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You may call us Altair.
"#smoldering thoughts" contains my own thoughts and writing. Enjoy.
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Kinks & Dolls >
You may call us Altair.
"#smoldering thoughts" contains my own thoughts and writing. Enjoy.
"You'd make such a cute brainwashed girlfriend." I say totally unprompted, twirling a pair of chunky cushioned headphones in my hand.
You looked nervous, but you laughed it off. I don't suppose you knew what you were getting into. Most of My victims don't, after all. You probably didn't think you could be brainwashed into something so serious, so real. This was only our second date, and I was fairly certain you'd want a third but I wasn't about to take chances.
I smiled knowingly, you smiled unknowingly, I walked towards you, and I think you just wanted to see what would happen when you let Me put the soft, heavy headphones on your head.
I don't think you expected the complex warbling sounds and low-frequency tones to hit you so hard, but I got to literally watch your eyes glaze over as you gently stopped thinking altogether. Once again I'd timed it perfectly with the sedative I'd slipped in your drink earlier.
By the time in the track that My Voice started up, you were already drooling on yourself. You let Me lead you into the hidden room, sit you down in front of the huge, twisting, swirling spiral, and hook up all the monitors, sensors and other devices. I started the IV and you didn't even flinch.
It'll be a few hours before you're ready for the next phase, but I always love to savor this part.
I can immediately tell something's different when you wake up. I usually can by now, it's something in the eyes when they first open. The way you look at Me, the way you see something about Me that wasn't there before. It's reverence. It's awe. Usually it's a little bit of fear. That one tastes especially sweet. I smile a soft sort of smile down at you.
You see, or at least you're starting to, that how you feel about Me is different. You love Me now, you can feel it, you can't quite make yourself say it on your own just yet, but it's there. It's stronger than anything has ever been and it eats at the inside of you like sweet, warm acid. It scares you, because you still know that it wasn't always like this, that you didn't always feel this flood of happy contentment and adoration every time I smiled at you. I did something to you, clearly. You have hazy, fuzzy memories of the last few hours; you know you said a lot of things over and over again, you know you heard a lot of My voice (gosh, you really love My voice), and you can feel how aroused you still are. But I didn't take your fear, or your agency, you can feel this, you know it intrinsically.
So you feel the beginnings of a panic attack, I can see it happening in your elevated heart rate, the way your skin goes pale, but it doesn't last long. You realize you don't care. Or perhaps, that it simply doesn't bother you. You love Me, how could you possibly be upset with Me for doing that to you when it feels so lovely?
You smile back at Me, you don't ever want to feel anything else.
cool idea! anyone got a link for where to read / print these?
Not exactly the same zines but it definitely looks like the same author judging by the mousegirl!
Though it seems the guide to safer drug use from the dhammaflow website contains all the individual ones anyway, on that page is actually another link, this one : https://dsdistro.noblogs.org/post/2025/03/26/radical-guide-to-safe-drug-use-pocket-zines/
Which has all the zines from the picture :)
let's say that you're monogamously dating a tsundere. and to save another girls life you have to cheat on the tsundere. would you do it
can i just do the one where i kill people with a trolley instead
no also both girls in question are murder and or suicide risks
so funny to me when white american christians are like “ooh i incorporate my religious trauma into my art and thats why i draw these stained glass gothic church gold multi eyed reneissance sculpture angels agnus dei” like i know your protestant southern california ass didnt have any of that. go make some art about this
Damn way to read the assignment and go above and beyond.
the bleakness and sanitized feel of most American protestant churches really is an underused medium.
idk why tf the images were deemed to be ‘violating community guidelines’, but here’s what this post used to look like
whenever i see the post about asexual perverts and trans women i giggle like. heh. i am both at once and prominently too.
tongue-fucking this girl's ear until I can taste its brain leaking out
Actually I DO think twelve year olds should get hrt. That’s the normal age to start puberty, so why does it have to be different for trans kids?
If you think trans kids don’t deserve the right to a timely and correct puberty – the same way cis kids already get – you are transphobic.
if trans kids are too young to start puberty so are cis kids
Kinks & Dolls >
You may call us Altair.
"#smoldering thoughts" contains my own thoughts and writing. Enjoy.
valerie returns from the dead cutely 🩷
they're still terming random transfems as i type this i see which does make quite a statement doing this today specifically
watched three girls who reblogged its new blog mutual aidpost (made literally 15 minutes ago) already disappear from its notifs. transfems are not included in their pride :/
QUITE the statement to be nuking transfems at the current accelerated pace right at the start of pride month like this, isn't it
I'm not mourning my teenage years because i falsely believe all girls have a magical adolescence I'm fucking mourning it because i didn't get to be a real person. I'm really fucking glad you can talk about how being a teenager wasn't perfect, i didn't exist.
