#which has been a massive shift in workload and stress and anxiety

[babygirlwolverine]

me agreeing to go into work on my day off to assist with a spay: what a great learning experience and an opportunity to show my boss im willing to put in the extra effort because I love surgery

me right now at midnight knowing I have to get up in 6 hours on my day off: why did I sign myself up for this when I could’ve been sleeping in and enjoying my day off after an intense week so far????

[ka-za-ri]

Personal Assistant pt. 1

Hi. I’m in complete and utter Obey Me! Hell Enjoy some Lucifer x MC smut shamelessly put into a modern day CEO!Lucifer AU. Many parts to come. I’m completely covered in filth and thirst. Unbeta’d because we die like heroes here. Let me go back to being a gremlin now.

Paring: Lucifer x MC Wordcount: 5,000 ish Genre: Shameless, filthy smut Tags: Multiple Orgasms, sex on a desk, Finger fucking, overstimulation

Part 2: here Part 3: here Part 4: here Part 5: Here Part 6: Here Part 7: Here Also found on Ao3: Here

Lucifer has been sent to the human realm to study them and acclimate to and learn about their behaviors. By some miracle, you landed a job interview with his illustrious company as his personal assistant. A lot of extra work not listed on the job posting is required of you, to say the least.

Part 1: Interview

Adapting to the human world wasn’t hard. Humans were after all, predictable little things, easily swayed by their desires, it didn't take much effort at all to make them bend to his will. Lucifer’s time thus far ‘learning’ about the human realm had netted him a sizable company under his control. It wasn’t long before he became bored of that. Being a CEO of Akuzon meant many things. One being that he was always busy and needed some help around his office. Previous attempts at having a personal assistant failed him as they never satisfied his needs and kept up with the workload.

Somehow, you found yourself looking at the ad in the paper and hastily applying to the job It seemed too good to be true. It paid well, was for a reputable company, was close to home, and you fit the criteria listed. It was a shot in the dark, you knew there must be hundreds of others clamoring for the position as well. However, much to your surprise only a couple of weeks passed when you received an email requesting your presence for an interview.

The office building was massive, fitting right in with the many sky scrapers of the city. After putting on the best interview clothes you had and making your makeup was on point, you had thought you were ready for anything. Seeing the building and stepping inside it’s grand spaces had you faltering for a moment, a shiver of nervousness running down your spine. Almost everyone in the vicinity stopped what they were doing to see who it was at their front door. The nervousness increased as their gazes bored down into you, making you think you had gotten the wrong building.

“Are you here for an interview?” A young lady at the front desk asked cheerfully, noticing how lost you seemed.

“Ah! Yes! I am! For the position of Lucifer’s secretary.” You explained, relieved that there were some helpful people there.

The lady raised an eyebrow, surprised that someone so green would be chosen for such a high ranking position, but didn’t press the issue any further. Dialing a few numbers into the phone at her desk, she made a quick call. “Yes, she’s here… I’ll bring her right up.” She looked up at you, a sweet smile on her face and got up to guide you to the elevators on the other side of the floor. “He’ll be ready to see you once you get to his floor.”

“His floor?”

“Yes. His office is one of the top floors of the building. As his secretary, you’ll be responsible for taking care of it as well as any other duties he asks of you.” She explained. “You’re so lucky… I applied for that position ages ago, but couldn’t pass the interview phase. I hope you fare better than me.”

“I hope so too…” You agreed, hoping to hide the shaking in your voice.

The trip to the top floor seemed to stretch forever. The light music in the background did little to soothe your anxiety as you watched the numbers climb higher and higher until they stopped at 60 and the doors slid smoothly open after a soft chime.

“Well, this is where I leave you. He’s right beyond those doors.” The lady gave you a small reassuring push forward and before you could have any second thoughts, the doors closed and you were left alone, facing tall frosted glass doors. Taking one last stuttering breath, you took the steps forward to push open the doors. They were much heavier than expected and after a bit of a struggle, you finally managed to open it.

Before you sat the most impeccable man you had ever seen. The very image of power in a young and handsome man. The name plate placed at the very edge confirmed to you that he was indeed to be the man who was going to be conducting the interview. It was difficult to get your mind past how handsome he was. His perfectly parted hair framed his face and its long, delicate features. He wore a black fitted suit, one that probably cost more than any number you could imagine. Each stitch in its place to accentuate the lines of his body and to cut an imposing figure, even when seated. Everything about him oozed control and power. You had every right to be nervous.

He sat behind a massive desk; the only documents in front of him were what you expected to be your files. Most everything else, save for his nameplate, had been cleared off. If he had done this to intimidate you, he was doing an exceptionally good job without even saying a damn thing. “Come in. Have a seat. I’ve been expecting you.” He beckoned and gestured at the seat in front of him, his eyes raking up and down your figure, assessing everything about you. All the while, you were powerless to deny his request. His voice was soothing, low and lulled you into a strange sense of security.

Sinking into the seat in front of the desk, you sat just at the edge, reminding yourself to keep your posture proper and to keep your appearance as professional as possible. You needed to employ every trick in the book in order to succeed in the interview; and Lucifer knew that. His expression was unreadable as he waited for you to settle in, his hands idly flipping through your resume. “So, tell me, what do you think you can bring to this company working for me?”

Ah, there it was, the interview questions. You had prepared for this and the answer you rehearsed fell easily from your lips. “I have a lot of experience in working as an office manager. I understand that my duties may extend past what was listed in the job posting. However, I am willing to take in the extra hours and to work whatever job is given to me to ensure that your position and your reputation remains as impeccable as it has always been since the start. I will bring a new level of efficiency in your workflow and I will be a great asset to your company as such.”

He hummed, seeming uninterested in what you had to say. You began to sweat a bit at the back of your neck. Perhaps he had expected something more unique? Once again, he flipped through the pages of your resume, not really reading anything, just looking at the information you had put down. “I see… And how do you deal with pressure or stressful situations?”

Again, another question you had prepared for. “The easiest way to diffuse stressful stressful situations or overwhelming workloads is to make extensive lists. I like to break things down into their basic components so that large tasks are much more manageable in a timely manner.

