utility man

I’m not a “soft boy uvu” bitch I’m a HARD BOY™ who wears FLANNEL and PUNCHES down OAK TREES and eat RAW STEAK even though I have “tits” and “long hair” am not tachnically “out” and Irl I probably look like a “raging lesbian” I assue you I am 78% utility-grade MAN MEAT

I’ll Be Good - Part 18

Masterlist -  Series Masterlist  -  Part 17  -  Part 19

Summary: Series - You’re an old colleague of Natasha’s who finds herself face to face with the Winter Soldier on the wrong end of an Avengers’ op. Chapter – You face the consequences of the failed mission, and are forced to share more about your work before you came to the compound.

Warnings: swearing, angst train! toot toot!

Word Count: 2911 - ok I need to stop promising to make these shorter… it’s just not going to happen.

Author’s Note: I really like this part! Hold on guys, plot is picking up again! So much dialogue in this one! Yowza. Also I’ve officially reached the point in this series where I have to fact check myself… against myself lol. XD As always, my Russain has been rusting for like 7+ years so feel free to pm me corrections :)

Originally posted by esgaroths

Stepping out of your scalding shower, your mind was still swimming with thoughts of Bucky. It wasn’t like you to be so wrapped up, chewing absentmindedly on the edge of your nail, kicking your clothes into a heap in the corner instead of neatly folded. You were distracted, careless, even.

When you came out of your bathroom, squeezing the water out of your hair with your towel, you yelped and jumped slightly, your heart pounding when your eyes finally made it to the bed and found Natasha perched on it, legs curled under her. Shit, I really am distracted. Get it together! She eyed you carefully, obviously sharing your thoughts.

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dracomalfoil  asked:

My cousin, a 15 y/o white guy, doesn't believe in the gender pay gap and thinks it's made up. Like how?! What??? And me and my friend and sister have repeatedly tried to get him to understand, but he still doesn't believe it, he thinks that is a statistic trick. How can I get him to acknowledge the very blatant reality of it? Thanks!

The pay gap is hard to prove. It’s hard to prove that you’re paying a woman less for unfair reasons. Over all though it is an issue and it becomes even more of an issue when you look at women who are Asian, black, and Native American who on average make less than white women.

Some of the arguments against the idea that there’s a pay gap is that women take jobs that pay less so obviously they’d make less. But I believe that women aren’t always able or encouraged to take jobs that earn more, like those in the maths and sciences (doctors, scientists, architects, etc.) That would allow them to get those jobs. Girls are often led to believe earlier on that they aren’t as good at math and science, aren’t encouraged to go into those fields in college, or are harassed or discriminated against in those fields.

I would be interested in what facts or studies a 15 year old young man is utilizing to form this opinion. Why does he specifically think it’s a lie? Or is that what someone told him so he believes it? If I knew exactly why he thinks that it’d be easier to discuss why he might be wrong.

Unofficial Ownership

WARNINGS: Smut, Language, Violence, Drug & Alcohol Usage, Mentions of Prostitution, Angst, Character Death

(IF ANY OF THE THINGS MENTIONED IN THE WARNINGS SECTION ARE TRIGGERING FOR YOU DO. NOT. READ. THIS. Seriously, don’t. If you decide to regardless of the warnings, you’re on your own.)

[Request]

*Though this was a daddy!au request, I don’t think it turned out that way. I did try, but it turned into whatever this mess is. And it’s lengthy.*

“I don’t hear you.” He growled in your ear as he thrust into you harder, causing your makeup to streak against the grungy restroom mirror. You grunted in response as he pressed himself impossibly close, his grip on your arms tightening almost painfully. The edge of the dingy sink was digging into your pelvis and you could pinpoint, down to the exact second, when the strain in the backs of your thighs became unbearable. You couldn’t give him what he wanted, not with the way every thrust was like a punch to the chest, knocking the air from your lungs. Your chest burned from the lack of air and tears rolled down your cheeks freely. “I. Don’t. Hear. You.” Each word punctuated with a sharp thrust of his hips, launching you forward. You squeaked, eyes burning as your mascara began to run. Your mouth was open, but no words would come to you. A scream stuck to the back of your throat like a spoonful of peanut butter. Thick and heavy, pushing you dangerously close to choking. Tiny, breathy squeaks replaced the scream, accompanying the grunts of the man slamming into your body from behind. 

