Actually thinking about my time spent in purgatory, aka “the service industry”, I had some wild fucking events over the course of a decade.
There was the time a bride decided she didn’t want to go through with the wedding and tried to make her escape through the back kitchens of the venue and wound up sitting out back in the drizzling rain, bumming cigarettes from the delivery drivers, pristine white dress turning to mulch as she sat on an over turned catering crate. After a good half hour the groom came and found her and asked if she was okay. When she said she wasn’t sure if she wanted to go through with it he just nodded and said she should get out the rain because it was cold. The two of them ended up going back inside together, skipped the wedding part and basically had the most expensive party of their lives with all their friends and family.
There was another bride who could never decide on place settings, so in the end just turned to the coordinator and said “surprise me”. So we mismatched everything and called it “boho chic”. She loved it.
There was the groom who got caught in our supply closet during the late night reception…with the best man. And then there was also the father of the bride who absconded with the mother of the groom and had to be asked nicely to put their clothes back on and get out of the wine cellar.
At the same wedding.
There was the drunk best man who proposed to me using an umbrella cocktail and told me he was heartbroken when I told him I was flattered but married. He wore it behind his ear the rest of the night dancing like a mad man and telling anyone who would listen about “the one that got away”.
There was the Indian wedding with 800 guests. We rotated them in batches of 200 to fit them between spaces. All I can remember is never having enough drinks to hand out.
There was the arch bishop who only liked his coffee ground by hand because the effort of the worker “made it taste better”.
There was the time I took out the crystal drop of a chandelier with a champagne cork because the runners shook up the bottles for a joke.
There was the funeral party where the body couldn’t be delivered to the crematorium because the crematorium caught on fire.
There was the other funeral where a fist fight broke out over something our Jeanie said to our Mary 40 years ago, but then it turned out Mary was the one who said it.
There was the wedding where in a room of 200 people, the bride and groom only had eyes for each other.
There was the christening where the godmother kept crying to me over mocktails because she never thought she could love something as much as she loved “that bald little head”.
There was the old man at the wedding who came alone and smiled very kindly at everyone and always said please and thank you and who told myself and a coworker he’d been married to his wife for over 60 years and how she would have loved to see these two finally tie the not. She’d only passed the week before. He’d brought a picture of her so she could enjoy it in spirit.
There was the really tragic funeral where everyone kept hugging each other and saying “I love you” and us staff had to take frequent breaks to breathe because grief is tangible but so is love.
There were the times when nothing in particular happened at all, but they stand out so much because everyone there was happy.
Of course there was also the times when someone threw up on your shoes, or you got groped while serving the table, or someone was rude or snide because you were “the help”.
This is what mass consumerist art has done to the idea of selling that as a product when it's so clearly fine art. Like, with the effort she's putting in x20 for a decent wage and materials?? That's a $80,000 piece of art a member of the landed gentry would commission a year in advance for his wife on their 20th wedding anniversary. This is a priceless heirloom. How can you say "Oh yeah, I wanna buy it, you should sell them" as if you could ever turn something like this into a product??
This is fine art, period. That piece will be in a museum, or if not is should be in a museum in a hundred years.
I just said to my wife, "oh, look at this beautiful autistic person, this is autistic culture," when I sent her the link. And half a second later I said, "and I think she has the same headphones we do."
But truly, this is incredible fine art. Fuck. I love that little moth.
Holy shit YES this nails something I have been trying to put words to for ages.
One of my friends was a great lacemaker, he made a 6ft by 6ft buckspoint veil for his wife for their wedding, sprigged all over with meaningful flowers and fruits and stuff (Things like her favourite flower, but also representations of both his and her mother's wedding bouquets, the blossom trees from an orchard they went to on a memorable date, hydrangeas from her grandparents' garden, sweet peas which grew wild around their first house together... Something 180 sprigs in all, some of them just little things the size of a postage stamp but lots of them bigger than A4-size, just a truly nightmarish amount of work) - And people often asked "Can I buy one like it? How do I get one of those?" And her answer was always "Marry a lacemaker, and have a five year engagement while he makes it."
Because this is absolutely money-can't-buy it work... Unless you are someone's patron. Like, fully "I have contracted this artisan to work for me, I am paying all of their expenses for as long as it takes to make this, because it is both mentally and physically taxing work that will take them months or years of work, and I will keep paying them for months and years after it is done because they will have committed so much time to me and shaped their style so much in tandem with my needs that they now are exponentially more valuable to me than to anyone else" With an extra portion of "I may have just burnt all my money because if they die with it unfinished nobody else will complete this for me."
But that exact idea of, you CAN pay for this, but you aren't buying a product, you are commissioning a work which will both be the life's work of the creator (at least, for the period that they are making it) and that will potentially change the face of the craft forever beyond it. (SOMEONE commissioned the Lindisfarne Gospel, someone commissioned the Mona Lisa.) ...Feels important.
