight by his side.

Confidence which ebbed as you noted the glasses of rum and coke sitting on the tray tables. The froth still fizzing on the surface of the ice. He was chewing on his bottom lip absently until he noticed you. Immediately stiffening as you breezed back into your seat. Looking slightly different than when you had left.

"You've hijacked me, you do realise that, don't you?"

He picked up his glass and raised it as if to make a toast.

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about." He feigned. "I just thought you might be thirsty."

There was a devious glint in his eye. One which made you bend to his will. You picked up your glass and didn't really feel in the mood for rum so soon after waking up, but up in the air it didn't really feel like morning or evening. You were in limbo. The only place where you would ever agree to have a drink with him.

"This isn't a date." You confirmed. "This is not me agreeing to go for a drink with you. This is two colleagues having a drink on the same flight together."

It was precisely what he had wanted, packaged in another name. He knew it and so did you.

"Cheers." He said brazenly, tapping the rim of his glass against yours. "Here's to colleagues having a drink together."

You rolled your eyes. "We'll only ever be friends, Jake."

~

There was something oddly beautiful about silence. Music was the beating heart of the world. There was a song for every emotion ever felt by anyone anywhere. But when the music stopped, it was like the echo was felt universally. Bones and blood coming down from the euphoria. There was something about Jake that made it so hard to come down from.

You were standing behind the stage. The tones of the final note still playing out. Your eyes closed and your hands clutching a crisp white envelope tightly. The silence was deafening.

And then he was there. Peeling off his jacket. The sweat glistening in the stage lights. He handed his guitar to one of the stage technicians and noticed you waiting by the door. Not where you usually could be found.

"Buenas noches." You said, tilting your head as he approached.

"Evening." He replied, in English. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

You hadn't seen him all day. You'd been endlessly scrolling through potential activities for a day away from the stage. So rarely did these days come about, it had felt as if you had to find the most perfect venue. The tour manager had given you only three proviso's. Somewhere beautiful to film social media content. Somewhere all four of the band members could enjoy. Somewhere quintessentially Spanish.

"I think I've found the ideal place for your day off." You said, handing him the Vineyard confirmation.

He unfolded the paper and scanned the document. Looking up at you as if you were the most perfect creature to ever walk the earth. It dawned on you that you didn't have to be stood there in that moment, but you'd been so excited to tell him. Aching for a glimpse of him. Afraid that you wouldn't get one.

"A real Spanish Vineyard?"

You nodded. "And a tour of the distillery where they make brandy, too."

"This is perfect." He replied, eager to hug you but consciously aware that he was dripping in stage sweat. "And you'll be there, won't you?"

"Hardly be doing my job if I wasn't."

He lingered there with you. In the silence. The subtle reminder that you worked for him completely disregarded as he took the liberty of waiting until his brothers had walked past before shakily trailing his fingertips down the side of your cheek.

"Bello..." You heard him say, before he dropped his hand and you felt the absence of it so deeply you weren't certain how you could walk away from him and feel whole ever again.

You barely slept. Questioning yourself as you tossed and turned in the darkness. Irritated by the inner monologue that told you to re-think your outfit choice. It had to be light and airy for the warm sunshine. But not too revealing for the classy Vineyard aesthetic. You wanted Jake to look at you and think you pretty. But it couldn't be too obvious that you'd chosen the outfit just for him. Because you didn't want to choose the outfit just for him. You were consumed by the need for his attention. And hating yourself for it wasn't getting any easier.

The sleep deprivation hit you as you stepped out into the heat. Not yet noon and it was scorching down on your shoulders. The yellow sun dress which had been your fourth and final choice had tiny spaghetti straps that did little to protect your skin. Your white wide rimmed hat provided a little shade, but in the end you knew you'd walk away from the day with pink and red stripes.

You were already at the Vineyard when he arrived. Awaiting his arrival with the tour manager and social media assistant. Spilling out of the mini van, it appeared the sleepless night had been a friend to them all. Four sets of shades hid the dark circles. You couldn't help but smile ironically.

But they were like curious children as soon as the first taste hit. Jake, listening to the tour guide speaking a mixture of English and Spanish, turning to you for confirmation on anything he didn't understand. Swilling the wine in his taster glass, as he'd been instructed, endearingly involving himself even though you could sense that he was so tired.

You found some shade as the tour came to an end. Beneath a eucalyptus tree. Fanning your dress out as you sat on the little wooden bench under the arching branches. Watching Jake filming content with his brothers, happy to just be there. Relieved that your skin was not too sun kissed. The joviality of Jake and his brothers was a joy to behold. Their subtle differences in the way they reacted to each wine was comical and you found yourself drifting into a state of bliss you'd never found whilst on a tour job before.

