#Giants in the Suburbs

[moochilatv]

Vince Vincent presents: Giants in the Suburbs

Super fresh mix of funk and rock !!

"Giants in the Suburbs was a song written during the pandemic, where a clash of negative and positive thoughts were the centre of my routine. I wrote this metaphorical song to express the equal strength of negative and positive thoughts, where the suburbs represent the human sub conscious. It’s a reflection of resilience, duality, and the quiet storms we all weather", VINCE VINCENT.

Listen the single in Spotify:

[bottleblondebeachbabe]

Vitorio, some bozo from actual medival europe who hardly even knows what the word game means:

[sheikthegeek]

I'm liking this new GIANT DLC of Powerwash Simulator...

Karcher - "Gentle Giants"

Found by reverseothello on Twitter

[astoundingbeyondbelief]

YOU COULD HAVE JUST LET ME PLANT A VEGETABLE GARDEN IN MY FRONT YARD

[freebooter4ever]

You're amazing, I love seeing your art on my dash and ancient geno pictures from years ago, the best, I also love keeping up with how your art is going with the 3d models, so awesome <3 so thanks!

Thank you!!! And ha, good to know im not the only one entertained by the ancient geno candids. He'e so cute. Im cultivating a daydream scenario where 20 yr old me totally would have crushed hard on 22 yr old geno in my pittsburgh days. And im not letting little reality things like language barriers and my tragic level of loser-ness in my 20's and geno's "i never have american girls" get in my way. :P

[queer-reader-07]

i love my dad he's great, but he is also the most straight white man a person can get. so imagine my utter shock when in the course of one conversation i find out that he reads a webcomic featuring a main plot line about a lesbian couple and his first ever concert was an Erasure concert in the 80s where the crowd consisted of at least 50% gay people in leathers

[fieriframes]

[THERE'S A GIANT POTATO PIEROGI ON THERE. THE PARMAGEDDON IS SO CLEVELAND. WHY DOES IT GET CALLED THE PARMAGEDDON? THE FIRST SUBURB OUTSIDE OF CLEVELAND GOING SOUTH IS PARMA. PARMA IS THE POLISH HOT BED IN CLEVELAND]

[shutterandsentence]

Gemini Giant, Route 66 Attraction.

Photo: Wilmington, Illinoisus

[oflgtfol]

i love new york so much. separated by hundreds and hundreds of miles, no matter where i go, i can always be guaranteed to see a random "I ❤️ NY" decal on the side of a major highway

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Red Lobster was killed by private equity, not Endless Shrimp

For the rest of May, my bestselling solarpunk utopian novel THE LOST CAUSE (2023) is available as a $2.99, DRM-free ebook!

A decade ago, a hedge fund had an improbable viral comedy hit: a 294-page slide deck explaining why Olive Garden was going out of business, blaming the failure on too many breadsticks and insufficiently salted pasta-water:

https://www.sec.gov/Archives/edgar/data/940944/000092189514002031/ex991dfan14a06297125_091114.pdf

Everyone loved this story. As David Dayen wrote for Salon, it let readers "mock that silly chain restaurant they remember from their childhoods in the suburbs" and laugh at "the silly hedge fund that took the time to write the world’s worst review":

https://www.salon.com/2014/09/17/the_real_olive_garden_scandal_why_greedy_hedge_funders_suddenly_care_so_much_about_breadsticks/

But – as Dayen wrote at the time, the hedge fund that produced that slide deck, Starboard Value, was not motivated by dissatisfaction with bread-sticks. They were "activist investors" (finspeak for "rapacious assholes") with a giant stake in Darden Restaurants, Olive Garden's parent company. They wanted Darden to liquidate all of Olive Garden's real-estate holdings and declare a one-off dividend that would net investors a billion dollars, while literally yanking the floor out from beneath Olive Garden, converting it from owner to tenant, subject to rent-shocks and other nasty surprises.

They wanted to asset-strip the company, in other words ("asset strip" is what they call it in hedge-fund land; the mafia calls it a "bust-out," famous to anyone who watched the twenty-third episode of The Sopranos):

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bust_Out

Starboard didn't have enough money to force the sale, but they had recently engineered the CEO's ouster. The giant slide-deck making fun of Olive Garden's food was just a PR campaign to help it sell the bust-out by creating a narrative that they were being activists* to save this badly managed disaster of a restaurant chain.

*assholes

Starboard was bent on eviscerating Darden like a couple of entrail-maddened dogs in an elk carcass:

https://web.archive.org/web/20051220005944/http://alumni.media.mit.edu/~solan/dogsinelk/

They had forced Darden to sell off another of its holdings, Red Lobster, to a hedge-fund called Golden Gate Capital. Golden Gate flogged all of Red Lobster's real estate holdings for $2.1 billion the same day, then pissed it all away on dividends to its shareholders, including Starboard. The new landlords, a Real Estate Investment Trust, proceeded to charge so much for rent on those buildings Red Lobster just flogged that the company's net earnings immediately dropped by half.

Dayen ends his piece with these prophetic words:

Olive Garden and Red Lobster may not be destinations for hipster Internet journalists, and they have seen revenue declines amid stagnant middle-class wages and increased competition. But they are still profitable businesses. Thousands of Americans work there. Why should they be bled dry by predatory investors in the name of “shareholder value”? What of the value of worker productivity instead of the financial engineers?

