#i will produce my garbage and also consume it

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

beautiful (nsfw)

jan stevens/f!reader

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

tags: lesbian sex, body image issues, rosacea, relationship study, oviposition

written for @alexusonfire

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

beautiful

Jan knows how to love you.

She peppers sweet kisses all over your flushed face, your rosacea rendered more prominent by the blush born out of desire as she rubs gentle circles over your underwear, the fabric growing damper by the second. She laughs when you thank her.

“What exactly are you thanking me for, darling?” she chuckles into the soft, flushed skin of your cheek as she pulls the soaked underwear aside and gently, slowly slides a single finger inside of you. 

Besides the hot, aching want, there is confusion. Does she not see you?

“I know I’m not, ah,” you breathe out, “the prettiest girl, and yet you make me feel…”

You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, to find the right words, because Jan curls her finger and presses into that rough, sweet spot that makes your mind go blank. “Ah, Jan!” you cry.

“How?” she murmurs in-between soft kisses on your cheeks, nose, chin. “How do I make you feel? Tell me.”

She pumps her finger faster, applying just the right amount of pressure — she knows your body well by now, never fails to pay attention to what makes your thighs tremble and your breathing grow laboured, what makes you moan louder. 

“Wanted,” you whine as pressure deep in your belly starts to build. “Ah! You make me feel… wanted.”

“My beautiful girl,” she coos at you when you come undone around her finger. She's always warm and gentle, but still somehow overwhelming. The only thing you are aware of is Jan. Her lips on your burning cheek, her warm breath on your flushed skin, her body that radiates heat, looming over you, trapping you against the bed, her finger still inside of you. Jan, Jan, Jan, everywhere. 

“Beautiful,” she continues to whisper into your skin. She kisses your cheeks that are speckled red and that you hate so much, but she seems to love. 

She sounds so genuine that you don’t dare argue with her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jan knows how to love you.

She never closes her eyes when she kisses you. It’s somewhat unnerving — or it would be if it were anyone else but Jan.

“Why do you never close your eyes when we kiss?” you ask one day as you sit in the garden under the apple tree that barely started blooming, admiring blackbirds chirping.

She cups your face and pulls you close. Her bright blue eyes lined with perpetually smudged black eyeliner and that signature messy eyeshadow shine with adoration. 

“Because you are art,” she says. “And it is a crime not to admire art when it stands right in front of you.”

You laugh in disbelief, and she shuts you up by crushing her mouth into yours, making your head spin with her wet, hot kisses. 

She doesn’t close her eyes.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jan knows how to love you.

You kiss in the drawing room, sprawled on the sofa. “Jan,” you say, pulling away, “shouldn’t we go upstairs?”

“I’m afraid I can’t wait to touch you,” she says, kissing along your jaw. “I want to have you right on this sofa.” 

“But it’s — ah! — only five minutes to get upstairs!” you breathe as she bites your neck. 

“Too long,” Jan chuckles into your skin and pins you down onto the sofa, straddling you. You have no further argument to offer. 

She kisses the flushing skin of your cheeks as you grind against each other. The small sofa creaks under your weight, mirrors the rhythm of your hips. Laboured breathing and quiet moans echo throughout the empty, dark drawing room. Jan watches you with love and reverence in her eyes as she reaches her peak and coats your thigh in her wetness. The mere sight makes you come undone as well. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jan knows how to love you.

She has a lot of love to give — too much, everyone always says — she’s too much. Too tall, too imposing, too prone to meddling into everyone’s affairs, too preoccupied with her job. She is too eager, wears too much makeup, has too extravagant tastes, likes young, pretty artists that come to the Institute just a little bit too much. 

They don’t see her the way you do. Love swirls inside of her, begging to be released, to be given. If anything, she is too loving, too generous, too kind. They say she’s too much, but perhaps everyone else isn’t enough. 

“I’m fat,” you say one evening as you’re getting ready for the afternoon mixer — an informal press conference of sorts, to announce your new album. You look at yourself in the mirror, pinching your thighs, your belly, tugging at your underwear that digs into your soft skin. 

Jan, now out of her bunny pyjamas she lounged in all day and already half-dressed, puts her hands over yours and presses her front into your back. She towers over you, and you lean your head onto her breasts. You watch her reflection in the mirror, relieved to tear your gaze away from your own image. Her eye makeup is somehow even darker than usual (if that sort of thing is even possible), her hair styled in intricate finger curls. She looks enchanting and just a bit unsettling — like an oversized doll.

She squeezes the soft flesh of your belly. “You are perfect,” she says.

“I’m fat,” you repeat.

She comes in front of you and kneels. “I never said you weren’t. I said you are beautiful.”

You sometimes wonder if Jan simply doesn't see what you see, you worry that you somehow tricked her into thinking you're beautiful — but it seems that she sees exactly what you see, and yet something completely different at the same time. 

You rest your hands on her hair as she kisses your belly, your hips, your thighs, leaving plum lipstick marks all over your skin. Her hair is hard and clumped from hairspray. You caress it fondly. 

“My beautiful girl,” she whispers, planting a kiss right onto the band of your underwear. Her fake eyelashes flutter like butterflies as she blinks up at you, watching you like you truly are a piece of art — something exquisite, something special, something to be admired. "You're simply gorgeous."

For the first time ever, you don’t argue with her. “Thank you,” you say.

She kisses your belly button and gets up. When you dress, she compliments you again, and she seems to be unable to refrain from touching you. 

She doesn’t stop showering you with compliments all throughout the evening. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jan knows how to love you.

You gasp when she inserts the gelatine eggs inside of you. They stretch and fill you deliciously. She discards the neon dildo once all three eggs are inside of you. 

“If only you knew how pretty you look like this,” she murmurs into your thigh as she kisses it, all while eyeing your filled pussy with lust in her eyes. Pink gelatine drips out of pink folds as the eggs slowly melt inside of you. She licks it. 

She never breaks eye contact with you as she eats you out. Your muscles convulse with pleasure, and one egg slips out of you. She catches it with her mouth, spits it out in her hand, and then shoves it back inside of you, making you groan as you’re stretched once again. 

“No one else would let me do this. No one ever let me love them like this,” she says, wiping gelatine from her lips — a futile gesture, for moments later her mouth is back on your aching pussy. She watches you as she sucks at the pink flesh and licks the pink gelatine.

“No one else would ever love me like this,” you say, unable to peel your eyes away from the odd, beautiful, fantastic, absolutely mad woman between your legs. 

She stops pleasuring you for a moment, huffing in disbelief. You feel the gust of cool air on your wet, hot cunt. “You say it as if it were a chore,” she says before continuing to devour you with gusto.

“I love you,” you breathe out after a mere couple of minutes, when an intense orgasm washes over you and eggs slide our of your pussy and onto the silken sheets. 

“I love you, Jan,” you cry as she continues to suck on your clit that aches with overstimulation, making your thighs close around her head. You close your eyes. Hot tears stream down your red, splotchy cheeks. After a couple of moments you feel her wet and slick lips on your cheeks, kissing the tears away. 

“I love you too, my beautiful girl,” she says.

You believe her. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist: @opheliauniverse @dumbasslesbi @bychrissi @scream-queenlover @muffintopxs @bigolgay @gwenslucifer @weemswife @yourhauntedhead @carnivorousflowers @i-have-insane-that-i-am-paper @softshrimpy @willowshadenox @syrenacrainn @weemssapphic @dianneking @imprincipalweemspet @kimiinou @ninelesbien @i-love-nerdy-stuff @eveymay @myzzjolanda @pluied-ete @brienneswife @gwenzone @principal-weems09 @inlovewithalcinadimitrescu @gela123 @emilynissangtr @gwendolinechristieiscute @h-doodles @winterfireblond @larissaoftarthweems @a-queen-and-her-throne @bikergurl5 @salems-spaghettios @theflashesoflove @catechristiesstuff @vendocrap8008 @billiedeansbitch @coffeemelko @lilfartbox1 @amateurwritescm @daydream-cement @kaymariesworld @sicklygrlsicklygrl @wh0re4women @rippersz @milfsloverblog

#jan stevens #flux gourmet #jan stevens x reader #i will produce my garbage and also consume it

[an-architect-of-words]

Ranting about modern media consumption

There’s a sweet spot I want to get to, as a culture, in terms of consuming entertainment and media.

I want it to be okay to absolutely love things that “aren’t good,” as in well-written or well-constructed. It is okay to just fall in love with something because it spurs your imagination or because you became enamored with one character or because it’s just fun. There are things I love to death and will hardcore defend because they’re enjoyable to me even though I UNDERSTAND how they’re flawed. I dislike angry YouTube culture acting like enjoying flawed or simplistic things is the product of being dumb, or that any level of silly writing makes something completely garbage.

But on the other hand, I do worry about the actual uptick in the poor quality of things coming out and think that should be fixed. “People will like crap if the characters and idea are good” is not an excuse to pump out trope-riddled crap. Don’t be lazy. Still aim to have strong writing and good technique. It becomes bad when writers RELY on formulas, pandering, and smut to get someone to emotionally like their work in a cheap, shallow way.