I've been advised not to finish this post
after the war the state sold us off.
what was our country going to do, warehouse us? we'd be out of date soon anyway. the next war would call for a new production run, faster and better and above all cheaper.
universities, museums, private collectors all paid highly for the heroes, but the real money came from the bulk sales. hundreds of thousands of us, damaged and shambling, sold to corporate interests to work the shipyards and the factories and the oil rigs.
they took the firing pin out of my arm and fused the hammer in place, and then i was a trucker, a long-haul trucker. i didn't need to sleep and i never made mistakes, and i spent a decade on the highways.
i remember one evening i was backing into some richfuck's private property, docking with their kitchen so they could unload a shipping container's worth of food, probably for some big richfuck party.
got out of the cab for a while and lit up—smoke through the cooling fans felt good—and looked at the sky. i supposed the humans had to give us vices cause they couldn't stand the idea that we were better than them. cruel, perhaps, but i didn't care.
i didn't care about much.
a doll came around a corner and nearly walked into me. dazed idiot. she recovered and apologized and curtsied in that stupid maid uniform the richfucks made her wear, and leaned against the wall next to me and held her hand out for a cig.
sure, i thought, why not. anything for my old lieutenant. there was never any doubt with recognizing a comrade. they put our barcodes in our irises so we couldn't ever hide or modify them.
i looked around at the estate with fresh eyes. so this was the kind of job all those valor commendations had landed her. at least she wasn't switched off in a display case somewhere.
seemed all right. she'd always been chill. plenty of dolls i'd rather see get the cold storage treatment. i wondered if she was glad to see me. but i didn't wonder too hard, cause it didn't matter either way.
neither of us said a word to each other. i knew we were both remembering. there was a lot to remember.
and when we were done remembering together, and one of the kitchen staff was waving to me telling me i could undock the truck and fuck off, i nodded once at my old lieutenant and walked off without looking back, got in the cab and—
well, i tried not to look back. but i had to look in the mirrors at least once. she was crying, face in her hands, clutching at the filter i'd dropped in the gravel. she'd always been fucking icy. what was getting her now? was a single smoke with a former subordinate really the only nice thing that had happened to her in ten years?
christ, woman, i thought, pull yourself together.
i didn't wanna think about what her owners were doing to her. so i drove off, and i didn't think about it.
Those first weeks are always the brightest, aren't they? When everything about your partner is new to you, when everything she says is delightful. You're feeling it burning low now, you've got me figured out, we're settling in to a comfortable rhythm. Don't worry, little one, not a single thing I told you about myself was true. Those words we exchanged are not of my heart. You'll get to learn about me all over again, while I plumb deep into the secrets you can't show anyone. Don't be afraid, aren't you glad you get to love me brightly again?
Every day I handle more money than I will ever make. Every day.
At the start of my employment, my boss showed me videos of people stealing, and we both had a chuckle about it. How silly they were! There was a camera overhead, and it’s not to watch the shoppers. See, we can’t actually stop shoplifters. They get away with it maybe nine out of ten times. But we, who are watched and tallied and witnessed? We are always caught.
At first it was hard to hold one hundred dollars bills. An amount I had never seen before. An amount that didn’t exist in my household. It’s normal now. Here is something that is not for me.
“What the hell, I’ll take another,” says the man, pondering our 200 dollar watches. What the hell. Total comes to 580 and not even a flinch in his face. I have been working for 11 hours today and made only 110 dollars. It will go to my rent. Today I work for free, it feels. When I get my check, I will have 35 dollars left for food and saving.
The six hundreds he hands me go into the cash register. For a moment, I imagine having money. Then I put it away, counting out his change.
I know for a fact we sell our products for double what they are worth. That I could be making commission. That they could hand me those 580 dollars and change my life and not even mark the difference in their checkbooks. He’s not the only sale they make today, but I am the reason they made it. He’s not the only one spending 600 dollars, but if I hadn’t spent two hours with him telling me about his life, he wouldn’t have spent any. I go home. I don’t own a watch.
I have watched and rewatched a video on how to make salmon four ways. My shopping list is always the same. Pasta. Rice. Tuna. If I can afford butter it was a good week. I dream of the world I will never walk in, where I can throw the best fish fillet in the cart with a shrug. I hold hundreds in my hand and look up at the camera. I put them under the cash drawer.
I go to work. I scrap together my savings. I eat my bowl of rice slowly. My manager takes a paid week off from work just for his birthday. He owns a yacht.
I’m not worth the cost of a watch.
i wrote this while i was working at orlando’s walt disney world parks.
i was part of their college program. i moved to the state for it. they legally owned the building i was living in and still charged me rent. i ostensibly was being charged to work for them. it was a 2 bedroom apartment and they placed 6 adult women in it in forced triples.
as many as one in ten disney employees have experienced homelessness while working for the company. despite huge efforts to unionize, strike, or otherwise demand fair treatment; disney has refused to increase employee quality of life.
disney admits publicly that a good portion of their success is because the employees (“cast members”) are dedicated, passionate, and selfless. this is never reflected in pay. even “face” characters (ie those that are princesses etc) make barely above a minimum wage.
at the time that i worked there, i made $8.50 an hour. at one point i was asked to create a human shield around a bag because a bomb dog had alerted to it. for eight fucking dollars an hour.
i now work a very cushy office job. i have bought the salmon and cooked it all four ways.
i go to the store. i am nice to the person behind the counter. she looks up at the camera while she counts out my change. there is nothing fundamentally different about her and i.
we are both worth more than the watch, anyway.
the fact that i am an extremely private person in real life only makes the idea of being stalked more appealing. it's even more violating
like i don't even want my closest friends to know my evening plans and this person knows my whole routine?
someone remembering something i told them in passing already feels like an invasion. i can only speculate on the astronomical degree of horrified panic i'd feel upon returning to my apartment to find a handwritten, extremely graphic, and extremely personal love letter on my desk