He hums again, a vague sound of approval this time, nodding only slightly before making a mark on the papers in front of him. “Very good. Final question. How do you like to be managed?” His eyes flick up to you and there’s something in the way he gazes in your direction that makes your heart beat faster. There was something in the way his eyes trailed up and down your body that had you sitting up straighter than before.

“As long as I have clear direction, I will be able to work independently or as a team as needed.”

Much to your surprise, Lucifer smiles at the answer, circling something on the paper before getting up and sauntering over to you. “That’s very good to hear.” he said quietly, turning to look out the floor to ceiling windows to the cityscape his office overlooked. “There will be a lot of times where I can be demanding and ask you to stay later than usual hours. Will your priority still be this job if I ask this of you?”

You swallowed, not sure how you felt about the question, his tone had an undercurrent of electric energy that had you heating up and shivering at the same time. “Y-yes.” You stated after a brief pause, entranced by the curve of his spine and how well his pants fit his ass. “I can do that. I plan on making this position more than a job. I am looking for a career here.”

Lucifer nodded again, still not making any eye contact with you, which gave you plenty more time to ogle at how his posture and his stance against the window struck such a formal and imposing figure. At this point, he could tell you to work three twenty hour shifts in a row and you wouldn’t complain. The prospect of a hot boss, great pay and a job that was close to home was too tempting to you.

“If you accept this position, you will be placed on a probation period, as is customary for this company.” He explained and your heart started to beat faster. Did this mean you landed the job? You couldn’t tell if he was psyching you up for potential disappointment or if he was genuinely starting to offer you the job. “Once I’ve gone over your performance during your probationary period, your salary will increase. Additional raises and bonuses will be offered as I see fit for… exceptional work.” You couldn’t see it, but rather, you felt him smirking at his reflection in his reflection. “Does that sound acceptable to you?”

“Yes…” You breathed, mouth watering at the aspect of being able to make so much money. It was more than any other job you worked for paid.

Humans were such easy little playthings to control.

Lucifer walked back to you, standing in front of his desk and leaning against the heavy wood. “Your job will be of course to do what I request, many times without question. There will be many sensitive documents that you will handle and that requires your utmost confidentiality.”

“I understand.” You said bluntly, trying to calm your heart and your breathing to no avail.

“You understand that this position also may also involve some after hours activities which I will ask for you to partake in. They are not written on the job description, but they are paramount to this position. Don’t worry… I’ll be sure you receive clear and concise directions on exactly what to do as my personal assistant.”

You blinked. The way he worded the phrase seemed off, but you couldn’t put your finger on what. It was odd, he had always referred to the job as ‘this position’ until just now. It was the first time the actual job title until he tugged at the cuffs of his suit, undoing the buttons. “Oh…” You breathed, eyes wide, cheeks blushing brightly when you realized what he meant, the bulge in his pants was all the proof you needed for there to be absolutely no miscommunication. From the looks of it, you could only surmise that he was barely half mast in that state. Fuck, what kind of monster is he hiding in there?

“Before we sign the papers and you accept the job, I would like to do a test run to make sure you’re a good fit for the company.”

“Yes… of course.” You were practically panting, eyes blown wide and cheeks flushed. You pressed your legs together trying to hide the arousal that started pooling there after the realization that you would be servicing your future boss in rather intimate ways. That fact alone had you ready to sign whatever contract he produced in a heartbeat.

“We’ll begin by seeing how good you are at following directions. Stand up, please.” He flicked his fingers upward, eyes traveling up and down your body, knowing exactly the kind of reaction he was pulling out of you.

You were upon your feet in an instant, hands at your side, back straight as a board and your legs together. You barely dared to breathe as he left his spot on his desk to circle you. You could feel his gaze taking in every detail. He was close enough for you to smell the cologne he wore waft past you as he passed your side and you suppressed a shiver.

“What kind of posture is this?” He chided, pressing the spot between your shoulder blades gently, pushing your shoulders back. “Just because you’re standing up straight does not mean you’re doing it properly.” Lucifer tsked, shaking his head slightly. “How do you expect to represent me and this company if you look like a cardboard cut out.” His hands left a trail of goosebumps across your skin as he adjusted your body as he saw fit. Your hands folded neatly in front of you, your legs now just shoulder width apart and your shoulders back, he took another circle around you to reassess your stance. “Much better.” He murmured. “It will do you well to remember how this feels. I won’t be so lenient if I see you looking so foolishly in front of a client.”

You nodded, memorizing just how he had posed your body, reminding yourself to practice in the mirror. You didn’t dare speak unless he gave you permission to, just something about how he stalked around you made it impossible to raise any objections.

“Stay still unless I say otherwise.” Lucifer commanded next. “It’s important that you are at attention no matter what the circumstances. When I ask for your… special services, you will refer to me as Sir.” His finger traced the hem of your pencil skirt, pulling it up just a bit and you fought back the urge to flinch. “But of course, I should say that right now, you have the power to stop this at any time. Understood?”

“Yes…”

“Yes who?” Lucifer’s tone was sharp and the hand playing at the hem of your skirt moved to place a firm spank on your ass. The pain coursing down your leg, you jumped a bit, but remembered his command to stay still.

“Yes… Sir…”

“Good.” He nearly purred, leaning in to kiss the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin and his hand once again traveled to the hem of your skirt, playing with the fabric and pulling it up until he got a good view of the lacy lucky panties you decided to wear that day. “Very good.” he praises, tracing his fingers across the flimsy fabric. Your breath hitches as he brushes light touches across your bare skin. You stay still, demanding that your body stop trembling, though Lucifer can clearly tell just how nervous you are, shaking like a little lamb at his behest. In a show of dominance, he lets your skirt fall back down, cupping your face to pull you into a heated kiss.

Your mind is practically blank at this point, hands still clasped in front of you, gripping each other like your life depended on it while he claimed your lips and took your breath away. At some point you had reciprocated, kissing him back and earning a low growl from the back of his throat as a reward. He pulled away, your lipstick smeared across his face and his eyes glittering in lust as he looked at your disheveled form in perfect posture. “Hmm… yes… I think you’ll fit right into my needs.” He appraised, rubbing his chin and smirking. The expression sends a shiver down your spine but you didn’t dare move.