(Kind of a tangent, but I’ve also thought about how poetry books now are all like free-form, train of thought poems. And I don’t think that style is necessarily bad! But it’s all I see now and the question becomes, are we doing this just because it’s popular now, or are we doing this because people have lost the skill, energy, and dedication needed for truly well constructed poems? Are we writing artistic thoughts because that’s what we like— or because so few people are bothering to learn meter).

I guess my thesis is that it’s okay to acknowledge a media’s flaws and be comfortable with them because you adore the good parts. But there’s a difference in flawed work that’s flawed because the writer is just being creative and fun and— flawed work that’s flawed because the writer is writing for all the wrong reasons and/or the creators went “it doesn’t have to be good for people to buy it.”

Is Demon Slayer a well-crafted epic? No. But it’s fun and artistic and celebrates familial love and heroism and I love it. But I have no patience for Disney anymore because they’re trying absolutely everything to sell films except “make a compelling story.” Disney, there’s no excuse, your company is stupid rich and if you had even a speck of human creativity left in your bones, you could produce it to the nines.

#my musings #books #movies #Disney #writing #✍🏻 #I am once again asking people to find the happy medium

[andypantsx3]

if u have energy and time for it i would love to hear more of your input on the kindle publishing and quantity over quality discussion of how those authors tend to intersect fandom genres/cliches (omegaverse, alien romance, hockey romanct, etc.) with more mainstream routes (publishing on kindle universe, booktok advertising, etc.).

like, I am the demographic who do read/write fanfic AND read a lot of the 'self published romance trash' on kindle universe and while i hate that a lot of people have that feeling about it, because i have managed to find quite a few gems that i KNOW would have flopped via traditional publishing routes and are only available via self publishing on such a large marketplace, i know from experience that a lot of the stuff out there is like...bad. Unfortunately, that means i have also experienced the pitfalls of authors who have managed to publish their first book, their first passion project, that is amazing and thoughtful and truly a work of love realizing that it's a quantity over quality market and adapting their writing to suit (dragging out stories and/or putting out multiple books with subpar quality writing).

genuinely, it's a space that both baffles me and gives me a bit of hope for some odd reason. is it annoying that everyone is jumping the romance train and we are getting a dozen poorly written books for 'this months hot trope' in order to make money off of romance- for sure, but i'm also reading books with plots and romances that would never get published elsewhere because what publishing house is gonna publish a book about a woman falling in love with an ant monster alien and having weird ant monster babies?????

-> This is the post being referenced, for those who have not seen it.

Strei my beloved!!!! Yeah of course, this is such an interesting topic to me!! Especially as someone who is also the biggest consumer of romance in any of my friend circles, and as a secret fanfic author who loves trends and used to churn out like a 20-30k fic every week in the early days of the pandemic. Apologies that I'm still brain-fried from fever and my work week but here are my additional thoughts.

Firstly I wanna say that critiquing the culture that puts pressure on authors to pump out content so quickly is absolutely not to say that there aren't gems out there. That is also not to say that anything that is trope-y, trendy, or self-produced/published is garbage either (and it would be wild for a fic author to say so when we have all read like, some omegaverse fic that has changed everything we think we know about love and life LOL).

I think self-publishing as an industry is also extremely interesting and a necessary obverse to traditional publishing houses, especially when it comes to allowing authors the freedom to publish stories that the industry may devalue. Though self-publishing does factor into the equation as the easiest mechanism by which people can pump out trendy content quickly without any of the checks tradpubbing might have, it's not really at the root of the issue here.

To me, that post was specifically critiquing not trends themselves, nor self-publishers for engaging in them, but rather the pressure on (or inversely the reward for) authors to consistently sacrifice quality in terms of outputting massive quantity in service of chasing those trends.

Quality itself is hard to define as well because tastes are so subjective and what might be "low quality" to some people on here I could mention who will know I am talking about them if they read this, is "high quality" and enjoyable to me! I draw the line of quality in my subjective experience; characters and plots that are unmemorable or that failed to make me feel anything. Things I hated or will have forgotten I've read in two weeks' time. Novels that are just like every other one exploring that trope/trend, not for the elements they share but for the ways they failed to bring anything new to that trope.

I'm not sure what the solution is really. I don't think you can or should ask people not to enjoy trends (I'm not gonna stop LOL). I don't think you can ask self-pub authors not to try to make the money they probably need to live. I think it's probably a tall, impossible order to ask the culture at large to change, to grow more conscientious about what they engage with and how, especially when probably all of us are brain-fried from gazillion hour work weeks and just want something light and fun to enjoy.

But I think this is a growing complaint across a lot of mediums. Marvel is making the same movie over and over again, Disney is remaking every single one of their animated franchises in soulless cash grabs, recycled content runs rampant on TikTok and YouTube, and for every excellent book out there, there are 30 garbage copycats. It's clear to me that there is some kind of discomfort growing among us about how nothing is original or interesting anymore.

Fic-wise, I think this pressure to consume and create content so quickly also results in some of the things we regret most about fandom; plagiarizers unwilling to think of or write their own fics, fics abandoned when the hype dies down around a trend, loose characterization that defies even the most generous of interpretations lol.

But at least on the fandom side, I think there are small things we can do to combat this pressure because it costs us nothing to do so, except in some cases a little self-restraint, self-forgiveness, and patience. (At least in small pockets of the community, you're not gonna be able to change everybody.)

I liked what OP said in the last passage:

Maybe that means giving up useless number-chasing if communities can't survive past a certain scale. We could choose to focus on the slow work of developing relationships and trust, creating smaller but more sustainable groups of people who can support one another. Even now, within the hostile infrastructure of the modern internet, I think these things are still just barely possible.

I think as writers, we can be more forgiving of ourselves if writing a fic takes time, even a short one! Anything made with care usually takes time, and that includes breaks because you gotta let things marinate, plus we all have a ton of shit going on personally and culturally and we have to participate in that. We can (if we want to) read widely and try to learn more about the craft, honing our techniques and our ideas.

As community members we can prioritize making friends instead of followers. We can brainstorm with one another, help beta when we have the brainpower. We can gas each other up!! (To be clear I think this corner of tumblr is already excellent at these things, thankfully).

As readers we can choose to engage more often with ongoing fic instead of finished fic (I know the risks LOL), we can slow down and read more carefully and engage thoughtfully. We can let ourselves wait longer between updates. If we have the time and the patience we can seek out and read more niche fic authors and pairings!!

I think some of these we already do so well in this community, which is why I'm so grateful to be a part of this side of tumblr specifically lol. So some of this is just a thought exercise. And I'm sure there are more suggestions smarter people than I will have.

But I do see how capitalist pressures have invaded even this traditionally anticapitalist space and even in small measures, I wanna fight it back lol.

#a zillion words to not even really answer your question strei i'm sorry lol #but i do not think tropes + trends + self-publishing is the issue; it's the cultural values!! #ask andie

[hollytanaka]

I'm so glad you're saying the quiet part out loud game fandoms need to start gate keeping again because across the board all video game fandoms have seen a surge of garbage ooc content because the locals only engagement with it is a 3 second thirst cam on tik tok, then they apply the same ol leather dom daddy or uwu baby girl on the sexy white man of the moment rinse and repeat. Or they all come over here declare themselves king shitlord over a blorbo and pump out shittakes and headcanons that feed into an audience that's equally as uninformed or doesn't engage with the medium.

Meanwhile the folks who understand character and story nuances and have played or actually interacted with the games are left with surface level ooc BS to wade through so its very frustrating to see someone proudly admit they skipped out on something as character driven as Mgs and worse still that they have an audience consuming it.

Oh my gosh, yes, the damage that TikTok has done to these games is fucking horrific. They think if they watch 5 fan edits they can call themselves a fan, lol. Literally, they do not care about the games or the character's stories, despite what they say when they're defending themselves from gamers who call them out on their BS. They're just a bunch of brain-dead horny weirdos who invade fandom spaces, not to learn about the material but to force everyone to have to see their NSFW comments all the time (e.g., spamming the tags with smut and spamming people's gifs with their horny fantasies), but then don't produce anything else. No character analysis posts, no meta posts, no actual critiques of the gameplay/structure. Just smut and brain-dead bullshit. And when I say character analysis posts, I mean like actually dissecting the character, not just a fucking screenshot of fandom wiki and people going "uwu guys I didn't know this!" even though it was mentioned in the first 5 minutes of the campaign that they didn't play and/or watch. And then they think they're an authority on the game or a major name in the fandom, or that they even have an equal footing in this fandom, just because they have a couple of gross TikToks w/ a sped up song about some white dude bookmarked.

And yup! I haven't played MGS, but any one who has played video games for more than 2 weeks and has been a part of the subculture can tell you how historically and culturally important that game series is for all video games. And then they're like, not bothering to even play the games or understand the character lore. Just write smut about another blorbo you actually know nothing about and you're too lazy to learn about! Fucking pathetic. And the fact that we have to deal with it all the time, too, like you said? Fucking annoying.

