#declining block pricing

[odinsblog]

🗣️THIS IS WHAT INCLUSIVE, COMPASSIONATE DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE

Minnesota Dems enacted a raft of laws to make the state a trans refuge, and ensure people receiving trans care here can't be reached by far-right governments in places like Florida and Texas. (link)

Minnesota Dems ensured that everyone, including undocumented immigrants, can get drivers' licenses. (link)

They made public college free for the majority of Minnesota families. (link)

Minnesota Dems dropped a billion dollars into a bevy of affordable housing programs, including by creating a new state housing voucher program. (link)

Minnesota Dems massively increased funding for the state's perpetually-underfunded public defenders, which lets more public defenders be hired and existing public defenders get a salary increase. (link)

Dems raised Minnesota education spending by 10%, or about 2.3 billion. (link)

Minnesota Dems created an energy standard for 100% carbon-free electricity by 2040. (link)

Minnesota already has some of the strongest election infrastructure (and highest voter participation) in the country, but the legislature just made it stronger, with automatic registration, preregistration for minors, and easier access to absentee ballots. (link)

Minnesota Dems expanded the publicly subsidized health insurance program to undocumented immigrants. This one's interesting because it's the sort of things Dems often balk at. The governor opposed it! The legislature rolled over him and passed it anyway. (link)

Minnesota Dems expanded background checks and enacted red-flag laws, passing gun safety measures that the GOP has thwarted for years. (link)

Minnesota Dems gave the state AG the power to block the huge healthcare mergers that have slowly gobbled up the state's medical system. (link)

Minnesota Dems restored voting rights to convicted felons as soon as they leave prison. (link)

Minnesota Dems made prison phone calls free. (link)

Minnesota Dems passed new wage protection rules for the construction industry, against industry resistance. (link)

Minnesota Dems created a new sales tax to fund bus and train lines, an enormous victory for the sustainability and quality of public transit. Transit be more pleasant to ride, more frequent, and have better shelters, along more lines. (link)

They passed strict new regulations on PFAS ("forever chemicals"). (link)

Minnesota Dems passed the largest bonding bill in state history! Funding improvements to parks, colleges, water infrastructure, bridges, etc. etc. etc. (link)

They're going to build a passenger train from the Twin Cities to Duluth. (link)

I can't even find a news story about it but there's tens of millions in funding for new BRT lines, too. (link)

A wonky-but-important change: Minnesota Dems indexed the state gas tax to inflation, effectively increasing the gas tax. (link)

They actually indexed a bunch of stuff to inflation, including the state's education funding formula, which helps ensure that school spending doesn't decline over time. (link)

Minnesota Dems made hourly school workers (e.g., bus drivers and paraprofessionals) eligible for unemployment during summer break, when they're not working or getting paid. (link)

Minnesota Dems passed a bunch of labor protections for teachers, including requiring school districts to negotiate class sizes as part of union contracts. (Yet another @SydneyJordanMN special here. (link)

Minnesota Dems created a state board to govern labor standards at nursing homes. (link)

Minnesota Dems created a Prescription Drug Affordability Board, which would set price caps for high-cost pharmaceuticals. (link)

Minnesota Dems created new worker protections for Amazon warehouse workers and refinery workers. (link)

Minnesota Dems passed a digital fair repair law, which requires electronics manufacturers to make tools and parts available so that consumers can repair their electronics rather than purchase new items. (link)

Minnesota Dems made Juneteenth a state holiday. (link)

Minnesota Dems banned conversion therapy. (link)

They spent nearly a billion dollars on a variety of environmental programs, from heat pumps to reforestation. (link)

Minnesota Dems expanded protections for pregnant and nursing workers - already in place for larger employers - to almost everyone in the state. (link)

Minnesota Dems created a new child tax credit that will cut child poverty by about a quarter. (link)

Minnesota Democrats dropped a quick $50 million into homelessness prevention programs. (link)

And because the small stuff didn't get lost in the big stuff, they passed a law to prevent catalytic converter thefts. (link)

Minnesota Dems increased child care assistance. (link)

Minnesota Dems banned "captive audience meetings," where employers force employees to watch anti-union presentations. (link)

No news story yet, but Minnesota Dems forced signal priority changes to Twin Cities transit. Right now the trains have to wait at intersections for cars, which, I can say from experience, is terrible. Soon that will change.

Minnesota Dems provided the largest increase to nursing home funding in state history. (link)

They also bumped up salaries for home health workers, to help address the shortage of in-home nurses. (link)

Minnesota Dems legalized drug paraphernalia, which allows social service providers to conduct needle exchanges and address substance abuse with reduced fear of incurring legal action. (link)

Minnesota Dems banned white supremacists and extremists from police forces, capped probation at 5 years for most crimes, improved clemency, and mostly banned no-knock warrants. (link)

Minnesota Dems also laid the groundwork for a public health insurance option. (link)

I’m happy for the people of Minnesota, but as a Floridian living under Ron DeSantis & hateful Republicans, I’m also very envious tbh. We know that democracy can work, and this is a shining example of what government could be like in the hands of legislators who actually care about helping people in need, and not pursuing the GOP’s “culture wars” and suppressing the votes of BIPOC, and inflicting maximum harm on those who aren’t cis/het, white, wealthy, Christian males. BRAVO MINNESOTA. This is how you do it! And the Minnesota Dems did it with a one seat majority, so no excuses. Forget about the next election and focus on doing as much good as you can, while you still can. 👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿

👉🏿 https://threadreaderapp.com/thread/1660846689450688514.html

#politics #minnesota #social justice #culture wars #this is what democracy looks like #republicans are evil

[diejager]

omegaverse anon here, could you do the cod group with a beta reader? Like, they stay really out of the way, not really used to getting any attention from alphas or omegas

Unusual Attraction Cw: omegaverse, awkward!reader, ell me if I missed any.

You were an oddity of a beta, your stronger nose made interacting with people harder than other betas, it made you stand out from your peers, they deemed you a beta stronger than the usual beta and that made you feel isolated and alone. You were used to alphas ordering you around and moving you from team to team for your nose and clear mind, you were a asset to have on certain teams where they needed a buffer that wasn’t an heat-prone omega. And despite your constant entourage of omegas and alphas, you never stopped flinching or wincing when someone’s scent became too strong, the musk burning your nose in an enclosed area like the mess hall, the training areas, or even public spaces. 

You preferred keeping to yourself, to alleviate the growing headache pounding at your head, to find a calmer corner of the base you were permanently moved to. You knew the people you worked with from prior assignments, a few times on month long covert operation and others on week long clandestine missions offshore, but you liked your silence when you could afford to find it. Even outside, their scents clung to your clothes, the strong smell of Price’s smoke and Ghost’s bourbon, the distinct notes of strength and dominance that screamed Alpha, Soap’s sweeter and softer citrus that you could pick up despite the scent blockers and Gaz’s gentle vanilla, a soothing calmness that reminded you that you weren’t the only buffer to the team, that you were the only beta.

“Found ye, Hound!” You liked the way Soap said your callsign, his accent coming into play to make it sound different —special. 

He swung his arm over your shoulder, pulling you to his side, your nose twitching from how close you were to his scent glands. You felt like he did it with intention, always finding a way to have you smelling like him and filling your mind with his scent, it was near addictive —so much so that you would’ve succumbed to it if you were an alpha, mind shutting off and body acting on it’s own volition. You wouldn’t blame anyone for it, Soap smelled so good, a sinful delight that people were deprived of, and when he wasn’t using the patches, it numbed your mind, made you slow and sloppy with your thoughts and acts. He knew the effect he had on you and he loved it from his constant hazing, flashing his gland in your face and drowning you in it whenever he could. Perhaps it was his claim on you, you never truly understood the whole dynamic, you were a buffer with a better nose, nothing more and nothing less.

“We were lookin’ fer ye,” he walked back in, still holding you in his grasp, “We’re going tae the pub. Thought ah’d come and get ye.”

They, on multiple occasions, had invited you to go drink with them, extending that olive branch your way with smiles and encouraging nods. You were tempted to accept, but you didn’t do well in enclosed and crowed spaces, so you declined over and over, but they never stopped asking you. It got to a point where you were waiting for them to stop asking, to tire themselves of befriended you, and yet, they never did, going so far as to pull you along despite your grumbling and exhaustion, promising a night of rest and relaxation at the pub. 

And fortunately, their words rang true, it was a blessing to your nose that the owners burned an overpowering but gentle incense that blocked all types of scents, a relief you rarely got. The only thing you could smell was the comforting scents of your new pack, the oil-packed burgers and fries, and the strong burn of alcohol, all thing that you didn’t mind as long as it came in moderation to your nose. After your first drunken and giggling visit to the pub with them, basking in their attention, Soap throwing himself over Ghost’s lap and grinning at you cheekily, Gaz leaning against your side, nuzzling the crook of your shoulder, Ghost’s big and warm hand grasping your thigh and Price looking on with so much pride. 

“The occasion?” You followed him blindly, blinking lazily at him.

“Yer third month with us,” he smiled widely, something carnal and wild, befitting more an alpha than the omega he was. Maybe that’s why he could easily pass as an alpha, with all his bravado and broadness, either way, he was a dangerous man alone, but as a Task Force, they were a menace.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry

#x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #gaz mw2 #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #soap mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #captain price #captain john price #captain price x reader #cod omegaverse #Beta!reader #omegaverse #tf 141 x reader #poly 141 #task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #poly tf141 #tf141 x reader

[s0apmactav1sh]

Minors, fem alinged do not interact with this blog you will be blocked!!

Taskforce 141. A tight knit group made up of monsters. Soldiers who were on a whole other level to the rest all because they were supernatural. Price, the captain of the TF and a dragon hybrid. His boys were apart of his hoard, the things he found irreplaceable and precious. Even with one wing enemies trembled at the sight of such a large man coming towards them. Ghost, the lieutenant and a wraith. What could be said about him, with shadows at his mercy and the darkness being apart of him there wasnt a way to kill a man who was already dead. Soap, sergeant number one and a werewolf. All hell breaks loose when hes able to transform, the team being his pack so he does whats needed to protect them. And lastly, Gaz, the harpy hybrid. The taskforces eyes in the sky. A bird of prey as other soldiers call him.

Thats all the infromation you had been given when you were first introduced to Kate Laswell. You had been handed files but most of the information on them had been classified and blacked out. Laswell had mentioned breifly how she had to practically seek you out, going to people she assumed would have an idea on where you would be. However no one could tell her what you were or where you were mostly because you kept on the down low and only popped up on the map during certain times. How she had caught you while you were in a bar in blackpool was a question you held back from asking.

"Whats in it for me?" Your voice was gruff, not in the way johns was from his years of smoking and barking orders, but in a softer way like you werent expecting to have to talk tonight. Help always came with a price. Yours especially, since you'd be working with monsters you were unfamiliar with. It wasnt like you were different persay but mixing your type of monster with theres didnt seem like the greatest idea in your mind but with Kates promise of a large sum of money and the few pints she bought you it was enough for you to agree to work alongside the taskforce for a few weeks until you were no long needed and could slip back into whatever hell you came from.

-

A Nightcrawler, a monster so unheard of they practically didnt exsit anymore. A creatures that lurked in the darkness where it could lure its victims into it and get rid of them, feasting on them after. Price had to put down your file the minute he read what type of monster you were, everyone knew that trusted one of you would end with death. The shiver that crept down his spine had him removing himself from his desk and leaving his office going directly to the resting room he knew his boys would be in. If he was going to accept kate purposal of accepting you into the taskforce, even if it was for a few weeks, he needed them to voice there opinions first.

"No. Not a chance" Was the first answer he got from ghost once it was finally brought up. Soap was to busy tryna keep his tail still so Gaz could brush out the muck and dirt he had in it from the missions they had been on. "We'd never be able to trust something like it." Ghost was set on declining having another person invade his space. He had enough trying to deal with a werewolf a harpy and a dragon, thrusting a nightcrawler into the mist would cause chaos.

"Its not a good idea, nightcrawlers have a tendancy to go rouge and attack everything within range" was the next response price got from gaz this time, the harpy also turning down the idea of having a nightcrawler join them. Although he voiced his reason as to his decline a lot more clearly than the wraith did. Still Price was hoping atleast Johnny may say something positive so he doesnt look like an asshole for not listening to them even though Kate had went through the pain of trying to get you to come and help them. But with prices luck so far with getting his boys to agree to allow you onto the team there was little hope that johnny would agree.

"Are you mad? A nightcrawler on our team. Ain't no way thats happenin" like he expected he was instantly turned down by the werewolf. Now explaining to Laswell that none of them wanted you on the team because you were a nightcrawler would be the difficult part since the woman was so persistant on getting them another to work with them. Dialing her number once in his office, all price could do is hope she hadnt gotten a chance to even figure out were you were.

-

The sound of kates phone ringing knocked you out of your small buzz as you picked it up and handed it to her turning away and getting another drink for yourself in hopes of drinking yourself to sleep once more before you set off to this taskforce. The sound of irritation soon hit your ears as kate tried getting whoever was on the other end of the phone to agree and take you in even if was just for one mission. Clenching your jaw you reached over and took the phone listen to the sound of the voice coming through.

"Kate there isnt a thing I can do to get the lads to let him join. They dont want a nightcrawler on the taskforce I cant force them."

