#raise the retirement age for you but lower it for me

[changing-my-username]

Woman who is entitled to £115k a year pension at the age of 48 as a former PM thinks retiring at 66 is too young.

[rowarn]

NEIGHBORLY.

simon riley/reader feat. soap + gaz

tags: smut, established relationship (engaged), retired!simon, neighbors!soap+gaz, afab!reader, gn!reader, age gap (not specified but i imagine 30s/20s), long winded pwp

cw: voyeurism, size difference, no foursome, cucking, throat fucking with fingers, blowjob, dacryphilia, pet names: love/lovie/sweetheart, praise, outdoor sex, cunnilingus, wet&messy, simon picks up reader bridal, striptease?, fingering, dirty talk, praise, lots of compliments!!!, masturbation, clothed/naked sex, standing sex, hand on throat!!!!!, creampie

; two guys called soap and gaz move in next door and aren't good at hiding the crush they develop on you. your fiance, simon, decides they're fun to play with.

"You had dressed up so nicely for your company and here he was, stripping it off of you in front of them instead."

8.5k words

When your fiancé surprised you by buying a quaint little house for the two of you to spend the rest of your lives together in, you were elated. It was straight out of your dreams, cute and cozy, yellow on the outside and enough room for a little garden if you so wished. It was in a quiet neighborhood but near enough to everything you needed that you could walk there if you so chose. 

It was all so perfect – living with the love of your life in your first house together. Ready to start your lives and plan the upcoming wedding. Things were peaceful and you couldn’t have been happier. 

Then the house next door sold. 

“You really have to give them away?” Simon huffed from where he sat at the table, cheek resting on his propped up hand. His lidded gaze followed you as you flitted about the kitchen, cat-themed apron covered in flour.

You laugh over your shoulder, “It’s the polite thing to do! We have to be good neighbors!”

“They smell good…” Simon muttered, only making your smile broaden as you walked over to him.

His hands found your hips when you placed yours on his broad shoulders, black t-shirt getting white specks all over it from the flour still on your fingers, “After I get back from delivering these I’ll make a whole batch just for you, deal?”

He tongues the inside of his cheek before nodding, “Let’s get it over with.”

“You’re coming?” you ask, brows raised in surprise. 

“Of course,” he huffs, giving your bottom a little pat when you bend over to grab the tupperware out of the lower cabinet. 

You giggle and carefully place parchment paper inside before organizing the cookies in a way that looks nice. You pop the lid on and make your way to the door where Simon is leaning against it with his arms over his chest. 

You try your best not to ogle him but he looks damn good; a simple pair of blue jeans fastened with a leather belt and a tight shirt that hugs his pecs and stretches the sleeves around his biceps when they flex. 

“Maybe when we get back,” you hum, slipping your feet into your slides, “You can let me suck your dick on the couch, yeah?”

Simon rolls his eyes but doesn’t do a good job of hiding the crooked smile that slips across his face. He turns his back to you and opens the door for you before following you out and down the porch.. 

His heavy boots pound against the stairs, reminding you just how intimidating his stature is. It makes you pause, halfway between your yard and the new neighbors. You turn around and look up at him.

“What?” he raises a thick brow, crossing his arms over his chest again.

“Just…” you take a few steps backwards, playfully squinting at him with pursed lips, “Stay here, okay? We don’t want to scare the new neighbors.”

“You implying I’m scary, love?” he huffs, a smirk on his lips.

“I’m not implying it, Si,” you grin, “Just stay here while I deliver these.”

“You’re the boss,” he sighs. 

True to his word, his feet remain planted right where he stands as you cross into the new neighbors yard. You hop up the stairs and ring the doorbell. 

You hear a clamoring from the other side of the door before there’s a slam against the surface and muffled cursing. You bite back a laugh before smiling politely when the door swings open. 

Two men stand in the doorway, one with a mohawk stands closest to you – probably the one who ran into the door. 

“Oh,” he clears his throat, fixing his posture before flashing you a crooked grin, “Can-can we help ye?”

The other man, with pretty, brown eyes scoots closer, bumping shoulders with the other man, “You’re from next door.”

“Huh?!” The mohawk man gawks, whipping his head over to stare at the other man, “We had a pretty neighbor this whole time and you kept it to yerself?!”

“Are those for us?” he ignored his companion and looked at the tupperware in your hands.

“Oh!” you brush off mohawks comment and nod, holding the box out, “I made you some cookies. They’re just plain chocolate chip, I hope you don’t mind.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” he kindly smiles and takes the container from you, fingers brushing against yours. 

“So,” mohawk rests his arm up on the door frame, eyeing you up and down, “My name’s Johnny but everyone calls me Soap.”

“Nice to meet you,” you nod your head in greeting, introducing yourself before looking at the other man who has opened the tupperware to take a cookie out.

“Kyle,” he offers before taking a bite, humming in satisfaction, “These are delicious.”

“Hey, don’t hog those for yourself, ye pig!” Soap cries, snatching a cookie out of the container before shoving the whole thing in his mouth with a moan, “These are good.”

“Thank you, I’m glad you like them,” you giggle, “You can return the tupperware whenever you’re ready.”

“So,” Soap hums before you can leave, “You’re pretty and you can bake, what else can you do? How about you come in and we can get to know each other more.”

You bashfully lower your head and laugh, “I don’t think my fiance would appreciate that very much.” You gesture over your shoulder. 

Both men comically lean out of the doorway to look into the yard where Simon still stands, arms over his chest, brown eyes practically piercing through them.

“Ah, that’s a shame,” Soap mutters under his breath before sighing, “Figures, I suppose. Lucky bastard.”

You shake your head tossing a little wave to Simon before looking back at your neighbors, “I’ll be seeing you guys around. Enjoy the cookies!”

You can feel their eyes on you as you go and it isn’t until you reach Simon that you hear the door shut. 

Your fiance looks down at you when you stand in front of him, “They liked the cookies.”

“Bet they did,” he hums, letting you take his hand and lead him back to the house where he proceeds to demand a fresh batch just for himself – as you promised. 

The next time you see your neighbors, it’s just Kyle. You’re outside, kneeling in the grass with your hands covered in dirt as you plant some flowers. 

“Hey there, neighbor,” a friendly voice calls from behind. 

You turn to look to see Kyle dressed in a compression shirt, shorts, and running shoes, “Oh hello, Kyle!”

“Doin’ some dirty work, are you?” he asks, eyeing the holes you’re carefully digging.

“Just getting started on my garden,” you explain, “What about you? Going for a run?”

“That’s right,” he nods, “May be on leave but gotta keep movin’ or I go crazy.”

“Leave?” you ask, sitting up straight in interest, “You’re in the military?”

His eyes light up as he nods, “That’s right. Soap and I both.” 

“You don’t live on base?” you ask, unable to hide your interest. 

“Nah, had to live in the barracks for way too long I couldn’t handle it anymore,” he laughs, a charming smile that makes you smile back, “You interested in military men, love?” he asks, flirtatious tone more than obvious.

You laugh softly, “You could say that,” his brows raise in interest, “My fiance is ex-military. Discharged at Lieutenant for an injury.”

His smile is wiped from his face quickly and you bite back another laugh, “Right, your fiance.”

“I could introduce you, if you’d like,” you offer, “Simon doesn’t really get to talk to many people who know what the military is really like–”

“That’s alright, love,” Kyle says, smiling politely, “I’ve got a run to go on, I’m sure I’ll get the chance to meet him soon enough.”

“Alright,” you wave, hands still covered in dirt as he makes his way back to the sidewalk before jogging off and out of sight. 

You finish planting and watering before you place all your tools in the shed and head back inside. Simon sits at the kitchen table, watching the tv that plays some movie from the living room. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets without looking away. 

“Hi baby!” you chirp, making your way over to the sink so you can scrub your hands free of dirt, “I ran into Kyle outside!”

“Who?” he asks, barely showing any hint of interest. 

“One of the guys from next door!” you remind him, turning off the water and grabbing a towel to wipe your hands dry, “Turns out they’re both in the military!”

“Is that right?” that finally gets his attention.

You nod, turning to look at him, “I offered to introduce you but I think they’re a little scared of you after all.”

He laughs through his nose before standing up, approaching you in a couple broad steps. He crowds you against the counter, hands on either side of you to prevent you from fleeing, “Think they wanna fuck you, lovie.”

You swallow thickly and look up at him, “Th-They’re just flirts…”

He hums, leaning down to press his lips against your neck, “Think I don’t know blokes like that? Young guys in the military like them only think about stuffing their pathetic pricks into whatever tight, wet cunts they can find.”

“S-Si, I haven’t showered yet…” you whisper when he starts trailing his lips along the side of your neck, “I was outside, remember?”

He scoffs, “What kinda man do you take me for?”

You giggle, squirming your way out of his hold, prancing past him and towards the stairs, “You can show me what kind of man you are after a shower.”

A grin spreads across his face as he chases after you, your sweet giggles music to his ears and cock already hard and heavy against his thigh, ready for you to be beneath him or the night.

He waits patiently for you to finish your shower. The second you’re out, a towel the only thing wrapped around you, he has you pinned on the bed. 

“You like keeping me waitin’, lovie?” he huffs, nipping at your jaw as he tugs your towel open so he can palm your breasts. You spread your legs for him, legging your knees rest on his hips, “Leavin’ me here with a hard-on. Got my cock achin’, sweetheart.”

“Si…” you sigh wistfully, lashes fluttering as his dirty words make you clench around nothing, “I-I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh?” he grins, broad tongue licking flat over one of your nipples, “I like the sound of that. You gonna let me use that pretty cunt?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, hands coming up to grip his strong shoulders from the pleasure his tongue brings you.

“So sweet for me,” he hums, rough hands sliding down your body, over your hips and trailing along your thighs until goosebumps rise on your skin. He brings two fingers between your legs to spread your folds apart, the sticky noise audible between the two of you and it makes him snicker, “You’re this wet?”

Your cheeks burn in humiliation, “Sh-Shut up, don’t be mean.”

“Mean?” he asks incredulously, “You’re callin’ me mean while I’m playin’ with this pretty cunt?”

You open your mouth to retaliate but he slides two thick digits into your pussy. You whimper at the burn that it causes but it fades quickly when he crooks his fingers just right to prod that sweet little spot inside you. 

Your blunt nails dig into his shoulders, clutching the fabric of his shirt as he surges up to pull you into a kiss. You whimper into the kiss as he continues to stretch you open on his fingers, carefully introducing a third so you can take his cock later with ease. As you kiss, you grind your hips against his hand, his palm rubbing against your clit. The pleasure makes you sigh and shiver, a sweet little sound that makes Simon’s cock twitch in interest. 

The kiss is sloppy and wet, messy strings of spit between your lips every time you part to take a breath. Your cunt clenches pathetically around his fingers as he fucks you with them, scissoring his digits to really stretch you out. He doesn’t know how much longer he can wait 

“Please, Si,” you gasp, the plea making him stop, glancing over your face to see how badly you really need it. 

He sits back on his knees, flingers sliding out of your cunt with an obscene schlick. He unbuttons his jeans and moves the fabric out of the way so he can pull his hard, leaky cock free. He wraps his hand around himself, using the slick covering his fingers to lube himself up. 

“Take it off,” you whine, making him pause. 

He wants you so bad, just wants to fold you up and stuff his aching cock right in the tight, hot clutch of your pretty pussy. But the puppy-dog eyes you’re giving him has him huffing and obeying. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he mutters, hooking his fingers under the hem of his shirt so he can yank it over his head. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, leaning up to run your hands over his chest and abdomen, feeling the firmness underneath your explorative fingers while he rids himself of his pants and boxers. 

Once he’s finally bare, he gives you no more time to admire his body before he’s pinning you down underneath his massive weight. You can’t do anything but let him, breathing in his scent while enveloped by his overwhelming warmth. 

He grips the base of his cock and slides the tip up and down between your folds, circling your clit to spread his precum all over it before meanly slapping the head against the little bud. The impact makes your thighs twitch and jump, a choked whimper of his name escaping your throat. 

You arch your hips just right, finally drawing the fat head of his cock into your clenching cunt. He grunts, thumb coming up to swirl against your clit.

“Oh, that feels so good, Si,” you whimper, your praise making his whole body shudder as he works his hips forward, sinking more of his cock into you.

“I know, love,” he chokes out, eyes pinned on where you slowly take him inch by methodical inch, “I treat this little cunt just right, don’t I?”

“Uh-huh!” you whimper, thighs twitching against his waist when he hits that sweet spot with practiced ease, sinking balls deep easily with how absolutely soaked you are for him, “No one fucks me as good as you, Si.”

He plants both hands on either side of your head, pulling his hips back so only the head is enveloped by your hot little pussy before he rolls his hips forward and stuffs his full length right back inside. He hits your cervix, a painful shot zaps up your spine and makes you grasp his arms to dig your nails into his skin. 

“I’m the only one who gets to fuck you, lovie,” he huffs, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple as an apology for hurting you. 

His next thrust isn’t as deep, avoiding slamming against your poor cervix but still deep enough that he can grind his pelvis right against your clit every time his hips meet yours.

“Simon!” you squeal, eyes rolling back at the feeling of your orgasm building.

“Fuck, look at that,” he grunts, head hanging between his shoulders, his wild hair tickling your face as he watches the creamy mess you’re covering his cock in, “Makin’ a fuckin’ mess, lovie.”

“You’re gonna make me cum!” you sob, hands slapping against his shoulders when he suddenly redoubles his efforts, encouraged by your announcement.

“I know I am, sweetheart,” he grunts, teeth clenched, “Always make this pretty cunt cum don’t I?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” you wail, throwing your arms around his neck, nails drawing thick, red marks down his back, “Cumming, cumming, cumming, Si! Fuck!”

He curses right in your ear, one arm wrapping under your arched back to pull your chest snug against his. He grinds his cock into you, no longer pounding into the gushing heat of your pillowy cunt, humping his pelvis against your clit to work you through the orgasm. 

When you sag against him, sticky cunt still spasming around him from the aftershocks, he starts fucking you again, this time to his own end. He grunts and groans in your ear, body trembling from the effort of getting his own orgasm – his reward for making you cum nice and hard around him like you deserve. 

“Shit, I love you s’much,” he slurs, lips getting loose from how close his high grows closer. His heavy balls slap against you, aching from how full they are, needing to fill you up with the load he built up just for you, “My pretty baby, so sweet and wet for me. A nice, perfect cunt for me to fuck, shit.”

Your cunt clenches pathetically at his filthy words, hearts in your eyes as you watch how handsome he looks with his brows furrowed and his pupils blown huge, making his brown eyes appear black, “Love you, Si. Please cum inside me, wanna feel you cum, please.”

He pants, slumping against your chest as he uselessly works his hips until his orgasm finally washes over him, spilling his cum inside you with a final, long, drawn out moan. 

“Shit, that’s it, baby,” he whispers, hoarse and breathless as his cock throbs and pulses, spitting out ropes of cum that fill you up just right, “Take it all.”

“Ah…Si…” you sigh softly, carding your fingers through his hair as he rests against you, waiting for his cock to stop twitching from the aftershocks before he pulls out. 

“You alright, lovie?” he coos, soothing his large hands over your body, “You did so well.”

You smile, cheeks warm and body buzzing from the incredible dick he had just given you, “Never better. You’re so handsome.”

He scoffs, rolling over to toss his legs over the side of the bed to stand up. He picks up  his discarded shirt and uses it to wipe off his softened cock, cleaning the mess of your combined cum off of himself.

You hum, “I have to take another shower. Would you like to join me this time?”

He looks up at that, eyes twinkling in interest.