Flash forward a decade. Today, Dayen is editor-in-chief of The American Prospect, one of the best sources of news about private equity looting in the world. Writing for the Prospect, Luke Goldstein picks up Dayen's story, ten years on:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-05-22-raiding-red-lobster/

It's not pretty. Ten years of being bled out on rents and flipped from one hedge fund to another has killed Red Lobster. It just shuttered 50 restaurants and declared Chapter 11 bankruptcy. Ten years hasn't changed much; the same kind of snark that was deployed at the news of Olive Garden's imminent demise is now being hurled at Red Lobster.

Instead of dunking on free bread-sticks, Red Lobster's grave-dancers are jeering at "Endless Shrimp," a promotional deal that works exactly how it sounds like it would work. Endless Shrimp cost the chain $11m.

Which raises a question: why did Red Lobster make this money-losing offer? Are they just good-hearted slobs? Can't they do math?

Or, you know, was it another hedge-fund, bust-out scam?

Here's a hint. The supplier who provided Red Lobster with all that shrimp is Thai Union. Thai Union also owns Red Lobster. They bought the chain from Golden Gate Capital, last seen in 2014, holding a flash-sale on all of Red Lobster's buildings, pocketing billions, and cutting Red Lobster's earnings in half.

Red Lobster rose to success – 700 restaurants nationwide at its peak – by combining no-frills dining with powerful buying power, which it used to force discounts from seafood suppliers. In response, the seafood industry consolidated through a wave of mergers, turning into a cozy cartel that could resist the buyer power of Red Lobster and other major customers.

This was facilitated by conservation efforts that limited the total volume of biomass that fishers were allowed to extract, and allocated quotas to existing companies and individual fishermen. The costs of complying with this "catch management" system were high, punishingly so for small independents, bearably so for large conglomerates.

Competition from overseas fisheries drove consolidation further, as countries in the global south were blocked from implementing their own conservation efforts. US fisheries merged further, seeking economies of scale that would let them compete, largely by shafting fishermen and other suppliers. Today's Alaskan crab fishery is dominated by a four-company cartel; in the Pacific Northwest, most fish goes through a single intermediary, Pacific Seafood.

These dominant actors entered into illegal collusive arrangements with one another to rig their markets and further immiserate their suppliers, who filed antitrust suits accusing the companies of operating a monopsony (a market with a powerful buyer, akin to a monopoly, which is a market with a powerful seller):

https://www.classaction.org/news/pacific-seafood-under-fire-for-allegedly-fixing-prices-paid-to-dungeness-crabbers-in-pacific-northwest

Golden Gate bought Red Lobster in the midst of these fish wars, promising to right its ship. As Goldstein points out, that's the same promise they made when they bought Payless shoes, just before they destroyed the company and flogged it off to Alden Capital, the hedge fund that bought and destroyed dozens of America's most beloved newspapers:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/16/sociopathic-monsters/#all-the-news-thats-fit-to-print

Under Golden Gate's management, Red Lobster saw its staffing levels slashed, so diners endured longer wait times to be seated and served. Then, in 2020, they sold the company to Thai Union, the company's largest supplier (a transaction Goldstein likens to a Walmart buyout of Procter and Gamble).

Thai Union continued to bleed Red Lobster, imposing more cuts and loading it up with more debts financed by yet another private equity giant, Fortress Investment Group. That brings us to today, with Thai Union having moved a gigantic amount of its own product through a failing, debt-loaded subsidiary, even as it lobbies for deregulation of American fisheries, which would let it and its lobbying partners drain American waters of the last of its depleted fish stocks.

Dayen's 2020 must-read book Monopolized describes the way that monopolies proliferate, using the US health care industry as a case-study:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/29/fractal-bullshit/#dayenu

After deregulation allowed the pharma sector to consolidate, it acquired pricing power of hospitals, who found themselves gouged to the edge of bankruptcy on drug prices. Hospitals then merged into regional monopolies, which allowed them to resist pharma pricing power – and gouge health insurance companies, who saw the price of routine care explode. So the insurance companies gobbled each other up, too, leaving most of us with two or fewer choices for health insurance – even as insurance prices skyrocketed, and our benefits shrank.

Today, Americans pay more for worse healthcare, which is delivered by health workers who get paid less and work under worse conditions. That's because, lacking a regulator to consolidate patients' interests, and strong unions to consolidate workers' interests, patients and workers are easy pickings for those consolidated links in the health supply-chain.

That's a pretty good model for understanding what's happened to Red Lobster: monopoly power and monopsony power begat more monopolies and monoposonies in the supply chain. Everything that hasn't consolidated is defenseless: diners, restaurant workers, fishermen, and the environment. We're all fucked.

Decent, no-frills family restaurant are good. Great, even. I'm not the world's greatest fan of chain restaurants, but I'm also comfortably middle-class and not struggling to afford to give my family a nice night out at a place with good food, friendly staff and reasonable prices. These places are easy pickings for looters because the people who patronize them have little power in our society – and because those of us with more power are easily tricked into sneering at these places' failures as a kind of comeuppance that's all that's due to tacky joints that serve the working class.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/23/spineless/#invertebrates

[fazcinatingblog]

Gross, Giants fans bragging about being "Sydney's first born team" as if that's a thing to be proud of.