A small scoff leaves you before you hang up the phone and pass it back to kate. "Thought they were on board with me joining."

-

JDBSJSVDUDBDV i have struggled i mean struggled to finish this. I honestly hate it with a burning passion and I have half a mind to delete it all and start over but here is part 1 of a fic im not even sure Ill finish.

#call of duty #fjords rambles #male reader #the things i do instead of sleeping #monster 141 au #dom male character

[keyofw]

I know it's no longer a novel observation how the entire internet is enshittified now but it's still shocking that so many of the things we depend on had such a sudden and marked decline in quality.

Google results are mostly ads. Facebook is 90% ads, 10% domestic terrorists. Twitter is... well, not Twitter and it's only good for Nazis to yell at each other in the hopes they make .0004 cents per tweet. Instagram is ads. TikTok is misinformation central. YouTube serves forty-seven ads per second of videos watched.

Every news article is behind a paywall, and some of them are just AI-text garbled from someone else's much better article, also behind a paywall.

AI art has made it impossible to find images you want. It's also exploded the use and potential use of misinformation. Your data is now being fed to generative AIs to make cheap slop that only makes information harder to find and source.

Everyone wants you using their app instead of a web browser so that you aren't allowed to block the 3,487 ads per page that have to load.

Amazon is full of fake or low-quality dupes of the things you actually want to buy. Netflix and other streaming services are raising prices, cutting available shows, and erasing the existence of shows in order to avoid paying writers. Art hosting sites such as DeviantArt allow your work to be scraped for NFTs and generative AI without your consent or any form of compensation. Spotify has demonetized over 80% of their tracks and pays the rest astoudingly low, worse than the other streaming services which also underpay.

Everything is a subscription service which means not only are you paying for the same product in perpetuity but you never technically own any tool you use and your right to use it can be revoked at any time. Everything has to be a "smart" product so when the business inevitably folds and/or the servers shut down, your product no longer works. Hope it's not something you need!

Every company no longer accepts phone calls but routes you through a series of automated messages until finally dumping you off to an overworked and underpaid person who has no power to help you. Speaking of phones, you can't use them for calls. There are so many robocallers and scams that no one in their right mind picks up the phone anymore. Texts are going the same way. No one wants to dig through 100 scam messages to find the one from the person they actually want to talk to.

It's all just the inevitable end result of capitalism. It doesn't have to be this way. But there needs to be regulation, and fast, or the "Dead Internet Theory" will no longer be a fringe theory.

#my precious feelings #enshittification #dead internet theory

[thewriterg]

𝐂𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭

pairing(s); simon ‘ghost’ riley x afab!reader, john ‘soap’ mactavish x afab!reader, task force 141 x afab!reader

summary; You and Ghost weren’t the least bit pleased when you both were roped into Soaps shenanigans for a costume contest but deep down you’d do anything to see the smile on his face —flufftober day;1—

word count; 1.3k+

warnings(s); readers call sign is “coma”, soap having two of the most deadliest soldiers worldwide wrapped around his finger, and language

A/n:—GIFs; @silenthqll & @une-femme-de-lettres— OCTOBER IS HERE WRITERS‼️

“C’mon Hen it’s just dress up for one night” Soap pouted following behind you as you made your way to the cafeteria as you denied him for the seventh time in a day over the same thing he was prominent as hell over dressing up in matching costumes for Halloween and of course reasonably you declined

“Johnny, darling. You’re gonna drive me mad go sit down with Simon I’ll be there in a few” With a small huff the Scot was storming away with the attitude of a toddler as you stood in line for you alls lunch

Ghost perked up from his cup of tea in the furthest table in the cafeteria his chair against the wall as he watched the Scot approach him muttering things to himself with his arms crossed over his chest before sitting in his usual chair with a huff and before Simon could even humor himself in asking him what was wrong the Scot was already rambling of his troubles to the Brit

“You think it’s reasonable aye?” He spoke with a roll of his eyes while Ghost huffed mirroring his actions before grumbling under his breath his voice gruff and deep

“Sure MacTavish”

Soon you were walking towards the booth two trays of food in your hand setting them down gently in front of the men and taking your own seat nothing but a cup of coffee in your grasp as you had sparing right after and preferred to not vomit on your to save yourselves the trouble settling in your chair with a grunt as moments of silence passed you all Ghosts mask lifted below the tip of his nose so he could eat

“You know Ghost thinks it’s a good idea if we dress up” Soap stated suddenly causing the war criminal to clear his throat trying not to choke on the food in his mouth as you peered over you cup of coffee looking the Scot in the eye you gaze sharp like a siren as you hummed

“Is that so?” Your gaze adverted to the Brit who looked at you with blown pupils you had to learn how to read Simon since he pledged his face being covered like the plague but the main starter note you could give to anyone in need?

That man had more expressive eyes than a mime

“Come on love, you know the mutt it putting us against each other” It took everything in you not to chuckle or at least crack a smirk at the look he’d given Soap as if he wanted his head on a chopping block which he looked like he didn’t have an ounce of regret for the interrogation he caused and running out of options he pulled his last stunt

was is it petty? maybe

would it get his point across? absolutely

“It was jus’ a thought don’t worry too much ‘bout it” The Scott mumbled standing from his seat before taking his tray of half eaten food and walking away from the table with a drag of his feet causing you and Ghost to glance at each other little did you know that was just the beginning

💌💌💌💌

For the rest of the day the Scott was unusually quiet and only spoke when spoken to you picked up on the behavior quick and you weren’t stupid you knew that he was trying to manipulate you but you were sick of watching him sulk like a kicked puppy so when Soap had got up to leave the meeting room you threw a glance to Simon who stealthily followed in your footsteps as you went to go corner the Scott in the comfort of your shared chambers that had took too much paper work and a white lie with the help of Price about being married for you all to get to share a room and become each others next of kin

With non faltering steps and long strides you had made it to your room in a mere minute slipping through the door with no regard to see Soap standing putting on what looked to be his loungewear switching from the army print cargo pants, long sleeve compression shirt, and steel toe boots to grey sweatpants, a white wife beater, and thick socks

“Ye need somethin’ Bonnie?” The Scott mumbled looking to you with a tinge of mock sadness in the back of his throat that had Ghost rolling his eyes at the sight from towering behind you

“Stop mopin’ Johnny I’ll wear the damn costume” The words slipped pass the cloth of his balaclava into the air of your room accent prominent, voice gruff, and eyes annoyed and the Scott was as bright as ever again before his eyes adverted to you staring at him with a deadpan expression and before he could even start with his puppy dog expressions you were already nodding your head with the roll of your eyes

To say the Soap was ecstatic was an understatement and you began to regret your decision fairly quickly when he went on an hour long rant about what he wanted to dress up as and a even longer rant when you and Simon had no idea what ‘Mr and Mrs Smith’ was

So you had spent majority of your night watching the film with hushed giggles and laughter whenever Ghost would complain about the quality of the fight scenes which was fairly advanced for the time in the early 2000s But lt didn’t fail to amuse you when the blonde scoffed before muttering something like

“Amateurs”

“Yeah draw even slower you bloody daft”

But you had fortunately got through the movie in one piece before coming to the realization that

youd need two suits and a dress

💌💌💌💌

“Here comes the life of the party yea!?” Gaz announced as You, Ghost, and Soap walked towards the table everyone in the pub dressed up as a different range of characters you rolled your eyes at him a hint of playfulness in the mix of your eyes and before you could speak Gaz was gasping

“You didn’t!” The smirk on Johnny’s face was prominent as he wiped non existent dust off the shoulder of his black suit jacket identical to Simon’s who meekly huffed at the brunette as you smirked a fitted black dress against your body heels standing strong against the sticky bar floor and topping the look in the visible slit of your dress was a thigh holster that held a pistol that may or may not have been real identical to the ones in the belt of your partners

“You’ve done it” Gaz cheered along side Soap probably a few drink in dressed in slacks with a white button down that had blood staining the collar prosthetic fangs creating a small lisp when he spoke while Price shook his head at the sight of his two youngest recruits on their way to get a round for the first table the Captain himself dressed in jeans, a flannel, brown boots and a matching cowboy hat to match it was a sight for sure

You and Simon had took a seat in the booth making sure it was room for Johnny when he’d returned as you listened to Ghost tease your captain on his costume choice which caused a mock roasting session amongst them both as you held back the laughter in your throat

“Dinnae tell me party’s already started” The strong accent evaded your ears as a round of shots were placed in front of all of you

“As if anyone you forgot about you” Your voice carried sarcasm and the Scott just grinned in response before taking a Drink and toast it up which you were all soon to follow before downing it in one go

As you and Simon looked at each other you knew you were ruined

©2023 thewriterg spooktober do not copy, translate, or modify.

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #ghost x soap #ghost x soap x roach #cod x reader #spooktober #flufftober #angstober #kinktober #romance #fluff #fem!reader #2023 #i love you #thewriterg

[metamatar]

The industrialization of the South was not anticipated by the dependency theory of the 1960s and ’70s. It held that the capitalist center must block any advanced industrial development in the so-called periphery, so that it remains a supplier of raw materials, tropical agricultural products, and labor-intensive simple industrial production, which is to be exchanged for the advanced industrial products of the center. Few analysts had foreseen the industrialization of the South as driven by trade with and investment by metropolitan capitalism.

However, the South’s industrialization came to provide a (temporary) solution to capitalism’s economic and political malaise in the 1970s, manifested on one side by a declining rate of profit, the oil crisis, and pressure from the labor movement in the North for ever-higher wages and, on the other, by the national liberation struggles of the South. Yet the South’s industrialization was not a concession to its demands; quite the contrary. Rather than a step towards a more equal world, it has resulted in a deepening of imperialist relations on a global scale.

...

Neoliberalism has brought about a new global division of labor in which the global South has become “the workshop of the world.” Global capitalism increasingly polarizes the world into Southern “production economies” and Northern “consumption economies.” The main driver behind this process is unquestionably the low wage level in the South. As such, the structure of today’s global economy has been profoundly shaped by the allocation of labor to industrial sectors according to differential rates of exploitation internationally.

The enticement for big business to outsource production or to invest in Greenfield projects in the South is considerable. The difference in wage levels is not just a factor of one to two, but often one to ten or fifteen. Indeed, in 2010, of the world’s three-billion-strong workforce, approximately 942 million were classified by the International Labor Organization (ILO) as “working poor” (almost one-in-three workers worldwide live on under $2 a day)

Imperialism and the Transformation of Values into Prices byTorkil Lauesen and Zak Cope

linked to me by @saamdaamdandaurbhed.

#mar would appreciate this too #we were just talking about how the industrialise! industrialise mantra of many marxists is not capable of rising to the challenge now

[afeelgoodblog]

1. Girl with incurable cancer recovers after pioneering treatment

A girl’s incurable cancer has been cleared from her body after what scientists have described as the most sophisticated cell engineering to date. Alyssa, whose family do not wish to give their surname, was diagnosed with T-cell acute lymphoblastic leukaemia in May 2021.

Scientists at Great Ormond Street Hospital for Children in London gave her pre-manufactured cells edited using new technology to allow them to hunt down and destroy cancerous T-cells without attacking each other. Less than a month after being given the treatment, she was in remission, and was able to have a second bone marrow transplant.

Can I get a fuck cancer?

2. The UK has made gigabit internet a legal requirement for new homes

Updated regulations require new properties to be built with gigabit broadband connections and make it easier to install into existing blocks of flats across the UK. Connection costs will be capped at £2,000 per home, and developers must still install gigabit-ready infrastructure (including ducts, chambers, and termination points) and the fastest-available connection if they’re unable to secure a gigabit connection within the cost cap

3. US cancer death rate falls 33% since 1991

The rate of people dying from cancer in the United States has continuously declined over the past three decades, according to a new report from the American Cancer Society.

The US cancer death rate has fallen 33% since 1991, which corresponds to an estimated 3.8 million deaths averted, according to the report, published Thursday in CA: A Cancer Journal for Clinicians. Partly due to advances in treatment, early detection and less smoking, report says

. . .

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4. Lab-grown retinal eye cells make successful connections, open door for clinical trials to treat blindness

Retinal cells grown from stem cells can reach out and connect with neighbors, according to a new study, completing a “handshake” that may show the cells are ready for trials in humans with degenerative eye disorders.

Over a decade ago, researchers from the University of Wisconsin–Madison developed a way to grow organized clusters of cells, called organoids, that resemble the retina, the light-sensitive tissue at the back of the eye. They coaxed human skin cells reprogrammed to act as stem cells to develop into layers of several types of retinal cells that sense light and ultimately transmit what we see to the brain.

5. The ozone layer is on track to recover in the next 40 years, the United Nations says

The Earth's ozone layer is on its way to recovering, thanks to decades of work to get rid of ozone-damaging chemicals, a panel of international experts backed by the United Nations has found.

The ozone layer serves an important function for living things on Earth. This shield in the stratosphere protects humans and the environment from harmful levels of the sun's ultraviolet radiation. In the latest report on the progress of the Montreal Protocol, the U.N.-backed panel confirmed that nearly 99% of banned ozone-depleting substances have been phased out.

6. Uganda declares an end to Ebola outbreak

The Ugandan government has declared an end to its Ebola outbreak, less than four months after cases were first reported. Since 20 September, 56 people have died from the virus, which is spread through body fluids, and there have been 142 confirmed infections.