One afternoon, there’s a knock on your door that interrupts your peaceful dinner preparations. You wipe your hands off on your apron and make your way to it, passing by where Simon is transferring the wet clothes into the dryer. 

On the other side stands Soap, an empty tupperware container in his hands. 

“Hey there, darlin’,” he greets, holding the box out, “Gaz and I loved ‘em.”

“I’m glad to hear it!” you giggle, taking it from his hands, careful not to touch his hands with leftover vegetable residue on your own.

“Somethin’ smells heavenly,” he groans, leaning over your shoulder to take a whiff of the aroma drifting from your kitchen.

“I’m just making dinner,” you explain with a little shrug.

“Guess you’re one hell of a cook too, huh?” he compliments, a charming smile on his face.

“I get by,” you laugh.

“Say,” he says suddenly, “Is that big bastard really your fiance?”

You blink in surprise at his bold question, “Y-Yes..?” your response comes out more as a question. 

“Is that a problem?” a deep, annoyed voice comes from behind you. 

You jump when Simon’s firm, tattooed arm wraps around your waist, “Si, you should be watching the stove.”

“You go ahead and finish up, lovie,” he mutters, kissing your temple before shooing you away from the door. 

“Ah,” Soap clears his throat awkwardly, as his back straightens, “Simon was it?”

“You’d be wise to watch your tongue,” Simon warns, “I’m not above putting you in your place.”

“Y-Yes sir,” Soap whispers, hands clasped behind his back, “I’ll be more mindful.”

“Get the hell off my porch,” Simon orders, watching the young man tuck his tail and dash down the stairs. 

Simon quietly closed the door and made his way back to the kitchen where you were plating the food, “Everything okay, Si? You weren’t too hard on him, were you?”

Simon bites back a smile and takes the plates from your hands to put them on the table for you, “Who do you think I am?”

You give him a skeptical look before taking a seat in front of your food, “I don’t want to make enemies with our neighbors, Simon.”

He sighs, taking a seat across from you, “Alright, I’ll be nice, love. I promise. I’ll go over tomorrow and apologize for bein’ rude, will that make you happy?”

“Yes,” you smile, “They’re not too bad. They’re just…rambunctious. You said so yourself, you know how their types are! They’re just flirts.”

He nods, “They’re…interesting characters.”

The next day, true to his word, the next morning, Simon is standing in front of their door. 

“Oh, hello neighbor,” Kyle greets nervously, “Is there something you need?”

“Your friend,” Simon grunts, “I’d like to talk to him.”

Kyle looks worried for a second, glancing over his shoulder where Simon assumes Soap was, “Whatever he did, don’t mind him. He’s just an idiot.”

Simon huffs out a laugh through his nose, “I wanted to apologize to him.”

“Oh!” Kyle gasps before looking back over his shoulder, “Soap, door for you!”

Soap rounds the corner and freezes when he sees Simon standing there, “Hello, sir.”

“Soap, right?” Simon says, “Listen, I was rude last night. I wanted to apologize.”

“Ah, well,” Soap shifts on his feet, casting a sideways glance at his friend, “I-I deserved it, I shouldn’t have said what I said either. Your relationship isn’t any of my business.”

Soap actually looks like a kicked puppy and Simon feels his own interest piqued, “Pretty, huh?”

“Sir?” Soap blinks in confusion.

Simon says your name, “Pretty little thing. Can’t blame you for makin’ eyes.”

“I…” Soap licks his lips, blue eyes wide in shock, “W-Well, yes, sir. Very pretty.”

Simon laughs softly, glancing over at his house where he knows you’re bustling about inside, “You think they’re pretty now. You should see them in nothing, bent over the kitchen table in tears.”

Soap’s throat moves as he swallows around the lump in his throat, mind conjuring up sinful images. Kyle’s eyes practically bug out of his head at Simon’s words.

The large man gives a tight lipped smile as a goodbye before he's stalking off of the porch, leaving the two young men slack-jawed and stunned into silence. 

When Simon’s in the safety of his own home, he places a hand over his face and lets out the low chuckles he had been holding back. 

“What’s so funny, Si?” you ask when you descend from the stairs, a laundry basket in your hands – the second load from yesterday that you hadn’t had the chance to do.

“Nothin’, lovie,” he grins, sharp canines on display, “Let me help you with that.”

“Did you make up with the neighbors?” you ask, letting him take the basket from your hands.

“I sure did,” he coos, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before leading the way to the laundry room. 

You give him a suspicious look but decide not to press the issue further, instead choosing to focus on the other chores you still had to do for the day. 

Things seemingly settle down for a little while. You don’t see either of your new neighbors except for polite greetings in passing. All in all, things seem to quiet down. 

You’re relaxing with Simon on the back veranda, curled in his lap on a swinging bench with a book in your hands. Usually, you’d be scrolling on your phone but Simon was always adamant about being tech-free when you were outside together like this.

Enjoy nature and relax he would say, only laughing when you would call him an old man. 

Just as you start a new chapter in your book, Simon’s hand begins to wander. Your lips twitch as you fight smiling, watching his fingers slip beneath the leg of your lounge shorts. The feeling of his callused skin brushing against the hem of your panties already has you clenching around nothing. 

“Look so pretty like this,” he coos in your ear, hand coming from between your legs to wrap around your throat.

You smile against his lips, “I haven’t even gotten dressed yet today.”

“I know,” he breathes, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet, simple kiss before pulling back to add, “You’re pretty without even havin’ to try, lovie.”

“You’re just trying to butter me up so I let you in my pants,” you tease, practically melting at the feeling of his thumb stroking the skin of your cheek. 

“Don’t gotta butter you up for that, do I sweetheart?” he coos, “You’ll let me right between those thighs without even havin’ to ask.”

Your lashes flutter at his words, heart pounding in your ears because he’s right. Even right now, your panties have grown sticky. His thumb traces over your lips and you open your mouth to let the digit inside. The action makes him raise a brow.

“You want somethin’ down that little throat?'' he asks. You nod your head, not caring how desperate you look, “Even with our little audience over there?”

He watches your eyes widen, clearly startled out of the moment. Your gaze flicks past his face to see your two neighbors Soap and Gaz on their back porch, both nursing beers. They look away when your gaze falls on them but it’s clear they’ve been watching the whole interaction with your fiance. 

“Don’t care,” you find yourself muttering, eyes falling back onto your fiance.

“That’s what I thought,” he huffs, leaning forward to brush his lips against yours, “Knew you were filthy, don’t mind if anyone watches you as long as your pretty cunt gets to cum, yeah?”

You feel breathless as you nod your head. Simon brings his index and middle fingers to your lips that you eagerly open up for him. 

“Good,” he praises, slowly slipping the fingers into your mouth, careful not to gag you on them until you’re ready. 

Your lips seal around the digits, rolling your tongue over the salty skin until they’re covered in spit. Then he slowly starts sliding them deeper into your mouth until the tips are buried in your throat.

“Relax, just like that, good,” he praises, cock leaking against his thigh at the sight of your eyes filling with tears. He pulls his fingers back carefully just to stuff them back in, biting back a groan when you choke around them. 

Simon casts a glance over his shoulder to see the two neighbors you were giving the show to watching with wide, unblinking eyes. Neither could take their eyes off of you as you eagerly let your fiance fuck your throat with his fingers. 

He could see Soap had his hand on his crotch, no doubt gripping his hard cock. Kyle at least had enough pride to not touch himself to the sight of you. 

You reach up to grab Simon’s wrist, signaling for him to pull his fingers out of your mouth. When he did, a string of thick drool connected your lips to the tips. The sight made his cock throb painfully, desperate for some kind of friction. 

“I want you, Si,” you whimper, reaching down to cup his hardened cock through his pants.

“Is that right?” he asks, raising a brow, “Is that pretty little pussy wet?”

You nod your head, “Want your tongue, Si.”

He licks his lips, chasing the fantasy taste of you before glancing back over to the neighbors who now don’t even bother hiding the fact they’re watching the two of you.

“Want me to eat you out right here?” he asks, subtly gesturing his head to next door.

“Don’t care about them,” you whine, a cute little frown on your face that he just couldn’t say no to. 

Before you knew it, Simon was on his knees, tugging your shorts and panties off in one fell swoop. You eagerly spread your legs, locking your arms around your knees to let Simon have as much room as he needed. 

“Look at you,” he coos, using his thumbs to spread your lips apart, exposing your drooling entrance and swollen clit. 

The little bud twitched under his heated gaze, hole dribbling out more thick juices that made his mouth water. He can’t resist the call anymore, leaning forward to slide the flat of his tongue over the length of your cunt, ending with a flick against your clit that made your whole body twitch. 

“Thaaaaat’s it, pretty,” he coos, muffled from the way he refuses to part from your cunt, “Let us hear you.”

Your mouth falls open as he starts eagerly tonguing your pussy, swirling the muscle inside your hole before coming up to wrap his lips around your clit. He eats messy, not caring for all the drool and cum that covers his face or drips down to the floor below. 

He uses his thumbs to keep your folds spread so he can focus on your clit. His tongue swirls around and around, lathering the poor little bud in a heavy film of his spit before he’s wrapping his lips around it again and sucking. 

The feeling makes your back arch and you can’t help the loud moan that tears from your throat. Your nails dig into the soft meat of your thigh, the only thing you can grab from the position you’ve chosen for yourself. 

Simon’s eyes are closed and there’s a crease between his brows of concentration. Neither of you even remembers the fact you’re outside and have an audience of two just next door. All you can think about is how good your fiance’s tongue feels worshiping your clit. 

“Si!” you squeal when he reaches up to tug the hood of your clit back, exposing the little bud for him to tongue at. It’s so sensitive that it aches but it feels too good to stop him, only able to lay back and twitch as you take it. 

He groans in response to you calling his name, cock leaking down his thigh so much that his sweats are sticking to him. Your slick drips off of his chin and he can think of nothing but how good you smell and taste – a 5 star meal all laid out just for him.

“Oh, I’m gonna cum!” you cry out, “You’re gonna make me cum, Si!”

He can’t even bring himself to pull his mouth off of you to encourage you like he usually does. Instead, he doubles his efforts, slurping and sucking at your clit. His jaw is aching but it’s barely a blip on his radar as he feels the tender little bud throb beneath his tongue. 

Your orgasm washes over you quickly and hard. Your eyes roll back in your head as your jaw falls open, a symphony of pleasured cries flit through the air. Your fiance eagerly works you through the orgasm he so easily gave you, tongue swirling and circling your clit until your thighs clamp shut and you push him away, still trembling and shaking from the aftershocks. 

He pulls back, chest heaving as he finally takes the first deep breaths he’s gotten since he started. 

“Good?” he asks, licking his lips to clean your cum off of them.

You nod, breathless, “Take me inside and fuck me, please Si.”

He’s on his feet in seconds, scooping you up bridal style before hurrying back inside, forgetting all about the book you left behind – and the audience still on the porch next door. 

You learn that Simon seems to really enjoy torturing your two neighbors when just a few nights later, he corners you in the bedroom. 

“Our neighbor’s a nosy little bastard,” he coos into your ear. 

You cast a glance over to the window where you can see Soap is lingering in front of his window, acting like he wasn’t watching and waiting to see what would happen next. 

“He’s waitin’ so patiently,” Simon says, “It’s only polite of us to give him somethin’ to look at.”

“Glad to see you’re finally being neighborly,” you tease, a cheeky grin growing on your face. 

Simon’s fingers hook under the hem of your shirt, sliding it up and up until you lift your arms and let him tug it over your head. Your bare breasts bounce free and Simon sucks in a breath at the sight.

“Fuck,” he coos, large hands cupping them, “Can’t believe I get to marry you some day.”

“We still need to pick a date,” you mutter, voice cracking when he wraps his lips around one perked nipple. 

He groans against your chest, “I’d marry you right fuckin’ now if you’d let me.”

You whimper, hands carding through his messy hair before he abruptly pulls away. He grips your shoulders and turns you so your back is pressed against his chest and you’re facing the window – and Soap, who still stands there stunned. 

Kyle pops in from the left, mouth dropping open at the sight of your tits on full display for them to ogle. Simon stares over your shoulder, watching their reactions as he gropes your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers. 

You can’t stop the soft whimpers and gasps that fall from your lips as he plays with your nipples. Your thighs clench together, a weak attempt to quell the ache that settles in your cunt. You never thought you’d enjoy being watched like this – it felt so dirty and wrong but that’s exactly what turned you on. The fact your neighbors wanted you so badly that they would just watch you get touched like this. 

“You wanna give ‘em a show?” he asks, voice dark and deep in your ear, “Somethin’ they’ll be fistin’ their cocks to later?”

“Yes, anything, Si,” you whimper, hands coming up to grip his wrists as he squeezes your breasts, “I’ll do anything you want.”

“Then get on your knees,” he orders, letting your chest go so you can drop to your knees in front of him, “There you go. Just where you belong.”

He unbuckles his belt and pulls his zipper down, reaching inside his boxers to pull his half-hard cock out. You watch with wide eyes as he slowly strokes himself to full hardness. 

A bead of precum oozes from the tip and it makes your mouth water. Before Simon even says anything, you lean forward and wrap your lips around the head of his cock. A soft, sweet sound comes from his throat at the feeling of your hot, soft tongue sliding over the sensitive skin. 

His hand comes down to cradle your jaw, lidded gaze watching how you start to take him deeper. 

When he feels his cock pop into your throat, it feels like the air gets punched out of his lungs. His touch moves from your jaw to your throat, feeling the way it bulges the deeper you take his length down. 

He glances out the window to find Kyle has joined watching with rapt attention at how you swallow his cock. The sight of it makes him pulse in your throat and you whimper at the salty taste of his pre-cum on your tongue. 

When you’ve swallowed all of him that you can take, you bring up a hand to stroke him to the same rhythm that you bob your head. Simon tosses his head back, brown eyes rolling into his skull at the sloppy sounds of you choking and drooling all over him. 

He feels your spit dribble down his balls and over your chin to his hand. It’s everything – it’s messy and sloppy. He can’t even bring himself to look at you, too scared he’ll blow his load right down your tight little throat before he can even fully enjoy it to the fullest. 

“Fuck,” he groans, the sound going straight to your cunt. You can’t help but slip your hand down your panties, finding your cunt slippery and wet. Your fingers circle your clit as you gag around your fiance’s thick cock.

“That’s it, lovie,” he huffs, “Touch that pretty cunt for me.”

Your lashes flutter at his words, rocking your hips against your own touch. Simon’s hand rests on the top of your head, slowly starting to rock his own hips, heavy balls slapping against your chin with the movement. You halt stroking him with your hand and brace yourself against his thigh, giving him permission to fuck your face as he wants. 

“There you go,” he grunts, teeth gritted, “Cum on those fingers for me and I’ll cum down your throat, yeah? Think you can do that?”

You nod your head, doubling your efforts between your legs. The mess of drool that Simon fucks out of your mouth froths and drips everywhere, the entire endeavor growing messier and messier with each thrust he makes. 

Simon watches the way your eyes roll back in your head, thighs twitching and spasming around your hand. He can feel the muffled vibrations as you whine against the cock filling your mouth. 

With a final, deep groan, Simon’s balls draw up and his brows furrow before he’s spilling right down your throat – as deep as he can. You eagerly swallow around him, taking down every single drop he has to offer. 

When he’s finally done, cock still twitching in sensitivity as he slowly softens, he pulls out. His cock was a mess, drool and cum still clinging to the skin in sticky strings. 

“Fuck,” he laughs breathlessly, “That little throat is dangerous.”

You giggle, biting your lip as he moves towards the window, sending a last look to your neighbors before drawing the curtains closed. End of the show, it seems.