It's also such an insult to the game developers who work countless hours on the games they claim they don't care about, but they're still writing pages upon pages of unrealistic porn about these developers' IP. Like, come on.

#messages #Anonymous #i'm so mad at activision that i actually don't care that much about shitting on their IP #but other games' developers deserve better

[s-a-i-s-a]

Hello again, dear fandom. I have received some interest in the discord server. However… I have thoughts and questions. This will probably read more like a journal entry than anything else.

—

TW/CW: CP, Watsuki

I continue to struggle with how much I personally want to engage with RK given that the author is still alive, profiting, and more than likely continuing his crimes behind closed doors.

My initial intention was to open up a discord that centered fan-created content, particularly queer content and discussion. Despite a series that literally has “romantic” in its title, I have always viewed Watsuki’s shallow handling of RK’s canon relationships and female characters to be, at best, incredibly unsatisfying. Now knowing what we know now, it’s not surprising. Kaoru, Misao, and Megumi deserved better.

Things like supporting official merch and pedo apologist arguments were not going to be welcome in the discord. Piracy is a thing, and the only somewhat acceptable way to consume RK at this point, in my opinion anyway. However, a quick google search will lead one to articles that suggest piracy can actually boost sales and market awareness. Thus, my cognitive dissonance continues.

The anime reboot, while aesthetically pleasing to look at, is also more faithful to the manga. And thus, closer to Watsuki. For some reason, I was hoping the anime reboot would distance itself from some of the problematic narrative choices that already existed in the manga. And now, as I am watching this reboot with different eyes, and with the knowledge of its creator’s unspeakable crimes, I’m beginning to see just how outdated the series and its tropes actually are. I can’t find a reason to justify its retelling, other than the occasional nostalgia-driven dopamine hit. But that’s not good enough. There are other stories that are much more deserving of being animated.

Meanwhile, the Hokkaido arc is barely worth mentioning. It’s garbage.

—

TW/CW: fan death

Additionally, as some hardcore saisa fans may already know, one of the most prolific saisa fanfic authors, Kuroiyousei, passed away about one year ago now. While they were not the only one still producing queer RK fan content (newer fanart can still be found on pixiv), the English-speaking queer fandom has essentially died along with them.

So where do we go from here? Do we, as queer and trans fans, try to reclaim what we can? Is that even possible? I ask all of this as someone for whom Rurouni Kenshin was my favorite series. Its depiction of Saitou Hajime, my favorite character. And saisa, my OTP. I have fond memories of all the friends and experiences I had in this fandom.

But there are other stories out there. Other saisa-adjacent pairings and ships to sail.

Still. It’s not the same. I can’t blame fans (including myself) for continuing to feel something for a story that has impacted them.

But these days when I look at the RK manga on my shelf, instead of fond fandom memories there’s this question in their place: Is this no longer worth saving?

#rurouni kenshin #ruroken #saisa #fandom #ethics #nobuhiro watsuki #journal (probably)

[manorinthewoods]

Here's a take on the zombie apocalypse.

It just... doesn't happen.

The military successfully fends off the zombies. The protagonists are in the military and government and have to make sure the zombie apocalypse doesn't destroy society, escape the country, etc. Thankfully, zombies follow most of the standard tropes, which means they are stunningly incompetent and therefore the apocalypse is not a big issue. What is the issue is the politics of the situation. Anti-masker equivalents, power-hungry politicians, incompetent generals - all sorts of crap.

But maybe add a bit more creativity. Remove some of the standard zombie flaws; for instance, the zombies will (in an idea I thefted from another post), instead of moaning, try to speak, but only produce garbled syllables, words, and phrases. They lose most of their intelligence but are smarter in a horde, they require very little sustenance, can slowly heal injuries, go into torpor when critically injured and regenerate faster in this state, and they look more-or-less like humans so they tug on the heartstrings.

These zombies would still have a good number of weaknesses (cleared weaknesses crossed out):

Slow speed, can be outpaced with brisk walk (These zombies aren't fast.)

Constant noise alerts any prey (probably they are not constantly rambling)

Main food source is also primary predator and only source of reproduction (Let's say these zombies can consume and zombify wild animals. That will make them an enormous threat, actually! I dunno about clearing this weakness, my zombies are already superpowered.)

Extreme temperatures in summer or winter will clear zombies (The torpor state would clear this risk. This is one of the major issues; if there's nothing done with the zombies to prevent this, the zombie apocalypse probably wouldn't survive a year or something. Also, anywhere up north would probably see all the zombies die.)

Zombies will constantly injure themselves (Regenerating zombies clears this risk. If zombies cannot regenerate, they *definitely* will not survive a year.)

Numerous quantity of natural predators, including flies which will infest their tissues with maggots (If zombies are internally decaying, any old wild animal could probably rip them to shreds. Also, bye-bye eyes.)

Cannot damage armored or airborne vehicles (Short of giving zombies magic spells, this will remain a severe risk. The #1 weapon for dealing with zombies is a tank. No, the guts won't tangle the treads.)

Moans alert all enemies in the area and convey very little information to other zombies (The garbled gibberish will at first not be a sign, but as cities are evacuated it will become more noticeable, especially if efforts to discern what is being said by local survivors reveal that it is garbage noise.)

No problem solving skills; zombies cannot open doors, perform any tasks involving complex dexterity (even simply throwing objects), cannot use any sort of tactics and simply beeline for potential prey (Zombies are dumb. They will remain dumb and thus will be easily manageable. A simple chokepoint will be enough to slaughter a horde. Also, since they're slow, you could probably destroy large quantities of them with artillery - although with torpor added into the mix you'd still need to properly clear the field afterward.)

Zombies are exclusively melee combatants (Again, one chokepoint and the horde's dead. With a steady supply of ammunition - possibly requiring international aid if ammo factories are abandoned - zombies can be pretty easily defeated. They are known for being weak to guns and there is one major thing militaries have a lot of.)

Cannot take shelter from storms (Minor, but after a severe storm there probably wouldn't be as many zombies around.)

Conclusion: Zombies gon' get wrecked by any competence.

#zombies #ideas #zombie apocalypse #long post under read more

[cptsdstudyblr]

achievable ways that i'm sustainable

The first way I make these achievable is by far the most important: Don't make anything a hard rule - just a goal and a habit.

I purchase most of my clothes secondhand. They aren't all from thrift stores either - there are tons of vintage, resale, secondhand, etc. stores out there! I also make a point to not be too strict about this. It's okay to buy new clothes when it makes sense to!

I rarely replace things unless they are broken or no longer functional. Obviously, I make exceptions sometimes, but I try to use what I have until it can't be used anymore. A great example of this is that I wanted to get new bathmats - so I put my old ones elsewhere in the apartment rather than getting rid of them.

Before I donate or throw away usable things, I try to give them away, sell them, or repurpose them. Most places that get donations are incredibly overrun by the volume of donations and much of what's donating ends up in the garbage or in a mountain of clothing somewhere, so I try to leave donation as a last resort. I offer things to friends and family, sell them online, or try to find another use for them before I resort to donation. Also, be sure to research the organizations you donate to - some of them are no good at all! It's also a good idea to do your research and try to donate things to places I know they'll get used rather than somewhere like Goodwill.

I clean my own water rather than buying water bottles. Where I live, tap water isn't drinkable. However, rather than spending valuable money on wasteful bottles of water, I made a one-time purchase for appropriately heavy-duty water filters and/or a way to boil water before drinking it. If that's not achievable for you, it's always cheaper and less wasteful to buy your water in bulk.

I eat at home or at local restaurants as much as possible. Of course, fast food is unavoidable sometimes. But I find that it's fairly easy to eat at home or at a local restaurant once you get into the groove of it - not all home-cooked meals are complicated or time-consuming, and most local restaurants can do take-out very easily (and often, pretty cheaply)!

I bring my own bags not only to the grocery store, but everywhere I go. I keep my wallet and epi-pens in a reasonably large tote bag, so when I grab something at the convenience store or run into a small shop, I don't generally need to get a bag. When it comes to the grocery store, I always take my own bags - usually one refrigerator bag and one regular bag - and also bring my net produce bags (from Ikea, about $3 USD each). This helps me avoid unnecessary plastic use and keep trash out of my local environment.

Since I live in a large city, I drive as little as possible. By that, I mean that I essentially only drive when I commute to school, as my school is not in the same city and is not currently accessible by public transportation. Walking and biking are great ways to get around and stay healthy, and public transportation is a fantastic option when it's too far to walk or bike. I'd encourage everyone to try out walking, biking, and transit - no matter where you live! It might surprise you how achievable, cutting down on car usage is.

#sustainability #sustainable #ecofriendly #environment #climate #climate change #public transit #public transportation

[shieldfoss]

Imported from a thread I’m currently in on /tg/:

"chan culture" was always garbage, your  nostalgia glasses just make the old pile of garbage look more appealing  than the new one

There's different kinds of garbage, and it varies both by year and by which board you visit.

/tg/ was better before idiots invented "X-General" culture. (We had idiots in 2010, too, but they were different kinds of idiots)

And I'll tell you what fucking changed:

TG became more of a spectator sport.

