#Cheap baby formula

[eerna]

I have come to the conclusion that I am not interested in AtLA spinoffs, but I love prequels. The comics, the next avatar, the adult Gaang story, none of them interest me enough to interact with them, but I am living for every detail the novels reveal. Like what do you MEAN the Fire Lord has a bastard half-brother scheming for power TELL ME MOREEEE

[bunnys-kisses]

can I pretty please get nanaimo bars,english muffin with the side of milkshake, frozen latte with Charles Leclerc 🥹🫶

bakery menu

the bakery is open and accepting orders! we're cooking up smiles every day! submit your own order! reblogs & comments are appreciated! thank you lovely anon for submitting this, it was something very different to write that i loved. size kink with charles is super interesting given how many people see him. but sometimes i forget he is close to six feet tall and built like someone who does f1. he may look sweet as honey, but there's probably something more sinister (sexually) going on in that brain of his, haha.

nanaimo bars ("who's my pretty girl? c'mon say it.") + english muffins ("aw, is someone crying?") + milkshake (size kink) + frozen latte (dumbification) served by charles leclerc (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, size difference/kink, dumbification, teasing/dirty talk, crying kink, cry baby!reader, oral sex (charles receives), deepthroating, facials & cock slapping, safe words/signals, hair pulling

"mon cœur"

"la douleur dans ma poitrine."

"mon amor..."

"ma salope."

charles liked to make you cry. he loved when his mean words would curl up into your brain and make that waterworks come out. he was the prince of ferrari and of his home country. it's pride and joy. he was seen as effortlessly cool and could entice anyone. that smile, those green eyes. but even with all he had been afforded, nothing turned him on more than seeing his precious girlfriend's bottom lip wobble her eyes grow cloudy with tears.

he was running on high after monza, it was like everything was barking in the back of his head. even out of his driving suit and away from the track for the night, he could still feel the adrenaline. and while many would go for a run or spend the night with a drink in hand. he yearned for something different.

and when he saw you in his lavish hotel room, in one of his shirts and what appeared nothing else underneath. he knew that he was in for a treat tonight. with his bag down and his shoes off, he entered further into the room. he ended up by you on the couch and took you by the chin.

he smiled, "most take off the make up before they get comfortable." his thumb trailed under your left eye.

you replied, "i took everything off earlier and put on the mascara that runs easily." it was from a cheap brand at the pharmacy. perfect for what charles liked.

he chuckled, "you are just full of surprises, my love. you're going to be good for me tonight, right?" it was moments like these that you realized just how much bigger charles was. most painted him as short and frail.

he was just under six foot but built in a way to withstand the strain of racing. with large hands and thighs that could kill. his hand could easily fit around your neck as easily as his cock did to the back of your throat. there was a flicker in the greens of his eyes, the noble prince had stripped away into a hungry animal that yearned for you.

you swallowed, "i always am. always for you."

he tapped your cheek six times and you tapped his wrist once in response. even if these sick games where you cried and grew stupid on his cock, there were limits everyone had. charles didn't want to break your little world apart because he took it too far. he got on the couch next to you and undid his belt. your delicate hands helped him and dropped the leather to the floor.

charles held you face to look at him. he remarked, "you really are pathetic, so eager. i'm surprised you didn't stalk the halls looking for something to fuck your throat while i was out."

you frowned a little bit, "i'd never, honey."

he pinched your cheek a little harder than normal and leaned in, "right, right. because you're a good girl, my pretty girl. who's my pretty girl? c'mon say it." his words were enticing and it made your stomach flip.

"i am."

"you are pretty, my love." he said, "god blessed you with good looks because he knew you'd be stupid. add a dash of being a cock hungry whore and sometimes i get worried. i've never wanted to kill a man, but if another sank his teeth into you." his words were low and they made you curl in your gut.

if you wanted out, as a last resort. tap once then six times in rapid succession. charles liked to make your bottom lip wobble, but he wasn't a monster. he pulled you in for another searing kiss, his hand in between your legs. he felt panties as he rubbed his hand up.

he knew it was going to be a long night tonight. but first, he had his eyes on your pretty throat. after all his marks had faded over the week. while there would be press photos soon, they didn't mean he couldn't mess up the inside of your throat. even if you couldn't talk for the week, he was more than happy to do all the talking for both of you.

"stupid thing." he said, "you know that? i feel sorry for whatever school gave you your diploma." he acted like he wasn't at your graduation, "i bet you paid them off. or worse, sucked them off. little whore on campus, too stupid to actually learn anything except be on her knees and breath through her nose." he made a small noise of disappointment.

and charles got excited at the sight of you. that bottom lip was going, he could see the shudder in your shoulders. that struck a nerve, post-secondary was hard for you. you felt like people called you dumb without actually saying it. and charles' toxic words only added the fuel to the fire of doubt.

"aw, is someone crying? don't cry." he said, faking sympathy, "if you start crying then you won't suck my cock properly." he rubbed the back of your head as he watched the tears come down your cheek. he sighed once more, "silly thing."

soon your head was between his legs. he could feel your hot tears against the base of his cock as they streamed down your face. they weren't a rush of tears, but a slow trickle as charles' words clouded your head.

you started to work his cock and he felt the excitement in his body. it took a good while but eventually you learned how to deep throat him. he hissed and held onto the back of your head. you were both still clothed (or at least partially for you).

charles had a habit of running his mouth when your mouth was on him. and he rocked the blunt end of his cock up against the back of your throat, occasionally making you choke, he started talking. "i should throw you to the rest of ferrari. let them ruin you. then maybe you'll stop being so greedy for cock when you've had enough for a lifetime. i see how they look at you, my logo across your pretty breasts as you look so cute down at the paddock. if i waved my hand and told them to have their way with you, you wouldn't be getting far." he tugged on your hair a little and forced you up and down his cock faster.

you choked a little bit and sputtered, trying to catch your breath through your nose. it all was a deep throb in your head as you tried to cram as much of his cock into your throat.

"i'd say they'd make your ass ferrari red. but i think it would be closer to mercedes black. you wouldn't be able to sit right for months. maybe i'd be generous and let the other drivers have a chance too. crying on their cocks."

you sniffled, tears welled up in your eyes some more. while most despised having 'raccoon eyes', charles found it endearing. the poor little thing can't help but cry because she knows that he's right. you knew in your gut that you were at least a little cock hungry at all times. he watched you squirm in your seat at times while you let your imagination run wild.

he continued to use you to his liking. you were perfect. trained you from the ground up to be perfect on his cock. he caught glimpses of your face and your red eyes. poor thing, crying to much making a big mess.

so dumb, so small, so stupid.

he took his cock out of your mouth and rubbed it up against your cheek roughly. spit and pre-cum caught across your right eyelashes. his cock pushed your top lip up and he groaned at the sight. your tongue licked a bit of pre-cum that was dangerously close to your face.

"so small, i'm surprised you could take all this. i remember when i couldn't put it in without prepping you. then you spent all season training your cunt for when i got home. now you take me in every way perfectly." he licked his lips, "you know where you belong."

his words excited you as you put your mouth back on his cock. you whimpered as you felt it hit the back of your throat once more. he was big in a way that it made you squirm.

you continued up and down his cock, putting all your brain power (what little you had left) into taking him well. you coughed and panted, air felt in short supply as you got him to the base. your nose in his groomed pubic hair.

a picture perfect beauty, all for charles to devour.

he knew he was close. he could feel it in his bones and in the tension of his muscles. he then tensed up further with his hand in your hair and pulled your mouth off his cock (as much as it pained him to do that). with his other hand he stroked himself off quickly to the sight of your quivering, overheated body. you panted heavily and he finished all over your face. he streaked your skin white with cum up to your forehead. it dripped down your face as you coughed a little.

the debauched sight made him get a few more ropes up cum on your face before he settled down. he pulled your head back to look at you, you could barely have your eyes open. he wished he could take a picture. the white of cum and the mascara mixed tears created a sight that made charles run hot.

"now you look like a slut." he said as he got his jeans off. he rubbed his cock up against your soft lips before he slapped his still hard cock against your face, only making the mess on your cheeks more intense.

"charles." your throat felt raw from it. you looked at him and panted heavily, your tongue stuck out a little bit. and charles knew the night was far over. he fucked you stupid without stimulating your poor pussy. he wanted to see how stupid he could make you.

"we're not done yet." he said.

you tilted your head to the side, almost innocently as if your face wasn't a mess. you asked, "what?" your brain not capturing all the words properly.

he held onto you for a moment and said, "ten seconds to clean up your face. then i want you naked on the bed, or i'll fuck you on the bathroom floor." then let go of you and watched you scramble to clean yourself up. those words stuck in your blissed out brain even though you almost tripped over yourself.

charles chuckled and leaned further back onto the couch, his cock at full attention. even though the mascara was going to be gone, it was okay. you still looked just as pretty with just those tears streaming down your face. <3

[justjams2003]

Fast Pace-2

Summary: You're a hard-working Chef in Paris and after a freak accident run-in with Carlos Sainz, your life makes a 180. Let's just say with a certain agreement, you get your bills paid and in return stand in as Carlos' girlfriend for the press. But will you be able to handle the pressure and ensure the lines don't blur?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Carlos Sainz x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: I've aged up Carlos, he is 33 in this fic.Smoking, smut, sexual themes, age difference, manipulation, control, slight obsession, tell me if I missed any

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @s-silk

Taglist: @httpjeonlicious

Word count: 2,8k

Masterlist

Part 1~Part 3

"What? Am I hearing this right? The Carlos Sainz, famous Ferrari Formula One driver approached you, in an alleyway, during your smoke break and paid you three hundred euros to hide in a cramped bathroom with you.” One of your best friends from high school screams into your ear. You can’t help but cringe, hearing exactly just how famous he is. You blow the smoke from your cigarette and gaze out across your balcony.  

You wish you could say the view is beautiful, with the Eiffel Tower in the background with music of the people in the background. It’s none of that though. The view is another apartment block, and you so wished the man on the balcony would close the curtains. You avoid the balcony in the fear of getting treated to a view of his wrinkled body. How you wish you didn’t have to deal with the gross apartment building.  

“Um...Yes...?” You reply, not really sure what to say. “Not only that, Jasmine, but he then gave her his number and said he would make sure he would see her again!” Your other best friend, Ilsa, on the group call squeals out. You facepalm, knowing they can’t see you, but still, your embarrassment is uncontainable. “What are you going to say?” Jas asks, you can already hear her plotting.  

Your silence says a thousand words. “You are going to text him, right?” Ilsa clarifies and they go quiet only to hear your sigh. “What would I say? Hi, mister million-dollar man, I really liked being cramped in a bathroom with you, and would love to do it again!” You scoff at the ridiculousness of it all and take another puff from your cig. “I mean...” Jas says but you quickly shoot the idea down.  

“Okay, okay, how about this? Address the elephant in the room. Tell him you googled him and then ask him what exactly he wants with you.” Ilsa suggests and it actually doesn’t sound that bad. Your stomach rumbles and as you open the fridge door you can’t help but sigh. Some old cabbage, one egg and a pack of cheap tomato sauce. Another hungry night.  

“Yeah, so that you can be prepared if he just wants a quick fuck!” Jas calls out and again you can’t help but cringe. “Jasmine!” You yell out, glad they can’t see you blush. Even that wouldn’t be so bad. It’s been weeks since someone touched you with any sort of kind intent. Much less how close you two were today. 