You never thought about how you would feel when you’d have to face your two neighbors again. Given the fact they were actively in the military, you could go days before you caught sight of one of them again. Ever since Simon had started this little game of teasing the poor guys you hadn’t actually spoken to them face to face. 

“I invited Soap and Kyle over for dinner,” Simon muttered one late afternoon as he sipped on a cup of tea.

You nearly dropped the knife you were using to chop vegetables as you turned to look at your fiance in shock, “You what?!”

“Saw them while I was out on my mornin’ run,” he explained, taking a sip from his cup that was all too nonchalant for the utter anxiety that you felt, “Thought I’d be neighborly and invite them for dinner since we haven’t yet.”

“Simon!” you cry out indignantly, “How am I supposed to face them!?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, hiding his smile behind the cup.

“Th-They’ve watched us do all sorts of shit!” you whine, turning back around to anxiously cut the vegetables once again.

“So?” he hums, “We’re all adults. You think they can’t act normal just ‘cause they’ve seen you with a cock down your throat?”

You let out a frustrated sound, “You’re so-!”

“Relax, sweetheart,” he croons, placing his empty cup down, “It’ll be okay, I promise.”

You should have known better than to believe him. Simon seemingly couldn’t resist teasing the two men. As soon as all four of you were sitting at the table, you knew right away that this was not going to be the peaceful dinner you were hoping for. 

Kyle and Soap were painfully quiet, trying their best to keep their eyes off of you in fear of making your fiance angry. Simon was keenly aware of this and before any of you had a chance to finish your meals, he was pushing his chair back and pulling you from your own seat, your back pressed against his front.

“I think we all know what we want,” he sighs, “So why don’t we cut the shit and get on with it.”

Rough, experienced fingers slowly start undoing the buttons on your shirt. You had dressed up so nicely for your company and here he was, stripping it off of you in front of them instead. 

One by one the buttons came undone, your fiance giving you ample opportunity to stop him and back out should you decide this wasn’t something you wanted to do. But you never did.

Your breathing fastened and your heart raced in your chest at the excitement of the whole situation. Soap and Kyle sat in their seats, wide eyes following each methodical movement of your fiance until the final button was undone and they were able to see your bra. 

Kyle licked his lips at the sight of your breasts wrapped in the sheet material, giving just a hint at what was beneath. 

Soap follows Simon’s hand as it slides down your front to the button on your jeans. The button comes undone followed by your zipper, giving a little peak of the maroon colored panties you wore. 

“What do you think?” Simon asks them, nosing softly at your cheek until you let your head fall to the side, exposing your neck for him to kiss. 

“A fuckin’ dream,” Soap whispers, sounding like he’s in a daze. 

Kyle audibly gulps, too lost in a daze to say anything as his eyes practically burn holes into you. 

After pressing a kiss against your jaw, Simon finally slides the shirt off of your shoulders. The fabric flutters to the ground but you don’t have time to think about it before the clasp of your bra is undone and your bra joins it. 

Both men at the table inhale sharply at the sight of your bare breasts. 

“Prettier up close…” Kyle mutters, resting his chin on his hand, simply admiring the view before him. 

Simon takes a second to cup your tits, squeezing them in his rough hands before his thumbs hook under the band of your pants and tugs them down. You shimmy in place, helping him tug them over your hips until they pool on the ground and you can step out of them completely. 

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” Soap whispers, leaning even closer from where he sits, trying to get an even better view of you standing in just a pair of pretty, sheer maroon colored panties. 

“Aren’t they so lucky?” Simon coos in your ear, one hand slipping between your thighs to cup your clothed pussy while the other eagerly gropes your tits, “Gettin’ to see you like this when only I should get to.”

“Si…” you whimper, gripping his arm in your hands as he carefully strokes you through your panties. 

“What do you say, men?” Simon asks sharply, glaring at your two guests.

“Thank you, sir,” both of them say in unison without taking their eyes off of you. 

Simon hums, seemingly satisfied enough to slip your panties down so you’re completely bared – the only one naked in the room. It made your cheeks burn in humiliation but that humiliation only made your wetter. 

Simon’s fingers slid between your folds, a sticky noise accompanying the movement. You hear him suck in a breath when he feels your slick coating his fingers. You lift your leg and place it on the nearby chair, giving both men at the table a perfect view of your pretty cunt being spread by your fiance’s fingers. 

“There you go, lovie,” he coos, “Show them how wet you get for me.”

He slips his middle finger inside, letting it slowly sink in the final knuckle. Your lashes flutter at the feeling of being stretched but it’s not enough – one finger would never be enough when you’ve had his perfect cock inside you so many times before. So Simon quickly slides his ring finger in right alongside his middle and your head falls back against his shoulder. 

You practically forget about the two pairs of eyes on you when he crooks his fingers just right and grinds the tips against that gooey little spot that makes your thighs tremble. 

“Si!” you squeal, nails biting into his wrist as you grind your hips, humping your hardened clit against his palm. 

“Yeah?” he responds, tucking you firmly against him so he can fuck you properly with his fingers. 

You’re unable to stop the cries and sobs of pleasure as he brings you closer and closer to orgasm with every press of his fingers against your sweet spot and every slap of his palm against your clit. Drool drips down your chin as your whole body twitches, eyes rolling back in your head as the orgasm builds and builds. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Kyle breathes, a trembling hand placed over his mouth in awe. 

Finally, your high washes over you and you slump forward, held up only by Simon’s strong arm grappled around you. Your knees tremble as Simon’s fingers continue to fuck you through it until you’re gushing in messy spurts all over his hand every time his fingers are stuffed back inside. It splatters to the floor and drips down your thighs, making your cheeks flush in embarrassment. 

Simon pulls his fingers out of the hot clutch of your cunt with a humiliatingly loud squelch before he pops the digits right into his mouth, humming at the taste of your cum on his tongue. 

He lifts your chin up and immediately plants his lips right on yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You sigh into the kiss, cum-drunk brain getting lost in the familiar affection. You don’t even notice Simon undoing his jeans until you feel the hot, blunt head of his cock prodding your entrance. You whimper into his mouth when he simply ruts his hips, sliding the head back and forth, over your clit and back down – coating himself in the cum he had already fucked out of you with his fingers. 

“How are you boys enjoyin’ the show?” Simon asks, suddenly reminding you of their presence. 

You dazedly look at them, finding both of them sitting back in their chairs, stroking their cocks in the open. Soap’s got a thick, veiny cock that looks like it would make you cry if you tried to take it down your throat. Kyle, on the other hand, has a long, pretty cock adorned with a piercing on the tip that makes your cunt clench around nothing just imagining what it would feel like. Maybe you should ask Simon to get a piercing just to see.

“Fuckin’ incredible, sir,” Soap chokes out, squeezing his cock tight in his fist. 

Simon chuckles under his breath before his attention turns back to you, a well-practiced rut of his hips sinks the head of his cock into your warm, sticky cunt. Your mouth drops open at the feeling, eyes accidentally locking onto Kyle’s, who is watching you with a dark, focused gaze. 

You find yourself unable to break eye contact as your fiance slowly and carefully stretches you open on his cock until he finally sinks to the hilt, full balls sleeping against your clit. Your eyes roll back and you bite your lip to suppress the absolutely sinful sound that threatens to escape your lips. 

Simon groans at the feeling of being clutched so tightly by your precious cunt. Your hand comes down to circle your clit with desperate, shaky movements until you’re suddenly cumming around his cock.

“Shit!” Simon practically howls, blunt nails biting into your skin as he holds your twitching body against his through the sudden orgasm you’ve given yourself, “Cummin’ just from gettin’ my cock in you? So sweet, lovie.”

You whimper his name in a little hiccup, tearily looking up at him from where your head thumps back against his shoulder. The pathetic look in your eye is what prompts him to start moving – fat cock sliding out of you before a powerful roll of his hips ends it back deep. He prods your cervix in a way that makes pain mix deliciously with pleasure – an addictive feeling that only Simon could ever give you. 

His harsh thrusts jostle your entire body, your tits bouncing in time to the movement. You’re not able to keep quiet, every time he sinks deep, it punches a moan out from your lungs. His heavy, fat balls slap against you, only adding to the lewd sounds of squelching and moaning. 

Soap and Kyle continue to stroke their own cocks to the sight of your getting fucked. Leaking cocks squelching quietly in their own grips. 

“Shit…” Soap groans through his teeth, “Wish I could wrap my lips around that pretty clit, darlin’.”

You whimper, eyes rolling back at the very thought of having a tongue worshiping your neglected clit. With Simon’s cock stuffing you full, you know it would work the most magnificent orgasms out of you. 

As if sensing your greedy thoughts, Simon wraps a rough hand around your throat, forcing you to look up at him, “Felt that little cunt squeeze me when he said that. My cock not enough for you?”

“Y-You are!” you sob, tears filling your eyes from how he starts an even rougher pace, “J-Just wanna cum, Si!”

Your fiance scoffs at your words, harshly knocking your leg off of the chair that you had it propped up in. You cry out at  how the angle changes with his hand still wrapped around your throat, forcing you to arch your back to look up at him. His cock grinds incessantly against that gooey little spot that makes your entire body twitch every time he pounds against it. 

It’s even more difficult to keep yourself upright without the chair to help, both your knees are shaky and if Simon wasn’t holding you tight against his chest by your throat, you’d certainly be slumping to the floor. 

Simon’s hand tightens around your neck and it cuts off the noises that are escaping. Your vision fuzzes up as your orgasm builds and builds. 

“Si, Si, Si–” you choke out, drool dripping down your chin, “Please, I’m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum!”

“Course I am,” Simon snarls, letting his free hand drop to your clit, harshly slapping the little bud before rubbing soothing circles around it. 

That sends you over the edge, gushing all over him and down your thighs. You squeal, unable to do anything except hang on for the ride as Simon fucks you through your high until he reaches his own end – spilling his load inside you without a second thought. 

You’re left trembling and twitching, gasping and whimpering with tears dripping down your cheeks. Finally, Simon allows you to slump forward, your chest meeting the kitchen table as he pulls his softening cock from your dripping cunt. Sticky, thick strings of his cum connect to his length from your clenching pussy. He soothes his hand down the length of your spine, soothing the little trembles that still wrack your body as you come down. 

“Holy fuckin’ shit,” Soap pants, wiping his cum-covered hand off on his pants.

“You,” Kyle adds, “are one hell of a neighbor.”

property of rowarn. do not modify, translate, or report on other websites. reblogs OK!

[umnitsa]

You should mess with Jim

Summary: You just moved and found out your neighbor is your favorite porn actor.

A/N: I can't stop thinking of this and I won't stop myself anymore. We may have an overload of pornstar!hopper fics, with different readers and, hell, this is my personal self-indulgent paradise. The Big Jim name was totally inspired by @hopsgirl (thanks, by the way! <3).

I am terrible with names, you should forgive me.

Pairing: retiredpornstar!Hopper x fem!Reader

CW: Mentions of sex and descriptions. Reader is naughty.

You huffed, looking at the kitchen. Most things were in place, and the move was finally over. It took a few days of intense concentration and take-out food, but it was finally over.

You set the coffee machine and decided to be useful and take the trash out.

The first rays of the sun were visible, and the day was just cold enough to be comfortable, even with your nipples pebbled against your tshirt. The trash bags were annoying, but there was this underlying sensation of accomplishing something that made you feel good.

You disposed of the trash bags and took a deep breath. This was the beginning of something in your life. Something good, clean, and better. Healthier.

Less computer, less video games, less porn. More sunlight. Enough feeling like a cave goblin after an earth-shattering orgasm brought by your latest toy and some dirty fanfic. Enough nights watching whole careers in porn with a hand between your legs.

You felt good.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw some movement; good, neighbors! You turned, a smile on your face, to be greeted with the sexiest image you had ever seen in your life.

He was tall, immensely tall, his shoulders wide. His dirty blonde hair, thinning at the front. The strong chin, covered in overgrown facial hair, long, but just long enough for you to know it is just an unkempt mustache.

He was wearing low-hung blue pajama pants and a light robe, no shirt. No underwear.

You knew every detail of his body, down to the veins on his long, thick cock.

That was Big Jim.

One of your favorite porn actors.

How many times have you watched him manhandle women just like you, keeping them open for the camera, as he ruined them forever, with that monster he called a cock?

You stared, as he turned. He watched you there, frozen, watching him. With a chuckle, he lowered his head a bit, raising his eyebrows amusedly.

You waved, awkwardly, and he waved back. His blue eyes twinkled with mischief as he moved back to his house. One big hand slid down his belly, to absentmindedly caress his cock, as he slowly walked.

How many times have you imagined yourself suckling on the head, swallowing the abundant precome he pulses when he’s aroused?

You quickly went back to the house, not wanting to think of it anymore. Ok, your neighbor was Big Jim, but that didn’t mean anything. You were not going to be the creepy weird neighbor for him. You respected his work.

Oh, god, you respected his work.

You poured yourself some coffee, thinking about how you need to look less stupid the next time you see each other.

***

Jim chuckled, resting against the closed door. It had been a while since he was recognized.

He scratched his cheek, then squeezed his cock.

The kind of people who recognized him these days was always interesting. He wasn’t completely retired, he always picked something if he liked the idea, but he was prolific in his time.

And it was sweet, even when it was weird. The small thrill and the reactions when they understood from where exactly they knew him.

A shy smile from an older lady in a restaurant, a weird high-five from a middle-aged man in a convenience store, the soccer mom unashamedly slipping him her number in the supermarket.

It was always a moment of doubt followed by some thought. Until the right image surfaced, and the realization flashed in people’s eyes. It was a process, and sometimes it happened fast.

But never as fast as you.

You recognized him immediately, your eyes widening. That kind of look, startled and amazed, he only gets from connoisseurs and fans. People usually felt a bit ashamed once the realization hit, but you stood there, awkwardly aroused under the morning sun.

You looked like a little pervert who could provide a ton of fun. And the hunger, so clear in your eyes, made him half hard. He even had to give himself a little squeeze, so he could at least reach the house without tenting his pants. You could help him with his boredom.

Well, he could be a good neighbor and bake you some cookies.

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

"Good Girl"

Smutober Week 3

Prompt: In the car

Character: Roy Kent (Ted Lasso)

2.5k words

Warnings: Age gap (reader is university age, Roy is in his 40s), Dad's Friend trope, blowjob, praise kink maybe?

A/N: This one got away from me a bit because I looooove this premise for Roy. Enjoy! 😝

You kept your smile plastered on as your dad bragged about you for the millionth time that night. Here you were, surrounded by absolute football legends, and he felt like telling his former teammates all about what you were studying in uni was the most important thing in the world.

It sounded like a fun weekend when he invited you. One of his former teammates was inviting a bunch of people for a big party, a reunion of sorts, and your dad, an icon in his own right, invited you to join him. Wanted to show off his kid to his friends, he’d said. So, your Saturday night was spent shaking hands with famous footballers and pretending that it wasn’t embarrassing to hear your dad repeat your accomplishments over and over.

Just as you were debating asking him for the keys to drive back to the hotel most of the retired players were staying at, the sounds of shouting came from the side gate that led to the backyard party.

“He’s here! He’s there! He’s every-fucking-where!”

Heat flooded your body. Roy Kent. You spent your entire life hearing about the gruff footballer, all about how your father was one of the few people he actually liked, and how your father was incredibly proud of Roy’s career; he saw the man like a younger brother of sorts, although the two rarely got to see each other anymore. Although you never met, you’d harbored a crush on him for years, blushing every time your father mentioned him and putting up his poster in your bedroom.