[koholint]

going through photos on my phone and remembered the time i was walking around in a fairly conservative suburb and someone had spray painted a giant furry femboy with bulge on the ground

[theglamorousferal]

After Danny become the Ancient of Space, he hatches a plan with his parents (good reveal) and Vlad to get word quietly to the townspeople that they can get away from the evermore prying eyes of the GiW, but it would require them to teleport to space. Danny found an ideal spot that would allow for a 25 hour day, warmth and light enough to still grow things, and an asteroid large enough to count as a moon. The town holds a silent vote, using an app Tucker and Technus developed that the GiW wouldn't be able to track.

The Fenton parents pretend to work with the GiW to establish a giant ecto-shield that would cover all of the land of Amity Park and her suburbs. What they don't say is that the ecto they used in the generators was from Danny in his Ancient form and so he can manipulate how it works. The shield could hold an atmosphere if Danny willed it.

Once construction was done, Vlad made an army of duplicates and managed to get an all hands call for the GiW in town and led them out of the range of the shield. Then, with a mighty pull, Danny twisted space and with a POP surrounding them was stars and space dust. More space dust than Danny had expected.

Danny flickered, his form starting to grow. As the flickering grew faster, his Ancient form growing and tumbling outwards. At first he looked like the void between stars with a white glowing outline of a humanoid shape, then he flickered again and he began to trail an aurora with every movement. a single point of light shown in the center of where his chest should be and then his form showed an explosion of galaxies radiating from the point of light. He opened his eyes and they seemed to glow with all the light lost to black holes throughout the billions of years the universe has existed.

He circled his arms around and the space dust moved with his gestures. He twirled his arms around in seemingly random movements, forming the dust to his Will. He condensed it and formed floating islands and pathways and attached them to the land of Amity. He couldn't form an atmosphere for this area yet, but he could make more land for His People to eventually expand out.

Once done, he seemed to collapse into himself, slowly and drowsily floating to the ground. Just before he was caught by his father, and surrounded by the town, Phantom turned to Fenton.

[legendary-pink-dot]

Please, Mr Postman

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Rating: 18+ Explicit

Warnings: Unprotected PiV sex, butt play, creampie, oral (f receiving), and lots of sex toys. No ages mentioned or alluded to. Reader is married. There are themes of infidelity, blackmail and stalking, but Reader is fully consenting and willing. Mailman Joel is a sleaze, consider youself duly warned.

Word Count: 4.3K (by far the longest thing I've ever written, whew)

Summary: Every morning at 9am sharp, you take your coffee to the front room and listen for his mail truck.

Notes: Poking my nose out of my hiatus hidey-hole to write this as a gift for my very very dear friend @magpiepills for the prompt "Stole your mail and uses it to sexually blackmail you mailman Joel". I love you, my sweet Bat. 💜 Giant thanks to @for-a-longlongtime for the last-minute rapid beta read. Much love to my sluts for cheerleading: @youandmeand5bucks @exquisiteserotonin @arcanefox207 @sparklefarts38 @redhotkitchen I have never written Joel before, so please be kind. Thank you and enjoy.

Please, Mr Postman - Joel Miller x f!reader

Every morning at 9am sharp, you take your coffee to the front room and listen for his mail truck. The squeak of the rusted brake pads as he parks at the end of the block is a melody, as distinctive to you now as the chimes of the classic ice cream trucks from your childhood, eliciting a Pavlovian response of salivating over the treats it held within.

Life was easy and carefree at that age. You didn't have responsibilities, grown-up worries, or this present burden of being a Stepford wife to a rich man who occasionally did some illegal activities. He was kind to you and you loved him, desired him even, but despite being a criminal he was boring. He was not the adventurous, filthy man in bed you secretly hoped for. But you knew things about his work that made it dangerous to leave, and financially he made sure you were kept comfortable enough to not want to tell. So you stayed. And here you were, marooned in a leafy suburb, stuck at home all day and fantasizing about the hot new mailman. What a cliche you've become.

The mailman's name was Joel. And he really did command attention.

Salt and pepper hair that curled around the edge of his blue cap. Dark brown eyes that showed a few flecks of amber the rare times you've seen them up close. A strong nose with a neatly trimmed mustache and gorgeous facial scruff. Large hands that could football-hold an entire package in each.

And speaking of packages: his looked prodigious. It looked obscene what he was carrying around in those standard issue United States Postal Service shorts. You dreamed about it at night -- how thick his cock must be and how you'd lick it like those sweet summer popsicle treats -- as your husband snored beside you after giving you one pitiful orgasm and then immediately coming himself and falling asleep.

You never thought anyone could be attractive in such a dumpy grey uniform, but somehow Joel found a way.

In the summer heat he always rolled up the edges of his pleated shorts, a thick pocket chain clacking along his meaty thigh. Light hair dusted his tanned legs. His black leather belt was cinched tight, further emphasizing his delicious bulge. The sleeves of his polo shirt were similarly rolled and showed off well-toned forearms from all the lifting and carrying. In short: he was a dream.

But you'd never go further than look. You loved your husband, for all his faults. You'd even placed a big order of sex toys last week in the hopes he'd be willing to spice things up in the bedroom. The tracking app says it's out for delivery, and right on cue, Joel comes walking up your driveway cradling a large cardboard box in his hands. Damn, he looks good today.

"Mornin', ma'am," he drawls politely. You think he winks at you, or maybe it's just the sun hitting his eyes. "Got a big one for you today."

You move to take it, but he shakes his head. "It's heavy. Let me put it inside for ya."