There was a sudden stop, and your body, in its state of shock, broke down. Knees buckling, you slumped forward, heart racing as you caught your breath. It was quiet, almost too quiet. You were afraid to look at him, knowing he was pissed off at you. The mood was ruined because of your inability to follow his order. You were in trouble and there was no telling what kind of mess you’d find once you got home. Keeping your eyes closed, you supported as much of your weight on the the sink as you could to relieve the pressure in the backs of your thighs. The silence was broken as the bathroom filled with the sound of him finishing himself, hand working furiously against his erection. You kept your legs open in fear of upsetting him further. Granted, the shift in mood was technically his fault, but it wasn’t like it would matter. What he said, went. No matter if it was correct or not, because you belonged to him. If what he said did not go the way he wanted it to, there were consequences, none of them good. You shook as you pictured the possibilities. He grunted as he came, and then  you listened to him fixing his clothes. Nudging you aside, he washed his hands and shook the excess water from them. “I expect you to be on time tonight.” He said with a warning in his voice. A shiver crawled up your back and you gripped the sink harder. “What do you say?” He demanded. You looked up; at him in the makeup streaked mirror, “Yes, sir.” He smiled, flashing his dimples at you. “See you later, love.” You couldn’t bring yourself to smile back as he kissed the side of your head, placing a solid, open-palmed slap to your rear and squeezing firmly. 

You waited until you could no longer hear the clacking of his designer dress shoes in the hallway before you relaxed. Your chest hurt and your muscles ached, but none of that mattered when you had exactly six minutes before your first and only client, Mr. Park, arrived for the night. This wouldn’t be your first rush job, but it was beginning to become a chore. It was irritating to have to see Namjoon before your appointments simply because he liked to drag out his little “visits” to the very last minute, which meant you would smell like him when you met clients, which resulted in less money. Less money meant punishment from Namjoon, and no one wanted that, ever. 


You rushed down the carpeted hallway on bare feet, carrying your strapped sandals in your hand as you ran. You sent silent prayers to the heavens, hoping Mr. Park kept to his Tuesday schedule. He rarely strayed from his schedule unless he was in a rush due to a business and needed to get his fill of you before leaving. Tuesdays meant that he would be an hour and a half late. You checked your cellphone again, the timer ticking down the time as you rounded the corner. Thirty seconds. “Shit.” You panted and picked up speed. You ran as fast as the skin tight dress you wore allowed. Nearing his room, you slowed to a walk, gasping for air. The timer signaled the end of your time as you let yourself into Mr. Park’s suite. “Mr. Park?” You called out to him. There was no response and you exhaled heavily. He was indeed following schedule. “Oh thank God!” You breathed, doubling over and catching your breath. That was more work than you were willing to put in aside from the work you did for your clients. Once you could breathe easily, you threw your sandals to the side and ventured into the familiar room, heading straight for the bathroom to wash away every bit of Namjoon that you could before Mr. Park arrived. Mr. Park was your favorite client out of the five that you regularly saw. He paid above the required amount, always giving the extra money to you to put aside for something you wanted. If time permitted, he would spend the night with you, doting on you and telling you stories of his travels. He often hinted at running away with you. Although it was a foolish thing to believe in, the sentiment was enough to make you smile anyway. You wouldn’t mind escaping the hellish life you currently lived, but how long would the happiness last before Namjoon came looking for you? Shedding your clothes, you stared at yourself in the mirror in the wall-to-wall mirror over the sink. There were bags big enough to double as flotation devices under your eyes, making it seem as if you’d had an allergic reaction to something. You could see the beginnings of several bruises on the tops of your arms and up the left side of your neck. Hopefully, Mr. Park wouldn’t mind doing things with the lights off. It was rare that you would be allowed to make a request with your clients, but he was an understanding man. 