I'm not blaming Critical Role (because the problem existed before CR) but I'm also not NOT blaming critical role.

The  absolutely biggest leap in quality between boards is this: Whether the board is for consumers, or if it is for producers AND consumers.

The  more producers a board has, the better the board culture. /sci/, /ck/,  /tg/ are all better than /vg/ and it's not because video games are bad  (I love video games) it's because the discussion of "which consumption  product is superior" is straight garbage.

A conversation between two producers, even if they are GMs for two vastly different campaigns,  can be interesting. We didn't have generals, because we didn't NEED  generals, because a WoD storyteller and a D&D DM can have a useful  conversation about how to make an old mansion creepy to explore for  their players. Hell, I used to read the Warhammer threads despite never  playing warhammer because at least they were painting, and coming up  with lore for their chapter or tribe.

And you could have  interesting talks between producer and consumer - because the producer  brought something interesting to the table, or because the consumers could talk about what/why they enjoyed some things more than other.

But  there is very little value to be found in a consumer/consumer talk -  and if you are so consumer you don't even make characters to play  because you're just here because of your favorite TV show? Absolute  trash, you have nothing of value to say to me.

Generals are a purely consumer phenomenon. You have them to isolate  consumer posts - because consumer posts give no value to anybody else.

"I am angry. Angry about sigmarines" -> please fuck off to your containment general.

"Check  my technique for painting chapter symbols on power armor" -> useful  to painters in every game that paints symbols on surfaces.

"I am angry. Angry about SJWs in 5E D&D" -> please fuck off to your containment general.

"How do I challenge high level characters?" -> Also a relevant thread for Exalted ST's and high-point Hero System GMs.

Producer  threads and consumer threads are fundamentally different, and the  biggest change in this boards character has been as the consumers,  especially no-game consumers, have crowded out the producers.

There's more to it but this was the most important part.

[sage-the-unwise]

I wanna hear some thoughts on my pathetic baby loser failson (beloved) five pebbles

oh hell yeah i love hate love this guy and i have SO many thoughts

so, some fun hcs for starters (only one and a half of which pertain to him in canon, the others are just vague sketches of what his vibe is like):

he would like tame impala but only partially in a male manipulator way

if he were a smoker i think he'd vape and then switch to menthols (something tells me he'd be the kind of guy to start smoking because he thinks it looks cool)

hes transmasc coded. real he/they energy

his construction suffered pretty extreme budget cuts due to the political controversy surrounding his placement over the Anointed Citadel (there was a defund five pebbles campaign led by the spiritual leaders there lmao) and thus he is noticeably smaller than the other iterators

he'd be a pretty great poet, and would make a killing in clout off posting poetry to instagram if that existed in rain world lmao (if his iterator comrades appreciated it, he'd post poetry to one of their global message boards, but not many of them care for artistic pursuits. he'd get a temp ban for wasting space)

if you dug through enough pearls in garbage wastes you'd find the equivalent of amateur tumblr poetry from 2012, all written (and some partially scrambled) by pebs himself. before moon's collapse, NSH made it a project to get their hands on some of it so they could make fun of him by reading it aloud in vc. that never panned out

pebs and NSH would've collabed to produce shitty soundcloud rap, but they'd have a falling out over the duo's artistic direction and they'd split up. pebs would try to produce his own backing tracks, fail at it, and give up, and NSH would go on to make insane 120 bpm hyperpop you could mosh to and open for 100 gecs

and now for some sad character analysis:

i think pebs has like, very big feelings and not a great grip on how to handle them. he isn't maliciously selfish but he experiences his own pain as so all consuming that he forgets that his actions affect other people and simply follows his impulses without much thought. this obviously doesn't excuse his actions - he's harmed his friends in some very real, tangible and painful ways and they should hold him accountable for that (were i to write a 5p recovery arc he would definitely get taken to task by the others, who are also Messy. it would perhaps be a very dramatic fight, but i think if their heads were clear enough and moon had some means of communicating with them you could get a good approximation of what restorative justice might look like for a bunch of alien supercomputers).

it's also implied that he's like the baby of the group, or is at least younger, and therefore has had less time to get to know everyone else and establish himself as part of the local group's regular social dynamic, so i would imagine he has insecurities about that which might fuel his impulse to isolate when he feels Bad. which was, of course, disastrous on one particular occasion. i think he feels deep guilt over that and it's eating him (like the rot), but he has no idea how to express his remorse, or that the person he killed has been revived and can be talked to directly (if only via slugcat messenger). i've always read moon as someone who, in pursuit of being the group big sister/mom friend, learned to repress her feelings in order to preserve group cohesion at all costs. i think a conversation between the two of them would either be really explosively messy (timeline where moon learns to let herself feel things and be angry) or it would have the longest silences you've ever heard (timeline where moon does not learn to stop repressing her emotions). either way it would take a while for them to make peace with each other, but i think they could pull it off. neither of them want to spend the rest of eternity lonely and bitter.

#rain world #rainworld #rain world game #rw five pebbles #five pebbles #rw iterators #iterator #sorry that took me like 5000 years to answer i've been in trapped in a hole filled with various papers i have to write #and also im incredibly burnt out lmao #thanks for sending me an ask btw!! i've missed drafting silly hcs abt rain world :) #wisdom of the sage

[extremesocialoutcast]

I finally caved in and made a wallet for both Ethereum and Avalanche, for donations

Just a temporary solution until I can digitally use fiat

It'll probably help in the long run, because I do plan on doing free software in the future, and crypto donations are pretty common in open-source. Though, FOSSbros seem more interested in Monero (for the Privacy™, which I honestly understand). And, tbh, I wouldn't use Monero unless it transitioned to PoS or something. PoW currencies consume too much energy, and it's bad for the environment.

Also, look; feature I would never need:

The problem with environmental impact (with PoS chains like Ethereum anyway) seems to largely a thing of the past, so the real problem with NFTs today mostly lies with commodified media (usually mass-produced, generated garbage), used by scam artists.

I would never want to engage with this technological mistake, unless:

-It's dirt-cheap, and it's mocking NFTs.

-It's an April Fools joke, mocking NFTs.

-Some loser sent me one involuntarily (I don't know if NFT transfers are a mutually-consented thing or not; correct me if I'm wrong), and I need to sell to another loser to get it the fuck off of me

Just imagine my OC, kicking and screaming as an ugly, randomly-generated jpeg of a monkey is suck to their body and wouldn't come off.

(The blockchain should be used to verify media authorship, not ownership, while executing a smart contract to make sure the media is preserved, via IPFS. But no, cryptobros want to trade ugly, randomly generated picrews)

(My wallet address here)

#cryptocurrency #fuck nfts #ethereum #eth #avax #crypto donations #crypto donation #art donations #open source #free software #foss #cryptobros #techbros

[loki-zen]

I’m not gonna do a point by point @discoursedrome because this is starting to get unfun for me as a discourse topic but tbh i think you’re weirdly focused on defining ‘disabled’ and i don’t really see why that’s necessary. Like when I say people are kidding themselves that disabled people are far fewer than they really are all I mean is they’re kidding themselves that their mental model of Standard Human Being Who Needs No Help Or Accommodations Ever is a fair approximation of far more of all of the people than it really is.

And I think you’re way too dismissive of the ways in which a single accommodation can vastly increase accessibility for whole swathes of people.

Take for example a doctor’s office committing to communicating by email as well as telephone. This accommodates Deaf and Hard of Hearing people, people with sensory processing issues that make it hard to hear people on the phone, people with anxieties affecting their ability to make phone calls, people who speak English as a second language and find it easier to read and compose text at their own pace, and also people who just for a host of other reasons can’t randomly make or receive phone calls during the working day. It even automatically creates a record of what was said so that people who are forgetful and/or have low executive functioning resources to spare - whether because they’re ND or just Like That or because they have a full time job and two kids under five - can check back on it.

Or take the automatic door at that same doctors office. If you’re in a wheelchair you need it. If you’re pushing a pushchair, or have a baby in your arms, or have one arm and are carrying something, or have arthritis and it hurts to push doors open, or have weird autistic extra-tasks and crossing-thresholds problems, or are germphobic and don’t want to touch door handles, it’s invaluable.

If you thought about any of these things only in the narrow terms you’re promoting - only in terms of what benefit there might be to people with one specific issue that definitely is ‘a disability’ and not anything else - they would seem totally not worth it, probably. And that’s why that sort of framing is harmful.

I think you’re also underestimating the potential benefit of having the staff at the doctor’s office trained to expect that people trying to use the doctor’s surgery are quite likely to have disabilities - it’s a doctor’s office after all - including ones that might produce needs that haven’t been specifically accounted for, and then the staff would be given the flexibility to make adjustments on the fly and praised for doing so.

As opposed to the status quo where pretty much all frontline staff in anything ever increasingly have zero discretion about how they do anything and will get in trouble if they deviate from The Script.