The thought of him being inside your home makes you tingle. You don't even think to consider that postal workers aren't supposed to go past a customer's front step.

You hold the door open and Joel stomps through, leaving bootprints of dirt on your "Home Sweet Home" welcome mat.

"Ma'am? Where d'ya want it?" He sounds amused, and you realize with a start that he's been standing in your entranceway for an awkward length of time. You'd been too busy ogling his legs, and more, in those rolled-up shorts. Was it your imagination, or was he not wearing underwear?

"On the coffee table, please." You lead him to the sitting room beside the entranceway. It's your happy place, your sanctuary, the spot you have your morning coffee in as you listen for the siren song of his mail truck.

Joel gently places the box on the coffee table and turns to you.

"I'll just wait here while you check that everythin's in order."

"What… what do you mean?" You feel your cheeks heat. Fortunately the box was nondescript, but it did give off a brown paper wrapping porn vibe.

"It's insured for $700. Must be some expensive stuff. 'S my job to write a report if anything's broken."

Nervous sweat starts beading down your back. "It… it's okay… I can report online if there's a problem…"

"'S no trouble. Let's just take a quick peek." Joel's already pulled his keychain ceramic boxknife out of his shorts, slitting the box open before you can say a word.

You stand there mortified and unable to speak as Joel opens the flaps, pushes aside the cushioning packets, and stares at the huge assortment of boxed sex toys.

"Well, well, darlin'. What do we have here?" His voice is a mixture of amusement and something deep and growling. Predatory.

Your face burns in embarrassment. "You… you can go now," you manage to squeak. "Please."

"Don't think so, sweetheart. Gotta check that everythin's in good working order." His boxknife shicks open the first product, a G-spot vibe from the looks of the box. Just before he can unwrap it, you find your voice. You hope you sound self-assured and assertive.

"That's enough. Please leave. My husband will be home any minute."

Joel smirks as he continues to rifle through the box. "Naw. He won't. Just did my route on Pine Street and saw him gettin' busy with that blonde divorcee in the cul-de-sac. Miz Perkins, wasn't it? Big tits."

It's a gut punch, and it makes you forget that this suddenly skeezy mailman is in your home and looking at your new collection of sex toys. An affair? He wouldn't. Not YOUR husband. Not your husband who rarely wants to do anything interesting in bed…

"Sorry, darlin." Joel pulls you out of your thoughts. "Fuck that guy. Wanna have some fun?" He pulls the vibe out of the box and waves it in front of you with a lopsided smirk.

This is too much to deal with. Your head is spinning, a mixture of emotions running through you. Including lust, incredibly enough. This mailman appears to be the take-charge dominant you wish your husband was.

"No. Like I said, you can leave now." You manage to say it firmer this time despite the gushing between your thighs. "Just go."

"Think I'll stay," he says, crossing the space between you in one step and pushing you backwards onto the sofa. "Don't want me reporting your ol' man to the authorities, now do ya?"

"Wha… what?"

He chuckles at your comically large-eyed look of shock. "Yeah, know all about it. Been readin' yer mail," he says matter-of-factly. "He's shit at covering his tracks. Who sends fake invoices through the mail? With his real address too. Amazin' he hasn't been caught yet."

"You've been reading our mail?! I should report you!" Who is this guy?

Joel looms menacingly over your prone figure. You didn't dare move. "Sure, darlin. Postal employees got a responsibility to report crime. I'll be fine," he smiles, leaning back a little, but not enough for you to escape. "But the Postmaster General don't take too kindly to mail fraud, or those aidin' and abettin'. That's a felony."

"But it's not a felony for a mailman to read people's mail?"

"Tell you what," he drawls, still in that matter-of-fact tone that should be so very wrong in this situation. He rifles through the box and pulls out a hot pink butt plug, wiggling it at you. "You're gonna let me try out some of these toys on ya, and I won't report him."

Blackmail shouldn't turn you on, shouldn't turn anyone on, but it does. You're only human, and besides, you definitely don't want to go to prison. You can't control your reaction as your upper half shrinks back into the sofa while your lower half stretches out towards Joel, the hem of your sundress hiking up like it has a mind of its own. He gives you a wolfish grin and rests a broad, heavy hand on your knee.

"Jus' what I thought, sweetheart. Seen you watchin' me out the window every mornin'. You been wantin' me to stuff your pretty little mailslot, haven't ya?"

A whimper escapes your throat. "Yes. Please," you whisper, thighs sticky between your panties and suddenly aching.

"Okay, honey. Gonna start easy with this lil' thing." He holds up a clit sucker, shaped like a penguin with a little pink bow around its neck, and switches it on to test it. It springs into life immediately. "Ah, great. Love how companies pre-charge things now-a-days."

How can he be so conversational about this? Does he blackmail all the married women in the neighbourhood? Well, maybe just the ones who have something to hide. Like you. You silently thank the heavens for sending you an attractive skeeze, at least. And Joel is so very, very attractive.

You spread your legs for him.

He ruches your sundress up your thighs and whistles appreciatively, the sound going straight to your core. "No panties? And gushin' out of that tight little snatch already? Didn't take ya for such a filthy girl."

"It's… it's hot out," you stammer, unable to think straight.

"About to get hotter," he smirks again, and damn that attitude is doing things for you. "You ready, sweetheart?"

You nod, and he keeps eye contact as he nestles your clit into the little penguin's mouth and switches it on.