Utilizing the the time it took to wait for Mr. Park, you did a complete scrub down of your body, putting the bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash he so nicely left behind to use.


“You’re late.” Namjoon’s voice rang out to you, echoing off of the walls. The mansion itself was almost pitch black. The only light coming in was the tiny bit of moonshine that illuminated in front of the massive front doors. You froze, hand still on the door knob. He emerged from the shadows with his hands in his pants pockets, coming from the direction of his office. You swallowed hard, body tensing as you braced yourself for the backlash. He was right, you were a half hour past “curfew”. He was stone-faced, very visibly angry with you for coming in past the time he’d ordered you to be in by. A lump formed in your throat, but you refused to show any sort of weakness. Not anymore. You’d been with him too long, and you’d come to know all of his little mind games well enough to be able to put up a front regardless of how scared you might be. He jerked his head towards his office, his very much sound proof office, which could only mean that whatever was about to go down, he didn’t want the other ladies of the house to hear. You followed after him quietly, your fight or flight instincts kicking in. You were ready to run if need be, but that didn’t mean that you wouldn’t put up a fight.

It wouldn’t be the first time that a conversation between the two of you had come to blows, so you were prepared for it. You took full advantage of the fact that you were the face of Namjoon’s operation, his cash cow. He let you get away with far more than the other girls, simply because he knew that if anything happened to you, the money would stop coming in. You slammed the door, throwing your shoes, coat, and purse into the nearest chair, “What do you want?” You demanded with more attitude than you had intended. He sat on the edge of his desk with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, muscles straining against the tight material of his stark white t-shirt. “Come here.” He said in a low, menacing tone. You stood where you were.

Partly out of fear, and partly because you were in the mood to be defiant. “Come. Here!” He bellowed. You moved forward until you were standing directly in front of him, close enough to smell his toothpaste. He gripped your chin, hard, forcing you to look right at him. He was seething and it would have been hot any other time, but this time seemed to have real danger laying there. “Suck a dick.” You spat, nostrils flaring in anger. How dare he touch your face?! He laughed out loud, a condescending undertone to it, “Now, now, doll. That’s what I pay you for.” He pushed your face away, a look of disgust painted on his otherwise perfect features. You hated that about him. He was an asshole. An asshole of epic proportions, but he was beautiful. Damn him. You narrowed your eyes at him, staring him down, “What do you want?” You repeated angrily.

He raised an eyebrow at you, “It’s your birthday, lovey. I called you in here to give you a gift.” You figured he was lying because he was still pissed at you about earlier, and let’s not forget the fact that you missed curfew, again. You held out your hand expectantly, wishing he would get this meeting over with. You were exhausted, and all you wanted, was to shower and throw yourself into bed. “Come sit.” He instructed, moving off of his desk and giving the sturdy oak a solid slap. You were very familiar with what came after he told you to sit on his desk. Very familiar. You sat anyway, knowing full well what was about to transpire. Hiking your dress up above your thighs, you sat, opening your legs to him without being told to. While Namjoon busied himself with removing his belt, you rolled your eyes up to the ceiling. Him having sex with you twice in one day was apparently his idea of a gift for the day of your birth. You waited for the sound of his pants dropping to his ankles, but you were met with silence. You slowly lowered your head to find him looking at you. Leaning in, he placed his hands on either side of your body, pressing forward until he was mere inches away from your face, “Did you really think I was going to reward you for disobeying me?” You felt a sudden chill crawl up your back at the tone of his voice. So you’d guessed right. He was still angry. When you didn’t respond, his hand flashed up and gripped your neck, yanking you forward. You began to panic, “I’m sorry! I-I wasn’t late on purpose I swear!” You cried, trying to pull his hand away from your throat. His hold on you only tightened, causing you to panic further, “If I tell you to be home at a certain time, what do you think that means, ___________?” You couldn’t think with the lack of air to your brain. It was becoming increasingly hard to breath around the iron grip on your wind pipe. You had to do something or you’d black out. 