 You’d already given the full three hundred euros to your landlord. He just scowled asking where the rest of it is. Not to mention, the electricity is threatening to shut off. Along with the student loans, water bills, phone bills, and insurance, everything is piling up and you feel like you can’t pick up enough shifts to survive.  

I hear her groan, “Come on, Y/N, this could be a really great opportunity for you.” This time it’s Ilsa encouraging you. She’s right, maybe a little distraction from life is just what you need. Not to mention you’d do anything to look at that handsome face of his one more time. The photos and videos online don’t even come close. He’s so much more even just being near him makes you want to beg him to hold you.  

“Fine, but if he gave me a fake number, I’ll ignore you guys for a week.” It’s an empty threat as always. “Yes, of course, as expected.” Jas’ voice is dripping in sarcasm. “I’ve got to go, je vous aime les gars, au revoir.” Ilsa says goodbye, and with that, the call ends. Dinner, wouldn’t that be such a good idea? You open your banking up only to see but a meek two hundred left for the end of the month.  

While you’re on your phone, you might as well text him...right? 

Y/N: I assume you wanted me to google you when you gave me your real name?  

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: And, do I live up to the pictures?  

Y/N: No, you’re much shorter in real life 

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: A dagger in my heart! 

Y/N: 😝  

Y/N: I’m glad you didn’t give me a fake number then. But I can’t help but ask what exactly it is you want with me?  

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: How about this: I’ll explain it all to you on our first date 

Y/N: You intrigue me... 

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: When do you get off from work, tomorrow?  

Y/N: I work the morning, until lunch tomorrow. So I’m free from 16:00 

Carlos Sainz 🌶️: Send me your address, and I’ll pick you up at 18:00. Wear something nice.  

What on earth am I thinking? He could kidnap me! And yet you find yourself in front of your closet picking the one nice dress you bought for your first interview. It’s a simple black, form-fitting on the top but flares at the bottom with frills on the sleeves. It looks so boring to wear on a date with someone like him, but it’s all you have. 

 Along with the only heels you have, once more plain black chunky pumps. Your hair lays right below your shoulders in your natural waves and curls.

You can’t help but groan at your situation and throw a pack of cigarettes into your handbag. It’s a bad habit, you know and everyone around you has told you so many times to stop. But it’s so hard to when living in France and not only that it’s the only thing that seems to help.  

You finish it off with a red lip, hoping to add a slight bit of colour to the dull outfit. Not that you have much time to think of something else, at exactly six, there is a knock on the door. With your heart in your ears, you open the door to Carlos holding a bouquet of pink tulips. 

Not only that but he looks ravishing in black dress pants and a dress shirt, but of course with the sleeves rolled up. You bite your lip, already wanting to jump his bones.  

That tan skin of his has you imagining him, shirtless under the hot summer sun on a Mediterranean beach somewhere. Not only that but his hair seems to fall perfectly in place. So soft and silky and voluminous. Your hand twitches, wanting to rake through his inky black strands and then, of course, ask him about his hair-care routine.  

“How did you know these are my favourites?” You ask, walking inside and placing them in the sink before returning to him. He shrugs, “I have my ways. But enough about that. Querida, you look enchanting.” He takes your hand and guides you to a spin, showing off all of you. Your dress flows and his touch is like fire lighting in your body.  

“Really? I hope it’s fancy enough, it’s all I own, and I don’t really have the money to buy something right now.” You say with a blush coating your cheeks. Why would you tell him that? Now he’s going to think you want him to buy you a new dress. Or maybe you’re only going on the date because you know who he is.  

“Of course, niña bonita, I’m honoured to have such a pretty lady on my arm.” He then takes your hand and helps you down the stairs. And his words cause a blush on the tips of your ears. He helps you all the way to his fire-red Ferrari. “Woah....” You can’t help but utter out, you’ve never been so close to such an expensive car and the fear of breaking it looms in the back of your mind. 

“You like, niña bonita? Comes with the job, of course.” He winks and then opens the door for you, which of course opens upwards. You can’t help but let out a playful scoff, “Duh, of course!” He chuckles at your reaction. “You must tell me if I’m going too fast, no? I like speed of course.” His wink shoots electricity through your skin, not only that but that breath taking smile of his. 

 You don’t have a licence, you never needed one living in France all your life. Even in the smaller town where you grew up, you could walk everywhere. And yet the way he speeds down the freeway causes a thrill to tickle your toes.

Every time he switches the gears, his forearm muscles flex and you have to control yourself. Not to mention, he doesn’t even have road rage, every move, every turn, every gear shift is as smooth as can be.  

If it wasn’t for your culinary degree you’re certain you wouldn’t have understood anything on the menu. Even so, you’d been eyeing this place for a while and some of them you’re still unsure how to pronounce. What shocks you the most is the prices, some things on the menu are half the price of your rent. “What do you think of getting?” He asks, leaning back in his seat. “Um...the breadsticks?” He looks over his menu and raises his brow.  

“The breadsticks are free?” He clarifies, those luscious brows of his furrow in confusion and you nod with a smile. You try not to show him how nervous a fancy place like this makes you. And also how you yearn to be at home in a place like this. “Yes.” He sighs, “Niña terca, I am paying, pick what you want.” That actually makes you feel even worse.  

“Oh, no, it’s alright you don’t have to. I brought my wallet.” You reply, clutching your purse as a reminder. “It is not up for discussion.” He replies, going back to the wine list he’s holding. The guilt shoots through you. You desperately need to accept the money but stil your mother’s manners creep up on you. “Then the...salad.” He rolls his eyes and takes your menu and closes it for you. 

 You go to protest, but he calls over the waiter before you can. “The lady will have the Salmon Meuniere and I shall have the steak. With the Chilled Pinot Noir.” Again, he chooses your favourite option. “How did you....” As if he knows exactly what you’re about to ask, he just shrugs, “We must have similar taste.” 

The fact of these two choices being so similar doesn’t make you suspicion. Instead, it makes you feel warm and at home almost. How similar are you two already, and how much more can fall into place? You eye him, raising your brow as he too studies you. “What is it, estimada. You want to say something.” He guides with his hand to open up the conversation.  

“How do you know?” You ask, in awe of how much detail he sees. He chuckles and then leans forward and smooths out the area around your eyes by your temples. “You get this crinkle, when you are holding something back. I noticed it yesterday.” You can’t help but blush and cover your face.

“It’s my job, estimada. To notice the small things, in the car, in the track, in the ladies I like.” His words are smooth like butter and those dark eyes of his stare you down.  

The waiter comes and pours your wine and places down your food. You take a sip from the cool beverage. “You owe me an explanation.” You shrug, the only response you give. Not trusting your throat. His jaw locks tight and he leans in a bit closer to you. He bites down on the juicy steak and the way his jaw muscle flexes causes obscene thoughts to fly through you.  

“What I tell you next is not to be known by anyone besides you and me. Let’s put it like so, my managers believe that I should, how you say, casarse ya.” He switches to Spanish so easily. You have no idea what he said but merely nod along. All while savouring the taste of the perfectly cooked salmon and expensive wine that pairs so well.  

“I turn 34 next year, one of the oldest on the grid. They believe that I should stop wasting my time and just settle down already. My publicist also believes it would get more sponsors and boost my public image. So, I am coming to you with an offer.” I raise my brow; I knew this would be too good to be true.  

I should have known that someone like him wouldn’t bother getting close to someone like me. Clearly only there to entertain the people as always. Does he want pity points from his fans? Embracing a poor Frenchwoman from the slums. Doing some sort of charity work? I cross my arms and lean back; I can tell that he sees me retracting from the conversation entirely.  

But still, I allow him to continue. “I will pay you, any amount you wish, shopping, jewels, vacations, even something more practical like the rent or student bills. In return, you pretend to be my long-term girlfriend. You come with me to the races, show up in the paddock, and tag along in interviews. The whole deal.” He bites those plump lips of his and now you wish he’d be more hideous.  

For once he actually looks a bit nervous. You can’t help but scoff and roll your eyes at this. “So...like a sugar daddy situation...?” He senses your resentment towards the idea and is careful to reply. “I suppose so,” his eyes seem to panic and you can’t believe your ears.

You grab your purse, “I can’t believe you, Carlos! I thought I’d finally met a decent well-off guy, but no. Ces foutus garçons. Je ne peux jamais faire confiance aux hommes. Jamais!”  

You can’t help but switch to your native language. The translator in your mind fails due to your anger and you can feel tears prick in the walls of your eyes. With your purse in hand, you push your seat back and in a rage go to leave. But suddenly you’re forced back down onto your chair by Carlos’ firm grasp on your wrist.  

“¡Siéntate, niña testaruda, y escucha!” His translator too, is out the window. You pout and cross your arms, shocked at his audacity. “Listen here, and listen well, little girl, because I can clearly see you are in desperate need of some discipline. Mocoso.” He leans over you and the way he speaks with such a demanding voice makes your core ache. And yet you can’t help but want to defy him more.  

He sits down again but is clearly ready to catch again if needed. He then grabs you by the chin and makes sure you look him into those swirling brown eyes. So dangerous and ready to attack if need be. “I can see it in your eyes, dollface. I can see it in the way you eye the Porche that passes, the Louis Vuitton handbag in the window and the most expensive item on the menu.” 

Has your eye really been wandering so much? Or is his attention to detail so fine-tuned? If it weren’t for his hand clasping your chin, you’d long since would’ve looked away. “You have champagne taste and I’m giving you the whole vineyard. Don’t make another stupid choice and accept the offer. I won’t ask again.”  

His voice is strong and commanding and the way he speaks makes you want to get down on your knees and open your mouth for him. He lets go of your jaw, allowing you to speak. “And if I want something more?” You ask and can’t help but dial up the charm fluttering your dark lashes. He smirks watching you go from bratty to begging.  

“I can feel the chemistry too, estimada and I can see the need burning behind those eyes of yours. If this were to become something more, then so be it. And if you want this to be a quick fling and your intro into the limelight, then so be it. And if you want it to only be an exchange of money and appearance, so be it too.” He shrugs, watching your reaction to each option.  

Then he turns serious again. “That all can be decided later. What must be decided now, is whether you’ll join me or not. I must apologize that I can’t give you much time to think about it, I have an early flight tomorrow. You’ll have to join me.” I furrow my brows, I thought he had the whole week? Anyways a choice must be made....  

My taglist is open! If you wish to be tagged in this story alone, please comment or reblog with the words 'tag'. And if you wish to be tagged in all my posts please comment or reblog with the words 'tag all'.

[agendabymooner]

melody || lh44 x ofc (1)

Summary: With her sharp eyes focused on her audience, a burlesque performer who went under the name of Melody returned to Rythme Romantique, an entertainment lounge which exclusively caters to the wealthiest people of Monaco — or in this case, to the people with a status that are recognized by all. Her three exclusive performances were meant to be a closure for her connections in the principality. Still, a certain Formula One driver saw it as an opportunity to reconnect with his former flame after two years of her absence. Felicity Vos learned that this was a rich man’s world and that he could do whatever he wanted, but she also realized that the agreement they settled on years ago was corrupted the moment he expressed his love for her. 

Content warning: Age gap, use of explicit language, possible mature content (not in this chapter), mentions of past sugar daddy/baby gone romantic relationship, possessive!asshole!Lewis mentioned, burlesque (2010) movie vibes, really shitty French-translated dialogue. 