The country has reported no new infections in more than 42 days – twice the maximum incubation period of the virus, a World Health Organization benchmark for a country to be declared Ebola-free.

7. Doggy ‘daycare’ bus in Alaska goes viral on TikTok

Check them out here:

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

Thankful for class consciousness

On November 27, I'm appearing at the Toronto Metro Reference Library with Facebook whistleblower Frances Haugen.

On November 29, I'm at NYC's Strand Books with my novel The Lost Cause, a solarpunk tale of hope and danger that Rebecca Solnit called "completely delightful."

Before the term "ecology" came along, people didn't know they were on the same side. You care about owls, I care about the ozone layer – what does the destiny of charismatic nocturnal avians have to do with the gaseous composition of the upper atmosphere?

But as James Boyle has written, the term "ecology" welded together a thousand issues into a single movement. When we talk about "looking at our world through a lens," this is what we mean – apply the right analytical lens and a motley assortment of disparate causes becomes a unified, coherent project:

https://scholarship.law.duke.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1013&context=dlj

Unfettered, planet-destroying, worker immiserating corporate power is only possible in the absence of such a lens. Before neoliberalism can destroy our lives, it must first convince us that we are all disconnected. "There is no such thing as society," isn't just an empty slogan: it's a weapon for dismantling the democratically accountable structures that can stand against industrial tyrants.

That's why neoliberalism is so viciously opposed to all kinds of solidarity, why corporate apologists insist that the only elections that matter are the ones where you "vote with your wallet." It's no surprise that the side with the thickest wallets wants to replace ballots with dollars!

Today, at long last, after generations of deadly corporate power-grabs, we are living through an ecology moment where all kind of fights are coalescing into one big fight: the fight to save democracy from oligarchy.

There are many tributaries flowing into this mighty river, but two of the largest are antitrust and labor. Antitrust seeks to ensure that our world is regulated by democratically accountable lawmakers who deliberate in public, rather than shareholder-accountable monopolists who deliberate in smoke-filled rooms. Labor seeks to ensure that contests between profit for the few and prosperity for the many are decided in favor of people, not profit.

This coalition is so powerful that the ruling class has never stopped attacking it. Indeed, the history of US antitrust law can be viewed as a succession of ever-more-insistent laws enacted solely to make it clear to deliberately obtuse judges that competition law is aimed at corporations, not unions:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

Rising corporate power and declining worker power is bad for all of us. The failure of successive US administrations to block airline mergers led to sky-high prices and a proliferation of "junk fees" that can double the price of a ticket. The monopoly carriers stand to make $118b this year from these fees:

https://www.fastcompany.com/90981005/airlines-fees-118-billion-dark-patterns

The consolidation of the agricultural sector led to cartels that conspired to rig the prices of our food. These Les Mis LARPers rigged the price of bread!

https://www.cbc.ca/news/business/canada-bread-price-fixing-1.6883783

Remember eggflation? Nearly all the eggs in US grocery stores come from a single company, Cal-Maine, which owns dozens of brands, including "Farmhouse Eggs, Sunups, Sunny Meadow, Egg-Land’s Best and Land O’ Lakes eggs":

https://www.cnn.com/2023/01/13/business/egg-prices-cal-maine-foods/index.html

With all our eggs in one basket, it was easy for a single company to rig the egg market, blaming everything from bird flu to Russian invasion of Ukraine for doubling egg prices while their profits shot up by 65%:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/23/cant-make-an-omelet/#keep-calm-and-crack-on

Antitrust isn't just about monopoly – it's also about oligopoly. The American meat cartel pretends that it's not rigging markets by outsourcing its price-fixing to a "clearinghouse" called Agri Stats:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

Agri-Stats gets data from all the Big Meat companies, "anonymizes" it, and publishes it back to its subscribers, who use the service to coordinate across-the-board price-hikes that have cost the public billions in price gouging (meanwhile, Big Meat was able to secure $50b in public subsidies).

For forty years, governments have ceded power to "autocrats of trade" who usurped control "over the production, transportation, and sale of the necessaries of life":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/20/we-should-not-endure-a-king/

But that era is coming to an end. In the past year, American regulators have blocked airline mergers and promulgated rules banning junk fees. They've dragged price-fixing clearinghouses into court:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/why-turkey-eggs-and-air-travel-just

They're getting results, too: for the second year in a row, turkey prices are down. Cranberries, too (18%). Same for whipping cream (25%). Pie crusts are down. So are russet potatoes. Airfares are down 13.2%.

The egg cartel just lost a long-running court case over the last egg price-fixing campaign, which gouged Americans from 1990-2008:

https://www.pymnts.com/cpi_posts/kellogg-kraft-secure-victory-in-price-fixing-lawsuit-against-egg-producers

The same fact-pattern that was revealed in that court case is repeated in this year's eggflation scandal:

https://farmaction.us/wp-content/uploads/2023/01/Farm-Action-Letter-to-FTC-Chair-Lina-Khan.pdf

That's terrific ammo for the FTC, and will doubtless benefit the Democrats running against would-be Indiana senator John Rust, whose family owns convicted egg cartel member Rose Acre Farms and whose wife just stepped down as chair of the board.

One underappreciated aspect of the global war on corporate power is that the same corporations commit the same crimes in countries all over the world, which means that whenever any government establishes evidence of those crimes, they are of use to all the other governments. Competition enforcers from the UK, EU, USA, Singapore, South Korea and elsewhere are coordinating to target the Big Tech cartel. Maybe Google and Facebook and Apple are bigger enough to resist any one of those governments – but all of them?

https://cmadataconference.co.uk/

One notable absence from the anti-monopoly coalition is Canada. While other countries merely stopped enforcing their competition laws in the neoliberal era, Canada never had a good competition law to enforce. Canada's official tolerance for monopolies has allowed a handful of companies to seize control over the economy of Canada and the lives of Canadians:

https://www.canadaland.com/shows/commons-monopoly/

These monopolies are largely controlled by powerful families, Canada's de facto aristocracy, whose wealth and power make them above the law and subordinate the country's democratic institutions to billionaires' whims:

https://www.canadaland.com/tag/dynasties/

At long last, Canada has called time on oligarchy. Last week's Fall Economic Statement included an announcement of a muscular new competition law, including new merger guidelines, a new "abuse of dominance" standard, and Right to Repair rules:

https://www.linkedin.com/feed/update/urn:li:activity:7132855021548769282/

The law also includes interoperability mandates for Canada's highly concentrated – and deeply corrupt – banking sector. These measures are strikingly similar to new measures just introduced in the US by the CFPB:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/21/let-my-dollars-go/#personal-financial-data-rights

The arrival of Canada's first fit-for-purpose competition rule coincides with all kinds of solidaristic movements in Canada that are fighting corporate power from the bottom up. Even Ontario, led by one of the most corrupt premiers in provincial history, can't break its teachers' union:

https://globalnews.ca/news/10105600/ontario-elementary-teachers-reach-contract-deal/

It's not just workers who benefit from solidarity: Tenants' unions have formed across the province in response to corporate takeovers of scarce rental stock. These finance-sector landlords have armies of lawyers who've figured out how to bypass rent-control rules and evict tenants who balk. Rather than rolling over, tenants' unions are organizing waves of rent-strikes:

https://macleans.ca/longforms/rent-strikes-canada/

As with Big Tech, the illegal tactics of the rental sector aren't confined to a single nation. In America, Wall Street landlords have dramatically increased the price of housing and kicked off an eviction epidemic the likes of which the country has never seen:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/16/mortgages-are-rent-control/#housing-is-a-human-right-not-an-asset

And as with Big Meat, landlords use arm's-length clearing houses to rig rental markets, coordinating across-the-board rent hikes:

https://www.propublica.org/article/yieldstar-rent-increase-realpage-rent

In other words: to fix the housing market, tenants all over the world need to learn the tactics of labor unions. Housing regulators have to learn from agricultural regulators. Americans tenants have to learn from Canadians. These aren't 1,000 different fights – they're one big fight, and the coalition for dismantling corporate power is vast and powerful.

The most powerful weapons our bosses have is convincing us that we are weak and they are strong – so strong that we shouldn't even try to fight them. But solidarity is absurdly powerful, which is why they go to such great lengths to discredit it. In Sweden, the solidarity strikes against Tesla – who refuses to recognize its maintenance workers' union – have spread to nine unions.

Tesla can't get its cars offloaded at the ports. It can't get its showrooms cleaned. No one will deliver its mail. No one will fix its chargers. The strike is spreading to Germany, and workers at its giant Berlin factory is set to walk out:

https://www.metafilter.com/201514/Swedish-Tesla-workers-go-on-strike

There's something delicious about how palpably frustrated Elon Musk is by all this, as he realizes that neither his billions nor his bully pulpit are a match for workers in solidarity:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2023-11-23/elon-musk-calls-swedish-tesla-strikes-insane-as-impact-spreads

It's a reminder of just how fragile and weak billionaires are, when we stop believing in them and deferring to them. Rebecca Solnit's latest Guardian column adds up the ways that allowing billionaires to run the show puts us all in danger:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2023/nov/20/billionaires-great-carbon-divide-planet-climate-crisis

They are the unelected "autocrats of trade" who control "the production, transportation, and sale of the necessaries of life." They are the force that this new ecology movement is coalescing to fight: across borders, across sectors, across identities. No matter whether you are a worker, a tenant, a voter, a shopper or a citizen, your enemy is the billionaire class.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/24/coalescence/#solidarnosc

#pluralistic #james boyle #ecology #corporate power #monopoly #monopolism #eggflation #euthanizing rentiers #money beats ethics #incentives matter #sam altman #open ai #junk fees #cartels #aviation #billionaires #rebecca solnit #price fixing #Rent strike #canada #canpoli #toronto #the rents too damned high #weaponized shelter #tenants union #unions #tesla #sweden #labor #moral injury

[mistyresolve]

| His Foresight - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Medic!Reader (Part 3.5)

Word Count - 5.7k His Hindsight - 1.8k  How They Met - 3.9k  

Summary - The first part is of simon’s pov during those few months and a little bit of part 3. As well as a peek at how Doc and Simon met (Ft. Soap).

Warnings/Tags - Blood and Injury, Depictions of war and violence, Explicit Language, Character Death, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Maybe a little bit of angst, Mentions of childhood trauma 

A/N - sorry i'm taking so long with part 4, i’m struggling with a little bit of writer's block and i don’t want to force it and end up with something im unhappy with — i hope you guys can forgive me 

Part 1 ❤︎ Part 2 ❤︎ Part 3   

Masterlist  ❤︎  Tag List Form

His Hindsight (Ghosts POV) 

Looking from afar, Ghost seemed unmoved by the fight he had with you. Maybe a little quieter but it was a façade. Never confuse quiet with calm. He was the eye of the storm, and his raging would be following closely behind. There was something smouldering in the pit of his stomach, it burned and decayed inside him. It resembled shame but it was coagulated with disdain and turned into ichor in his veins. 

He fucked up. 

He knew that. And for the life of him, he couldn’t find a good enough excuse to justify his actions. Not that he was looking for one, but he was never one to let something get to him like this. Not to the point where it followed him around like a weeping dark cloud. Never to the point where he was miserable.          

Even Price had to ask him if something was bothering him, and if was in need of a break. Time off was the last thing Ghost needed. He would then be forced to sit every roiling emotion, and what he needed to get back into the field and drown everything out. Just so he could breathe and it wouldn’t feel like barbed wire was wrapped around his lungs.  

After his years of service, Ghost had become inured to death and violence. Even before his enlistment. He’d learned quickly to respect death, and he’s been both the enforcer and the witness of it. That wasn’t to say it was something he thrived on, he was just something good at it. He was moulded for this kind of life from the very beginning. And who was he to defy fate? Of course, there was still the off occasion it got to him. When it felt cold and heavy in his chest and loomed over his shoulder like an imp. So he learned to compartmentalize it all, learned to detach. To protect his own sanity. His heart. 

He also knew he wouldn’t be able to handle your death.    

The day the convoy left that was this gnawing feeling and had asked Price if they should postpone the convey a day till the coast was clear. When Price declined he then requested to go on ahead and do it himself. Price had said that he didn’t have the clearance to allow it and he was sorry. 

No amount of worrying or experience would have prepared him for watching the explosions and then your vehicle flipping in front of him. It was the second scariest moment of his life. He had shaken his head, not believing his own eyes. He slammed on the brakes so hard that the seat belt locked and dug into his collarbone. He hardly felt it. Worse was when he watched Price pull out of the back, and when Price called to him “Doc needs medical!”. Ghost threw caution to the wind, left cover and slid to your side to assess the damages himself. His heart was beating in his ears, could feel it thundering at the base of his throat. He was used to the thrill and adrenaline of a firefight but this was something entirely different. It was something he wasn’t able to put a name to. Something foreign. Worse was when he noticed the wound on your leg. Worse was when your head dropped to your chest and you became unresponsive. He carried you in his arms the entire time, protecting your body with his. 

There was no way. There was no you were leaving him. He wasn’t going to let you.  