Without another moment’s hesitation, You locked your legs around his waist, making sure to dig your knees into his sides. “Let me go, asshole!” You choked out, squeezing as hard as you could. He yelped, letting go of your neck to tend to his hurt sides. Pushing him away, you kicked out at him, connecting with his midsection. “Don’t ever…touch me again. Bastard.” You spat, grabbing your things from the chair and leaving him in his office. You heard him gasp out a threatening, “I’ll deal with you in the morning” as you made your way down the hallway to the main part of the house. You practically to the room you shared with three other girls, hoping he wasn’t following you. You knew that tomorrow would be hell for not just you, but the other women. And that was something you blamed yourself for. You should have known better than to anger the man that demanded you call him daddy. 

Little did Namjoon know, you were done taking his shit. You were done bending over whenever he told you to, contract be damned. Things were about to change, and you were the sole reason for it all.


[To Be Continued…]

One | Two | Three | Four

AND ANOTHER THING i want more magic in ragnarok bc come on man

A Matter of Trust

This is admittedly not very good, but it’s here and I wrote it. Almost 2,000 words of the League sitting around chitchatting. Honestly it was an excuse to put some of my thoughts on Billy into writing. But I promised a fic so here it is, enjoy all the talking.


It had been a long, exhausting mission but eventually, the Justice League had emerged victorious. But after almost three days of battling and strategizing and being away from the Earth, the Team was starting to feel the strain. Currently they were crashed on the Watchtower hovering far above the planet to debrief and destress before returning to their homes.

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June 13

Batman historian Les Daniels credits Gardner Fox, the first writer other than Bill Finger to write the adventures of Batman in Detective Comics, with introducing the utility belt concept in Detective Comics #29 (June 13, 1939). In its first appearance, Batman’s utility belt “contain[ed] choking gas capsules.” Although seemingly unremarkable in appearance, the utility belt is one of Batman’s most important tools in fighting crime. Consisting primarily of a strap and buckle, the utility belt houses ten pouches or cylindrical cartridges that are attached to the outside of the belt. The buckle itself typically contains a miniature camera and a tape recorder. A secondary compartment behind the length of the belt houses Batman’s supply of batarangs. Each of the ten pouches or cylinders contains various tools integral to Batman’s war on crime, with the cylinders being interchangeable with each other. Through the years, Batman has modified the contents of his belt to accommodate various crime-fighting scenarios.

The Yellow Claw series chronicled the adventures of a Chinese-American FBI agent, Jimmy Woo, and his battles against a “yellow peril” Communist mandarin, known only as the Yellow Claw. The title character was a Fu Manchu manqué whose grandniece, Suwan, was in love with Woo. The Yellow Claw was born over 150 years ago in mainland China. He is both a genius in biochemistry and a brilliant scientist and inventor in many fields, in addition to being an expert in mysticism, alchemy, and the martial arts. The Yellow Claw has formulated elixirs that have prolonged his life span, enabling him to retain his physical vitality. Following his Nick Fury appearances, artists have depicted him with an unusual, jaundiced-looking, yellowish skin tone, possibly as a result of his life-extension chemical. The Yellow Claw has dedicated himself to achieving world domination and supplanting Western civilization. He controls a worldwide criminal organization, along with a staff of research scientists and engineers. He first appeared in The Yellow Claw #1 (June 13, 1956).

'I would happily play as goalkeeper' - Kimmich has no problems with being Bayern and Germany's utility man

Versatile Bayern Munich midfielder Joshua Kimmich will happily play wherever he is needed, even if that means playing as a goalkeeper.

The 22-year-old rose to prominence as a holding midfielder but has also featured at right-back and centre-back at Bayern and with Germany.

Chelsea and Arsenal want Sokratis

Kimmich previously stated he prefers to play in the middle of the pitch, though if it means he makes the starting XI he will gladly take up another position.

“The most important matter for me is not where I play, but that I play,” Kimmich, who scored an acrobatic late equaliser in Germany’s 1-1 friendly draw against Denmark last week and set up three goals in the 7-0 thumping of San Marino on Saturday, told Kicker.