The Script is based on the idea that there’s such a thing as The Consumer, basically. And what’s important is that people learn that that’s at best an abstraction and, mostly, a lie it’s just a lie; the healthcare system for instance is set up for the convenience of a Healthy Patient who isn’t even a majority of the ‘at least 51%’ kind for most practical purposes bc surprise, Perfectly Healthy people go to the doctor less, but also fucking c’mon man it’s not okay to take just anyone’s/everyone’s (delete as appropriate for your country/healthcare system) money and dispense a service that’s ‘cost efficient’ bc it can treat the most ‘normal’ and ‘textbook’ and ‘no other problems having’ ~80% of people really quickly and cheaply while throwing everyone else on the garbage heap to die.

Like in my ideal world other stuff would be accessible too (maybe it would even be different mechanisms that wind up making this happen*) but essential services first.

It legit doesn’t matter where you draw the lines. It’s just important to recognise that there’s no essential difference between glasses and a wheelchair. Hell, there’s no essential difference between a wheelchair ramp and a road. (As a society, we have put vast amounts of resources into accommodating assistive technology that allows humans to overcome their endemic disability of not being able to walk 30 miles in half an hour.)

*I kind of remain flabbergasted that pure market forces don’t seem to have incentivised the existence of one pub/restaurant/cafe in a given city distinguishing itself from competitors by actively striving to be (and marketing itself as) ‘the place you can actually hear your friends talk’, which would also make it uncommonly accessible to people like me with sensory sensitivities and/or auditory processing problems.

Even aside from the draw for totally non disabled people, I feel like while there probably aren’t enough of us by ourselves making money to financially support this, when you add in the fact that if somewhere like this existed i would always go here with all of my friends and my family and their wallets pretty much any time I went to town, (and if I knew about one in another town I would go there every time I went to that town, and honestly be much more likely to visit that town because I would know there was somewhere I could socialise with people) and I would win all arguments about which place to go to because of the reasoning, and people diagnosed with stuff like I have are disproportionately likely to have pretty well off families, it kinda seems like a slam dunk that could surely find ways to compensate for the inability to make people drink faster by turning the music up.

I mean, tbh, late capitalism and all - for all I know this totally would be viable and make shit tons of money but can’t exist bc it doesn’t sound good to a few wealthy investors

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

a little treat (nsfw)

AO3 link

Summary: Larissa decides to treat herself to a massage. ;)

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

♥ please do not hesitate to leave me a comment on ao3 if you feel so inclined -- it makes my heart sing ♥

taglist: @opheliauniverse @dumbasslesbi @bychrissi @scream-queenlover @muffintopxs @bigolgay @gwenslucifer @weemswife @zephyr-is-tired @yourhauntedhead @carnivorousflowers @i-have-insane-that-i-am-paper @softshrimpy @willowshadenox @syrenacrainn @pro-weems-places @weemssapphic @dianneking @imprincipalweemspet @kimiinou @ninelesbien @i-love-nerdy-stuff @eveymay @myzzjolanda @pluied-ete @brienneswife @gwenzone @principal-weems09 @inlovewithalcinadimitrescu @gela123 @emilynissangtr @gwendolinechristieiscute @h-doodles @winterfireblond @farahissaiamyloves @alexusonfire @missmacfire

It’s 10am and Larissa can’t focus for the life of her.

She’s wound too tight, her shoulders are achey, she has a throbbing headache and she feels a deep discomfort in the pit of her stomach. It’s the final month of the winter semester, and the stress is really getting to her. Wednesday’s latest stunt caused more grey hairs to appear on her temples and everybody seems to be on her case — the mayor, the parents, the teachers, the students. 

She needs a fucking vacation.

She can’t afford to take a vacation — the school would collapse without her. Wednesday would probably burn it to the ground if Larissa took a single day off. 

She could, however… perhaps… maybe… take an afternoon off. Nobody has to know. It would be just one afternoon — it could even be today. She desperately needs to unwind somehow. 

But what should she do? Just… take a nap? Is she even physically capable of taking a nap? She doubts it — she’s far too anxious for it. She’d just end up working again.

She arches her back, cracks her neck. Her shoulders are terribly stiff. 

Perhaps she should get a massage.

She’s never had a massage before. She never seems to find the time for something like that, and quite honestly, she always thought it a waste of money. However, her shoulders don’t seem to share her opinion — they might just petrify if she continues to live like this.

She googles massage places nearby. There appear to be plenty — but one in particular sticks out. People seem to love it. It has many reviews, all of which are excellent.

"really REALLY enjoyed my massage :) 10/10"   "Ask for Tilly when you come if you like gentle hands. Fantastic experience."   "The Best message place……. reccommend…….."   "I’m a regular here. I always leave satisfied. Highly recommend."   "my first time getting a massage like this.. but i loved it!"

Before she knows it, Larissa is calling the massage place and booking an appointment, and, fortunately, they seem to have an opening this afternoon. The woman on the phone asks her if she wants a regular massage and informs her that they only have female masseuses — Larissa finds that a bit odd, but thinks nothing of it. She just wants her massage. A regular one — whatever the hell that means.

She spends the rest of her day working and anxiously waiting for the time to leave. She answers parents’ phone calls, deals with insufferable teenagers, schedules an appointment with the Mayor for tomorrow afternoon — her headache gets worse when she thinks about how she’ll have to debase herself, grovel and beg for more funding. She, however, ignores most of her emails, despite the angry red notifications popping up on the app annoying her to no end. She makes a pact with herself to look at those after the massage.

The time to go finally arrives — she lets out a sigh of relief as she locks her office and goes to exit the school building. She loves Nevermore, but you can get sick even of your favourite things if you look at them every day. 

She gets in the car, ignores the phone that buzzes incessantly, new emails arriving every couple of minutes. The massage will need to be out of this world if she wants to forget about all this stress — and she doubts it will be. She already regrets doing this — it will probably be a waste of time and money. She wonders if she’s capable of relaxing at this point. Does she even remember what being relaxed feels like?

She's lost in thought as she drives to the massage place. She thinks about emails that need to be answered, anxiety pooling in her stomach, and listens to the robotic voice of her phone navigation — before she knows it, she’s already arrived. 

She parks the car and enters the establishment — the place seems decent. A young, cheerful receptionist greets her as she approaches the desk.

“I have a 5 o’clock appointment,” she says, not bothering with a greeting. She thinks about her emails.

The receptionist checks her laptop, and Larissa checks out her cleavage. She considers the outfit a bit inappropriate for the workplace, but Larissa isn’t one to complain about a pleasant view. However, if any of her employees dressed like that, she’d have a word with them. 

“Ah, yes, I have you right here. Miss Weems, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“A regular massage, is it?”

What is it with these people and their “regular” massages? What even is a “regular” massage? And does that imply there’s such a thing as an “irregular” massage?

She doesn’t, however, ask any of those questions — instead she just says yes and impatiently taps her fingers on her purse. She wants to be done with this as quickly as possible so she can return to Nevermore. She’s getting quite fidgety. What if she returns and finds the school in ruins?

“Alright. You can always change your mind during, you know that,” the receptionist says and Larissa ignores her, still tapping her fingers on her purse. 

“You can go inside and get comfortable. Your masseuse will be with you shortly.”

Larissa just curtly nods and goes to the massage room, eager to get this over with. She anxiously checks her phone. She has 36 unanswered emails. She feels nauseous. Maybe this was a bad idea — maybe she shouldn’t have taken an afternoon off. God knows what Wednesday will do if she realises Larissa left the school grounds. She then remembers her appointment with the Mayor tomorrow and her stomach churns. She has to think about how to best present her case — balance the grovelling with the persuading, and maybe throw in a bit of flirting for good measure…

Her mind is racing. She eyes the emails again. Maybe if she just responds to a couple of urgent ones… it will take a minute or two at most — and then she can undress.

She responds to three emails — none of which are truly urgent, but should probably be addressed sooner rather than later — when she hears a knock on the door that brings her back to reality, and she realises she’s still dressed. 

She opens her mouth, wants to ask for five more minutes, but the door opens before she can speak and the prettiest young woman Larissa has ever seen enters the massage room. 

“Hi! Miss Weems, I presume?” she asks. 

Larissa drops her phone on the ground and swears out loud.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

You enter the massage room and the first thing you see is a tall, gorgeous, blonde woman in her forties, still fully dressed. You’re a bit confused — doesn’t she know how this works?

“Hi!” you say. “Miss Weems, I presume?”

The woman drops her phone on the ground. 

“Fuck,” she says, and immediately covers her mouth, as if surprised by her own reaction. “Fuck,” she repeats. “Yes. Sorry.” She bends down to pick up the phone.  

She — Miss Weems — is, by all accounts, rather odd — the tallest woman you’ve ever seen, dressed like a 1940s movie star, with hair so blonde it’s almost white pinned in an intricate updo, swearing instead of a greeting (to be fair, she has the most beautiful, velvety voice and a British accent that would probably make anything she says sound sensual and sophisticated), apparently unaware you have to be undressed for a massage.

You are immediately enamoured with her. 

“I can give you a couple more minutes,” you say as you watch her fumble with her phone, shoving it in her purse. “You do kind of need to be undressed for this.”

