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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months

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Three AI insights for hard-charging, future-oriented smartypantses

MERE HOURS REMAIN for the Kickstarter for the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There’s also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

Living in the age of AI hype makes demands on all of us to come up with smartypants prognostications about how AI is about to change everything forever, and wow, it's pretty amazing, huh?

AI pitchmen don't make it easy. They like to pile on the cognitive dissonance and demand that we all somehow resolve it. This is a thing cult leaders do, too – tell blatant and obvious lies to their followers. When a cult follower repeats the lie to others, they are demonstrating their loyalty, both to the leader and to themselves.

Over and over, the claims of AI pitchmen turn out to be blatant lies. This has been the case since at least the age of the Mechanical Turk, the 18th chess-playing automaton that was actually just a chess player crammed into the base of an elaborate puppet that was exhibited as an autonomous, intelligent robot.

The most prominent Mechanical Turk huckster is Elon Musk, who habitually, blatantly and repeatedly lies about AI. He's been promising "full self driving" Telsas in "one to two years" for more than a decade. Periodically, he'll "demonstrate" a car that's in full-self driving mode – which then turns out to be canned, recorded demo:

https://www.reuters.com/technology/tesla-video-promoting-self-driving-was-staged-engineer-testifies-2023-01-17/

Musk even trotted an autonomous, humanoid robot on-stage at an investor presentation, failing to mention that this mechanical marvel was just a person in a robot suit:

https://www.siliconrepublic.com/machines/elon-musk-tesla-robot-optimus-ai

Now, Musk has announced that his junk-science neural interface company, Neuralink, has made the leap to implanting neural interface chips in a human brain. As Joan Westenberg writes, the press have repeated this claim as presumptively true, despite its wild implausibility:

https://joanwestenberg.com/blog/elon-musk-lies

Neuralink, after all, is a company notorious for mutilating primates in pursuit of showy, meaningless demos:

https://www.wired.com/story/elon-musk-pcrm-neuralink-monkey-deaths/

I'm perfectly willing to believe that Musk would risk someone else's life to help him with this nonsense, because he doesn't see other people as real and deserving of compassion or empathy. But he's also profoundly lazy and is accustomed to a world that unquestioningly swallows his most outlandish pronouncements, so Occam's Razor dictates that the most likely explanation here is that he just made it up.

The odds that there's a human being beta-testing Musk's neural interface with the only brain they will ever have aren't zero. But I give it the same odds as the Raelians' claim to have cloned a human being:

https://edition.cnn.com/2003/ALLPOLITICS/01/03/cf.opinion.rael/

The human-in-a-robot-suit gambit is everywhere in AI hype. Cruise, GM's disgraced "robot taxi" company, had 1.5 remote operators for every one of the cars on the road. They used AI to replace a single, low-waged driver with 1.5 high-waged, specialized technicians. Truly, it was a marvel.

Globalization is key to maintaining the guy-in-a-robot-suit phenomenon. Globalization gives AI pitchmen access to millions of low-waged workers who can pretend to be software programs, allowing us to pretend to have transcended the capitalism's exploitation trap. This is also a very old pattern – just a couple decades after the Mechanical Turk toured Europe, Thomas Jefferson returned from the continent with the dumbwaiter. Jefferson refined and installed these marvels, announcing to his dinner guests that they allowed him to replace his "servants" (that is, his slaves). Dumbwaiters don't replace slaves, of course – they just keep them out of sight:

https://www.stuartmcmillen.com/blog/behind-the-dumbwaiter/

So much AI turns out to be low-waged people in a call center in the Global South pretending to be robots that Indian techies have a joke about it: "AI stands for 'absent Indian'":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

A reader wrote to me this week. They're a multi-decade veteran of Amazon who had a fascinating tale about the launch of Amazon Go, the "fully automated" Amazon retail outlets that let you wander around, pick up goods and walk out again, while AI-enabled cameras totted up the goods in your basket and charged your card for them.

According to this reader, the AI cameras didn't work any better than Tesla's full-self driving mode, and had to be backstopped by a minimum of three camera operators in an Indian call center, "so that there could be a quorum system for deciding on a customer's activity – three autopilots good, two autopilots bad."

Amazon got a ton of press from the launch of the Amazon Go stores. A lot of it was very favorable, of course: Mister Market is insatiably horny for firing human beings and replacing them with robots, so any announcement that you've got a human-replacing robot is a surefire way to make Line Go Up. But there was also plenty of critical press about this – pieces that took Amazon to task for replacing human beings with robots.

What was missing from the criticism? Articles that said that Amazon was probably lying about its robots, that it had replaced low-waged clerks in the USA with even-lower-waged camera-jockeys in India.

Which is a shame, because that criticism would have hit Amazon where it hurts, right there in the ole Line Go Up. Amazon's stock price boost off the back of the Amazon Go announcements represented the market's bet that Amazon would evert out of cyberspace and fill all of our physical retail corridors with monopolistic robot stores, moated with IP that prevented other retailers from similarly slashing their wage bills. That unbridgeable moat would guarantee Amazon generations of monopoly rents, which it would share with any shareholders who piled into the stock at that moment.

See the difference? Criticize Amazon for its devastatingly effective automation and you help Amazon sell stock to suckers, which makes Amazon executives richer. Criticize Amazon for lying about its automation, and you clobber the personal net worth of the executives who spun up this lie, because their portfolios are full of Amazon stock:

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

Amazon Go didn't go. The hundreds of Amazon Go stores we were promised never materialized. There's an embarrassing rump of 25 of these things still around, which will doubtless be quietly shuttered in the years to come. But Amazon Go wasn't a failure. It allowed its architects to pocket massive capital gains on the way to building generational wealth and establishing a new permanent aristocracy of habitual bullshitters dressed up as high-tech wizards.

"Wizard" is the right word for it. The high-tech sector pretends to be science fiction, but it's usually fantasy. For a generation, America's largest tech firms peddled the dream of imminently establishing colonies on distant worlds or even traveling to other solar systems, something that is still so far in our future that it might well never come to pass:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/09/astrobezzle/#send-robots-instead

During the Space Age, we got the same kind of performative bullshit. On The Well David Gans mentioned hearing a promo on SiriusXM for a radio show with "the first AI co-host." To this, Craig L Maudlin replied, "Reminds me of fins on automobiles."

Yup, that's exactly it. An AI radio co-host is to artificial intelligence as a Cadillac Eldorado Biaritz tail-fin is to interstellar rocketry.

Back the Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle here!

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/31/neural-interface-beta-tester/#tailfins

#pluralistic #elon musk #neuralink #potemkin ai #neural interface beta-tester #full self driving #mechanical turks #ai #amazon #amazon go #clm #joan westenberg

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f1daydreamers · 2 months

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𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 [𝐋𝐍𝟒] 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

gif credits: @quadrantslandonorris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

Summary: To say you weren't the biggest fan of Lando Norris was an understatement, but you also happened to underestimate just how willing the man was to prove to you that he'd changed.

Warnings: mentions of a sour past, Lando is mentioned to have been a total ass in school (which I do hope he was not), tad out of character, this is just a Reader part to set the scene for the upcoming chapter! Enjoy everybody :)

A/N: My series with Lance was so loved (ty so much btw love you all), this is very enemies to lovers core and I can't wait to dive deeper ahh!

Word Count: 1.2k words (4 mins reading time avg)

...

"You excited?" You glanced at your approaching friend, Allegra, who had been giddy since the meeting this morning. "What for?" You mirrored her smile, for no reason other than that her wide grin was rather infectious. "Us partnering with McLaren? I mean, that's undeniably cool." Luckily, her gaze turned to a long table stretched across, laden with an impressive spread of dishes.

Hence, she missed how your face fell, your stomach embracing a sense of dread. "Hmm, yeah, it's... awesome." You breathily chuckled, trying to play off your once-charged emotions that were now devoid of much enthusiasm. "Come on, I can read you like a magazine. What is it?" You seriously debated telling her the truth but shook the idea out of your head. She'd never understand, no matter how close you'd grown over the last couple of months. You pursed your lips together, "nothing. It's... well, you know, collaborations make me nervous. Especially when we don't have much history of working with them before." You lied straight through your teeth, but you considered yourself lucky that Allegra was painfully gullible.

"I know, but girl, we work for Google, one of the biggest brands in the world. It'll be a piece of cake," she nonchalantly expressed.

You agreed with her assurance, though the dread in your stomach didn't lessen as you followed her to an empty table.

"I mean… you don't think we're actually going to work with them, right?" You tried to comfort yourself; you hardly suspected anyone over there would be remotely interested in Google's headquarters.

"We're in branding. I'd be more surprised if we didn't. It depends on where Nick puts us, really." Allegra shrugged, shoving a fork through her lettuce drowned in salad dressing.

You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling a loss of appetite as bitter memories replayed in your mind as if they were only a few weeks fresh.

"Right," you exhaled. It's not too late for a career change, is it?

...

"Nick," you knock three times on his office door, and his head lifts from where he's signing some paperwork strewn on his oak-coloured desk. He motions lazily with his hand for you to come in, stands up from his desk, and greets you with a polite smile. You can't disguise the fact that you're nervous about asking him if your department would be working directly on the collaboration with McLaren.

Partly because you didn’t know what would oblige him to even share that information with you, but also that he might interpret your enquiry as excitement and find a job for you to do. But you’re cut off before you can even start the conversation. “Just the person I wanted to see actually,” Nick says, rounding the table and leaning on it, his arms crossing over his rather scrawny chest. “Why?” you warily ask, the question you had rehearsed in your mind taking a backseat. “Is Allegra still here?” He questions. “Yeah, she’s in the locker room. I can grab her—” He dismisses your suggestion with a simple shake of his head, rendering you silent, “no, no, it’s quite alright.” “What's up?" You swallow, nervously tapping the tips of your fingers on your thighs.

"There's a launch party next Monday.” You first feel relieved for a moment, though you’re not too sure why.

However, that relief is quickly replaced with confusion when Nick turns his back to you, picking up a letter.

The light shining through the large windows causes the words on the other side to cast a faint shadow, leaving you wondering about its contents.

“In Woking.” Your eyes fall to the floor, it’s as if the name rung a distant bell in your mind but you couldn’t quite place it.

“Where’s—”

“McLaren. Yes, they have this beautiful centre over there. I said to Zak, their CEO, that not only was it a no-brainer to host it at their HQ, but it’d be great for some exposure,” Nick continues listing benefits, but you also stop listening at one point, that same overwhelm washing over you.

“Who’s going?” Your supervisor seems confused for a moment. You realise you must’ve cut him off rather abruptly since he looked like he’d just been in the middle of a sentence. “Sorry,” you murmur an apology, and Nick nods promptly before answering your question. “I was thinking Allegra.” You meet his eyes with a small smile; she’d love that, considering she was also a huge fan of the sport. “That sounds good..” You start. “And you.” He points the tip of his pen at you, and you swear you audibly heard your heart drop to your feet. “M-Me?” You stutter, your movements faltering as if someone had glued your body to where it was. “Well, Azra’s away in Rotterdam and Hudson’s a chirper. I don’t want him severing any ties by asking one question too many. You’re my next choice.” He explains as if his words held no weight. If only he knew. “Why can’t you go?” You blurt out, and Nick looks up, despite having just seated himself to continue with the paperwork he was busy with before you entered. “Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N.” “Why not? You’re a great communicator, you’re social and open, you’re perfect.” You chime rather excessively, and he laughs. “I may complain about this job from time to time, but that doesn’t mean I can drop my responsibilities and saunter off to a launch party.” “Much-needed break?” You innocently smiled and Nick only leaned back in his chair, clicking his pen once then twice.