“When I have to make a choice between playing and watching on from the sidelines, I always pick playing. I would happily play as goalkeeper, striker or winger, as long as I play. I would prefer any position over watching on from the bench.

"Both at Bayern and the national team, there are players who have been around a bit longer and have immense quality. There is always a risk that you do not get as much playing time as you would like.”

Kimmich made 40 appearances in all competitions for Bayern in 2016-17, scoring nine goals.

He is part of the Germany squad for the upcoming Confederations Cup, with the world champions taking on Australia in their tournament opener on June 19.

Partners, Promises, & Punchlines | Xiumin One Shot

You’d spent hours sitting in the inconspicuous looking Honda, observing the warehouse from afar. At first, the quiet was suffocating and time seemed determined to seep slow and steady.

He could feel you becoming restless so he did what he knew best– he tried to learn more about you. This was Xiumin; quiet and attentive, always ready to learn other people’s stories, always hesitant to share his own. Except with you.

Everyone on the force thought Xiumin was rather mysterious, a bit too closed off. Some of them had even asked if having such a reserved partner was difficult when it came down to trusting them with your life. You always gave a vague answer. Vague because Xiumin liked to listen and it felt like a privilege to be the one to hear him. People thought he was distant, but you were lucky enough to know that he collected shoes, that he liked his coffee extra strong, that he was afraid of pigeons, that he put marshmallows in his hot chocolate, that he was shameless about hitting high notes on long drives with loud music, that he often wondered what his part on the squad was. It felt personal, to know this side of him, to know he allowed you to see this side of him.

And in return, you let him see a side of you too. You told him about your home town, how it seemed to perpetually become smaller with every visit, how the roads always felt like they led to nowhere. Your cheeks were tinted red because it was a little embarrassing to admit that you often felt like you were suffocating; it made you feel guilty to say that home wasn’t comforting anymore.

His smile was understanding though. His eyes were sincere and despite the heaviness of your words, it felt right that he was the one to hear them. After six months of being partners, of countless drives and stakeouts and cases, even strange nights like these could have an essence of ease with him.

And something about this night, in particular, was different– you could both feel it. Even as the pier remained tranquil, the air outside seemed to buzz with anticipation, as if expecting a fall out. It was like the sky was reeving up to break, except it would deliver something darker than winter’s rain. You both tried to ignore the anxiety that itched the back of your necks because if you overthought it, on this job, hesitance could cost you your life.

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Fragmentary (IV)

With the morning ticking away, Amanda’s back to her desk to complete more work.
She’s impatient to know how he does. To know more about him.
Who’s Eric after all? A soldier, a leader, a killer…? A young man. Utilized.
Broken.
Murdered.
The perfect subject for resurrection. The strongest ally.
Redemption will lead her to be free from so much guilt. After a lifetime of pain and disgrace. Maybe the day the truth sees the light isn’t too far.
Noise outside the room snaps her out the thoughts. Amanda returns quickly to her records, in quiet.
A girl enters stumbling, opening the door with her lower back. Her hands are occupied with a tray that carries Amanda’s breakfast.
She places it on the desk, walks in direction to the window and sits underneath it. She takes out a little notebook, her diary, from its hiding place in a pocket from her pants and writes on it.
They both would like to pretend this day is normal. But silence screams is one to remember. Nothing will be the same.
The girl stares out the window. Her heart’s mechanic has been creating an overflowing quantity of excitement these later days. No one but her knows it.
Spinner, as she decided to be known as, wears her Dauntless uniform proudly. Despite the detail that she’s actually factionless now, and will be for the rest and sake of her life.
She’s the other helper Amanda trusts. Using her Dauntless skills to be eyes and ears outside the shelter.
The second thing most important for Spinner, after their fortress and the people in it, is a gun. Always attached to her right leg.
“-Are you sure you shouldn’t tell him?”
Spinner refers to Eric unable to remember he’s been gone from this world.
“-For now I am. His state’s delicate, Spin. And honestly, I don’t know where does that collateral effect comes from. What would I say?”
“-Maybe you fried his brains”
She comments jokingly. A thin smile appears on her face. She looks at Amanda but she’s concentrated on her computer.
“-Or it’s more complicated than that.”
“-Where is he now?”
Spinner asks, returning the diary to safety inside her pocket.
“-With Roy, doing some tests. Do you want to see him?”
“-No!”
She exalts, startling Amanda.
“-What– are you afraid?”
Amanda frowns at the possibility of Spinner being afraid of something.
“-No…?”
The girl may not be scared, yet she can’t hide the shock.
She never questioned Amanda’s reasons, for her it was more like blind obedience.
And just like Roy, she had her silent doubt. A word that persisted in her mind: impossible.
Turns out it wasn’t.
Now the doubt evolved, and she’s not so sure she wants to see Eric anymore.
“-Look, Spinner, I told you before. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to, so… Are you in or out?”
Amanda leans back in the chair, waiting for the reply that’s pronounced almost instantly.
“-What kind of question is that, Amanda? Of course I’m with you. All the way. I robbed a corpse with you, for heaven’s sake!”
Spinner paces nervously in front of the desk, remembering. The night they retrieved Eric set the start for surrealness.
“-That was easy compared to what we have ahead of us”
Amanda cautions plainly. Spinner stops at the sudden chills it gave her.
“-I guess I didn’t prepare myself for the whole… ‘comeback’
She adds between quotes.
“-He’s here in flesh and blood”
Realization dawns on her face, as she gazes in awe at the doctor.