Your back arches and you nearly scream out loud.

The sensation is warm, and there's no direct contact but it's like your clit is being gently suckled. You've never felt anything like it. It's only been three seconds and your hips are already squirming to chase more.

His hand presses lightly on your hip to give you something to brace against as he clicks the intensity button up a couple notches, and it's like waves upon waves of the absolute perfect pressure on your clit. The buildup in your core is so fast that you don't even realize you're coming until it's almost over. You also hadn't noticed that you'd grabbed his muscled forearm and sunk your nails into it, leaving little half-moon indentations in his tanned skin.

"That was… wow." Your gasps echo around the quiet sitting room. Joel doesn't say a word, just reverently watches your pussy pulse and gush out a few drops of slick. "Thanks." You wish it had lasted longer and were sad it was over. Oh well, a nice memory for the next time you think about Joel, or try out some of these toys with your husband.

You start to push your sundress down, assuming he'll leave now and half-grateful for it, but he grabs your shoulder and forces you back down into the pillows.

"Where you off to? I'm just gettin' started with you, darlin'."

"But…."

"But nothin'. Ain't done till I say so."

All you can do is stare at him, unsure if you should be angry, turned on, or plotting an escape.

He undoes his leather belt and slowly, threateningly, slides it out through the loops on his uniform shorts. "Don't make me use this, sweetheart. Gonna be a good girl for me now, ain't ya?" The depth and tone of his voice say he isn't joking.

You gulp, still tingly from your rapid orgasm. And ready for another one, you think as you make eye contact with Joel, feeling a bit bolder now. We're here, I let him do that much already, might as well go for it.…

The penguin gets discarded as Joel carelessly tosses it to the carpet and takes the hot pink butt plug out of the box again, running a finger along the curve of its long but slim length. "Hmmm. Pretty. This for you, or your husband?"

"Uh… me…"

"Ah, ah" he tuts. "You really are a nasty girl. You take one of these before?"

You shake your head, suddenly shy. You hadn't even wanted your husband to know about the butt plug, thinking he was so sexless that he'd be disgusted. Apparently not, if he's railing Ms Perkins with the big tits over on Pine Street.

"S'okay. Gonna slide it in real good for ya." While you shove a little sofa pillow under your hips, Joel combs through the box on the coffee table and pulls out a bottle of lube. He pops the cap and drizzles some over the plug, and you gulp again imagining it inside your ass. A faint scent of synthetic vanilla fills the air and for some reason it calms you, allowing you to relax your muscles as Joel slides the plug along your crack, rubbing and smearing the lube around your asshole.

"You like that?"

You do. You really do.

Your little moan spurs him on and he gently presses the generously lubed tip of the plug against your hole, just the teensiest bit. You look up at his face, that stupidly attractive face of a skeezy mailman who is sexually blackmailing you, and find yourself desperately wanting to feel his scruff on your inner thighs.

Apparently he's a mind reader, too. He smiles and lowers his head to your crotch, and licks your clit with his wide tongue at the same moment he presses a bit more of the plug into your ass. You nearly scream for the second time in minutes.

"That's it, honey," he breathes against your core, wiggling the tip of the plug in and out and hitting nerves you didn't even know existed back there, making your hips jump involuntarily. "Openin' up so nice for me."

A few more mind-numbing, distracting licks of your clit and the plug slides all the way in with a little pop. You're equal parts turned on and proud.

"Well, ain't that a pretty sight," Joel whistles appreciatively. He pulls up to sit back and just stares at you all spread out on the sofa with one leg hiked over the back, your sundress balled up over your stomach. He taps the pink flared base of the plug a few times like he's idly flicking away a cigarette. It wiggles inside you and you squirm and squeal. Actually squeal. You're still mad and weirded out and other things, but you're feeling too good to give up now and you're starting to not care how easily you're caving to this man.

"Lessee what other treats we got in here." He rifles through the box again. His face falls into a comical droop of sadness and he sighs loudly, holding up a little box marked 'Girth Extender Sleeve'.

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm so sorry." The condescension in his voice shouldn't turn you on this much. "Yer old man got a tiny dick? Not fuckin' you proper? No wonder you been starin' at me every day, desperate for a real man."

Before you can protest -- he's not tiny, I just wanted to spice things up, well okay maybe he could use a bit of help -- he unzips his uniform shorts and pulls out his hard cock, holding it at the base so you can take a good look. "Got a special delivery for ya, baby."

Yeah, Joel definitely doesn't need any artificial enhancement.

His cock is thick. Not super long, but probably one of the thickest you've seen, outside the few porn films you watched when you were younger and more uninhibited. There's foreskin covering what looks like a large mushroom head, and a prominent pulsing vein running up one side. It all looks delicious, and you unconsciously lick your lips as he smirks at how you take it all in.

"You want it real bad, dontcha?" He fists himself a few times, his foreskin sliding on the downstroke to give you a peek at the thick head. "Yeah, you sure do. Never knew I had such a little slut livin' on my route."

Shuffling forward, he grabs your thighs and spreads them wider. The head of his cock feels impossibly heavy as he slaps it on your clit, making you gush a little with every hit.

"Joel, will you… can you lick me again for a bit?" Your squeaky voice is impossibly needy and pathetic.

"Naw," he says, flicking the base of the butt plug again and making your hips jump. The plug was so comfortable that you'd already forgotten it was in there. "Gotta finish my route. Can't talk to customers with my face smellin' of pussy, ya know. I'm representin' the United States Postal Service out there."