His hand guides you two steps forward towards his desk. “Bend over.” He commands and you oblige, your chest laying on the surface of the mahogany desk. Your hips flush against the edge of it while your hands stretched out to grasp at what it could to stay still as he asked. He readjusts you again, spreading your legs further, straining the fabric of your skirt. With a tsk of frustration, he pulled the offending piece of clothing up to your waist, letting the cool AC hit the back of your thighs and allowing him to spread your legs even further. In your heels, you could feel your calves tremble as you struggled to keep the position he had set for you. Thankful for the desk to cling onto, you used it to ground yourself as your ass is exposed to him. Your legs spread to the point where you were bent sharply, completely level with the desk and your hot core could feel the air conditioning blow past your heated nether lips. “You look good spread across my desk like this. I’ll be sure to make use of this position often.” He commented, rubbing your ass gently, teasing you through the fabric of your panties. His fingers brush across the wet spot on your panties and you can feel the it mold against your wet heat. Embarrassed, you stifled the whine that formed at the back of your throat. Even if the two of you were on a separate floor from others, you didn’t know if there were others right outside those heavy glass doors.

His teasing seemed to last forever and you could just see how much he was enjoying it whenever you dared to glance up and see your lewd reflection in the mirror with that salacious grin on his face as he fingered you oh so gently and left you on the edge of wanting more. Every time you glanced up even briefly, he always made sure to make eye contact with you in the reflection, knowing just how much you were affected by his basic touches.

Of course, he wasn’t getting out of the exchange with nothing. The slight bulge in his pants earlier had strained into an impressive tent seeing his new assistant splayed out before him, eager to please. Humans were such predictable creatures. Predictable, yet so much fun to toy with. He couldn’t get enough of the soft sighs that came from your lips as you held back your noises. It only made him want to see break for him even more. His slender, manicured fingers finally gave you a little relief, pressing against the wet spot in your panties and following the curves of your pussy lips that had molded themselves there due to your slick. At that, your hips bucked back, urging him to give him more but a firm hand on your lower back stopped any further movements. “I did not say you could move.”

You whined, clutching onto the edge of the desk, your fingers sore and locking up from how hard you were holding on. You weren’t sure how you were going to handle this sort of treatment on the regular when the trial run was already driving you mad with need. As if he could sense your impatience, he finally pulled down your panties, allowing your legs a brief reprieve as he took them off and tossed them to the side before making you resume the position you had held for who knew how long.

“For a trial run, you’re doing very well.” He cooed, smirking as he saw your glistening folds. “I should remind you that there are people still working in the building. We may have a floor to ourselves, but please keep that in mind and don’t scream too loudly now.” He chuckled darkly, tracing the curve of your ass and finally sinking a finger into your heat. Just the feeling of being penetrated by something had you keening and you struggled to keep yourself from screaming. “Ooh, that’s a pretty noise you make… Please make more of those.” he encouraged, slowly sliding his finger in and out of you.

“Y-yes sir.” You panted, your legs ached, but the pain was absolutely nothing compared to the pleasure that was building up in your abdomen just from feeling a finger slowly fuck you. You had come in for an interview and your soon to be boss was unraveling you in ways you had only fantasized about. All the while, Lucifer remained the very image of composure, if it weren’t for his very obvious hard on being pressed against the back of your thigh, you would have thought he was impervious to the scene he had orchestrated. Every time his finger dragged itself out of you, you let out an appreciative mewl, mind reeling as he pressed every button he needed for you to submit completely to him.

You lost track of time and how many times he left you wanting more with how his finger moved in and out of you. At some point, he had added a second, then a third, deliciously stretching you out. You were so wet and ready for him, you could feel your essence drip down your thighs as your legs struggled to keep you upright. Lucifer was patient, he had lived several millennia already, edging you until you were a begging mess on top of his desk for a few hours was absolutely nothing to him.

In a show of surprising restaurant, he pressed hot kisses against the back of your neck, nipping at your skin whenever you let out a particularly breathy sigh. The scent of sex and his cologne enveloped you and you were practically dizzy with need. “Sir…” You whined after he had curled his fingers in you, making you see stars and your walls trembled, clenching around his fingers. “Please… I need more…”

“Oh?” He asked, raising an eyebrow and removing his fingers, much to your dismay. He watched in amusement as your pussy twitched, clenching around air now that his fingers were no longer filling you. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he was surprised how long you had held out before you were begging for him. His erection had pressed against his impeccably tailored pants for so long, it was almost painful, yet, he couldn’t let you have your way just yet. Even if it was a trial, he still wanted to see just how far he could push you. “You think you really deserve more? You haven’t even gotten this job yet.”

His fingers were back on your wet, sopping cunt, sliding up and down your labia, rubbing slow, firm circles around your clit. You wailed, bucking your hips and forgetting the command to stay still until his other hand reminded you by spanking your ass cheek. “No moving.” He growled and you struggled to obey, stilling your body even though every part of you screamed to squirm and beg for him. “You will get more when I decide you get more.”

You could only nod in reply, letting him use your body as he saw fit. “For your next test. You will cum when I tell you to.” he breathed, pressing his finger against your clit, making you choke back a sob of pleasure. “After that, I promise you, you’ll be at the last part of the interview.”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll do what you want, Sir. Whatever you say, Sir.” You babbled mindlessly, your body aching for relief and release. The torture and pleasure he could pull out of you with just his fingers had your mind jumping to the future to what other things he could elicit out of you.

“Good girl.” He praised, patting your hair in a surprisingly soft gesture. He followed the gentleness with a chaste kiss on your lips before going right back to being the commanding figure you had met him as. He plunged his fingers into you again, knuckle deep and pumping in and out of you furiously, loving the way your walls fluttered and clenched as you held off on your orgasm until he permitted it. “You are so obedient… just what I like.” He praised breathlessly, working you closer and closer to the point of no return.

You couldn’t think straight, you didn’t care if others heard the lewd sounds coming from your lips as you whined, begging for release. You were so close, you wanted to cum so badly, but your determination to pass his test outweighed your desire and you held out until his silky voice whispered the blissful word into your ear. “Cum…” He purred and you gratefully crumbled, your body spasming around his fingers, milking it like it was his cock. Soft whines escaped your lips and tears of gratitude streaked down your face.

