#commercial change management

[coasttocoastmarineservice]

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[reasonsforhope]

"In an unprecedented step to preserve and maintain the most carbon-rich elements of U.S. forests in an era of climate change, President Joe Biden’s administration last week proposed to end commercially driven logging of old-growth trees in National Forests.

Secretary of Agriculture Tom Vilsack, who oversees the U.S. Forest Service, issued a Notice of Intent to amend the land management plans of all 128 National Forests to prioritize old-growth conservation and recognize the oldest trees’ unique role in carbon storage. 

It would be the first nationwide amendment to forest plans in the 118-year history of the Forest Service, where local rangers typically have the final word on how to balance forests’ role in watershed, wildlife and recreation with the agency’s mandate to maintain a “sustained yield” of timber.

“Old-growth forests are a vital part of our ecosystems and a special cultural resource,” Vilsack said in a statement accompanying the notice. “This clear direction will help our old-growth forests thrive across our shared landscape.”

But initial responses from both environmentalists and the logging industry suggest that the plan does not resolve the conflict between the Forest Service’s traditional role of administering the “products and services” of public lands—especially timber—and the challenges the agency now faces due to climate change. National Forests hold most of the nation’s mature and old-growth trees, and therefore, its greatest stores of forest carbon, but that resource is under growing pressure from wildfire, insects, disease and other impacts of warming.

Views could not be more polarized on how the National Forests should be managed in light of the growing risks.

National and local environmental advocates have been urging the Biden administration to adopt a new policy emphasizing preservation in National Forests, treating them as a strategic reserve of carbon. Although they praised the old-growth proposal as an “historic” step, they want to see protection extended to “mature” forests, those dominated by trees roughly 80 to 150 years old, which are a far larger portion of the National Forests. As old-growth trees are lost, which can happen rapidly due to megafires and other assaults, they argue that the Forest Service should be ensuring there are fully developed trees on the landscape to take their place...

The Biden administration’s new proposal seeks to take a middle ground, establishing protection for the oldest trees under its stewardship while allowing exceptions to reduce fuel hazards, protect public health and safety and other purposes. And the Forest Service is seeking public comment through Feb. 2 (Note: That's the official page for the proposed rule, but for some reason you can only submit comments through the forest service website - so do that here!) on the proposal as well as other steps needed to manage its lands to retain mature and old-growth forests over time, particularly in light of climate change.

If the Forest Service were to put in place nationwide protections for both mature and old-growth forests, it would close off most of the National Forests to logging. In an inventory concluded earlier this year in response to a Biden executive order, the Forest Service found that 24.7 million acres, or 17 percent, of its 144.3 million acres of forest are old-growth, while 68.1 million acres, or 47 percent, are mature."

-via Inside Climate News, December 20, 2023

-

Note: This proposed rule is current up for public comment! If you're in the US, you can go here to file an official comment telling the Biden administration how much you support this proposal - and that you think it should be extended to mature forests!

Official public comments really DO matter. You can leave a comment on this proposal here until February 2nd.

#united states #us politics #conservation #climate change #sustainability #forests #old growth forest #national forest #carbon emissions #climate action #climate crisis #forest service #biden #biden administration #public comment #good news #hope #it took me soooo long to hunt down the actual public comment link #by which I mean like 10 minutes but like #that's too long! especially considering I am way better at navigating language and bureaucratic websites like this #than A LOT of people #why tf can't you just comment on the Official Website For Public Commenting? #aka regulations.gov #baffling #anyway the good news is I did find it so pls do go ahead and submit a comment if you can

[headspace-hotel]

Here's a link you can hold onto in case you ever need to tell somebody why reintroducing predators into North American ecosystems is important

After decades of high deer populations, North American forests have lost much of their previous biodiversity. Any landscape-level recovery requires substantial reductions in deer herds, but modern societies and wildlife management agencies appear unable to devise appropriate solutions to this chronic ecological and human health crisis. We evaluated the effectiveness of fertility control and hunting in reducing deer impacts at Cornell University. We estimated spring deer populations and planted Quercus rubraseedlings to assess deer browse pressure, rodent attack, and other factors compromising seedling performance. Oak seedlings protected in cages grew well, but deer annually browsed ≥60% of unprotected seedlings. Despite female sterilization rates of >90%, the deer population remained stable. Neither sterilization nor recreational hunting reduced deer browse rates and neither appears able to achieve reductions in deer populations or their impacts. We eliminated deer sterilization and recreational hunting in a core management area in favor of allowing volunteer archers to shoot deer over bait, including at night. This resulted in a substantial reduction in the deer population and a linear decline in browse rates as a function of spring deer abundance. Public trust stewardship of North American landscapes will require a fundamental overhaul in deer management to provide for a brighter future, and oak seedlings may be a promising metric to assess success. These changes will require intense public debate and may require new approaches such as regulated commercial hunting, natural dispersal, or intentional release of important deer predators (e.g., wolves and mountain lions). Such drastic changes in deer management will be highly controversial, and at present, likely difficult to implement in North America. However, the future of our forest ecosystems and their associated biodiversity will depend on evidence to guide change in landscape management and stewardship.

The deer are literally eating all the tree saplings in a lot of areas so the forest is having the old trees die and no new trees grow, and they're eating all the rare wildflowers like orchids and trilliums.

Human hunting doesn't work, and sterilizing more than 90% of female deer doesn't work. The answers the researchers propose are regulated commercial hunting (basically, hunting deer in limited amounts so the meat can be sold just like farmed beef or pork) and reintroducing wolves and mountain lions.

"Wolves and mountain lions are dangerous!" Out of an estimated 458 deadly encounters with animals that occur in the U.S.A. yearly, an estimated 440 of them are fatal collisions with deer.

Next time there is some dumbass Republican trying to claim wolves don't need to be protected by the Endangered Species Act (yes, they're literally claiming that wolves are fully recovered when they don't even exist in the vast majority of their former range) have these links close at hand

#conservation #wolves

[unitedestatesllc]

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[ao3commentoftheday]

Hey!

This is something that's been rolling around in my head for a while, and I'm wondering if you or any of your followers have experience with getting back into writing after illness.

I've been chronically ill for a long time. My symptoms vary a lot depending on external circumstances. From about 2019-2021 or so, I was updating an AU about once a month and having an absolute blast with it...then my health hit a stumbling block. Then it hit another, and another.

I'm now at a point where the stumbling blocks don't seem to be going away anytime soon. I'm starting to feel the mental health effects of not having the spoons to work writing into my day.

I spent the past couple years trying to let myself lie fallow and be kind with my brain when my body needs so much help. I'm at a point where even when I WANT to write, it feels like it's been so long I've almost forgotten how. I'm stalled on all my WIPs from that AU, but it doesn't feel like writer's block so much as it feels like writer's atrophy. I miss it terribly, but I'm having a lot of trouble getting back on my feet.

Thank you for everything you've given our community over the years! 💜💜

*hugs* that's a rough spot to be in, and I hope that we can offer you some ways to get out of it. I'll offer some suggestions from my own experience with a change in health status, but I'm really hopeful that the rest of the blog have some tips to share as well.

Don't hold yourself up to your previous standards. Your abilities have changed, and you should take that into account. If you used to be able to write for 2 hours and now you can only manage 10 minutes, don't see that as a failure. 10 minutes is now your success point. If you used to be able to manage 100K stories with intricate plots and now you find it a challenge to write a straightforward oneshot? Then finishing that oneshot is an accomplishment to be proud of.

If the way you used to do things doesn't work, don't keep trying to do them that way. If you used to type onto a laptop but now staring at the screen makes you feel exhausted? Try dictating into your phone and using speech to text to transcribe it. Then you can go through and edit what's already there. If you used to write at a desk but now sitting up for long periods wears you out? Try tapping it out on your phone in bed. You can't focus for long periods the way that you used to? Turn on the TV and write during commercial breaks.

Don't try to pick up right where you left off. You need to get yourself back in writing shape before you can take on a story that's already halfway written. Those WIPs will still be there, even if you start off with a ficlet or a missing moment or a post-episode coda etc. Start off small. Use ideas or plots that are easier for you to write. Get back into the swing of it before you try to tackle a big project again.

As you try to write something and you find yourself unable to, take a moment and try to identify what the hard part is. Are you having trouble finding words? Are you in an uncomfortable position? Is the device you're using annoying you or difficult to work with? For each problem you can identify, see if you can find an accommodation for it - and look to see if other people have had to accommodate the same issue before you. It's very likely that they have.

I'll stop here and let the spoonies share their thoughts in the notes. I look forward to picking up some advice for myself too ❤️

You can find this question and answer over on Dreamwidth as well, if you'd like to join the conversation over there.

#asks and answers

[hellenhighwater]

Hi Hell, I wanted to get your thoughts on something. My friend who has been vegetarian for close to 30 years is thinking about becoming vegan. His main reason is that the pain and suffering of an animal in the large majority of the animal product industry is not worth the enjoyment he gets from cheese, milk, etc. He hypothesizes that most people are not vegan due to lack of education about the industry’s methods, and because eating meat is so normalized. I mostly agree, but something about what he’s saying makes me feel bad. Maybe because I don’t see myself ever becoming vegan, due to how much I love certain foods, but I like to think of myself as an empathetic and moral person. So I think I just feel quite selfish.

He is a very analytical and logical thinker, and says he wants to find more anti-vegan arguments before deciding for sure, but can’t seem to find many. What do you (and your followers) think? I was thinking you aren’t vegan, but I don’t actually know.

This is very much not my lane, but if you want my two cents then for me it comes down to a few things.

One: there is a basic mass of food that any human needs to consume in order to stay alive. That can be plants, it can be animals, it can be animal byproducts. For the a significant proportion of commercially produced food, there is a negative impact. It's hard to quantify; in some cases it is certainly direct, quality of life issues for animals. In other cases it's more broad environmental impact from commercial farming, or quality of life for the human laborers involved in harvesting etc. It's hard to come up with any objective measurement for harm when comparing individual animal suffering vs human quality of life vs large scale environmental issues. There's plenty of information out there on some of the vegan diet staples and how increases in farming things like quinoa have enormously detrimental effects on their native communities, if that's something your friend is not already aware.

Two: There is a degree of this that is just...unavoidable. Things eating other things is the way living creatures survive, and on a systematic level there's not a ton we individually can do to change things--and on a practical level, there's only so much you can afford to spend on food, and organic, cruelty free stuff is more expensive. There is a level of privilege in being able to choose to spend your money in that way that is not always an option for everyone.

I'm not vegan. I'm not vegetarian. I care deeply about animals, and I'm aware of what commercial husbandry looks like--it's pretty terrible. I still eat meat. I try to do so as ethically as I reasonably can.