"Oh, does the USPS regularly fuck its customers too?"

"Sure does, darlin'. Bends 'em over and gives it to 'em hard with the price hikes every year."

He roughly pulls you up and bends you over the sofa arm, positioning you like the personal little fuckdoll you are for him.

"Got the next best thing though." He slips on a tiny purple fingertip vibe, your free gift from the toy company for such a large order. With such thick fingers, it looks like he's wearing an upside-down Ring Pop. It gives a loud rumble when he switches it on, and he laughs as he tugs his shorts down over his thighs. "Cheap ass shit. Hope the battery lasts. But it don't take you long anyway, right sweetheart?" He reaches around your hips, lifts your sundress and presses the vibe straight on your bare clit without any preamble, and your hips slam backwards into his crotch as you scream again, his cock jostling the base of the butt plug and sending shockwaves both up and down your core at the same time.

"Yeah. Thought so."

Amid the mixed sensations suddenly comes a new one: the thick head of his cock slipping into your cunt as he swirls the vibe around your clit, not letting it rest in any one spot long enough for your liking.

"… Wait! No condom?"

"Naw. You're on the pill, right?" He doesn't wait for your answer, as if he already knows.

Normally you don't enjoy this position but you're too far gone now, pushing your hips back and encouraging him deeper in, more than wet enough from all the playing to take him in.

"Greedy little slut, ain't ya?" He feeds you another inch, pauses, then another, torturously slow as you stretch around his thickness. "Tight little snatch feels so good. Miz Perkins with the big tits probably don't feel this sweet." Joel demeaning your husband like this and throwing the adultery in your face should make you mad -- at both of them -- but it only turns you on more, beads of sweat dripping down your spine as he slides all the way in to the hilt, giving you a few moments of grace to adjust to the size of him.

One strap falls down your shoulder, letting your tit pop out of your sundress and he palms it roughly, giving it an exploratory squeeze. The finger vibe is still buzzing and he swipes it across your nipple, the nubby texture chafing just before the point of pain. "Nice. You like that? Let's add somethin'."

Mentholated 'arousal balm' was another of your free gifts, and not something you'd ever thought to try. Joel twists open the little tin and dips the finger vibe in it.

"That smells strong, do we have to?" Wooziness hits you as the peppermint smell goes straight up your nostrils.

"Like I said, baby, gotta make sure everythin' works. Else I gotta do a return," chides Joel, tossing the tiny tin on the floor. You watch it roll under the baseboard heater as he grabs your hips roughly and repositions you. "Real fucking pain, returns. Lotsa paperwork."

He brings the now-mentholated finger vibe back to your clit, and two seconds later it feels like your entire pussy is on fire.

Thank goodness he didn't put any on my a--

Joel moves the base of the butt plug aside and presses the finger vibe against your asshole.

The menthol soaks into your tender membranes and it's so, so cold and hot at the same time. Your brain melts along with it.

Everything is lit up now and you squirm as he slides his hardness back into your pussy and gives a few experimental thrusts. "Tight fuckin' snatch," he mutters, your walls clenching around him in time with his finger flicking at the plug, your entire lower half burning but not in a terrible way. "But could be tighter." He suddenly pulls his cock out and you whine, loudly and needily.

"Please, Joel."

"Please what, darlin'?"

"Put… put it back in? Please."

"All in good time. Gotta give those walls an extra little stamp."

You look over your shoulder to see him drizzling lube into the girth sleeve and slipping it onto his cock. He's already so thick that it's a tight fit, the soft tube slipping off a couple times before he finally stretches it enough so it can slide all the way on, pulling it down so his large head pokes out of the top. You clench involuntarily.

"Umm. That's not gonna fit."

"Sure it will, honey," he drawls. "Didn't think you could take that pretty little pink plug, right? And look at ya now."

He's got a point.

"Gonna stuff that little slot full to the brim and turn ya into a size queen. Open wide, baby."

He's merciless as he slides back inside, at a curved angle since you're turned slightly to brace both your hands against the back of the sofa. The extender is smooth and feels just like his skin, and you're powerless to resist the incredible feeling of the extra width. He was exactly right: you felt full. With the thick pressure in your cunt pushing against the plug in your ass, you felt more stuffed than you ever had in your life, and what's more your pussy is still burning from the menthol balm. It was overwhelming but also glorious. In that second you knew it would be impossible not to think of Joel next time your husband fucked you, even if he wore this toy. Stupid sexy blackmailing mailman.

Baby animals had more stability in their legs than you do right now, your thighs spasming uncontrollably as Joel palms the vibe around your clit while holding almost half your waist in the span of his other large paw. He fucks into you hard from behind until you're so close to coming you can taste it. With the extender, his cock is hitting spots inside you that you didn't even know you had. A heavy chain pops out of the neck of his polo shirt and hits your nape with a loud clank as he slams into you from behind, the cheap poly-rayon blend of his polo shirt chafing your shoulders in a delicious burn as his chest presses close against your back and his hips smack against your ass, jostling the butt plug with every thrust.

whirrrrrr goes the finger vibe as the tiny cheap battery dies, and he slaps your clit hard with the vibe one, two, three times and you come, yelling for the nth time since he left his bootprints on your welcome mat that morning. His grunts are loud and lewd as he fucks you through it, easing up only to make his thrusts shallower so he can reach a hand between you and gently pull out the butt plug with a little 'pop'. He tosses it and the finger vibe onto your pristine off-white carpet, not even bothering to aim for the opened box on the coffee table.