“Thank you, Sir.” You panted, blissed out and feeling weightless after such a powerful orgasm. Your vision blurred as you stared blankly at the wall, wondering if this was the end of the interview. Lucifer’s fingers leaving your sore pussy sure seemed to signal that things had reached a conclusion. Glancing up at the reflection in the windows, you flushed bright red when you saw Lucifer lewdly cleaning his fingers off with his tongue.

“Hmm… I think you would do well.” He said once his fingers no longer shone with your essence. He sauntered over to the other side of the desk where you clung onto for dear life. Sinking into his chair, he casually opened up one of the drawers, pulling out a contract and placing it in front of you. “If you believe you can keep up with my demands, then all you have to do is sign on the dotted line at the bottom. He slid you an ornate fountain pen into your hand.

Your trembling digits could barely hold onto the pen and you moved to start reading the contract, going over the terms and conditions of your new position. Most of it was the basic business jargon seen in every typical job. There were a few things that seemed out of place, but in your just fucked state of mind, it was very difficult to focus on what about them seemed wrong. Unable to really think straight about what you were getting yourself into, you placed the pen onto the paper, eager to start your new job.

Just as you the pen started to move, you heard the sound of a zipper being undone and the hard erection you had felt earlier on the back of your thigh now pressed up against your sore pussy. You gasped, eyes going wide at the feeling of being stretched out once again. “Well? Will you sign?” He asked casually, sinking into you inch by inch as you struggled to breath and think, let alone sign a contract.

“Yes… Yes, Sir…” you whined, starting to shakily write your name as he bottomed out inside of you. He hissed, taking a hold of your hips and roughly slamming them back into him to get as much contact as he could. You yelped, unable to write your name at all. Your hips banged against the edge of the desk with every one of his rough thrusts. No doubt, there would be dark bruises there the next day reminding you exactly what you did to get the job you were signing for now.

With each pass, Lucifer lets a little more of himself go, grunting in effort as he relished in the feeling of your hot walls surrounding him. He hadn’t found such an obedient human in a long time. It would be such a fun time for him to push your limits every day you were in his office. What he offered now was only a glimpse of what he had planned for you. Every time your hand stuttered in the middle of signing your name, his grin widened. The closer you were to sealing the contract with him, the closer he was to his own release that he had been holding back for hours now.

“Just a little more…” he urged, slowing down his thrusts so you had at least some time to get a few more letters of your name out. Just as you finished, he let out a primal growl, slamming his hips into yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the room as he fucked you without abandon. The fountain pen fell from your fingers and you were back to clutching onto the edge of the desk as yet another explosive orgasm started to build in you.

Glancing up into the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of what Lucifer looked like while he was coming undone inside of you, you were surprised at the image you saw. It was only for a brief moment, but you swore you saw horns on him, and dark, feathery wings framing his body. The sound of the pen you dropped falling to the floor broke the illusion and the image of the prim and proper business man with an utterly feral look was all you saw.

He knew he wouldn’t last long once he entered you and so, he chased his release inside of you. As soon as the contract was signed, he was done for. His hand snaked around your abused waist to reach for your clit, bringing you to climax in time with his own. With a grateful groan, he released all the pent up tension in him, spilling his hot seed deep inside of you while your walls spasmed around him, milking every inch of him and accepting what he had given you. “Very good…” he cooed, his eyelids fluttering as he relished in the rush that came after such an explosive climax.

You whined, your body bruised and beaten, but also feeling absolutely boneless and euphoric. You hadn’t experienced anything like that before and it was all rather mindblowing to say the least. The contract in front of you with your shaky signature, ink blots from when you lost control of the pen and a fair amount of your tears stared back at you. This was your future. This would be a regular part of your life going forward; and you didn’t feel a shred of regret from it. You zoned out for a moment, hardly believing that it was all real.

Lucifer’s cock slipping out of you and the feeling of his cum dripping out of you snapped you back to reality. “Very good job. I’ll say you passed all the tests with flying colors.” He said, fixing his suit and continuing on as if he hadn’t just fucked the living daylights out of you. “I expect you to come in on Monday ready to work. I have a lot of filing for you to catch up with.”

He smirked, taking the signed contract and slipping it back into his desk. He cupped your chin in his hand and planted soft kisses on your lips, once again leaving you dizzy and breathless. “You are free to move now.” He said and you gratefully worked on closing your sore legs, wondering how you were going to make it out the office in the state that you were in. You weren’t sure you were able to walk, let alone get all the way home with how weak you were. Lucifer chuckled, dialing a few numbers into his cellphone. “I’ll arrange for a ride home for you.” He offered. “As a thank you for such a lovely interview.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, knowing you had a way to get back without catching too many unwanted stares at your disheveled state. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Lucifer.” He corrected briskly.

“Thank you, Lucifer. I’ll be sure to arrive on time Monday.” You sank into the chair to gather your wits about you, staring at your trembling hands.

“Good.” He said coolly and looking up at him, you gasped when you saw him casually twirling your panties on one finger as he looked down at you. “Your ride should be here shortly, please make sure you’re presentable, you do not want to dishonor me.”

“Yes. Of course, Lucifer.” you hastily combed your hand through your hair, hoping to take care of the worst of the flyaways. You glanced nervously at the panties in his hand, figuring they were a lost cause at this point and simply accepted the fact that you’d be taking this arranged ride with your boss’ cum dripping down your thigh. Carefully standing up, you remembered to assume the proper posture he had shown you earlier and he smiled in approval.

“Very good.” He gestured to the heavy glass doors, opening them as if with magic with a press of a button. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“Yes,Lucifer.” You replied obediently, taking the first shaky steps out.

“Oh, and one more thing.” he called out to your retreating form. You turned, blinking and wondering what else he could want from you. “Wear the same lipstick, will you? I’d love to see what that color looks like smeared all over my cock.”

“Yes, of course. As you wish.” You replied, blushing a deep red and rushing out of the office now, high off of getting the coveted position of Lucifer’s personal assistant and the prospect of what else he could ask you to do for him.

Watching you slip into the elevator, Lucifer smiled to himself. He reached into his desk and pulled out the contract, skimming the terms and conditions you had agreed to.

Humans were terribly predictable. Yet, they were also infinitely entertaining.

[robogreaser]

This is a Long Time Coming...

It’s been a relatively hard task to sit down and make sense of, well, a lot of things as of late. I could chalk it up to the state of the world, but it’s been troublesome for significantly longer than that.