I don't have an issue with eating other animals. It's a part of nature. To me, I see the obligation more to do our best to try to get meat (or byproducts) that have been raised as well as we can manage. Free range eggs are pretty easy to come by, if you live in the country. Same with locally made cheeses and butters, even farm fresh milk--some places have self-serve milking that allows cows to roam in pastures and then be milked at will. Price and availability will vary by where you are, but it's more and more common; as more and more people start to care about how the people and animals involved in making our food are treated, better options become more available.

It also should be noted that the animals involved in farming are almost universally completely domesticated. There's no alternative for these animals and their progeny except for life in human care. These breeds require human aid for their own health and safety, because we have been breeding them for (in many cases) thousands of years to rely on us and to develop traits that will not aid them in the wild. If everyone decided, tomorrow, to become vegan, then these animals would need to remain in human care for however many thousands of generations it would take to breed them back to the ability to survive without us, or we would have to sterilize them en mass and terminate these breeds through lack of reproduction. It is not an option to just release these farm animals into the wild. Domesticated animals require human care. Some of them, like pigeons, have gone feral when we abandoned them, but they are not like their wild cousins, and it shows.

Because of the selective breeding involved in domestion, most of these animals are producing byproducts--eggs, milk, honey, wool, etc--in quantities that they do not need. While some species have been bred to do that to their own detriment, most heritage breeds are fully capable of producing more than they need of these things, and there can be true symbiosis between these animals and their human caretakers. Some of these things they need to have removed for their own health. It's an ancient bargain--we keep them safe, and warm, and healthy, and protected, and they give us that which they have in abundance. The problem isn't the animal product, it's how it's produced commercially.

So yeah--veganism is one option, but it is, in my opinion, a narrow scope at an issue that is far more nuanced. I think it's equally ethical to aim for a diet that focuses on local, ethical farming practices--for growing crops, for caring for meat animals, for beekeeping, for chickens and sheep and whatever else we need. We've spent longer than any of us will live making these animals part of our world--discarding them and what they can give us is not going to benefit them. We just have to learn how to treat them respectfully.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Although the benefits of diverse forest systems are well known, many countries' restoration commitments are focused on establishing monoculture plantations. Given this practice, an international team of scientists has compared carbon stocks in mixed planted forests to carbon stocks in commercial and best-performing monocultures, as well as the average of monocultures.

Their work is published in Frontiers in Forests and Global Change.

"Diverse planted forests store more carbon than monocultures—upwards of 70%," said Dr. Emily Warner, a postdoctoral researcher in ecology and biodiversity science at the Department of Biology, University of Oxford, and first author of the study. "We also found the greatest increase in carbon storage relative to monocultures in four-species mixtures."

[...]

Accordingly, the researchers were able to show that diversification of forests enhances carbon storage. Altogether, above-ground carbon stocks in mixed forests were 70% higher than in the average monoculture. The researchers also found that mixed forests had 77% higher carbon stocks than commercial monocultures, made up of species bred to be particularly high yielding.

"As momentum for tree planting grows, our study highlights that mixed species plantations would increase carbon storage alongside other benefits of diversifying planted forests," said Dr. Susan Cook-Patton, a senior forest restoration scientist at The Nature Conservancy and collaborator on the study. The results are particularly relevant to forest managers, showing that there is a productivity incentive for diversifying new planted forests, the researchers pointed out.

#trees #forest #biodiversity #ecology #forestry #climate change #solarpunk

[regressionschool]

realitychange.com

Daniel is lounging on the couch, casually playing with his phone when, by some lucky accident, the website "realitychange.com" pops up on the screen. His eyes widen as he reads the text on the page – it says something about changing reality itself. At first, he's a bit hesitant, thinking it might be too good to be true. But then, a mischievous grin spreads across his face. "Why not give it a shot? What harm could it do?" he wonders.

He reads the instructions on the website and spots a text field where he can type his wishes. Suddenly, a mischievous idea pops into Daniel's head. He recalls a diaper commercial he recently saw on TV, and a lightbulb goes off. "What if my sister wore baby diapers?" he thinks to himself. With a sly smile, Daniel types his wish into the text field.

As soon as he hits the enter button, Daniel chuckles to himself, half expecting nothing to happen. Daniel decides to find his sister and see if there's any change. He heads off to search for her, and after a short while, he discovers her on her knees, rummaging through a cabinet, hunting for cleaning supplies. However, what catches Daniel completely off guard is what his sister is wearing. She's still donning her usual black t-shirt, but beneath that, she's dressed in a conspicuously babyish diaper, with nothing else to cover it. Daniel can't help but burst into laughter at the sight. His sister looks up, clearly surprised by his sudden amusement. "What's so funny?" she asks, unaware of the wish Daniel had made just moments ago. Trying to stifle his laughter, Daniel manages to compose himself and replies, "Oh, nothing. I just remembered something funny.“ His sister gives him a puzzled look but shrugs it off, continuing with her search for cleaning supplies.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Daniel returns to the website, pondering what else he could type to test the reality-altering capabilities of this mysterious platform. After a moment of contemplation, he decides to type another wish: "My sister is wetting her diaper.“ As the words appear on the screen, Daniel feels a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. He wonders if anything will really happen this time. Intrigued and a bit nervous, he heads back to the kitchen to check on his sister.

To his amazement, the change is evident. His sister, still engrossed in her search for cleaning supplies, now sports a noticeably soggy diaper beneath her black t-shirt. Daniel's eyes widen as he observes the unexpected outcome of his latest wish. Unable to contain his surprise, Daniel exclaims, "Uh, sis, did you... uh, did you know your diaper is wet?" His sister looks puzzled for a moment, glancing down at her diaper. Realization dawns on her face as she registers the wetness.

Blushing, she stammers, "I... I didn't even notice. I better go change then. Thanks for letting me know," she says, shooting Daniel a bemused smile.

feeling a mix of amusement and mischievousness, Daniel rushes back to the website and eagerly types his next wish: "My sister is not allowed to change herself; she needs to ask someone for help."

After a few moments, he hears his sister calling from the other room.

"Hey, Daniel, can you come here for a moment?" she asks. As he enters the room, he sees her standing there with a sheepish smile, still in her wet diaper. "Um, I was wondering if you could help me with something," she says, a hint of embarrassment in her voice.

Daniel can hardly believe the turn of events. It seems like his wish has taken effect. Suppressing a grin, he responds, "Sure, what do you need help with?“

"Seriously, Daniel? You forgot again, didn't you?" she says, crossing her arms.

Daniel, realizing his sister's annoyance, tries to play it cool. "Oh, right, sorry. I got distracted. Sure, let's get you changed."

Daniel is surprised to find that he knows exactly how to change diapers, as if some hidden knowledge has been unlocked within him. His hands move with an almost instinctive precision, the muscle memory guiding him through the steps of the diaper-changing process. It's as though he's been doing this routine for years.

As he efficiently changes his sister, Daniel can't help but marvel at the strange turn of events. The website, with its mysterious power, seems to have bestowed upon him not just the ability to influence reality but also the practical know-how to navigate these altered situations.

As Daniel finishes the task, he contemplates what other surprises realitychange.com might have in store for him and his sister.

pictures featuring the adorable acuteacorn

#ab/dl diaper #diaper captions #ab/dl caption #ab/dl stories #diaper stories #regression school #ab/dl girl #wetting diaper #diaper bulge #realitychange.com

[d10nyx]

silver lining

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, hybrid!reader, very brief suicide mention, p in v, creampie, daddy kink, a LOT of pet names

a/n: hiii! throwing out some (kinda) fluffy smut for once lmao. mainly picturing vendetta leon, but any older leon works tbh. i'm so tired, so if you see typos, no, you don't >:[ hope you enjoy !!

word count: 1.7k words

Raccoon City was something that Leon would never forget. It's been years since the incident, and he still wakes up in a cold sweat some nights with nightmares of the things he'd seen.

It's fucked him up in more ways than one. He would have killed himself a long time ago if he was sure that Sherry would be safe. The “top secret programme” the government so lovingly initiated him into isn't the way he saw his life going - but if it kept her safe, he'd grit his teeth and bare it.

Sure, he's made his peace with it, but it doesn't make it any less difficult. He runs around like the government's personal lap dog and then comes home and drinks himself half to death. It's a routine he's gotten used to, and he doesn't plan on changing it anytime soon.

But it gets lonely. He's not a stranger to flirting with a pretty girl in the bar, but he never manages to get them to stay. He's not sure he's capable of forming a relationship anymore. Work always comes up, and no woman seems to want to stick around when he disappears for weeks or months at a time.

When he was younger, he always wanted a dog. That was another thing Raccoon City took from him. He still flinches when a dog moves too fast near him or gets too close. He's never been a cat person, either. Thinks they're grumpy bastards at the best of times.

He leaves it at that for a while. Looks like he's destined to be alone. Whatever. He's used to it by now. Or he thinks so, at least, until he starts to hear about hybrids becoming more commercially available as pets.

They've been around for a while, sure, but they were the type of exotic pet rich assholes buy to show off. He hears about the new hybrid adoption center opening in his city and spends one of his only weekends off doing a shit ton of research. He's not entirely convinced, but he figures there's no harm in taking a look. As soon as he spots you, he knows he's smitten. Bat your pretty lashes at him, and he'd do anything you asked.

You're the cutest little puppy girl he's ever seen. Fluffy ears atop your head, your tail wagging so fast behind you it's practically a blur. He doesn't even think about it when he calls a worker over, paying for you then and there. He doesn't even blink at the amount of money you cost him. He'd sell a kidney to be able to afford you if he needed it. At least the government pays well.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It's been a few months since he brought you home with him. You were a pain in the ass at first, constantly bouncing around his apartment. Your tail was a hazard, always knocking things off his table and breaking things.

He wouldn't change it for the world, though. You've become the highlight of his day. He finds himself smiling as he opens the door to his apartment, hearing you thunder towards the front door as he walks in. He can't help but chuckle as you wrap your arms around his waist, leaning up to lick at his face.

“Alright. Easy, girl. Easy.” He says with a smile, pushing you off him and ruffling your hair as he steps past you. He shrugs off his jacket, hanging it up and settling on the couch. “I had a long day, y'know? Could at least let me through the door before you jump all over me.”

“But I missed you.” You whine as he pushes you away from him, following him closely as he moves to sit on the couch.

“Yeah, yeah. I missed you, too, pup.” Leon says with a grin, patting his lap. He waits for you to jump in his lap, leaning back comfortably. “C'mere, then. Don't you wanna come sit with daddy?”

Your tail wags lazily behind you as you shift closer, straddling his lap happily. His hands settle on your waist to tug you closer, and he rubs small circles into you with his thumb.

“Missed you.” You repeat softly, cuddling close to him.