Note: I have not watched Burlesque for a good while but I listen to shitloads of songs that give performer/singer/showgirl vibes??? I hope this works out lol. Enjoy xx

masterlist

i. million dollar man

"you're screwed up and brilliant look like a million dollar man. so why is my heart broke?"

Felicity Vos couldn’t remember the last time she made her presence known in the principality. She lived in Monaco for years as a nobody — she was just some 24-year-old woman who hoped to get through the day before she put on her best costume and makeup for work. She only performed to put money in her pocket. Living in Monaco wasn’t cheap, after all. She did everything she could to maintain her private space, working at the lounge every night to get the biggest tips from the wealthiest people in Monaco.

Nothing more, nothing less. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she was a nobody in Monaco. Had it been for her natural beauty and the typical streetwear of the principality, she would’ve stood out already, and everyone would know that Formula One’s mysterious “lady seducer” made her return to Monaco. 

She hadn’t wanted to gather that much attention now. It was bad enough that her three nights coincided with the Monaco Grand Prix weekend. She couldn’t bear the thought of being hounded by journalists curious about her absence/being for the past two years. 

I was just a nobody, she told herself. She wasn’t even anyone’s ex-girlfriend. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a stable relationship with a man. 

But everyone in the F1 community knew that she was something. That was for sure. The man's popularity and their agreement pulled her away from the anonymity she craved after ending things with him.

2019

The first thing that the bartender, her friend René, had spewed out just as she finished her performance had something to do with the beehive hairstyle she sported and how it coincided with ‘Fuck Me Pumps’ by Amy Winehouse, whose iconic style included the mentioned hairstyle. 

René told her Melody was the complete opposite of Amy Winehouse with her tattooless skin, bright blonde hair, and wide-set eyes. But Melody’s voice, René told her, was meant to sing about the men who’d fuck women over. 

Then her attention turned away from him when a server approached the speaking young adults, leaning over to tell them both about a lone man sitting on an empty booth, asking for Melody’s company as they all peered at the dimly lit corner booth. They couldn’t see if he was looking in their direction, but Felicity (Melody) could tell he was attractive. 

It wasn’t unusual for clients or audience members to request a sit-down time with the singer of the night, so Melody merely asked her coworker to serve them some drinks before walking in his direction.

His genuine smile and curiosity certainly pulled her closer if you were to ask her. She knew who he was. Lewis Hamilton. This place was Monaco, after all. What kind of a caveman would you have to be to not know who Lewis Hamilton was? Even the Neanderthals would ask for an autograph should they see him pass by.

She sat with him and asked how he was liking his stay in Monaco after the new year. In exchange, he provided answers and asked her certain questions. 

Is your name really Melody? Mmm… such an in-depth question for a stranger, don’t you think? 

Do you just sing Amy Winehouse? She was my inspiration, after all. This is how I pay tribute. Do you have a request? Perhaps I can sing it next time you visit— not that a man like you would be dead seen entering such a place.

How about you? How are you liking Monaco? Whoever said that this place was for easy living would be a liar. I get paid more than I used to, but university and rent still beg for more. 

How long have you been doing this? Four years. Singing and dancing at the same time takes a lot of practice. 

She was thankful to have been the performer to put on the middle show of the night. She hadn’t needed to worry about being the performer of the night, and her conversation with him seemed to have lasted until the end of the show. 

She expected him to not return after that night, with him leaving her two hundred euros in cash and tipping the servers the same amount— she would’ve expected him to hand this as a form of a farewell gift. 

But he offered those as a welcoming gift. Because by the next night, Melody’s eyes shifted to where he sat, only to find him leaning back against the booth seat. His head was slightly bobbing as musicians hit those 4/4 beats. He sat there while she sang beautifully, her hair teased into a beehive hairstyle, and her body wrapped around loose strings of pearls and rhinestones. 

He returned the night after that… then after… he returned for days. Apparently, Monaco had been so boring for him that he chose to spend his time listening to the beautiful voice of Melody. He later confessed that he couldn’t seem to get away from her. 

But instead of offering a date, he offered to fly her to Australia for the first round of the racing season. Fuck that. He offered to pay and give her everything— in exchange, she travels around with him during his races as a “partner.” He said it would benefit both of them if they entered this agreement. She would get the money, and he would have an increase of positivity in his image. 

Her mouth quickly slipped out the word “yes,” the next thing she knew, she was saying goodbye to her coworkers of four years. She was always welcome to perform should she decide to, and would pay her good money for her rare performances. 

Then her flat was fully paid for the next six months. Right after that, she was driven to a department store to find some clothes and bags to pack for her endless trips. She had gowns tailored and altered for her in case she needed to be in attendance for his formal and black tie events. 

She was only meant to be there as an eye candy, one that would hold hands with Lewis as he made his way down the paddock to the Mercedes garage. She had no name besides Melody. She was only Melody, and she was alright with that— she wanted to keep the privacy that she had left, after all. 

She was good at avoiding journalists and their questions about Lewis’ past relationships and his title as the Mercedes playboy. She often stayed put and kept her attention trained on him as he raced or Roscoe, who had grown dearly in her heart. She had never gone as far as sharing a conversation with his coworkers, only offering them a small smile before she walked off with a refresher in hand. The only one she seemed to have a good conversation with besides Toto Wolff was his teammate, Valtteri Bottas. But even then, she could feel his body radiate in possessiveness that she didn’t know he had. He’d always hold her close. 

He hadn’t even realized that Melody shifted from a nobody to a somebody despite not having a surname. It was quite a shame she had to embrace someone’s fame and be under scrutiny for it. 

PRESENT

“Am I seeing things, or is it really the woman who brought the glory in the Ryhtme Romantique?” Felicity shook herself out of her thoughts as she turned around and grinned, watching as René outstretched his arms. She squealed at the sight of him and jumped into his arms, earning a grunt from him as he said, “Mon dieu, ma fille, is this how Zurich and New York had treated you?” 

“This is how I greet people I miss,” Felicity exclaimed. “Not that you feel the same towards me, arsehole.” 

“Such language,” René scoffed mockingly. “I know I haven’t heard you speak like that before.” They both fell silent before laughing at the joke. She seduced like a siren, yet she swore like a sailor, René once told her. 

The 28-year-old woman waved it off, “Tell me you haven’t picked me up in Nice just so you can bring up my lack of manners? Otherwise, I’m walking away.” 

“Gah, and who’ll pick you up?” René grinned, now grabbing her suitcase and pulling it next to him. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to go to Monte Carlo knowing that they’ll hound you when alone. People aren't that subtle when it comes to you.”

“That right?” Felicity asked. She'd only performed once throughout those two years of her “relationship” with a Formula One driver. She freelanced because of how much she had missed it. She remembered having to convince him to allow her to do it for once, and she swore she never craved for something more than the lounge's music and atmosphere. 

“Yes,” René answered her, “you made your character known by everyone. Everyone knew Melody, not Felicity. Melody became a household name after her one-night appearance when everyone learned about her from Formula One. Wealthy people saw talent… and yeah. Now they’re eager to spend much money just to see you.”

This helped her grow a backbone, somehow. She continued to press on the topic, “And by that…?”

“It will be a full house,” René had already placed her suitcase in the car trunk before he stood with his chest puffed out. “One hour of you and Amy Winehouse on the stage in three nights is worth my mortgage for my house in North America.” 

Felicity chuckled and shook her head, making herself comfortable in his passenger seat with the seatbelt buckle snapping. 

“So,” Felicity leaned back against her seat before turning to the man beside her, “what did I miss in Monaco?” 

“I thought you didn’t miss Monaco?” René laughed, starting up his vehicle. 

Felicity scoffed at the comment, “I missed Monaco.” 

She just didn’t miss the man that she met in the principality. After all, she would have remained as nothing if he didn’t treat her like she was the only one. She preferred her life before she met him. She liked the way of living she had in Monaco before him.

2019

She probably should have settled for less, but what should she do? It was the only dress that he liked on her. She felt she would impose the mermaid white dress with the intricate baroque style and pearl details, but his praise and encouragement told her otherwise.

Besides, with her making a bet that lasted for an entire season, she really couldn’t chicken out of it now that Lewis got his 6th world championship. She really couldn’t disappoint him like that. 

So she became the woman of the awarding night. Wrapped around her neck was a layered pearl choker, letter L carved into gold with three teardrop-shaped pearls dangling off it, much like Anne Boleyn’s. 

Unlike the first time she appeared at the paddock, she walked into the event hall with her smile dazzling the crowd— even those photographers who seemed eager to capture the moments of the couple arriving hand in hand. She didn’t feel discomfort at all, not after all those months of feeling lost in the paddock while she tried finding her way around the Mercedes area. Angela Cullen had never worked this hard to guide someone, but she never saw Melody as an obligation or responsibility. She loved the girl, in fact. 

She was known to be quiet by the drivers in the grid. She didn’t feel comfortable speaking to everyone during the entire season as she saw how most of them looked at her. Nobody even knew who the fuck she was, just her first name- her stage name. Sebastian Vettel was kind enough to walk up close and introduce himself to her as if she hadn’t known him already. He was the closest thing she had to a comfort zone that wasn’t just Bottas, talking to him here and there whenever they passed by one another in the paddock. 

If she was being honest, she felt as if nobody knew what her job entailed as “Lewis’ partner.” Sebastian understood at the very beginning what she was to the Mercedes driver but had said nothing against nor about it. She already didn’t feel comfortable with the other drivers staring, so if he was to say anything about her relationship was just another level of friendship he’d have to reach. 

The only thing that Sebastian had offered her was, “If you’d like to have a friend that isn’t just Roscoe, I’ll be at my motorhome. Feel free to stop by anytime!” 

So by the time she arrived at the awarding with Lewis, her eyes brightened at the sight of the German driver. Sebastian waved at them, making the girl wave back eagerly. 

Lewis chuckled quietly, “I didn’t know you and Seb were friends.” 

Melody giggled in the same volume, “He considers me his best friend as of this moment. I suppose that happens when you’re not being looked at or linked to Sir Lewis Hamilton.” 

“Cheeky girl,” Lewis grinned, his touch feeling familiar to her skin as he held her soft hand. Pulling her closer, Lewis greeted everyone they’d passed by. Melody merely nodded in their direction while her smile didn’t reach her ears, barely looking away from Lewis as if he was the only man she could focus on. 

She probably should have settled for less, but Lewis wanted her to shine as much as he did that night. He was a 6-time world champion, after all. If he was shining, he made sure that she was, too.

PRESENT

With her embellished leotard and shoes sparkling under the spotlight and her face coated with confidence and seductiveness, her eyes zeroed in on the men who had just walked into the intimate environment of Rythme Romantique with a sultry smile. Some of them nearly recoiled at the expression she gave them. 

“Formula One driver had reserved tables for tonight,” René told her earlier today, “some might come back tomorrow and Sunday after their race. Their managers told Lita about you and how they’ve wanted to see you perform since they learned about you from the Mercedes team.” 

It wasn’t anything fearsome if you were to ask Melody. She only offered them a welcoming (yet seductive) smile, but perhaps they considered it quite daunting and intimidating. It wasn’t as if she was inviting them to her bed. 

She supposed that it was because of the fact that they’d stepped into her turf. She was in their place once— being in the paddock and feeling out of business? Yeah, she understood what they felt. Somehow. 