“Shut the door on your way out, Y/N. Thank you for being a team-player.” He emphasises, no doubt referring to the fact that you should probably shut the fuck up now. You sigh, accepting defeat, and turn on your heels.

Suddenly, you also feel a tad sick.

…

When the clock on your computer strikes 17:00, you shut the monitor off seconds later. You methodically pack your belongings into your Google-sticker-adorned backpack, slinging it over your shoulder.

Allegra gives you a quick side hug as you cross her path on your way to the car park.

You hadn't yet informed her that she'd be accompanying you on Monday, and you didn't have the energy to either, mentally noting that it would be the first thing you did tomorrow morning.. or maybe the last.

You didn’t bother putting the music on once you'd climbed into the driver's seat, aimlessly tossing your backpack on to the passenger side.

Your thoughts were loud enough tonight.

Your heart had been thumping a million miles an hour everytime you were reminded of what you had to put yourself through next week.

However, the flip side of your brain suggests that maybe he'd have no idea who you were anymore.

Perhaps you wouldn't even cross paths, or Nick might decide last minute that you aren't the right person to send to Woking after all.

You hoped he would, silently prayed.

Secondary school was a tormenting experience, and the prospect of revisiting it, particularly in a fucked up twist of fate that reunited you with the boy you detested, was the last thing you wanted.

You somehow managed to grip the steering wheel a little tighter, your knuckles tinting white as you began to mentally reel off the reasons as to why Lando Norris was as good as dead to you.

Lando. You hadn’t thought about that name in a long time.

Yet you still hated it just as much as you did all those years ago.

…

Part 2

Masterlist

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lilmashae · 18 days

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

thigh riding and oral — featuring mark 🎀

you sat there — your and mark's legs intertwined as you both layed on the couch watching some movie. you both agreed to hangout this weekend — missing each other beyond belief thanks to your busy schedules.

you were becoming a bit antsy towards the end of the movie mark's fingers tracing and tapping circles on your hip as you continuously shuffled around. "are you bored already?" he asked. "maybe ..." you mumbled still trying to get comfortable. mark chuckled — before you could finish readjusting for the umpteenth time his hands stopped you: they firmly held you in place on top of him. "what? let me go. i'm trying to — "

"you're trying to get comfortable?" he deadpanned and you sighed. "you win... i'm bored." a pout painted your lips and admitting defeat you fell back into his chest. "this movie sucks mark." you watched the scenes change — the dim light glowing off of his face. your boyfriend's so handsome... "dude no way. you just don't want to watch it." mark was expecting you to protest his claims or whine — however you had found a new distraction: him who was far more interesting than whatever was playing on your flat screen.

if anything mark wasn't expecting you to plant a stern kiss on his lips. the palms of his hands rested on the small of your lower back as you continued to kiss him — your plush lips molding together. "shit... baby the movie..." you love mark — really you do. but sometimes you swear his priorities are out of place. "i don't give a damn about the movie mark — it's boring as hell anyways!" he sucks his teeth. yet he's still willing to compromise. "fine sit up." cocking your eyebrow you eye him up and down. "hurry up before i change my mind."

"i'm going i'm going..." you hurriedly sat up now straddling your boyfriend as he sat before you. "what now?" again mark's hands met your waist as he positioned you on one of his thighs. "this..." still confused you turned your head. "mark what the fuck are we doing..?" you were growing impatient missing his lips — your newfound form of entertainment. "i'm going to watch this movie and you... you're going to ride my thigh." really? "you're kidding me. really? but i — " the room went silent as mark reached for the remote pausing the television. "no buts... you're horny right? you've got what?" he turned his head reading the small numbers adorning the bottom of the screen. "15 minutes to get yourself off alone. then i'll tongue fuck you or something sound good?" as annoyed as you were — mark's never broken a promise which is why you listen to him and begin hesitantly grinding on his thigh.

usually you'd be a little embarrassed — even if you were always challenging mark. however you couldn't care less it's not like he was paying you any attention anyways. for now you were focused on the friction of his thigh flexing against your clothed cunt. however slowly rocking your hips back and forth left you feeling only somewhat satisfied — you buried your head into the crook of mark's neck: whining quietly to yourself and littering bites along with wet kisses onto his throat in efforts to stifle your moans. one of mark's hands had snaked around your waist.

one hand rested on the flat of your lower back this time guiding you forward as he spoke. "8 more minutes baby... all you have t'do is cum for me yeah?" nodding you trailed a couple more kisses down his skin before sitting up — properly riding his thigh: you set a pace grinding down on your boyfriend's thigh and throwing your head back as the fabric of you lounge shorts pinched your clit. it was driving you crazy: mark gently bouncing his leg beneath you as you balanced on top of him. it could be the view in front of him or maybe it was because he could feel your slick on his leg through your shorts — precum seeping through the thin cotton giving him a boner. you could feel your orgasm approaching. however the inconsistent vibrations of mark’s thigh along with the tension thickening between you two made it hard to focus. “fuck y/n…” mark’s eyes trained on your figure writing above him.

the expression on your face was one he always fancied seeing — fucked out and flushed. 60 seconds — that’s how long you had to make yourself cum. mark’s hands firmly held your sides as he let out a loud exhale. “are you close baby?” he rasped out watching as you frantically nodded. 30 seconds — that’s how long you had to ride out your high as your teeth clamped down on your bottom lip. you let the warm pleasurable feeling spread from your stomach to your legs as you came down. still grinding into his leg a gasp ran past your lips… “baby…” you whined into your boyfriend’s ear. 10 seconds — you spent those last seconds needily hurrying sloppy kisses down his neck and continuing to hump now further up on his thigh — closer toward the tent poking through his shorts.

as the credits rolled a sense of relief washed over mark — he wasn’t fond of going back on his word — but finally he could touch you. you were practically burning up. mark’s hands are cold running across the expanse of your upper body under your shirt. “‘ready sweet girl? you were so good don’t you think… cumming all on your own?” his breath fanned against your neck — again you writhed in place — desperate to feel him. “please touch me… just a little bit.” you could feel his fingers tangling with the hem of your shorts and diving into your panties where he met your cunt. he prodded at your entrance which was looking with arousal before plunging a finger into your silklike gummy walls.

“don’t get so impatient y/n.” he remained stern — even if he wanted nothing than to give you everything you were asking. your pussy clenched and fluttered around his fingers before he pulled them out flipping you over onto your back. “w-what’re you doing? aren’t you going to…” “remember what I said? ‘going to tongue fuck you mama — then I’ll give you what you want.” he smiled through his hazy eyes that were lazily covered by his hair and he sunk further into the couch. his lips met your clit in a swift motion almost instantly latching on before swiping his tongue across your slit. “mark!” exclaiming your hands flew to his head whilst your fingers gently tugged at his scalp. your plushy thighs sandwiched his head as your squirmed on top of the cushions — still sensitive from your previous orgasm. mark hummed in response and as the vibrations traveled through your cunt you swore you caught a chill — because here you were again coming undone. except this time it was all over his face. make smiles against your heat still sticky and messy as it was drenched in your own arousal. “feeling sensitive baby?” mark cold swiping his thumb over your pulsing clit. “shit.. yes!” you replied eyes still glued shut. “you tasted so sweet baby. ‘can’t wait to feel you around me cock.”

part two if this does well 🎀 I’ve been debating whether or not to post this but I feel like she’s ready for the world 🫶🏽 also if you couldn’t tell I still fucking hate commas 😍

#lil-ma-shae #nct smut #mark lee smut #mark smut #nct 127 smut #nct hard thoughts #nct hard hours #mark lee hard hours #mark lee hard thoughts #nct dream smut #nct dream hard hours #nct dream hard thoughts

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anonymityisfunwriter · 2 months

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"Slut!"

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader Summary - It was perfect. Lovelorn and nobody knows. Love thorns all over this rose. You almost forgot just how hard the fall back to reality is. But if they call you a slut, it might be worth it for once.

Steve Rogers Masterlist | Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

"She goes through guys like a train-"

You immediately change the channel. The next one isn't better. You don't know why you thought it would be.

"The Stark last name and the long list of ex-lovers, that's her claim to fame. I mean, let's be honest here, she's a slu-" The tabloid reporter is abruptly cut off as the screen before you goes dark.

You look up to find Steve with the remote in his hand. He glares at the screen like the reporter was still talking, "You shouldn't be watching that."

"I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be. It's despicable. They were - the things they're calling you-"

"A slut," you finish for him.

His eyes dart to you, that furrow between his eyebrows getting deeper and deeper with every word spoken, "It's not true. This isn't journalism, it's slander."

You weren't sure how this happened. Sure, it was only a matter of time before they found you out. This wasn't the first time. Not the second or the third either. If the press was to be believed, you were love sick. Love struck with a new man every week.

It wasn't the first time someone called you a slut. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

You stopped living your life in fear of what people would say a long time ago. Being this young was an art. And up until now, you thought you mastered it.

It was simple. You even had your rules. You followed them and no one got hurt - or at the very least, it minimized the damage.

They were going to stare at you. Strangers. Press. The flashing cameras. It came with being a Stark. If they're going to look, you gave them something to look at. You didn't so much as step out on the street with a single hair out of place. You were flawless. Always.

You were nineteen, and on the heels of a breakup with your second ever boyfriend, the first time someone spit that word at you - "slut!" It hurt, but it didn't hurt as much as you thought it would. It almost made you laugh. You realized that they didn't really care about your love life or about the trail of broken hearts you were supposedly leaving behind. They wanted a spectacle. They wanted a show. If you're going to be drunk, might as well be drunk in love.

It was easier after that. You knew the truth. The people around you knew the truth. You let everyone else believe what they wanted. You did what you wanted. You lived your life without worrying about being called a slut. They were going to call you one anyway. And if they call you a slut, you might as well make it worth it.

You gave just enough to keep them satisfied. Never anything too real. Never too much. Just enough that they wouldn't dare peak behind closed doors. Just enough to be able to live your life.

There were was a cost, of course. No one took you seriously. You dealt with the vague humiliation of the rumors constantly swirling about your hips and thighs and whispered sighs.

And though you inherited the Stark genius, no one cared about what you thought, what you had to say.

In that, the reporter was right, your love life was far more interesting than your thoughts on quantum mechanics or the military industrial complex. That was what you were known for.

For the most part, you were okay with it. You were willing to pay it all.

That was until you fell in love with Steve Rogers. Suddenly, you weren't willing to give them crumbs. You weren't willing to expose a love that felt this delicate.

You sit on the couch, huddled in your sweatpants, pensively staring at the blank screen.

This time, it was different. This wasn't a show, not a spectacle. It was real, an exposed nerve that the world decided was fair game. You were fair game and it was open season.

Steve settles beside you, draping an arm around your midsection. He kisses your temple, "Tony thinks it's probably best that you lay low for a while."

"Yes, well, my brother is the expert on PR damage control."

It wasn't the same though. You both knew it. Tony had done far worse with far more women. Yet, he would never pay the price you were paying in this very moment.

Steve's arms tighten around you like he's shielding you from the storm, "It's not right. It's not fair that you're being forced to sequester yourself. You're being punished but what exactly was your crime?"