And hell if he didn’t look good tonight. Black slacks that hugged his lower half beautifully, black button-down shirt that revealed that thick chest hair, and a smirk that had your mouth watering. As he shook someone’s hand, his eyes found yours. For a moment, his gaze flittered down your figure, eyebrows raising as he went.

Roy Kent was looking at you like he wanted to devour you.

Your breath became shallow as you quickly turned around, pretending to busy yourself with grabbing a drink. Although you’d initially been thrilled at the idea of finally meeting Roy Kent, actually seeing him- and seeing the scandalous way he looked at you- had you dreading the moment your dad would say-

“Roy! There you are!”

When you lifted your gaze, your father was giving Roy a one-armed hug, laughing as Roy embraced him back. He turned to you, pride shining on his face as he presented you like a prize. “Here she is, my pride and joy,” your dad announced.

Even with your dad right there, Roy couldn’t help the way his eyes flickered from your face to your body. Obviously, he knew who you were; your dad was incredibly proud of you and always managed to bring you up on the rare occasion they talked. And like all dads, he bragged about you being the most beautiful young woman in the world. But nothing could prepare Roy for the desire he felt as he stood in front of you, nor for the guilt that came with checking you out.

Instead of one of the dozen dirty little thoughts that sprinted through his mind, Roy simply shook your hand, wearing that wicked smile of his. “Nice to finally meet you. I have-” He cleared his throat. “-heard a lot about you.”

You couldn’t resist giving his hand a squeeze before letting go. “Heard a lot about you too,” you murmured. “Mostly from tabloids though,” you teased.

His dark chuckle had you pressing your thighs together. “Can’t believe everything you read,” he countered, something sparkling in those brown eyes.

Your dad’s friendly hand on your shoulder reminded you where you were. “But you can believe whatever you read about Roy Kent.” His voice was jovial, full of laughter, as if his old teammate wasn’t mentally undressing his daughter. “This man was quite the troublemaker way back when. I spent more time kicking his butt back in line than kicking the football.” He nodded to Roy. “Let’s get you a drink and sit, we’ve got some serious catching up to do, Roy-o.”

That’s how you ended up sitting at a table in the far corner of the yard next to Roy Kent, sipping your drink while you listened to him joke and reminisce with your dad across from you. Every time Roy laughed, his knee bumped yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body each time. And you swore each time, he left his leg pressed to yours for longer periods before moving back into his space, slyly quirking his eyebrow at you each time.

Finally, your dad stood, announcing that he was grabbing another round. The moment he was gone, Roy turned to look at you, the corner of his mouth turning upwards.

“Shame we never met before,” he hummed, his eyes boldly exploring your body. “Your dad been hiding you from me or something?”

“Does he have reason to?” you countered, leaning towards him. “Is everything I read about you true, Mister Kent?”

His eyes flickered to your mouth before holding your gaze firmly. “Depends what you’ve read.” He glanced across the yard, making sure your dad was occupied with talking to someone else by the drinks. Satisfied, Roy leaned forward and brought his mouth close to your ear. “The curve? Down there?” he whispered, his breath tickling your skin. “Just something I do with my hips.”

You let out a quiet groan as he leaned back, smirk on his lips. “Do you give demonstrations?” you murmured, wondering where the hell your audacity came from. Probably from between your legs, if you were being honest.

Roy’s eyes lit up sinfully. But before he could give you an answer, your dad returned with drinks for everyone, none the wiser to the heat radiating between you and the Chelsea legend twenty years your senior. As if he hadn’t just told you about his famous dick, Roy returned to chatting with your father, all charm and innocence. This time, however, his fingers ghosted over your thigh under the table, tracing a hot trail on your bare skin.

After a couple more rounds and clandestine looks from Roy, your dad suggested that the two of you start heading back to the hotel. Your heart sank; you weren’t ready to leave the man sitting next to you.

Apparently, he wasn’t ready for you to leave either.

“Let the kid stay,” Roy suggested. “She’s young, she’s having a good time. Don’t make her be on your old man sleep schedule.” He winked at you playfully, an innocent gesture in your dad’s eyes. “I can take her back to the hotel with me when I leave.”

Your dad’s gaze shifted to your hopeful face. “Wanna stay?” When you nodded eagerly, he laughed and turned back to Roy. “Well, guess she’s staying. Take good care of her, alright, Kent?” He raised his eyebrows at his former teammate jokingly. “And behave. None of your usual nonsense.”

Roy pretended to look offended. “Don’t you trust me?” The innocence on his face contrasted deliciously with the way he flattened his palm on your thigh, fingers inching towards the hem of your dress.

“Absolutely not,” your dad laughed, blissfully unaware of the way Roy tugged your dress up ever so slightly. “You be a good boy, Kent, you hear?”

It was a fucking challenge, keeping a straight face as Roy’s fingertip found the edge of your panties. “Abso-fucking-lutely,” he lied. “Drive safe, alright mate?”

With an oblivious wave, your father was gone, clueless to the obscene thoughts Roy Kent was having about his precious daughter. Roy turned to look at you, face darkened with lust as he toyed with the quickly dampening material of your underwear.

“I notice he didn’t tell you to behave,” he purred. “Are you always a good girl, then?”

Desperate to look cool in front of the most tempting man you’d ever met, you simply leaned your elbow on the table, helping him hide the way he played under your dress. “Oh, of course,” you said in a syruopy voice. “I always respect my elders, Roy.”

“What happened to Mister Kent?” He chuckled. “Your daddy leaves, and you suddenly forget your manners, young lady?”

“Guess I did,” you sighed dramatically, as if you weren’t imaging what you’d look like beneath him. “You going to remind me of my manners, Mister Kent?”

He let out a soft growl and glanced around. “Don’t think I can do that here,” he murmured. He cleared his throat and leaned back, taking his hand back, leaving you with a pout on your lips. “Finish your drink. We can… go for a drive.”

As you sipped your drink, trying not to appear too eager, you watched Roy out of the corner of your eye. He was gazing at you hungrily. If you saw that wolfish look on another man’s face, you’d be walking away as quickly as possible. But because it was Roy fucking Kent looking at you like he wanted to bend you over the plastic table you sat at, you batted your eyelashes and showed him your now-empty cup.

With a curt nod, Roy stood. “Let’s go.”

He tossed you the keys, mumbling something about saying goodbye to the hosts. You made your way out of the yard, mumbling goodbyes to your father’s friends, men you’d known forever, either personally or through stories and photos. Finally, you left the party behind, walking briskly towards the street. You pressed the button on Roy’s key, revealing the location of his car, a giant, black vehicle that you climbed inside.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Roy abruptly opened the driver’s side door and climbed in; the amused grin on his face told you he noticed. “Did I fucking scare you?” he teased as he started the car.

“Only a little.” Partly thanks to the alcohol, partly thanks to the darkness of the car, you felt emboldened to place your hand on his thigh, holding back a moan when you felt the flexed muscle through his trousers.

He fucking squirmed.

“How’s school?” he asked, eyes on the road as he gripped the steering wheel. “Your dad said you were, uh, studying…” His eyes flickered to your hand as it travelled further up his thigh. “Studying…”

You knew your grin was absolutely smug as you inched towards the growing bulge in his pants. “Alright there, Mister Kent?”

“Fucking hell,” he breathed. He was rapidly losing the upper hand and didn’t care one bit. “Thought you were a good girl?”

“I think I’m being a very good girl,” you teased, wrapping your hand around his clothed length. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

A growl escaped his throat. “I think,” he started slowly, his voice thick with desire, “that you are going to cause a fucking car accident, you menace.”

You giggled and began stroking him through his pants. “Guess you better hurry up and get us to the hotel, hmm?” Watching him press his body harshly against his seat had you wriggling in your own seat. And feeling how hard- how thick- Roy Kent was definitely had you making a mess in the panties he’d been playing with earlier.

“Oh fuck this.”

With a jerk of the steering wheel, Roy made a sharp turn, one that had your seatbelt digging into your skin. He swiftly found a secluded parking spot at the end of a dark, empty street and turned off the car. He turned on you, seizing your wrist, freezing your hand mid-stroke.

“Are you done playing around?” he growled. “Done teasing me?” He raised his eyebrows. “Are you just making a fool out of an old man, or are you going to fucking do something?”

Your entire body trembled with anticipation. “What did you have in mind?”

With a devilish smirk, Roy released your wrist; the delicious sound of a zipper hit your ears. After a moment of wriggling down his pants and boxers, Roy grabbed you gently by your hair and eased your face to his hard cock. Feeling dirty and greedy, you parted your lips, groaning as you welcomed him into your eager mouth.

The car was filled with the sounds of Roy’s growling moans, your muffled whines, and the sloppy wet sound of you swirling his cock with your tongue. Roy kept his grip on your hair, pulling it back so he could watch you in the moonlight.

“Guess you are a good girl,” he grunted. “A very fucking good girl.”

He lifted his hips, thrusting into your mouth. When his tip hit the back of your throat, you couldn’t help but reach down between your legs to rub your clit through your soaked panties. How many times had you touched yourself like this as you imagined Roy Kent and his gorgeous cock? Here, in this monstrous black car, you were living your wildest sexual fantasies. And fuck, when you felt him throb against your tongue, you felt sure you’d wake up from this dream at any moment.

Roy let out a shuddering breath when you used your free hand to stroke the part of him that didn’t fit in your mouth. “This what they’re teaching you at uni?” he taunted. “How to suck cock?” A lewd moan slipped past his lips. “Because you’re way too fucking good at this for a good girl.”

You pulled off of him with a pop, catching your breath as you lapped at his tip, tasting his delicious precum. He dropped his head back against the headrest with a content sigh, stroking your hair softly. When you let your tongue glide down the vein on the side of his shaft, he twitched in your hand, leaking more precum that you quickly sucked up.

Still feeling greedy, you wrapped your lips around him again, moaning around him when he bucked up into your mouth. He tightened his grip on your hair, giving a harsh tug, as he continued to drive up into your drooling mouth, loving the sound of your muffled gags and moans.

“Does my good girl want a fucking treat?” he huffed with a particularly severe thrust. “Gonna come in your mouth, pretty thing.”

His hips stuttered as your mouth filled with his salty release, warm and satisfying all the way down your throat. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking and swallowing every last bit, savoring your reward, your treat.

Roy gave a rough tug, pulling you off of him. You gazed at him, eyes wide and wild, slobber running down your chin, lips shiny and swollen.

Fuck, he thought you looked beautiful.

“Did so well for me,” Roy cooed, wiping the drool off your lower lip. “Think you could let me drive back to the hotel in peace now, hmm?” With a tight grip on your face, he pressed a harsh kiss to your mouth, tangling his tongue with yours.

You pulled back breathlessly, nodding. “Only if you take me back to your room,” you whispered. “Fucking… fucking want more of you.”

“Oh don’t worry,” he chuckled. “When we get there, you can show me how bad a good girl can be.”

[celestialrosesgarden]

[SPIDER-MAN X READER] Silk Threads 1.6k words

Chapter One: New York State of Mind

   The city was not made for everyone. While almost every person claimed they had a 'New York state of mind' after visiting just once, only a certain kind of person can truly capture New York's real essence. The hustle and bustle of the city was exciting for the few hours of a trip to Times Square and Central Park, but day after day could break a person down. Not to mention the current uptick in crime that began a few years ago that seemed to only be getting worse with every passing day. The city was not made for the weak; the tourists only experienced the glitz and glamour while every true New Yorker was forced to face the bad and ugly the city provided.

   This led to where the girl was right now. The first day of classes of her sophomore year was complete, and while the biggest issue of her day should have been the pile of work she already had accumulated, she had found herself in a worse predicament. She scoffed as she shoved herself past the group of tourists that had decided to stand in the middle of the sidewalk discussing God-knows-what. Formalities that normally slipped past her lips had been retired the first couple weeks of her freshman year. Either people would not respond, or if they did, the person would harass her— men no matter the age took her niceties as flirting and tried to take advantage of the situation. The weirdos and jerks overruled the few nice, genuine few that roamed the city, and 'excuse me' became less frequent.

   However, none of that matters right now. All that mattered was getting back to her apartment as soon as possible; Knocking out her work as quickly as possible so that she could cook dinner and watch a movie as she ate to unwind from the long day. This feat was starting to seem almost impossible, and despite her fast walking the path back to her home was taking far too long. If it weren't for the singular earbud in her ear playing one of her favorite songs at a soft tune she would have freaked already. Peering through the dark screen of her sunglasses, she quickened her pace at the site of her apartment building.

   Almost there, just a few more minutes.

   She readjusted the backpack that was starting to slouch off her shoulders; her fingers had barely run over the cloth of the straps before she was shoved to the ground. A hooded figure darted away; her brown backpack held tightly in his grasp. The crowd around her parted, quickly trying to get out of his way.

   The city was not made for the weak, and today was proof of that. Despite living here for over a year, at the end of the day, she would never be strong enough to deal with the catcalls, the hustle, the tourists, and as of right now, the crime. She glanced up from her position to a young teen with a phone in hand recording her— and to rub salt into the wound, he was sporting an 'I love NY' t-shirt. Man, how she hated this city.

   "You know, it's rude to take other people's things."

   Her head snapped in the direction of the voice, the crowd furthering its spread more as this newcomer dropped down from the air. The thief froze at the sight of the masked vigilante rising from a crouched pose.

   "Besides, that bag does not match you at all." He turned to the pedestrian next to him and leaned towards him. "Totally not his color," he shook his head. 

   The thief seemed to collect his bearings, quickly whipping out a knife from his pocket: "Back up, I'm not joking around! I'll—" he jutted the knife towards the blue and red spandex dawned man, causing the people around him to back up— "I'll stab you! Just let me go."

   Spider-Man raised his hands as if to surrender. "Is that a knife? Is that a real knife?" He lowered himself to the ground, before raising his hands back up as if to defend himself. "My weakness. Small knives. Anything but knives!"

   The thief stood there perplexed, consequently lowering his knife. Spider-Man quickly raised his hand and with a thwip, the hand holding the knife adhered to the wall behind him with the webbing.

   "Hey! Let me go!" The thief raised his other hand to pull off the webbing. With another thwip, the other hand was stuck. The man continued to struggle, yelling out obscurities. The masked vigilante turned his back to the petty thief to face the civilians that surrounded him. He raised his hand so that his thumb was pointed to said criminal over his shoulder in a 'get a load of this guy' type of manner. He then webbed both his legs. He turned before raising his hand so that his index finger laid over his mouth to 'shh' him and webbing his mouth shut.

   He walked over to the thief, plucking the girl's backpack up and carrying it over to her figure that was still lying on the floor— as he walked over, he pointed to the kid in the t-shirt that was still recording the fiasco. "Hey kid, why don't you call the police for me." All the kid could muster up was a quick nod before stopping his recording to call. It wasn't until he stood right before her that she snapped out of her daze. "Need a hand?"

   Her mouth remained agape for a second before she grabbed his outstretched hand. He pulled her up quickly, and a slight pain ran across her palm up to her wrist. Perhaps he was able to see the rapid wince on her face, as he gently turned her hand over to observe the palm. "Looks like you took a pretty bad fall. Make sure you clean these cuts well and patch them up." He turned his head back up to her, those big white blobs of eyes staring back at her. When seconds passed with no response, he tilted his head slightly: "You good? You didn't hit your head, did you?"

   She yanked her hand out of grasp, all thoughts returning back into her head. "Yes, no. I mean—" she slightly backed up from his tall stature which seemed awfully close to her— "Yes I'm good, and no I didn't hit my head. And I'll get these hands all cleaned up once I get home." Those white eyes of his seemed to widen at her frantic words, but to her relief did not comment on it.