“I'm sorry, I seem to have lost track of time — I just needed to respond to a couple of emails. They were quite urgent.”

“That’s alright, Miss Weems, but we do have a limited amount of time.”

You have no one scheduled for another half an hour after her, and for this woman, you’d gladly cut your break short — but you don’t say that, deciding to remain professional. 

“I apologise,” she says, taking off her coat. “My head seems to be elsewhere. I’ll undress in a moment.”

“You can leave it on the hanger there,” you say. “I’ll leave you to it, I can give you another ten minutes.”

“Oh no, we shouldn’t waste time,” she says. She strides across the room, hips swaying in the tight skirt, to put her coat on the hanger. A pleasant scent of subtle, citrusy perfume reaches you as she passes by you. “I’ll undress in a moment.”

She hangs the coat, then pauses, turning towards you. “Do I need to… fully undress?”

She seems a bit nervous. You find her confidence and charisma mixed with clumsiness and nervousness absolutely irresistible. 

“People generally do, but you can undress to your comfort level. You’ve booked the regular massage, haven’t you?”

“I’ve been asked that about a dozen times today. Yes, I’ve booked the regular massage,” she says, sounding annoyed as she unbuttons her shirt. 

“We're required to double-check. Just know that if you change your mind during, we charge a higher fee.”

Larissa ignores you. You have a feeling this woman can be a handful. 

You don’t mind.

You try not to be creepy and stare at her chest as she takes her shirt off, so you go fumble with the massage oils, even though you already have everything ready.

She shimmies out of her skirt, and you can’t resist — you stare at her long legs, clad in nude stockings that are held up with garters. Who even wears garters nowadays? And why does she look so hot in them? 

As she undoes the garters and pulls her stockings down, your eyes drift from her legs to her lacy underwear. Your throat is suddenly dry.

Small talk would probably be a good idea. You have to remain professional.

“So, this is your first time getting a massage?"

"Is it that obvious?" she asks, giving you a pretty, practiced smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. You can tell her mind is elsewhere.

"How come you’ve never had one before?”

“Oh, I’ve just never really had the time. But the back pain has really been getting to me lately. I’ve been feeling rather stressed.”

You can believe that — despite being absolutely stunning, the woman is as stiff as a stick. You can tell the woman hasn’t relaxed in decades. Her shoulders and neck appear rigid, her jaw seems to be perpetually clenched, and she wasn’t even able to put her phone aside for five minutes to undress for a massage. 

“Oh? Is your job usually stressful or is it just a rough period for you?”

She scoffs. “I think it suffices to say my job requires me to deal with teenagers on a daily basis.”

“That does sound stressful,” you say, deciding not to pry further. You need to shift the conversation away from her job — get her to relax. “I'll try my best to make you forget all about that today, Miss Weems.”

“I do hope you manage that, darling, but I’m afraid I’m a tough case. And no offence, but how much experience do you have with this?” She flashes you a bright smile — it reads as condescending. It pisses you off — and turns you on. “You seem awfully young. Are you in college?”

Definitely more than you since this is your first massage, you want to say, but instead you decide to be polite. “I’ve had sufficient training. And yes, I’m in my last year of college.”

“I must tell you, I’m not sure I believe a massage could relax me — but I’m willing to give it a go, since I’ve already put the time aside for it.”

Oh, you’re never the one to back away from a challenge.

“I hope to change your mind then, Miss Weems.”

She gives you a saccharine, patronising smile, but says nothing.

You’d like nothing more than to fuck that smile off of her face.

You no longer bother averting your gaze as she removes her bra (a sheer, lacy thing that doesn’t cover much anyway) and reveals small, beautiful breasts. Your immediate thought is they’re the perfect size to put in your mouth. 

No matter if you’re attracted to your clients or not, you are always professional — you’re here to provide a service that you’re well payed for. You always manage to keep your own feelings and thoughts hidden and under control. 

It isn’t every day, however, that you have an actual goddess on your massage table — and one who challenged you, saying you couldn't possibly help her relax. Oh, how you wish she hadn’t chosen the regular massage… 

Suddenly, a devious thought pops up in your mind. You could… entice her a bit during the massage. Make her want it.

She appears a bit self-conscious walking to the massage table clad only in nude lacey underwear, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink, but she keeps her head high and shoulders back, channeling confidence you aren’t sure she actually possesses. She’s still a vision, however, self-conscious or not. You watch her thighs and ass jiggle as she walks and it’s the most erotic thing you’ve seen in a while. 

Should you do it?

She climbs onto the table — she struggles to do it elegantly, as she’s a bit tall for it. You somehow find that very cute. Her ass jiggles as she finally settles face down on the table. You resist the urge to slap it. 

Oh, fuck it. It’s your last week on the job anyway.

You smirk as you rub the oil between your palms, warming it up. 

You’re going to play dirty.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Larissa tenses up as she feels soft, warm hands touch her shoulder blades. She isn’t used to people touching her. And to be quite honest, it’s been quite a while since she was naked (or almost naked) in front of anybody. She feels vulnerable.

“Allow yourself to relax, Miss Weems. This is your time.”

Her time — she hasn’t had an hour to herself in… who knows how long. She wants to relax, but it’s just so hard and…

Oh. 

She lets out a groan as the girl presses on just the right spot. Oh, that feels good. 

“Does that feel good, Miss Weems?” 

She hears the smugness in her voice, and she’s tempted to say no just to be spiteful, but then she presses on that good spot again and Larissa melts into the massage table.

“Mhmmm,” Larissa manages to utter. 

“Oh? I thought you were hard to please, Miss Weems.”

Now the girl is just being cheeky.

“In my school I punish the smug students when they talk back to me,” she breathes out and then moans as the masseuse finds another spot that makes her brain go fuzzy.

“Oh, you’d like to punish me? That’s kinky.”

Well. This seems to be going in a… direction. Not that Larissa would mind if the situation was different — she’s very much attracted to the girl — but this isn’t that sort of massage place…

….right?

“Are you… allowed to talk to me like that?” Larissa asks.

“Well, if you upgrade to the erotic massage, I can talk to you however you’d like. I could tell you how I’d like you to punish me. Or anything else you want, for that matter.”

Oh. So that’s why everyone kept checking if she wants the regular massage. And why the woman on the phone made sure to inform her they only have female masseuses available. And why the upgrade was so much more expensive.

The masseuse ventures a bit further down Larissa’s back, warm hands slick with oil gliding over her skin until they reach the band of her underwear. She rubs little circles around the edge of the fabric, sticking her thumbs underneath it, teasing, but not going further, and then going upwards again, following the line of Larissa’s spine. Her feather-light touch makes Larissa shiver. 

It’s been some time since Larissa was touched like that — couple of years, for sure. Four? No. Six? Oh, heavens. How has it already been that long? She’s just always so busy, and one night stands require so much effort, and dating requires even more, and…

Larissa’s brain is empty as the pretty masseuse runs her hands up her legs and starts to massage her buttocks, oiling them up, squeezing and kneading. Larissa moans quite loudly, and immediately feels her face go red with embarrassment at the sound she just produced. 

“I…”

“Of course, there’s no obligation,” the masseuse says, rubbing circles with her thumbs just where Larissa’s buttocks meet her legs. Larissa feels heat pool in her core. “You can have the regular massage.”

“And what does an… erotic,” she stumbles over the word, “massage usually imply?”

“It implies sensual touching, dirty talk, if you want, and we do offer mutual touch for a higher price. Oh, and we guarantee an orgasm.”

Larissa scoffs. “You guarantee it? That’s confident.”

Suddenly she feels hot breath on her ear. She shivers.

“Let’s make a deal, Miss Weems — if you don’t finish, I don’t charge you anything.”

Larissa hears herself speak before she’s aware she even made a decision. 

“Deal.”

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

You glance at the clock as Larissa accepts your proposal. You have 40 minutes — that should be plenty of time. Worst case scenario, you extend the appointment into your break. 

You don’t know what it is about this woman, but you yearn to make her come undone. She’s wound so tight, seems to be some sort of a sick workaholic, and yet you can sense the suppressed desire radiating off of her. It’ll be a special pleasure to make her lose her composure. 

You rub her shoulders and back, trying to relax her as much as you can, finding the spots that make her moan, venturing lower and lower on her back.

“Can I take these off?” you ask, lightly pulling on her underwear. 

“Yes,” she says, and lifts up her hips to help you slide it off of her.

You fold her underwear, putting it to the side, but not before noticing the distinct wet spot on it. 

“I will undress — is that alright with you?” you ask.

“Yes,” she breathes out as you massage her lower back and buttocks. There’s a spot that makes her shiver when you run your hands over it — you make sure to repeat the motion, and you are rewarded with a loud moan. 

“Be aware you can revoke consent at any time,” you recite the obligatory line as you strip naked swiftly and efficiently. You do a quick job of rubbing oil on your breasts and stomach and then climb onto the massage table, straddling her legs and pressing your body against hers. She lets out a high pitched moan as you rub your breasts along her back.