“You’re a sweet girl.” He nuzzles his nose into your head and caresses your hair. “A good girl…” 

Leon hums quietly and his hand starts to wander along your side and up towards your chest. “And beautiful, too. Can't believe I got so lucky, baby.”

You giggle softly at that, tail wagging just a little bit faster as you press your chest into his hand, shivering as his thumb brushes your sensitive nipple over your shirt.

“D'you wanna play with me, daddy?” You ask softly, trying to press as close to him as possible. Your hips start moving on their own, rutting your aching pussy against the hard muscle of his thigh. You bury your face in his neck, inhaling his scent deeply. He always smells so good when he gets back from work, sweat clinging to his skin. 

“I just got back, baby. What's got you so worked up, huh?” He teases softly, grabbing your hips and adjusting them so you're grinding down onto his steadily hardening cock over his pants instead. He groans softly, reaching around to pet the base of your sensitive tail.

That gets a twitch and a whine from you, making the corner of his mouth tug up into a lazy smile. He rocks his hips up into you until he's fully hard and leaking.

“Alright, alright. C'mon, puppy. Let's get you to bed.” He grunts, trying to act like he isn't as desperate as you. His voice is low and gravelly, brows furrowed in concentration as he lifts you up, carrying you to the bedroom.

He plops you down on the bed, kicking his shoes off and pulling off his jacket. His hands roam your body, tugging off your clothes as he runs his palms along your curves. His eyes take you I'm greedily, his hands working to undress himself instantly.

“Fuck.” He groans as you shift on your hands and knees, ass up in the air as soon as you see his cock. His cock twitches, pre-cum leaking and staining his stomach. “Always so eager…”

All he gets is a whine and an ass wiggle in response. You lift your tail straight up, presenting your glistening pussy for his hungry eyes. “Daddy, please…”

“Yeah, yeah. I got you.” He murmurs, settling between your legs. He runs the pads of two fingers between your glistening folds, dragging them from your clit to your entrance, gathering the slick dripping from you before pushing them inside.

He thrusts them in and out a few times, letting you get used to the intrusion. Not that you need it - your pussy is always so drippy, sucking him in greedily every chance it gets. He curls his fingers, earning a low moan from you, your cute ears pressing firmly against your head.

“That's it.” He coos, repeating the action every time his fingers are half buried inside of you. “There's my good girl. You want my cock, don't you, sweet thing?”

All you can manage is to babble please repeatedly, already so desperate for him. He's not sure how he ever managed without you. You always make him feel so wanted, and not just when he's buried balls deep inside of you. It's nice. Makes an unfamiliar warmth build in his chest, something he hasn't felt since he was still a bright-eyed kid in the police academy.

“Don't worry, baby, I got what you need.” He says softly, pulling his fingers out of you and rubbing your juices onto the sheets before grabbing your hips. His breath hitches as he slides his length into your tight heat, his head tilting back in pleasure before he lets out a low moan.

He leans over you, pressing some of his weight against you as he starts to thrust slow and deep. He presses his lips to the back of your neck before leaning back, his thrusts picking up in pace.

“Such a pretty puppy.” He groans, gripping your tail to pull you back against him every time he fucks into you. The room is filled with your needy moans and the sounds of your sloppy pussy.

“Daddy…” you whine, drool spilling past your lips and onto the pillow your face is smashed against. He can feel you tightening around him, so he knows you're close. He adjusts his angle slightly so he rubs up against that sweet spot that makes you see stars every time he pushes in.

“C'mon, cum for me, pretty girl.” He grunts, hand tightening on your tail as the other slides up from your hip to your waist, giving him more leverage ti rock you back onto his cock.

“Fuck, daddy… cummin’!” You moan, your walls clenching so tight around him you almost push him out. He presses his hips against your ass and thrusts shallowly, keeping him buried deep inside of you as his tip grinds against your cervix.

His mouth hangs open as he feels you gushing all over him, his breath caught in his throat as his cock jumps and kicks against your cervix, the feeling of your pussy fluttering around him making him shoot ropes of his cum deep inside of you.

You whine softly again, slumping against the crumpled sheets. His breathing is slightly heavy as he drops his weight on you, pressing you against the bed.

You grunt at the feeling of him dropping on top of you, wriggling yourself free with a soft huff. You cuddle up to him after, ignoring the feeling of his cum leaking down your thighs. You give him a few locks to his stubble cheeks before cuddling up to him with a smile.

“Sleepy.” You huff softly, nuzzling into his neck with a content sigh, your eyes fluttering shut. He lazily wraps an arm around you, tugging you closer to him and petting your back.

“I bet. C'mon, baby. Think we deserve a nap.” He murmurs, kissing your forehead before letting his eyes shut, too.

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy #resident evil #hybrid #resident evil smut

[yikimiki]

Can I please request;

King eren who's been lusting after his personal maid for the longest time. Smut when he has her clean every inch of him during a bath and tells her to clean his cock with her mouth.

I LOVE fantasy aus, this was heaven-sent. Note! Eren is older here, around his early 30s, and I imagined reader to be around early/mid 20’s (though age isn’t specified). Also this is LONG! I don’t know WC Bc I wrote on tumblr but i guess around 4-5K!! 🪦

>> of marble and gold

⚠️ warnings: smut, obvious power imbalance/abuse (so dub-con), dark content because Eren is… obsessive, heavy objectification/degradation of reader (“whore” and such), oral, creampie, bruising/marking

—

The brown leaves twirl to the ground as a new season begins, and King Eren’s patience — and self-control — has reached its limit. After almost fifty years of the Jaeger family negotiating with the neighboring kingdom, the new ruler broke tradition like it was nothing more than a frail wax seal. The message is clear: no more commercial settlements, no more food trade, until they returned with the treasure they had stolen nearly a century ago. Until the vaults are full, and his people are once again able to enjoy their own crops, friendly conversations are off the table.

Surprisingly, it works. After panic has subsided and a tense meeting is scheduled, the threat of an upcoming war is larger than the power of negotiation — with that, a new system is at play, and the table dips a little more towards Eren’s kingdom.

It’s one of the easiest years in a long, long time — plates are full, the people are happy, and the small economy is finally blossoming into something more substancial. Eren is constantly surrounded by all types of people who seek to impress him (or take his newly found riches), little annoying flies buzzing around him during the day, then trying to enter his chambers at night.

But Eren is difficult to impress. He’s a serious man with serious goals, and a short dress skit or an inviting deal isn’t enough to make him pay attention. However, amidst all that calamity, you manage to make him double take.

The influx of people to his lands came with the news of a fruitful economy, so it isn’t a surprise that he doesn’t immediately recognize you. There are countless new servants in the castle, some of which are constantly out of his sight, so your random appearance is, in a way, expected. And, yet, amongst so many faces, his gaze stills in yours.

Once again, Eren is a serious man with serious goals — and with even more serious needs and desires. The switch of your position (from a kitchen servant to his personal maid) is swift and direct, leaving no room for objection. It’s not typical for women to assist royal men in such personal affairs such as bathing or clothing — not officially, at least — so he expects that the change with cause a little fuss. But no one has the guts to go against him.

The first time you see King Eren, he is a giant in front of you, watching closely as you kneel in front of his throne. There are dark shadows over his face and his green eyes shine with amusement, long brown hair falling like a cascade over his features. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips as he tells you to stand, and countless scars on his hand as he holds yours and orders you to be at his chamber at nightfall, so you can help him bathe. You agree and leave hurriedly, heartbeat booming in your ears.

Eren is a handsome man, that much you knew. But what you didn’t know is how massive and overtaking his very presence is — well, you suppose that is expected of any monarch, but it’s different when you witness it yourself. He is the center of the galaxy and everyone else, yourself included, is simply gravitating around him, moving aimlessly through life until he, even if briefly, gives meaning to it. To have someone so great, so respected, to personally chose you amongst so many to serve him… is strange.

You’re not naive — the years being both a commoner and a woman have taught you more than most maids in the castle would’ve dreamt of living. You know what men want, especially powerful ones like Eren, and you know your position is extremely delicate. Even if, now, you don’t wish to deny any of his advances, you know that the mere possibility would mean death to you. So you accept, even knowing you’re placing a noose around your neck. Even knowing you’re only getting out of this if he loses interest or, somberly, dead.

The first night you spend in Eren’s chambers you know that the first option is nearly impossible. He looks at you like you’re a mythical being, the finest piece of art, watching your movements closely as you help him bathe — your hands moving up and down on the water, keeping the circle of wetting the rag, cleaning his skin, and wetting it again. You’re strictly professional, never staring at his body, especially the parts beneath the water. From your peripheral vision, you see his defined muscles and deep battle scars, but don’t dare to look at it directly.

“Where did you come from?” He asks eventually, scaring you and making you drop the piece of soap in your hands. Eren’s voice is deep and commanding even in such intimate situation, and you feel yourself shrinking. “You’re not from here.”

The second part isn’t a question. “I came from the East, my king.”

Eren isn’t satisfied by your answer. “Why did you come?”

“My family’s farm was burnt down and I needed to work, my king,” you tell him, placing the dirty rag aside as you move to reach for the soap. Thankfully there is a layer of bubbles on the water now, and there is nothing else to see. “So I came here.”

He hums, laying back against the cool material. “Look at your king,” he orders. You blink, overwhelmed, and do as he says. His eyes are looking directly at your soul, one wet strand of hair glued to his forehead, and you squeeze the bar of soap so tightly that your nails dig to the surface. “Better. What is your name?”

You tell him.

“You’re beautiful,” he says. You gulp and sit back against your heels, watching as his hand moves closer to you, pushing your hair behind your ear. Shadows and candlelight reflects on his face like a dream. “It’s quite obvious you’re a foreigner. We don’t have women as beautiful as you.”

“T-Thank you, my king.” You look down. Your heart hammers like a caged bird against your ribcage, your lungs fight against expectation. His touch lingers. “I believe your bath is finished, your highness, do you wish for me to help you into—“

“Finished?” He raises one eyebrow, and you feel the noose around your neck tighten. “It is not. You forgot a place.”

You lower your head. “My deepest apologies, your highness.”

He hums, then startles you as he abruptly rises from the water. You use all your force not to look up at him. “Come. Dry me.”

You blink. “My king, what about…”

“Don’t argue, sweet girl. Your king commands you,” Eren says. There is poison dripping from his lips and you nod, getting up to your feet. “Dry me.”

You swallow. “Yes, my king.”

The pace in which you dry Eren’s body is torturous, your gaze glued to your own hands as you move the dry towel over his skin. First his face and hair, where he stares at you intently, then moving down to his chest, his arms.