"I fell in love with Steve Rogers, that was my crime." You fell for the man everyone wanted, the man who was in the wrong place at the right time.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against the crown of your head.

"For what?"

"You warned me this would happen."

It was true. You told him exactly what would happen, but even you didn't anticipate exactly how bad things would get.

You'd been with Steve for just under a year. And up until a week ago, only a select few knew. You both agreed to keep it a secret from the public. You felt protective over the love you shared, it was more real than anything else you'd ever had. You wanted to keep it to yourself, out of the hands of people that would tear you both to shreds without a second thought.

Steve felt the same. Though he was more worried about the enemies he made over the years.

It made sense to protect the relationship, to protect yourselves until you were both ready. You wanted to protect him from what you knew was lurking around the corner. Steve was still so new to the 21st century. Dating in the public eye wasn't easy. Dating a Stark wasn't easy. For almost an entire year, you used every publicity trick in the book - and it worked.

But then, you heard it, the whispers, rumors bubbled about your newest future ex-lover.

You only agreed to going public because everyone told you it was time, because they promised that the timing couldn't have worked out better than this. It was better to do this on your own terms than have it leaked.

No one knew how bad it would get.

"Are you sure? There's no going back after this," you whisper, standing in the hallway of your apartment. You could practically hear the cameras flashing outside your apartment. You'd never been this nervous to leave your apartment before. You'd been through the plan a million times. You'd be exposed to the cameras for a matter of seconds. Happy was already waiting with the door to your SUV open, ready for you to jump in. You'd walk outside holding Steve's hand - a sort of silent announcement to the world. "It won't be easy."

"I don't care," Steve promises, kissing the palm of your hand. "I'm tired of hiding. I'm proud to call you mine."

You tenderly stroke his cheek, "And if it blows up in your pretty face?"

He smiles down at you, "You're worth it."

"We'll pay the price, I guess." But deep down, you know. You'll pay the price, he won't.

The cameras had never been that loud before. Even though your announcement went off without a hitch, even though your publicist couldn't have been more pleased, not even they could have predicted how bad things would get.

It seemed like the whole world was calling you that four letter word.

At first, it was mostly online. People were mean, you knew that. You were prepared for nasty comments. Steve's most staunch supporters thought he could do better. People rejoiced in the spectacle your love life turned into. You were a laughing stock all over again. All that you were prepared for. Then some rabid fans leaked your phone number.

You decided that it would be a good time to disconnect anyway.

But it didn't end there. Not even close.

The day after you were expected to make an appearance for a charity you founded. It was just a quick 2 minute speech. And though the event had been throughly vetted, you'd never forget the way your blood ran cold when mid-sentence someone screamed that four letter word over and over again until security dragged them out. You continued until your speech was done, but there was no hiding the way your hands trembled.

From what you heard, the video was still making its rounds online.

You were expected to make an appearance two days after that. An event honoring your father. An event you poured your blood, sweat, and tears into to make sure it was impeccable, an event worthy of honoring your father. The same event you were practically uninvited from.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's just me. I come in peace," Tony jokes.

"I'm glad," you sigh. "I was worried I was going to have to get another number."

Tony sighs into the phone, "How are you holding up?"

"I've been better."

"I'm afraid I don't come bearing good news."

"What now, Tony?"

"That event you had Friday night, the one for dad?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You already knew were this was going. "What about it?"

"They want me to take over for you."

You bitterly scoff, "This week just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"You say the word and I'll tell them to fuck off."

"No, don't do that. It's for dad."

"You planned this whole thing single-handedly. You deserve to be the one up there." You don't say a word. He's right, you both know it. It doesn't change the situation you've been put in. "You are still going, right? Come on, you have to go."

"They broke into my house, Tony."

"What? Are you okay?"

"Happy just told me," you explain, sparing Tony the most gory details. "The one in L.A. Apparently, it is now covered in spray paint. You wanna guess what they wrote?"

"Where was your security?" Tony demands.

"Here. Trying to keep people off my sidewalk."

"I'm so sorry."

"I just - I don't think it's a good idea. At least until I get more security."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm glad you've got Steve there. At least I know he'll keep you safe."

You almost smile. Tony was never his biggest fan, but you mostly credit that to him being an overprotective big brother. And the situation you'd found yourself in did nothing to win Tony's over good graces, "It's not his fault, Tony."

"It kinda is, but I digress. Listen, we'll figure this out, alright? I'll go streak in front of the Tower if that'll take some heat off of you."

And though you effectively doubled your security in the last two days, nothing would change anyone's mind about you. You were the villain tainting their hero.

You broke down after that call, violently sobbing against Steve's shoulder. He just pulled you in even tighter.

It reminds you of why you're doing all this. So you can be together, out in the open. That in a world of boys, he's a gentleman.

You squeeze his hand, "You're worth it."

"I'm not worth having your reputation torn to shreds."

And maybe they're right about you. Maybe you do get love struck. Maybe his eyes are like the world's strongest liquor, and it went straight to your head. Maybe you do get love sick. Sure, your life has momentarily fallen apart. It's magic, madness, heaven, and sin, all rolled into one. But if they're going to call you a slut, it might be worth it for once. "But what if all I need is you?"

Steve Rogers Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes @beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a

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remember-the-fanfics · 3 months

Note

I loved your gen-z!overlord! headcannon! What about the same character X Alastor or X the Vees! I liked how you wrote a bit about the character with Rosie!

Added Carmilla for funies

Alastor

• You constantly make fun of his oldness when he moved to the hotel

• He finds you entertaining and annoying, would've killed you in the beginning if Rosie wasn't already found of you.

• Thought you had the same idea with the hotel.

• Figured out quickly when he brought it up and you got pissed at him.

• Bounds over his interests of the chaos you make.

• Found out his disinterest with relationships and more physical stuff quickly

"Oh so you're AroAce? Cool."

"What are the words you just say?"

• Trying to get him to know what certain slag is from your time, nows use it incorrectly to fuck with you.

• Minus after his tussle with Pentious.

"I yeeted him, correct?"

"Ahhh! Yes! Ahaha!"

• Shown you some Overlord powers that you had no idea that you had.

• Accidentally blow up the wall a few times.

• Calls you dear child or little annoying one. Depends on his mood.

• Calls him old man to annoy him or weird ass deer man when he pissed you off.

• Decided you're a good allie after finding you laughing at what he did with Vox.

"The TV was buffering, that was really funny and good."

"Thanks for the compliments, my dear.

• Didn't change the fact when you were ready to kill him for making a deal with Charlie.

The Vees-

• The only one you on the good side is Velvette

• Vox and Valentino just keeps nice with you not to get Velvette pissed at them.

• You've tried to change the channel on Vox's face once. You're not allowed to hold any remote when visiting anymore.

• You made fun of Vox after his fight with Alastor.

"You were buffering! Guess you overheated?"

"Oh fuck off."

• Have a business deal for your territory to get Vox's stuff for cheap.

• Told him about the advancement that happening before you died.

• And had to endures something for him after Velvette dressed you up.

"Hating everything right now."

• But he is the only one that makes TV or well anything with Technology

• Everyone keeps you away from Valentino after you heard how he treats Angel Dust.

"I just want to talk with him, I just want to kill him."

• You had already didn't like him anyway.

• Creepy ass Moth motherfucker is the only 'nickname' you call him

• Valentino enjoys making you uncomfortable

• If he cross a line, you are killing him

• But then he holds Angel Dust soul above you so you don't actually kill him.

• Doesn't mean you wouldn't hurt him

• He eventually tries not to cross the line, tried of getting beaten by a child according to him.

• Velvette is the only reason you vist, mostly to her studio.

• Being a backup model when she wants you too, only in private.

• Refusing to actually model infront of people.

"I would die... again."

"Don't be dramatic about it."

• Gives you clothes that are in at the moment if you hang out in public

• Understand most of your references

• Willing to fuck someone up if they give you a weird look when she's with you.

• They all hates that you go to the Overlord meeting

• Does enjoy when you spill some tea about what happens

• You're cool enough to associate with the Vees but not enough to be one, not that you would join when you only get along with one and half of them.

Carmilla Carmine-

• Has a motherly instinct with you even though you're powerful enough to be an Overlord.

• You mostly come over to hang out with her daughters, whose usually busy working so you end up helping them.

• Ends with her mothering you when she mothers her daughters.

• Teaches you how to fight after seeing fighting so recklessly.

• Only because someone tried to fight you when her and her daughters were around.

• One of the Overlords that has been in your territory, enjoys how you keep it orderly.

• Surprised with how you run your deals and with how many Sinners come to you for help.

"Oh that was less than normal, you probably scared a few of them away."

• Makes sure your kindness isn't viewed as weakness to anyone.

• Doesn't let you cause any chaos in her presence.

• She gives you a stare that reminds you of your own mother/guardian.

• Causing you to stop before you even start.

• Odette and Clara enjoy your company, reminds them of a less annoying sibling.

• Checks up on you after exterminations, will invite you to wherever they hide but you don't usually don't leave your territory during

• Doesn't like that you get along with Velvette or any of the Vees.

• You were there when the exterminators showed up, ready to go all demon on them to buy time before Camilla showed up, Clara and Odette had to make sure you didn't still tried to fight by pulling you away with them.

• Sheltering them in your own hiding place for the rest of the time.

• Sworn to secrecy, by a pinkie promise.

"Thank you for being ready to defend my daughters at any cost."

"It was no big deal, you showed up before anything actually happened."

• You only showed up because you knew where they were hiding and saw how it quickly went to shit.

• She tried to get you to promise not to do that again, you denied it.

"If that ever happens again, I'll do it in a heart beat. So I can't."

• Realizes quickly you wouldn't let anyone mess with people you call your friends

• Even if meant facing certain death by angels.

#platonic hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin carmilla #hazbin vees #genz reader

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lazycats-stuff · 2 months

Note

Artist toddler batbro! Can't help but draw/ paint at least once a day and at the end of the day batfam is anticipating who will be the lucky family member that'll receive which ever art piece their youngest has created that day (sometimes the art piece is on the walls or floor of the mansion but no one has the heart to be angry when little batbro is just proudly presenting his art)

Toddler batbro *leaves a paint covered tiny handprint on the wall*

Bruce: alfred, frame that

Oh my, that's cute. Oh my God... Aww. Also, I know it's short, but this is all my inspiration is willing to give at this moment. Next time, I'll try to write more.

Summary: (Y/N) is an artist.

Warnings: None, really fluffy

Every child has a talent. Whether that be in sports or arts, every child has a hidden talent for something. Even if some kids are average, there is nothing wrong with it. Bruce, amongst his four older sons, had a toddler. Yes, a toddler.

How did it happen?

A one night stand. The mom couldn't take care of (Y/N) and Bruce took him in and the other 4 accepted (Y/N) as if he was their blood brother and Bruce was grateful that they did it. Of course, they had to change their schedules to accommodate to make sure that (Y/N) was a priority. Of course, no one minded to do that.

And speak of talents? While his four older sons had their own specialties. Damian had his knowledge of blades and martial arts, Tim for his hacking and detective skills, Jason for his accuracy with guns and other firearms and Dick with his acrobatic skills.

(Y/N) was an artistic child. He didn't show it at first, but as he got more comfortable, he started asking for paper and crayons. Crayons slowly evolved into something more and (Y/N) would draw daily. It could be anything. It could be a couch or even Titus. Maybe it would be one of the boys too.

And, at the moment, there was a big honor in the house. What that honor may be? (Y/N) handing you his own artwork. It became a tradition and sort of a competition between everyone. Everyone wanted to see what (Y/N) has created that day.