He was wearing his shirt open at the chest again. Chains glistening in the afternoon sun as he came to sit with you. The entire group dispersing into their own little activities. He handed you a glass of red, noticing that it was the one you'd liked the most whilst on the tour.

"I feel as if I haven't seen you all day." He said, shuffling up the bench so that he was closer to you.

"I've been by your side the whole time." You replied bashfully.

He didn't seem to care, though. "I felt it yesterday too, when I actually didn't see you all day."

You took a languid sip, feeling the wine go down past the lump in your throat. His knee conspicuously close to yours. The fabric of your dress billowing in the breeze, threatening to lift and reveal your flesh. He noticed and pressed his leg against yours, the motion driving you irrevocably insane.

"What are you doing, Jake?" You asked, keeping your voice low.

You could smell the wine on his breath as he leaned in.

"How do you say... I want to rip your clothes off and fuck you until you can't stand up straight...in Spanish?"

The glass felt loose in your hand. As if his words had shaken your core and you couldn't ground yourself.

"Do you enjoy this?" You asked, more curtly than you'd anticipated. "Like it's not hard enough already?"

You'd hurt his feelings. All the happiness of the day seemed to drain from him as he moved his leg away. Another absence of his touch you felt so completely, it was as if you'd fade away entirely if he ever touched you again.

"Why do you constantly deny me?!"

He was livid. You could feel the bench move as he trembled.

"I could understand it if the feelings weren't reciprocated. I'd have asked you out, you'd have said no. Told me that you're not interested and yeah, it would have sucked and I'd have taken it on the chin. But I'm not stupid, I know you want me. And no amount of telling me that we're just friends is going to change that."

He downed his wine. You waited for him to get up and leave, but he remained at your side. A trembling mess as he waited for you to say something that might give him hope.

"You have no right to say that to me...no right!" You almost bellowed, feeling the rage prick at your fingertips. "When all I have done has been to preserve myself. And you. From hurt. And confusion."

"I'm not confused." He was quick to say, gripping the neck of his wine glass so tightly his knuckles turned white. "I know what I want."

"You think this is easy for me?"

You glanced across the courtyard towards the distillery where Jake's brother, Josh, was chatting with some of the staff. His eyes wandering back to you and Jake. His interest piqued as your voices began to rise above the din.

Jake's shoulders slumped. "It doesn't have to be this hard!"

You tried to smile reassuringly as you caught Josh's eye. He smiled back, returning reluctantly to his conversation. Suddenly everything began to turn into a surreal dream. Everything was perfect save for this one moment. You wanted nothing more than to turn back time, just by five minutes, and say or do something differently.

"I'm not about to complicate things for a quick fuck, Jake. I still have a job to do." You whispered, "I don't want to spend the next two weeks feeling like this..."

"Oh, what?" He replied, all the hurt you had caused him spilling out in his tone. "Like you've never fucked somebody on tour before?!"

There it was. All his hurt laid bare and all the hurt you had feared manifesting itself in the instant regret he felt as you turned to face him. All the times you'd rejected him kept in a little bottle in his heart, smashing there on the ground at your feet.

His head began to shake, his mouth open against apologies that wouldn't come out. His arms up in defence as if you were about to strike him. And all you could do was stare at him in disbelief.

"That's real nice, Jake." You managed, "Yeah. Ok, you want to play it that way? You're not wrong. I fucked a few guys on jobs in the past. Sure. They didn't care and neither did I. Why would it be awkward if you know you're never going to see them again? It meant nothing. What do you want me to say? That I'm terrified that this time it's different? That fucking you will never just be casual? That I know I'll fall in love with you the minute you kiss me? Huh? Is that what you want to hear? Stay the fuck away from me!"

~

You were still reeling as you stepped into the cool night air. Cardigan wrapped around you as the wind picked up. It was late but the hotel was situated in a sleepy little town ten minutes outside Barcelona. Lights were still twinkling in the distance. The faint sounds of people sitting outside bars and cafes sounding on the breeze. The gentle waves lapping at the shore in the pitch black.

You couldn't sleep again. Not plagued by irrelevant outfit choices this time, but instead you were horrified by yourself. By the way you had left things at the Vineyard. By how you had made your way back to the hotel without him. Not even looking at him when you'd seen him at dinner. You had felt his eyes burning into you, though. Losing your appetite entirely.

It felt as if a walk would clear your head. Bring you to some conclusion that would give you a reason to carry on. You'd been on the cusp of quitting and taking the next flight back to Nash before slipping on your sandals and cardigan and heading for the empty beach.