Long Story Short Version: I’ve been in a hell of a place, mentally, physically, and otherwise.

The proper story is a hell of a lot more involved than that and I know damned right well it’s going to take me a fair bit to explain myself and my various professional and social failings over the past... while. I’m gonna try to contain this under a read more, of course, but I apologize to mobile users if tumblr fucks that up.

Okay. That took a fair more bit of effort to figure out than I remember. Which, I suppose, is a fair enough bit of a segue into one thing that’s happened to me.

Tumblr has been deteriorating.

Whether I like to admit it or not, tumblr has been my go to social media platform since... 2011. Yeah. I’ve spent the vast majority of the decade here. I’ve seen a lot. Sure, I’ve lurked elsewhere, but I really cannot stand the interface and nature of a lot of other social media, especially the likes of twitter. Unfortunately for me, this place has been in constant decline for years now at this point. It extends well beyond the porn ban, but that’s a whole separate discussion.

I’ve lost touch with a lot of people I care about, some vanishing into the ether, some ghosting me, some just drifting into other communities or onto other sites. I’ve come to terms with the majority of this. It’s been happening for a while. It’s the very nature of digital relationships. It hurt, and I do think it’s contributed to a fair bit of stress and depression that has resulted in my... withdrawal from online spaces. It’s not a major factor, but its here, it’s present, it’s a factor in all of this.

I’ll be honest in that, well, I’ve tried to make this post several times over the past several weeks and months. It’s hard. Talking about my issues, using ‘I’ and ‘me’ so much in a post... it’s a bit jarring. But I’ll try to suck it up.

It’s been ten years (god I fucking hate time) since I’ve graduated high school. Yeah. It’s a fair thing to say that, on reflection, that’s incredibly jarring. The vast majority of that time has been... relatively unstable. I spent a fair few years working on my book and my publishing journey, now all but scrubbed clean from this blog (more on that later) and... well... Trying to be an adult. I’ve applied to, gotten accepted, and had to withdrawn from my dream school twice in this time. I’ve had a fair few jobs, nothing worthy of my resume, and lost all of them in one form or another, whether being fired for retaliating to my shitty work conditions, or, well, quitting for the sake of my own health during this pandemic. There has been a lot of family troubles. I’ve been through a lot of... ‘varied’ living situations, some horrendous, some just stressful, some, like now, actually really good compared to the others. And for the past few years in particular, it’s been constantly one thing after another, nonstop.

In short, progress is slow, but it’s happening. I don’t care to delve into a lot of these sorts of personal details lest this get to a ridiculous length, but that’s the short of the stuff I’d rather gloss over.

I’ve been on a health... Let’s call it a journey. I’ve been on a health journey. Over the past few years I’ve gone through the long processes of being diagnosed with ADHD, discussing my options regarding my depression and anxiety, and finally getting myself on a medication regimen that works. And then, because the health care system is a joke, I was without insurance. I had been off my medication, an absolute lifesaver and release of burden on my garbage tier brain, for eighteen months. Until last week. I think it’s fair to say, between my revolving door of living situations, employment, and then being un-medicated in a continually more stressful environment... That this is the main reason I’ve been absent. I’ve had no focus. There were weeks where I had no drive to do anything outside of routine that others depended on. I had not only gone back to how I was before situating my mental health, but in some ways, found a worse state.

Finances have been slowly eating away at me. I had been working a part time retail job until November, which made decent enough money, but not nearly for the amount of work and responsibility I was handling. I got fired. I found work with one of the big, corporate postal services. The pay was phenomenal, but it began to actively destroy my health, mainly physically, but also mentally, especially considering I was working a graveyard shift. Eventually when I began having prolonged health issues there, and then a whole lot of the symptoms of covid-19, on top of them turning me down for an entry-level position outside of the package handling, I had to quit. This was shortly after the lockdowns, in early April, and I refuse to look back despite people like my parents insisting on me trying to get work there again. Sure, the pay was phenomenal compared to anything else I had until then, but I cant continue to sacrifice my health. As of now, I’m unemployed, and... well...

I’m working on my commission queue. It’s art. It’s stuff I’ve owed friends (luckily those who are incredibly understanding and good to me) for an embarrassing amount of time, even before moving to and from Oklahoma at the end of 2016. I’m terrified of being the person who is known for taking commissioners’ money and running.

I know, I’m not good at giving updates. I’m not good at a consistent work schedule. I’ve had numerous tech failings over the past few years that constantly slow my roll on any progress I have made. Hell, I’ve had files corrupt despite being two thirds of the way complete when transferring from one computer to another. I’ve lost my cable for my external hard drive. I’ve had my tablet go to hell and back multiple times. But I am working. I am trying. I am sitting down as often as I can between looking for work and managing family nonsense to try and get my workload tidied up.

Which... brings me to my next point. And one I’m rather... ashamed about.

I have used trello, infrequently, since taking on a large load of commissions, and despite not being faithfully updating it and checking back on it, and using it to it’s fullest potential, I had kept, at the minimum, a list of all the work I did owe people using it. Well. Dumbass me attempted to use a mobile app. In short, in an effort to try and make myself tech literate and allow me easier access to my queue, I ended up deleting it. Somehow.

I’ve gone through and slowly flagged all my paypal notices and various emails concerning my commissions. I’m putting it together again. I’m trying. Granted, I am damned sure I am going to be missing someone, somewhere, somehow. I know it. I’ve got a shit brain, and despite my need for organization and minimalism, I don’t put it past me to have missed something along the way.

If you have commissioned me, please, do not hesitate to reach out and contact me regarding your commission. I owe every last one of you a massive apology for my continued failure to produce what you have paid for.

More likely than not, I have a wip already started somewhere, and if not, I have a slew of reference and thumbnails already compiled together somewhere on my computers. I am not ignoring this work. It’s been painfully, embarrassingly slow. It’s been one obstacle after another. But I have every intention of doing this work, and, likely, upgrading the quality of the finished piece past what my commissioners have paid for simply because I do feel bad about the wait time.

I have been inexcusably unprofessional. I know this and I am working as best I can with the time and resources I have to correct it.