It was considered the biggest honor in the manor, to get a piece of paper, created by (Y/N). It makes everyone's day when they get an artwork. Dick nearly cried. Damian was close to crying too. Alfred and Bruce got one too and the two grown men, who have seen stuff... Safe to say, they nearly broke down into tears and shambles.

Nearly.

But there was a one problem in this entire story. (Y/N) wouldn't limit himself to drawing on paper. Oh no. Many parents would punish the child if the child drew on the walls or floor. Right? Well... Not if you are (Y/N) Wayne who is clearly artistically talented.

(Y/N) would often draw whenever he could, even if that meant on the wall or the floor. And whoever saw (Y/N) drawing on the floor or the wall, didn't have a heart to even yell or be remotely angry, especially since (Y/N) had that shine in his eyes when he was showing them their art.

Bruce wasn't supposed allow (Y/N) to paint over the walls or the floor. That's what Bruce was supposed to correct. A correct thing to do... Right? Well, Bruce didn't know. Parenting doesn't have a book and a set of rules, but Bruce wished he had some sort of rules so he could solve this.

He can keep on dreaming when it comes to universal rules for a perfect parenting style.

But he has actually decided what he was going to do, without a doubt. (Y/N) was allowed to doddle and draw wherever he wanted. That was something that was relayed to all the other members, whoever, they put certain restrictions.

No drawing in their rooms without supervision. Bruce's study was also off limits if there is no supervision. And only at home is doodling and drawing allowed.

Because Bruce is just ready to frame it all. Alfred already has frames ready to go.

It was always fun.

As of now, (Y/N) was doodling on the wall, just sitting on the floor, without a care in the world. Bruce and Alfred were walking by, stopping when they saw (Y/N) drawing. This time, it was just a simple handprint.

Bruce was smiling and instructed (Y/N) to go wash his hands and then eat. Bruce and Alfred looked at the handprint on the wall.

" Alfred, frame that. " Bruce said and Alfred did just that. Took out a frame and made sure that handprint was framed. And it looked adorable.

" He is growing up too quickly, Master Bruce. " Alfred said said as he looked at the little handprint.

" I agree Alfred. " Bruce said sadly.

#dc comics #dc x male reader #x male reader #batfamily #bruce wayne x male reader #batman x male reader

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imagine-shenanigans · 3 months

Text

sighs dramatically.

Okay but the ghost distribution system as we call it is hysterical but can we tlak about how None Of The 141 are built to date.

Like, sure, Gaz is great at flirting, and he's charming, but DATES? He's the type who asks you on a date because he thinks youre pretty/handsome/adorable/etc but by the time the two of you actually go on a date he's ready figured out like. the whole rest of your lives together. He's already imagined up 20 different scenarios of different dates, stalked your front-facing social media and found your secret or hidden accounts that theoretically don't link back to you. Sure, he's scrounged through your discord servers and your private messages and texts and a thousand other things while he was bored on leave. He knows enough to know that he's happy with what comes next. All dates are simply... ritual at this point? Something obligational, other than the fact he gets to spend time with you.

You're not going anywhere, he's just the least heavy handed of them, the one who'll let you think its your choice to keep him around until he's got his ring officially on your finger. Life won't go according to plan but he's prepared for that too. In his head, you're already married anyway, he's just working his way up to that part. He'll manufacture any scenario to keep you with him, because he wants you to be. And he'll make sure you want to be too.

Soap on the other hand is WAY less tactful about it. He's charming, and he'll take you on dates, sure, but the moment he spots you it's incredibly easy to get obsessed. He immediately drops an arm around you, purring in your ear and talking to you. Doesn't ask you on a date so much as demands it, puts his number in your phone and presses a kiss to your temple, his fingertips squeezing your chin before you leave. God forbid you let him into your home - he'll never leave if you do. Johnny's SUCH a physical guy that while, yes, personality matters, it seals the deal for him the moment he's got his tongue down your throat and his fingers in your pants. Something about the way you settle in against him makes him feel like he's home, and you will never get rid of him.

He's willing to take you on dates if you need more proof, but he won't even pretend like he doesnt already have a copy of your key. Like he's not telling the guys about the bonnie little thing he's going home to - he slips into your apartment/house/etc and into your bed without changing, barely finding time to slip his boots off. Presses one hand to your mouth and just... holds you. He'll fuck you within an inch of your life later when you're less panicked, sure, but he just wants to press his nose to your neck and breathe you in. If his hips rut against your ass, ignore it for now. (Haha... unless? No? okay in a minute then)

Price is just as manipulative as Gaz can be, just as charming as Soap and Gaz too. But he just... doesn't care, just like Simon. There's a reason so many people have Price with like... mail order bride or a "one day you look up and hes your husband" scenario and thats because he's good at what he does. And by that I mean being a husband and pumping you full of kids whether or not its physically possible. (Btw check out Ceil's mail order bride western au its good shit, or Bo's Kingpin Price drabbles, makes me lose it every time.)

He sees you walking about and the MOMENT you do anything remotely domestic - pick up a neice/nephew/babysitting kid/etc and put em on your hip? Rock hard. play peekaboo with a baby across from you at a cafe? pick up after yourself just to be polite to the waitress? he's already stalking you on multiple platforms theres no goddamn way youre getting away from him. He'll figure out where you go in your free time and insert himself there as naturally as possible. He's not particularly hiding what he's doing either - he likes to test you, to see if you notice things missing or moved. If you do, he'll be a little more cautious, use it as reason to drive you into hsi arms. If you don't he jsut views it as all the more reason to take you away - poor thing, you just can't help yourself can you? You're lucky nobody else has got their claws around you, hm?

#price cod #gaz cod #soap cod #cod #strawberry writing

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togrowoldinv · 3 months

Text

The Remote

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

You and Natasha argue over the tv remote. Yelena and the kids listen in

Note: Enjoy this soft mama Nat! Hope everyone in cold areas is staying warm this week. It’s quite chilly out. Happy reading!

Natasha Masterlist 1, Natasha Masterlist 2, Natasha Masterlist 3, Main Masterlist

“Natasha!” You scold your wife as the tv screen goes dark.

“I didn’t do anything!” Nat shouts.

“Okay sure, so the tv just turned itself off. You always come in here and change the channel or turn it off,” you say with a huff of annoyance.

“I do not,” Natasha says seriously. “Don’t accuse me of something I don’t do.”

“You do too.”

“Baby, I really don’t,” Nat says.

“Baby, you really do,” you won’t relent. But the whole thing is kind of becoming comical.

Outside the bedroom door, your kids and Yelena are eavesdropping.

“Should we really be listening?” Ali’s conscious kicks in.

“Yes, yes. It’s fine, malyshka. We need popcorn,” Yelena says.

“I’ll go make some!” Belle says happily before trotting off. Jack follows after her, knowing she’ll need some help.

Inside you and Nat are still bickering.

“The other night I was two hours in a show when you changed it, Nat! Two hours!” You say.

“Your eyes were closed, sweetheart. You weren’t watching it,” Nat argues.

“That’s-“

“Hm?”

“Fine,” you say, crossing your arms. “I’m going to hide your remote.”

“Why do we even have two remotes?” Natasha asks.

“I don’t know,” you reply.

“I think the kids are awake. I’ll go check on them,” Nat says, changing the subject.

Nat gets up from the bed and walks to open the door. When she does, she’s met with the entire family running away from the door.

“Were you all eavesdropping?” Natasha asks.

“No,” Yelena says too quickly.

You get out of bed and join Nat at the door. The kids look guilty.

“No, Mama. We were just um-“ Ivan tries but Nat cuts him off.

“Don’t lie to me,” she says. “I will take away that PlayStation.”

“Okay, yes we were listening in,” Ivan admits.

“Yelena!” Nat scolds her sister.

“Why me? We were all doing it,” Yelena says.

“Right. And who told everyone that we were in here arguing?” Nat asks.

The answer comes in the form of Belle waltzing up the stairs with popcorn in her hands. She stops briefly at the sight of you and Nat, but then carries on to Yelena.

“I made the popcorn, Auntie Yelena! Jackie helped,” Belle says proudly.

“Popcorn, really Yel?” You ask.

“Do you want some, Mommy?” Belle asks you.

“No thank you, baby,” you reply. Her sweet regard makes you forget you’re upset the family was eavesdropping.

Natasha takes the bowl from Belle and hands it to Ali. She picks the little girl up into her arms.

“Were you and Mommy arguing?” Belle asks Nat. She plays with Nat’s shirt collar.

“Not really,” Nat replies. “We were just being silly. Right Mommy?”

“That’s right,” you agree. “So I think everyone can go to bed now.”

“But we have popcorn to eat,” Ali says. “Movie night?”

“On a school night? I don’t think so,” you say.

“Please?” Belle asks.

“Princess, it’s already late. You need sleep,” you tell her. She frowns and buries her face into Nat’s neck.

“One quick show then maybe?” Nat suggests.

“Okay. Everyone come pile in,” you say. “Even you Yelena.”

The girl smiles and follows the rest of the family into your bedroom. Natasha hands you both remotes and you can’t help but smile.

“I’m sorry for yelling. Even though I’m right,” you tell her once you’ve got a show on that’s keeping the family interested.

“Yeah yeah, I know. Happy wife, happy life,” Natasha jokes. “I’m willing to give up my remote if it makes you happy. I love you.”

“It really does. And I love you too,” you say.

You kiss her lips gently and snuggle further into bed with your happy family. Life with Natasha is just perfect.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #soft natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff comfort #inspired by a real argument my parents had #it was so funny

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katiexpunk · 4 months

Note

okay i’m feeling a little delulu and playing pool with the boys right now. ideas are rolling and i want a fic where joel fucks reader on a pool table (breeding kink maybe?!?) you’re the best

Run the Table | Pairing Joel and Tommy Miller X Fem!Reader

Summary: You're home for Christmas, only to find yourself there for the New Year. You decide to blow off some steam, only to end up at Joel's Place, your old local watering hole. Bits of your past get dredged up, and before you know it, Joel and Tommy have you bent over a pool table. Word Count: ~6K Warnings: Dubcon from the perspective that the reader is a little drunk, but she's definitely a willing participant. Family feuds. Alcohol. Age gap implied but not referenced explicitly. Flirting and bantering. Threesome with the Miller Bros. Betting. Pool. Oral (m and f receiving). Fingering. Praise. Use of daddy. Fucking on pool table. Pool. Suggestive use of a cue stick. Dom undertones from Joel. Hard core breeding kink. References to pregnancy. Cum kink. Cum swallowing. Praise kink. Unprotected p in v. Creampie. Use of pet names. Tommy and Joel are suave in this, but reader gives them a run for their money. Use of slut. No descriptions of reader, except that she has boobs and hair. Minimally edited. Filth, filth, filth. Authors Note: Thank you so much for the ask, Abby @javipispunk/@barzalmatty! This was such a treat to write. You naughty girl, I hope this inspires you, or at the very least, makes you O. Thanks for submitting this ask in babe, ily. This will be my last fic of 2023. Thank you all so much for your continued support.

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

The living room, which was all holiday cozy a few days ago, now feels like a battleground in the weird liminal space between Christmas and the New Year. You can’t remember the last time you spent more than three consecutive days with your family, and now you remember why.