The sand was cool to the touch as you slinked down into it. The moon illuminating the curl of each small wave as it encroached onto the flat shoreline. The ever twinkling lights of the buildings which stretched across the coast were like stars upon the land. And you were lost in thought about Jake. About how you were going to make everything right.

So lost were you that you hadn't noticed that you were no longer alone. Catching them in the corner of your eye as they approached, as if they'd walked directly out of the black sea. A man, wearing nothing but a tattered white t-shirt and blue board shorts, waved to you inconsequentially.

You made the mistake of waving back. An impulse. Not an invitation to be disturbed. Your heart sank as they changed their direction, instead of carrying on across the shoreline, they diverted up the beach towards you. An errant smile on a bearded face greeted you as you tried to stand up.

"Oh, no. Please...stay where you are." He insisted, and you smiled because you thought he merely meant to pass you by.

When he didn't you felt yourself rooted to the spot. The darkness somehow darker than it had felt a moment ago.

"I was just leaving." You said as politely as you could.

He smelled like tobacco and body odour. The state of his feet alarmed you, as if he hadn't worn shoes for a very long time. He was sitting opposite you, as if you were friends enjoying an evening under the stars. But the hair on the back of your neck was poised. Your blood began to run cold.

"Oh, come on now." He replied, playfully with a hint of malice. "You're American, yes? I love America."

You had no desire to stay in his company. But something told you not to move. A primal instinct maybe?

"Uh, yeah." You replied, trying to keep your responses civil but brief.

He moved closer. His scent drifting in on the sea breeze. You recoiled. Feeling entirely foolish for stepping out of the hotel thinking you'd be safe.

"What's the matter?" He asked then, his voice low and gruff from years of smoking. "I just want to sit with you, alright?"

You uncrossed your legs. "I really...I was honestly just about to leave..."

He placed a dirty hand on your knee to prevent you from standing. You felt the fear grip you and choke you. Tears forming in your eyes as your lip began to tremble.

"Be a friendly girl and sit with me a while." He insisted. "I just want to talk to you."

He could see that you were afraid. Almost aroused by it. He moved to sit by you. Rubbing a calloused hand up your shin towards your knee. A broken scream was stuck in your throat. Warm tears streaming down your face.

"I have a boyfriend." You choked out, frozen into the sand as you willed it to swallow you.

"No boyfriend that I can see right now."

Something inside you snapped. The thought of Jake. Calling him your boyfriend. You didn't care about anything beyond him. Not your job nor the fears which you'd been running from. None of it made sense anymore. You could feel yourself begin to panic. Your chest moving against deep breaths. Your heart beating erratically.

You dared to push his hand away from you.

"I thought I told you to be friendly..." He hissed.

There wasn't a part of you that had any thoughts running through your mind as you heard the switch in his voice from playful malice to direct evil. You gathered the sand in your fist and threw it into his face, hearing him reel back and grunt in anger as you tried to run away.

Your sandals filled with sand though, preventing you from gaining any real speed. The scream which left you came from somewhere deep within, so blood curdling you weren't even sure it was you making the sound. It felt as if you dared not look back in case he was right behind you.

Three things seemed to happen all at once. The first was your body crushed to the ground. Sand in your mouth. The sensation that you were about to be buried alive. The second was the almost immediate release. Air rushing to your lungs as you swallowed the grit. And the third was Jake.

You stumbled onto your feet. Tears streaming down your face, spitting sand out as you felt yourself on the verge of vomiting. You blinked a few times, using your sleeve to wipe away the blurring tears.

All you could see was Jake. A pair of blue board shorts beneath him. His arm reeling back again and again and again as he rained down blow after blow.

"What the fuck did you do to her?!" He cried, cracking his fist against the bloodied face below him. "I will fucking kill you... I swear to god..."

You hadn't known Jake that long. But long enough to know he was loving and kind. That he chose to sit in corners and watch over being the centre of attention. He was funny and unserious in private with those he trusted best and stoic around people he didn't know. You'd never imagined he could be capable of such violence. When pushed, he was an animal.

"Jake!" You screamed. "Please, stop it!!!"

He didn't hear you at first. Picking up the guy by the scruff of his shirt, rattling his head before shoving it back into the sand. Landing a final, brutal kick to the stomach.

When Jake looked over at you, it was like he was seeing you for the first time. His chest heaving against catching his breath. His knuckles red and covered in blood. Not certain if it was Jake's blood, or the guy who was writhing around on the sand's. You reached for him.

But Jake didn't move. "Did he hurt you?"

You shook your head, feeling vulnerable in a way you'd never felt before.

"He started to but I ran. I'm so sorry, I was so stupid. I should have stayed in my room. I just needed to get some air...I can't believe this is happening...oh god, look at you..."