This exact situation was what he was trying to avoid and why he stained your reputation. When he first told HQ that you would be a liability was out of panic. They were going to transfer you to the front lines. Turn you into cannon fodder. He knew it wasn’t right the entire time. Knew that he was betraying you, but he couldn’t figure out another option. Not fast enough anyways. 

He didn’t know what else to do.  

He still didn’t know what he was going to do, or how he was supposed to fix it. He wasn’t blind to the fact that you wanted nothing to do with him. He had asked Soap how you were once, and when Soap said “They’re fine, Ghost. I’ve got my eye on them, don’t worry.” Soap had talked with Simon that night you confronted him, the two of them walked the perimeter of the camp for hours before their shift ended. Simon had poured his heart out, and it was as big of a shock to himself as much as it was for Soap. In the end, Soap sided with you, confirming that Simon was in the wrong and that he’d need to find a way to fix it.  

So, he pulled every string and called in every favour he had to have his report on you removed from your file. He had it all redacted. He figured you wouldn’t appreciate him if he tried to play chess with your life once again, so he left it at that. He kept his mouth shut when it came to you, opting for observation when Price had asked Laswell to track you down and recruit you for a new assignment. Even though it killed him, and he was thoroughly against it. The only solace he was able to find was the fact that you would be right beside him the entire time. He couldn’t say if you would feel the same though. 

It took two months of Ghost and Price working day and night to find out who it was that had revealed the convoy's route to the enemy forces. Ghost was in his head nearly the entire time, his thoughts wandering back to you and your last interaction with him. Twice, Price had to remind him that he needed to be focusing on the task at hand, something that has never happened before. 

They had a couple of suspects and followed each of the around for weeks on end. Two months until the culprit, Cameron Rowe, finally slipped up and forgot to lock his safe. Ghost took the opportunity to sneak into Rowe's apartment, opened the safe and had everything he needed to know for sure that this was their guy. Files, blueprints, guns, burner phones, and a computer. He took pictures of everything and downloaded the contents of the computer before sending it all off for further inspection. He left Rowe’s apartment exactly how he found it. 

Two weeks later, they had a target on Rowe’s head. And a mission. Ghost went back by himself and surveyed Rowe for another couple of weeks, gathering a rough schedule and his regularly visited areas. Which wasn’t a whole lot, since the fellow liked the comfort of his own home. Ghost played with the idea of pulling the fire alarm of his apartment building just to get the guy moving. He also collected a list of people who he might be in cahoots with before he was called back to HQ. 

He had already gone over the mission briefing on his way back to base, albeit a little distracted. He was nervous, to say the least. After not seeing you for so long he wasn’t sure what he should expect. He didn’t need to think about what he was going to say to you, he already figured that out while he watched Rowe so basically nothing for two weeks. 

 When you downright shunned him in the meeting room he thought he was going to throw up all over his boots. He wanted to shrink back into the shadows. He wanted to give you room, give you space. When you stepped into the hall, he was a second away from turning on his heel and ducking into a room to hide. He felt like a loser and he was half expecting you not to answer him. When you did, he just about pumped his fist in the air at the victory. He had to grip the neck of his bulletproof vest to keep from reaching for you as he followed you outside. 

The sun was setting and it blanketed everything in an orange glow, and when you turned on him his breath caught in his throat. You were beautiful. Angry. And beautiful. He had to bite his tongue to keep the smile from stretching across his face. 

“Go ahead, Judas. I’ll keep it civil for the sake of the mission but I don’t want to be your friend,” the words stung more than he cared to admit out of his own stubbornness. That smile became easier to hold back. 

“I understand,” but he could be content with being on speaking terms with you. If that was all you were willing to give him he’d take it. He’d take anything you offered him and carry it around like an egg at this point. By force of habit, he scanned the area and studied each passing car and its drivers. Within seconds he already cataloged every soul, possible threat, and the exact route he would take you to safety. “I was out of line. I was mixing private affairs with work, I see that now. And I’m sorry. I was being selfish and I wasn’t taking your needs and wants into consideration,” the crumpled look on your face just before the tears spilled flashed before his eyes and he felt his heart sink, “So, if you’ll give me some grace and let me show you how good I can be,” he never wanted to see the look on your face again.   

He could feel your eyes search his, “Keep your fingers out of my business and I’ll think about it.”

Yes. Yes, of course. 

“They’re put away.” he’d take you to the moon if that was what it would take. 

“We can talk more later. I’ll come to you when I’m good and ready.” he didn’t expect you to forgive him immediately in the slightest. This conversation was already more than he anticipated. 

“For now, just stay away from me,” there was no venom in your voice, but there didn’t need to be. 

He recoiled from you, “Of, course,” his fingers chilled and the setting sun was a little less warm on his face. 

He thought you were going to leave when you turned back to him, “Thank you, for apologizing.” 

This time he couldn’t suppress the grin. Whatever has been smouldering in his stomach was reduced to a puffing smoke. It was still hot, but it didn’t share the same energy it did before.  

How They Met

The army and the medical team had assumed control over what was once a fully operating clinic but was left abandoned when the area was deemed a warzone. Fortunately enough for your team, most of the supplies, and equipment were left as if someone had merely closed up shop for the night. Unfortunately, that was months ago and those same supplies were dwindling fast. The location was prime, built on one of the main Strip leading through the city and not too far from the front lines, and that also meant safe passage was hard to come by. Carter tried asking for a restock, twice now, but both times the couriers were intercepted on their way here. We’d had to start trading with the field medics that passed through for morphine, antibiotics, and gauze. Anything they could spare.  

With your arms crossed over your chest, you anxiously tap your fingers on your forearms. Each step you took reverberated down the concrete hallway. You took another look out the double doors leading to the outside and down the street. Nothing. Not a sign of life. The convoy was supposed to be here a half hour ago, said to be transferring a man in critical condition from the front lines. And judging from the report we received an hour ago, one of them wouldn’t make it much longer without the proper equipment. The equipment they most certainly did not have on a transport truck. 

The only two other medics that were on duty were standing on the other side of the hall. They looked just as antsy as you felt, sharing a quiet hurried conversation. The tall lanky one was called “Butters”, he was the first person you befriended after your assignment. It didn’t take you long to start appreciating his dry sense of humour. The first couple of days around him were filled with stifled laughter and you giving him concerned glances, unsure if he was even allowed to say some of the stuff he did.  

The shorter one was “Carter”, he was older than dirt and you and Butters were adamant he joined during the war of 1812. He was also your superior and a good one at that. He held nothing but wisdom between those ears.  

“They should have used a chopper,” Carter sassed, vexation pulling at the corners of his mouth. The reason they didn’t use a chopper was that we didn’t have any available, and every time one was airborne anywhere near the city it was blown out of the sky. You all knew that, but Carter liked the occasional grousing so you let him have it.  

Then you heard it. The roar of a vehicle, the sound ricocheting around the empty street. You reached the set of doors just as the first truck rounded the corner. Two hummers followed closely behind.  

“What the hell are the special ops doing here?” Butters said beside you. 

“Special ops?” you asked, looking between him and the convoy. 

“Those,” he pointed at the hummers, “Are reserved for the big guns. Scary guys those ones. Don’t look them in the eyes, they’ll see it as a threat.” 

He called back down the hall and Carter appeared with the one and only gurney, 

Carter waited as you guys opened the door, “They’re doing CPR one of them. Butters and I will handle him. Butters you’re pushing. I’ll take over the compressions,” then he turned back to you, “They were joined by another team so I’ll leave the last guy to you. Make sure you order those SpecOps around good and well, yeah?” that must have been way they were delayed. 

“Yes sir,” you and Butters said in unison. 

Butters gave you a good shot in the arm, “You owe me a pack of cigarettes.” 

“What are we? Seven?” you would get him a pack either way. 

You stood waiting as the convoy approached, the back doors flinging open before the truck could come to a complete stop. Blood that was pooling on the grooves on the floor of the truck, spilled out onto the pavement. Too much blood. All of it came from the man that was lying prone. Another soldier was performing CPR on him, his pants soaked with his blood. The gurney was already at the truck, Butters and Carter pulling the man onto the white sheets. 

Your stomach churned when you learned the source of all this blood. His right leg was a mess of bone, tissue, and muscle from his just above his knee. The makeshift tourniquet made from a belt and a chem light was the only thing keep this man on the right side of life. 

Before you could spool yourself back into your body Carter was jumping into the gurney and starting compressions. He was surprisingly limber for his age. Butters was already recruiting one of the soldiers from the truck to help him haul the gurney back into the clinic. 

It was your turn now. Searching the back of the truck again for the second guy they were transferring. But there was no second patient. You pivoted to the two other vehicles, narrowing your attention to the closest one. Two men were huddled around one door. One was donned in all black, his face was cast in the shadows of his hood, and obscured by a mask. The other had on a boonie hat, his facial hair cut and shaped to perfection. Both of them were to built for pure unbridled strength and power. Both of them equally dangerous. They looked exactly how one would expect a member of the SpecOps to look.  

“Get your ass out, you silly bastard,” One of them reaches into the back, wrestling with someone. 

You quickly made your way over having determined that this was the second transfer. 

“Aye, I’m trying, Captain,” whoever was speaking was already on some sort of analgesic, his words slightly slurred and laced with delirium. 

Just as you reached the door the two standing at the door had managed to lift their injured comrade onto his feet, all his weight was being supported by them. His face was gaunt from the pain and blood loss, and he was fighting to keep his eyes open and focused. 

“I’m fine. I just need a wee nap,” despite all his bravado he was going to need more than that. Following the trail of brutality that was once his shirt, now shredded and bloodied, and lifted the lapel of his jacket to get a better look. You peek under the mess of gauze and bundled-up shirt to find a bullet wound located on his shoulder, the bleeding controlled by quick clotting powder. It was messy work, but it saved his life. 

You shook my head, “No nap for you,” and looked to the man he had called Captain, “Did it go through?” you asked referring to the bullet.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Bring him in,” you lead them back into the clinic, holding the door open for them as they shuffled him inside. “First door on the right,” directing them from behind while you quickly step into another room to retrieve a trauma kit. You noted that it was the second to last one. 

When you returned the two that were uninjured were shoving their wounded companion onto the bed. It was a little rough, but you had a sense these guys were coming from a fight and still has adrenaline coursing through them. 

“When did this happen?” 

“Half an hour ago. Give or take.”  

“Any meds?” you asked not looking up as you opened the trauma kit and unloaded its contents.

“Shot of adrenalin.” 

You cut the rest of the shirt and jacket away. 

“Woah lassie, cannae get me dinner first?” the man flopped his head back into the bed, no longer able to keep it up himself. 

“Manners, Soap,” the Captain knocked his leg in a light-hearted reprimand.

You sprayed a generous amount of saline over the wound, washing away the clotting powder and blood to get a better look at the wound. You turned back to the kit, opening everything you would need to patch him back up, then snapped on some sterile gloves. 

Soap was a good patient, letting you work without complaints, and following directions in spite of all the drugs and pain. You had the other two men turn Soap over so you could get access to the exit wound on his back. You resituated yourself, opening more packages and switching out your gloves for new ones. Chewing on the inside of your cheek as you pulled the last few stitches. You backed away, discarding the needle and bloodied gauze in their respective bins. 

“How are you feeling?” you leaned over the bed to get a good look at your patient's face. His tired eyes dragged over your face, and a slow cheeky smile started before his eyes fell shut. His breathing settled as he drifted into sleep.   

Their Captain clicked his tongue, “He’ll be fine right?”

“Might need some fluids and blood, but yes, he’ll be fine.” 

There was a knock on the door frame, and all three of you turned at the sound. It was Butters. 

You started, “Do you need—”

“No,” he interjected. His expression told you all you needed to know, “We couldn’t get V-Fib.” 

You fell silent. Nothing you could say or do that would help at this point. There was nothing worse than losing a patient. 

Butters jerked his chin to the now resting Soap, “How’s yours?”  

You stepped to the side to allow him a view. He stepped into the room, inspecting your handiwork. He made a sound of appreciation and gave a slow nod. Trauma was your specialty, so the result was clean and precise.   

“What do you think he’ll need?” Butters asked. You rattled off your ideas and the reasoning behind them. He agreed with it all and patted your shoulder, telling you he’d relay it to Carter to see what he could scrounge up.  

You circled back to the two remaining soldiers, “Did you know him?” you made a weak gesture to the door, the hallway, and the now dead soldier beyond that. 

“No,” the Captain looked at you from beneath the visor of his hat, his hard eyes giving nothing away. You looked at his chest thinking a name would be stitched there. Of course, there wasn’t. Either way, he noted the quick glance because he raised a hand for you to shake, “Name’s Price.”

You took it, “Y/n.”. 

Price shot a thumb over his shoulder, “That’s Soap,” and then turned it towards the man clad in black, “And our favourite Ghost.” 

You made to shake Ghost’s hand too but when he lifted his arm you noted the hiss of pain and wince,  “You’re hurt too,” before he could answer you had his arm in your hand. The adrenaline from earlier was no longer keeping his pain at bay. 

“I’m fine,” he insisted, a slight lilt to his words you didn’t pick from earlier. Despite his words, he didn’t try to pull away from your grasp, even allowing you to roll back his sleeve. A bullet grazed his forearm, taking with it a considerable layer of skin. 

“That's what the last guy said too,” You said, ushering him to the chair in the corner of the room. 