Commissioned work deserves its pay; mass-production by its nature cannot be commissioned and cannot achieve the same results. I.e. you pay what its worth. You can't demand Art and expect to pay cheap
I saw someone say “If alter boys could get pregnant, the Catholic Church would support abortion.” and it made me feel so sad and disgusted because the sexual abuse of girls and women at the hands of Catholic clergymen is just minimized, swept away, forgotten. It is more of a matter of moral disgust for these respected religious leaders to be sexually abusing young boys, that is why it is continuously highlighted. Many popes are known to have fathered children, some openly. These celibate men not being celibate and having encounters with women is recorded throughout the entire history of the church, what is often not included is the ages of these girls and women and wether they consented or not.
I think if alter boys could get pregnant they would be subjected to the exact same torment the Catholic Church put unwed mothers through. I think they’d also be sent to the Magdalene Laundries and have their labor create profit for the church. I think their babies would also be ripped from their arms and given to virtuous religious couples to raise. Because the Catholic Church works like a machine.
A machine learning algorithm helped decode the squeaks Egyptian fruit bats make in their roost, revealing that they
They found that the bat noises are not just random, as previously thought, reports Skibba. They were able to classify 60 percent of the calls into four categories. One of the call types indicates the bats are arguing about food. Another indicates a dispute about their positions within the sleeping cluster. A third call is reserved for males making unwanted mating advances and the fourth happens when a bat argues with another bat sitting too close. In fact, the bats make slightly different versions of the calls when speaking to different individuals within the group, similar to a human using a different tone of voice when talking to different people. Skibba points out that besides humans, only dolphins and a handful of other species are known to address individuals rather than making broad communication sounds. The research appears in the journal Scientific Reports.
Summary: Carrying your monster mate’s eggs is no simple task. You must be filled with his seed to nurture the eggs and your mate is more than eager to pound you to oblivion and fill you to the brim.
Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, explicit tentacle smut, pregnancy kink, triple pen in mouth, pussy and ass, loads of come. Don’t like, don’t read.
Living with your tentacled monster was easier than you’d expected. The days ever since your mating had become a blur of passionate moments and comforting touches. You were also fully pregnant, your mate’s eggs nestled safely within you. Your belly was round and heavy, making you waddle funnily —or incredibly cutely as your mate often praised. He could look at you like hours, gazing at your features and not get bored.
You couldn’t believe he loved you so much, yet it was all real. Your mate was a beast of the sea, yet he was caring, gentle and satisfied all your desires. You saw past his appearance and felt deeply connected to his heart.
A hand curving over your stomach, you swayed as you kicked the blankets and moved out of your cozy nest. You wore no clothes underneath; it was just you and your mate at the cave you were living together and you were never cold, your caring monster kept you warm and filled at all times.
The cave was silent and lit by the glow of bioluminescent algae on the walls. The gentle sound of the sea came from outside as you waddled through its passages. You’d woken up because your mate wasn’t there to embrace you. You were heavily dependent on him and the feel of his tentacles all around you. Pregnancy hormones drove you crazy daily, but your mate was more than eager to satisfy you in every way.
“Where are you, love?” you called out, a little tense. His absence was unsettling. He rarely left your side.
Right on time, you heard the soft slither of tentacles on stone. Sighing in relief, you rushed to him— as fast as your swollen belly would allow. You met him at the place that you’d redecorated as the living room. Your mate took most of the space, his body round and huge, surrounded by tentacles. His three eyes twinkled and when he saw you, lingering on your swollen breasts and belly. He slithered quickly to your side, tentacles reaching out to support you.
“I’m back, little one.” His voice was a soothing hum in your mind. “Did you miss me?”
“Hmm, I was worried,” you muttered, your lips quivering. Stupid hormones again.
A tentacle cupped your face. "Hush, don’t worry. I am here now. I had to find something special for you.”
Nuzzling into him, you glanced down and noticed the bundle he carried, wrapped in sea leaves. He gave it to you and you unwrapped the leaves to find a selection of fruit, sweets and other human snacks. Your heart swelled. He’d gone to find human food for you and from the sight of it, he’d risked his life.
“You went to find food for me?”
His voice touched your mind. "A friend of mine, a merman, often brings me human snacks from the land. I traded some pearls to get these for you."
Your eyes watered. “You are unbelievably sweet. Thank you.” You reached on your toes, caressing his slimy head. “Thank you so much, baby.”
Your mate didn’t mind to be affectionately called baby by you. On the contrary, you could shear he went more aroused each time you spoke his nickname so sweetly.
Immensely happy, you devoured the fruit and snacks and fortified yourself on the delicious chocolate. Your mate didn’t like human food and was content to have his tentacles all around you, caressing your belly soothingly. When you finished your meal, you sat back against him, a wave of contentment washing over you.
“Satisfied?”
“Hmm…” you smiled up at him, resting your hands atop the tentacles cradling your belly.
“The eggs keep pulsing,” he sensed. “They need to be nurtured.”
“Yes, need you, too…” you whined just as his limbs tucked you to sit close to his massive body, your back against his front. Slimy tentacles spiraled around your ankles, opening you up, baring your slick pussy. Trickles of cum escaped the puffed lips from when he’d fucked you earlier. Your mate feed you his seed in every way possible. The eggs required his essence in your system to grow healthy and strong.