“Oh my,” she purred, eyes trained on each driver as some of them visibly gulped at the sight of her. This Dolce & Gabbana did wonders on every man she had encountered at the beginning of her performance. She was only halfway through the hour, and from what she had counted— there should be about eight men who were nervous at her presence. 

Her eyes shifted from the Ken-esque man (with his blond hair, blue eyes and pretty face) to the pair of green eyes that stared right at her and her figure. She crouched down to get to their level seeing as she was a stage higher than them. 

She did a headcount for a moment. She could see familiar faces— but most of them were older. A grin on the man behind Ken told her that it was Daniel Ricciardo. And the man next to Ricciardo was Max Verstappen. The 2021 World Champion. 

“Isn’t this a sight to see,” she chuckled almost breathlessly, her breath softly nearing her bedazzled microphone. She stared at the green eyes ahead of her, “Première fois?” First time? 

The man nodded and replied, “Oui.” 

“Et tes amis? Ont-ils déjà été ici?” How about your friends? Have they been here before? She asked, looking at the men behind him. 

“Certains d'entre eux vivent ici,” some of them live here. The man replied. 

“Est-ce que c'est oui?” Is that a yes? Melody asked with a raised eyebrow, leaving the audience to laugh. 

“Peut-être,” maybe. Charles Leclerc shrugged with a smile. She let out a giggle for a moment before nodding.

“Bienvenu,” Welcome. Melody winked. They all found their seats, but she couldn’t find the one she was looking for as she was doing a repeated headcount. Then she remembered that the corner booth had been changed to a reserved area when she left. She could only imagine who sat there. It was a seat reserved for the man who only came to the lounge to speak with her. 

Her eyes flickered at the table before turning at the drivers, “Welcome to Rythme Romantique. I hope this show eases the tension of tomorrow’s qualifying race.” 

“And I hope you’re not offended by the end of this show,” she giggled quietly, “because I’ve had men walk out of shows because of Amy Winehouse.” 

“What kind of fuckery are we?” She sang, her hips swaying as she gestured at the drivers with her gemstone-covered gloves, “Nowadays, you don’t mean dick to me.”

Her blonde hair swung as she looked toward the corner booth, “I might let you make it up to me.” 

“Who’s playing Saturday?” She winked at the drivers, hearing as the men cheered and pointed at themselves. “One of you better get a pole this time.” 

“Mr. Destiny, nine and 14. Nobody stands in between me and my man. 'Cause it's me and Mr. Jones…” 

“Me and Mr. Jones…” 

The live band had put on an end to the song and her show, every man and woman standing to applaud her. She took a deep breath before letting out a sultry smile, taking in her audience's applause and whistles. Her painted lips puckered up, and she blew a kiss to the audience, her foot picking up the fur coat that she discarded at the beginning of her show to put it on. She offered the drivers one more ‘good luck’ before walking off and heading to the bar. 

She hadn’t felt this good about performing at the Monaco Lounge since the last time she appeared in 2020. That extravagant entertainment hall at Hotel Ritz didn’t make her as happy as it should have. The richest of the richest gave her the attention and money she dreamt of when she became an adult, but something about this place made her… happier. Or rather, better about herself. 

Sharing a conversation with René hadn’t lasted long enough when a new server walked up to them to let the two know about the guest in the corner booth. 

René looked at Felicity with worry as he said, “You really don’t have to go, City.” 

“No, no,” Felicity waved off his concern, “he paid to speak and see me. I can’t really disappoint Lita now, can’t I?” 

“You’d really let your heart break like that again?” René asked her, “What if he’s actually got a girl this time?” 

Felicity merely stared at him, indifference written all over her face. Quite a facade, her face covered. René sighed exasperatedly, “Alright. I’ll get you the rum and coke. Felicity, you can back out anytime.”

“I know,” Felicity nodded, adjusting her corset with a sigh. “I’ll walk out if I want to. He lost me once, and I’ll make sure he knows he can lose me again.” 

No amount of alcohol could make her feel as relaxed as she wanted, so she settled for one glass of rum and coke only. There were a lot of things that could have happened within two years, and that didn’t exclude him. 

But god, his face remained as young as it was four years ago. It didn’t age as the years went on. 

She sat across him, the marble table the only thing separating them. He watched as she made herself as comfortable as she could be. She could tell that a smile threatened to show on his face, keeping his composure as much as an ex-lover could when they met their former flame for the first time in years. 

“Lewis,” she nodded curtly, her eyes trained on him before it shifted to the server who dropped off her drink and his. Felicity offered the server a grateful smile before it disappeared just as the younger woman left the booth.

He grabbed his drink and spoke, “Mel.”

She nearly winced at the nickname. Nobody called her Mel but him.

“When did you fly back?” Lewis Hamilton was known for many things - and being civil to anyone was one of them. She remembered how he always had to keep a straight face in the same room as his former best friend. Nico Rosberg had a fairly long history with him that ended poorly, so for him to show indifference? It was a Lewis Hamilton signature. It didn’t surprise her that he’d ask this as if he hadn’t broken their agreement long before she did. 

“Just earlier today,” Felicity answered, her voice was equally indifferent. “I flew to Nice and was picked up. I couldn’t miss the ride at the French Riviera.”

“You’ve always liked the scenery,” Lewis chuckled, sipping his drink before setting it on the table. “You did amazing.”

“Thank you,” Felicity nodded.

“Like you always did,” Lewis continued, not even caring about the small expression that eventually fell off as he spoke.

“Hm, really?” Felicity almost scoffed with a shake of her head. “Last time we were together, I wasn’t even allowed to be near a stage.”

“You were with me,” Lewis pointed out, “flying worldwide. As you wanted and had agreed on.”

“I had to get drunk enough to get up the bar counter and sing my arse off just so you’d have no control of it,” Felicity reminisced, grinning at herself when she recalled the moment. 

Silverstone GP afterparty, the year 2020. She wasn’t as drunk as he was, but she grew enough backbone to ask for a microphone and Christina Aguilera’s Candyman on the bar’s speakers – max volume. She remembered her feet moving like they were all swing dancing and being hoisted off the bar counter by Daniel Ricciardo while they all drank and her voice hit the falsetto. The drivers were rather impressed regardless of the amount of alcohol they consumed. Lewis wasn’t as impressed as the others. He’d seen it before. He hadn’t appreciated how easily she made friends with the men around her – so seeing her shy away from them the next race was a win for him. 

“I couldn’t stop you even if I did,” Lewis laughed as if it was a normal conversation. “Everyone’s way into it.”

Felicity almost laughed at his face. He stopped her when she agreed to become his company, practically handing her her year’s worth of rent and salary just as she nodded. He stopped her rhythm from flowing, but she allowed it as she wanted to live an easier life. One where she didn’t have to be taunted by her family’s constant words of discouragement. It turned out that being someone’s pretty young thing wasn’t as easy if you fell for the unattached man. 

He leaned back, observing the sight before him before asking, “Did Switzerland and America treat you right?”

Her head shot up at the question before asking in return, “Do you want the truth?”

“Yes, please,” Lewis answered genuinely. He hadn’t expected to last an hour in the bar, let alone thirty minutes in the same booth as her. He could remember how his lack of commitment and false confessions destroyed her, and he wasn’t sure he could see her in that place anymore. But he stayed in his seat, watching as she practically inhaled her spiked drink before she settled it on the table. 

Crossing her legs, she wrapped her coat tightly around her body as the temperature at the booth decreased. She replied, “I was more than surprised that you found someone who could immediately fly me to another country just so I can sing far from the principality.” 

Felicity could remember the email sent to her by some management in Zurich and New York. They were interested in meeting with her because of a recommendation from a musician who had seen her perform more than twice. It didn’t take her long to realize it was Lewis’ doing. She had ended whatever it was a week before the email was sent, so it was his doing. But rather than fuming at the thought that he was more than willing to send her away from Monaco, she immediately contacted them and took whatever they had to offer. 

“I lived here for four years,” she scoffed, “before I even met you. This was my home. I can’t even consider my flat in New York as such.”

“What’s your plan then?” Lewis asked. “Are you planning to return to Monaco then?”

“And return to this lounge? Where most drivers would probably frequent in when they learn that Melody’s back in town?” Felicity snorted, “I’d rather not.”

“Why not?” He asked, “You love this place.”

“I do,” she stood up, noticing how his eyes became more cautious as she cleared her throat, “I am tired of the chasing I had to do, though. It’s not always me who has to work on it. Sometimes, they have to chase the woman, too. It’s not a one-way street for me anymore. Good luck tomorrow–”

“Wait,” her goosebumps rose when she felt his hand touching her skin, turning back when he pulled on her wrist as she watched him stand. He pulled out an envelope, leaving the package in her hand as she gripped it lightly. Lewis nearly stammered, “Invite whoever you want.”

“I’m not going, Hamilton,” she couldn’t even shove it back to him as he held her wrist, squeezing it lightly as a sign of plea. Just be there tomorrow. And Sunday.

“It’ll only be two days,” his voice might’ve shown nothing of desperation, but his eyes pleaded with her. “Two days of racing and your shows.”

She sighed exasperatedly. She was already exhausted from having to pretend that this was okay. She really hadn’t wanted to see him. But this was Monaco, and this weekend was the principality’s race weekend, so she could have at least prepared herself mentally.

“I’ll see what I can do,” was all she muttered before pulling away from him as she walked out of the booth with a murmur of, “Good night.” 

She was certain that this jetlag of hers wouldn’t wear out. Not when this weekend was a case of clusterfuck that was going to leave her restless. She wasn’t excited to know what would come her way at the very end of this week.

PS. what did you think? Send me an ask!

[nardo-headcanons]

What kind of bodywash would Naruto characters use?

Part 1: Konoha Ninja + Their senseis

inspired by a chat with @uchihaharlot and my Suigetsu headcanons. just a heads up, these will be rather European centric because that's where I live, but the frangrance hcs still apply. let me know if i should do this for other characters too.

Naruto, Shikamaru, and Choji use cheap 2 in 1 men's bodywash. They also uses axe deodorant spray very liberally. Their go-to is the Fa Men Kick Off shower gel.

Sasuke and Sai are not too fond of strong frangrances. They need something practical that won't irritate the skin and clean them properly. They use something more neutral, like sebamed fresh shower gel.

Sakura prefers more feminine fragrances and takes great care of her skin. She isn't afraid to pay a little more for good bodywash. I see her using dove cherry bodywash even though she smells like antiseptic most of the time.

Kakashi keeps his bodywashes neutral like Sasuke, preferring scents like body lotion or baby powder. He's a loyal Nivea Creme Care bodywash user.

Ino enjoys anything floral and she often switches around the scents regarding her current mood and vibes. She is currently using Kneipp cornflower and mallow scented bodywash.

Asuma needs something strong to get rid of the persistent tabacco smell his cigs leave in his beard and hair. He uses Yves Rocher shower gel concentrate in the same ratio he would use regular bodywash.

Kiba canonically bathes with Akamaru very often, which is why he uses dog-safe bodywash created by the Inuzuka clan.

Hinata loves mildy scented shampoos, nothing too harsh. She uses Rituals of Sakura and Rice milk bodywash and secretly loves how it kinda smells like fabric softener. Shino, much like Kiba, uses a formula created by his clan, which is bug-safe and not too harsh on the skin.

Kurenai loves the smell of sandalwood. As a jonin she earns a little more and therefore can spend more money on luxury bodywash, like Acqua Colonia Sandalwood and Peony shower gel.