Eren himself is enthralled, unable to cut his thoughts of you. Up close, you’re flawless, divine. Every movement you make is perfect, even the way you bite your lip and blink at him makes him dizzy with desire. He has never seen someone as beautiful as you, a young maiden with plump breasts and a delicate face; someone who listens to him so closely yet keeps their distance, respectful and fearful of their king — as all should be. He must have you. More than this, more than as a worker, he must have you, body and soul.

Your body arches as you move closer to his abdomen, touches becoming clearly more clumsy as your hands approach his private parts. The mere anticipation of having you so close makes Eren’s cock grow, thick and heavy, until it’s almost fully erect and you pause, startled.

“There, love. That’s where you missed a spot,” Eren says. You gulp and look up at him, wide eyes searching for something in his expression. He signals towards his erection with a movement of his head. “Clean it.”

“M-My king,” you speak, nervous. “Do you wish me to… clean you? There?”

He nods. “With your mouth. Be a good girl and clean it all up.,” he says. You lick your lips and look down at his large member — you knew it would come down to this and, yet, you are taken off guard. You didn’t think it would be this way. “And it’s Eren. These titles are making me mad with rage.”

You kneel in front of him — Eren realizes he is quite fond of that position. “Yes, my- Eren.” 

Your hand seems so small against his cock, now fully erect, barely taking him halfway before your lips touch his crown. Eren is both long and thick, throbbing in your hand as you suck on his head, humming around him before daring to go a little deeper. The size makes you choke up slightly, but you prevail. You want to pleasure your king, and if this is the way, so be it.

“Don’t be afraid to put it all inside, love.” He sighs. You do as you’re told, fighting against the tears as you push more of his size inside your mouth. It touches your throat and you gag, but you don’t stop. When Eren starts to moan, a deep groan in his throat, you start to set a rhythm. “There it is, there’s my obedient whore. Just as perfect as I had imagined.”

There’s wetness building between your thighs at his filthy words, a growing desire inside you as you look up at him. Eren is a god above you, made of marble and gold, looking down at you like you’re nothing but a hole for him to use. The defined muscles of his abdomen are contracting as you suck him harder, his eyes focused on your stretched-out lips as you struggle to take him.

“Fuck… what a perfect little mouth you have,” he breathes out. You close your eyes and take him even deeper, making a string of curses and threats fall from his mouth. His large hand meets the back of your head and pulls a handful of your hair, moving your face as he likes on his cock. “Good fucking whore,” Eren moans. “My fucking whore from now on. No one will fuck you. Only me.” You gag around his cock, but he doesn’t stop. Eren fucks your mouth until you’re sobbing, until he’s about to spill inside it — and then he pushes your head away. “Get on the fucking bed. I’m going to make you mine forever.”

You’re so overwhelmed that you barely process the walk between his bathroom and the large bed — in fact, you don’t even have time to think about how that is the single largest piece of furniture you’ve ever seen before you’re thrown on the bouncy mattress. One second you’re standing next to your king, and the next Eren is looming over you, kissing you like you’re the air that he breathes, like your mouth is made of honey. His hands are all over your body, literally tearing and ripping your dress in a desperate, animalistic attempt to get you undressed.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mumbles before he latches onto one of your breasts, sucking as his hand squeezes the other one. You’re fully naked now, lying in a bed of rags — rags that used to be your dress.

Eren marks you up with his hickeys, spanks the skin of your thighs until it’s bruised and you’re whining for him to stop. You sob and cry, but he shuts you up with another kiss just so he can tear those pretty sounds from you again.

“M-My king, please,” you beg. The wetness between your legs is embarrassing, and your body is all marked up by the time Eren is done with exploring it. He is lost in the mission of making — of marking — you his, barely even hears what you say. “I need…”

Then something clicks. He holds your face in his hand and pushes it closer to his, squeezing your cheeks together. There is fire burning at the bottom of his eyes, and you know you’ve said something wrong. “You don’t need anything, you don’t request anything. Understand? I’m your king, and you’re my whore. Act like it.”

You swallow — your throat hurts. “I’m sorry.”

“You will be.”

Eren is a serious man and a man of his word. You can’t even think about what to say to redeem yourself before he starts pushing his cock against your pussy, rubbing the tip against your folds once, twice, before slamming himself deep inside you. You sob at the feeling, walls fighting to adjust to his size, but he doesn’t even let the burning sensation subside before he starts fucking you.

“What is it? Did you not need this?” He coos. You half-nod half-shake your head, not even sure of it yourself. Eren sneers at your pathetic situation — all teary eyes and messy hair, holding onto his arms as he drills his cock in and out of your tight hole. And, yet, he still thinks you’re the most heavenly thing he has ever seen. “Your pussy feels so fucking… so fucking good.” He moans. “I’m going to fill it up every night. Get you all full with cock and cum every chance I get.”

Your eyes roll back at his words, as promise feels like a dream. You’d like that — after so many years of struggle and hard work, you would love to be a brainless little hole for your king to use and abuse whenever he wishes. You’d love to be dressed in the finest of silk and kissed with fervor, be treated like royalty, even if it isn’t true. You would love it with all your heart.

“Look at me when I fuck you, whore. Look at your king,” Eren brings you back to reality. You do as he says, meeting the savage look in his eyes as he fucks you harder, deeper, hitting all the sweet spots you didn’t even know you had. “Who do you belong to?” He asks, frowning. “Tell me.”

“Eren— I belong to you, Eren, my king,” you answer without hesitation. Your cunt squeezes him tightly as you cum hard, moaning loud and unashamed. You’d regret it in the morning but now… now you’re made of gold and marble too.

“You’re your king’s. Remember that,” he says. You nod, barely aware of the world around you as you dive deeper into pleasure. “Going to cum,” Eren strains. Forget that — now he looks like a god. Muscles tensing and jaw clenching as he uses your body however he pleases, plunging his cock inside you again and again until your wet pussy milks him dry; cock throbbing as he cums inside you. “Fuck, fuck,” he moans, hips faltering as his cock releases inside you again and again. “God, that’s so much fucking cum.”

A whine escapes your mouth as you feel it soak the sheets beneath you, but you say nothing. You dive into the moment like it’s your last one on earth: a moment in which you’re monarchy, loved and fucked into bliss, not a care in the world but the feeling dripping between your thighs. Though, the illusion never lasts long — you watch as Eren finishes and then rolls around next to you, staring at the ceiling with a sigh.

Even after everything, it feels wrong. Like you shouldn’t be here. “M-My king,” you speak after a second of silence, “should I go?”

He turns to you, somber as always. You can’t decipher his tone as he answers. “Not yet,” Eren speaks. “Only when the sun comes up. If I’m done with you by then.”

#aot smut #eren smut #attack on titan smut #eren x reader #eren x you #snk smut #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger x you #king eren #eren fic

[ukrfeminism]

One morning in 2007, Frances Harper was taking a bath and listening to the local news on BBC Radio Suffolk when one story caught her attention. A young woman, Louise, was being interviewed about her life as a sex worker in Ipswich. “I couldn’t see how this interview was helping her situation at all,” says Harper, who was 60 at the time. “I got out of the bath and made some notes. I realised she needed a documentary to tell her story properly and I thought perhaps I could try to make it.”

Harper had never owned a video camera and had no idea how to shoot a film. She had spent the past four decades working in secretarial jobs, as well as raising her son and supporting her husband in his construction business. “I was busy but something was always missing,” she says. “Something I could do for myself.”

Armed with a sudden sense of purpose and without a current job to keep her occupied, Harper rushed out to buy a basic camera, read the manual and began looking up ways to contact Louise. The police wouldn’t share her details, but after finding the name of her solicitor in the local paper, she left a letter with the firm to be passed on. “Soon after, Louise phoned me and we decided to meet in a cafe in Ipswich,” Harper says. “I told her I’d like to make a documentary to share her story and help her. She agreed, and that was my entry into an entirely new world.”

Following Louise most days for weeks, Harper documented her life on the streets, her drug addiction and sex work, all while learning how to shoot and interview. “She told me that no one had motivated her or really cared about her life,” she says. “She was interested in art and history, so we went to galleries together and I even took her to an afternoon tea – all things she’d never done before. We spent a lot of time together because I had the time to spare.”

The more Harper got to know Louise, the more concerned she became about her life and especially her living situation. “She was basically sleeping in an electrical cupboard on the streets of Ipswich,” she says. “I started booking her into bed and breakfasts to keep her off the streets. It really showed me how lucky I had been. It’s changed my thinking ever since.”

Once she had enough footage, Harper put together a taster of the film and contacted the local BBC News office in Norwich. The idea of an older Ipswich resident befriending a young sex worker and producing a film was so unusual that Harper was invited to a meeting and commissioned to shoot a half-hour special for BBC East, which aired in February 2008. “I couldn’t believe that Louise’s story would be out there,” she says. “I hadn’t told too many people about it so my friends were shocked when it came out. Once it did, I also managed to battle with the council to finally get Louise a proper flat.”

Sixteen years later, Harper, 76, is fully immersed in film-making. After her experience with Louise, she became interested in the world of drug addiction and produced a film for Sky, which was narrated by Davina McCall and followed two mothers coping with the impact of their sons’ drug abuse. She has also completed a commercial film for the seaside town of Southwold and a charity short for an emergency response service. She is now working on a series about women in horticulture as well as a film about the life of female fighter pilots.

“I just can’t stop,” she says. “It really feels like I’ve found my calling. I get ideas all the time, although I can’t make all of them because I fund my own projects and it’s hard to come by funding for older people.”

But age does have some advantages. “I think people are more inclined to be polite around me because I’m older,” she says. “I’ve also gained newfound confidence through this work. I didn’t know whether I’d achieve anything but I just kept going. I weaved around the obstacles in my way.”

As well as changing her life, Harper has recently learned how her films have had a profound impact on other people too. “Louise contacted me last year and we just carried on talking as if no time had passed,” she says. “She told me: ‘You were the only person who believed in me.’ It made that decision to pick up the camera completely worth it.”

You can watch Harper’s films via the link below:

#Articles #Sex industry #community

[mellowsadistic]

The Magician's Game - Chapter 2

There was a horrible silence following the Magician’s words. Even though it had barely been ten minutes since they’d finished their lunch, all five ladies were beginning to feel an uncomfortable pressure in their bladder and bowels.

Abby was terrified. If she lost, she’d be made incontinent?! After what she’d seen, she had no doubt the Magician was capable of doing that. She glanced at the other girls. They looked utterly absurd with their bulky adult nappies pushing their thighs apart. She looked down at the bulging disposable diaper between her own legs, imagining what it would be like having to wear one all the time, to be so helpless that she couldn’t even control her most basic bodily functions, forced to pee and poop in her pants like some oversized infant! She felt sick. She couldn’t let that happen to her. She just couldn’t! Her life would be ruined! How would anyone find her attractive if she had to waddle around in stinky nappies wherever she went?! She’d just eaten a big lunch, and now, according to the Magician, her bladder and bowel control was the same as it had been when she was three years old. Had she been potty-trained at three? She must have been. Surely!