   He raised the brown backpack into her view, "I think this is yours." She nodded, grabbed the bag, and jumped at the sound of applause around them. Despite the crowd being there for the whole situation, she seemed to forget about their existence until now. Her first run-in with the masked vigilante in her time living in the city seemed to startle her more than she anticipated. She always assumed any run-in with him would be as a bystander, not the victim. "Honestly are you alright?"

   She quickly turned her head back to him. "I'm so sorry. I've never been in a situation like this before and frankly," a slight laugh slipped past her lips, "I'm overwhelmed, to say the least. Sorry, by the way, for all the staring. I'm not like this normally."

   He laughed, leaning his head back and placing both hands on his hips. "Oh, trust me, I'm used to it. I have that effect on people" he tossed her a wink, causing a genuine laugh to arise. She covered her lips with her hand and as she slightly shook her head. Well, wasn't he humble?

   "Thank you, by the way. I need this bag, but I feel like if he got away, he really wouldn't be happy with what's in here." Spider-Man did that little head tilt again, and his eyes slightly squinted. "All I've got in here is my laptop and my organic chemistry notes and homework. He would've been so pissed."

   He laughed; head tossed back. "Honestly, I don't know what he was expecting out of a backpack other than schoolwork. But no need for thank you, it's all in a day's work for your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man." He looked down at her before looking at the ground, stopping low to grab objects. He straightened his back before holding the items out, "I believe these are also yours."

   In his hand lay her earbud and sunglasses which must have fallen off when she was shoved. She grabbed both, placing the sunglasses on top of her head and putting the earbud into its case. She looked back up at him, eyes softening, and gently spoke: "Thank you."

   He seemed to almost respond before the sound of a siren cut him off, "Well that's my cue. Just talk to the police real quick about what happened, and you can go. And try to stay out of trouble." She nodded before turning to peer at the blinding flashing lights from the cop cars that seemed to be getting closer. She lowered her glasses back onto her face to help ease the pain of the bright lights, before turning back to the masked hero.

   "Got it. I think I can manage that; thank you again." She looked into those reflective big white eyes of his mask and watched as he turned his head. He raised his hand and with a thwip, he shot a web onto a nearby building.

   He turned back, and the girl waited for his words— as if he would say the most groundbreaking, life-changing worlds to her. "Nice shades." And with that he was off, swinging from building to building until he disappeared out of sight. What a bizarre day. New York City was definitely not made for the weak.

[sissa-arrows]

Hi,

Have you seen this?

Source : Radio France

Another stone in the downward racist and fascist spiral of Macron and his government:

"artists from Niger, Burkina Faso and Mali are no longer welcome on French stages: the Ministry of Culture asks to no longer program in France the artists who come from these three countries

We haven't hit rock bottom until we can still say we've hit rock bottom. That's why I wonder how many african countries Macron will manage to alienate before his announced coup.

It looks like he is very itching (Via Edouard Philippe and Darmanin who run his communication policy and transmit orders to the prefectures) to also break with Algeria and screw up the 68 agreement. He can sit on Algerian gas in this case, he will no longer see a drop of it.

I want Algeria to cut all connections with France and repatriate its nationals, and citizens with dual nationality who wish to abandon France. It’s time to decolonize our minds for good.

I was actually reading about it right before seeing the notification!

Macron is behaving as if the old generation was still controlling the continent in Africa. Except it’s not. The old generation started the process of decolonization when they were young now the youth will finish the process of decolonization.

For Algeria the 1968 accords are not respected by France anyway so they can stop them it won’t change anything.

That being said Algeria won’t and cannot cut all ties with France. The President of Algeria, Tebboune was asked why he doesn’t cut all ties and he basically said « okay what about our children who live in France? What will happen to them if we cut all ties with France? ». We’re basically hostages. Even if 80% of the Algerians living in France (including those with dual citizenship) leave to go to Algeria or even an other country. The 20% who will stay in France will be enough to stop Algeria from cutting all ties.

On top of it it’s harder for the old generation to leave. France now refuses to pay the retirement rent on Algerian bank accounts and if by some miracle they do pay you if you live in Algeria they lower your rent despite the fact that you worked and contributed as much as someone who lives in France. Our chibanis were scammed by French employers and now that they are old they can’t even go back to their homeland with their due they are legit forced to stay in France the majority of the year (used to be 6 months a year now it’s 9…)

There’s also the fact that some kids see themselves as French just as much as they see themselves as Algerians. They were born here they have a French-Algerian culture so it’s fair for them to not want to give up one country. Asking them to do so is kinda unfair. (Personally I consider that I’m not the one who gave up on France, France gave up on me. But it’s easier for me cause I’m 2nd gen only. Both my parents were born and raised (partially for my mom) in Algeria so I was raised more Algerian than French compared to other people my age who are usually 3rd or 4th gen and are therefore more « mixed »)

I’m kinda rambling but all Algeria can do is show us that we are welcome to come live in our country if we want to and honestly they are doing a pretty good job at it already.

[ahungeringknife]

365: March 31

Eido came around the central planning tent. Her father was bent over the holographic display with Esis and they were deep in talks of some sort. Braldos was nowhere to be seen but it was sunset, the Baroness had probably retired for the night. She sidled up to the display and cleared her throat to get their attention.

"Oh, Eido, we didn't see you there," her father said.

"It's fine. I see you two are busy planning good things for our people," Eido said cheerfully.

"Yes," Esis said, "Its a shame construction needs to be halted until we can run proper infrastructure through the roads."

"Better to do it now than dig up the roads later," Misraaks said.

"Yes and-

"Father it's getting late," Eido interrupted. She knew if she didn't they could early spend all night here talking about their plans. She'd seen and heard Viksiskal come down here scolding the both of them for staying up too late dreaming and not enough time sleeping to enact on those dreams. Eido always thought it was funny to watch the Kall scold her father. Almost like the Kell of Light was some misbehaving hatchling. She supposed the Kall had plenty of experience with that at least.

"Ah, you're quite right. We will pick this up in the morning. Apologies for keeping you Esis," Misraaks said graciously.

"Not at all. This is the most fun I've had in ages," Esis chirped and her lower hands clapped together.

"Perhaps you'd like to join us for dinner?" Eido prodded, keeping her eyes perfectly polite and was very glad her mask was on so they couldn't see the way her mandibles moved suspiciously.

"What? I wouldn't want to intrude," Esis said.

"Nonsense! You're a valued community member and this means you can carry on the conversation and I can force my father to take a break. I believe the Guardians have a saying for it? He is a 'workaholic'?" She used her lower hands to quote it as she had seen Amanda and other Guardians do before.

Esis's laugh was a sweet tittering sound and she put her hand under her veil over her mask to quiet herself. "Eido," Misraaks said with great gravity for the situation.

"If it is no trouble?" she asked.

"No trouble!" Eido cried before her father could say anything. "And perhaps you'll even spare me a moment over my father during dinner," and Esis giggled again. Eido could see her father was getting quite cross with the teasing but she knew he'd forgive her. Esis nodded. "Wondrous. Our tent is this way, if you'll follow me," and she beckoned Esis.

Esis followed her and Misraaks turned off the table and trailed behind. She could tell he was grumbling under his breath.

The Eliksni district had been raised and in its place Braldos' outfit had constructed a tent neighborhood for the time being for House Light. As Kell Misraaks had an especially large one for himself and Eido and was more or less a normal home, be it with fabric walls. The kitchen, so to speak, was communal but Eido had already gotten dinner for her and Misraaks and also Esis and laid it out on the low table for them to sit at. A helpful Ghost had fabricated the table out of pure glimmer and Eido had spent an entire day asking Ghosts about their ability to glimmer hack like that. The inside of the tent was also lined with a thin plastic polymer that allowed it to be about seventy percent air tight. Tight enough for the ether diffuser to keep the air breathable for a moderate amount of time. You still had to sleep with your mask on but one could live in the tent and only bring the mask up now and then to take a breath without suffocating.

She'd gotten dinner for the three of them already. It wasn't anything special. Just some half pigeons for each of them. She'd never had pigeon until coming to City but they were everywhere and delicious too.

Eido showed Esis their home and played it off that it couldn't compare to a Baron's ketch. Esis just said, "You don't live on your father's ketch? I see it all the time on my way here from the Lucent Dawn. It must be more comfortable to sleep without a mask on up there. And you are a Kell's daughter."

Eido played with her lower hands awkwardly. Misraaks was removing some of his Splicer regalia in his room so thankfully wasn't there to give Eido a look when she said, "The ketch is not pressured for ether."

Esis' shining blue eyes went wide. "Really?" and it was almost incredulous. Eido saw her visibly check herself. "Excuse me. I forget myself," she said apologetically. "House Light doesn't have the resources our outfit has," it wasn't a slight it was just the truth. "But we'll change that," she assured Eido.

"I certainly hope so," Eido said and removed her mask as her father came out of his room, dressed down. He no longer wore his Splicer gauntlet or great heavy coat and cape or his intricate mask. He just wore a simple rebreather around his neck but not over his face. Eido did not miss the way Esis' head tilted slightly seeing him. "Great you're ready for dinner," she said to her father. She'd already removed most of her own gear before going to get them and was just in her tunic and wraps, foregoing her helmet and hood and all her extra pouches and belts and things she carried around with her.

"Yes. And I find myself quite hungry after such a day of arguing with Baroness Braldos," he said gruffly. Esis giggled privately and Eido made a soft little trill of a noise. Misraaks went and sat at their table and the two of them quickly joined him. Eido was still waiting to see what Esis looked like under her veil and mask.

Esis removed her helmet as she sat and her veil and mask were one piece she just pulled down. Eido looked at her father for a reaction and was delighted to see him frozen, looking at Esis while she was adjusting her scarf and mask to make it easier to eat. Eido was quietly smug and finally also looked at Esis. Eido wasn't particularly interested in romance with others, or even sex, though she had engaged in both (a secret she kept from Misraaks) but she could still recognize when someone was attractive. And Esis was. She had blueish-purple flesh and carapace and without her helmet you could see all her edges were rounded and soft but not in the way of someone polishing their carapace. Even her mandibles were curved in such a way to appear that her head from the front was a perfect circle and the ridges over her large evenly spaced eyes were small.

Eido would surmise that in a way a human would say: Esis was 'hot as fuck'.

"Thank you for sharing this meal with me," Esis said, perhaps oblivious to Misraaks' staring. "My father said House Light says a prayer before meals?" she asked.

Eido kicked Misraaks under the table gently making him start. He coughed and cleared his throat. "Yes. To give thanks to the Great Machine and our friends here in the City," he said.

"I see," Esis nodded. "Do not feel you must change your ritual for my benefit. I will partake."

Eido offered Esis her hand across the table and grabbed Misraaks' as well. Esis delicately took Eido's hand and Eido's mandibles shivered back and forth in amusement to keep from snickering watching her father fumble just holding Esis' hand for the prayer. Eido closed her eyes and bowed her head when Misraaks said the familiar prayer, giving thanks to the Light, the Traveler, the people of the City, and (a new addition the past few weeks) the Baron's outfit for their aid. "By the Light," Misraaks said to end it.

"By the Light," Eido repeated and let Esis' and Misraaks' hands go.

"I hope this isn't a probing question Esis-

"If you say that that means it is," her father growled a warning.

She ignored him. "But you aren't a Light worshiper are you?"

Esis didn't mind even as she cracked the leg of her half a pigeon. "Not so much. Many in the outfit are machine worshipers. I was raised as such. As you can imagine my daddy is one," she said sweetly. "I did not grow up with stories of the Traveler like I'm sure you did, Eido."

"What about your other parent? The Kell?" Eido asked.

"Baron," Esis said as a natural correction but not upset Eido would call him a Kell. He should have been if everyone referred to Viksis as Kall. "Hmmm. Papa wasn't the religious sort if I am truthful," she said thoughtfully. "Or if he was it was something he did in private. But our outfit does have some Light worshipers and some who worship the Great Machine. But being so removed from it our outfit turned to machine worship."

"Makes sense seeing as your Kall is a Splicer," Eido said, barely touching her dinner.

Esis made a face. "Viksis didn't believe that until he met the Light Kell," she said and looked at Misraaks who was trying to look as dignified as possible while eating his pigeon.

"I don't know how," Eido said. "The first thing he did when he joined our House was learn the names of the Servitors; from them themselves!"

Esis giggled. "Yes. Daddy is a humble sort when it comes to his abilities."

"He says you out pace him but you are not a Splicer," Misraaks said.

"I'm not," she said. "I don't hear the machine speak he can or feel the change in electronics or manipulate the Vex Net like you Misraakskel. I'm just an engineer."

"Just!" Eido cried. "As if you didn't create a Prime Servitor. An extinct machine."

She waved that off. "Viksis helped a great deal in that creation though will downplay his intervention. I simply created the shell that the spark of a Prime could live in."

"If Viksis was the one who did it why did ours not spark?" Eido asked.

"I don't know. I haven't been allowed to look at it," Esis gave Misraaks the side eye.

"I thought the planning of our new neighborhood to be more important," Misraaks said. "And you have risen well to the challenge. You have quite the eye for city planning."

Esis chittered happily. "Thank you. I helped the other engineers plan all the ketches in the fleet for optimal space usage for our outfit."

Eido let them talk about the city planning for a while so she could eat her dinner. Listening to them talk about running sewer and water lines and trenching fiber optic wire was not what Eido would normally consider flirting but the way her father was sitting towards her, making direct eye contact, and using his lower hands to gesticulate was flirting. Especially with the how attentively he listened when Esis spoke. The only people she saw her father listen to so acutely were Ikorakel, the Young Wolf, and Eido herself. Her father was more guarded when talking with Esis while Braldos or sometimes Viksis or another outfit officer was around but in their home he was very open. Eido was glad to see her father getting out there. He'd never done it since he'd adopted her that she could remember but she knew many Eliksni in House Wolves lamented that Misraaks was too busy being a father and Mara Sov's 'stooge' to notice when anyone desperately flirted with him.

They all started when a strange shank appeared in the tent. "What-- where'd that thing come from?" Eido asked.

"Oh-- gosh I'm so sorry," Esis said apologetically.

"Is this your shank?" Misraaks asked.

"No? Yes? It belongs to my friend Fasik. He sends it looking for me when I don't return home at a reasonable time and I've stayed up too late working," she said, absolutely embarrassed."

"Fasik? I've not heard of him," Eido said.

"He's a tinkerer on the Lucent Dawn with me. A dear friend. What time is it?" she asked them. A flap on the shank's top snapped open revealing the time. "It's passed midnight? Already?"

"We kept you," Misraaks said.

The shank bumped gently against Esis' arm. "Yes yes. I know. I'll be back soon. Run along," and she shooed the shank away. It flew back out of the tent. "I had quite a lovely dinner don't think you kept me up," she assured Misraaks. "But I should be going. Tomorrow is an early day," and she leaned over to pick up her helmet.

"I'll see you out," Eido said and got up.

"Thank you," Esis said put her mask and veil back on as well.

Eido left the tent with her. "Esis," she said quietly before she could go.

"Yes?"

"I hope this isn't too forward. Do you have a family?"

"I assume you mean other than my parents and siblings?" Esis teased her. Eido giggled and nodded. "I have a child," she said and Eido's heart sunk a little. "But they're grown and work in the mechanics gang in one of the ketches," she said cheerfully.

"I see. And their father?"

"We're just friends," Esis shrugged. "We thought we were in love but after we had a baby we realized we were better friends than lovers," she sighed dramatically. "Thankfully we were friends or my papa would have killed her where she stood for leaving me right after we picked from our spawn," and Eido could laugh at that and Esis made an amused noise, eyes squinting in a laugh. Then in a kind voice she said, "Why? Did you want to know about Fasik?"