The family drama has hit an all-time high, with arguments about the dumbest stuff echoing through the house – your mother yelling that someone put her Pyrex in the wrong cabinet, your father yelling at your brother for adjusting the settings on the remote. Hell, even the dog is over it; spending most of the day lounging in front of the LED fireplace that your mother picked up at Costco last winter. You never really understood that one, given your living room has an actual functioning fireplace.

Of course, you all love each other, it’s just that the festive candle is now nearly snuffed out; not to be lit again until Thanksgiving. Or if your mother had it her way, Easter, but you haven’t cared much for Easter since that one year that your cousin Ron ate way too many hard-boiled eggs and couldn’t stop farting all night. Never again, you swore to yourself then, and still swear to yourself now.

You come back to your hometown maybe once a year, twice if someone dies. You haven’t lived here in years, and yet the streets bear the weight of nostalgia, each corner holding echoes of memories that time has both polished and weathered. The town is a paradox, frozen in a bittersweet dance between familiarity and change.

You’re cozied up under a blanket on the couch, a glass of red swirling in one hand, the Eve Babitz novel your roommate gifted to you in the other. Try as you might, you just can’t seem to relax; the words on the page are blending into a snarled blob of ink. The tension is too much; the heavy air in the house makes it difficult to concentrate. Fuck this.

You throw on your coat and slip out of the house. I’m going out, be back later, you call out but you don’t wait for your words to be acknowledged before the front door slams shut, not that anyone was listening in the first place.

You pause on your front stoop in the cool night air and take a deep inhale, tilting your head up to the sky, the moonlight coating your face like a veil. The winter air that fills your lungs makes you feel alive, and it’s then that you realize how close you were to suffocating mere moments ago.

You stand under the stars and consider your options before eventually landing on the best of them. Your old watering hole from college; the one with the heavy pours and the best pool tables in the town – Joel’s Place.

The snow crunches under your feet as you make your way there. In the silence, it’s easy to let your let your mind wander. You haven’t been back in years, and yet, your mind still drifts to thoughts of dimples and salt-and-pepper curls. You wonder if he’ll remember you – not likely, you think.

Your stomach flutters at the thought anyway.

++++

The door to Joel’s Place creaks open, releasing a gust of frigid winter air that clings to your coat. Note to self, bring a scarf next time. The warmth inside is a welcome contrast, and the familiar scent of the aged wood and whiskey acts like a time machine and transports you back in time to your early 20s. It’s just the same; the mahogany bar, stools with cracked leather seats, and vintage beer signs adorning the walls.

While aspects of the town may have changed, you’re pleased to find that Joel’s Place has not.

As the door swings shut behind you, you find yourself in a familiar dimly lit space, except – it’s not – it’s quiet. A little too quiet. The pool tables in the distance stand untouched, their felt surfaces waiting for the familiar crack of balls colliding. The hanging lights above them cast a warm, dim glow, illuminating the emptiness that seems to linger. It starkly contrasts the energy you were surrounded by earlier in the night.

The place is empty, except for one customer at the bar. The bartender – Joel, you hope – is nowhere to be seen. You hesitate for a moment, taking in the scene before deciding to sit an appropriate two stools away from the man, not wanting to be awkward. You don’t think he would mind, not really, but you suppose the rule in a situation like this is similar to public transport etiquette. If there’s more than one open seat, you never sit directly next to anyone.

“Excuse me, sir – is this seat taken?” You ask, a hint of sweetness and formality behind your voice. You know it’s not, but the manners that were hammered into you from your tidy upbringing are hard to shake.

The man looks at you, the neck of the beer he’s nursing parting from his lips as he does. Now that you have a full look at him, he’s quite gorgeous. Olive sunkissed skin, dark curls, deep brown eyes that all but scream trouble.

“All yours, sugar,” he responds. And oh, he’s southern to boot, with a hint of a twang behind his inflection.

You slip your puffy coat off your shoulders, revealing your ensemble for the night; a simple pair of jeans and a tight long-sleeve cashmere sweater that cups the curve of your breasts and lifts them just right, a lovely slit down the middle that exposes just enough. You hook your coat under the bar and pull out the stool, its metal legs scratching against the floor as you do.

“So, the producers didn’t have enough to pay for some extras for this show, or what?” you joke, a slight smirk on your face as you settle yourself onto the stool.

“‘Spose not,” he responds, a hint of a smile on his face as he brings the bottle back to his lips, his eyes locking with yours as he does.

“And the uh–bartender, Joel, if I remember correctly,” you say, a questioning tone behind your voice, “he here, or is this just a one-man show?”

And wouldn’t that be something, you here all alone with just him.

“Can’t be a one-man show with you here, darlin',” he responds, his dark eyes drinking you down like the beer in his hand. “He’s here, just in the back hooking up a new keg,” he adds.

“Oh,” you respond, your voice a smidge too high – like you’re some fucking school girl about to see her crush in 3rd period. “Good, that’s good. Can’t have all of our friends here go thirsty,” you retort, making a vague gesture with your palm to the empty space in the bar in an attempt to recover yourself from your very obvious interest in the bartender being here. So stupid.

“Can’t have that, they’re a rowdy bunch” he responds with a wink and you flash him a warm smile. “You’re funny, I like you,” he adds, “name’s Tommy, by the way, and you are?”

You give him yours with an extension of your hand. His swallows yours, but he’s gentle and discerning with the shake he gives it. He holds you there, just looking, and you feel a warmth creep up to your face. With your hands still interlocked, a broad figure pushes through the door from the kitchen with a resounding thud.

You turn to face him, and his amber eyes immediately find yours. Your breath hitches in your throat, your pulse quickens, and you’re now acutely aware of the fact that you’re still linked with Tommy.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Either ‘m getting old and my eyes are deceiving me, or it’s little Miss Shark sitting at my bar, chatting up my brother,” Joel lets out, his voice low and even. The corners of his mouth lift and you think he might smile, but his face goes just as unreadable as always as he grabs for a bottle behind the bar. “Been a long time since I’ve seen you around here, sweetheart. Good thing, too. You ran out some of my best-paying customers."

You don’t dwell on the comment, your mind is too absorbed, drunk off the fact that he remembers you. It’s been years, but you swear he hasn’t aged a day. You can’t help but eye fuck him as he slides a glass in front of you, and pours you a finger of whiskey. Not only does he remember you, but he remembers your go-to drink, as well.

As you lift the edge of the glass to your lips, you see Tommy shift his gaze from Joel and back to you, his face twisted in an expression of disbelief.

“Wait, little Miss Shark,” he begins, tipping the bottle in his hands in your direction as if to point at you, “Yo–you’re the one who ran the tables here for years? Shit, darlin’,” he says, dropping his gaze to the bartop for a moment, trying to hide the fact that he’s impressed, before looking back at you under his lashes.

“That so hard to believe?” you respond, your voice coated in the warmth of the alcohol. Your cheeks are hot, but you’re not confident it’s just from the liquor; more than likely it’s a result of Joel’s eyes, heavy like boulders, that haven’t left you since he walked in.

Tommy doesn’t answer you.

“Not my fault they underestimated me,” you retort, nursing down the amber liquid in your glass.

Joel laughs.

You and Tommy both turn to face him.

“Bullshit, sweetheart. You knew exactly what the hell you were doin’,” he adds, nodding his head slightly to you, the bottle hovering in his hand, signaling you for a refill. He pours a glass for him and Tommy this time, too.

You look at him, mouth slightly agape like you’re waiting for him to finish his side of the story. He turns to face Tommy, one hand resting on the edge of the bartop, his knuckles bleaching under his weight. The other grips the glass in front of him.

“This one used to sit at my bar, let men buy her free drinks, and then she’d work pool into the conversation,” he says, pausing to take a sip. “She’d be all, ‘I’ve never played, maybe you could teach me blah, blah’ batting her pretty little eyes until they’d cave. By the end of the night, she’d have them makin’ bets and melting like putty in her hands.”

You try to hide your embarrassment behind your glass. He’s not wrong. You used to do that. You’re not sure if you did it because you were bored, not like there’s much else to do in this shit town anyway, or because you liked the attention, but whatever the reason you have to admit it was fun.

Besides, most of them deserved it anyway. If losing a few hundred dollars was the biggest price they’d have to pay for flirting with a young college girl while their wives sat at home waiting for them to come home and half satisfy them, well then, you were okay with that. Plus it kept your rent paid.

But that was a long time ago; it’s been ages since you’ve even picked up a pool stick. You just hope that the old idiomatic expression, old habits die hard, rings true for you now.

The alcohol that courses through your veins gives you a sense of confidence to be a bit bold. You prop your elbows on the sticky bartop and gaze up at Joel. “You gonna kick me out then, Joel? Punish me for all of my wrong-doings?” you flirt, testing, teasing. You flint your eyes over your shoulder to look back at Tommy, and can’t help the surge of arousal that you feel when you notice his eyes are already on your backside. You look at Joel and see the clench in his jaw, the furrow in his brow, his pupils blown wide open.

“No, ‘m not gonna kick you out, sweetheart,” he says, filling the glasses once more. Between that and the wine from earlier this afternoon, you’re already feeling quite buzzed, and more than a little reckless. You watch him complete the pours before reaching for your glass.

“But you are gonna have to make it up to me somehow,” he adds. Your pulse doubles and there’s a familiar tug at your navel when you think of what he might mean. Before you have time to respond, he adds “Tell you what, I’ll make you a bet this time. You see Tommy here is a bit of a pool shark himself, and well, baby you already know what I am.” Both of them look at you with dark, hungry eyes. “You beat us, you can have whatever you want,” he adds.

Your skin feels hot, and you suddenly wish you opted for something cooler than a sweater. “And if either of you wins?” you ask.

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and find out,” Joel responds, downing the last of his drink, shooting Tommy a knowing look.

It’s a trap, you know it is.

And yet you agree.

++++

Joel rounds out from behind the bar and leads the way. He walks past the front door and locks it before pulling the plug on the neon open sign that hands in the nearby window. As you three approach the pool table, Tommy picks up a cue stick leaning against the nearby wall – he twirls it in his hands and hands it to you. He picks up another and passes it to Joel, before finally grabbing a third for himself.

“Hope you’re not a sore loser, Darlin’,” Tommy says with a wink.

You playfully roll your eyes. “We’ll see,” you cheekily respond, toying with the end of the cue stick and rubbing chalk on the tip end of it, being a little suggestive with your movements. Both Tommy and Joel notice.

You gather around the table, and Joel sets up the balls. “Alright, break time. You’re up first, sweetheart,” Joel says. You lock eyes with Joel for a moment and fuck, this is gonna be rough. He has you so flustered and you haven’t even started.

You refocus your gaze on the triangular arrangement of balls. You steady your feet and bend over the table, smiling a little when you feel both of them look at your ass. With a swift motion, you strike the cue ball, scattering the rest across the table, sinking a solid and a stripe into two adjacent pockets. Not so bad for being a little rusty, you think.

Joel lets out a low whistle and looks at Tommy. “Shit, brother, we might be in trouble here,” he says. You smile at the compliment, and round around the table so you’re directly in front of Tommy. You look at Joel as you bend over the table, lining yourself up to hit the solid ball with a clear path to the pocket in front of it.

Your ass skirts against the front of Tommy’s crotch and his breath hitches in his throat. As you’re about to take your shot, a large palm ghosts over the curve of your hip, and the sensation causes you to miss the shot. Fuck.

“Aw, what’s the matter sweetheart, you a little distracted?” Tommy coos.

They wanna play dirty. You can play dirty.