Becky was panicking. She knew for a fact that she hadn’t been fully trained until she was four years old. She thought about the disgusting little brats at her daycare, stopping in the middle of their play to squat down and poop their pants without any control at all. If she lost, she’d be just like them. No! That wouldn’t happen to her. It couldn’t! She hated changing messy nappies more than anything in the world. The idea that she might have her own dirty diapers to deal with was just too horrible to contemplate! She clenched her bum cheeks as hard as she could and focused on staying clean.

Madelyn knew she couldn’t let herself lose. There was no way she could show up at any of her women’s rights groups as a diaper-dependent thumbsucker. She’d be a joke! A cause of second-hand embarrassment for women everywhere! What kind of message would it be sending if an icon of the feminist movement was some kind of big baby? She sucked her thumb and concentrated as hard as she could on not pooping herself.

Katherine was trembling in fear. She couldn’t keep her job as a model if she had to wear stupid diapers under her clothes all the time!  She imagined trying to walk down the catwalk, waddling awkwardly, maybe even pausing halfway down to bend her knees, scrunch up her face, and fill her pants with a yucky mess. She’d probably be stuck doing diaper commercials for the rest of her career! Her outfits were so important to her – how she dressed was an expression of her identity, of her beauty and elegance. All diapers would do would show off how immature and helpless she was. If she ended up incontinent she might as well start wearing bonnets and baby dresses too!

Susie still had horrible memories from when she’d been potty trained. Her mother managed to combine a ruthless severity with a nauseatingly patronising tone. Whoopsie-daisy! Susie did a wee-wee in her pants instead of using the potty like a big girl! I think someone just earned herself some smacky bum-bum time and a week with nothing to cover her nappy when her friends come over! Yes she did! The idea of ending up back in nappies forever was unthinkable. Even now the prospect of wetting her nappy, let alone messing it, sent a terrible shiver down her spine. She couldn’t let this happen to her!

Becky was beginning to struggle. She knew she’d only lose if she messed herself, but she didn’t want to be the first to pee her diaper either. Her fidgeting became squirming, and her squirming became a full-on potty dance. She wasn’t the only one; pretty soon all five women were wiggling ludicrously on the spot, hands clutching between their legs. With a sudden, uncontrollable rush, Becky started pissing herself. She squealed in dismay, regretting it a moment later when she realised she might as well have just announced to everyone that she’d wet her nappy.

The Magician walked forwards with a knowing smile. “Has Becky had a little accident?” he asked. Ignoring her whines of displeasure, he brushed her hands aside and cupped the front of her diaper. “Oh yes,” he said happily. “I think I know a certain little girl who’s done lots of wee-wees in her pants.” He spun her around suddenly and pulled out the waistband of her nappy to peek inside. “But no poo-poos yet. What a big girl!”

Abby felt her own bladder give way shortly afterwards. It was disgusting! She hadn’t wet her pants since she’d been a very little girl, and it made her feel so small and pathetic, her nappy flooding with pee, the soggy padding pressed up against her nether regions. And she couldn’t even relax her stupid potty dance, because even though the pressure in her bladder had been relieved, there was a new pressure growing in her bottom, becoming stronger and stronger by the second. She pressed her hands to the back of her diaper, her brow furrowed in concentration.

The Magician looked on gleefully at the five grown women he’d reduced to potty-dancing toddlers. Madelyn whined around her thumb, wiggling in place and making her nappy crinkle noisily. Katherine whimpered, all her dignity and poise forgotten as she hopped from foot to foot in a ridiculous potty dance, both hands pressed against the seat of her Pampers, her breasts bouncing around on her chest, barely contained by her bra. Susie squirmed in place, her face set, beads of sweat appearing on her forehead as she concentrated with all her might on not messing her pants. Abby and Becky were looking the most desperate. There was real panic on their faces as they felt themselves on the edge of losing control, facing a future where stinky diapers would be their regular underwear.

Then, with a sudden loud fart, Becky helplessly bent her knees and stuck out her padded bottom. “Nooooo….” she whimpered, but it was too late. The beautiful, eighteen-year-old woman screwed up her face and started going to the potty in her own pants, just like those disgusting brats she had to change every day at work. She burst into tears as she pushed out a yucky mess uncontrollably into her nappy, too repulsed by what was happening in that moment to think about anything else.

Abby started crying too as, only a moment or two later, she also started messing her nappy like a giant baby. But when she looked up through her blurry eyes, she saw that Becky had pooped her pants first. Despite how disgusting she felt, how thoroughly she’d degraded herself in front of an audience, one of them a very attractive man, a faint smile of relief appeared on her face. She hadn’t lost.

The moment they saw Becky fill her pants, and Abby a few seconds later, Madelyn, Katherine, and Susie hurriedly toddled over to the plastic potties, tugged their sopping wet nappies off urgently, and planted their bare bottoms down on the tiny little things. They knew they must look totally ridiculous, three adult women perched on training potties sized for toddlers, but at least they didn’t look as absurd as Abby and Becky, standing bow-legged in their dirty diapers. They let go with immense relief, not even caring that they were doing number two in full view of everyone else in the room.

As Becky finished loading her nappy, she looked up to see the Magician smiling down at her sinisterly. “Well, it looks like we have our loser,” he said. “Although you probably won’t be able to tell just at the moment, sweetheart, you should know that you are now totally incontinent.”

“No!” Becky shrieked, her eyes wide and terrified. “I can’t! I can’t be incontinent! Please give me another chance!”

“Awww, sorry stinky-pants,” the Magician said in mock-pity, “but it’s back to nappies full-time for baby Becky.”

“Oh God no!” Becky wailed piteously, staggering backwards and staring down at the stinky diaper drooping heavily between her legs. She started breathing very fast. “This isn’t happening… This isn’t happening…”

Abby felt a little bit sorry for her, but she was glad it was Becky, and not her, who would be making big smelly messes in her pants for the rest of her life. Her own nappy felt disgusting, and although she was relieved she hadn’t lost, she still felt a shiver of fear at how close she’d come to being turned into some gross, pants-pooping baby-woman forever.

The Magician turned to the three women who’d made it to the potty. A pack of baby wipes materialised in his hand, and Madelyn, Katherine, and Susie suddenly realised they’d been provided with nothing to wipe their own bottoms with.

“No, wait!” Susie said desperately as the Magician approached her first. “Can’t we just do it ourselves? We didn’t even lose the challenge!”

“Come on now, sweetie. Get up and turn around. Daddy needs to wipe your bottom.”

Cringing in shame, but too scared of further punishment to resist, Susie got up, turned around, and presented her bottom to the Magician to clean. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying that none of the other girls were watching while the Magician worked at her messy bum with one cool wet wipe after the other. It reminded her once again of the days when she’d still been under her mother’s control. She’d made the mistake of smoking a cigarette in the bathroom once during her teens, and from that moment on she’d never been allowed privacy in the toilet – the bathroom door had to stay open at all times, and her mother would make sure to check on her regularly. But even worse had been when her mother had found a pair of her stained underwear in the clothes hamper. It had been hardly anything, but from then on, even though she’d been eighteen years old, her mother had insisted on wiping Susie’s bottom for her. With the threat of spankings, and many other punishments to keep her in line, Susie had had no choice but to give in. She blushed furiously as the Magician wiped her clean, feeling like the last three years of independence she’d experienced had suddenly been undone, and she was back in her mother’s house as nothing but an overgrown child.

“There we go!” the Magician announced when he was done. “All clean! Now onto the next little lady.” He moved on to repeat the process with Katherine and Madelyn. Like Susie, the two of them wanted to fight and argue, but they were too humiliated and broken down by what had just happened. They just wanted to get clean again, so they submitted meekly to getting their bottoms wiped like little girls who were still being potty trained.

Smiling in satisfaction, the Magician turned back to Becky, who was now looking dazed and confused.

“I had to go potty…” she whispered, as if she didn’t really believe what had just happened.

“You certainly did!” the Magician laughed delightedly. “But I’m afraid there won’t be any potties in your future from now on, sweetie. Just thick, crinkly diapers.”

Becky broke down into hysterical sobs, the full weight of what had been done to her finally hitting.

“Unless you win the competition, of course,” the Magician added, “in which case you can use one of your wishes to get back to normal.”

He turned to the other girls. “Your rooms are down the corridor on the left. You’ll see your names on the doors. But I expect you back in the dining room in half an hour or so, understand? You’ll be voting on which of you gets removed from the game this evening, so you’ll need some time to talk to each other. You can all go and change first. Except for Becky here.” He turned back to her, smiling maliciously. “Having a messy bottom is going to be an everyday part of your life from now on, sweetie, so you need to get used to toddling around in poopy pants.”

Becky started crying even more forcefully while the other girls hurried off to their rooms, their bare bottoms jiggling, and Abby waddled after them as quickly as she could in her messy nappy, desperate to get changed.

#mellowsadistic

[dev1lm4n]

sinful reunion

masterlist | ko-fi (help me survive college :/)

pairing: engaged!joel miller x f!reader

summary: frustrated with how things were, you left joel and jackson for a whole year. today, you decide to give him a little visit and figure out that he's indeed engaged! joel trapped you in his bathroom to make you feel better

word count: 5k

warnings: explicit (18+), extreme dubcon, mean joel miller, fingering, infidelity, again.. joel miller is a mean, mean man.

note: do COMMENT and REBLOG if you enjoyed this :) i'm so exhausted from college i'm literally gonna pass out after i post this

Spring flew swiftly by, and summer came; and if the quaint city had been beautiful at first, it was now in the full glow and luxuriance of its richness. The great trees, which you remembered looking shrunken and bare when you left, had now burst into strong life and health. Branches doubled in length and girth, mantle of bright green draped over deep browns. Masses of white flowers brought memories of the late winter. A bubbling cloud of hot steam evaporated off your exposed forearm. The rolled sleeves settling right above your elbow was damp with sweat, same thing goes for below your arms and between your thighs. You sighed. The folded porno magazine you’ve been using as a shield above your forehead didn’t help much after all.

If it’s not for that old, obscene, grouch of a man, you wouldn’t have returned in the height of summer.

Things hadn’t changed much.

People are still as hopeful as ever. Their eyes shone with a renewed brightness, as if a full stomach and a roof over their head was simply enough to keep them satiated. They still bake apple pies, shovel their walkways, go to work (even if it's not to the infamous Wall Street), return home and share a familiar tequila with a friend or fiend. People are still people. And the pretend normalcy drove you insane. It’s confining and overall suffocating. 

Being safe ailed you. You couldn’t be that lady in old commercials. Plaid apron over her chest, sandwiches on the table, husband and kid smiling at her happily. You couldn’t kiss your husband goodbye or craft lunch boxes for your kid. You couldn’t live if it wasn’t on the edge of death.