"Uh-- um-- well-

"Fasik is just my friend. I don't have a partner at this time. I'm usually too busy."

"Really I figured as the Baron's daughter you-

"Eido," she said, voice still gentle. "You're a good daughter," and Eido flushed realizing she'd been caught out almost immediately.

Eido leaned over close. "My father is also usually too busy," she told Esis as a secret.

"I know," Esis said and those two words spoke volumes. "Perhaps next time he'll invite me to dinner himself."

Eido's heart jumped excitedly. "I'll drop some hints," she said and they shared soft secret giggle of knowing something the Kell of Light didn't. "Safe passage back to your ketch, Esis."

"Thank you. I will see you tomorrow," and she bowed her head and walked off.

Eido threw the door of the tent open, startling Misraaks who was cleaning up the table. "Eido, you're letting the ether out," he scolded her.

"She's totally into you," Eido said, letting the flap close.

"What?"

"Father, don't play dumb with me."

"I don't have to. I don't know what you're talking about," Misraaks said, putting the chairs back properly.

Eido folded both her arms. "Of course," she said because of course her stuffy father wouldn't admit to something as base as wanting to court a Baron's daughter. Or anyone's daughter. "I'm going to notate what we talked about over dinner before bed," and she went into her 'room' in the tent.

[clochanam]

👀 // heehee hoohoo

send in 👀 to hear what aisling would say about your muse to another person. ( ACCEPTING! )

it's been six months since alec left. what a pleasant way to describe it. like he just handed in his resignation and went to portugal for his early retirement. not like he broke her heart and turned against the tiny shard of MI6 that remained good at their core. six months. and if you include the period of determined denial, it's really nine.

high time to do something about it, then. she hands in her resignation, packs her bags, and gets to work. every single location the two of them ever visited on missions. the sites of highly important government officials who owed him favors. past safehouses, places close to his heart. she tracks every single one of them down, and records everything. photos, notes, recordings, footage, all documented meticulously. no disguises. just aliases. anna jenkins. alice jennings. allison james. aliases that cling to the truth and lure him in like breadcrumbs. only he's much too clever to fall for something so indiscreet.

it's what she wanted. a loyal recruit sent to figure her out, desperate enough to prove himself that he might get a little... excited. and he does. he takes a metal pipe from a construction site, follows her into the dark apartment, arm raised to strike. and then she emerges from behind him, slams her heel into the back of his knee, and cracks her elbow against that spot between the neck and the base of the skull.

when he wakens, enraged by how easily he was taken down, she's got him cuffed to the shower, door closed and leaving a grimy pane of glass between them. " scream. go on. you have five seconds, then we need to get back on track. you were a little easier to handle than i expected. "

" you think he doesn't know where i am?! "

" no, babe, i know he does. it's what i'm counting on. i just need you to deliver a message for me. " she lowers herself to sit on a soft velvet stool. the second he opens his mouth, she twists around to pull the toilet chain. instantly, ice-cold jets of water spit from the shower head, dousing him as a stifled yelp leaps from his open mouth. " yeah. shit plumbing. explains the low rent, though, huh? anyway. the message. i want you to tell alec that i left. i'm no longer working for MI6. and i want a meeting. "

" the two of you are actually certifiable. why the bloody FUCK can't you just go be with him?! or leave him alone?! what's this bullshit of turning the world into a fucking chessboard?! "

" not an MI6 man, then? not CIA, not by the inability to follow orders. so an independent mercenary. makes sense. see, here's the thing, tom. you join something like MI6, or the CIA, and you learn a code. brotherhood is a sweet name for it. loyalty. but in the end, it's just blind faith. just assuming they give you the correct information, the truth, the honesty that you're obligated to give them. alec saw it way before i did, probably since before i ever got involved. i suppose... ever since we'd met, he'd been protecting me. he'd take the kill shot so i could go home with clean hands. he'd hold me when the nightmares had me caught. he went through so much just to keep me safe. it took me ages to see it. the lies, the deceit, the amount of times we were fucking abandoned. when i got the call from felix, he urged me to go. so then i was the one who abandoned him. he had to endure it all alone. when i'd come back, it was like watching him disappear bit by bit. you know what that does, tom? to a person? to watch the love of their life fade and transform and emerge completely different? "

" ...this is who he's always been. "

" doesn't matter. either he lied to me for all those years in the field, in the cabin, in our bed, or he's lying to me now. either way. the lies end here. tell him, tom, because i know he's enroute, i know it's only a matter of minutes. tell him to meet me in the cabin. alone. he knows better, after all. hallowed ground, if you like the religious metaphor. "

" i don't. "

" tough shit. " she yanks the toilet chain on the way out, and another onslaught of ice cold water hits him, causing a shriek to serenade her on her way out the door.

[purble-gaymer]

*frothing at the mouth* arthur and gala. anything.

can i interest you in a one-shot of their first meeting in these trying times?

A dream. Dark, and cold. The empty black sky is littered with stars, multicolored and vibrant, shining upon the crystalline ground.

Arthur gazes up at the endless constellations. Strange. Nightmare usually brings him to far less eye-pleasing locations. Something must be different this time--he can’t hear the wizard’s voice, or even feel his careful watch. It’s almost like he’s been dropped here unsupervised.

The Star Warrior takes a closer look at the planet's surface beneath his feet. Deep blue and glittering--if he weren’t standing on it, he might think he’s on Aquarius, but last time he checked he couldn’t walk on water.

There are more crystals scattered across the ground, gleaming different shades of pink and green and blue. All around, sharp structures of rock reach up from the ground like claws about to close in on their prey. Such a strange little henge, where exactly did Nightmare take him?

Something must be wrong. Arthur cautiously takes a few steps towards the center of the circle.

Wind suddenly whips through the henge, and he raises his arms to shield his face. Peeking up towards the sky, his eyes widen as one of the small pink stars begins to glow brighter, brighter, the light quickly becoming blinding.

The star lowers to the ground, and the light fades. Left in its place is a large pink crystal. Between the glinting sides, he can almost make out a figure inside.

A figure.

He jumps backwards, immediately drawing his sword.

This isn’t any old henge. This is an arena.

The crystal cracks all along its surface, and in another bright flash of light, completely shatters. In its place stands a warrior, clad in platinum armor. Their mask guards a pair of golden horns, a four-point star cut across its center. Their feathered wings spread out behind them.

Red eyes flash open behind the visor. They turn upon Arthur. He flinches, but holds his ground.

The Aeon Hero.

The pink warrior narrows his eyes.

“What does Nightmare want with you?” he asks. His voice is low and ragged, as if it hasn’t been used in ages.

Arthur flinches again, then points his sword at him. “How do you know Nightmare called me here?”

“It’s a dreamscape, smart guy.” The Aeon Hero drops to the ground and turns to him, folding his arms behind his back. “I’d know if you went through the trouble of summoning me. Nightmare likes to let me out to play from time to time. It’s almost like he cares.” He adds sarcastically, then immediately returns to his glare. “But what about you? He’s still got it out for us astrals?”

“I’m the general of the Galaxy Soldier Army,” Arthur tells him, sounding as confident as he can manage. “Nightmare seems to take joy in showing me his latest murder machines.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, that’s not what you’re here for tonight.” The warrior seems to smirk through his mask. “I’m a retired murder machine.”

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

The Aeon Hero rolls his eyes and walks up to Arthur. He puts a hand on the flat edge of the sword and lowers it. “Maybe I’ll talk if you quit threatening me. I won’t fight you unless you really want to. I don’t need to be fighting all the time here and in the waking world. On the off chance I get to be awake, anyway.”

Arthur reluctantly sheaths his sword.

“See? That wasn’t so hard. Looks like Nightmare wants me to babysit you. Not sure why he’d leave us alone otherwise…he probably figured we’d be at each other's throats all night.”

The general doesn’t say anything at first. After a moment, he holds out his hand. “The name’s Arthur, by the way. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Aeon Hero.”

The other clicks his tongue, eyes gleaming with a sly smile. “‘Aeon Hero,’ eh? Not even gonna ask for my name?”

“Is that…not it?”

“It’s a title, tin head.” He takes Arthur’s hand with a roughness that makes him jump. “Galacta Knight. Glad to hear you hate Nightmare as much as I do.”

Galacta Knight lets go of his hand and promptly sits down on one of the green crystals poking out of the ground. He flips up his mask and secures it on top of his horns. His eyes aren’t much different without the visor, still a strong, blazing scarlet. A scar is torn next to his left eye, but it looks to have missed its target.

His gaze slides back to the general. “Come on, now. I don’t bite.”

“I have reason to believe otherwise.” Arthur sits down not far from him. He removes the bottom part of his mask and sets it aside, revealing his face to the other. Galacta Knight studies him for a few seconds before returning to their conversation.

“So, Arthur, how’d you get involved with the big guy?” he asks.

“I’ve been fighting for most of my life,” the other replies. “I became general a long time ago, and that’s when he really started bothering me. It only got worse after we found Meta Knight. He’s…sort of our kid. My friends and I found him when he was young, and we raised him together.”

“You found a kid?” Galacta Knight tilts his head slightly. “What, abandoned? Town, battlefield?”

“Something like that. He crashed-landed in a small ship outside one of our bases. What we think happened is Nightmare was raising him, and threw him out for some reason. Nightmare was furious with us after we found him. Didn’t leave us alone for months.”

The Aeon Hero leans forward, expression hardening. “Is he an astral? What color?”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Yes…dark blue. Silver eyes, purple feet.”

He nearly jumps out of his armor when Galacta Knight appears to wilt. The pink warrior turns his eyes to the ground.

“Stars, you’re where he ended up,” he mutters. In an instant, he almost knocks Arthur over in a hug. The general is frozen for a moment, then carefully returns it.

“Thank you, thank you,” Galacta Knight almost whispers, voice weak. “I had no idea what happened to him after I was sealed. For the longest time I hoped…maybe he would come looking for me someday. He must have forgotten about me. He…”

It takes Arthur a moment to realize that the other is shaking slightly. He hugs him tighter, though he’s really not sure what to do.

“I’m so glad he got away. I was so worried.”

After a few seconds, Galacta Knight pulls away. He swipes at his eyes and clears his throat. “I’m sorry. It’s just…” He stares at the ground for another beat, then laughs. “‘Meta Knight,’ huh? I think I know where he got that idea from.”

Realization flashes through Arthur’s eyes. “Huh. I always wondered.”

“Well…” Galacta Knight returns to where he was sitting. “Tell me about him. How’s he turned out?”

Arthur doesn’t say anything at first. “Are you his father?”

The other laughs again. “No, no. I have no idea where he came from. Nightmare just handed him to me one day.” He grins. “Oh, you’ll love this: he was an infant at the time. Newborn. No color.”

The general’s eyes widen. “And Nightmare wanted him to fight?!”

“Oh yeah.”

“That’s absurd!”

“And I told him that a million times--he didn’t care,” Galacta Knight sighs. “Poor kid has been fighting for literally his entire life.”

Arthur looks away and cringes. He doesn’t speak for a few moments, even though he can tell the other is watching him expectantly.

“I’ve been regretting that recently,” he eventually says. “He may have had more of a life with the GSA than he would have in Nightmare’s forces, but he’s still known nothing but war.”

“More of a life?” the warrior questions. “What’s he been doing? Does he have any friends?”

“Yes! Two of them.” Arthur smiles, but it fades quickly. “I’m afraid they’ve both met an unfortunate end, but the three of them were very happy for some time.”

A pained expression crosses Galacta Knight’s face, and his wings curl in slightly. “...I see. How did he take it?”

“Oh, terrible.” Arthur gives a sad laugh. “Ha, I wish I could say otherwise. He was furious with everything and everyone. The galaxy had finally shown him kindness, only to tear it away again.”

He pauses and looks away. Talking about it only makes it feel worse. “Last time I saw him, he was miserable. I wish I had done more to help.”

“Where is he now?”

The beat of silence seems to stretch for ages as Arthur looks back to him. “I don’t know. He might be dead, or he might be wandering the galaxy. We haven’t seen a trace of him in ages.”

Galacta Knight turns away. His hand twitches, as if he were about to reach for his mask. “Nightmare told me about that, sort of,” he says. “Said he ‘wiped out the Star Warriors.’ That didn’t seem right, but I guess he wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

“No. I’m lucky to have survived.” He frowns. “I don’t want to say I wish I hadn’t, but I certainly wish it was him who made it out instead.” He looks up, and the two lock eyes again. “It’s been weighing on us pretty heavily. I imagine you felt something similar when you first lost him…we were his family, after all.”

They’re quiet for a long time. It’s not easy news to hear, nor is it easy to tell. After what feels like ages, Galacta Knight lets out a sigh.

“How long do you need to be asleep?”

Arthur blinks. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, you’re the only company besides Nova itself I’ve had since I was sealed. I’d like you to stay, if you can.”

“Hm. I suppose I have all night.”

[thistlecatfics]

Nymphadora, Nymphet (Bellatrix/Tonks, 20k, E)

cw: grooming, student/teacher, abuse, incest

“Nymphadora,

I hope your lessons are going well and that your potions work is improving. I know you can do better than last year’s marks. Horace’s retirement was unfortunate, but you are still my daughter, and the new subpar professor is little excuse. I’m always happy to give you specific tips if you have questions.

But I am delaying the real purpose of my letter, and I should not delay any longer.

I heard from Anne MacMillan that you have a temporary Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. As you have not mentioned her to me, I surmise that you may not know who she is – or you are attempting to avoid talking to me about her, both of which I completely understand. Talking about her is difficult for me too, but I need to ensure your safety, and her appointment has reduced much of my faith in Albus’s Hogwarts.

I have already written to Albus informing him of his error in not informing parents of the sudden naming of a new professor, and I have Anne raising the issue at the next board meeting.

Professor Lestrange was my sister. [Here, the parchment was thickened, as if more had been written and then crossed out, then magicked away.]

She is brilliant, charming, and deeply manipulative. She has never forgiven me for marrying your father. In addition to the blood supremacy she and the rest of my family support in private, she considered me hers, and I believe she took my marriage to your father as a personal affront. People are not people to her, but property and playthings. If she attempts to hurt you, please go to Albus or Sprout right away. I cannot imagine she’d be so bold as to act under Albus’s leadership but I worry.

We can discuss this more at the Christmas holiday – it may be time to discuss your maternal line.”

Here, Bellatrix’s tone turned cloying, as she concluded, “With love, Mother.”

Tonks had taken the letter to Bellatrix. After a month of lessons and kindness, she thought that Bellatrix deserved to know what her mother said, but Tonks now wondered if she had made the right choice.

“Your mother and Cissy both always shared a flair for the dramatic,” Bellatrix said in a normal tone as she lowered the parchment and slipped it into her pocket. “She doesn’t hold much faith in your abilities, does she? ‘Run straight to the headmaster if your mean teacher bullies you,’” she mocked.

Tonks picked at her nails, letting them grow and change colour, a childish habit she intended to stop.

Noticing her discomfort, Bellatrix softened her demeanour. “It must be hard for you to have your mother criticise you and treat you like a small child at your age.”

Tonks nodded. She wanted to defend her mother, because she wanted to be the type of daughter who did that, but what Bellatrix said was true.

“I’ve been watching you, you know. Not just in our lessons, where you’ve been improving so rapidly, but across the grounds, in the corridors. Perhaps it’s your blood or perhaps it’s your abilities, but you have a maturity that your classmates do not.”

“You’ve been watching me?” Perhaps she should have said it as if she were concerned because being watched had always meant being in trouble, but she could not help the thrill in her voice.