"So fuckin' tight," he wheezes hoarsely, "I gotta extra big load for ya," and he presses his hips so hard against your ass that you almost fall over the sofa arm, his voice faltering as he groans and you feel hot spurts of his come coating the inside of your pussy, as deep as he can put it.

You slump forward onto the sofa and he pulls out, both of you heaving. The fiery balm has mellowed to a gentle tingle and your core is pleasantly warm. Stretched out. Fucked out.

"Welp, gotta get back to my route." It's been only a minute and his matter-of-fact conversational tone has already returned. You peer over your shoulder and watch him pull his shorts back on, rolling up the hems and slicking his belt back into the loops, tucking his polo shirt back in with practiced efficiency.

"Will I see you again?" You hate how pathetic you sound, and you must be a real sight too, half naked with a sweaty rolled-up sundress stuck to your back, your ass still up in the air like you're waiting for him to stick it right back in and rail you again immediately.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll be seein' each other again real soon," he says smoothly.

As you stand up, knees a little weak, a drop of cum drips down your thighs. "Glad I'm on the pill," you mutter to yourself as you pat down your wrinkled sundress and pause at the mess of packaging and boxes littering your sitting room.

"About that, darlin'." Joel smiles, pausing by your front door. "Miz Perkins over on Pine Street orders sugar pills and well, you know, packages get mixed up sometimes on the route. Might wanna check you got the right pills."

Joel slams the door and the mail slot squeaks rhythmically as you stand there, horrified, listening to him whistle a jaunty tune as he walks down your driveway and back to his mail route.

[willowsnook]

I see you (pt. 1)

max verstappen x reader

summary: the reader is living life as if it were a giant checklist to get through. Max is the only one who really sees through her facade and makes her question if this is the life that she really wants

—————————————————

18: graduate high school

22: graduate college with a business degree and land your first job

23: meet the love of your life

25: get married

28: move to the suburbs

30: have kids

A 5-year plan hated to see you coming. You had been this way your whole life, always planning ahead for the future. Your parents used to laugh when you'd lay out your life plan for them, tussling your hair and telling you that life doesn't always work out exactly how you think it will. But now, at 24, it had.

Living in Monaco was a dream, and you were thankful that you landed the job that brought you to the beautiful country. You moved over two years ago and now shared an apartment with your boyfriend, Sam, whom you met when, you guessed it, you were 23.

Your life was perfect. You had a job that paid you well, a boyfriend who loved you, and good structure. You woke up at the same time every morning to run, eat a healthy breakfast, and read for 30 minutes. Your night routine was just as structured. Everything was exactly as it was supposed to be, at least that's what you told yourself.

"Hey, I have to run to make this meeting, but I'll see you tonight, yeah?" Sam asked as he grabbed his backpack off the hallway floor, kissing your cheek as he headed out the door.

"Okay," you replied, but he was already gone, so you turned your attention back to the lunch you were packing for yourself. Your phone pinged and you looked at it to see a text from your brother, asking if you were interested in going to the Monaco GP with him this weekend. You liked going to the races, mainly because, thanks to your brother's best friend, you always had VIP passes. Your brother met Max while karting growing up, and the two stayed friends even when your brother fell out of it. Max was friendly, but he had always made you nervous; it was like when he looked at you, he was looking into your soul.

You told your brother that you could and then shot Sam a quick message letting him know even though he was going to be out of town for the weekend. The morning at work went by quickly, and you were in the cafeteria eating lunch with some of your coworkers, one of whom had just gotten back from her honeymoon.

"Oh my gosh, it was amazing," she gushed. "It was so us, just a little cabin in the mountains."

"What kind of things did you do?" You asked, and she thought for a second before answering.

"Honestly, not a lot. We kind of just hung out together and talked for like four days straight. I don't want to get too cringey with you guys, but the happiness and love I feel knowing that this is who I get to spend the rest of my life with is something I can't even describe. " Your coworker was getting a little emotional talking about her new husband, and you frowned. You couldn't really ever imagine yourself talking about Sam like this.

Sure, you loved him, but did he set your heart on fire? No, but you didn't really believe that was possible; it was just a sentiment made up for romance novels. Sam was stable. He had a good job, a good family, and similar goals. You had different interests, but the important things were the same, and you valued that. He made your life comfortable, which you appreciated.

As your coworker continued speaking, you felt yourself start to get lost in thought. Could you truly love someone so much that they become your entire world? Despite trying to push them away, the doubts and questions that have been lingering in your mind for the past couple of months began to resurface. Were you settling? Were you truly happy?

Your mind was stuck on that topic as you headed home, and you frowned when you finally made it back and saw a note on the counter.

Going to be working late, sorry xo -Sam

This was not unusual. He often was caught up working late hours, but that was the price of success, was it not? Sam was on his way to becoming a partner at a law firm in the city and would not let anything get in the way of that, which was something you admired when you first met him.

The two of you met at a networking event and hit it off, both having moved here from the US after college. You found him insanely attractive, especially the way he took control of any room he was in. He liked that you weren't interested in being arm candy, were focused on your career, and had the ambition to move up in the world.

But as much as you wished you were, you didn't feel like you were that person anymore. To be honest, it felt like you were drowning.