Joel’s up next. His broad frame rounds around the table, and his shoulder brushes against you as he does. He finds his best angle and deftly lines the cue stick up, his biceps straining under the cloth of his shirt at the new position. You walk over to the line of his shot and bend over on the opposite end of the table, your tits spilling out of the slit in your shirt, effectively distracting him. He takes his shot and misses.

They wanna play dirty. You can play dirty.

“Ooo, good effort on that one,” you tell Joel, placating him, “better luck next time,” you conclude with a wink. Joel clears his throat and steps back from the table.

Tommy circles the table next, attempting to find an easy shot. “So I’ve been thinking, we should make this game a bit more interesting,” you say. You watch as Tommy bends over and lines up his turn. He pulls the cue stick back, and just as he’s about to knock it against the ball, you finish “For every shot we miss, we have to strip a piece of clothing." The shock of your words causes Tommy to miss his shot.

“Guess that means you’re starting us off,” you tell Tommy. He shoots you a look. His hands find the buckle of his belt and he undoes it, discarding it on a nearby chair.

The three of you play like that until both Joel and Tommy are clad in nothing but their boxers and socks. You, on the other hand, are still mostly clothed, except for your sweater. Your game started rough, but despite their best efforts to distract you, you’re running the table.

With only one ball left on the table, you walk up to where both of them stand side-by-side. You stand there facing both of them, and they allow their eyes to linger on your chest. Tommy is standing with his hands cupped in front of his crotch, in an attempt to hide his growing bulge. Joel, however, is unreadable as ever.

You lock eyes with him as you snake your arms behind your back, fiddling with the clasp of your bra. You unhook it, your nipples stiffening in response to air. He casts a quick gaze down to your breasts but doesn’t allow them to linger before he looks at you. His jaw is stiff, and he looks at you like you’re something to eat. Keeping your eyes peered into his, you hold the bra out and give it to Tommy. The moment is so charged. So many things being said with no words, all body language discussion.

You take a few steps back before turning around to grab your cue stick that’s resting against the edge of the pool table. You walk over to the other end of the table and line up the final shot of the game. “So I’ve been thinking about what I want as my prize,” you say, bending down far enough that your tits smush against the felt on the table. “And what’s that, sweetheart?” Joel asks. You let out a little hum of satisfaction, dragging the cue stick back. “Want you both to fuck me, right here on this table,” you add, punctuating your statement with your final shot. You watch with bated breath, releasing it when you see the last ball on the table fall into the pocket.

The three of you stand there in silence, waiting for someone to make the first move.

“You heard her, brother,” Tommy says, advancing towards you. “A bet’s a bet.” His hands find your hips from behind, and he pulls your backside against his firm body, dropping his head to nip at your neck. His lips trail up the side of the sensitive skin there and you let out a little purr as his tongue darts out to lick your pulse.

Your lusty gaze watches as Joel closes the gap between your bodies, and he pauses inches from you. He lifts his palm and uses the backside of it, trailing his knuckles down your cheek, over the soft swell of your chest, until his hand opens up and cups your breast.

It’s all dizzying touch, your vision already a little fuzzy from your buzz, and with Joel’s hand on your body in addition to Tommy’s mouth, you’re the one who’s putty in their hands this time. Joel brings your nipple to a stiff peak using his thumb and forefinger, before he lifts them back up to your face. He hooks two fingers under your jaw, tilting you up to face him.

“You’re such a fucking tease, you know that?” Joel says, voice low. You look up at him with doe eyes.

“I know. Now what are you going to do about it?” you taunt.

Tommy stops his affections on your neck and looks up to lock eyes with Joel. He gives a knowing smirk and Tommy reaches his arms around your body and begins to undo the button on your jeans, the zipper following, before he's pulling them down far enough for you to step out of them.

“Oh, sweetheart. We’re going to fucking ruin you. Right here on this table, just like you asked,” Joel says.

“Think you can handle that, hmm? Want both of your daddy’s to stuff that pretty little cunt of yours until you can’t think straight?” And fuck, he’s filthy. His words go straight to your core and you feel slick pooling in your panties, your pussy just begging to be touched.

Before giving you time to respond, his large hand comes down to cup your sex.

“Shit, baby. All this for us?” Joel asks. Your eyes close when you feel Tommy continue his assault on your neck. You’re pinned between both of their bodies, their hard cocks pressing up against you from both angles. It’s already so intense. The want, the sheer desire you feel for both of them is almost overwhelming.

“Use your words, Darlin’, we wanna hear it,” Tommy rasps against your skin.

“Ye–yes, all for you both, want you so bad,” you respond with a moan. A groan reverberates through Joel’s chest, and he gives Tommy the same knowing look they’ve shared all night.

Tommy steps back and comes to stand by Joel’s side. “You’re gonna have to earn it. On your knees, baby,” Joel commands.

You fall to your knees and feel the hard, wooden floor against your bare calves. You position yourself in front of both of them and fold your hands in your lap, waiting for one of them to give you further instructions, practically worshipping at the altar of the two gorgeous men above you. Joel reaches down and brings his pointer finger to lift your chin to face him. He runs his thumb over your lips.

“So pretty like this,” he rasps. As he releases you, they both nod and you take that as permission to release both of them from the confines of their fabric prison.

You start with Tommy, dipping your fingers beneath the band of his boxers. Instinctively, your eyes find Joel’s and you glance at him as if to ask for permission again. He nods once more, and you drag them down to the middle of Tommy’s thighs. The cock that springs free is fucking delectable; a perfect width and a sizable length. The tip is prominent and there’s a thick vein bulging along the side of it. He’s well endowed, and thank fuck for that. Your hands reach up to grasp the base of it, and your tongue darts out to lick the bead of pre-cum that’s welled at the tip. It’s salty and delicious, leaving you wanting more, more, more.

You pull your mouth away from Tommy and replace it with your hand, slowly and firmly stroking the length of him, his skin smooth like butter under your palm. He starts to protest when he realizes what your next move is. You use your free hand to release Joel from his fabric confines and moan at the sight of his cock. Of course, they both would be blessed below the belt. As delicious as Tommy’s cock is, his older brother has a bit of a lead on him.

Truthfully, you’re not surprised in the slightest. Joel’s cock is well above average in length, but the main attraction is the thickness. Just from the looks of it, your fingers probably wouldn’t meet if you wrapped your fingers around him. His girthiness intimidates you, but you don’t scare easily. You were hungry before, but now you’re positively ravenous. You kitten lick Joel’s tip then fully suck on it, eliciting a throaty groan from him. You smile around it, pleased at yourself for being able to affect him like that.

You want to please the pair of dangerously handsome brothers, but you’re aching for praise from Joel.

“Lay back, baby,” Tommy commands, guiding your hips up to rest against the grain of the pool table. And you do, the texture of the felt rubbing against your back in a soft embrace. Both of their hands find your chest with flat palms, and they drag them down over the expanse of your breasts and stomach. They pause, both of them face-to-face with your cunt. ‘Go ‘head brother, all yours,” Joel says to Tommy.

And shit, the hot mouth that greets your wet core is inviting in more ways than one. His lips lock around your waiting clit and you moan in response to the sensation. As Tommy sucks at your center, his tongue making perfect rotations on your clit, you can’t help but let go.

“Shit, that’s so good – need more,” you beg, and Joel can tell the ask you’re making is for him. He slips his middle finger into your pussy, and your wall clenches around him. The pressure that Tommy applies to your clit is so good, you could probably come just from him, but the added drag of Joel’s finger sawing in and out of you reminds you that you want more, need more, need him.

“Joel, yes – fuck, yes, please don’t stop,” you beg. Tommy continues tracing patterns over your clit and Joel adds a second, then a third finger, which you greedily accept. “More!” you beg, and Joel obliges, slipping a fourth finger into you. “Such a tight fucking cunt, not sure how I could fit another, but happy to stretch you out baby, gotta get you ready f'us,” Joel says. Tommy purrs as he laps up your release, and Joel groans, wishing he was the one at your chef’s table, sampling all of your flavors.

With the way both of them work at you, you feel like a helpless fish, caught on their hook. They dropped the bait and you were quick to bite, now having to pay the price for your decision. The both of them reel in their line, pulling you closer and closer to your orgasm. They drag you to the water line of your orgasm, and you give up any hope of staying below the shoreline.

Your release washes over you like a wake from a boat, an inevitable. You let the waters fall from your shore before you open your eyes and see both of them, their hard cocks staring you in the eyes. Giving you a moment to come up for air, Joel gently strokes your cheek, an act of tenderness amongst the debauchery taking place.

Tommy gives Joel a knowing look and lifts his right leg to help hoist him onto the pool table. With you spread out underneath both of them, he positions himself right above your head. You all but drool at the sight of him stroking his cock from this vantage point, Tommy looking down at you as if he were seeing his reflection in a pond for the first time. His jaw hangs slack as he works himself from base to tip.

Meanwhile, Joel’s hands find your hips and he deftly tugs you down, so your waiting pussy is just barely hanging over the edge of the pool table. He puts your legs over his brawny forearms, bearing the weight of your lower half, and spreads your legs wide, fully exposing your glistening cunt to him.

You’re almost shivering with how badly you want his cock inside you. He grabs the base of it in one hand, the tip of him barely ghosting against your wet and dripping seam. He collects some of your arousal on him, before using his thumb to drag it over the length of his member.

He knows he could fuck you just like this, lord knows you’re wet enough, and he's done his due diligence to stretch you, but he knows he’s a lot to take. He leans his head down and spits, his saliva falls onto the tip of him, partially covering himself and your clit. He taps the mushroom head of his cock on your clit a few times, a thin string of saliva connecting both of your bodies as he pulls it back.

As much as you would love to focus on Tommy’s length in your face, your sole attention is on Joel, who’s about to fill you to the hilt. “Mouth wide open, baby,” Tommy begs above you, calling you back to his attention. You feign your hardest to listen. You open your jaw wide, and he places the tip of his cock on the tip of your tongue, dragging the heaviness of it over the expanse of it.

Just as he slides in deeper into your wet and waiting mouth, Joel bunts his hips forward, pressing half of him into your tight hole. It’s so much, and they’re both not even halfway in yet.

They lock eyes with each other and synchronize their thrusts. Joel pulls back and thrusts into your cunt, and Tommy pulls back momentarily before your mouth welcomes him deeper into your throat, so deep in fact that the tip of him bumps up against the back of it, nearly causing you to gag. The corners of your eyes prick with tears, and whether it’s from the stretch of Joel’s cock, or the head of Tommy’s knocking on the back door of your throat, you’ll never know.

“Shit, brother. She’s taking this cock so well, Jesus fuck,” Tommy mutters, thrusting his member in and out of you with a relentless pace, his hands now tangled in your hair like a bird's nest in a tree.

“God damn, you’re telling me. Little cunt is taking me so well,” and his words cause you to clench harder around him.

“Gotta ease up baby, or both of your daddy’s are gonna fill you sooner than we both want to,” Tommy rasps behind a breathless voice, “so good, so fucking good, my god.” You revel in their doubled praise and you can’t help but clench tighter, and Joel notices.

“Ah fuck, brother. I think that’s what she wants. Little slut wants us to pump her full of our cum,” Joel rasps, continuing his relentless pace, dragging his cock in and out of you. You moan in response, your words muffled around the expanse of Tommy, “Fuck, want you to fill me up so bad, both of you.”