Two more tentacles wrapped around your full tits, the tips of the appendages wetting and flicking your leaking nipples. Another tentacle teased your cunt, the tip rubbing the moist folds before breaching inside. A second one followed, helping spread your pussy so that his monstrous ridged cock could thrust up inside you. Holding you from your arms, your mate lifted you up and down on his shaft, driving deep.
You came with a sweet roar, your pussy seizing around him.
But that was only the beginning.
More slippery limbs slid up your body, placing you on all fours, ass propped into the air. From behind you, your mate’s appendages enfolded your belly and rubbed your poor little clit, sending waves of pleasure through you. A tentacle coaxed your mouth apart and slowly filled your mouth, stuffing you down to your throat. It leaked sweet nutritious essence down your throat.
You breathed steadily from your nose and whimpered when you felt another appendage poking your the tight bud of your ass. It was slightly smaller than his primary tentacle-cock but still twice as thick and long as a human cock. It breached the tight ring of muscle, the mushroom head lodging deep in your guts.
Whines and moans were wrenched from you when he began fucking all your three holes simultaneously. His cock pulled put from your pussy long enough for his other cock to rail your ass, while the tentacle down your throat filled your belly with sweet nutrients. The only sounds in the cave were those of your muffled cries and the lewd squelching of his tentacles as they thrust in and out of your body.
Pleasure heightened again as you started panting, hard for you to breathe with the tentacle thrusting down your throat. Your mate sensed that immediately and freed your mouth, just in time for you to take a deep inhale and let out a loud moan as you climaxed. Whining, sobbing and thrashing, you could only ride your orgasm and surrender to the furious pounding of his cocks claiming you.
Your mate let out a monstrous sound and his relentless thrusting finally stopped. Both cocks plunged as deep at they could go, exploding with a torrent of cum. They spurted and spurted for minutes, filling your holes to overflowing. His seed tricked down your shaking thighs and to prevent any more from spilling out, he lifted you to lie back against him, his cocks plugging his cum inside you.
“Fuckkk…” you muttered, blissfully-spent, eyes glazed. “Baby, I think you overdid it this time.”
You winced at the the amount of cum in your pussy and ass. It was too much and it made your belly swell even further. You felt like you carried a baby elephant.
“I’m sorry, little one. But you know I must keep my seed inside you for a while,” he told you. “It’s good for the eggs.”
You nodded. “Are the eggs alright?”
He hummed, his tentacles tracing abstract patterns across your swollen belly.
“More than alright. Our eggs are growing strong inside you. You did so well, my strong human,” he said in your mind, his voice filled with pride. “You let me fuck your pretty little holes and took my load like a good mate. Beautiful, you’re so beautiful and strong.”
“Love you,” you whispered, just before your eyes shut and you fell asleep.
“And I love you,” he replied, his tentacles weaving over you like a makeshift blanket to keep you warm and protected.
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I made this as an artfight attack for @stabberghost It was really fun I adore their character so silly cute and so fun to draw GAAAHHHH it was a blast to make this
For the anons in my inbox, the audio's a cover of when the party's over by Billie Eilish; the cover is by an artist called Vines. But I'm not sure that she's posted any more than the one minute I've used in the video.
Hey so fun new scam just dropped! I got a call earlier today from someone spoofing the local police department's desk number, asking me if there was a reason I'd missed my jury summons this morning.
Friends, I had not received a jury summons for this month. Which I told him, at which point his previously clear diction suddenly turned into a rapid mumble, only becoming clear for scary words like 'federal' and then asking to confirm my address, at which point I hung up and decided to call the police department later.
When I called the police department the desk officer sounded so tired y'all. All I had to say was "Hey I got a call earlier saying I missed jury duty this morning?" and she immediately sighed and told me that yes it was a scam that was going around and thanked me for calling to confirm.
So this is your periodic reminder that law enforcement agencies will not call you to tell you that you're in trouble. If you need to pay a fine of some sort they will mail you a physical invoice. Anyone calling you saying they're from the police or any other law enforcement organization (up to the CIA and yes I have heard of scammers attempting to impersonate CIA agents over the phone) who then tries to get financial information from you over the phone is a scammer.
I know I actually bang on about this a weird amount, but it is my fervent hope that the information will stick in peoples' brains if they get randomly selected for the adrenaline spike lottery. Scammers use scary words to get you to panic in order to shut down your critical thinking, and if even one person's brain spits out "Tumblr user waterhobbit said the cops/CIA/federal marshalls don't call about this shit" before their bank account routing number is in the hands of assholes I will consider it a job well done.
What if we cut out the middleman? Now, you might think I mean putting college students in prison, which’d be funny but no!
We send the prisoners to college.
“I find you guilty of Grand Larceny. You are hereby sentenced to get a bachelor’s degree in English or Math. Baliff, take them to their dorm room and give them their cafeteria card.”
Fun fact; this is literally a thing that Kamala Harris did.
During her time as AG in California she pioneered a program where non-violent drug offenders (listen, you gotta start somewhere) were offered the option of schooling instead of incarceration. If they completed their course of study, their record was wiped clean, so they could look for work without being labelled a criminal. It was a huge success, cutting recidivism rates by around 80%.
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