Jake noticed his hand. He shook off the blood and looked down at what he had done. The nose was broken and the eye sockets already swelling. Blood streaming from the guy's mouth. He spat a few teeth out and groaned in pain, clutching at his stomach as his white t-shirt turned red.

"No. You shouldn't have to stay in your room. You should be able to walk outside if you want to walk outside. It's fuckers like this who need to stay the fuck inside." He shoved his foot into the place where he had kicked, making sure to cause more pain. "Call the police."

"I can't." You sobbed. "They'll take you away, too."

He knew it as well as you did. They'd take him in. Question him. Stick an assault charge on him. You'd need a lawyer. You'd have to tell them what that disgusting guy had tried to do to you. You didn't want any of it. You just wanted to translate Vineyard tours, not police interrogations.

Jake leaned down and pressed his foot into the bloodied cheek.

"You better get the fuck out of here. I've got an entire security team in that hotel and they aren't little guys like me. They'll take you to fucking hell."

The adrenaline was still pumping as Jake stood back. Raking his bloody fist through his hair. Letting the guy stumble away, clutching his stomach as he spat blood onto the white sand. It wasn't until he was half way down the beach that Jake finally breathed. Letting out the most painful groan you'd ever heard. Your instincts telling you to protect him at all costs.

~

"What the fuck were doing out there?" You asked, cracking open the first aid kit in your hotel room. "Were you following me?"

He was sitting on the edge of the bed. Wincing as you knelt at his feet to wipe his hand with antiseptic. You held it within yours gently. Blowing cool air onto his grazed knuckles as you tried not to hurt him. You were still fighting back tears as you looked him in the eye.

"I didn't know you were out there." He said solemnly, tears of his own forming on the rim of his eye lashes. "I guess I had the same idea as you did. And then I heard you scream."

"What if you hadn't been there..."

You fell into his arms. Your entire body shaking as you sobbed. If you'd been afraid of loving him it felt so foolish now. You were consumed by love.

"I knew..." You tried to say, breathing hard against his bare chest.

You felt him cup your chin in his unspoiled hand. Forcing you to look at him.

"I knew from the start." You swallowed. "From the moment I saw you that I'd be fucked up forever. One look and I was gone. Washed away...in a landslide...because of your perfect face."

He fought against a smile.

"I knew you'd ruin me for anyone else." You said, "That's why I said no. All those times...no. How could I say yes to you? When saying yes meant I had to love you without fear."

He returned his fingertips to your cheek and you knew his touch was meant to heal you.

"Are you afraid now?" He asked quietly.

He was the kind of person that you knew you would end up falling in love with. You had perhaps always known it from the moment he was introduced to you. . There was a feeling which sat exactly right in your chest. You didn't want to ever say that you loved him for fear that he would leave. But you knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you didn't want to spend your time with anyone else.

"I was afraid that you'd break my heart." You sighed, the shadow of that fear dissipating. "But not anymore."

"I shouldn't have said what I said earlier at the Vineyard. I was wrong to call you out like that. It's none of my business who you've fucked in the past."

You appreciated his apology, but it had little place in the moment. You would never truly understand what he had sacrificed that night. He'd never lost his cool like that, ever. He was sorry for the things which he had said, but there was no apology needed. Not after what he had done for you.

"It doesn't matter." You shrugged, pressed an ice pack against his hand as you flipped the first aid kit shut. "All that matters now, is us."

He took that as his permission to kiss you. Leaning in to it slowly. Keeping your eyes focused on his. Feeling the heat of his breath before his lips reached you. And when they did, your eyes were closed and his lips were soft against yours. They parted slightly, allowing for his tongue to slip into your mouth.

You knelt up to lock your arms around his neck. Bodies pressed together heatedly against each other. You could taste the shared breath. Feel the thud of your combined hearts. Fumbling to be free of your cardigan.

Heat blossomed in your chest. Sparks igniting as Jake pulled you closer against his open shirt. Tentatively, for the first time, he uttered your name as his mouth momentarily parted from yours before returning to you as if he hadn't whispered it at all.

"Jake..." You responded, breathy and almost too shrouded in whisper to hear.

But he did hear you. Gripping your hips tighter as he deepened the kiss. Pulling you up onto his body as he leaned back onto the bed, your legs parted on either side of his waist. Weeks of tension flowing out of both of you.

But nothing happened that night. The evening had caused an exhaustion which both of you shared as you slipped into the curve of his arm. Kissing him in small increments, stopping only to appreciate his face in the moon light which flooded in from the window. Caressing his bare chest, playing with his chains as he pressed his lips against your forehead. Your leg draped casually over his, tangled in each other for the first time.