You consider me worth watching?

The spark of that thought burned away all of her previous guilt.

“Of course.” Bellatrix looked her up and down. “You fascinate me.”

Read on Ao3

[boyakishantriage]

A couple humans walked onto the dropped hangar, into the ship. Daniel smirking as she greeted her friends, stopping at a recently pacified colony, where a local gang had agreed to work with the government as the official criminal force. Working as tax collectors for the planet. With their leader, Tori Washber (translation, leader blacksmith), appearing to wave off the "Asian chick" as told by Daniel.

The crew I were to receive were pure human, all from the human coalition group "UEN" something Daniel had explained was more of a mass organisational structure than a government.

A blonde male. Tall, skinny, with twin blades, and all a bright neon yellow. But the aura...

The caption were a Wenti, named after their scientific name they came from, similar eye sight, slightly more hearing. And appeared similar to werewolves, with their biology more naturally marked, fur covering the body but lessening down to a seven fingered hand. Held together, they configured into a running paw, mace like fist, but naturally remained as paws.

Looking down at the approaching humans, the blonde's aura was frantic. Vibrating and moving constantly, like it were dipped into acid, Daniel's were that of social, friendly and calm. Then there was another brown haired man, taller, broad shouldered with features he'd shown. Repeatedly. But he wasn't that bad.

The group of humans were a technical generalist, biology nerd, an odd duty military man and a mercenary. To put simply, the captain was more than a little pensive as her snout breathed in the auras.

The other brown haired man appeared serious, straight, strict. His aura being similar to my own brother's, a less emotional straight forward man. Daniel herself were an exact opposite, more expressive and the kind who dragged people to see the smallest things.

Finally. The woman. As she walked up with three bags, which was strange as she were contracted for three years and the others carried five. She were Asian, 165cm tall and already sporting what appeared to be. Weapon scars. Specifically laser weapon scars, all across her body. Minus the scabs, stitch marks. What appeared to be several old burn marks. And her aura conflicted... No. It were simple, straight and flippant. Two layers, a social one and some working one. Similar to Daniel, but more. Passive. And the working on being, explosive. Expressive, but able to fold down and be serious. An interesting crew indeed.

The ship required thirty crew, but with Daniel and his friends help it'd been lowered to twenty. Five humans replacing 10 aliens of medium ability. Go be fair, the ten being replaced were due to retire and while it were a shame to lose friends, well that was life.

I want expecting an alien who could read auras this early in my life, having hitched two rides. Visited three planets. My new station were with some friends. Liam was now around my physical age, as were Daniel, Edwards. Well Edwards was part of the Knights, but eh whatever.

The human's Aura flickered, as the give of them exchanged words. The straight couple laughing with the two others.

Eventually, the group were cut in by the captain.

"Welcome-"

"Captain Kuna. Pleasure to finally meet you in person."

The woman raised her hand. Pinky behind her ring finger, standard formal custom stating their fingers to be crossed while they shook hands.

"... You're Eleanor I presume?"

"Aye. Just call me Ellie, this is Liam."

She ruffled the hair of the blonde, the man tugging her hair as she jabbed the sizable man's chest.

"Edwards and I assume you've met the engineer Daniel."

I nodded, opening the gate into the ship.

"Hmm. A leader I presume."

"dominator in your species more accurately."

Interesting. Not only did she know about my species and their customs, but also of some local tibits. Daniel in her days was more interested in getting to know the ship, friendly as she did work and the like. That alongside the few misadventures left her quite ingrained into the group.

[coochiequeens]

This Veterans Day don't let the media gloss over the women that served

By Lori Tobias | For The Oregonian/OregonLive

Ask most any of the 26,000 female Oregon military veterans about invisibility and not only will she know exactly what you are talking about, she’ll no doubt have a story or two of her own. That includes Dr. Nakeia Council Daniels, interim director of Oregon’s own Department of Veterans’ Affairs. Daniels said she didn’t even realize she was considered a veteran after servingin the U.S. Army from 1998 to 2003.

“I do not recall the word actually being used when I was processing out of the military,” Daniels said. “I remember the word civilian being used quite often in transition. There were no images of women. When I saw veterans, I saw older white men who had wartime paraphernalia on their headgear or on their clothing. Culturally, women have historically been disconnected. We don’t see ourselves as women veterans. I actually thought you had to be a certain age to be a veteran.”

Stories like Daniels are what inspired the “I Am Not Invisible” traveling photo exhibit created in 2017 by the Oregon Department of Veterans Affairs (ODVA) to “raise awareness and visibility of the women as veterans in Oregon.” This week, the exhibit is on display at Western Oregon University in Monmouth.

The idea for the exhibit grew out of a conversation with the Portland State University Veterans Resource Center, said Nicole Hoeft, ODVA Strategic Communications Division director. Oregon women veterans coordinator Elizabeth Estabrooks and PSU Veterans Resource Center director Felicia Singleton were in a meeting with women veterans discussing the veterans’ sense of feeling invisible. And from there, “I Am Not Invisible” was born.

“We wanted to make sure that we had a diverse group of women from all eras as well as positions and branches of service so that we could try to make sure that we had a photo or bio that would resonate with a majority of the other women that would be seeing this,” Hoeft said.

"Culturally, women have historically been disconnected. We don’t see ourselves as women veterans. I actually thought you had to be a certain age to be a veteran,” said Dr. Nakeia Council Daniels, interim director of Oregon’s Department of Veterans’ Affairs.Courtesy of Oregon Department of Veterans' Affairs

“When we go through the gate at the Portland National Air Guard, they look at my husband and expect him to give his card and don’t expect me to. And I outrank him. It never occurs to them that I am the officer,” says Mary Mayer, who retired as a colonel after serving for more than 30 years in the U.S. Air Force.Courtesy of Oregon Department of Veterans' Affairs

Liz Estabrooks, ODVA’s first women's veteran coordinator, and Sen. Jeff Merkley review the exhibit in Washington, D.C., in 2017.Courtesy of Oregon Department of Veterans' Affairs

The women veterans it resonates with include ODVA advisory board member, Mary Mayer. Like Daniels, Mayer also knows what it’s like to feel invisible, though she notes, “invisible means different things to different people.” In her case, it often also meant disrespected.

In 1972, Mayer went to Lackland Air Force Base for officer training, “It was the first time I met our squadron and one guy comes up to me and he says, ‘What are you doing in my man’s Air Force?’” Another time, Mayer needed help learning to march, a skill necessary to be an officer, but the drill instructor refused her request, hoping Mayer would “wash out.” It’s not only the obvious insults, like the lower ranking officer who refused to salute a woman, but the day-to-day slights, even in full dress uniform.

“Initially, we had black coats and white coats, kind of like a tuxedo, and I don’t know how many times I would have the white coat on and they thought I was the waiter,” Mayer recalled. “Another person thought I was a bus driver.” Retired as a colonel after serving for more than 30 years in the U.S. Air Force, Mayer still feels the sting. “When we go through the gate at the Portland National Air Guard, they look at my husband and expect him to give his card and don’t expect me to. And I outrank him. It never occurs to them that I am the officer.”

The issue of visibility isn’t only a lack of recognition but of access to benefits and resources, Daniels said. “This campaign gets right to the heart of education, outreach and awareness, not just to women veterans, but to the next generation that follows and to those military connected families … a way to reach out and ensure that in Oregon, all veterans are accessing their benefits and resources.”

It’s been more than six years since the “I Am Not Invisible” exhibit launched at the Portland Art Museum in February 2017. Mayer, who served on the Advisory Committee to the ODVA, recalled the opening day.

“The room was packed,” Mayer said. “Everyone was very moved. I mean, even the men. It was amazing. We were being seen for the first time. We really mattered.”

Since then, the exhibit has been replicated by the VA’s Center for Women Veterans, as well as dozens of state veterans groups. It was also on display in Washington, D.C., in the rotunda of the Russell Senate Office Building. It opened at the Western Oregon University in Monmouth on Monday and will be on campus through Nov. 11. It can also be seen at the Oregon Department of Veterans Affairs website and in a video presentation at the Pacific Maritime Heritage Center.

“We are extremely, extremely proud of the advocacy that this exhibit has been able to carry on not only for just the first few months, but for six years now,” Hoeft said. “To date, there have been thousands of people that have seen thousands of women veterans’ photos attached to the “I Am Not” Invisible campaign. … We are very, very proud of this whole engagement and our partnerships now with the federal VA and the other state VAs who are also replicating this exact campaign.”

— Lori Tobias, for The Oregonian/OregonLive

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read The Eye of the World! Chapter 26: Whitebridge

All right people who haven't read the entire Wheel of Time series, it's time for you to make a choice. You can escape downriver in a nice boat and stay away from all the nasty spoilers, or you can cross this bridge and get hit upside the head with whatever bullshit I randomly throw in here. It could be from any point in the series, so if you're avoiding that kind of nonsense, make your aquatic escape now.

This chapter has Thom's harp yet again. As before, it's about the influence he'll have on the boys. This chapter it also refers to his supposed sacrifice to save them. Regardless, just like last time, he's the only thing keeping them alive.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Thom Merrilin muttered finally, “for teaching me how true the old saying is. Teach him how you will, a pig will never play the flute.” The sailor burst out laughing, and Mat raised the flute as if to throw it at him.

Of course, just because he's the thin barricade between them and death doesn't mean he likes them or that they're remotely grateful. Even Rand doesn't really want to learn, he's just doing this for their cover story, though he will have more of an appreciation for these skills as the story goes on.

Mat looked up, still frowning. “What if they are dead?” he said softly. “We have to accept facts, right?”

There's a sad parallel in Perrin awkwardly trying to assure Egwene that the others aren't dead and Mat here trying to pull Rand into the doubt and despair that the dagger generates.

So it will all turn out like one of Thom’s stories? The heroes find the treasure and defeat the villain and live happily ever after? Some of his stories don’t end that way. Sometimes even heroes die. Are you a hero, Rand al’Thor? Are you a hero, sheepherder?

All of this does end up happening. Y'all find the various plot coupons and get rich in the process, the Dark One is sealed away, and despite the looming Seanchan Outriggers it does seem like when that drama is over you all will retire happily, except Egwene who dies.

The White Bridge arched high over the wide waters, twice as high as the Spray’s mast and more, and from end to end it gleamed milky white in the sunlight, gathering the light until it seemed to glow. Spidery piers of the same stuff plunged into the strong currents, appearing too frail to support the weight and width of the bridge. It looked all of one piece, as if it had been carved from a single stone or molded by a giant’s hand, broad and tall, leaping the river with an airy grace that almost made the eye forget its size.

Thom thinks that the bridge is from the Age of Legends, but I personally think it's marginally newer; one of the first major structures assembled in the immediate aftermath. It seems very unlikely to me that two major rivers would have survived the totality of the Breaking intact, and we already know that the Erinin's northern half didn't change significantly after Lews's suicide. Thus, the odds of this river not having moved seem significantly lower - especially since the Two Rivers were recently part of an ocean! The White Bridge, to me, represents the last gasp of a dying art, an Aes Sedai work possible to perform without mixed-gender circles but too difficult to keep up all the same.

“We made it, Thom,” he said, then forced a laugh. “And no mutiny.”

I wouldn't say that until I was off the ship myself, but what do I know?

“You’ve slept on watch for the last time on my vessel! Or on any vessel, if I have my way of it. Choose your own side—the dock or the river—but off my vessel now!”

I wonder if Domon and Egeanin will ever discuss how one of the things they have in common is a complete disdain for Gelb.

“Aye, well, as to that. . . .” The captain produced a leather purse from his coat pocket and tossed it to Thom. It clinked when Thom caught it. “Your fares back, and a bit more besides. The damage was no so bad as I thought, and you’ve worked your way and more with your tales and your harp.

So that's Rand's ta'veren, I expect. Or Mat's, since it's kind of lucky. Like Domon's a good guy and all, and this is definitely the kind of thing he'd at least consider for other gleemen, but not go so far as to return their fares and extra. Definitely offer it to sweeten the pot to stay, but not just toss it upfront.

So much for not being noticed, Rand thought, dismayed. By sundown it would be all over Whitebridge that there was a gleeman in town.

I'm a wee bit surprised that gleemen are big deals in Whitebridge, but I guess that for quite a lot of people it's the effective end of the road. And with the winter not ending properly, he's probably the first one of the season. Just another little way all the details of the world add up to ensure that Rand is constantly fucked at any given moment.

“An innkeeper will be able to tell us if they’re here, or if they’ve passed through. The right innkeeper. Innkeepers have all the news and gossip. If they aren’t here. . . .”He looked back and forth from Rand to Mat. “We have to talk, we three.”

It's like Thom wants to be forced to fake his death at an inopportune time! Be more genre savvy, gleeman!

Rand wondered idly if all innkeepers were fat and losing their hair.

Only the good ones. I'll have to go into the hospitality business if I ever start losing my hair.

“Straight on from the bridge,” Thom said, “is the road to Caemlyn. Anyone passing through Whitebridge comes through this square, unless they’re going by river, and we know your friends aren’t doing that. If there is no word of them here, it doesn’t exist. Let me do the talking. This has to be done carefully.”

More good mentor points for Thom for continuing to explain why he does what he does so that the boys can learn.

Aes Sedai had been involved in taking Logain, of course. Bartim spat on the floor when he said that, and again when he said they were taking the false Dragon north to Tar Valon. Bartim was a decent man, he said, a respectable man, and Aes Sedai could all go back to the Blight where they came from and take Tar Valon with them, as far as he was concerned.

It's incredible how even the Red Ajah, whose purpose should be the most popular thing on the planet, manage to have PR this terrible. "Yeah they saved humanity from a madman who was going to plunge our society into a war the scale of which hasn't been seen for a thousand years, but fuck those witches amirite? Hope they all die miserably."

“They’ll be taking him there to show to Queen Morgase.” The innkeeper touched his forehead respectfully. “I’ve never seen the Queen. Man ought to see his own Queen, don’t you think?”

Queen oughta tour her queendom on occasion! (Funny foreshadowing though.)

“Why, the hunt for the Horn, of course,” Bartim exclaimed. “Didn’t I say that? The Illianers are calling on everybody as will swear their lives to the hunt to gather in Illian. Can you imagine that? Swearing your life to a legend? I suppose they’ll find some fools. There’s always fools around. This fellow claimed the end of the world is coming. The last battle with the Dark One.”

It's a rare thing when a guy proclaiming the end of the world is right, but that dude was. The Hunt is another thing that seemed to fall to the wayside; we meet many people that joined this hunt, but Illian's association with the Horn is never important. The Horn itself obviously matters though.

Thom still seemed to be a thousand miles away, so Rand said, “We’re looking for some friends who were coming this way. From the west. Have there been many strangers passing through in the last week or two?”

Rand loses points for being a bad student and ignoring instructions. This directly sets off the sequence of events that leads to Thom having to ditch them, so it's a triple penalty.

About a week ago, as near as I can say, a weaselly fellow came over the bridge. Crazy, everybody thought. Always talking to himself, never stopped moving even when he was standing still. Asked about the same people . . . some of them.

Hi, Padan Fain! Shame you don't think about him, Rand.

“He was crazy, but the other one. . . .” Bartim’s eyes shifted uneasily, and his tongue ran over his lips as if he could not find enough spit to moisten them. “Next day . . . next day the other one came for the first time.” He fell silent.

And this foreshadows that Fain's got off the Darkfriend script. If he was still working for Ba'alzamon, they wouldn't have sent a Fade afterward - and frankly, he would have been kept sane enough to ask discretely and in a way that wouldn't stand out. Luckily for everyone in Whitebridge, I don't think Fain was radioactive evil yet, so hopefully no one got any bad doses of Shadar Logoth.