“Take a seat, Ghost,” Price said, a hint of amusement in his voice. He stepped into the hallway, “I’m going to go fill everyone in. Let them know Johnny-Boy is to live another day.” 

Ghost reluctantly plopped into the chair, placing his arm on the armrest. You turned to the trauma kit once more, kicking a rolling chair with you to sit in front of Ghost. You placed supplies on his lap in the absence of a table, and he used his good arm to make sure none of it fell. He leaned back in the chair, resting his head on the wall behind him. He wasn’t going to need stitches but that didn’t mean he was safe from potential infections. You cleaned the wound as best you could with the last bit of saline. Placing a glob of antibiotic ointment on the dressing before securing it with tape. 

“Ta-da,” you looked up at his concealed face. He kept his eyes shut for a second more before he reopened them to examine his new bandage. You took the moment to secretly admire him. You couldn't see his entire face because of the skull mask; however, you could still make out his eyes beneath the shadow of his hood. They were a deep brown, framed with long dark eyelashes, and lined with black paint. He had sad eyes. Eyes that saw more than they wanted. 

“Dandy work, Doc,” He remarks, turning his attention back to you. 

You dropped your gaze, suddenly bashful, your ears heating, “Not a doctor,” you shrugged, “Maybe sometime in the future though.” 

“Maybe?” He tilted his head ever so slightly. The action was boyish and so at odds with his demeanour, it was almost comical. Yet charming at the same time. 

You nodded and rolled his sleeve back over the bandage, sending him off with a little tap on the arm, and you scoot back on the stool, allowing him some space, “I haven’t decided what I want exactly.” 

“Why’d you choose this? Come here, I mean,” he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, a display of genuine curiosity. 

You smiled, rubbing your thumb and pointer finger together. Money. It probably wasn’t nearly as heroic as his backstory. 

He huffed out a breath but it might have been a laugh and shook his head, “A pretty little thing like you doesn’t belong in a warzone,” he lifted himself off his seat, stretching his long limbs.

“A pretty little thing like me is managing perfectly fine,” you raised your face to meet his. He was tall, and underneath all that gear you could tell there was nothing refined muscle. He probably wasn't built with aesthetics in mind though, just cruel brutality and wicked savagery meant to keep him alive in dire situations. Meant to kill.  

“We can only hope,” he adjusted his sleeve, “You keep an eye on this one, Doc,” he adds.

“Does he bite?” you asked faux curiosity dripping from your tongue before turning your attention back to Soap. He was still pale, so covered him with the thin blue blanket at the bottom of the bed. Butters or Carter would be back soon with your order from earlier as soon as they found what they could. Which was a tall order. 

“Oh, he’s absolutely feral,” he joined in on the jest, backing out of the room with that one last warning before silently disappearing into the hallway. 

You met up with Price and Ghost at the end of the day with an update. They had set up a temporary camp next door, an old office, the windows already boarded up. This time they were joined by two others. One was named Gaz and the other was Roach, both of whom were currently playing cards. Ghost was sitting at the desk next to them, a disassembled handgun in front of him. A line of bullets standing at attention on the corner of the desk. 

“How long till he’s back in commission?” Price asked, leaning back on the main administrative desk. He too seemed more at ease knowing his friend was no longer on death's doorstep. He and Ghost had come to check on Soap twice. Soap has yet to wake up from earlier, his body forcing him into a pseudo-coma so it could focus on healing him.  

“Two weeks maximum. Even then if I send him off with some pain meds he’s going to be incredibly sore,” As the words left your mouth you knew what his next question was going to be. 

“And at the minimum?” he lowered his chin, looking at you from beneath his brows, preparing for me to scold him. You can’t force them to listen to you, only make suggestions and give advice. It was frustrating because you could already tell the moment Soap woke up he was going to want to regroup and get back in the fight.  

You blew out a breath, resting your hands on your hips, “Couple days...I don’t recommend that thought. There’s a high probability that would he would reopen the wound and the complications that would follow aren’t worth it. I would give him, at the very least, a week.” 

Price turned to look at Ghost, who met his gaze in return. A silent exchange. A familiarity developed over years of operating together. Ghost nodded and started reassembling his gun. Satisfied with the response, Price reached behind the desk and pulled out his gun, pointing it to the floor and resting his finger on the side of the gun. Cards shuffled across the table as Gaz collected them and put them back in their box and tossed them to Ghost who then put them in his pack. They were moving swiftly. 

“We’ll be back in a week,” Price announced, and walked up to meet you at the entrance, “Just make sure they don’t ship him off while we’re away.” 

“I don’t really have authority here,” you admitted. You take orders, not give them. 

“Hide him away,” Price was only half-joking. Then he was barking orders to load up the truck and that they were leaving in 5 minutes. A small part of you wanted to ask them to at least rest for the night and leave at dawn. A major part of you knew that that was a ridiculous thought. 

Ghost was the last to leave the office, and you stuck a hand out catching him in the chest. You were met with solid resistance, “Keep that thing clean. Change it every day. I don’t want to see you come back here in a week and you’ve caught yourself an infection,” you gestured to his arm. 

His eyes widened ever so slightly before he gave you a curt, “Yes, ma’am.”.

Exactly 5 minutes later, they were pulling out and driving away from the clinic. They left nothing behind and it was like they were never even here. 

Well…they left Soap. 

But whatever mission they were on was evidently time-sensitive. And their detour here was already causing their Captain unease. You could also tell he was also uncertain about leaving one of his men behind.  

You went back inside the clinic, checking in on Soap one last time before doing a shift change.

Soap was still asleep when you returned for my shift the next day but looked considerably better than he did before. Colour had returned to his face, and if he was still asleep that meant his pain was causing him too much strife. His eyes slit open around noon, and as expected, he was groggy and nauseous. You dosed him up before getting him to sit up for some food and water. It was the same rations we medics were given, and when you found out he had a certain affinity for the peanut butter packets you would bring yours to him. Ghost had been organized enough to have brought in his pack before they left so you helped Soap ease into a clean shirt, excusing myself so he could change his pants.

He didn’t complain once during the whole week, he even refused analgesics on the fourth day. He may have made cheeky comments here and there but he was docile. Not at all feral like Ghost had “warned”. You read into the act though, he was showing you good behaviour so you would release him sooner. He was especially limber at the end of day seven. The camp had finally received a truck, stocked with everything that was needed, and then some. This morning and you caught Soap trying to haul stuff inside from the truck. You caught him, not once, not twice, but three times. After the third time, you gave up and let him help you replenish the shelves and rooms. 

Right now he was sitting on the edge of the bed while you checked his vitals and range of motion. You lifted his arm by the elbow, he tried suppressing the wince when you asked him to hold the position.

“What do ya say, lass? Am I meeting your standards,” you found his accent endearing. He was aware of that fact and used it to his advantage.

“It’s a good start,” you admitted. You wouldn’t be telling him but he rebounded pretty fast. If it was some creepy voodoo, or just him being stubborn you couldn’t tell. 

“Ye bet yer arse it is, I’ve got you takin’ good care of me,” he flashed you a smile before moving his arm into the next position.

You shook my head as you wrote down a note on a pad, “All your honey pouring isn’t going to get you very far with me,” you finished off your assessment and shut the notepad fixing him with an exasperated stare. 

He shrugged, eyes drifting to the clock on the wall above the door “Thought I’d give it a shot.”. 

His team was supposed to be back by today, but it was getting late now. You knew Soap had tried hailing them on the radio a couple of times but was only met with empty feedback. He stopped after the fourth attempt at contact, saying it was unsafe to try anymore. The words, it might be compromised, were left unspoken. If he was getting worried he was doing a job of not letting it be known to anyone. 

It wasn’t until a day later when Soap and you were counting stock and documenting everything, that you heard the familiar tenor of Ghost. The slam of boots echoed down the hall until Ghost and Price appeared in the doorway. 

“Look at you, all sunshine and sprinkles,” Ghost was the first to speak up, clapping Soap on the shoulder. He was kind enough to make sure it was his uninjured arm.

“Am I sweet enough for you yet?” Soap cracked back. 

“Not in the slightest,” he might have the mask on but he can’t hide the sound of his smile. Even Price had a twinkle in his eye. They were a close-knit group, that much was obvious, and seeing Soap back on his feet seemed to lift some weight off their shoulders.  

“Aye, well yer late pickin’ me up so I guess we’re even,” Soap countered. 

There was a moment of reunion before Soap followed Price back outside to meet up with the rest of the squad. Ghost lingered, nodding at the shelves, “Got your truck?” 

“Yeah,” you couldn’t help but smile, “I’m guessing you guys had something to do with that?” 

He shrugged a shoulder, “We cleaned up the streets a bit on our way out, yeah.” 

You thanked him before pointing to his arm, “How’s the arm looking?” 

He leaned his rifle on the wall and rolled his sleeve up so you could take a look, it was no longer covered with a bandage but it was healing fine. Standing this close to him you could smell the gunpowder and smoke on him, could see the new burn marks and tears in his clothing.

“I have to say, I’m surprised you listened to me,” you looked at him. 

He rolled his eyes, “I was scared you would have my head if I didn’t,” he most definitely was not scared of you but it still drew a laugh from you.    

Part 4

Masterlist  ❤︎  Tag List Form 

A/N - i know in the first part i said that Ghost had first met Doc in a medical tent, but when i originally started writing this it was a clinic. 

Tag List 

General - @thychuvaluswife ❤︎ @shuttlelauncher81 ❤︎  @lostinsideourminds ❤︎ @v1naco ❤︎ @purplefishingline ❤︎  @konig-breedme ❤︎ @wolfyland07​ ❤︎ @dog55teeth

His Foresight - ❤︎ @marytvirgin ❤︎ @stickygumchewer ❤︎ @lauraliisa ❤︎ @jungcoccc ❤︎ @lovelyladymayyyy ❤︎ @lululandd ❤︎ @chrissyfishywissy ❤︎ @naxxsstuff ❤︎ @sididakra-jo ❤︎ @yukisawer ❤︎ @q8852p ❤︎ @kat-nee ❤︎ @meganoreid ❤︎ @thewoodenarcade ❤︎ @kaghost ❤︎ @shadowcldx

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x you #MW2 #ghost mw2 #mw2 x reader #cod fanfic #cod x reader #simon ghost riley angst #simon ghost riley series #john soap mactavish #MistyGhosties

[vantaesfairie]

𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔨 𝔞 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔡 : 𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔨𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔞 𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔬𝔫

atlty’s tarot readings - dm for paid readings and prices!

for the easily butthurt people i’m not specifying or demonising any mental health disorder here. FUN AND ENTERTAINMENT ONLY.

choose a picture below:

pile 1: dancing girls around a bonfire

the main message i got was that ‘if they are working hard towards something, it will backfire or fail’. definitely their goals, even if they achieve them, will bring some sort of backlash to them. perhaps a hotheaded fight (could be verbal, physical...) too. and something about erect*ons possibly not working too (censorship bc of tumblr). their outspoken or blunt nature can cause them to amplify the negative effects of the karma on them. it feels very workplace, so they will get karma at work or in school if so. their passions and endeavours will not come to fruition the way that they may think it will. they will grow stubbornness and pessimism, and possibly overwork themselves in a bad way with no achievement at the end. expect something coming or going rapidly. either they will get out of a situation that they were barely in to begin with or they throw yourself into a situation head first without thinking things through. they rapidly advance making snap decisions which puts them at a disadvantage. 

pile 2: candelabra girl dancing

yalls main message is ‘justice will be served’. something in their balance (could be work life, emotional balance) will turn off and cause an imbalance which will affect them. they will be attached to material physical things like appearance, s*x, etc that makes them forget and dismiss about the real things that make up a person, which is their relationships and opportunities that appear. they will start to have some silent self-image issues but not tell that to the world. they could face weight or health problems. they could start to be financially dependent on something / someone else. if they have wronged someone, they will definitely pay the consequences. the truth will come out. their main challenges are just materialism and financial difficulties ahead. if there is a legal battle, i’m feeling that they will lose it. 

pile 3: lantern girls searching in water

your message is ‘they will lose everything’. (i’m not sure if this is everything everything, or just everything in the sense of what they find most precious in the world). their emotional maturity will decline, they won’t be able to open themselves to be friendly and to let people to get to know them. they will get triggered by the little things (in a bad way, unempathetic way). perhaps a creative block too if they are an artist in any way. they will be very deceptive, but people will realize their schemes. if they have cheated, this will come to light and bite them in the butt. if they were once this higher up who bird-fed those below them, the roles will be reversed. it feels to me like they will drop from the peak of what they thought they had to absolute nothingness, or a position that they feel is degrading. they may also start to cope with alcohol or some sort of binge. they’ll lose their cool, and get demoted. 

im in a very petty mood right now if u couldnt tell from my tone BUT DONT SHOOT THE MESSENGER. TAROT READINGS ARE FOR FUN. I DID NOT CURSE NOBODY HERE AND IF YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY AB ME DEMONIZING PEOPLE shut your ass up

thank you for coming to my blog! please consider a paid reading or custom sigil. check out my masterlist for all my works. reblogs help!  

#tarot #witchblr #witchcraft #tarotblr #deck #intutitive #intuition #pac #pick a pile #pick a card #astrology #divination #crystals #games #services #commissions open #cards #artist

[misssakurapetal28]

Hello! I’m Currently Open For Commissions!