There was no need for anything else. Loving him with abandon for all the accompanying things you'd told yourself. All the reasons you'd given yourself not to enter into this with him. Wishing that he had been your first love. So that you could have loved him sooner, instead of looking for malice in his pure intentions. Looking for ways to never have to give yourself to him. With Jake as your first love, you would have only known love to be like velvet.

But he wasn't. He was going to be your last love, you knew you would die to make that happen.

~

Jake kept his busted hand bandaged up the next day. Telling anyone who cared to ask that he had dropped his guitar case and fucked up his knuckles trying to save it. It was an unlikely story, but nobody dared to question it. Least of all the security team that would have been heavily judged for not being there to break up a fight.

You were relieved to move on. Telling yourself that it wasn't your fault, that you'd done nothing wrong. And yet, a voice echoed in the back of your mind screaming blame for what Jake had been forced to do.

Even as you boarded the plane to leave the country, it was still playing on a loop in the back of your mind. That rough, dirty hand moving up your leg. The blood. The sand in your mouth. The way he had kissed you that night afterwards...

"Do you mind if I sit here?" He asked, looking down at you with a wicked grin.

The flight from Spain to England was only a few short hours. Nothing which required sleep or tentative dream induced embraces. You felt yourself blush as he slipped into the seat beside you. Feeling entirely different. Grateful for the distraction from your thoughts.

"Maybe we should have an impromptu lesson this time." You suggested, "I haven't heard you use your words at all this week."

Jake pulled off his shades, slipping them into his breast pocket as he kicked off his shoes and offered you his hand to hold as the plane took off.

"If I tell you that asking for lessons was a ploy to get closer to you and nothing else, would you be mad?" He asked, deadly serious, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

Everything he had done before the previous night meant little. You didn't care.

"Crees que eres tan listo." You replied, "But truthfully, I knew you had no intention of ever learning any of it."

He would have pulled you into one of those kisses. The urge was there on his lips as he licked them, eyes focusing in on yours.

"Besides, we're in England for the next three days. You're going to have a lot of free time." He joked, knowing that you'd have to be preparing to liaise with the concert venue and hotel in Germany for the week ahead. "What's the plan to fill it all?"

It felt like the entire time you'd known him had been foreplay. Leading up to this. A game of cat and mouse that you'd secretly wanted to end with all the sex you'd imagined having with him. Because you had imagined having sex with him.

"Maybe you could help me with that." You giggled, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

He stared at you for a moment. Trying to comprehend the words he thought he'd heard you say. He wasn't used to it. He expected you to rebuff him again. Even after spending the night wrapped in his arms, listening to his chest rise and fall against your cheek.

"Are you fucking serious?" He asked, gripping your hand more tightly.

You leaned in and placed your lips flush to his ear.

"Quiero arrancarte la ropa y follarte hasta que no puedas pararte derecho..." You whispered.

You felt his body close, his hand travel up your arm. Pulling you in. You let him. His brothers, Josh and Sam were sitting in the seats in front. And behind there was Danny, surrounded by people who would never know the secret you shared. Their eyes busy with anything but what the two of you were doing.

"I beg you, tell me what you just said."

You kissed him. Without shame. Without care if anyone noticed.

"I want to rip your clothes off and fuck you until you can't stand up straight..."

~

Throwing your luggage down, you tumbled into the bathroom. The anticipation was overwhelming. He'd been whispering in your ear the entire flight. All the things he was going to do to you. All the things he had imagined every single time you'd rejected him. The last thing he had said to you as you pulled up outside the hotel, weary and travel worn was a twenty minute warning that once you'd checked in and got to your room he was coming after you.

You grabbed your toiletries and began pulling your brush through your hair. Running the faucet until the water ran warm, rinsing the airport smell off your face. Shedding your clothes until you were down to your underwear, furiously brushing your teeth as you ran an electric razor up your leg.

Pulling open the elastic waist band of your panties, you peered down into the pubic hair you hadn't bothered to tidy up. Sighing at your own lack of foresight. Pushing your panties down to your ankles as you ran the shaver across your mound, wondering if he would care or even notice.

You slipped on your little white night robe over your underwear. Certain he would want you in a state of undress as he arrived. Perhaps expecting it. You regarded yourself in the mirror as you recalled his words.

"I'm going to taste that sweet pussy...You don't know how many times I've imagined what you taste like..."

You tightened the belt of your robe, feeling the length of silk material between your fingers as you pulled on it.

"You've pissed me off so much lately, I'm going to fuck that right out of you..."

Catching yourself breathing heavily, you placed the flat of your hand to the centre of your cleavage. Pressing down to feel your own heart beat.

"You know I would beat any man who tried to hurt you...you know that, don't you? Nobody's ever going to touch you again. Only me..."