“You said something about punishment, Miss Weems? Tell me, do you prefer good girls or bad girls?” you ask as you slide your hardened nipples against her oiled back.

“Fuck,” Larissa groans.

“Or do you prefer being called a good girl yourself?.”

Larissa whines.

“Do you like that, Miss Weems? Wanna be a good girl for me?”

“I— fuck,” she groans as you start running your palms over her thighs, squeezing and caressing, getting closer to her chore with each stroke.

“Is this alright? Be aware you can revoke consent at any time.”

“Yes,” she says.

“So you want to be a good girl, hm?” you say as you finally brush your thumbs against her core. Despite the slick massage oil, you can tell she’s wet. She spreads her legs as you touch her.

“Yes,” she says, quietly — as if she has a hard time admitting it.

“Will you turn for me?” 

You help her turn on her back beneath you. Her blue eyes are dark with desire, pupils blown wide, and a few stray hairs are sticking out of her updo. She is flushed in her face and chest, which somehow renders her milky, freckled skin even more attractive. 

“Good girl,” you say as you quickly grab more oil and rub it between your palms. She blushes a deeper shade of red.

“I just have to say that I don’t usually… do this,” she says.

Sometimes people feel the need to justify themselves, especially if it’s their first time having an experience like this — and even more so if they’re indulging in a fantasy they consider embarrassing or dirty — no matter if it’s something as common and innocent as being called a good girl.

You rub oil around her breasts and on her stomach. You feel her getting self-conscious, tensing up, glancing around nervously and fidgeting. 

“What a pity,” you say, palming her breasts, making her gasp, “that a pretty thing like you doesn’t know how to let herself be worshipped. You’ve been so good, worked so hard — you deserve to be taken care of.”

She produces a quiet whine — she seems to like that. Good. You’re back on track.

“Relax for me, that’s it,” you say, making sure to arch your back prettily, providing a nice view for her as you massage her breasts. You can feel she's slowly relaxing under your touch. “Good girl,” you praise her and run your thumbs over her nipples at the same time. She lets out a throaty moan. 

“Is it okay if I use my mouth?” you ask, lowering your head to her chest that's slightly heaving under your touch.

“Yes,” she says with a hoarse voice. You leave a trail of kisses across her chest, the oil greasing your lips, before you take her right nipple in your mouth and suck on it. She keens and her hands immediately fly to your head to press you harder against her chest.

“Fuck, sorry,” she breathes out. “Can I do that?”

“Yes,” you say. “Want me to suck harder?”

“Yes — ah — and bite, please — mmmm, fuck,” she mewls as you suck and bite on her nipple while you pinch the other one with your hand. You use your free hand to caress her torso, her hips, knead the soft flesh on the side of her upper thigh.

“Such a good girl,” you murmur against her breast, taking her hard nipple between your teeth. “Asking for what you want. Is there anything else you want, hm? Or like?”

You run your hand in the inside of her thigh, teasing.

“I, ah… I like… dirty talk,” she manages to say between moans as you bite on her nipple and gently run your fingers through her folds — she’s soaked.

It isn’t a common thing for you to be so turned on by a client — it’s just a job, after all — but the feeling of Larissa’s wetness on your fingers, her wanton, broken moans, her slow, but certain relinquishing of control… it’s just so delicious. You want to fuck this woman every day. 

You kiss your way upwards to her neck and plant a hot kiss on her jaw. “Is this okay?” you whisper into her ear. She nods.

“I need you to be a good girl and use your words,” you murmur. Your obligatory line is “I need verbal consent” — but Larissa inspires you to be creative with it. 

“Yes,” she says with a breathy voice.

“So you like dirty talk, hm? You’d like me to tell you how hot and wet your cunt is against my fingers? And how much it will turn me on to fuck you?” you whisper, spreading her wetness across her clit, making her gasp and buck her hips into your hand. 

“Yesyesyes, please fuck me,” she whines, rolling her hips into your hand. “Fuck me like you’d fuck a dirty slut.”

You feel heat pooling in your own core at her words — and at the idea of fucking this uptight woman like a dirty slut.

You slowly slide a finger inside of her, curling it, and she spreads her legs further. She looks absolutely magnificent like this, flushed, chest heaving, eyes closed, mouth agape and head thrown back, all spread out for you, begging to be ravished. You start pumping your finger in and out — slowly, curling it inside — and she grabs your back and pushes you closer to her. Her gaze is hazy and hooded as she looks at you. “Harder,” she rasps, and the sheer lust in her voice makes you shiver. You go harder. 

Her moans are becoming louder as you continue to fuck her, and you decide to add a second finger. “Fuckyes,” she groans and moves her hips to meet your thrusts.

“You look so pretty while I fuck you like a dirty slut,” you say, voice breathy with exertion. “Such a good girl. You look so hot.”

She whines and tangles her hands into your hair. You wouldn’t usually let a client do that — but you let her. 

“Add another finger,” she says with a husky voice. She throws her head back and moans as you slip a third finger inside of her, then pushes your head towards her chest. You suck and bite on her nipples, alternating between both breasts as you fuck her hard and fast, making sure to angle your palm so it hits her clit every time you pound into her.

“Go harder,” she pants. Your hand kind of hurts at this point, but you oblige. The pain is immediately forgotten as you feel her starting to clench around your fingers.

“Your cunt feels so good around my fingers,” you murmur before sucking on her nipple.

“Fuckfuckfuuuck,” she whines as you pound into her. You can sense she’s very close. She’s bucking her hips into your hand and digging her nails into your shoulders, and her moans are becoming higher in pitch. You make sure not to falter in your movements, keeping a hard and steady pace, and soon her moans become high-pitched whines and intelligible swearwords.

“Be a good girl and come for me.”

As you say it, she grabs your hair, pulls your face up towards herself and kisses you.

Usually, you’d pull away if a client did that.

You don’t pull away.

It’s a hot, sloppy kiss, and she cries out into your mouth and closes her thighs around your hand as you fuck her through her orgasm. She spasms with the aftershocks and you can taste her cries of pleasure and her hot breath in your mouth. It’s raw and filthy and erotic.

You slowly pull your fingers out of her as she comes down from her high, her breathing slowing down, her grip on your faltering. She's putty in your hands, completely relaxed. 

You stay like that for a moment. Her eyes are closed, her chest still heaving. Your hand hurts, but you don’t care.

You glance at the clock — three minutes to spare. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, opening her pretty blue eyes. Her mascara is smudged. She looks absolutely ravishing, thoroughly fucked and flushed. “Do I have to go? What time is it?”

“No,” you say. “Take your time.”

She smiles nervously. You can tell she doesn’t know what do say or do — and to be honest, for the first time since you’ve started this job, you don’t really know either.

“Take your time, calm down, and then I’ll help you clean yourself up. I have half an hour to spare. I don’t want you to rush. I don’t charge extra for that.”

She nods, and closes her eyes. You stay like that for a couple of minutes — you rub hear arms, gently and reassuringly. 

“Well,” she says after minutes of silence, and smirks. She opens her eyes. “You won the bet. I’m pretty relaxed right now.”

You both laugh. 

The cleanup process is not as awkward as you expect it to be. The silence is somehow pleasant, rather than awkward. When you're both dressed and Larissa is heading towards the door, makeup freshly reapplied and her updo redone, she nervously glances towards you.

“So, uh, if I were to… come again,” she says, then pauses, and you can see her wincing at herself for the accidental pun, “would I be able to, um, I suppose, make sure you will, uh—”

“It’s my last week here.”

“Oh.”

She stands at the door awkwardly. “It’s been…” she pauses, glances nervously around the room, clearly struggling to find words. After a couple of moments, she finally meets your gaze, and you shiver under the intensity of it. 

“Thank you,” she says, her voice clear and genuine. You can tell she means it.

She turns to leave, but you stop her. 

“Wait,” you say. She waits, watches you grab a piece of paper from the side table and scribble on it. You approach her, awkwardly extending your arm, giving her the paper.

“My number,” you say, looking up at her.

She takes it. The corners of eyes crinkle in the loveliest way as she smiles at you before leaving.

She calls you a week later.