Due to recent irl events, I am now for the time being accepting commissions! Here are the examples:

Lineart - $10

Colored (no shading nor background) - $20

Colored with Shading (no background) - $25

Colored, with Shading and background - $30

$5 each to add extra characters

$3 extra for full body

Please read the Rules & Conditions first!

I will not start your commission(s) until I receive your full payment!

I need a description AND references of what you want me to draw. Just send it to me at my main account @misssakurapetal27!

If you're requesting an OC, please give me a reference of them.

I MIGHT do NSFW art, but it's ENTIRELY based on what it is. With that said, PLEASE DO NOT commission me NSFW art if you are a minor or under 18+! If you do this and I find out that you're a minor, I will decline your commission and I WILL block you!

The max number of commissions that I'll receive from each customer is 3 (three).

Please, DO NOT pay me until I confirm your order! After I do so, I will note you, message you or DM you privately through my email or account.

Me finishing your commission(s) is highly dependent on my schedule. So it will take me at least 1 month to get it finished. If I don't meet this deadline and you don’t wish to wait any longer, then you are owed your right to a complete refund.

Please keep in mind that I have a schedule and real-life matters to deal with, so sometimes things are going to come up that might slow the progress of your commission. You are entitled to a refund after a month, but please give me time.

At this point in time, I will accept payments through Paypal and ONLY through Paypal. I also prefer USD (US currency).

If ANY rules are broken, I have the right to decline your offer. If you come at me aggressively, I will block you on the spot.

I WILL do:

Fanart of any game, show, movie etc., even if I haven't heard of it! However, I do prefer media that I HAVE at least heard of. It increases the chances of your commission being done early.

Any character, that includes OCs.

SFW most definitely.

Ships/Pairings/Couples, even if it’s one’s that I don’t like.

Any LGBTQIA+ art of any kind. That includes Male x Female, Male x Male and Female x Female pairs. Poly is also included.

I MIGHT do (we'll discuss privately):

Animals & monsters. I'm still getting use to drawing them.

NSFW. It depends on what it is and how explicit it is. At best, it will be VERY mild.

Furries & Anthros.

I WON'T do:

Pedophilia or child porn of any kind.

Zoophilia/Zoosadism or Bestiality of any kind.

Hate art, bigotry or discrimination of any kind.

Misogny, incels, toxic masculinity, toxic femminity, or alpha/beta males of any kind.

Fetishes

Political or Religious Propaganda

Finale Note:

Due to Tumblr's guidelines, some (if not) all of my possible NSFW commissions will just be sent directly to you. SFW Art I will post and send to you.

I will not take any free request nor art trades. Prices are also NON-NEGOTIABLE. Ask me for those things once and you’ll get a warning! Ask for those things again and you will be blocked!

If you have any more questions or concerns, DM me at or note me @misssakurapetal27 for more!

Media that I know of:

Miraculous Ladybug

My Little Pony Friendship is Magic

Equestria Girls

She-Ra

Pretty Cure

Sailor Moon

Hellva Boss

Hazbin Hotel

Rise of the TMNT

Like I said however, I will do any series 😄

#commission #digital commisions #commisions open #commision info #taking commisions #art commisions #drawing commisions #commissions #misssakurapetal27 #miraculous ladybug #ml #miraculous #equestria girls #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #tmnt #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #ladybug

[nomadstucky]

Ghost Blurb

Yes, I will be expanding on this in a future fic. This IS a whole ass fic bro. LMAO This may be a one off writing for Ghost, it depends. My issue is that I hyperfixate on characters. This hyperfixation has taken hold for at least 2-ish weeks now. So this is PEAK Ghost brain rot, right here.

This has NOT been edited, or beta-read. All mistakes are my own.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, BLANK BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

So this is NOT a blurb... 1,025 WORDS.

I feel like it's canon at this point, but Ghost would absolutely cum untouched from eating you out. I mean, picture this.

It had been such a rough day for him. The recruits had been incredibly taxing, whether not listening to him, or pushing him. All he wanted was you.

You had this uncanny way of calming him down, and you hadn't even really been seeing each other. It wasn't exclusive, but you were the only female on the base, so it made sense that he sought you out.

While the other men had flirted with you, you declined them every time. You weren't even sure why, you just had a feeling they wouldn't be able to satisfy you the way Ghost had.

Given the nature, there was an amount of trust that the two of you had. You didn't ever push him to show his face, or divulge any information. He offered bits and pieces. His name, and some general information. Ghost was a man who very much was able to keep himself under wraps, while simultaneously indulging in certain pleasures.

Ghost very rarely denied himself the pleasure of you. Most times, he wanted to get the two of you off, but he hardly ever sought pleasure from your pleasure alone. He didn't even realize that was a thing that existed.

On this particular day, Ghost found himself to be needy. He could not get you out of his head. It was like you had ingrained yourself into his brain, and refused to get out.

He found himself waiting for the moments where he caught glimpses of you. However fleeting these looks were. Ghost only ever caught sight of you a few times, before he had to train the new recruits. In the mess hall, seeing you walk into Price's office, and then once more while you were walking to your room.

Ghost found himself calling the training off just over an hour into it. He hoped that you were still in your room, hoped that he could just bury himself into the comfort that you brought him.

He didn't want to attempt to understand his own feelings, no, he'd much rather just get lost in you, and your body. He knocked before entering.

You knew it was Ghost before he even entered, he had a very distinct knock that he always used with you. Setting your book down, you looked at him as he was entering.

Smiling up at him, you greeted him. "Are you okay? You look tense." You commented.

"I just need you." Was the only response he offered, proceeding to shuck off his tactical gear.

"How can I help?" You stood from the bed, moving closer to him.

Ghost shook his head and walked you back to the bed. "Lay down, bunny."

You did as he instructed, the nickname ricocheting through your brain. In the entire time you and Ghost had been sleeping together, he had only ever used 'bunny' once or twice. When he was incredibly desperate.

"Fuck, I just... I need to taste you. Can I?" He asked, slowly working your lounge pants down your legs.

You nodded, Ghost had always been a gracious lover, however he had only ever eaten you out once or twice before. You assumed that it wasn't his thing. All thoughts in your brain had halted, as Ghost pulled you to the edge of the bed simultaneously pulling his mask up just past his mouth.

You whimpered his name.

"Fuck bunny." He growled, pulling your panties back only to snap them against your skin, before pulling them to the side.

Gasping, you arched your back slightly. Watching him as he settled to his knees on the hardwood floor.

"Si, your knees." You reached up to grab a pillow.

"Don't give a fuck, bunny. Let me enjoy this." Was the only 'warning' you had, before he was flattening his tongue against you.

You whined, hands falling to the mattress beside your head. The man lapped at your folds, alternating between paying specific attention to sucking at your clit, and spearing his tongue into you.

In the few times he had eaten you out, it never felt like this. He had been more reserved, trying to feel what you liked, and what you didn't. What made you scream, and what made you squirm.

His fingers dug into your thighs, sure to leave marks in the morning. You ground your hips against him, as he slowly brought a hand down to gently slide two fingers into you, slowly pumping them.

Growling, he sucked your clit into his mouth. You whining, gripping the bedsheets in your hands. "Fuck! Simon, please!" You circled your hips, begging for what? You weren't sure.

Ghost groaned, sucking the soul from your body, through your pussy. Straining in his boxers, he refused to do anything until he got you to cum. He wanted you to cum more than anything else right now.

Your entire body locked, you felt every nerve-ending, every cell in your body burned like fire. This felt different. "S-Si. I need--"

Ghost growled, ripping himself away from you. Eyes on you, blazing. "I'm gonna give you everything bunny." Was the only thing that he said before reattaching his lips to you.

Your back arched, one of your hands moving to cup the back of the balaclava, you found yourself wishing for it to not be there. Not to see his face, but to feel his hair, to grip his hair, pull him closer to you.

A chant of pleases left your lips, your entire body feeling like it's on fire. With one final set of sucks and pulses from his fingers, you came. With a scream of his name, you came so hard you saw stars.

Slowly leaning back, Ghost chanted "Yes, yes, yes." before flooding his boxers, completely untouched.

You gasped, looking down the length of your body, you watched Ghost throw his head back. "D-Did you..?" Your hoarse voice trailed off.

Ghost merely nodded, with his head still facing the ceiling.

"That's hot." You commented, biting your lip as you watched Ghost slowly move to look at you, a renewed fire in his eyes.

A smirk slowly rose on his face, and you knew you were in deep trouble.

#reader insert #cod simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost cod

[daybreak-mun]

Commissions Open

So long story short, I fucked up and I need to open emergency commissions. Since I'm in a pretty massive bind, these are going to be a bit different than what I normally do.

So, good news! It looks like the dispute I put in with my bank went through. I'm no longer in a financial emergency!

I'll still be keeping commissions open for a bit though!

It's a first-come first-served deal, with payment expected upfront. There are no numbered slots this time around, and instead will go until I have enough to cover the bind I'm in. I will update this whenever I decide to close commissions. There is the option to back out if the list is too big and you don't want to wait.

If you would like to claim a spot in the queue, please send me a DM here or anywhere I have an account. Just please let me know who you are before sending me a friend request out of the blue on places like Discord. I've been having quite a bit of trouble with bots on there.

Commission TOS:

Prices may fluctuate based on complexity and difficulty.

Please provide me all the necessary details that I need, including providing references for who/what you want drawn.

I will DM you regular progress updates at certain points of completion.

More simple backgrounds that aren't solid/gradient will use a percentage of the "complex background" price.

I have the right to decline a commission, either because it makes me uncomfortable, or if I don't think I could do it justice.

If I find you're lying about your age to get an NSFW commission from me, I will permanently block you.

You are not allowed to mint my artwork for NFT/crypto, nor are you allowed to use it to train AI datasets.

If a refund is requested, the amount will be lowered based on the completion at the time of the request.

If you request a change that requires me to redo a major part of the commission, I may charge extra for the work.

I can only take payment through PayPal.

There are a few things I won't draw:

Heavy blood and gore - I'm just not comfortable drawing it

Hate speech / hate art - This should be obvious

Complex mechs / machines - I wouldn't be able to do them justice

Commission Prices:

Note: There is a $10 surcharge on commissions. Sorry I don't really have a graphic. This is kind of on short notice.

Sketch

Shoulders up: $7.50 (+3.75/extra)

Knees up: $9.50 (+4.75/extra)

Full body: $11.50 (+5.75/extra) Up to 4 characters $8.50 for complex background +15% for shading

Flat Color

Shoulders up: $11.50 (+5.75/extra)

Knees up: $14.75 (+7.50/extra)

Full body: $17.75 (+8.50/extra) Up to 4 characters $13.50 for complex background

Single-tone Shading

Shoulders up: $17.75 (+8.50/extra)

Knees up: $22.50 (+11.25/extra)

Full body: $25.00 (+12.50/extra) Up to 3 characters $20.00 for complex background

Multi-tone / Experimental Shading

Shoulders up: $25.00 (+12.50/extra)

Knees up: $30.50 (+15.25/extra)

Full body: $37.50 (+18.75/extra) Up to 2 characters $32.50 for complex background

[unholycringebirther]

OBSESSIVE IAN DUFF X GN!READER

SUMMARY: Ian’s taken a turn for the darker side, his thoughts have gotten obsessive as he convinces himself you’re the same level as a deity.

WARNING: Obsessive thoughts, unhealthy worshipping, incessant calling and texting, very brief mention of cheating, MINORS DNI.

WORD COUNT: 936

The messages and calls build up unanswered, and despite the ache in my heart I can’t help the dull sense of relief that I haven’t been blocked yet.

Not that I don’t deserve it, I think to myself bitterly as I sit down on my mattress, the cool night air from the open window brushing against my exposed skin.

Everything hurts, the lack of their smile, their presence, their texts, it eats me alive, loneliness pulling me under into a dark, thick sea until I’m clawing pathetically at them to pull me up, to pull me away from the coldness of their tears, tears caused by me.

Desperation laces my fingers as I type another text, it’s late, I should be asleep and logically, I know they probably are, but I can’t stop myself.

I know I should leave them alone, that I should respect their boundaries and stop reaching out so frequently, but something grows inside me as every day passes, something dark twisting around my heart as I fall from their good-graces.

It’s sickening, almost as nausea inducing as the bile that rises in my throat when I think about the night I spent unfaithful, I don’t know how I could’ve looked at anyone else, not when it feels like my ex-lover is the centre point of the earth, pulling everything I am towards them in a enchanting pull.

As the darkness wraps around my heart, my thoughts change, the love I have for them turning to almost worship, the voice I loved listening to late at night shifting until it was above even the song of a siren.

I’m not worthy of them, they’re a deity to this cruel, cruel world and nobody is worth their angelic light.

But as I open Amazon in my browser, I can’t help but attempt over and over to prove that I’m their best follower, the priest that will worship in their temple ‘till my orange hair turns grey and dusty.

Every god needs offerings, and I’ll offer my heart, my soul, everything I am to them, they own my being and I’ll love every second they take me back, I’ll beg for it, take me please, I’m yours.

But right now, the materialistic is all I can give, despite their eternal perfection so obvious to me now, everybody else misses it, and they’ve been rejected from jobs aside from that yogurt place they despise.