Gai and Lee use the same type of bodywash, and that is Adidas After Sport Shower Gel because they think having 'sports' in its name, it's the only product suitable for them. However, I do need to give them credit for not using it for their hair - they have an extensive haircare routine, and their locks are told to be smelling like apricot 24/7.

Neji loves the smell of cotton flowers, he uses Nivea naturally good cotton flower shower gel. His hair frequently gets greasy, which is why he uses a special shampoo to keep it clean.

Tenten doesn't care much if her scent is more masculine or feminine. Her go-to is anything green tea scented, like the Jean and Len green tea shower gel.

[girlactionfigure]

⚠️ SATURDAY after Shabbat - ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

( after Shabbat summary report #3 )

📌 HEZBOLLAH ROCKET ATTACK kills 11+ children, ages 10-20, critically and seriously injured: 34+ mostly children, in Majdal Shams - north Golan Druze city.

.. IDF Spox: "All the murdered are children. (Number increased to 11)  According to the investigation, it was a single rocket that was launched and the warning was too short.”

.. Among the dead are four brothers from the same family.

.. (Really?) The UN Force in Lebanon UNIFIL: "We are in contact with the authorities in Lebanon and Israel regarding the incident in Majdal Shams, in an effort to keep the peace.”

🔹DRUZE STATEMENT.. The head of the Druze community, Sheikh Mwapak Trif (sorry if error in name translation): "We are in great shock at the terrible massacre in this brutal terror attack. A functional country cannot allow continued harm to its citizens. It crosses every possible red and black line.”

🔹ARAB MEDIA.. Lebanese media emphasize that in Israel there is "significant incitement" among senior Israeli officials regarding a powerful response against Hezbollah in Lebanon.

🔹PM.. to depart US basically as quick as can be organized with the delegation, within a few hours.

🔹LEBANESE DRUZE demand an investigation.. Wiam Vahab, the Druze-Lebanese politician who is considered close to Hezbollah, tweeted incisively: "Our blood is not cheap, we demand an independent investigation.  There are 200,000 Druze in Lebanon.

🔹US SAYS.. American officials to Israeli media: The Biden administration is very concerned that what happened in Majdal Shams in the Golan will lead to an all-out war between Israel and Hezbollah.

▪️PROTESTS - ANTI-GOVT.. large Tel Aviv Kaplan protest - “elections now, free the hostages now”.  Large but smaller than previous weeks.

🩸BLOOD DONATION REQUEST.. MDA says over 100 units of blood used for injured in the attack, calls for blood donations.  Here’s where (change the date to tomorrow) -> https://www.mdais.org/blood-donation

♦️Report in Lebanon IDF Air Force began an intense wave of flights over Beirut, Sidon, Tripoli. (???)

♦️IDF AIRSTRIKE on Shabbat in Balata, Shechem, Samaria.  Terror cell hit, commander killed.  During further battles, 2 terrorists eliminated, 21 wounded.

⭕ JENIN.. Shooting by terrorists at the Al-Jalama checkpoint, north of the city of Jenin, on Shabbat day.  Then shooting at Israeli town of Shaker, across the green line.

🔅EMERGENCY PREP - THE BASICS

🔅via ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting the World to Israel in Realtime

A number of people responded to a few scary-ish articles “well what am I supposed to do?”

Basic preparation:

.. Drinking water.  Buy some bottled water, 9 liters per person.

.. Washing / flushing water.  Have a few buckets  or a bunch of used water bottles, to wash or flush with - fill buckets when emergency starts.

.. Medicine.  If you take chronic medicine (every day), take the 3 month supply from your Kupah.

.. Money.  Have cash on hand in case ATM’s and credit cards aren’t working.

.. Food.  Canned, dry, etc, supplies on hand for a week.  Baby food? Formula? Special nutrition? Pet food?

.. Light.  Flash lights, candles. 

.. Shelter.  Make sure it is ready.

More here -> Supplies and Equipment for Emergencies.  https://www.oref.org.il/12490-15903-en/pakar.aspx

❗️EMERGENCY PLANNING

Links to prepare for greater conflict.  Note many of the links work on in Israel, to view from outside use a VPN (special app or program that lets you appear somewhere else on the internet).

.. Preparing your home for an emergency.  https://www.oref.org.il/12490-15902-en/Pakar.aspx

.. Help Prep your Neighborhood and Family Elderly.  https://www.oref.org.il/12550-20999-en/pakar.aspx

.. Know the Emergency numbers:

Police 100 emergency, 110 non-urgent situation

Ambulance 101

Medics 1221

Fire 102

Electric Company 103

Home Front Command 104

City Hotline 106

Senior Citizen Hotline *8840

Social Services Hotline 118

Cyber (hack) Hotline 119

🔸 MENTAL HEALTH HOTLINES, in case you are freaking out:

.. in English : Tikva Helpline by KeepOlim, call if you are struggling!  074-775-1433.

.. in Hebrew : Eran Emotional Support Line - 1201 or chat via eran.org.il

[tommydarlings]

redbull's golden girl | m.v & s.p

pairing: dom!max x dom!sergio x sub!reader

warnings: smut, spanking, face slapping, dacryphilia, overstimulation, gagging, hair pulling

w/c: 0.8k

summary: you were always gonna be loyal to redbull, and the two drivers are gonna make sure of that.

my masterlist <3 // my ko-fi to support me! <3 // my PayPal to support me! <3

You were over the moon as soon as you heard the news that you got the job of being a part of the social media team at redbull but you didn’t thought it would end up with you in a hotel room after the Mexico Grand Prix with the two drivers max and Sergio. You always kinda fancied max verstappen, always dreamed of being with him and maybe even having a bit of fun with him but with both? That’s like a dream come true but even better.

“Does that feel good baby? Huh, the two redbull man using you like some cheap whore that fucked her place into redbull?” Max asked you while Sergio rammed into your wet pussy from behind, his hands gripping your hips, steadying them now and then while max pouted at you.

“uh-hu.” You whined before your head dropped forwards but only a bit because the Dutch driver quickly grabbed your chin in a harsh grip and went on talking,

“Such a pretty mouth, perfect for us to use it isn’t it?” He asked you but you only nodded while the the other redbull driver gave you a spank on the ass before he leaned forward and put his hand on the back of your neck.

“That was always your wet dream wasn’t it? Getting fucked by the two redbull drivers until your shaking and crying, am I right?” He muttered as you felt your orgasm creeping closer before he pushed your face into the cushions. Max quickly grabbing your hair and pulling your head up but only so far that you chin was still laying on the bedsheets.

“I knew you where a little redbull whore, redbull's little girl, always looking so innocent but deep down just wanting to get fucked brain-dead by the two drivers.” He told you while you looked at him with pleading eyes, completely stained in tears before Sergio noticed how your legs started shaking.

“Fucking shit man, look, she’s shaking verstappen.” He proudly licked his lips before he went faster, your groans and begging only getting louder.

Max quickly threw Sergio a smirk and a glance towards sergios moving hips and your shaking ass and thighs before he got a hold of your chin and made you look at him. “Cum for us baby, c'mon, prove us how much of redbull's little slut you are.” he told you before he collected your tears and stuffed them deep into your mouth, fingers gagging you as your orgasm hit while the mexican man was groaning and moaning loudly into his fingers per biting on them, desperately trying to muffle his moans. You gripped the sheets for dear life as your legs gave out and dropped onto the white sheets with your abdomen but Sergio didn’t remove himself.

“P-please, please I-I can’t-”

“Well let’s test that, shall we?” Max told you as he started pumping his dick before he slapped your cheek, signaling you to open your mouth and you immediately did because how could you disobey max verstappen.

You opened your mouth while you gazed up at max with tears escaping your eyes, sliding down your already wet cheeks. Your body was moving forwards and backwards as Sergio gripped your hips tightly and thrusted into you at an slow but hard pace.

You never knew that you could tell by a man’s hip movements that he’s a formula 1 driver but apparently you can.

Pérez collected your hair in a very messy ponytail, fists gripping your hair in a tight grip before max slammed his dick a few times down onto you waiting tongue, hands next to his thighs gripping the sheets as the Dutch driver shove his cock deep into your throat with a loud groan.

“Fucking hell baby, such a good mouth, may be bratty but also heavenly at sucking a Dutch cock.” He moaned as he face-fucked you with zero mercy.

“Mierda, qué puta tan bonita para nosotros.” Fucking shit, such a pretty little whore for us. Sergio muttered as he brushed his hair out of his face with one of his hands, the other one still having your hair in a ponytail.

“uh, f-fuck, please.” You cried out, the two drivers barely understood you with max's dick in your mouth while your entire body was bouncing forward and backwards, sergios hips stuttering a bit.

“Ah, shit.” He muttered before his head fell down towards his own chest, mumbling different spanish curse words under his breath. “Your gonna make me fucking c-cum again.” Meanwhile, max was retreating his throbbing dick from your mouth. “Open.” He ordered you before you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, desperately looking up at him. The Dutch world champion quickly came on your tongue and face.

“Neuk schat.” Fuck baby.

“Such a good girl, such a good fucking girl for us, always gonna be loyal to redbull won’t you baby? Always gonna run to us when you're cock hungry won’t you?” You slightly nodded as you slowly came back to your senses.

“Of course you will.”

[gaycavilltheorists-blog]

Question I have

Now that cavill is charging for his autograph $310.00 dollars and up, why does it say if you want to send in something personal for him to sign you have to send it to Texas????

Cavill's living in Cotswold UK no ??? So shouldn't the item be sent to a London office for him to sign?

Yeah , it looks like the signature will be forged by other people hired to do so on your sent in item 😂

What a fucking joke cavill has become, he's hard up for cash .... sadly this is karma smacking back

Those diapers. Formula and luxury baby clothes ain't cheap 😂 and neither is the liposuction and tummy tuck Ratalie Covidcuso will eventually whine and bitch for, unless she already got it, I wouldn't be surprised 😂

I totally smell a declaration for bankruptcy coming around the bin 😂 🤣🤣🤣🤣

And I'm living for it

Not even the so called future movies

Highlander Reboot,Enola 3 or In the Grey or Warhammer can save his financial troubles

Soon he'll be joining CAMEO for a personalized video for a value of $300-2,000 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

And a Only Fans is around the bin too, $10 dollar subscriptions for daily nudes and 100 dollars monthly to see videos of him wanking off in a shower or him blowing his load spread eagle on a superman sheet cover bed while he wears the cape yelling "LOIS"😂 🤦🏻‍♀️

Oh what a tangled web we weave, A tangled web indeed Mr. C LISTER 🤣🤣🤣

[fruitydiaz]

find a way an exploration of the time when Shannon found out she was pregnant, Eddie enlisted, and he got his ‘find a way’ tattoo. 3,992 words AO3 link

Eddie gets his first tattoo on a Wednesday.

It’s the kind of spontaneous, rash, reckless, spur-of-the-moment decision that his parents are always accusing him of making, though he rarely ever actually does.

Two weeks ago, Shannon told Eddie she was pregnant. She’d called him up and the tremble of her voice had him out of his house and down her street in a matter of minutes. He’d found her in her mom’s living room with the small piece of plastic held tight in her hands.

“Shannon?” He’d called to her, walking cautiously towards the couch. She looked up at him with wide eyes, her lips pressed tight together. She lifted her hands a bit, the test shaking between her fingers.

“I—” She’d started before shaking her head. She tried to speak a few more times but she kept getting choked up and giving up halfway through. It was painful to watch.