You tried. For Joel, you swore you’d try.

It’s been a full year since you fled. Maxine, your dear horse being the only witness to your escape. That and the night guard you threatened with a shotgun, an unloaded one you’d argue, but it’d still have you in big trouble if it was reported. With a few old friends or two, you managed to slip back in discreetly. You disguised yourself as a patrol unit. Practical jeans, some stitches torn apart from prolonged use, and a khaki button up. Boots that’s dipped in dust and dirt tight around your calves, a bold contrast to the neat wooden boards underneath. Your eyes landed on the welcome mat in front of his door. A shrilling memory invaded your head‒ how you picked it out for him, all smiles and giggles at the corny line printed atop.

You stepped on the mat, mocking it by grinding your dirty heel atop.

Then you knocked. Precisely three times.

Maybe you shouldn’t have come. It was shameless of you to return. Cruel, even.. disgusting for you to abandon someone who’s clearly dependent on you. 

He lived for you. Every morning he made sure to wake you up with a gentle kiss on your lips, or your clit if he’s being kind. Every night he’d always tell you how much you meant to him, never an I love you, but always in the lines of dangerous situations and how he’d save you from it. You made a promise to stay. A promise to accept a ring around your pretty fingers when the time comes; doesn’t have to be shiny, you said, anything will do. But then you left. While he was out, keeping the city safe from any potential threats, you buckled up and tugged on your horse’s reins. Maybe you shouldn’t have come. Maybe you should just-

You jolted, even stumbled backwards when the large door swung open in one grand movement.

In panic, your eyes oscillated. His eyes were the same shade of brown you remembered him by, though this time it was much rounder, as if he’s truly surprised. Then it came to meet his hooked nose, the one you’d poke everytime you’re laid side by side post-coitus,. And his cracked lips, oh how you remembered kissing them better. 

Joel Miller hadn’t changed one bit. It freaked you out, how he looked the same as he did when he practically proposed to you or when you promised to still love him even when he’s no longer young and strong. Your breath quickened. Your heart froze, cold sweat dribbled down your temple even when the air’s hot and balmy. You clutched onto the rolled magazine. The salacious pages of nude girls in cowboy hats creased at the strength of your bare hands. Is he going to say something? Anything? You’d rather have him furious than silent.

“Who is it, honey?”

The air thinned.

“The turkey’s cooked, but it’s kinda burnt.” The voice giggled. “Oh, who is this?”

You counted to ten to ground yourself.

One.. Two..

“Just.. just an old friend,” he muttered.

There was a girl. A pretty one at that, standing on her tippy toes as she attempted to look past Joel’s broad frame to observe you. Her tanned skin glowed like a newly polished silverware under the summer sun. A cascade of glossy, ebony hair framed her round face, falling in gentle waves which closely resembled swaying palm trees in coastal beaches. You noticed that it was adorned with delicate, ornate hairpins as well. One of flowers and the other of a classic shape. Was it from him? He used to do that for you, picking up small items to gift like a bird in need of mating. The thin gold strap around your neck was from him, a gift from when the two of you were still operating high-risk jobs around Boston. A proof that you’re mine, he spoke that time.

Joel made the conscious decision to move to the side. Now you could see her more. How she’s cladded in a loose shirt with short sleeves rolled to her shoulders, how her shorts fit perfectly around her smooth thighs, how her supple breasts spilled out of the neckline. In any way you’d think of it, she was the better option. A masterpiece in the Louvre museum, a best-selling New York Times book. She’d be a model if the world wasn’t infested with flesh-eating nuisance. Your head lowered (you’re staring too much!), opting to scrutinize the details of your boots’ mud yellow strings. 

This was a bad decision. You shouldn’t have come. If only you weren’t curious of whether he’d get on his knees and beg for you to stay. If only you weren’t curious of whether he’d embrace you back in his large arms. If he’d fuck you ‘til your little brain stop working.

“Well then, what are you waiting for?” The feminine voice spoke up. “Invite your friend in, Joel.”

“No- haha, no it’s alright,” you panicked.

“No,” she reached for your hand. The free one, not the one with the porn magazine. “Com’on. I cooked a big dinner tonight! The more, the merrier.”

“I really shouldn’t,” you tried to convince her.

Her soft, greasy hands ‒ probably from stuffing the turkey she’s claimed to make ‒ led you through the entrance despite your many reasons. You found it a little funny that you still memorized the layout of Joel’s house like the back of your hand, like an old corny song you couldn’t quite get out of your head. The dining room was to the left, you remembered. It was just as you left it. An old, dull rectangular table sat in the middle. It used to be only filled with bread and fruits you pick up from the market. Sometimes you’re diligent enough to create a sweet jam, but there was never a fresh meal on the table. There’s no time for that. He would often times heat up a can of Chef Boyardee when you’re sick, or when he’s ruined your little hole so much that you’re pretty much bedridden, but that’s about it/

“Your name is?” you questioned, eyes still roaming around the room.

“Summer and yours?”

You mentioned your name half-mindedly as you sat down on one of the creaky chairs. You opted for the one on the left, your favorite one as it always gave you a five-star view of the lovely trees beyond. The room was much cleaner, curtains drawn and ceilings dusted. You’d even bet money that ‘Summer’ had also dusted all the compartments of the chandelier, wiped each and every window panel, and vacuumed the rotten patterned carpet underneath. The rounds of your pupils settled back on the sight unfolding ahead of you; how the Joel Miller, the same person who needed an entire year or two to be comfortable in expressing his feelings to you, led his new lover by the waist. He then proceeded to pull her chair back to aid her, a gentle smile on his face at all times.

He changed.

He looked exactly the same, but there was just.. something off about him. Was he a doppelganger by chance? Joel Miller is never warm. He’s naturally a tough lover. Reluctant, even mean at times, but right now he’s acting like the picture-perfect husband. A righteous man, which you knew he ain’t.

“So where’d y’all know each other from?” 

Her lovely, cheery voice pulled you out of your dazed state. You raised your head slightly to flash a small smile her way. The chair creaked once more at Joel’s weight as he settled on your right, heavy frame and all extremely obvious from the corner of your eyes. A man, his lover, and his sort-of-ex having dinner in the late afternoon of a warm summer day‒ how ironic! You couldn’t even look at him, because sparing him a glance meant that you had to look at those manipulative eyes of his. Those browns that could impose a certain feeling deep in your chest, whether hatred, fear, or something close to love.

“Work,” he spoke up, “used to deliver packets.”

Half the truth. Packets? Sure, but not ordinary ones.

“Mhm. We arrived at Jackson together.”

As lovers, you’d like to add.

“Long time friends then?” Summer beamed a sweet smile your way. 

Guilt pooled in your stomach almost instantly.

“Yup.”

“Oh well, me and Joel met last Winter. He’s fond of the horses and I work at the stables so things worked out,” she mentioned dreamily, “the winter festival’s our first date.”

An eerie tension stood between you and him. It was thick, as thick as blood and as nasty as pus on a wound left unattended. 

He stood up after a moment or two to help slice open the thick turkey and only then did you dare to look at him. To ogle at his large forearms that’s tightly gift-wrapped in a thin breathable shirt, to dig deep into where his veins start and where it ends, to finally relish in the sight of his thick, bushy hair. It’s been awhile. A long time actually since you get to properly look at a man. You continued to watch as he sliced a chunk and placed it right on top of your empty plate, the knife he’s holding reflecting his tight-lipped smile your way. The winter festival’s supposed to be your thing. The two of you’s thing, where you’d gift each other a surprise and smoke a blunt or two and maybe fuck, but you left.

“That’s nice,” you replied, albeit a little dry.

“He’s a nice man,” Summer chimed in. “Kind, caring, a true Southern gentleman that is.”

You could argue on that.

“Is he now?”

“True thing that is. Swear on my life,” she continued. “Must be nice having him as a friend.”

“Well, don’t toot my horn too much, darlin’.”

There it was. That masculine drawl. That voice that’d have you begging on your knees if he asked you to. You’d commit the greatest crime‒ no, you’ve commit notable crimes just to have him stay right by your side. Just to have him acknowledge what you’re capable of, so he’d take you under his wings in the depth of Boston’s trenches, because protection from him meant a good life. Maybe that’s all you’ll ever be to him, a little bird to protect. And maybe that’s all he’ll ever be to you, a protector in times of need.

“It’s a little warm here in Jackson,” you chuckled. “A cold beer might help a lot.”

“Oh sorry, honey, we don’t drink alcohol ‘round here.” She sounded apologetic, but you swore her almond eyes were judging you for a second.

“You don’t?”

“Nope,” Summer leaned her head to the side. “Been going to church these days. Pastor said it’s better to pray than indulge in past addictions. Ain’t that right, Joel?”

“That’s right, honey,”

Joel Miller is a church-goer now? For the first time in forever, you had the courage to look him in the eye. He was looking right back at you when you looked, though he had one of those expressions you couldn’t quite decipher. His tired eyes were hooded, enough that the top and bottom curve of his dark pupils are nowhere to be seen, along with a much obvious glint of mischief. It was either morbid curiosity, rooted hatred, or desires of past addictions as Summer puts it. The strands on your brow bone twitched ever so slightly, as if in pure disbelief that a man like him would kneel for a God. It’s not that sinners couldn’t repent. It’s him that you knew could never change. You took a bite out of the supple meat, never leaving his eyes as you do so. Maybe.. just maybe he’d crack under pressure.

“You go to church too?” Summer questioned, mouth full of boiled asparagus.

“No, not really.” You chuckled awkwardly. “There’s not a lot of churches out in the wild.”

“Ah, that’s right,” she hummed. “Why don’t you go to church with us this Sunday? A lot of fun y'know.”

You plastered on a smile, before briefly scooping some of the stringy meat up your mouth.

“I’ll consider it.”

Joel was the first one to snip the ungodly attraction‒ his eyes torn away to meet Summer’s much brighter gaze. Your gut tightened, gag reflex emphasized even more at the sight. Joel Miller was yours, that’s all you could remember despite the extent you took to avoid him, and having him give his precious attention to someone other than you brought a sense of disdain. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn't land his eyes on anyone other than you, weren’t you the best thing he ever had? It took awhile to school your expression to a level of believable nonchalance. You found the vintage canvas hung atop of the fireplace a great help in distracting yourself. It’s easy to get lost in every stroke, every clash of colors, instead of the green man squeezing himself between your heart chambers.

“Oh, when did you-” you paused mid sentence.

A ring. 

“Ah.”

Your vision blurred, splotches of red and blue tearing at the edges.

“Engaged, huh?”