“I think I’d remember if I ever met anyone like that,” Thom said after a minute.

"I hate Aes Sedai," says man who knows how to dissemble better than most Aes Sedai.

“And he’ll be back,” Thom said, leaning across the table and lowering his voice. “I say we sneak back to the boat and take Captain Domon up on his offer. The hunt will center on the road to Caemlyn while we’re on our way to Illian, a thousand miles from where the Myrddraal expect us.”

Really, the thing that makes the Hunt's fading into obscurity and Illian's connection being so irrelevant so surprising to me is the sheer number of people who try to convince Rand to go there early: Bayle, Thom, Moiraine. Maybe Lanfear? It feels like it should be a way bigger deal than it ends up being.

Thom seemed to understand. The gleeman’s face softened. “Even those dreams, lad. They are still just dreams, aren’t they? For the Light’s sake, Mat, talk to him. I know you don’t want to go to Tar Valon, at least.”

Another good Thom quality is how he understands Rand's emotions better and validates them. Way too many of his mentors don't understand him at all, or do understand what he's feeling and antagonize him for it.

Domon isn’t sailing until tomorrow morning. At best he’ll have Trollocs chasing him all the way to Illian. Well, he’s half expecting it for some reason, but that won’t do us any good.

Shame they didn't think to pull at that thread a little more. It's good set-up for the next book though.

Mat shrugged. He eyed each of them, then shrugged again. “I’m just on edge. I can’t seem to get rid of it. Every time we stop for a breath, they’re there, hunting us. I feel like somebody’s staring at the back of my head all the time. What are we going to do?”

I wonder if somebody who was just an idiot treasure hunter without numerous enemies would have taken a little longer to fall under the dagger's spell. Or if Shadar Logoth only tried to pull on Mat in the first place because he was already feeling that paranoia when they entered the city.

“My brother’s only son, my only living kin. He got in trouble with the Aes Sedai, but I was too busy with . . . other things. I don’t know what I could have done, but when I finally tried, it was too late. Owyn died a few years later. You could say Aes Sedai killed him.”

What could you have done Thom, except either kill him yourself or enable him to kill everyone he loved? Dude lasted three years without getting gentled; it was really only a matter of time. Oh well, at least Thom's hatred of the Aes Sedai has more justification than the vast majority of the setting's.

“We’ll walk out of here one at a time, just close enough to keep each other in sight. Shouldn’t be remembered especially, that way. Can’t you slouch?” he added to Rand. “That height of yours is as bad as a banner.”

So in this chapter, our heroes have discussed:

The Horn of Valere

Bayle Domon's mysterious motivations AKA one of the seven seals

Ways Rand stand out, like banners

Guess what three things they find in the Eye of the World!

The Fade was just as startled. Its leisurely pace faltered in mid-stride. Its hand swept toward the hilt of the black sword hanging at its waist, but the gleeman’s long legs covered the distance quickly. Thom crashed into the Myrddraal before the black blade was half drawn, and both went down in a thrashing heap. The few people still in the square fled. “RUN!” The air in the square flashed an eye-searing blue, and Thom began to scream, but even in the middle of the scream he managed a word. “RUN!” Rand obeyed. The gleeman’s screams pursued him.

Thom's such a badass. Goodbye for this book, Thom. It's rare when I'm glad that there's a fake-out death, but I'm glad here. For now. When we get to the mustache pulling I reserve the right to change my mind. Anyway though, Thom is too good a mentor for Rand which is why the narrative works double and triple time to ensure that he never gets a chance to benefit from the man's full attention. Dude would have found a way to off Cadsuane mid-slapping Rand in the face, which would have made Rand laugh and saved the world six books early, saving us the readers from quite a lot of misery along the way.

“You think Egwene and Moiraine and the rest are dead, too. If they’re dead, why are the Myrddraal still hunting them? Answer me that?” Mat dropped to his knees in the dust beside him. “All right. Maybe they are alive. But Thom—You saw! Blood and ashes, Rand, the same thing can happen to us.”

Rand and Mat are very lucky to have confirmation of their friends' survival, really. The hope will certainly help Rand keep going as things rapidly go to shit on the road. And Mat clearly learned nothing from Thom since he's not genre savvy enough to understand that if you don't see a body, they're probably still alive.

And that's another chapter! Next time, we're back with Perrin and Egwene. Sadly, Perrin will neither learn from his mentor nor will Elyas be dramatically faking his death.

[akihabara-division03]

Connection: Ruthless and Precious — Track I

Warnings: angst, violence, abuse, mentions of smoking, mentions of suicide

Word Count: 1.5K

Anika and her interpreter stepped out of the clinic, being immediately met with the warm late summer breeze. Anika stretched her arms out in front of her.

‘See you tomorrow, Kiyozaki-san,'' signed Anika’s coworker.

“Thank you, Kataoka-san,” Anika signed back with a warm smile. “Good work, today.”

The said person, Kataoka, bowed politely.

Anika smiled, watching her walk off.

She scanned the parking lot in search of her own vehicle.

You’re kidding me…

She found her car rather quickly. Leaning against the boot of her car was a woman with ginger hair and eyes glued to her cell phone.

The woman lifted her head up and Anika could fully see the woman’s features. She was in her thirties and she had the same coral eyes as Anika. Her eyes lit up when they landed on her.

She opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, but no sound came from her.

The corners of Anika’s lips lifted into a smile. Though her eyes didn’t express any form of warmth that smile did.

‘Hey, cousin!’ my ass, Anika thought. She tapped on her ear, making sure the woman in front of her could see the gesture.

The woman lightly smacked her own head and laughed. She continued to… talk?

‘Oh, silly me… I… team— keep? Forgetting… you can’t he— hear… so how do you… talk?’ Oh my fucking god, Anika did what she could to pick apart her cousin’s lip movements.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and began typing.

‘well, maaya, instead of coming here to see me, you could’ve just texted me like you seem to do every single day’

Maaya snickered and began typing away on her phone. Not before Anika caught that quick ‘what a pain’ that she’d muttered.

‘but you’ve been ignoring my texts recently! plus it’s makina’s birthday so I had to make sure she at least got my present you know?’

Anika’s eyes twitched before she typed on her phone screen again.

‘are you trying to get something from her? Is that why you’re giving her a gift?’

Maaya clicked her tongue, losing that cheerful smile from before.

‘is it so wrong for a MOM to give a present to her child on her birthday?’

Anika smirked.

‘oh of course not, but didn’t your parental rights get terminated in under a year of adoption?’

Maaya nearly threw her phone at Anika.

‘well in case you forgot, Makina is STILL TECHNICALLY MY CHILD according to the paperwork’

Anika narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. She scoffed and typed back.

‘well in case YOU forgot, makina is under MY care according to the lawsuit that I WON.’

Maaya gritted her teeth as she typed back.

‘ah yes, the lawsuit and the contract that expires by the end of the month’

Anika raised a brow. The hell? She’s still eighteen, she has two more years—

Her eyes widened.

Fuck… how could I forget… she thought frantically. The legal age of adulthood was lowered to eighteen years old earlier this year…

Eyes wide, she hung her head down and stared at the concrete.

That’s right…

Anika had been able to keep Maaya away from Makina because of that lawsuit and because she legally had to house Makina, who had been a minor.

Until now…

Maaya shoved her phone in Anika’s face.

‘my probation will be lifted once the contract expires and nothing will stop me from seeing my daughter.’

‘makina’s gonna be eligible to be housed without a guardian, so what makes you think she’d want to keep staying with you? you may be her legal guardian FOR NOW but that girl is practically your babysitter.’

‘not to mention, you’re already the disgrace of our family since you’ve retired, you’ll ruin makina’s reputation too’

‘that contract says she gets to decide where she wants to stay. and where is makina gonna go once she decides to move out? we (HER PARENTS) will be the first to offer a home to her’

‘and on the subject of that contract, it doesn’t forbid me from giving makina a present on her birthday through YOU’

Anika gently swatted her hand away.

Maaya smirked, shoving her phone in her pocket and taking a few steps forward. She took a wrapped present from her purse and forced it onto Anika’s hands.

“Now… be sure to tell Makina that I wished her a happy birthday and to consider moving back in with me.”

Makina turned off her camera and ring lights and ended her stream. She leaned all the way back in her purple and white gamer chair, hugging her knees to her chest.

Her eyes moved to the corner of her monitor.

17:45…

A little head’s up if you’re gonna be home late would’ve been nice…

It was the first time Makina was celebrating her birthday with Anika and Shian. They did promise Makina a dinner out once they got back from work, yet Anika was nowhere to be seen.

She sighed and sipped on her energy drink.

Time… please, just slow down…

Why can’t you just slow down and let me be happy where I am?

She closed her eyes.

Maaya placed a hand on Makina’s shoulders, face centimeters away from her own and eyes wide as saucers. Despite the eerie and dark look behind her eyes, her smile was cheery as could be.

Makina shuddered under Maaya’s touch.

“Our family’s future depends on you… and you’ll help us damage that Anika Kiyozaki’s reputation. We’re counting on you, so you better be responsible and do your part for your new family…”

Makina laughed nervously and shuffled. “Maaya-san… I, uh… I don’t think I’m comfortable with that—”

Maaya slapped Makina across the face.

The world around her became hazy and her eyes began watering.

Makina brought her shaking hands to her stinging cheek.

It hurt…

It still hurt…

“But—”

Maaya clutched her chest. “Oh… my own daughter won’t listen to me… I spent so much money to adopt you and I chose to save you from those horrible people that were your parents!”

Makina’s lifted her head up. “And I’m grateful for that! I really am! But—”

Maaya wrapped her hands around her own throat. “Oh… maybe there’s nothing left for me than to just end it all!”

Makina’s eyes widened and grabbed Maaya’s arms. “Wait, Maaya-san, don’t—”

Maaya grabbed the sides of Makina’s head and stared right into her eyes.

“Shh…It’s ‘mom’ for you. You’re my daughter now… and you’ll do as I say. You’ll take responsibility, right?”

Makina’s eyelashes slowly fluttered open.

She sat up and turned her attention to her monitor, switching to a random video online.

Her eyes were glued to her screen but her mind was elsewhere.

A small child with lilac hair that was so light in color that it was almost white fidgeted with her fingers nervously. Light apricot eyes wide as saucers, sweating profusely, shifting in her seat uncomfortably.

An older man was seated next to her and placed a large hand on her shoulder.

“You’re old enough to say what you want…”

Makina shook her head.

The child wailed as she hugged a woman’s legs, nose bloodied and tears streaming from her glassy eyes.

“I didn’t do anything… I didn’t do anything…!”

“You chose to do it! It’s all your fault!”

Shut up, you fucker… I didn’t chose to do anything…

“Make your decision, Makina!” Maaya hollered, holding a knife over her own hand. “Or else!”

Her eye twitched.

Stop saying that…

Anika gently patted Makina’s head with a gentle smile. “You don’t have to let anyone decide what you should do. Your future is up to you, okay?”

Stop saying that everything’s up to me…

Without looking away from her monitor, she reached for a shiny baby-pink rectangular pod, hardly larger than the size of her own hand.

She brought the small pipe that stuck out on one end of the pod to her mouth and sucked in a deep breath.

She drummed her fingers against the pod, listening to the way her nails clacked against it. With her eyes still glued to the screen, she turned her head to the side and blew through her mouth, a cloud of smoke releasing from her mouth.

Despite her video being blasted at full volume, her ears perked up when she heard the codes to her front door being punched in.

Finally…

She grabbed her pod and her switch and pushed herself away from her desk and to her bed, spinning around in her chair.

She dug through her mountain of plushies that were piled haphazardly on her unmade bed. She reached for a teddy bear-shaped backpack, which was a light bubblegum pink color, shoving her switch, a small makeup bag she grabbed from who-knows-where, and her pod in the main compartment as she headed out the door.

[storkmuffin]

From Wall St Journal article about single women in retirement:

The risk of running out of money in retirement rises for those with lower pay, longer lives or no partner.

Millions of single women wrestle with all three.

Women earn less than men on average during their working years and are more than twice as likely as men to leave the workforce for more than one year to care for children or aging parents, according to a survey of 5,261 Americans that Goldman Sachs  plans to release Monday.

This shortfall compounds in retirement. Social Security checks are 20% smaller for women who first claim at 62 to 64 years of age, compared with men the same age. 

Single women, in particular, have smaller 401(k) and IRA nest eggs. On average, single women between 55 and 64 have about $88,600 in retirement savings, compared with $136,685 for single men and $423,800 for married couples in the same age group, according to Boston College’s Center for Retirement Research.

The writing in this is so funny to me. The WSJ is describing how the current system fucks over women with children and additionally burdens all women, mothers or not, with unpaid endless eldercare as well as constantly having to deal with you know, sexism in the workplace in terms of ohhhh class room opportunities, hiring discrimination, various barriers to entry to higher paying and still-even-now-in-2024-considered-masculine-jobs, promotion discrimination and job security discrimination, without saying the words sexism, misogyny, and discrimination.

Women also tend to live longer, raising the projected total cost of retirement as they have to stretch their smaller savings over more years.

Despite these financial obstacles, single women find ways to pursue new ambitions in retirement, including launching businesses and traveling the world. They could have more time if their caregiving responsibilities have ended. With more freedom than many of their married counterparts, some women can make big changes without needing to compromise or negotiate. 

[desertdollranch]

Hi, I asked a good while back about advice for selling my doll, and you kindly linked me to your guide. I did some digging, and as far as I can tell, my doll is an almost-new-in-box JLY #7 in the "I like your style" outfit. (never played with, box has some shelf damage.) Would you have any idea what a fair price for her would be, or a follower who would?

Hello again! I can definitely give you an answer. I'll start with the long answer but you can skip to the end if you just want my recommended price point (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ So in most cases, JLY dolls that sell for higher prices on the secondhand market tend to be dolls that are rare or have unique and unusual features. JLY 7 is not one of them, and hasn't ever been in very high demand. She was available for about 15 years, but I don't often see her being owned by adult collectors. She tends to be more popular with kids looking for a doll that looks like them. Your doll also has a slight disadvantage being relatively new in AG history, as opposed to 90's Pleasant Company dolls who are more sought out by nostalgic collectors and sell for super high prices, especially when they're in mint condition in their original box. All of that could change in a few years when people who grew up in the mid-2000's get nostalgic for toys they had in childhood as well as wealthy enough to chase down their long-lost dream dolls, and as it becomes harder and harder to find dolls that don't have colored hair or painted eyelashes.

However! Right now, your doll does have the advantage of being in like-new condition with the original box! That does raise her value immensely to people who are looking for new and nearly new retired dolls in their original boxes. Some collectors really are serious about owning retired dolls that they can keep in the original box. She also has the advantage of being retired for thirteen years, as well as being less popular during her availability, therefore making her harder to find.

(A reference for people unfamiliar with #7 or the meet outfit:)

I looked at the prices that other #7's in worse shape than yours are selling at, and they're definitely higher than I expected, and higher than they were at this time last year. Prices for retired JLY are so unpredictable right now since the Truly Me rehaul last September. People who are wanting new additions to their collections who still have that classic AG doll look are getting desperate and have no choice but to buy secondhand. So right now there's a huge variation in demand and price, which I honestly have never seen before.

What I would recommend is to take advantage of her good condition and her rarity. Put her up for auction on eBay and start the bidding at $99. If that's too high for potential buyers, nobody will bid, and so you'll know you should knock the price down a little. Lower it by $5 and relist until you get some bids. But I think it's pretty likely that she'll be bid on well beyond $99!