Something stirred in that space between your chest and stomach. Something you had no name for. You weren't afraid when you remembered how he had lost his mind over the thought of you getting hurt. You were turned on.

"I'm getting hard right now thinking about getting to the hotel... You've got twenty minutes until I knock on your door..."

When you'd thought of the kind of lover he might be, you'd been inclined to imagine him soft and thoughtful. But there was something in those words that had been savage and downright filthy. He'd taken delight in watching you squirm in your seat, looking around to make sure nobody was listening.

Kissing you until you giggled. His lips making moist trails down your neck. Not leaving you alone for a moment, not even when people walked past your seats and witnessed exactly what he was doing to you. You'd be the talk of the tour, now.

The soft knock broke your reverie. You flinched, realising you'd been standing in front of the mirror lost in thought. Feeling as if your life was going to change the moment you opened the door. You sprayed some perfume into the air and walked through it as you headed out of the bathroom.

You only opened the door a notch before he slipped through the gap. Hands creeping down your back, gripping your ass cheeks tightly as he pulled them apart and pressed you against the hotel room wall. His mouth was on yours before speaking. Lapping his tongue into your mouth, feeling it brush against yours in a kiss that was the most desperate you'd ever felt him be.

"Fuck!" He groaned, "I can't believe I finally get to do this with you."

He put you down on the bed. Releasing you so that you fell onto the sheets and pillows, the sweetest laughter sounding out from the pit of your stomach.

Ripping open his shirt, he slipped it off his shoulders and began fighting to ease his belt. You watched curiously. Opening your robe to reveal the white bra and panties beneath.

All the laughter gone as you eyed his hard cock. Sitting there beneath his boxers, large and imposing. He gripped it in his hand. moving the erection up a little so that the tip peeked out from his waist band.

"How bad do you want it?" He asked, taking one of your ankles in his free hand and pulling you effortlessly down the bed.

You were under some sort of spell. There was no other explanation for how you found the confidence to respond. You would have fallen into embarrassment otherwise. Afraid to be vocal about what you wanted. Jake liked to talk, and talking was your gift. It made sense to you, more than ever, to use your words.

"I want you so bad, Jake. I can't stand it..."

He nodded, casting his gaze down the length of your body.

"Fuck, you're sweet. You're so god damn sweet, I just want to sink my teeth into every inch of you."

You pointed your toes, lifting your leg up to run the length of his torso. When you ran it back down, you lingered at his waist band. Hooking your toe beneath it, pulling it down just a little further so that his cock sprang free.

"Pain..." You gasped under your breath.

His hand curled around the hard base. "I won't fuck you sore, I'll make sure you're wet enough first."

You could feel the pressure building in your centre. You slipped your hand down beneath your panties and felt the wetness increase. You were already enough for him to slip inside of.

You were about to pull your hand out when he shook his head.

"No. Keep it there." He instructed, making shallow breaths as he began to move his hand up and down his own cock. "Slip your panties to the side, just a little bit. I want to see your lips down there..."

Yours were like little pink ribbons. Your clit was swollen and ready at the peak, the tiny head budding out from beneath the hood as you pulled it back with the flat of your fingers. Keeping your eyes on him the entire time. Allowing the sight of him at the foot of the bed to spur you on.

His head was flushed pink. White beads of pre-cum leaking out onto his fingers as he squeezed at the end. A throbbing vein pulsated down the centre of the shaft, his eyes half closed as he watched you plane your fingers down the slit, opening up your entrance for him to see.

"Take everything off." He ordered, the faded tan lines on his chest from the Vineyard making you smile as he kicked off his boxers.

Jake knelt onto the edge of the bed as you unhooked your bra. Your breasts spilling out of the white lace, round and firm with two hard buds in the centre of rippled goose flesh as you felt a cold shiver down your spine. Everything felt as if it were happening in a dream.

"These eyes stay on me while I'm inside you." He said, a hand suddenly reaching up for your jaw, tilting your face upward as he drank you in. "You understand me?"

You nod pitifully. Knowing his strength. Knowing there was aggression simmering beneath his cool exterior. Knowing you would do anything to placate him. Even though it made your pussy throb to think of how masterful he could be when cornered.

He inched two fingers into his mouth. A trail of saliva hanging down from his lip as he brought them to your needy cunt. You were a trembling mess as he hooked them inside you, watching your face for that blissful relief.

"Tell me how that feels."

You couldn't speak for a moment. Taking in the sensation of him driving into you past his knuckles. His grazed hand came to rest on the bed beside your head, his hair and the chains around his neck reaching down into the space where he hovered above.

"So fucking good." You tried to say, your entire body shaking as he began to pound into you harder.