Eddie rushed forward, dropping to his knees in front of her and taking the test from her hands. He swallowed hard when he looked down at it, the thin blue lines glaring back at him. His first thought is to curse himself out in his head. He should’ve been more careful—but there’d be plenty of time to berate himself later. Now wasn’t the time.

“What do you want to do?” Eddie asked, carefully setting the test down on the coffee table behind him, as if it were made of glass and not cheap plastic. He turned his attention back to Shannon, wrapping one hand around her knee to keep it from shaking.

“I don’t know, Eddie,” Shannon cried. “I don’t—I don’t know how to be somebody’s mom. I don’t know if I’m ready to be a mom.”

“I’m scared,” she said, and Eddie swallowed the me too on his tongue. He wasn’t allowed to be scared. Not like this. Not with her.

“We’ll figure something out,” he had said. “We’ll find a way. Together. You and me.”

Since then, they haven’t told a single soul, save for Shannon’s mom, because Shannon tells her everything. But nobody else knows.

It wasn’t something they had planned. Obviously they’d gotten careless and now they’re two expecting parents, just barely adults themselves, trying to prepare for an entirely different future that neither one of them had ever anticipated.

It’s scary to realize at 22 years old that you’re going to be a father. One minute, you’re in school, counting down the minutes before you can bust out of the metal doors and stain your jeans green sliding around the baseball field with your friends; the next minute, you’re hot on your dad’s heals, following him around oil rigs, absorbing all of the information you can and trying your best not to look like the kid you are. You’re barely old enough to buy your own liquor one minute, and the next, you’re preparing to buy baby formula and diapers.

A lot of people plan for things like this. If Eddie had been smart enough and responsible enough, he definitely would’ve planned ahead for something like this. He wouldn’t be 22, for one. He’d be married for another. And he’d have an actual plan for what he wanted to do with his life. Instead he’s here, 22 years old, no college degree, barely any money in savings, still living at home with his parents, and working with his dad.

Most days, he tries to tell himself that there’s nothing wrong with that. There were plenty of jobs in town to go around. Many of the boys he went to school with stayed home and picked up different shift jobs around town, or worked the rigs with him. A few, though, had signed up for the army. With too-bright, too-naive grins on their faces, they had proudly announced that it was their one-way ticket out of El Paso.

Eddie remembered being a little jealous at the time. The idea of getting away from his parents and away from El Paso was starting to feel more and more like a pipe dream every day.

A part of him must have held onto the idea, though, because a few months before Shannon’s announcement, after a particularly hard week at home, he’d started considering enlisting again. He even went as far as walking into a recruitment office, signing up for the ASVAB, and taking the test a few days later. His scores were good enough he just—didn’t believe that was his path.

Now, though. With a child on the way and a new family to support, he’s started to think about it again, turning the idea over in his mind every night as he lay awake in bed, envisioning his future.

Shannon won’t be able to work soon, not while pregnant and not while nursing Christopher. And Eddie knows firsthand not only how expensive kids can be but how much time and energy they take to raise. Ramon had been gone a lot when the girls were younger, so it often fell to Eddie to help is mom out.

He needs to make the right decision here. He needs to be able to support his family—but if he leaves, how much can he really be supporting them? More than anything, Eddie just wants to do the right thing, he’s just not entirely sure what that is.

The day he makes his decision, he finds himself outside a tattoo shop with his cousin.

“I got my first tattoo here,” Jaime says proudly, twisting to show off the design wrapped around his bicep. “They’re cheap and good; can’t go wrong.”

“I don’t even know what I’d get,” Eddie says, staring at the flash sheets taped all over the windows.

The tattoo on Jaime’s arm is biomechanical in design; like the skin has been torn away to show the cold mechanical underside. It suits Jaime, Eddie thinks, he just doesn’t think it would suit him.

There’s a variety of designs plastered along the storefront, a lot of bold black and white lines, splashes of color here and there, some floral pieces, some gothic lettering.

“You’ll figure it out, man. Trust me.”

Eddie lets Jaime talk to the artists first, lingering around the edges of the shop and taking all of the art in.

He’s not much of an artist himself. He’d enjoyed it as a kid, especially when Adriana and Sophia were born. He’d pull out their rattiest coloring books and drop a bucket of pencils onto the table, tearing the pages out of the book and challenging them each to a race to see who could color in their pictures the fastest.

It was fun. But eventually, Ramon would come back home, see Eddie coloring with his sisters, and cast a disapproving look on him before pulling him aside.

“You don’t have time to be playing with crayons, Edmundo,” His dad would say, towering over him. “You’re the man of the house now. You need to step up and act like it.”

He was 10 years old then. He’d spent the last 12 years trying to live up to that idea.

If his parents were here now, they’d be giving Jaime all kinds of hell for taking Eddie to a place like this. And then they’d turn on Eddie, telling him how he should know better, how he shouldn’t even be hanging out with Jaime in the first place. 

But his parents aren’t here. He watches Jaime pull some cash out of his wallet before handing it to the artist over the counter and thinks, fuck it. He’s old enough to have a kid; he’s old enough to make his own decisions.

He strides up to the counter and the artist greets him with a quick nod.

“You know what you want?”

“Yeah—yeah, I do.”

Jaime shoots him a knowing grin before following his artist toward the back of the shop, and the guy at the counter slides Eddie over some forms to sign.

–

He was nine years old the first time his dad had taken him out into the field to check out one of the rigs. Helena had managed to keep him from them for as long as she could, allowing Ramon to drag Eddie along to sit in his cubicle while he attended meeting after meeting, but drawing the line at actually going out into the field. She’d said it was too dangerous for a kid; Helena had wanted Eddie to stay soft in many ways. Ramon had very different ideas. And nine years old, according to Ramon, was very nearly an adult, so he’d managed to convince her to let him take Eddie along just to tour.

Eddie had already become familiar with the people at Ramon’s office by then, all of the very important, very smart people that Ramon always boasted about working with. Meeting the men on the rig was different. They regarded Eddie with a certain kindness, had demonstrated to him how different parts of the rig worked, and told him about the different parts of the land they were digging into.

“There are a lot of good men on this rig,” Ramon said by the end of the day, steering Eddie to his truck. “A lot of men doing hard work to provide for their families. That’s what we do as men, Edmundo.”

“Right, dad,” Eddie nodded, holding his hard hat in his hands, still too large to fit on his head properly.

“A lot of people don’t want to see us succeed. But we’re just like them—we work hard and we support our families. Even if it means doing the dirty work.”

There was a lot about Ramon’s job that Eddie didn’t understand. All of the meetings, for one. And all of his travel. He was never home. All Eddie knew was that he didn’t want to be like his dad when he grew up. He didn’t want to be an engineer. He didn’t want to spend all day in meetings or sitting in a cubicle. Most of all he didn’t want to spend so much time away from his family.

He wanted to do something with his hands. Good things, honorable things.

“No matter what life throws at you, Edumundo,” Ramon said seriously, facing Eddie. “You find a way.”

–

The artist hands him a binder to flip through, a portfolio filled with black and white images of the shop's different lettering examples. There’s an overwhelming number to choose from; admittedly Eddie’s never given much thought to font choices.

In the end, he chooses a soft cursive font, one that reminds him of his abuelo’s handwriting and makes him feel rooted. He gets it on the inside of his wrist, unassuming but a constant reminder nonetheless.

When he gets back home that night, his parents are angry with him the second he steps through the front door. 

He should’ve known the private bubble he and Shannon had built around themselves could only last so long before it burst. Eddie’s parents have heard through the neighborhood gossip that she’s pregnant. He’d been meaning to tell them, to face them like a man and own up to his faults, but he hadn’t been ready yet. He’d just needed to come up with a plan on his own, to make his own decisions without his parents looming over his shoulder, telling him what they knew was best. He’d just needed some more time, is all.

They’re waiting by the door when he walks in, his mom pacing back and forth in the entryway while Ramon hangs back, leaning against the wall with folded arms, watching.

“How could you let this happen?” Helena asks as soon as Eddie’s shuts the door behind him. He barely opens his mouth to respond before she keeps going. “We raised you to be smarter than this, Eddie. To make better decisions than this.”

He presses his lips together and leans back against the door, a well-practiced look of indifference on his face. He’d hoped for more time but he’d been prepared to hear all of this eventually. He knew his parents well enough by now; it was inevitable.

“The neighbors are all talking about you two now, did you know that? I had to find out from Iliana down the street that my own son got some girl pregnant. Eddie, she’s barely out of high school. You’re barely out of high school!”

“She’s not just some girl,” Eddie interjects, but it’s a lost cause. He and Shannon were dating long before he graduated, but his parents have never liked her.  They never once thought she was good enough for him. This is just the proof they’d been waiting for.

“I don’t understand where we went wrong?” Helena continues like Eddie never said anything. “What are your sisters going to think, huh? Did you ever think about how this would affect them?”

No? Eddie thinks bitterly, rolling his eyes to the ceiling, searching for reprieve.

“What are you going to do about this, Edmundo?” His dad asks finally, his quiet voice cutting through Helena’s like a hot knife through butter. She stops and glances back at Ramon before facing Eddie again, eyebrows raised.

Eddie swallows, squaring his shoulders and raising his chin, the way his father always taught him.

“I’m going to marry her,” He says. The silence stretches between them, a quiet stand-off between Eddie and his parents.

“What?” Helena exclaims, huffing out a humorless laugh. “Now you’re going to marry her? You’re just a child, Edmundo, you’re not ready for marriage.”

“I can’t leave her to raise our kid on her own,” Eddie snaps back. His chest burns and he crosses his arms in front of him, his hands balling into fists. “Dad always said it’s our duty as men to support our families, didn’t you? Well, that’s what I’m going to do.”

“This girl isn’t your family,” Helena says.

“Shannon is my family now. I’ve made my decision and you’re not going to change my mind. I’m an adult and I can make my own choices. This is what we’re going to do. It’s the right thing.”

Helena’s mouth twists and she looks back at Ramon, who watches Eddie with a steady gaze. Neither one of them says anything. When she turns back to Eddie her eyes catch on the bandage wrapped around his wrist.

“What is that?” She asks, taking a step towards him. He sighs and drops his arms, tugging his sleeve down over his wrist.

“I got a tattoo,” He says, all his earlier bravado dying somewhere in his throat.

“A tattoo? Oh my god,” Helena throws her hands up, spinning around to face Ramon. “First, he gets a girl pregnant, then he wants to get married, and now he’s getting tattoos?”

“In the grand scheme of things I really think the tattoo is not that big of deal,” Eddie mumbles, mostly to himself, sneaking by his parents and escaping up to his room. 

His dad finds him alone later that night.

“Come to lecture me some more?” Eddie says dryly, raising an eyebrow at him. Ramon steps towards his bed, settling down on the edge and giving him a soft smile.

“I came to tell you that I’m proud of you.”

Eddie raises his other eyebrow. “Really.”

“I’m not happy about the circumstances. But you are taking responsibility. You may be doing it faster than I wanted, in a way I never wanted, but you’re becoming the man I always wanted you to be. So, yes, I’m proud of you, Edmundo.”

And—Eddie can’t lie. For all of his anger and all of his pain, all he’s ever wanted was a chance to make his dad proud. It seemed like he’d been fighting his whole life just to hear those words. Now that he’s heard them, he doesn’t quite know what to do with them, or himself.