A solitary engagement ring encircled her long finger, miraculously preserved by time’s embrace. A relic at times like these. You watched as it glimmered under the orange hues, jaw propped up on your palm to stop it from gaping. A small, radiant stone set in tarnished silver‒ the object mocked you silently, a red flag in front of an agitated bull, it’s purposefully making you reel into the depth of your hatred. Where the you one year ago rested in peace, where the you you’ve been trying to erase off the planet’s surface hibernated, and everything’s starting to resurface all at once. The need. The desperation. The desire to be wanted by something.. someone you couldn’t acquire entirely. You laughed. A dry one at that. Might even sound condescending if it were a tad bit shorter.

He fucking proposed to her. 

Of course he did.

Of course he had to change his ways after you.

You don’t deserve being treated right. She does.

“Oh, you noticed,” she giggled, the noise shrill in your ears. “Just last month actually. We were having dinner and I-”

“Sorry, I..”

You were suffocating, chest inflated twice the size.

“Feel a little sick. Gonna go to..” you held your hand over your lips, genuinely feeling like emptying your entire stomach. “To the bathroom.”

You stared at your own reflection, pitiful, glazed with a layer of disappointment and grief. The vision you had for this visit slowly crumbled. Every unfulfilled dream, every missed opportunity, and every question left unanswered converged into a heartache‒ dull yet throbbing, coursing through every inch of your skin and crawling much deeper. The laughter and conversations you had with him seemed so.. distant, as if they were mere echoes of what once existed a million lightyears ago. You held yourself, worn down fingers clinging on your forearms, nails digging down onto the warm skin underneath. What were you expecting? For him to mourn your exit for the rest of his life? Perhaps. Joel Miller was great at making you feel like shit, but today takes the cake.

Leaving was the only thing on your mind and so you gripped the rusty door handle. A quick exit, you knew you were good at that. Though instead of a brightly lighted hallway, your chest collided with a tough chest wrapped in a flannel shirt. A sandalwood, musky flannel shirt you might add and all those plans you had in mind dwindled down like a damp paper airplane. Plan A, B, and C were quickly crossed out on the chalkboard. Frozen, your lips trembled in fear. You stumbled backwards. Boots thudding against the old tiles, you’re afraid. Chest inflated with fear, you’re terrified!

“Move, Joel.”

Silence.

“Fucking move. Get out of my way.”

You threw quick, meaningless punches on the broad of his chest. It did nothing but made him get bolder with his actions. He took a step back, which you’re grateful for, but not when you realize that it was to lean back against the bathroom’s door. You’ve come a long way from how meek and helpless you were in the QZ, managing to survive the scary outside world for a whole year and keeping all your limbs attached, but you knew that you’d never manage to budge his weight. He was heavy. Used to be a massive ball of muscles, though now slightly worn down by his age. Joel threw you a look. A dirty, demeaning one that’s always been reserved for you. Only you.

“Fuckin' hell are you deaf?”

You bubbled up.

“Fuck you and your little play house. Going to church? Should repent the many souls you took yourself,” you seethed. “You’re just a big asshole on legs y’know that? Now fuck off. It’s a fucking mistake coming to see you.”

You stormed his way. Big mistake. He took you by the shoulder. Rough fingers dug deep into where your bone sits, his knee quick to slot itself between your legs. He was quick to switch the dynamic, to be the offensive one instead as he had you pinned on the wall. The frail wooden bathroom door creaked at the contact, its hinges banging against one another. You looked like one of those dead butterfly displays, spread out forcefully to show your entire potential. Was he going to murder you? Was he going to bang your head against the mirror and leave you there to bleed? He looked like it. With those blown out pupils, you're not even sure if he’s going to keep you alive or dead. If he's going to finally end your misery at last.

“You’re gonna kill me?” You tried to shove his chest back, but it’s no use. “Gonna choke me to death?”

“No!” The grip he had on your shoulder never once loosened, even at your viscous accusations. “You really think I’d kill you?”

“I don’t know.” Your eyebrows sunken in sorrow.

“You don’t know?””

“You’re not the man I once knew, Joel.”

“I’m-”

“I don’t know you anymore! You’re not the same.” Your feet tried to tackle his legs, a move he taught, but he stayed unbudged. “You’re kind, attentive.. you’re there, Joel. You’re present in time. You’re never present with me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh fuck off, Joel. You’re not gonna gaslight me.”

That had him briefly loosening the grip around your shoulders. You were quickly met with his cold finger tips, grazing the soft skin of your cheeks, only to settle on your cracked, bloody bottom lip. In a haze, you’re unprepared for the hand slithering its way onto your throat. It squeezed tight enough to impede your airway for a brief second or two, only to loosened when your eyes grew teary. You gasped for air immediately.

“You left!”

“You proposed to her!”

His expression toughened. The Joel Miller you knew was back. The cruel one with tendencies to abandon, to be hollow of true meaningful feelings, and he was inching closer. His soft scruff brushed against the tip of your ears. Warm puffs of air made you turn your head to the side, avoiding his serpent-like hold. He's quick to guide you by your jaw when you start straying off.

“Didn’t know if you’re alive or dead.”

“Oh I bet you’d be enthralled if I were dead,” you chuckled humorlessly. “You hated me, Joel.”

“I was worried,” he continued, ignoring your comments entirely. 

He placed a gentle kiss on your temple, slow and steady as if you’d vanish into dust once more if he was too rough, and proceeded to smother sloppy kisses down your cheek and onto your neck. It glided like warm butter or sunscreen on a beach day. Joel never forgot the way in which you enjoyed getting those sweet spots below your jaw sucked, a mark to show his claim over you, to show his ownership even if you had to drape a shawl over it every time you had to shop for groceries or go on patrols. You weren’t as pretty and prim today though. You were untamed, always attempting to pull yourself away from him, to avoid his rough fingers and needle-like beard.

“Went on a search team every day for a whole month,” he hummed. “What if my sweetheart’s bleeding out in the midst of winter? Low visibility and endless snowstorms. What if you’re shot dead or worse, turned into one of those creatures?”

“But you’re a smart little minx, ain’t ya?” he huffed, his fingers gentle as it slowly popped the buttons to your shirt. His musky scent infiltrated your head. You’re drunk on him. “Threw a tantrum so big you disappeared on me.”

“No, Joel, we- we can’t,” you forced those words out, even when your soft breasts were spilled out of your chest. Those sensitive peaks were already stiff, you’d lie and say it’s simply because of the cold, but there’s no such thing. “Can’t- you’re en- engaged..”

He toyed with your nipples, squeezing and tugging on the right one before giving the same attention to the left. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated as he swirled around the sensitive skin with his coarse fingers. Your breath hitched and your chest spasmed. Every inch of morality left your headspace at the twinge of pleasure, your knees grew weak and he had to prop you up against his strong shoulders to aid you.

“You’re cheatin- oh fuck..”

“I am, huh?” he chuckled lowly. “You don’t want this then? Want me to leave?”

“No! No, please please,” you begged as his fingers carefully began to undo the stiff belt around your waist. He tugged on your zippers, tortuously, slowly unraveling the pretty skin he’s been missing so goddamn much. “I need you..”

“Needy minx,” he insulted teasingly. “Shameless, aren’t ya? Didn’t ya just say ya hate me?”

You whimpered. This shouldn’t be happening. This wasn’t in any of the plans you’ve concocted, it was just pure desire. He felt sinfully good. So warm and firm against your body, so strong and dependable. His shoulder proved to be the perfect place to bury your head into, muffling out the noises you’re prone to make when he shoved his entire palm down your panties. Joel Miller didn’t tolerate the misdemeanor. The hand he had around your neck tightened ever so slightly, before he abruptly pushed you back onto the wooden door. The hard material thudded against your back, resulting in a soft, breathless whine for more. He might be a mean, mean man for afflicting such things, but you’re even more insane for tolerating it.

“Ah, look at you,” he hummed, fingers tapping slow beats onto the hood of your clitoris. “No one fucked you good enough out there.”

You shook your head no. Annoyed, Joel slid his index and middle finger down onto your slit. He cumulated the slickness gathered around your pathetic little hole, before he slid it back up to tease. Up and down. Up and down. Then a full circle. The motion left you breathless, thighs bucking up against his hand, but he’d give you a light slap on the thigh if that happens.

“Oh.. you haven’t fucked anyone else out there?” he cocked his head arrogantly. “Dunno if I can believe a pretty girl like you. After all..”

He had the audacity to slip his finger in. A whole knuckle down your entrance, which is much more than you anticipated. Almost instantly, a sticky clear substance started dribbling out, gushing all around the foreign object infiltrating your cunt. It’s been so long, far too long that you kept yourself untouched. You could basically be categorized as a virgin again at this point. It wasn’t a deliberate decision, it’s just that no one turned you on this much. No one could shove their fingers inside you without getting their head blown off. No one but him.

“You’re not the girl I once knew.”

He turned your little insults right back at you. A single tear dribbled down your warm cheeks, hot and invasive, your fragile heart torn into two and stomped on the ground. Joel retaliated by pressing his lips right onto yours. Starting out soft and smooth, gentle and reverent, as if it was his way of apologizing and professing his undying love for you, but then it grew rougher and unrecognizable. A clash of teeth, a vicious fight for dominance. You had to put up a little fight, show him the kind of girl you’ve turned into, but when he eased a second finger down the tight rings of your cunt, it’s all over. You squirmed, desperately grinding down against his rough palm.

“Fuck me!”

“What was that?”

“Fuck me, Jo-”

A knock.

Your eyes blew wide open. The soft fluorescent lights flickered above, casting an eerie shadow that danced across Joel’s expression. You let out a soft whimper, eyes pressed into a crescent shape as you felt the need to cry out of fear and guilt, a sobering shot that made you realize how wrong this was. How disgusting this is. Immoral. Even when he was still three knuckles deep inside your pussy, even when you knew you couldn’t push him away. Your knuckles grew white as it clung onto the fabric of his flannel. He didn’t pay any mind to the interruption, instead, he continued to thrust his dripping fingers in, reaching around to find that squishy spot of yours. The one that’d send stars onto your vision.

“Are you okay in there? I didn’t know why you got sick..”

The muffled voice strengthened the guess you had in your head. It’s Summer, the girl with the engagement band around her fingers, the girl who’s supposed to have his two fingers deep inside her cunt. Your heart raced like a wild stallion, thunderous beats resonating in your ears. A small moan barged its way out your lips when he pressed on your clit once more with his thumb, he quickly guided your jaw back to face him with his free hand. Joel’s expression hardened, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a tight-line, then his mouth contorted into shapes. A wordless order to stay quiet and respond accordingly. You nodded, bottom lip slotted between your teeths.

“Was it the turkey I cooked? Oh god.. it’s my first time cookin’ in. I didn’t know that it’d be terrible. I’m so sorry, do you need some help in there? I can-”

“No.. oh! No.. no.. I’m fi- aaagh- fine.”