In a similar vein, as I mentioned before, I have slowly been cleaning up my rather unimpressive publishing attempts. I’ve gone through and cleaned this blog recently, deleting reference to my work by name and the process of trying to get myself published. I may have missed a few posts here and there, but for the most part I would like a clean slate in regards to building a social media platform surrounding my written work. And this is the part where... I am probably going to be the most upfront and honest with you reading this than I have been publicly before.

I am not ashamed of who I’ve been online these past ten years or so, but it reflects only a sliver of my personality, a sliver of who I am as a whole. I catered to a very specific subset of who I am in pursuit of finding acceptance in communities much larger than myself. I’ve learned a hell of a lot about myself in that time. I figured out what’s important to me, my health, my sexuality, my relationships and my long term goals. I’ve found a very important group of friends. I’ve found people who understand and empathize with a lot of the things I have been through, experience, and am at my core.

But the fact of the matter is, this hypersexual, sci-fi aesthetic-oriented, very open person is only a singular facet. And it is not nearly enough of a reflection of who I am, or who I want to be as a professional, public adult. Will I always be gay for robots? Yes. Will I, when time permits and creative energies are present, continue to make nsfw art? Absolutely. Will I always have a toe dipped in erotic literature and the like? Most likely.

But a lot of me, a lot of my emotion and strife and feelings regarding most things in the world, are completely separate from this. It’s separate from me liking porn on twitter or having a homestuck roleplay blog. It’s separate from who I am in real life, with my boyfriend or with my family or with my work. And I have been dwelling on this, sincerely, for a while. I need to allocate more energy into my life. The separate life offline and online too, where I am pursuing an actual professional career, because, at the end of the day, I want to be an author. I want to have a career telling stories. And, in my time online, I’ve found a lot of skeletons in authors’ closets, the kind that really put mine to shame, and the kind that will always be a footnote to their work. You know the ones.

I want my creative work to speak for itself. I want people to be able to enjoy what I do without a specter, without my time and energy having to explain to a future audience why it is I had explicit thoughts about x,y, and z. I want to be able to write a book, write many books, and have people enjoy them without a footnote about me, a person with a sexual life and a history exploring it through years of depression and isolation, clouding it. It’s not fair to my work. It’s not fair to a future reader. It’s not fair to me.

I’ve got several social media accounts made and slowly coming to life that I need to spend more time with as I try and pursue this new, second leg of a very long journey into publishing. I’m not going to link those here, now or in the future. It’s likely a few people I know and trust have access to them. But I am, effectively starting over from scratch trying to build a platform as a writer. And it’s hard. Juggling that, alongside all of the things in the world today, alongside family and my relationships, alongside my commission queue? It bears down on me and if I didn’t have experience handling more than one thing at a time, I might trip up more frequently. Hell, I forget to post and use those new accounts regularly.

But I’m trying.

I’m not moving away from my current social circles or hobbies or anything like that. I’m not abandoning any fandom or friends or communities. But I am going to be trying to balance myself more thoughtfully moving forward, past just commissions, past just writing.

I’m here. I’m moving forward, slowly but surely, and I am making an effort to improve.

[citrinekay]

okay, 3 prompts (feel free to use some, all, or none of them!!!) 1: i really really love how you write kink between them. the power exchange is subtle but palpable. we don't see a ton of aftercare (although we have once or twice!), and i know a lot of that fits well with the story (they're still coming to terms with what they've done once the lust has passed). could we see some more extended aftercare? what does it look like for Bill to tend to Holden after he's broken him down?

I love this prompt! I’ve also been thinking a lot about Holden and his anxiety/panic disorder after finishing reading the Mindhunter book by John Douglas. If anyone doesn’t know, Douglas suffered a bout of viral encephalitis that was partially brought on by the massive stress of his job. At the time, he was the only person in the BSU working profiling full time and was working over 100 cases by himself! While in Seattle for the Green River killer (a case which went unsolved until 2001), he became critically ill and was in the hospital for weeks. Before reading the book, I had no idea just how substantial Douglas’s workload was at the time. I’ve been wanting to use the details of that case in my writing so this is the perfect opportunity. This is also goes really well with my fragile series so I’m thinking of this as a little vignette to that ‘verse. Enjoy :)

The Seattle skyline beyond the hotel window blurs into a mass of winking lights and distant starlight as Holden’s body sinks weightlessly into the sheets. Every inch of him is quivering, flinching; he feels raw and used in every way he’s been longing for since the start of this investigation, a seemingly endless parade of decomposed corpses being dragged from the Green River. 

For much of the first two weeks, they hadn’t found the time or energy for this kind of privacy, but it’s been two days since they discovered another dead prostitute in the water. Finally, a breather. 

Bill knows him well enough to see when it’s all becoming too much, when the waves are creeping up over his mouth and nose, when he’s starting to feel like he’s coming apart. He had suggested they take an early day today instead of spending the entire afternoon at the precinct, pouring over details that they’ve already looked at a hundred times before. But instead of getting drinks like he’d told the local cops they were doing, he’d brought Holden straight back to the hotel room. 

Ten flights above the ground, no one else could see when Bill pushed him up against the wall and kissed him until he couldn’t breathe. No one could see when he ordered Holden to strip down and lie on the bed. The taut burn of the tie knotting around his wrists and securing him to the headboard was solely for him, an act of deviancy so far and wide from anything they study that at this point Holden can’t feel any kind of guilt in it. There’s always something tender in the violence of Bill’s hand breaking him, a warm, bubbling security in the pain slowly inching him towards the edge of the breaking point. One word from Holden and it would stop immediately, but that isn’t what he wants; and he trusts Bill to push him just hard enough to break, but not so hard that a gentle touch afterward can’t put him back together again. 

Now, two hours later, he’s lying in a heap of disassembled pieces, his limbs useless and humming, his body crying out in equal measures of pain and pleasure. It’s all over and quiet; the tears slipping from his eyelids are drying quickly. The weight is gone from his chest, replaced by a warm buoyancy, a great relief, a continuing exhale of satisfaction. 

Holden’s gaze drifts from the fuzzy lights outside the window when Bill slips back into the room with a bucket of ice. His movements are steady and practiced as he retrieves a bottle of water from the minifridge, and uses a few of the ice cubes to prepare a glass of whiskey. He sets the two drinks on the nightstand, and goes into the bathroom to retrieve a hand towel that he packs with the rest of the ice. 