#larissa weems #larissa weems x y/n #larissa weems smut #larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #wednesday 2022 #gwendoline christie #i will produce my own garbage and also consume it

[tierra-paldeana]

// all this talk about OCs makes me want to make it abundantly clear that i am not against OCs in any shape or form. i love seeing the fandom's creativity and ideas, because the pokemon world is vast and even i've developed OCs at some point! (though in my case they're almost always pokemon). even if i don't 'participate', i'm still open to see people creating and developing characters for a particular fandom.

however, i'm only comfortable rping with specific types of OCs (such as, like i mention in my rules, pokemon/gijinkas(?) of said pokemon, versions of the different protagonists, or fanchildren). i really don't want to get into the why's but to put a long story short, my first interactions with OCs both in the tumblr rpc and elsewhere were... terrible, though i know it was the muns' fault rather than their OC's, of course.

there's also the issue that oc x canon is... not for me at all. it's fine if people like it, for sure, and fuck the haters that say it sucks! it's just not something that calls me and not something i'd do even if i got over my conflictive feelings, just my preference.

but hey, if it weren't for me slowly making up my own fanchildren and pokemon (creature) OCs, and realizing that hey, the protagonists are literally a blank slate that SHOULD be played around with and developed to your liking, i wouldn't be as open as i could possibly be now with this blog's rules?

at some point i hope i start becoming more comfortable enough to rp with plain ol' OCs. either way, there's still old wounds left to heal in me and lots of stuff i should navigate through. i had the misfortune to encounter some terrible people in the past that've left a bad taste in my mouth, and the memories and hurt i endured are hard to shake off.

but to all people with OCs reading this: you rock, never stop creating, what you're doing is called ART and even if it's not within my comfort or preferences to participate, you're already doing something much more beautiful and fulfilling than AI content (which i refuse to call art cause it's not, it's fucking garbage meant to be produced and consumed rather than created and enjoyed). keep doing what you do, and fuck the haters <3

#( ooc ); #( long post ); #( hopefully i expressed myself well! ) #( TLDR is. i am only comfortable with certain things personally but you all rock #and if anyone ever throws shit at you for having OCs i'll personally go and bite them ><!!! )

[opinated-user]

you know maybe I should make content like Lily orchards … I mean it attracts enough braindead fans to the point I’ll be financially secure for the rest of my life

im kidding … I’d rather die than become a hack like Lily

tbf, there are many other reasons why making the kind of content LO does is just not a good idea in general: 1. it's just not popular anymore. a couple of years ago everyone was eating up content that put down popular works, and although that kind of videos is still being produced today, they don't have anywhere close to the relevancy they had back then. even hbomberguy, the guy who popularized the whole "X is garbage and here's why", is not doing that content anymore and has move on to other things. now people usually want more positive content, no videos telling them that they're bad people or have bad taste if they like a character on a children's show. the positive content of LO usually fails because she didn't made it interesting enough, not because nobody cares about it. 2. it's doing far more harm to the discourse that it helps. this also has to do with the fact that it's lazy and LO barely does any research for anything, but even when she tries to be relevant, like with the rolwling videos, they still fail at saying anything meaningful that can benefit someone. that if she isn't just spreading misinformation and slandering someone.

3. i have mentioned this before, but the way in which LO forces herself to be as nitpicky as possible so she has something to say about media so she has any content to which she could pay rent*... it's not healthy. either for her or her audience. being critical about the media you consume should have never been about hyperbolic judgements of people's character, it should be for your personal appreciation.

*an perfect example of this is zooming in the picture of Steven and Garnet to make a huge deal about why is there and implying there's something sinister about it. on top of all the incest sex harem jokes around Steven and the diamonds that are just disgusting to hear, more knowing that those are her actual kinks she can't stop shoving in your face.

#lily orchard

[lootthekey]

Eldrazi Study- Part 2: Ulamog

Ulamog, the Reeking Titan, is the Eldrazi Titan best known for his brood’s more straight forward and ruthless nature. Unlike his siblings, Ulamog isn’t doing too much fancy in regards to his travels. He eats. That’s his purpose. In the story, Ulamog leaves barren wastelands of dust in his wake, draining the living and inorganic of mana and life.

Why Does Ulamog Do This?

The Eldrazi Titans, as goes the most popular and my favorite theory, are a trio of what can be the least gloriously described as the “Multiverse’s Personal Garbage Crew”. At least, thats what the more grand theory would describe them as. Essentially, they go around to dying planes (likely those who’s World Soul is beginning to decay away), and perform a massive reset to reinvigorate them. However, the old cannot be reborn without first wiping everything clean.

This is where our large lad Ulamog comes into play. This is why I am talking about Ulamog first, as he is the first Eldrazi to begin his work on a dying plane. Essentially, Ulamog arrives and starts eating everything. He is the vanguard force that destroys all the living entities on a plane and drains the land of any energy it would have of fighting back.

How Does Ulamog Go About This?

Ulamog’s brood, like the other broods, is a hive mind, but his brood, despite his more simple nature, is actually slightly more complex than the others (at least from what we know so far). His brood can be best divided into three subcategories: Drones, Processors, and Crushers.

Drones are the part of Ulamog’s brood that most directly drains the life of its energy and stores it away. Within the actual game, these Drones have the Ingest mechanic as a mechanical translation of this purpose. They wander the world and turn it to the dusty, skeletal landscapes described above.

Processors are then brought in in order to take the energy stored by the Drones and create whatever the Brood needs to continue its purpose. Ulamog’s brood doesn’t solely destroy, it will also create. This is what makes Ulamog’s brood so menacing, as the other broods haven’t shown the ability to make use of the land quite like Ulamog can.

Crushers are the various Eldrazi that make up Ulamog’s brood that serve no purpose other than to destroy. They are usually far bulkier and larger than others, and are massive threats by themselves.

Conclusion

So, in conclusion, Ulamog shows up in to a world. He creates Drones and Processors in order to consume and process the land that is consumed. If needed, he creates Crushers in order to combat any resistance met along his way. Now, there is no evidence that suggests the other Eldrazi can’t also be active during this time to both assist Ulamog in culling the world and start their own processes themselves. However, Ulamog is almost definitely the vanguard and best fitted for starting the destruction of a world. In purpose, he is closest to his brother Kozilek and furthest from Emrakul. He is the titan that best represents death, and the dusty, skeletal landscapes he produces matches this.

#mtg #eldrazi #ulamog #study #lore

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls, S1/Ep5 ("Cinnamon's Wake")

What Happens In This Episode: Dean Forrester's parents regret having unprotected sex 16 years earlier. Miss Patty tells Rory that plums are better than sex, giving Rory the most comprehensive sex ed lesson she's had thus far in her life. Lorelai agrees to a date with Max and Rory finds out. Babette's cat Cinnamon tragically passes on, and the town attends the wake. Dumbass Dean is in the Netflix thumbnail for the episode. Just fantastic.

Cinnamon, an Icon.

IMPENDING DOOM. American Horror Story:

Look, I'm not saying Dean Forrester fans (or even just people who think he's OKAY) don't exist (my best friend is one, sigh, and my other best friend is a LOGAN stan..where did I go wrong)...but, anyway, I don't know how to end that sentence. While the Jess vs Logan debate will go on until the end of time, this fandom does unilaterally agree on one thing: Dean is a garbage person. I think thats beautiful.

In about four years you will choose to lose your virginity to this man, who also somehow convinced another girl to marry him. What kind of evil powers does he wield?

That scene was unspeakably creepy! I need a shower! I feel unclean.

Me protecting Jess Mariano at all costs.

Life in Stars Hollow is so vibrant and exciting. Rory question's Lane dream of moving to Philadelphia, asking "What would you do there?" Oh Rory, give it about 6 years and there will be something to "do" in Philadelphia.

I have a new hobby. Looking out for the real brand names and made up ones in this show. This one's got a feast of authentic brand names. I counted 8. Can you find them all? (answers at bottom of post) It feels kind of scandalous that you can buy pregnancy tests in Stars Hollow. I think half the town still thinks the stork delivers babies. Taylor Doose definitely does.

Well, Rory's first time having sex is with Dean, so Miss Patty isn't wrong. Miss Patty is such a pervert and I relate to her.

Kirk's Jobs So Far: DSL Installer, Swan Delivery Boy, Grocery Store Assistant Manager. Reading his nametag, Mick is now officially Kirk. Kirk to MIss Patty who is sampling produce: "I assume you're going to pay for the food that you've consumed?" Where do you think you are, Kirk? Nobody in Stars Hollow pays for anything they eat.

How nice of Dean to ask what kind of sack I'd like to stuff him in before throwing him over a fence.

Cinnamon, we hardly knew ye.

Just put the sodas down here. Easy now. Now slowly back away. Over a cliff.

Alexis often legitimately looks terrified of Jared and I can't always tell how much of it is acting (yes, I am aware they sort of dated at one point).

The one and only!

That's right, we have yet to meet Taylor Doose. "The Owner". The ol Money Launderer himself. We haven't had a Town Meeting yet, either.

Disturbing.

No man can tame her.

Babette's a perv too. I love both of these Queens.

Babette apparently has a lot of gnomes. How did she even know when one was kidnapped?

I'm sensing a recurring theme here.

The most fateful three words to ever come out of Rory's mouth: "I am interested." She is doomed.

Another cursed image. The Good: Babette and Miss Patty being pervs, Cinnamon the cat. The Bad: Creepy Forrester. Cinnamon dies. The Meh: Lorelai goes on a date with Max Medina. Max will always end up in the "meh" column. Real Brands Sold At Doose's Market: Hawaiian Punch, Iams Dog Food, Stayfree Pads, Apple Jacks, Pepcid, Planters Cheese Puffs, Sugar Smacks, 7-Up.

#Anti Dean Forrester #Dean Forrester Sucks #Dean Forrester is Creepy #Gilmore girls #Lorelai Gilmore #Rory Gilmore #Miss Patty #Max Medina #Denise Rewatches Gilmore Girls #Gilmore Girls Season 1 #Cinnamons Wake