“You hear that,” Tommy says in a breathless voice. “You heard her, give the girl what she wants,” Tommy encourages Joel. And fuck. These two are going to be the death of you.

“That what you want, sweetheart? Want Daddy Joel and Daddy Tommy to pump you full of all of our seed, want us to leave you dripping with both of us,” Joel says, his pace quickening, his grip on your hips strong enough to bruise. “Yes, fuck, fill me up, want every last drop of both of my daddy’s cum.”

Joel looks up at Tommy.

“Wouldn’t that be quite the fucking sight? Her all round from your baby, her pretty tits engorged with milk, me fucking dribbling out of her mouth," Tommy says.

"Such a dirty little slut, so good for us,” Tommy praises. Had anyone else uttered those words your skin would crawl, but it’s different coming from the pair of them. You’d let them spread you open wide and fuck you full of their come any day.

“Fuck, I think she likes the thought of that, I can feel her clamping down on me, gripping me so goddamn tight, brother,” Joel rasps. Your lips tighten around Tommy, and they both continue to use you, fucking you like they want, like how you know you need. They abuse both of your holes in their relentless chase for their own orgasm.

“Shit brother, ‘m close, not gonna last much longer,” Tommy groans, and you can tell. His cock stiffens and his pulses become more and more erratic.

“Not yet, need her to come again for us first,” Joel demands, dropping his thumb to your clit, beginning to drag slow and near-perfect circles over your sensitive bud.

“Need you to give us one more. C’mon, you can do it,” Joel continues to egg you on. “You’re so pretty when you come, give us one more, baby. Our perfect girl, let us feel it.”

With that, your whole body convulses and your vision goes white. You can’t help the shakes that follow, your entire body trembling like an earthquake. “Fuckfuckfuck, yesssss,” you cry out, your release taking over you like watercolor paint spilling onto paper, blurring the lines your pleasure has always been confined to – until now.

Joel and Tommy continue their movements, slowing as they reach their own peaks. “So close, baby, gonna come down this pretty fucking throat, gonna be a good girl and swallow your daddy’s thick load,” Tommy grunts out before he stills and shoots his spend down your throat. It’s so much, some dribbles out the corners of your mouth and down your chin.

Joel watches as you greedily swallow his brother's load. “Such a good girl. You gonna tell your pretty little cunt to swallow all of me too, hmm? Gonna flood that little pussy with my load, fill you so full,” he raps. “Gonna plug you so good after ‘m done, not drop is gonna go to waste, baby.”

You gulp, swallowing the rest of Tommy’s spend before answering, “Yes, Joel, p-please fill me up with your come, daddy,” you squawk out, voice hoarse from Tommy’s crusade on your mouth.

“As you wish, pretty girl,” Joel teases, as if he wasn’t the one to come up with the idea.

He thrusts once, twice and he’s filling you with his cum, just as he promised. He stills inside of you, and his forehead comes to rest on your chest. The sticky sweat on his skin makes it tacky, clinging to you in a way that parallels how you’re clinging to this moment. Both of your chests are heaving, ragged breaths coming out almost in sync.

After a few long moments, Joel reluctantly lifts his head up and slowly pulls out, but before any of his load drips out he uses a finger to plug your hole. You gasp and your body jolts from the oversensitivity. “Makin’ sure it sticks, darlin’,” Joel coos in your ear and gently moves the stray strands of hair from your face.

Thoroughly fucked out, you ask the pair of them, “So just out of curiosity, what would you have asked for if either of you had won?”

They both look at each other as if to decide if they want to tell you the truth or not.

“Come back next year for a rematch and we’ll tell you,” Tommy says.

With the way both of them look at you, how could you not?

It’s not even January and yet, here you are – excited for Easter.

What a fucking plot twist that is.

END

Tagging moots and those who I think might like this: @endlessthxxghts @sydneyinacoma @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81@lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @dugiioh @nervoushottee @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings@josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring@darkheartgatita @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @brittmb115 @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @javiscigarette @morallyinept @tobesolovelysstuff @notsosecretspy @alokaerza @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @morgaussy @missladym1981 @pedrostories

As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list, or removed (even if we're moots, no hard feelings). I'll still be using my tag list for now, but I just started a notifs blog, so will be transitioning to that eventually. Please follow @katiexpunkupdates to get notified when I post fics.xx

Happy New Year!

#joel and tommy #joel miller smut #tommy miller smut #threes0me #joel miller x female reader #tommy miller x female reader #joel miller fanfic #tommy miller fanfic #pedrohub #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #tlou fanfiction

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gazpachoandbooks · 2 years

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I just love The Mummy (1999) so much like I've always felt it was a masterpiece, I was never able to pinpoint the exact reason but I think I got it in my last rewatch: every single character is extremely competent in a very concrete, punctual and once-in-a-lifetime helpful skillset, and then they're ABSOLUTE DISASTERS on literally EVERY OTHER ASPECT of their lives. Evy can read and Sherlock her way through literally any egyptian riddle like she was born for it, but PLEASE, DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE, leave ANY sharp objects, unstable structures or even-remotely inflamable objects ANYWHERE near her she WILL find a way to unleash HELL IN HER SLEEP. Rick can smash-parkour-swordfight his way out of any scenario but he has to have ALL neurons completely focused on the ONE (1) task at hand and if he gets out-DudeBroed he loses all his hit points his health meter goes red and he surprise-resets like a forced Windows update (see following scene for reference)

And don't even get me STARTED on Jonathan. This absolute gem of a man really is willing to let his sister drag him to hell and back with only mild complaining and will stop her human sacrifice ritual while the priest is mid-swing with an "hey Evy look we found the book!" with the same energy as if he was proudly announcing he found his long-lost car keys behind the couch but we DON'T blame him because he correctly spent his one braincell on THIS scene that changed the history of cinema forever:

In conclusion everyone is so very capable and so very pathetic at the same time and thus we have no choice but to stan

#and that's without mentioning rick yeeting the same guy in increasingly ridiculous ways every few scenes #what a movie #i remembered how good it was just not how HILARIOUS it was #comfort film my beloved #the mummy #the mummy 1999

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qqueenofhades · 1 month

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I don't know why I thought it was a good idea to argue with people about the worthlessness of voting third party. They just keep insisting that the influence is worth it, and that I was a coward for daring to suggest that we don't HAVE any other options than Democratic. I even cited how voting third party likely played a part in Al Gore losing ffs.

There's no "likely" about it, Ralph Nader DID directly cost Gore the election. He ran explicitly on the same "both parties are the same, so leftists/liberals should vote for me instead" rhetoric that we are still seeing among the Online Left, and it was successful: he got, for example, over 97,000 votes in Florida. Bush won Florida (and thus the presidency) by a miniscule 537 votes, after the fuckery of Bush v. Gore and SCOTUS ordering the recount stopped in Bush's favor. If the tiniest percentage of those Nader voters had gone for Gore, we would have had a president who was arguing in favor of tackling climate change in the year 2000. We would have been incredibly ahead of the curve. We would, in all likelihood, have a president who took the CIA's warnings of an impending al-Qaeda attack in the US seriously. We would not have had the disastrous Afghanistan and Iraq invasions and the "War on Terror," the rampant Islamophobia, "No Child Left Behind," the 2008 economic crash, and everything else that Dubya and his band of bloodthirsty neocons inflicted on us in the early aughties. Look, I try not to look back too much, but having Gore instead of Bush as president would have reshaped the entire timeline we're living in to such an unfathomably better degree that every moron thinking of voting third party For The Protest should be sat down and forced to learn this history intimately. Of course, they already saw it happen in real time in 2016, but they didn't care about that either.

The good news is: there are plenty of persuadable voters out there, and you can do work to reach them and convince them to vote for Democrats! They're just not online, because all the Online Leftists are terminally brain-poisoned against voting anyway and trying to argue with them is generally a waste of time. Instead, what you should do is take a gander at the following links:

This is the one-stop shop page for volunteering to get Democrats elected. You can do in-person and remote work, there are tons of different ways to get involved (i.e. you don't have to go directly out and knock doors if that's not something you're comfortable with), and your local Democratic party will welcome the volunteer help. There is also a page for finding your state party website:

I went there, clicked on my state, opened the webpage, and there was a "Volunteer" link right in the header, with an easy and quick form to fill out to register your interest and explain the kinds of work you would be interested in doing. You can canvass directly, you can manage data on the back end, you can phone bank, you can send texts and postcards to voters who may need an extra nudge, you can otherwise work with your state party in lots of ways, and it will be so much more productive and make you feel so much better than arguing with online idiots who will never, ever change their minds. What you can do is reach out to voters in your own community, in your own state, and have conversations with people who actually ARE willing to listen, but might need a little more educating on the facts, what's at stake, the truth about this election, and the danger that Trump poses. All of this will convert into critically important Democratic votes, and you can actually put your desire to make a difference into action. So yeah. I would 100% suggest you do it this way instead. Good luck.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts

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trygrievousbutgirl-blog · 3 months

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I can’t fucking stress how much Power’s transformation into the blood devil fucks me up. She’s beautiful and terrible again, superior to the humans she so despises, she’s gotten everything she could have wanted. And she cares about Denji so much that she’s willing to die, return to hell and start the process all over, or take another fiend form of it were remotely possible. All so Denji could live. So her brother would be the same, so she could find him again even if she were different. To love someone so desperately that you’d die just to have a chance at reincarnating soon enough to see them again, changed beyond belief but still loving them. I’m fucking crying, they’re siblings and they’re best friends and they love each other so much. Denji is willing to let Power take his body, just as he was with Pochita, and both of them would rather cease to be than let Denji go.

#chainsaw man #csm #csm spoilers #power #power csm #power chainsaw man

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chaiifluuf · 2 months

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•°. *࿐ What if all i need is you? — d. osamu

synopsis. after going underground for the time being to leave the port mafia, yours and dazai’s friendship starts to feel like something else

content. gn!reader, spoilers for the dark era/season 2 ep 4, lowercase, comfort, fluff, hcs + one-shot, clingy dazai, lowkey bad writing??

notes. i don’t think i’ve ever been this nervous about posting something ( ; ω ; ), anyways first post and first time attempting to actually write smth so this most likely has grammatical mistakes…

dazai who, after witnessing his best friend’s death, arrived at your doorstep at midnight and without a second thought asked you to run away with him.

dazai who tells you everything that happened and why he is willing to make a change, hoping you will come along with him.

dazai who is deep down desperate for your comfort and touch, your soothing words that somehow always manage to find a way to his heart.

dazai who at one point couldn’t hold it together anymore and spends many nights silently crying into your shoulder, for the first time allowing himself to be vulnerable around you.

dazai who believes he will never be quite enough to deserve your endless amount of care and affection.

dazai who was able to have a full night of near peaceful sleep in a while, all thanks to your warmth and mere presence next to him.

dazai who realises how much you truly matter to him, how he can’t ignore the warm feeling in his chest whenever he sees you, how his body craves for you.

dazai who slowly starts to think that maybe with you he can do this and become the better person who odasaku wished him to be.

the full moon was shining brightly tonight, slightly peeking through the curtains of your shared apartment. the weather is calm, only a soft breeze passing by at times. it’s almost been half a year now since you and dazai went underground and it’s been quiet to say the least. with some help from ango, you were able to find a small temporary apartment in the suburbs, away from the main city.

the first few weeks after agreeing to go with him were rather rough. dazai was uncharacteristically quiet most of the time, his eyes seeming even duller and more distant than usually. it was clear to you how much odasaku’s death had really affected him and you can’t blame him. the best you could do was to tell him it was going to be okay and be there for him in any way needed, a reminder that you’re here to stay.