I know I shouldn’t be mad at the world, I’ve been so blinded by their light that I missed it completely, but I can’t help the resentment that builds in me at the idea of anyone mistreating them, of rejecting them anything they could ever desire.

But twistedly, a sick gladness washes over me, that means I can provide, to prove im worthy of forgiveness, that im worth the trouble, that I can return to their temple to praise them like they rightfully deserve.

I know what they want, and I scroll through amazon, clicking constantly on things I know they’d love, adding them to my cart and watching the price tag build, they could never afford this themselves, but that’s alright, i’m here for that.

Finally, when the quality of the items starts declining down the list I click the cart, ready to checkout for the next few hours at least, typing in our apartments address.

I stare at my phone, silence booming loudly throughout the apartment as I think, this isn’t enough, not nearly enough, I’m not sure anything ever will.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t try, or won’t, I stand suddenly, moving to my window to gaze down at the campus grounds, part of me regrets coming here, I should’ve stayed in our shared home, happy and warm, where I had the honor of belonging to them.

But I’m here, and that’s opened new doors for a better life for us, I’ve received a offer, one that I’ve mulled over for weeks, wondering where it would slot in to the life I’ll build for me and my god.

I’ve been sent a email about one of the auditions I’ve tried for, a high budget reboot of an old show that the name escapes from me, starring as the colourful main character.

Wealth and fame was promised as part of the deal, it was tempting for the wrong reasons.

I wasn’t special or important in any way, there’s nothing about me that stands out from the crowd, I don’t have looks or anything, my mothers made sure to remind me of that.

But with fame, with my name out there, I could become somebody, even if that somebody was a clown, it was better than staying the nobody that desperately claws at the legs of a higher being, begging for another chance after I so foolishly threw my first one away.

And with wealth, I could buy a better home for us, gift them only the best clothes, food, and luxuries that exists in this world, I would give and give until maybe, I could prove I’m worthy of their gaze on me for even a second.

Yeah, that could work out nicely for the both of us, but I can’t exactly email them back this late at night, so instead, I pull up my gods call ID, I’ve been sent to voicemail hundreds of times, but it was worth it on the off chance they’d pick up, and to hear their siren-like voice message over and over.

I can’t buy them a temple for worship just yet, but I can still prove my dedication with yet another call.

#sunny day jack #somethings wrong with sunny day jack #sdj #swwsdj #sdj ian #ian duff #sdj ian duff

[fleckcmscott]

Silver Dollar

Summary: An outage in Gotham provides the perfect opportunity for a special night.

Words: 4,629

Warnings: Smut

A/N: This story was prompted by a request from @iartsometimes! 💜 It's probably a little tamer than intended. 🤭 Thank you for the request! Also, much appreciation to @sweet-nothings04 for low-lighting visibility tips. 😂 🌃

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

The graffiti plastered bathroom plunged into darkness.

Arthur stiffened where he stood, blinked into the blackness. His vision did not become clearer. Grumbling, he tucked himself into his pants and stepped back from the urinal. The handle took two tugs to flush. He fumbled for the sink, gave his palms a rinse shorter than the Gotham Department of Health recommended. Paper pharmacy bag in hand, he opened the exit's steel door and headed northwest. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glaring, August sun.

Gotham had gone crazy in record time.

People spilled out of luncheonettes, crowds crammed shop doorways. Traffic lights refused to light and pedestrian signals refused to signal. Horns blared in the building pandemonium. A passenger yelled out of a taxicab and flipped the bird, while the driver pounded the steering wheel. Chaos repeated block after block. The Stutton Cowboy on the center billboard ("Price is good. Flavor is everything.") no longer waved. His cigarette hand hovered over his mouth in shock.

Arthur was prepared. Whether due to bad writing or an unpaid bill, he'd spent his share of evenings smoking in the dark. This was something he was good at, an event he could take the lead in.

Bumping a fleeing college kid who had a bottle of vodka hidden under his arm, Arthur shouldered his way into the nearest grocery. Squeezed by a couple of oh lords, maneuvered through murmurs and gripes, and ran through a mental inventory of the drawers in 4A. The day dimmed as he neared the rear aisles. When he arrived at the Home Needs section, he crouched between an abandoned cart and a baby stroller.

He squinted at the battery rack. AAs for the radio, Ds for the flashlight. Maybe some candles, just in case...

An ever-expanding line of shoppers accelerated the beads of sweat on the young cashier's forehead. Handwritten receipts and totals by calculator took twice as long. Arthur sidled to the next line, overseen by a matronly woman wearing a paisley wrap dress who did all the math in her head.

"I'm gonna need a drink after today," she said as he approached the counter.

It took a moment for him to realize she was looking for a kindred spirit. A rapid blink, a subtle nod. "Yeah. Me, too." He eyed a row of bottles on the shelf behind her. That'd make his reply believable.

She followed his stare, stretched to grab a green bottle with an art nouveau label, and put it on the counter.

Vermouth. He wasn't familiar with that word. It sounded exotic, like a fine imported thing. It was a screw top instead of a cork, which he tended to frown on. Uncorking a bottle together was romantic, whereas this was akin to opening a liter of seltzer. He was about to decline it when the price tag froze him. At $14.99, it was more expensive than any wine he'd ever had.

Maybe it really was a fine, imported thing.

"Is it good?" he asked. He picked it up, studied the back as if a connoisseur.

"One of our best sellers."

He gave the matron a one shoulder shrug, half-commitment about to go full. "I'll take it."

~~~~~

Y/N strode the hallowed halls of Gotham City District Court. On the corner of Badger Boulevard and Olsen, the granite behemoth belied the civil servants who were paid far too little to deal with far too much.

Adjusting the bag on her shoulder, she ambled down the checkerboard floor towards the clerk's window. Rita, her favorite, was working today. Rita returned every call, always helped with a combination of sarcasm and cheer.

"And what did you bring me today? she asked when Y/N plopped her canvas bag on the counter. Rita stopped watering her shaggy spider plant and walked to the window.

"A motion to continue the Caruso case and a dozen new filings. You can send the invoice for the filing fees to my office." Y/N split the stack of folders into three slim piles and pushed them through the gap under the glass. "How did your bowling league do last night?"

"We're one game away from regionals! I'm trying to convince my husband to-"

A loud pop echoed down the corridor, bounced along the linoleum, ricocheted off horsehair plaster. The air conditioner's hum devolved to a grinding whir. Bright fluorescents gave way to dingey emergency beams, crisscrossing through dusty, recycled air.

Hand on hip, Y/N looked up. "Did you misplace the electric bill?"

"Great. Judge Harkness is in the middle of a jury trial on the fourth floor. He hates taking the stairs." The clerk covered her face, glanced at Y/N's folders through parted fingers. "I'm not sure when I'll get these processed."

"That's all right. I just wanted them off my desk. I haven't seen the surface in six months." She retrieved a business card from her purse, pushed it to join the files, a gesture repeated every visit to Rita, a reminder to reach out. "Don't forget to update me on your tournament. And don't let His Honor forget who actually runs this place."

When she arrived at Dube & Ellis after a fifty-two-minute walk - all subways stations were cordoned off - she was sweltering. Polyester didn't breathe and it comprised seventy-two percent of her wardrobe. That Terry had done exactly the wrong thing by drawing back the vertical blinds on each and every window was typical. "There's not enough light in here! The whole city's out!"

She unbuttoned her collar and dropped in her chair. Normally her Sanyo desk fan would rattle and grate. Now she'd give her whole paycheck for a hint of its cool breeze.

Power outages had been a feature of many seasons in Missouri. Tornado season and sticky season, window season and squirrel on the transformer season. One night a drunk driver had slammed his Studebaker into a utility pole three houses down. It'd crushed Mr. Walter's front porch and left the road without electricity for two days.

Her mother had instructed them not to open the refrigerator unless they knew what they wanted. Shut the doors to the hottest rooms and placed rolled towels at the bottom to keep air from seeping in. Though she'd loved how the sun filtered through her lace curtains, she'd kept the drapes shut. They'd lit candles at night. She'd done needlepoint in her favorite chair and watched her husband play cards with their daughters until bed. A real family affair.

Daubing beads from his brow with a handkerchief, Phil stood in the center of the room. His expression said keeping them there any longer would be an OSHA violation. He wasn't wrong. The office had become the least relaxing sauna on the east coast.

"You've all put in a lot of work today." He spoke in the voice of a grandfather and daubed again. "I know it wasn't easy. I guess there's no sense in us staying any longer. If the power's not back tomorrow-" A gulp here, as if he couldn't believe what he was about to say. "Enjoy a long weekend. My wife'll be glad to have me home. I think."

Y/N stole a glance at her watch: 4:42 PM. A whole eighteen minutes early. Though it wasn't a lot, she got how hard it was for a workaholic like Phil to give them five. Offering a soft smile, she went to him and stuck out her hand. The corner of his mouth twisted wryly before he accepted.

She gave his arm a collegial pat. "We're as caught up as we can be, so feel free to stop sweating."

~~~~~

The next morning's breakfast: cornflakes and blueberries. Y/N gave the milk a good sniff before pouring. With the microwave, toaster, and stove out of commission, oatmeal, toast, and eggs were off the menu. (Not that Arthur complained about the latter.)

They'd discussed how to use what was left in the fridge and freezer before it all went bad, but salads wouldn't work for every meal, and they were only two people. The Caswells across the hall, the neighbors who'd gotten their mail while they were in Missouri, had a grill. Y/N gave them a package of ground beef and a bag of frozen vegetables.

Arthur let his spoon clatter in the kitchen sink and rinsed his bowl. (It was a good and joyful thing that the water - and therefore the toilet - still worked.) "You know, I should go the children's clinic."

"Do you have a gig?" She sipped her orange juice.

"No. But it's boring hanging around all day without the TV. They hire me a lot. I'll go for free."

She rose, rubbed the small of his back. "That's so sweet, Arthur. And very kind."

"You could come with me." He paused, pressed his lips together. She'd seen him on street corners but hadn't witnessed the entirety of his performance. Even with her unending support, he suspected an all-out clown show would be the one place she'd feel out of place. He dared a glance her way.

And found a wide-eyed expression of approval. She cupped his hips, planted a wet kiss to his cheek. "You couldn't keep me away."

In the cab downtown, excitement bloomed in him, unfurling in a great wave of nervous joy. Knuckles intertwined, he hugged the prop bag on his lap, thighs jiggling. "Do you think they'll mind me just showing up?"

"No." She shook her head, placed a soothing palm on his knee. "They'll be happy to get a break in the monotony. It's a medical facility, they'll have generators, but the staff are going home to no power. They could use a laugh. The kids definitely could, too."

The Philomena Children's Clinic was squat for Gotham. Five stories of alternating beige concrete and polycarbonate windows, shaped into a squared-off U. Moss hung from the side of the porte-cochere, green clumps littered the pavement. Cartoon animals played on the entrance doors, giraffes and bears in happy acrylics.

When he checked in unannounced, Gertel the receptionist had a snotty face, but he'd learned not to take it personally. She liked order, worked eight to eight, even on holidays, and her only hobbies were the anagram puzzles in the newspaper and Harlequin romances. She was a tough egg to crack. The most he'd gotten was a pinched smile, a thin line of conceit.

Once he'd procured visitor badges for Y/N and himself, he went to the staff room to change. White base, blue triangles at the eyes, exaggerated red grin, bald wig with green curls, patched brown pants. He'd skipped his checkered suit jacket for a white lab coat, a long ago find from the secondhand store.

Rather than congregating in the common area, the kids remained in their rooms. The change put a limitation on his usual song and dance. Without those trappings, he wasn't quite sure what to do. He hesitated in the doorway of 201, thumbed a flat balloon in his pocket. When the little girl watching Sesame Street gave a small wave, he wiggled the worry from his shoulders and stepped forward.

Stephanie showed him a picture she'd drawn, all crayon streaks and misshapen house. In turn he crafted a balloon hat, put it on her head and told her to get well soon. A youngster next door, no more than five, told Arthur all about Misty, his golden retriever, and how much he missed her.

When Kevin, swallowed by an oversized robe, IV drip drip dripping, started to cry, Arthur's chest hollowed out. The boy hadn't seen his mom in two days. Being alone in a hospital was hard, a fact Arthur had lived. He plucked a prop handkerchief from his breast pocket, pressed it into the boy's tiny hands, pushed the corner of his mouth up with his thumb. "You'll see her soon," he said, words carrying a conviction he hoped was right.

Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted Y/N chatting with an RN at the nurse's station. He went into the corridor to eavesdrop, knelt beside a girl in a wheelchair smothered with pink and purple stickers, Heather plastered across the side panel.

"It was nice of him to come," Linda said. "A lot of their parents can't afford the cab fare to get out here, with the subway out and all. And if they're not working, they aren't getting paid. He's always excellent with the children - sometimes he's just like them. Do you have any at home?"

Heather leaned in, prodded his shoulder. "Who's that lady?" she asked, pointing at Y/N.

"That lady?" He grinned from ear to ear. "That's Mrs. Carnival."