Your eyes darted around the small space, looking for any means to escape, but the solitary window was far too small to be of any use. Panic had seized you, but Joel’s fingers brought you back where he needed you to be. On the edge of an orgasm that you knew was going to melt your brain and make you go dumb.

“Really? You don’t sound too good.. I could maybe cook you up a remedy.. Oh, or we can go to the infirmary together? Just I don’t-”

“No.. ooh. Summer, I’m- shit- Summer, I’m fine.”

“Oh.. okay then. I’ll be waiting outside. Um, do you maybe know where Joel is? Kinda wanna see if he has some meds for you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you tried to navigate your way to release. The thumb he had on your clitoris started rubbing faster, tighter circles, leaving you on the very edge of a dangerous cliff.

“Dunno- oh fuck.”

He’s in there with you for fucks sake. Her fiancé’s here fingerfucking you!

“Gonna cum,” you muttered out a little too loud.

“What was that?”

“Gonna.. mmph.. Gonna come out so- sooghn.”

Your knees buckled, for once he allowed it, and you buried your face onto the crook of his neck. His fingers continued to thrust in the perfect rhythm, fucking back in the arousal that’s slowly dripping down. You weren’t shy in grinding back down onto his palm, neither were you shy when you came all over his fingers, the remnants left in an embarrassing pool down your trousers. His thumb tickled your clitoris, making sure the sensitive nub deserved all the pleasure it could get as he watched you crumble. Everything was just how you remembered it. Sinful, warm, and helpless.

“Okay.. I’ll go look for Joel in the backyard shed!”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #joel miller #tlou x reader #tlou fic #tw dubcon

[waitmyturtles]

(Source)

The Lower House (House of Representatives) will be hearing Thailand’s marriage equality bill at 9:30 am Bangkok time (10:30 pm Eastern for those of us in the States). The bill, if passed, would still have to be approved in Thailand’s Senate.

(Source and source)

Below the fold is Bloomberg.com's report on the happenings (source):

Bill to Legalize Same-Sex Marriage in Thailand Heads to Parliament

Bill is supported by most major parties, needs king approval

Thailand would be first in region to codify marriage equality

By Patpicha Tanakasempipat, March 26, 2024 at 2:00 PM PDT

A bill to legalize same-sex marriage could face a vote in Thailand’s parliament as early as Wednesday. If it passes, the country will be the first in Southeast Asia to establish marriage rights for gay and lesbian couples.

The House of Representatives will take up the legislation, technically an amendment to the Civil and Commercial Code, for second and third readings when it meets at 9 a.m. Lawmakers may vote later in the day.

The bill would legalize marriage for same-sex partners aged 18 and above, along with rights to inheritance, tax allowances and child adoption, among others. Prime Minister Srettha Thavisin’s administration has made it a signature issue, and advocates say it would also burnish Thailand’s reputation as an LGBTQ-friendly tourist destination.

Taiwan and Nepal are the only places in Asia that currently recognize same-sex marriage, and recent efforts elsewhere in the region have had mixed results. Hong Kong has yet to comply with a 2023 court order to establish laws recognizing same-sex partnerships, and India’s Supreme Court refused to legalize same-sex marriage, saying it’s an issue for parliament to consider.

The Thai bill would change the composition of a marriage from “a man and a woman” to “two individuals,” and change the official legal status from “husband and wife” to “married couple.”

Thai laws have protected LGBTQ people from most kinds of discrimination since 2015, but attempts to formalize marriage rights have stalled. In 2021, the Constitutional Court upheld the law recognizing marriage as exclusively between a man and a woman. Last year, a bill to recognize same-sex civil partnerships failed to clear parliament ahead of elections.

Rights advocates have higher hopes for the bill pending now, noting that it has broad support from most of the major parties. If it passes, it will need to be approved by the Senate and endorsed by the King. Then it would be published in the Royal Gazette and take effect 120 days later.

Srettha’s government has also promised to work on a bill to recognize gender identity, and the health ministry has also proposed legalizing commercial surrogacy to allow LGBTQ couples to adopt children. Thailand is seeking to host the WorldPride events in Bangkok in 2028.

Legalizing same-sex marriage could have positive effects on tourism, which contributes about 12% to the nation’s $500 billion economy. In 2019, before the pandemic froze international tourism, LGBTQ travel and tourism to Thailand generated about $6.5 billion, or 1.2% of gross domestic product, according to industry consultant LGBT Capital.

Formal recognition could boost the reputation of a place already considered one of Asia’s best for LGBTQ visitors, said Wittaya Luangsasipong, managing director of Siam Pride, an LGBTQ-friendly travel agency in Bangkok.

“It will become a selling point for Thailand and raise our strength in the global stage,” Wittaya said. “It will create a relaxed and safe atmosphere for tourism and help attract more and more LGBTQ visitors. We could also see more weddings by LGBTQ couples, which could generate income across industries and local communities.”

#marriage equality #marriage equality in thailand #thailand #thailand politics #pita limjaroenrat #srettha thavisin #this article is a very good look-see into how thailand has continued to leverage LGBTQ+ rights for soft power and now even hard power #lgbtq+ #mileapo and freenbecky just visited with the prime minister last week #same sex marriage #same sex marriage equality

[visit-new-york]

Empire State Building: A Symbol of Ambition and Achievement

Situated in the heart of Midtown Manhattan on Fifth Avenue at 34th Street, the Empire State Building stands as an iconic symbol of architectural prowess and historical significance. Erected in 1931, this steel-framed skyscraper, soaring 102 stories high, held the title of the world's tallest building until 1971.

The primary purpose behind the construction of the Empire State Building was to house corporate business offices, marking a hub for commercial activities. Unofficially, it was an ambitious endeavor to claim the title of the tallest building globally, surpassing rivals like the Bank of Manhattan Building and the Chrysler Building during its construction in the competitive environment of 1931.

Named after the enduring nickname for New York state, "the Empire State," the building's nomenclature finds roots in a letter from George Washington in 1785. In this letter, he praised New York's strength during the American Revolution, deeming it "the Seat of the Empire."

Positioned on the site that once housed the original Waldorf Astoria Hotel on Fifth Avenue, the Empire State Building's strategic location adds to its historical charm. Over the years, it has retained its distinction as one of the most famous and recognizable buildings in the United States, exemplifying Modernist Art Deco design.

The dynamic display of lights on the Empire State Building has become a tradition, with colors changing to commemorate major holidays and celebrations. Since the installation of the first lighting system in 1976, the introduction of a new LED system in 2012 has allowed the building to showcase millions of colors, enhancing its visual appeal.

The construction of the Empire State Building was driven by the collaboration of John J. Raskob and Al Smith. Raskob, a self-made business tycoon and former chairman of the General Motors Corporation finance committee, joined forces with Smith, a one-time Democratic governor of New York. Their unlikely partnership was rooted in shared experiences as children born to immigrant Roman Catholic families, facing similar struggles before achieving prominence.

Before embarking on the Empire State Building project, Smith and Raskob's friendship had endured challenges, with Raskob previously serving as the chairman for the Democratic National Committee and campaign manager for Smith's 1928 presidential bid. Despite their efforts, Smith's defeat to Herbert Hoover underscored the public's reluctance to alter the economic prosperity of the 1920s and highlighted the reservations about electing a Roman Catholic who might challenge majority Protestant values.

In the ever-changing skyline of New York City, the Empire State Building stands not only as a testament to architectural achievement but also as a symbol of ambition, competition, and the enduring spirit of progress.

#Empire State Building #New York City #new york #newyork #New-York #nyc NY #Manhattan #urban #city #USA #United States #buildings #travel #journey #outdoors #street #architecture #visit-new-york.tumblr.com

[txttletale]

Your discussions on AI art have been really interesting and changed my mind on it quite a bit, so thank you for that! I don’t think I’m interested in using it, but I feel much less threatened by it in the same way. That being said, I was wondering, how you felt about AI generated creative writing: not, like AI writing in the context of garbage listicles or academic essays, but like, people who generate short stories and then submit them to contests. Do you think it’s the same sort of situation as AI art? Do you think there’s a difference in ChatGPT vs mid journey? Legitimate curiosity here! I don’t quite have an opinion on this in the same way, and I’ve seen v little from folks about creative writing in particular vs generated academic essays/articles

i think that ai generated writing is also indisputably writing but it is mostly really really fucking awful writing for the same reason that most ai art is not good art -- that the large training sets and low 'temperature' of commercially available/mass market models mean that anything produced will be the most generic version of itself. i also think that narrative writing is very very poorly suited to LLM generation because it generally requires very basic internal logic which LLMs are famously bad at (i imagine you'd have similar problems trying to create something visual like a comic that requires consistent character or location design rather than the singular images that AI art is mostly used for). i think it's going to be a very long time before we see anything good long-form from an LLM, especially because it's just not a priority for the people making them.

ultimately though i think you could absolutely do some really cool stuff with AI generated text if you had a tighter training set and let it get a bit wild with it. i've really enjoyed a lot of AI writing for being funny, especially when it was being done with tools like botnik that involve more human curation but still have the ability to completely blindside you with choices -- i unironically think the botnik collegehumour sketch is funnier than anything human-written on the channel. & i think that means it could reliably be used, with similar levels of curation, to make some stuff that feels alien, or unsettling, or etheral, or horrifying, because those are somewhat adjacent to the surreal humour i think it excels at. i could absolutely see it being used in workflows -- one of my friends told me recently, essentially, "if i'm stuck with writer's block, i ask chatgpt what should happen next, it gives me a horrible idea, and i immediately think 'that's shit, and i can do much better' and start writing again" -- which is both very funny but i think presents a great use case as a 'rubber duck'.

but yea i think that if there's anything good to be found in AI-written fiction or poetry it's not going to come from chatGPT specifically, it's going to come from some locally hosted GPT model trained on a curated set of influences -- and will have to either be kind of incoherent or heavily curated into coherence.

that said the submission of AI-written stories to short story mags & such fucking blows -- not because it's "not writing" but because it's just bad writing that's very very easy to produce (as in, 'just tell chatGPT 'write a short story'-easy) -- which ofc isn't bad in and of itself but means that the already existing phenomenon of people cynically submitting awful garbage to literary mags that doesn't even meet the submission guidelines has been magnified immensely and editors are finding it hard to keep up. i think part of believing that generative writing and art are legitimate mediums is also believing they are and should be treated as though they are separate mediums -- i don't think that there's no skill in these disciplines (like, if someone managed to make writing with chatGPT that wasnt unreadably bad, i would be very fucking impressed!) but they're deeply different skills to the traditional artforms and so imo should be in general judged, presented, published etc. separately.

#ask #ai art