When he comes back to the bed, he removes the knotted tie from around Holden’s wrists. As the pressure on his pulse lets up, Holden feels the hot rush of blood and the raw sting of his chafed skin reawakening. He swallows back a whimper of pain. 

Bill tosses aside the tie, and bends to plant a kiss on his cheek. “You okay?”

Holden nods. “Yes.”

“Here.” Bill says, uncapping the water bottle.

Holden shoots a glance at the whiskey. “I’m not allowed to have a drink after all that?”

“Water first.”

Holden represses a sigh, and takes the water bottle. Pushing up onto his elbows, he takes a long drink. 

Bill sits down on the edge of the bed beside him, and grabs the towel packed with ice from the nightstand. Holden clenches his jaw as the ice pack comes in contact with his backside, scorched skin hissing with both shock and relief. 

Bill takes a drink of his whiskey, ice cubes rattling quietly against the glass. 

“I think we’ve done about all we can do here.” He says, softly. 

Holden peeks over his shoulder at Bill’s profile, rigid in the soft, yellow lamplight. 

“We have other cases.” Bill continues, “I’m calling Ted tomorrow.”

“I can handle it.” Holden says, mustering a confident tone. “It was just a bad day, that’s all-”

“I’m not just saying it for you.” Bill says, shifting his gaze to Holden’s naked, broken body sprawled across the bedsheets. He moves the ice pack to a fresh patch of inflamed skin. “We’re not any good to anyone when we’re both burned out.”

Holden turns his focus back to the Seattle skyline crystallizing beyond the filmy sheen of the curtains. He can almost see the Green River from this vantage point, but maybe that’s just his imagination. 

Bill draws in a deep breath, and crawls onto the bed beside Holden. Keeping the ice pack in place, he presses a slow row of kisses down Holden’s shoulder blade, into the dip of his spine. 

Holden hums a sound of satisfaction, and lets his head drop to the pillows. The simmering smattering of kisses awakens new sensation, the gentility that follows the viciousness, the new, aching pleasure that can only be reached after the hardened exterior has been broken down and destroyed. Tears rush sudden and hot to his eyes, not from the pain like before, but out of something much worse. 

Bill lifts his head, and Holden quickly muzzles his misery in the pillow. 

“Hey, hey.” Bill says, concern bleeding into the low rumble of his voice. “Holden.”

“It’s okay.” Holden mumbles into the pillow, his throat thick with emotion. “I’m fine.”

Setting aside the ice pack, Bill sits up against the headboard, and drags Holden’s limp body into his arms. 

Holden presses his eyes shut as he settles down against Bill’s chest. Bill’s hand cradles his cheek, smoothing away the escaped tears as they trickle from the corner of his eye. 

“It’s going to be okay.” Bill says, the sound of his voice vibrating low in his chest against Holden’s ear. “Hear me?”

Holden nods. 

“Say it.” Bill urges, softly. 

Holden draws in a deep breath, trying to force out the shudder in his lungs, but he feels like he’s simply inhaling water. 

“The profile …” He whispers, “It doesn’t make sense for all of them, does it?”

Bill holds him closer. “What do you mean?”

“There’s more than one.” Holden says, “All the murders are similar, but not the same. I think there could be two unsubs, possibly three.”

Bill’s frown deepens. 

“How are we supposed to catch three unsubs if we can’t even catch one?” Holden asks, his voice hardening against the tears. 

“We’re doing the best we can.”

Holden pushes his forehead into Bill’s chest, trying to impress that thought into his mind, but it's a mantra he knows all too well - a mantra his anxieties can easily hurdle. 

“It just feels like I’m drowning with them some days.” He whispers. 

Retrieving Holden’s limp hand from the sheets, Bill lifts his raw wrist into a kiss. His breath trickles warmly down the inside of Holden’s forearm, soothing in a way that’s just as revolutionary as the burn of a hand across his backside. 

“I’m not going to let that happen.” Bill says, his voice unwavering. 

Holden sniffles quietly. 

“Do you believe me?” Bill asks. 

“Yes.” Holden whispers, his voice small and quivering. 

“Okay.” Bill says, “You need some rest. Let’s get a shower, and we can go to bed.”

Holden utters a whimpered complaint. His body is finally feeling unwound and relaxed, not wanting to move from its place wrapped up in the bed sheets and cuddled against Bill’s chest. 

“I’m not putting you to bed like this.” Bill says, gently chiding. “Come on.”

Bill wrangles Holden’s pliant body from the sheets, and leads them to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, he lets the water get hot before motioning Holden inside. He slides the glass door shut behind them, closing them off from the hotel room and the rest of the world. 

As the water pounds across Holden’s back, and the soap cleanses away his sweat and tears, he at last feels the prickle of anxiety drop entirely away from his mind. Maybe it's just the implacable exhaustion of too many long nights finally catching up with him, but when Bill holds him underneath the warm water, he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning any longer.

[crispturquoisewater]

Another day, another battle...

I constantly find myself astounded at the gaslighting that goes on from the doctors at my surgery. It’s absolutely shocking, and has recently brought to my mind the podcast ‘Dr Death’. When listening to this podcast, as a naive listener, you think ‘how could this guy possibly get away with this for so long?!’ But it’s simple really, doctors stick together and belittle patients. So, any complaint that is raised is dissolved or made to be the patient’s ‘mosunderstanding’ and is flung carelessly into the ether.

Yesterday, I called the surgery and spoke to one of the new doctors. I had to request repeat blood test (which were already requested on the letter from hospital for the surgery to carry out but of course that doesn’t happen without having to make an appointment). I mentioned that at the weekend, whilst bleeding profusely and in agonising pain in my kidneys, I didn’t know what to do. I received no answer or advice. I said that I’m waiting for a referral for nephrology, but that doctor X had refused to make the referral because he said that it wasn’t his job and that he wanted to make a point that the hospital could not “workload shift”. Immediately, this new doctor jumped in and “explained” (like I’m fucking incompetent) what doctor X meant by his comments, and that actually he was saying that it was quicker for the referral to be done in-house and that it would be easier for me if it was done this way (queue internal scream of utter fucking frustration!).