Another thing you weren’t used to was how clingy he would become.

despite the two of you not being in a relationship, it was almost unreal how touchy you got with each other. Sleeping and basking in each other’s warmth, the lingering touches when the other had to go elsewhere, the small caresses were like a second language for him at this point. and it never made you uncomfortable.

as of now you are finishing watching a film, one that has been sitting in your watchlist for a while now. the ending of it left you a little disappointed but overall it was more than enough to cure your boredom. with a soft sigh, you turn the tv off and place the remote control away.

your gaze drifts down to your chest, a view of familiar brown and soft hair snuggled up to you. he has been practically in the same position for the whole duration you watched the film, a pair of arms securely wrapped around your waist and his head resting against your chest. it's a serene sight.

judging by his steady heartbeat and slow breaths, he seems to be asleep. which is rather rare since the only time he gets actual sleep is late at night if even that. you briefly check your phone and it's barely ten pm. your hand finds itself in his hair, gently brushing through it as you untangle a few knots. it really was beyond your understanding of how soft it is. if you could spend your whole day just caressing his hair you would.

you can’t help but take notice of his features when you brush some of his bangs to the side. he looked absolutely ethereal and it made your heart beat faster without you realising it. you wish he could see himself the way you do. but then again he has said the same thing about you so that’s that. you will never get tired of his peaceful state though, looking as if there is not a single worry on his mind.

more often than you would like to admit, you wonder what you two are. up until running away, you were just close friends with him, friends who got along well. sure there was the typical dazai flirting and petnames here and there but you didn’t think they meant anything further than that. however, overtime you can’t deny the fact you might just have fallen for him.

but now you don’t know. do friends hold each other so intimately? do friends make most of your meals because they know you won’t eat anything else? does a friend look at you so longingly, even if it’s for a split second? and once you ponder about that, you start doubting if he feels the same. what if he doesn’t see you like that? what if he’ll get bored of you eventually? what if—

a small movement from dazai was enough to snap you out of your thoughts. he slightly shifted his position, letting out a faint exhale afterwards.

“‘samu?�� you murmur as you stare at him for a little, expecting him to wake up but to your surprise he’s still in his slumber.

there is a certain glint of softness in your eyes before you close them and lightly bury your face into his hair, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo. despite your calm breaths, your mind was still running.

“…i love you.” your voice was barely audible. for whatever reason, you felt the need to say it, the very same three words that have plagued your thoughts for a while now. you know he didn’t hear it but at least that’s what made it easier to say. maybe one day you’ll finally let go of all your doubts and fears and confess to him, telling him how much he really means to you.

“you do?”

your heart drops. for a second you wondered if you really heard that or not. there was no way.

“what?” you respond quietly, almost in disbelief. dazai turns his head to get a better look at you as well as move a little closer. his eyes were half open but you can still see the glint of playfulness in them. a faint smirk was on his face. this man… is this supposed to mean that this whole time he was only pretending to be asleep?!

“you love me?” he repeated his question, a bit of teasing evident in his tone. god you wanted to smack that smug smile off his face. perhaps you should have never opened your mouth in the first place.

“ah, i just… i mean…” your words trailed off as your heart started to speed up. suddenly you didn’t know what to say but if he really heard your words earlier then the answer must be obvious. you’re sure you look flustered right now and you can’t even hide it from him since he’s right in front of you.

however, what he did next made your world freeze in time.

without a warning dazai slowly closed the distance and softly touched your lips with his. having you so distracted that you didn’t even notice when he moved his hand to the back your head.

the kiss lasted for about three seconds but it sure felt like an eternity. his lips were much softer than you thought, despite you not having enough time to fully react to the kiss. for a moment you can’t help but question if this was real or another dream you were about to wake up from.

his face still stayed close, his lips slightly parted as his warm breath hit your skin. “i think i love you too y’know..” he mumbled while gently caressing the corner of your jaw. his voice seemed more sincere when he said that.

and just like that all of you anxieties disappeared. you don’t what came over you but what you do know is that you captured his lips with yours once again. only this time you felt the need to go deeper, like you couldn’t get enough of him.

dazai welcomed your initiative warmly, letting out a quiet hum as you kissed him once again. you had no idea kissing someone could feel this good. you swear you can feel him smiling against your lips at some point and it makes your heart skip a beat. your hands wander through his hair, holding him close as your body relaxes.

you guessed all those times he bragged about being a good kisser turned out to be true after all.

when the two of you part to take a moment to breathe, he takes the chance to tease you again. “i’m still waiting for an answer to my question, bella.” he says softly.

yeah, this was definitely real.

thank you so much if you made it this far !<3 literally need to stop rereading this because it gets worse every time i do help

#𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ maeve writes . 🖋️#bungo stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs dazai #bsd x you #bsd x reader #bsd fluff #bsd dazai #dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu fluff #dazai x y/n #dazai x you

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phthalomushroom · 2 months

Text

The Family

pairings: modern!mafia!aemondxreader

summary: You had left Kings Landing and the Targaryen family four years ago. Now back and living with your old roommate you realize that the life you had thought you escaped had seemingly been waiting for you. But will the family really let you go? Will the people you left behind forgive you? Can you forget the past and look to the future?

warnings: language, mentions of trauma, slight panic attack

word count: 1.34k

note: first writing I’m releasing to the world - it is what it is at this point. also working on the title so it probably will not stay that.

The train’s horn pulled you out of the stupor of your book. Your attention drew to the bustling city of King’s Landing that passed by your window. The train was pulling up to the platform and you had half a mind to stay seated until the train left for the next destination. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, maybe you could have rejected the job your remote internship had offered and found something to do in Winterfell.

But then you caught sight of the white dreads from the crowd, holding a “welcome home” sign and felt the nerves dissipate. You grinned, standing and grabbing your bag. After pushing through the crowd, you were finally face to face with your childhood friend.

Beala welcomed you with open arms. “Four years is too long.”

You shook your head, squeezing Beala once more before pulling away. “You act like you didn’t come to visit.”

“Having to take a ten hour train ride to Winterfell is vastly different than a one minute walk to your room. I’m glad to have my roommate back.”

“I’m happy to see you too.”

You grinned linking arms with her as you both ventured to the streets of King’s Landing. You walked down the sidewalk, briefly filling Baela in on all that recently happened in Winterfell. Up the street, however, you noted the black sedan pulling around the corner, your steps faltered. On instinct you ducked into the nearest store, pulling Baela with you. Luckily, the store you found shelter in was a quaint little bakery, one that seemed new to the block.

Baela knew what you were doing as you both tried to get as deep as you could into the store, keeping an eye on the sedan that drove past the windows.

You hadn’t done this in years, you realized. Hadn’t needed to hide in a store, hadn’t needed to look over your shoulder wondering if someone was coming to get you, wondering if someone was following you. It was too easy to slip back into old habits.

“Can I help you with something?”

You were pulled from your thoughts, looking at the kind cashier.

You cleared your dry throat. “No, just looking.”

Baela took your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You're okay, we’re okay.”

You nodded. You knew that. You weren’t involved with the Targaryens anymore which meant you were normal, which meant no more targets on your back. But that didn’t stop your heart from racing. That didn’t stop the nervous sweat that broke out along your skin. It certainly didn’t stop you from laying a hand over the scar on your abdomen.

“We can go now.”

You nodded, willing your legs to follow Baela outside and along the sidewalk. If only to keep your mind from racing did you begin noting the stores you passed.

You once knew these streets like the back of your hand, now as you looked around it was so different. The shops that now littered the streets were bustling, which was usual during the evening rush but so many of the shops you had grown up with seemed to be replaced with imposters.

“What happened to Clarico's?” Your voice was dry but it gained its strength. You noticed the shop that was once a popular corner store you had frequented as a teen, was now left vacant and boarded up.

“Uhm, there was a… situation.”

“Oh?” Baela avoided your eyes. You let out a long breath, calming your still racing heart. “So not much has changed.”

You pushed the thoughts that began to bubble in your mind, you needed to be here - with Baela. Not with him, not in the past.

She pulled you tighter to her, like the past was gonna pull you away. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

********

Baela and your apartment was the same as you had left it all those years ago. The same one eared cat that perched on the concrete steps outside the building. The same broken elevator that had been a death trap since you moved in. The same creaky stairs.

Baela hadn’t changed much of the apartment since you left either. When you walked through the door that familiar vanilla scent hit you.

There was an ongoing joke between you and Baela after her boyfriend, Jace, wondered aloud one day how it always smelled like vanilla but he never saw the candle burn. Baela and you had looked at eachother and instantly knew what had to be done. Ever since, the two of you used a plug in diffuser and kept the same vanilla candle sitting in the center of the kitchen island. It was a stupid bit that Baela seemed to have continued, even without you.

It was a strange comfort to know that even though you left and even though the city changed, you changed, Baela hadn’t.

You went over to the living room table where a photo of Baela, Jace, her sister Rhaena, and Rhaena’s boyfriend Luce were all smiling happily at the beach.

“You better rest up, we have dinner reservations tonight.”

Your head shot up from the photo. “Oh, no. I can’t go out tonight.”

Baela grinned, crossing her arms across her chest. “Why not?”

“Tired?” It was a pathetic lie on your part.

From the look on her face she wasn’t buying it. “He isn’t in the city.”

You set the photo back on the table, rubbing your finger over a groove in the wood. “Who?”

She smirked. “The person you’ve been trying to forget the last four years. Aemond.”

The name sent a shiver through you. In all honesty you had forgotten him- or at least convinced yourself you did. And you had forgotten about him on your walk with Baela, doing your best to concentrate on the now. It took you four years to try to forget the pain of Aemond Targaryen. But the last thing you wanted was to see him.

Four years didn’t seem long enough now.

You walked over to the kitchen table, taking a seat on one of the chairs. “And who told you he’s not in the city?”

Baela joined you at the table. “Jace.”

Your brows rose. “If he knows Aemond’s business then he’s…”

“Yeah. He’s been with the family officially since you left. He’s really happy, we’re really happy.”

You nodded. “You’re okay… with all of it?”

Everything that came with being part of the Targaryen family.

But it was more than a family. It was a business, a business that was generations old and had its control over every aspect of this city. Some parts of the family business even had influence beyond King’s Landing.

It’s why you went to Winterfell. It was the farthest place you could think of where a certain Targaryen couldn’t reach you.

Baela ran her finger over a groove on the table. “I love him. He made his choice and I… I’ll stand with him.”

You saw the hesitation in her eyes, the worry. You wondered if your face reflected hers when your mother asked you a similar question all those years ago.

Is your love strong enough for what he’ll become?

But back then you thought nothing of your mothers questions.

That question now echoed through your mind. Kept you up late throughout the years.

At least now you know the answer to it.

“I’m happy that you’re happy.” You reached out a hand to Baela, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “I’m here now, less than a minute down the hall if you need me.”

“Thank you.” She stood shaking off the moment. She reached in her pocket pulling out a credit card. “Anyway, get ready Jace insisted he pay for dinner. As a welcome home.”

“Well, if he’s paying.” You smirked, standing up.

“Good, cause we’re going to Frederico’s. I know how much you’ve been craving their garlic bread.”

With that she turned, skipping down the hall to her room to begin getting ready.

You let out a long breath, maybe you should have stayed on the train.

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