The girl gaped in astonishment. "She's not a clown?"

~~~~~

Stolen sheets hung from the railing at both ends of the fire escape. A forest green acrylic blanket obscured the front. A floral comforter, retrieved on tiptoe from the bedroom closet, covered the wrought iron platform. Two wine glasses and vermouth stood on the steps. All that was left was to tune the radio to easy listening, which Arthur did, treading lightly to avoid a stubbed toe.

Nodding, he smiled at his handwork. Well, at the blurred shapes he could detect in the dimness. He looked skyward. With the sun below the horizon and the usual light pollution gone, the night was sparkling.

Candlestick in hand, he eased the bedroom door ajar and sidled through. Gold flickered through the dark, a softening glow. Y/N was an unmoving lump on the mattress. Leg dangling out from the sheet, her half-slip a line on her thigh. Though sleep now came easier, her ability to nap stoked an ember of envy. Midday snoozes happened only after a bit of afternoon delight. She'd tired early, around quarter past six. If he let her doze any longer, she'd be locked in a daze brewing coffee at 2:00 AM.

Hot wax stung the web between his thumb and forefinger. He hissed, shook his hand, shoved the candle on the nightstand. The edge of the mattress sunk under his weight. He grasped the cotton sheet. Dragged it from her shoulder. Revealed the lace trim of her ivory chemise. A brief mumble fell from her mouth, a wet sucking sound. Her fingers curled into the pillow. He pulled the sheet down further. It puddled to the floor.

Stretching one arm, she rolled back to wince at the candle, then at him. "What time is it?"

"Nine-thirty."

That jolted her awake. "I slept too long."

"Mabel called earlier."

"What did she want?"

"She said the blackouts were on the news. I let her know we're all right."

A tender caress to her calf, which felt like silk in his palm. Images of the romantic evening he was about to have with his wife played in his head, a loop that made his stomach all aflutter.

Y/N boosted herself on her elbows. "You have that look."

"What look?"

"The look that means you're up to something," she said, brow arched to her hairline.

Part chuckle, part scoff, he laughed. She read him too well. While it made surprises harder to hide, it pleased more than it annoyed. He stood, offered his hand. "Come here," he said. She accepted, pausing long enough to blow out the flame. He led her to the fire escape and sat on the comforter.

Halfway behind the glass door, she clutched her arms over her chest. "Arthur, I can't go out like this."

"No one'll see you." He gestured at the impromptu walls. Besides, he was six feet away and her form was barely more than a shadow. "And without all the lights, you might be able to see the stars. The way you did back home. Like you told me in the park."

A beam bloomed across her face, what he imagined might be a faint blush. Bent at the waist, she slipped into the half moon's light. One hand on the doorknob, a lifeline in case she reconsidered. Her fingertips relented one by one. First the pinky, last the middle. She settled to his left, knee pulled to her chest, the other leg folded under.

Arthur shuffled closer so they were hip to hip, reached behind her for the wine glasses and bottle with the art nouveau label.

Y/N snagged it from him, squinted at it. "Vermouth?" She held the bottle while he twisted the cap. "My mother used to drink this before bed in the summer. And she rubbed it on Mabel's gums when she was teething. Whiskey, too."

When he brought the goblet of garnet colored liquid to his lips, his nose wrinkled. The liquor smelled like an overgrown garden. He dared a small sip, anyway - and bitterness coated his tongue. He winced, sputtering. "This taste weird. This was supposed to be wine."

"It is, just a different type." She drank long and deep then drank again. "This one's not bad. Strong on the cloves but it'll get the job done."

A news bulletin interrupted the animated notes of Herb Alpert's Tijuana Brass. "In what authorities are calling a historic event, Gotham's five boroughs remain dark tonight - including McKean Island. We're assured safety measures are in place and the maximum-security wing remains in lockdown. Though the extent of the damage is unknown, we're happy to report that crews from Pennsylvania and New York are on their way to our fair city to lend a hand. Police Chief Miles O'Hara and Mayor Thomas Wayne are urging calm and-"

"That's enough of that." Y/N flipped the off switch. "You know the best part of all this? Wayne Tower is just as dark as everywhere else."

Unable to stop a chuckle, Arthur shook his head. She wasn't one for holding grudges, but the ones she did carry lived in the lines of her palms, plain enough for any flimflam psychic to read.

But he didn't want her to talk about that, not now. And he knew of a guaranteed method to distract her, to bring her back to where he wanted. He refilled her drink and clinked their glasses.

Second helping swallowed, she inched her bottom forward to lay on her back, arm tucked beneath her head. "It was wonderful to see you work today. Thank you for inviting me. I'm sorry it took so long."

"Well, you come to my standup shows." Only a month ago, she'd recorded his performance and given him tips over Thai. He stretched out next to her, set his still full glass on the steps. "The girl in the wheelchair asked who you were. She was surprised Mrs. Carnival isn't a clown."

"As surprised as everybody was that I married one?"

A hitched laugh. He fiddled with his trousers' belt loops. "I guess."

"There's a magic wand." She pointed at the skies. "By the moon, to the right."

Arthur hummed a contented hum, let his eyelids flutter shut. The street was peaceful, as still as he'd ever heard it. With most shops and restaurants shut down, the list of leisure options fit on a postage stamp. It was a moment to capture, preserve, like swirls in a vase.

A breeze rustled the sheets, blew across them, carried Y/N's natural scent straight to his nostrils. Warm and spicy, like roasted vanilla edged with musk. He breathed deeply, needing to fill his lungs with her anew. Sighing happily, he turned to her.

Silver gleams turned her skin to gossamer, dusk smudged her features. Feathered brown locks merged with the vines on the bedspread's pattern. Her breast threatened to fall out of the armhole of her lingerie.

Christ. They were outside. He hadn't planned on getting aroused. But the longer he looked at her, the harder he got.

Y/N sipped, balanced her stemware on her sternum. "Thank you for tonight, too. You're always so thoughtful." A simple sentiment but exactly what he longed to hear. An affirmation, a pledge to love him further.

But before he could respond in kind, the glass between her breasts began to tip...

He caught it, a splash hitting his wrist, crimson droplets landing on her collarbone. He set it on the step, bent to seize her lips. An unpleasant earthiness covered them. He licked it away, coaxed back her sweetness.

Gigging, she broke away. "Was this your plan? To get me out here and ply me with drink?" The hand on his shoulder dragged to his cheek. The breathy voice she adopted shot straight down his spine. "To take advantage of me?"

It wasn't but he didn't have to tell her that. He nudged closer, his erection grazing her thigh. "Maybe."

A slow smile of pleasure. "I like that plan."

Her palms snuck under his t-shirt, forced it upwards as she explored his body. Nails swirled at his abdomen. It grew taut, stuttered at the sensations, her tickles and temptations. When she reached his pecs she gave a firm pinch. At his displeased grunt, a wicked laugh left her, bawdy and amorous. A clear sign of what they were up to.

His thumb followed her chemise's ribbon strap. His hand fell to her side, skimmed her rounded hip, the delectable curve of her leg. Her half-slip had a daring slit. He slid through, drew lazy circles on her inner thigh.

She shivered. "You're not making it easy to be quiet."

Fingertips traced her panties' elastic leg. Heat emanated from her core, luring him nearer and nearer. Her swallowed whimper rushed him there. Slick and wet, the nylon gusset clung to her vulva.

He'd grown deft at touching her, even in the dark. He trailed a careful stripe along her labia. Inner lips were a prominent line through the fabric, her clitoral hood a plump ridge. Light and rapid he flicked his nail across it. Her pelvis snapped up, held. Millimeter ruts chasing his scrapes, fingers digging his back.

A shudder racked him. His forehead pressed to hers. "If we had more room, I'd taste you." She pressed her lips together, a squeal trapped behind them.

The same breeze that'd carried her scent could very well carry her hungry little whines around the block. So he captured her mouth with his. It started off tender and shallow but was soon all encompassing. She raked through his hair, tugged and tugged again. His tongue sought hers, caressed, collided. Teeth bumped with a muted click.

Sharp gasps. Her neck, her breasts, her entire being arching into him. Desperate push-pulls. He pressed on, strokes licks of fire on her clit. Mewling built in the back of her throat. He heard it in her shallow pants, felt it in how she gripped his bicep. Her thighs trembled, vulva throbbing in his hand.

"Ah!" She squeaked, a strangled, undignified sound.

Snorting, he shoved her sweaty face into the crook of his neck, caught the cries she couldn't stop. (Long ago, she'd offered to visit his apartment on her lunch break - with the explicit promise she could be quiet. He hadn't taken her up on it. Phew!) Her grip on his shirt tightened. One leg went straight, the other knee brushed his cock. Stillness punctuated by tremors. He kissed her temple, slowed his caress to a languid pace.

Legs akimbo, she blinked at him. Signaled silence with a finger to her lips. She balanced on her knees, shed her panties, patted the spot where she'd lain. He scooted over immediately. When he tried to sit, she pushed him to lie on his back. Moving to straddle him, she unbuttoned and unzipped his fly. He made no move to stop her.

Y/N braced herself on his chest, reached between them to press him to her entrance. She began to ease herself onto him, ease him inside her. But he told her to stop.

A strap fell down her upper arm, loosened her camisole to accentuate her cleavage and reveal a breast. Her nipple poked out, its dusky brown a tantalizing contrast to her white skin. Moonlight sculpted the apple of her cheek in whirls of silver. The stars shone about her head, caught in her tresses like sequins on an evening gown.

A pleasant fuzziness swept through him. Nearly three years and he was still drawn to her like a magnet. He'd bet his life that'd be the same case in twenty.

She cocked her head. "What is it?"

He brushed her hair behind her shoulder. Lowered the other strap. "Perfect," he said, smiling as his heart swelled. "You look perfect."

Teeth pressed her lower lip in a shy smile. When she bent to kiss him, her nipples dragged up his chest, prickled his flesh. She shifted the angle of her pelvis forward, the angle that rubbed her clit on his public bone. The one that left his black curls a matted, wet mess.

A sensuous thrust, her hips rolled in a seductive circle. "I want you to come," she whispered, and licked his bottom lip.

One foot braced on the grate beneath him, which bit even through the comforter. He bucked into her, into that heady stretch of her slippery heat. As if testing their connection, she raised up until he nearly flopped out, until only the glans remained. Then her walls encompassed him once more. Clutching, grasping. A steady rhythm. Relentless motion that bewitched and bewildered.

He cleared his throat to keep from crying out, channeled the urge to groan into grabbing the baluster behind his head. Her pinky brushed the strong sinew of his neck, her tongue followed his collarbone. Tightness in his loins spread to his abdomen, crawled through his limbs.

A burst of light, white and pulsing, formed behind his eyelids. Fire rippled through his veins, a scarlet flush of satisfaction. He bit the inside of his cheek, permitted one weak whimper to escape. She held herself in place while he finished, in the way she knew he liked. Stroked the tension from his dimples until they melted into a smile.

Slack and sated, his arm dropped to the ground. He puffed out his chest and cheeks and huffed. On a swift peck, she began to push herself up.

Just then, the Caswells' glass door creaked. Sluggish steps, like a hiker stuck in the mud. Y/N ducked on top of Arthur, held her breath. A hurdy gurdy voice called from inside. "...should have added it to the list last week. Where are you going? Louie L'Amour's about to start on GPR!" The rattle of a far-off rotary phone. "Oh, I bet that's your mother. She's called every hour!"

"I never said you have to answer it!" A resigned sigh, the click of a lighter. Arthur could almost hear the man deflate.

"The heat must be getting to them," Y/N said. "I think he'll be out here awhile."

Arthur murmured into her hair. "If you weren't so sweet, we wouldn't be in this jam." A playful swat to her bottom.

Laughter tickled his neck. She lifted herself a couple inches, pulled up the straps of her camisole. Careful to remain discreet, she grabbed her panties, clambered off him, and duck walked towards the living room. One foot beyond the threshold and she scampered out of sight.

He zipped his trousers, straightened his shirt, stretched as he stood, stuck a hand in his pocket to appear nonchalant. He grabbed the radio and headed inside. The rest he'd retrieve ten minutes later, when the neighbor would be forced to answer to his mother.

As he entered, Y/N emerged from the bathroom. His feet stumbled to a stop, his brain blanked. She'd shed her clothing and now stood nude before him. His stomach again went all aflutter.

"Let's repeat all that as soon as we can.” She curled her fingers around his wrist, not giving him a moment to resist. “By candlelight. In our bed."

~~~~~

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Fandom Art

Furries

Tasteful Nudity

Won't Do:

Mecha

Gore

Offensive or Morally Objectionable Content

Explicit NSFW

If you're interested in commissioning me, contact me through my DMs here on Tumblr, or email me at [email protected]

Payment

I accept payment through Paypal, and will ask for payment up front. Work on your commission will only commence after payment is received. I will do minor edits to finished pieces if for whatever reason you are unsatisfied with it, however larger edits will have an additional fee.

Refund Policy

If you for whatever reason want a refund any point prior to being sent a final sketch progress update, I will send a full refund. Any point after lining has begun will be only a 50% refund. I will not refund after a piece has been finished, regardless of satisfaction.

If I for whatever reason cannot finish your commission, I will let you know and promptly refund the full price.

* I do not permit the use of my work in the creation of NFTs or other block-chain related technology

* I do not permit the use of my work in the training of AI programs.

If you'd like to see more examples of my work, check the "maxmmpowart" tag on my page!

#maxmmpowart #commisions info #commission