Firstly, do not patronise me. I am a grown women who, despite everything I am going through, is perfectly competent and reasonable - unlike like the doctors at my practice. Secondly, how unfathomable that a doctor that was not a part of the conversation thinks she has any right to tell me what was actually said(?! Arghhhh!!).

As much as I was infuriated by her blatant attempt to manipulate and dismiss what doctor X had so clearly said (I still find it astonishing that a doctor would try and tell someone else what happened in a conversation that they were not present in - she didn’t even say, ‘I think what he meant was’... just flat out gaslighted me. Nope, no denying it, he called the hospital lazy, was furious that they hadn’t done their job, and was perfectly happy to see his patient suffer in pain, rather than make the referral, in order to prove a point, because they “had to learn”. Narcissism at its finest), I still kept my cool and was polite and explained that he was clear in what he so emphatically and angrily stated. What I wanted to say was, how the hell do you think you know what was said or meant? But I didn’t. She then went on to try and patronise me further by explaining how the system works. I’m very clear on how the system works. For a period of time - not so long ago - I worked in an area of the NHS. I know perfectly well how the system works, but it incredibly concerning that they do not. However, brilliant to know that they are ignoring patients’ requests, and filling their responses with a load of infantile lies.

It may seem like nothing important, but this constant belittling is having a massive affect on my self-worth and self-belief. I try not to let their gaslighting affect me, but it does. Massively. As I am sure is the point. After all, if you continue to feel worthless or lacking in self-confidence, you will stop pushing for the treatment you deserve.

After we’d moved on from that, I asked to be referred to physiotherapy. I’ve got osteoarthritis, and due to severe bone pain and joint swelling, I can barely walk anymore - even around my apartment - and I desperately need someone to look at me, and help me. For a normal surgery, this should be simple. You have a physical problem including joint pain and muscle weakness, you get referred to physio. The fact that I cannot walk properly, and barely at all anymore due to the pain in my feet being so severe, is not normal. I have been reporting worsening bone pain and swollen joints for six months.

At the end of December I insisted on actually being seen in practice because the pain in my lower back and legs was so severe (they still weren’t seeing anyone due to covid). The doctor openly mocked me, asked me no questions about how long id had the pain (even though I’d reported it multiple times), told me that she “does yoga”, like I was lazy and not helping myself (I’d actually started physio of my own from watching videos to try and help myself), and told me that MRIs were SOLELY used if a patient was considering neurosurgery and not for any other reason (🥴 I’d asked for an MRI because the pain in my spine and hips were so bad and had been progressing for four months. I was at the point of not being able to sleep or stand for long properly). Actually (as well as arthritis), what that SEVERE pain turned out to be, was adrenal crisis. My cortisol levels was so low that it was (as the A&E doctor put it), barely existent. And all the symptoms I was reporting were clearly it.

I don’t mind a doctor not knowing something - they clearly are not trained in everything - but please do not mock me or make me out to be a hypochondriac without even looking into it or trying to find out. I came away from that appointment distraught at being belittled, again. Oddly, when I found out that I had adrenal insufficiency, I actually felt vindicated, because I think their attitude towards actually made had started to make me doubt myself.

I truly feel for people who present with traumatic symptoms of mental illness. My symptoms are physical. My bloods are showing issues. Im pissing blood. I’m unable to walk properly or without pain, and yet I am STILL being treated as though I am making the seriousness of this up. I can only imagine how harrowing it must be when there is nothing physical to show. And my heart goes out to you. I’ve spoken to friends who have been mocked or belittled by doctors over their mental health. Im so sorry they do this to you, and us. They are definitely in the wrong profession. The one they must switch to is the Narcissistic House of Disbelief.

Anyhoo, I digress.

So, what should have been a simple request for referral, turned into another battle. The doctor will not refer me until she gets my latest bloods back. And then she will decide if she deems it worthy of me to see a physio. I am in so much pain I can’t describe. How is it that our health is at the mercy of these people?

So, now, almost totally unable to walk because any pressure on my feet is so agonising, and my knees are ankles are so swollen (I’m vegan and eat a healthy diet, this is not excess salt or fats), I am left, yet again, in pain and without a referral.

It’s utterly exasperating. Totally and utterly exasperating, and draining, and mentally, emotionally and physically horrendous, which counteracts my ability to get better, because I end up facing a constant stress from the people that are supposed to help. And stress makes the symptoms worse.

Yesterday, after this agonising call with the doctor, after which I thanked her for her time (despite feeling despair inside - no need for me to be rude, even though the anxiety of each call with that surgery knaws like a ball inside my gut), I had to call the hospital to see if the referral had been made their end (it hasn’t - they simply sent the same letter back to surgery), had to call a different part of the hospital to see if the bloods had been put on the system and then call the blood department to make the booking. That was aside from five other phone calls chasing things. Being ill is a full-time job. And not made easier by doctors with inflated egos who believe they are untouchable.

If you haven’t listened to Dr Death, listen to it. It’s very easy in this situation to believe that this is only happening to you. But it isn’t. My surgery has a 2 star rating. That is testament to the fact that this is not just happening to me. But who will change it? No one, likely. Because complaints are buried. Patients are ignored. And you’re made out to be a complete crazy who somehow, and for reason, wants to be sick.

And why don’t I change? Because my illness is complex, and I don’t have the strength to start again. Also, I don’t believe that any other surgery will be any better. If it’s anything more than a cough and cold, they don’t want to know. Actual doctoring rarely goes on.

I want to finish this blog with a praise to doctors in A&E. because my surgery refuse to look at issues or pay attention to serious problems, it forces patients to go to A&E - because they’re not overstretched and exhausted enough already. Due to having a reaction to my new medication, I ended up there two weeks ago. And the doctors and team were fantastic. I was there seven hours, but I never, ever moan about the wait. These people are inundated with cases. And the reason it took so long is because I had to wait to see a specialist medical team once my bloods had come back. But, throughout, I was treated with respect and dignity, and left feeling assured that I was okay.

Respect and dignity should be a given, however, unfortunately, so often it is not. I do believe some doctors that have been practising for a long time believe themselves to be untouchable, and that is a dangerous precedent to set. But unfortunately, I believe it is one that rings true far often than anyone would like to admit.

Maybe if I was a man, and spoke to them with rage, I would receive a different result. It’s amazing how respect is expected one way, and not the other.

Is the NHS sexist? I think so...