“We can talk to Stephen tomorrow,” Ramon continues, eyes shining. “You’ve been doing good work these past few months, maybe we can get you a better position, something with more money.”

“I’m not working at the rig.”

“It’s a good job. You need one to support your family.”

“I’m enlisting, Dad.”

Ramon freezes, mouth closing in shock. For a moment, Eddie sees a flash of fear in his eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it comes.

“What?”

“I’m enlisting. They need men. And—the benefits are good. They’ll take care of Shannon and the baby while I’m gone and—and I’ll get to do something good. For the country.”

He’s practiced this speech in his head all week—not for his dad but for Shannon. He hasn’t even told her yet but he knows this is the right decision. His heart’s not in it but—for the country—his dad will like that.

Shannon won’t. He already knows what she’ll say, it’s been playing over and over in his mind all week.

For the country? I don’t give a fuck about the country, Eddie! I’m having your baby and I need you here with me.

He traces the bandage around his tattoo gently.

His dad is quiet for a moment and Eddie can see him turning the idea over in his mind, analyzing it just as carefully as he has every decision Eddie’s ever made. Eddie swallows his nerves and keeps his eyes trained on Ramon, jaw steady.

“War is a serious thing, Edmundo,” Is what he says eventually, eyes dropping to Eddie’s shoulder.

“I know that. This is…what I want to do.”

“Your mother won’t like this,” Ramon says carefully, eyes finally lifting to meet Eddie’s again.

“No, she won’t. I’ll give her some time before I tell her. Let her get over the marriage and the tattoo.”

“She just wants you to make smart choices.”

Eddie snorts, rolling his head back on his shoulders. “Sorry to disappoint. Again.”

They lapse into silence again. Eddie finally looks away from his dad, leaning back against the wall and staring up at his ceiling. He’s already mapped out the next few months with his recruiter, planning the fastest route to get all of his training done before the baby is born. He’ll get a house with Shannon, get her set up somewhere nice, a place of their own. They’ll make friends on base and she’ll have people there with her to help her through her pregnancy. They won’t be alone anymore. They’ll be okay; he’s taking care of it.

He’ll probably already be shipped off when she gives birth, if he's done the math correctly. But he’ll cross that bridge when he gets there. This is good for now.

“You know, I could go with you, if you want. When you sign up,” Ramon says suddenly. Eddie blinks at him. “For the army.”

“I already did. I took my test a few months back. I just gotta pass the physical and then I’m good to start training.”

“Oh,” Ramon’s eyes drift back to Eddie’s shoulder, then to the bed. “Well…that is good. You’re determined.”

“I am,” Eddie says.

It doesn’t feel like a complete lie, but it doesn’t feel completely true either. Eddie’s starting to wonder if he’ll ever feel like he’s on solid ground again.

He tells Shannon a few days later.

They’re eating lunch at their favorite restaurant. Shannon’s not showing yet but Eddie swears she already has that glow about her. Shannon says it’s just the way her sweat shines under the Texas sun. Sometimes when Eddie looks at her the only thing he feels is scared out of his mind; other times he thinks she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. 

“My mom keeps telling me all these horror stories about pregnancy and everything that could possibly go wrong. It’s great,” She says dryly, salting their fries heavily before popping a few in her mouth.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Eddie assures her, knocking some of the freshly salted fries out of the way and digging out the ones underneath.

“It’s still terrifying.”

Eddie nods, looking down at his tray. He’s been anxious about telling Shannon his plans all day. After telling his parents, telling Shannon feels like climbing a completely different mountain. He needs a completely different tactic; different gear, a different route, a different mindset. Eddie’s spent his whole life disappointing his parents. He doesn’t want to start off this new chapter of his relationship with Shannon by fucking it up—though it kind of feels like he already has.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” He says carefully, peeking up at Shannon. She narrows her eyes at him.

“Hmm. Is that why you’ve been acting weird all day?”

Eddie shrugs.

“Okay, what is it?”

“I think we should get married.”

He says it quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth in one breath. Shannon stares at him, stunned, and he stares back at her, frankly equally stunned. That’s not exactly how he thought he’d start, but it is a start.

“I’m going to enlist.”

Shannon’s eyes grow even wider and she drops her hand down to the table, fries forgotten.

“Are you kidding me?” She says eventually.

“Look—my job at the rig doesn’t pay enough for the both of us let alone the three of us. You’re not gonna be able to work with a baby on the way. The army will set us up with a house, I’ll have a consistent paycheck with benefits, and we’ll be taken care of.”

Shannon leans forward and when she speaks her voice is low and sharp. “And where are you going to be when I have our baby, Eddie?”

He shrinks a little. “I have a few months to work that out. But this’ll be good for us, baby. I mean, it’s the only option, really.”

“The only option?” Shannon repeats incredulously. Eddie nods, grabbing his soda and taking a sip before continuing.

“Look, Shannon. I know this isn’t…exactly what either of us wanted. Not right now, at least. But we’re having a baby. And I love you so much I just want to do the best for you and our kid. This is gonna be the rest of our lives, you know?”

“Yeah, the rest of our lives is going to start with me in a hospital room and you on the other side of the world in the middle of a warzone. Sounds like a really great start, Eddie.”

“I promise you that I am going to do whatever I can to be there with you when it matters,” He says honestly, reaching out to grab her hand. “I’ll find a way, I promise.”

They’re silent for a while, picking at their food and letting the idea of their new future settle around them. Shannon takes a deep breath eventually and narrows her eyes at Eddie.

“You’ve already enlisted, haven’t you?”

Eddie shrugs. “I haven’t committed to anything.”

“God, I just had to get with the most stubborn man on the planet.”

“And you love me,” Eddie says, flashing a smile and praying the tremor in his jaw doesn’t give him away.

Shannon studies him. “Yeah, yeah I do. This is a shitty proposal, by the way. I don’t even have a ring.”

“I’ll get you one,” Eddie says quickly, thinking about the overflowing piggy bank he’s kept since he was 9 years old, dreaming up a life far away from here, in LA with his Abuela and tia. “A nice one.”

“Hm,” Shannon hums, finishing off her fries. She brushes her hands off on her thighs, turning something over in her mind before looking at Eddie again. “I’m scared, Eddie.”

He wants to tell her that he is too, but he doesn’t. He feels like he needs to be brave enough for the both of them if they’re going to make this work.

“Don’t be,” He says, reaching for her hand again. “We’ll do this together. Trust me.”

[devoted1989]

the dark reality behind dairy

By World of Vegan.

Within the dairy realm, two narratives intertwine: the plight of the mothers and that of their offspring.

Artificial insemination serves as a harsh introduction to the dairy industry’s cycle of exploitation. Unlike the natural way to get pregnant, female cows within commercial dairy farms are subjected to an intrusive process that blatantly violates their reproductive system.

This invasive procedure forces cows into a perpetual cycle of pregnancies, denying them the right to choose their mates or control their reproductive destinies.

Just like human mothers, a female cow has a nine-month gestation period. And after giving birth, calves typically nurse from their mothers for 6 months or longer.

But in the dairy industry, once her calf is born, she’ll experience a mere day or two of companionship—sometime less—before her calf is forcefully separated from her to prevent the loss of even a drop of valuable milk, which would cut into the profits of the dairy industry. This is the last time the mother will see her baby.

Like most moms, cows have powerful maternal instincts and are extremely distressed when their babies are taken away from them. Their anguished bellows can be heard for up to a mile away. Some cows are so distraught that they will even stop eating.

Post-separation, the mother cows are subjected to mechanical milking—a stark contrast to the nostalgic image of a farmer hand-milking a cow.

As soon as her baby is taken away, the mother will be hooked up to a milking machine to take the milk that her body made for her calf. In natural circumstances, nursing cows produce just 12 to 15 pounds of milk each day and calves nurse all day long.

But in the majority of today’s dairy operations, a mother cow will produce a staggering 50 pounds of milk daily. The pressure of her painfully loaded udder will only be relieved by mechanical milking twice a day, which often leads to mastitis and other excruciatingly painful conditions.

As time progresses, milk production wanes, initiating a vicious cycle of repeated artificial impregnation, bereavement, and mechanical milking.

This cycle persists yearly until these cows meet a grim fate—slaughtered as adolescents, their natural lifespan of 25 to 30 years cut short. Their bodies, devoid of milk-production utility, are often processed into meat products, most often burgers.

Shifting focus to their offspring, USDA statistics reveal that 97 percent of calves are separated from their mothers within the first 12 hours of birth.

Female calves, like their mothers, confront a bleak fate. Denied maternal nourishment, they are confined in solitary and often cramped pens, where they have no way to find comfort or nurse from their mother.

Replacing mother’s milk with a formula, they endure this existence for 6-8 months, foregoing a natural upbringing characterized by play, bonding, and freedom.

Once fertile, the cycle of forced impregnation, grief, mechanical milking, and eventual slaughter begins anew.

50 percent of the babies born will be male, and a male calf has little financial value to the dairy industry because he’ll never produce milk.

In most situations he’ll either be kept and raised for beef, slaughtered immediately for cheap veal, or sent to a torturous facility to become higher priced veal.

On a veal farm the baby calf will be confined in a small space in which he can barely move and fed an iron-poor diet until he becomes severely anemic. His muscles will atrophy, and at just a few months of age, he’ll be slaughtered. His tender, pale flesh will be sold as veal.

You may be surprised to learn that marketing buzzwords like “Organic, Grass-Fed and Free-range” you might see on meat, dairy, and egg labels don’t guarantee better lives for the animals.

The mechanics remain the same, including the unavoidable separation of baby from mother, painful surgical mutilations without anesthetic, factory-style milking, and premature slaughter.

These terms, designed to attract compassionate consumers, fail to dismantle the core mechanisms of exploitation.

Considering the immense suffering, is the fleeting gustatory pleasure of cow’s milk truly worth it? The array of delicious, plant-based alternatives renders this question obsolete. Opting for both taste and compassion aligns with our evolving food landscape.

Our grocery choices equate to votes for the world we desire. While personal, these choices transcend the individual, impacting the lives of others.

Opting for animal-based dairy entails contributing to a continuum of suffering. Awareness fuels change. Acknowledging one’s past contributions to cruelty ignites a journey toward more humane choices. Armed with knowledge, we navigate a path of greater compassion, for when we know better, we can genuinely do better.

[victor-veloci-simp-69]

AU where Victor Veloci was not an OG!Dino but a mutant dino.

Imagine an AU where the only survivor is Ms Moynihan.

Desperately lonely, and with science advancing day by day, she gets the idea to try to make a companion.

(Be warned, this does get a little dark. Implied kidnapping and human experimentation. Nothing explicit, but yeah. Be safe. Not fanfic, just thoughts.)

There's a lot of directions this could have gone in.

Maybe she tries to make a clone baby with her DNA and someone elses.

Maybe she kidnaps some guy/teenager/kid off the street and gives him some dino-juice.

Maybe she even knows Victor. A neighbor, a friend, a fellow scientist or co-worker. Maybe he was a flirty barista at one point.

(How many people would she go through before she got a successful Victor Veloci? Was he a first time success or are there dozens of failed experiments who didn't survive? At what number would she give up? To what lengths would one go to, to no longer be lonely? Where is the line in the sand?)

No matter who he was before, or how many there was before, Victor Veloci is born.

He's not perfect. He's a dinosaur but he looks nothing like Ms Moynihan:

He's bigger, lacking the feathers that shine so beautiful on her, and scaled like a reptile. He looks as a human would expect a dinosaur to look like.