He grinned that confidence, the one he liked to smirk when he knew that he was doing something right. You'd seen it on his lips before. His pressure was delicious. Using hot force and a curl of his fingers to press down on that sweet spot inside.

You almost felt bereft when he pulled his fingers out completely, returning them to his mouth where he padded them across his tongue. Tasting you. Just the way he had said he would.

"Put your mouth on it." You told him, wondering if you were a part of this dominance play or if you'd stepped out of line.

"You really are a filthy little thing, aren't you?" His head bowed, he slid down your torso and down through the valley of your navel. "Fuck...if this isn't so worth the wait..."

You looked down past the curve of your breasts. To where his wild hair was splayed across your open thighs. His back arched as he opened his mouth. Taking in a full slick lick of your pussy lips that made you moan so loud you couldn't hold back. His lips pursed around your clit, sucking on it and lapping his tongue against the swollen bud.

"Se siente tan jodidamente bien..." You hissed through gritted teeth, trying to keep a grip on the bed sheets.

You felt the vibration of his moan against your clit. Listening to you speak like that, it made him drive his tongue further into your entrance. You felt the softness of it at the opening of your walls. Hearing him swallow your wetness, you tangled your hands into his hair and swept it into your fist.

You took a deep breath and pushed him deeper into your cunt. Hips bucking, pressure mounting in your core. You almost fucked his mouth yourself until he gripped your hips steady and reminded you who was in control.

"Hold still!" He called up, raising his head with your juice dripping from his bottom lip.

You were brought to stillness by his firm grip. His eyes locked on yours as he returned his mouth to you. His nose pressed flush against your clit as he buried his head. You ached to move. Arch your back. Grind your hips. Anything to release the mounting tension.

"I mean it Jake, I'm so fucking close..." You warned him.

You trembled and twitched against his tongue as he slowly brought it to rest at your mound. The sound of his name falling like gentle rain was like music to his ears. Your orgasm belonged to him. He looked up at you and viciously slammed his fingers back inside.

"Well, come on then." He urged. "Give it to me if you want to so badly."

You tossed your head back. He ravaged and ruined you. Pounding his fingers into your cunt violently as he returned to sucking on your clit, harder. The sound was like a wet popping as his fist pressed against your slipper lips. The moans you couldn't hold back shrieking out of you as he deviously refused to stop.

"That's it, baby." You heard him say below the wet pounding and your own vocals, "Show me what that pussy can do."

He watched you. Every breath. Ever shudder. He absorbed it all. Appreciating each and revelling in it all. You were his muse, his morning song. And as you came undone at the tip of his fingers and tongue, he felt your orgasm bloom into his mouth.

"Oh god..." He swallowed hard. "I fucking need it...."

You were still on the fringes of your climax as he pulled you up. Every point in your body a mess of tingles. You met his mouth again and tasted yourself there on his lips.

"Fuck me, Jake."

Positioning you on the pillows, he made you lean back against the head board. Crawling up to meet you, ensuring your eyes never left his.

"Ask me again."

You feel his hard erection pressed against your pussy lips and inner thigh.

"I want you to fuck me so good, Jake."

He lowered his head, coming to rest at your breasts. Scanning them with his tongue, sucking on your nipple as you try to keep yourself from melting into the bed sheets.

"Beg me." He said finally, sinking his teeth into your flesh.

All the words you could think of in any language you had ever known seemed to flee from you. There was only one that remained.

"Please..."

It wasn't enough. "Beg harder."

You sank your fingernails into his back. "Fuck me! Please, I want you to... punish me...for all the times I told you no... make me repent for it... I beg you."

He moved to bring himself into you. Slapping his thick, girthy cock against your still sensitive slit. Before you could scream, he had you pressed against the head board and his cock was buried so deeply inside you it took your breath away.

God, he felt so good. Like your walls had never welcomed such a perfect feeling. He filled you so good, just on the cusp of pain but you were wet enough to handle it. He'd promised you wouldn't be sore afterwards, and you believed him.

"Shit, you feel so..." He faltered, "Fuck, I can't explain it."

His mouth was at your throat. Sticky fingers rested against your wind pipe, not squeezing but simply holding you in place as he rocked into you.

It had all been too much. Too much waiting, too much anticipation.

"Use your words, Jakey, come on..." You closed your legs around his waist and felt him shudder as he thrusted.

He wants as much contact with you as possible. To keep your eyes locked with his. But to also feel your breasts bouncing against his bare chest. He wants to rub your clit as he shoves his cock into you so deep he wants to watch your pussy eat it up until it disappears inside you. He wants all of it whilst listening to you speak.

"Shut up." He managed, sweat dripping off his brow. "Just let me come inside you..."