@tigpooh67 @jaihardy

Extracurricular Activities + A CS One Shot

A/N: I swear I’m going to get better at posting things more frequently one of these days. Anyway, here’s a little smutty sequel to this one shot I wrote a while back because I promised it to @xpumpkindumplingx and @ilovemesomekillianjones and because there’s apparently nothing like reading Halloween-ish things in November, right? :] 4.5K and rated M for sure.


“Killian….stop-” Emma weakly warned, spinning to face him and his salacious smirk. “-doing that. You’re supposed to be supervising, remember?”

“True,” he laughed, letting his fingertips trail down her sides while tickling her ribs. “But these little events are supposed to be fun, you know. Depriving me of such privilege would be bad form.”

Emma couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his innuendo, his words hinting toward things she shouldn’t be pondering given their current location. The circumstances he was so teasingly reminding her of were those of a school fundraiser in the shape of the annual corn maze Principal Hopper insisted on each year. She’d avoided participating in the planning and proctoring of this long lived tradition for a few years now, always claiming she was busy with some other obligation.

She, of course, couldn’t use that line this year when she was propositioned - mostly because the offer came from the devilishly handsome gym teacher who would have definitely qualified as her other obligation if they were anywhere but standing a short distance from the evening’s adolescent event. She mused at the thought of him being her excuse for exclusion as she glared at his attempt to steal a kiss from her stubborn lips. Well, ‘steal’ was a loosely used word. It’s not like she wasn’t aching to give in to him - even if they were barely out of sight courtesy of some well placed bales of hay.

“I’m pretty sure you’re referencing two very different types of fun, Jones,” she quipped, trying not to lean into his heated touch. “We’re supposed to be monitoring the area for deviant students - not teaching a very inappropriate behavior 'how-to’ course.”

“But teaching is what we do, love,” he returned as his hot gaze lingered on her lips. “You can’t warrant a man for utilizing his talents.”

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Don’t let a man utilize your pain for his art don’t let them write abt you don’t let them film you don’t let them draw you sculpt you any of it don’t let them rob you of having ownership of what you do with your grief. Don’t let your suffering become someone else’s song. Know this.

anonymous asked:

Hal Do you like doctor who? Is so, fave doctor?

TT: It’s a science fiction admirer's dream come true along with A Space Odyssey. It truly encaptures the excitement and dangers of space exploration and revealing a myriad of interesting extraterrestrials with their own cultures and motives, utilizing one man with twelve distinct faces, all with their own mindset and motives that ultimately propel the plot along quite nicely.

TT: My favorite Doctor is the Twelveth, by the by.