Maybe Moynihan gives up. Maybe she's tried so long and the results have never been what she wanted. Maybe her conscious catches up to her. Maybe she realises Victor is the closest she will ever get.

(Maybe she continues, thinking that Victor is the closest she has ever gotten, and victory is around the corner. Maybe he grows resentful at being considered not enough; a failure; an unloved, cheap imitation that will be discarded at first oppertunity)

She does not abandon him. He is her constant companion. She teaches him, of sciences and history and culture and the constantly shifting world.

(Does he remember his old life? Was he always Victor or was he someone else?)

Maybe he grows restless at being Imperfect. Maybe he grows frustrated at Ms Moynihan being content to it just being the two of them.

But eventually, he leaves. He takes on the surname Veloci. He convinces people to his cause.

Does he do it to find the formula to make himself perfect? No longer second best, no longer wrong?

Does he do it to make himself less lonely, less unique in a world where he is the only one, no one, not even his creator understanding what he is, what it is like.

Better yet, does he tell people he is an ancient Velociraptor because its easier to explain, because his past is painful and he'd rather be something he is not.

Or does he tell people that because he has deluded himself into thinking he is.

[diroriisoverparty]

When it comes to boycotting, sometimes I cannot help but get taken aback with the sheer amount of companies who are pro-israel. It is not just limited to fast food chains such as McDonalds or Starbucks. From the soaps and shampoos you use in shower to the cheap potato chips you eat to the lipstick you put on your lips to the razor you shave your skin with to majority of the social media sites (including this bloody hellsite and no i genuinely mean it) to FUCKING DIAPERS BABIES WEAR to SANITARY PADS (which hits harder considering the fact that people who are having periods in Palestine barely have feminine hygiene products) even baby formula, baby food companies are pro israel. How did we even normalise brutually killing men women children old people pregnant women disabled people, how did we normalise wiping off bloodlines in a short time. How did we get to this point and WHY did we even get to this point in the first place. Why did we normalise something which we in any other circumstances would have never done so.

Are some lives more worthy than the others?

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

Ok I lied, I also desperately want more about VLTD because I'm FERAL for it... *please*?? I'll take any little snippets you're willing to offer <3 - @fieldsofview

@fieldsofview god okay so Violet is coming a bit slow. I got 6k into it and realized I was already bored with the story. It just wasn't doing it for me, so I put it back in the percolator to stew some more and NOW I think I have the right setting for it. Originally I wanted to send them to Alaska bc of Nash's little throwaway thought about being brother of the year by buying Jo a plane ticket, but that's just not working for me creatively. Tennessee is where it's at, you know?

SO INSTEAD, he's going to buy her the ticket not knowing the reason she's been down in the dumps lately is because she misses when it was just the two of them. She's going to have a bit of a breakdown bc she's feeling all that and now he's trying to send her away?? But she still doesn't want to say it's him and Teddy that are the problem bc he's literally never been this happy before and she won't be the one to ruin it. So instead she confesses she misses her friends, which she does but also there's drama between her and Bella because of her moving away so it's a bit of a nasty surprise when she finds out that instead of Alaska Nash has arranged for her friends to stay with them for a week.

So now she has to deal with even less one-on-one time with her brother and also all the drama she thought was safely sequestered in Buford Hills.

So I'm going to have to cut most of what I have written (*sob*) but the intro is good enough to keep so here you go!

Here there be spoilers for Blue, like don't forget about me!

There’s an art to picking a hotel cheap enough that living out of it for three weeks won’t bankrupt you, but nice enough you won’t need to worry about bugs. In Jo’s opinion, it all comes down to the desk.

Hotel rooms follow a basic formula: bed (obviously), mini fridge (to store stress pudding), shitty single-brew coffee maker (always the same), a microwave (always different), an armchair in the corner (to sit in whilst eating pudding), and a desk. A good look at the desk and you’ll know whether you’ve made a mistake.

Too squat or wobbly—clearly not intended to be used—you’re in a cheap hotel meant for a single night stay and expected to be gone by breakfast. But a nice desk with a matching chair in a room that doesn’t make you feel like a dirty street urchin means you have successfully walked the line between frugality and indulgence.

Careful not to topple the precarious stack of client notes, Jo scoots the hard four-legged chair closer to the desk that’s too low to fit her thighs under despite being all of 5’4” in her derby skates. She sticks her plastic pudding spoon between her teeth and moves the stack away from the edge while creamy chocolate warms on her tongue. The sleeve of her favorite sweater, an ancient thing with a brown stain over her left breast that looks like a fatal stab wound (pudding incident of 2022), catches on the sharp corner but tears free without trouble thanks to the tattered state of the hems.

“When’re you gonna be home?”

She picks up her phone to see the familiar worry line between her brother’s eyebrows. Nash’s hair is overgrown again—beachy curls inching over his ears and peeping around the sides of his neck. He looks tired, but he always looks tired. More important is the aura of peace that he’s carried like a favorite blankie since they moved to their little mountain.

She swallows and slips the spoon from between her lips. “Thursday.” She points her spoon at the mini fridge where three pudding cups remain—one for each remaining day. “Think you can get the place baby sister proofed by then?”

The stress lines framing his mouth flex. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

She sticks her spoon into her pudding and leaves it there as she prepares to dig for whatever he isn’t saying, but, for once, he beats her to it.

He casts a surreptitious look over his shoulder then hunches forward and says, “Teddy’s got napkin swatches all over the front room.”

Ah, and they’re talking about Teddy again. It was a fun novelty for the first two months—she’s never seen her brother fall all over himself like he did for Teddy—but it’s been three years and she’s over it.

“I don’t understand why swatches. Why not just give us one of each napkin? It don’t make sense.”

“Uh, yeah I guess it’s kind of weird. Why napkins?”

His expression turns dour. “He wants me to pick one for the reception.”

“Alright, so pick.”

They were supposed to get married in February (fucked up, unnatural time for a wedding but nobody asked her), but then Teddy freaked out acting like a little backyard shindig wouldn’t be good enough and now they’re shelling out actual cash money to stand around in a swanky lodge for six hours and eat overpriced chicken.

Downright foolish, but again, nobody asked her.

“I tried but he said he could tell I was just trying to get out of it.” Steel gray eyes stare into hers. “Jo, I don’t care about napkins.”

“I don’t think anybody cares about napkins.”

“That’s what I—!” He lowers his voice. “That’s what I said.”

“But Teddy cares about—,”

“That’s the thing,” Nash interrupts, eyes wide, animated in his exasperation. “He doesn’t care either.”

“Then why—,”

“He thinks—,” He wrinkles his nose, then confesses, “He thinks it’s one of those things where maybe I do care, I just haven’t thought about it enough to know.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I know.”

“They’re napkins.”

“I know.”

It takes another five minutes to talk Nash around into telling Teddy that he’s put in enough due thought to determine he very much doesn’t care what people wipe their hands and face on at their wedding, but he turns down Jo’s suggestion that they stick a paper towel roll on each table so he must care at least a little bit.

When they hang up the pit of missing home hasn’t filled an inch. Even worse, her pudding is room temperature.

[adz]

new mark rober glitterbomb video where he talks about how street markets have sprung up in San Francisco where people can buy stuff (like cheap toiletries and baby formula) and that shutting them down is the obvious solution to car break-ins and package theft because it eliminates a place for people to sell stolen goods, "removing the incentive." instead of like, removing the incentive by providing these things to desperate people. hate it when im a youtube millionaire and my tesla's window gets smashed and i make it my mission to worsen the lives of the poorest people in my city

[howtocareforbunnyboys]

hello, wanted ask, possible make formula recipe without blender? can't buy one but really want try it

Oh hi! It depends on what your goal is.

---------

If you're an ARFID kiddo,

I'd really really recommend getting a blender. If you have a Facebook, look for your local Buy Nothing group -- this is your best shot at getting one for free. If you're not, try looking at your local thrift store. (Not Salvation Army; they use their money in very un-cool ways). If you have a local Habitat for Humanity Re-store, maybe they'd even be able to get you a really good deal on one if you explain your situation.

The reason I really recommend getting a blender is that you can use it to do a LOT of heavy lifting in terms of sneaking nutrition.

If you like soups, try blending mild, cooked veggies into the broth.

If you bake, try adding purees into your batters

If you like smoothies, make fruit smoothies regularly

There are lots more ideas than that, but those are a few basic ones. If you want, I can email you some cookbook pdfs along the lines above, if you DM me your email address.

Keep in mind that frozen fruit and veggies are often even more nutritionally dense than the fresh produce on the shelves, and tends to be cheaper per ounce.

Some states will even allow you to use SNAP/EBT at farmer's markets, and if you have a freezer, you can get really inexpensive stuff and let it last for a long time. Sometimes farmers will even let you take produce for free if you help them put their stuff away at the end of the day.

--------

If you're just interested in formula for baby regression reasons, read on:

You can put some milk in a jar with a serving of "carnation instant breakfast" and shake shake shake! Bunny act,ually likes making a faux Starbucks drink using coffee, Hershey's Caramel syrup, soy milk, and vanilla flavored instant breakfast powder

Just drink applesauce

Nesquik comes in a few flavors, and can thicken up your drink

Oat flour is basically ground oats, so if you cook it in milk like oatmeal, you'll get a thickened drink that's smooth without a blender, probably.

Baby pouch purees? They're not as cheap as homemade, but you can get them from the Dollar Tree for 2-4 per $1.25, and they're okay.

So, those are my thoughts ♡

[the-fiction-witch]

Evening

Media Some Dogs Bite

Character Casey

Couple Casey X Reader

Rating Sweet

I sat on my little chair leaning on my elbow my chin on my hand, my eyes tired from the fluorescent light, vast darkness outside the glass windows, a few cars passing every now and then. Few customers in this late at night. I heard the door so I glanced over and saw a familiar sight, Casey headed with his baby brother in his arms, he looked tired and stressed his baby brother crying and whining unhappily. He wandered the Allies for a few minutes grabbing a few baby care items before he came to my till.

"Evening" I smiled

"Evening," he ran a hand through his hair adding pampers, baby formula, a few cheap pacifiers, baby powder, nappy cream and other baby essentials 

"I take it you're having some struggles?" I giggled 

"You could say that" he nodded "Little guy just won't calm down and go to bed" he whined trying to soothe his brother 

"You tried warming up his milk before you give it to him?" I asked as I scanned the items and packed them into a bag for him 

"Yeah warm but not too hot but it hasn't seemed to help" he says 

 "Ohh you poor thing, how long's he been like this?"

"Three days"

"Ohh, dear. You must be so tired"

"Yeah" He nods 

"And that's forty-five eighteen," I told him

"Ah." he gulped "Uhhhh... I uhhhhh" he said getting his wallet and counting out his money "Ohh I think I'm a little short"

"How short?"

"I have.... Thirty Two, seventy" He says 

"Don't worry about it. The rest is on me" I smiled taking the money he had and covering the rest myself 

"Thank you so much y/n," he says 

"You're welcome" I smiled "You know, I finish my shift at ten I could come up and give you an extra set of hands maybe I can get this little guy to sleep."

"You don't have to I don't want to keep you after work"

"It's fine I'd love to help"

"Okay, That would be a great help thank you y/n. We'll see you later then"

"See you boys later" I smiled blowing them each a kiss as they left the shop bag in hand.