You might have been offended, but you could tell the hold you had on him had him all speechless. You making him talk was taking him away from all his other senses. Which made you smile because Jake loved nothing more than being vocal.

"Why don't you make me?" You teased. "Fucking me with your big cock like that? You want me to shut up? Fucking come in me..."

As if he could read your mind, he abruptly picked up speed and grunted vividly into the curve of your neck. Slamming into you with his entire body. The sound of his skin slapping against yours is all that echoes in your ears. Muffling out the sound of Jake's tension, his panting as he let's go into your waiting pussy. Convulsing on top of you as you grip him tightly.

His hands come underneath you, kneading your ass cheeks as he slows down. Breathing hard against your chest.

"I had no idea you could fuck like that." You breathed, "You're a dark horse, Jake Kiszka."

He laughed and returned to you for gentle kisses that reminded you he was still the sweet one who had sat with you as you reached out for him in your sleep.

"I protect my woman and I fuck her good." He replied, with a hint of playfulness as he moved apart from you to slump at your side.

You watched his cock soften as he laid there. His seed still sitting at your entrance.

"Oh I'm your woman, am I?" You jested back.

He nodded, but didn't say anything. Before too long he was snoring quietly. Beautifully naked as he was sprawled out on your hotel room bed.

You slowly inched away, heading to the bathroom to clean yourself up while he slept. Feeling a little sore, after all.

.

@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon y @char289 @dancingcarbon @gvfpal @violetstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @jazzyfigz @gvfmarge @ignite-my-fire

[unforth]

We are one Iowa caucus into the absolute shitshow that is going to be the US 2024 elections, and I'm already sick of seeing takes downplaying the risk that Trump and his fascist followers represent.

Look. Around 1900, my mother's grandparents immigrated to the Lower East Side of New York City. They brought with them children born in Europe (Poland? Ukraine? which country they were in depends on what year we're talking about) - we're not 100% sure they were THEIR children, even, but there were three, and they were young, and they came. But my great-grandparents had siblings, parents, cousins, uncles, aunts, huge families. And while my understanding is that an attempt was made to convince those folks to move to the US, none of them ultimately opted to.

They all kept in touch as they were able, exchanging letters and pictures, but through World War 1, through the 20s, through the Great Depression, through the worsening situation in Europe in the 1930s, my entire extended family who chose not to immigrate...continued to stay.

I think we all know how this story ends.

I have an entire family photo album of people whose names I will never know, because after every single one of them died in the Holocaust, my great-grandparents and grandparents couldn't bear to even label them. And they were PEOPLE, poor, vibrant, eager to maintain connections with their loved ones abroad. One was a Klezmer musician, and we have photos of him with all the different instruments he played. They're so real on the page, and they all ended in ashes.

And you know how that started? Fascism started with every inch allowed, with every well-intentioned moderate who tried to maintain a middle position even as the whole ground shifted right beneath their feet and even "middle" became extreme, every "no that change isn't coming fast enough, I want instant full improvement NOW" liberal who felt that doing nothing was better than accepting a slower improvement in the (truly awful!) post-World War 1 living situation in Germany.

Most of the members of my extended family also downplayed the risks. They never imagined that the worst could happen to them. They never fathomed how bad things could become.

And now I have their example always before me to know and to scream:

I KNOW HOW BAD THINGS CAN BECOME. I KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO MY FAMILY THEN.

I WILL NOT LET THAT HAPPEN TO MY FAMILY NOW.

People look at me like I'm crazy when I say I've got our passports ready (and have had since before the 2020 election).

Look. I don't know what will happen if Trump is elected, but there's a very real possibility he will, and he's been extremely clear about saying what he'll do. He did a lot of the things he said he'd do last time. I expect he'll continue to do the things he says he'll do. And the things he say he'll do will lead to the deaths of more people than we can imagine - in the US, in Palestine, throughout the world.

Don't tell me there's a middle ground here. Don't tell me I'm over-reacting. Don't tell me the worst won't happen. Don't tell me the risk is mild. Don't tell me we're safe.

We. Are. Not. Safe.

The lives of dozens, hundreds, of members of family were lost in the 1940s amid the horrifying statistic "6,000,000 dead Jews."

I will not let my life (as a Jew), my wife's life (as a disabled woman), my son's life (as a biracial boy), my daughter's life (as a biracial trans girl), be part of the statistics that come from our a second Trump presidency.

If you won't vote like YOUR life depends on it, vote like someone ELSE'S life depends on it, because IT DOES.

And if you can't even do that much, at least shut the fuck up and stop spreading your poison around. You're wrong. The danger is real. Downplaying it now won't make your conscience feel any clearer when it actually happens, and comforting everyone else downplaying it will just make you that much more complicit.