—————————————————————

You loved race weekends in Monaco; they made you nostalgic about your youth, when you spent countless weekends at the track with your brother during your school breaks. Moving through the paddock, you said hello to some friends before spying your brother outside of the Red Bull garage, talking to Max.

"Y/n," he called, waving over to you. You smiled widely, moving into his arms, happy to be reunited. He lives in Milan now, so you don't see him as often as you would like.

"Hi, Max," you greeted the Dutchman, and your eyes met his, twinkling with amusement.

"Little y/l/n," he teased, pulling you into his side. "You know it's crazy to me that we never run into each other."

"She's too busy working all hours of the day," your brother responded, and you rolled your eyes, giving him an annoyed look.

"You are also gone most of the year," you pointed out to Max, and he shrugged.

"How is work, by the way?" your brother asked, and you launched into your overused answer about it going well and that you were excited about the growth coming. He seemed to accept that, but you noticed Max giving you a look, like he almost didn't quite believe you, but he didn't say anything.

Max got pulled away by his team, so you followed your brother into the hospitality area, picking up a plate to get some food.

"Sam didn't want to come?" He asked casually.

"He's on work travel," you told him and he didn't say anything. You knew he didn't like Sam, but you could never really figure out why. "When will you finally tell me why you don't like him?"

"I don't not like him," he said. "I just am not sure I like him for you."

You felt a twinge of irritation at your brother's words. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He sighed, setting down his plate. "Look, I know you've always had this plan for your life. And on paper, Sam fits into that perfectly. But Y/N, when I see you two together... I don't know. There's just something missing."

You opened your mouth to argue but found you couldn't form the words. Your brother's observation hit too close to the doubts you'd been having lately.

"I just want you to be happy, truly happy," he continued softly. "Not just checking boxes off a list."

You stared down at your plate, appetite gone. "I am happy," you mumbled, but the words felt hollow even to your own ears.

Just then, Max reappeared, breaking the tension. "Sorry about that," he said, grabbing a drink from the machine beside you. "You guys should watch from the garage."

Your brother perked up, shooting Max a grateful look. "We would love that."

Admittedly, you were excited to watch from down there. You always wanted to be where the action was, especially when it came to racing. Ever since you were a girl, sports has been your biggest passion in life, even beyond racing. Being from the US, football and baseball had a special place in your heart, and even now, you stay up very, very late to watch your favorite teams. In another life, you knew that you'd have found some kind of job that let you be involved in the industry, but that wasn't how the cards fell in this one.

The race began, and you were instantly swept up by the electric energy of the bustling garage. The scent of gasoline and rubber hung heavy in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of exhaust fumes. Engines roared to life, and tires screeched as cars whizzed by in a blur of color. It was a symphony of sound and motion, each revving engine adding its own distinct note. As you watched in awe, your heart raced along with the cars on the track, feeling alive in this thrilling moment.

Cheering along with everyone you watched Max take another win and you joined your brother to watch the podium ceremony. You were smiling widely as the Dutch anthem played, and Max found your eyes in the crowd, shooting you a wink.

———————————————————————-

Rather than going out, Max wanted to celebrate his win by hosting in his Monaco penthouse. His home was crowded with Redbull employees, the grid, and their friends who wanted to come. You were enjoying yourself, bouncing around and talking to different people you knew from the old days. You were glad to relax for once. After a while, you started to hit a wall and found yourself stepping out on the balcony to get some fresh air, gazing at the cityscape.

The door opened behind you, and you felt another presence join you at the railing. A blanket was gently laid over your shoulders, and you turned, smiling gratefully to Max as he gave you a soft smile back. His eyes looked at you in a way that made you shiver; you felt like you were naked under his gaze. Turning back to the view, you sighed.

"Do you ever wish things could be different?" You asked, surprising even yourself.

Max stood there in thought before answering, "I don't think so. I'm doing everything I've always wanted to, and if I wanted to stop, I would. I thought you had everything that was part of your grand plan?"

You smiled, thinking about your nine-year-old self had even informed Max of what your life was going to look like. "I do."

"I haven't seen you look as you did today when I was on the podium in a long time," he said, and you turned back to him.

"Like what?"

"Like you were happy," he said softly, scanning your face for a reaction, but you felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over you.

"That's not true," you said weakly, and his gaze bore into yours.

"I see you y/n. I see how you look at your boyfriend like he's what you got in a business transaction. How you look at your job like it's the prize for steadfast loyalty. It's like you're a side character in your own life"

You started to get angry with him for calling you out so bluntly.

"You don't know me, Max," you disputed. He chuckled humorlessly, looking back over the railing.

"Maybe not," Max conceded, his voice softening. "But I remember the girl who used to light up at the track, who couldn't stop talking about sports stats, who dreamed of being a sports journalist. What happened to her?"

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes as memories flooded back—the thrill of live games, the joy of analyzing plays, the excitement of crafting stories about athletes and their journeys. When had you let that passion slip away?

"She grew up," you whispered, but even to your own ears, it sounded unconvincing.

Max turned to face you fully, his blue eyes intense. "Did she? Or did she convince herself that growing up meant giving up on what made her happy?"

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came out. Deep down, you knew he was right, so you simply turned around and left—left the balcony, left the party, left to get away from the storm of emotions coursing through you.

[transit-fag]

Fun fact, you could fit 100k people in one suburb of Cincinnati by increasing the density to match a different suburb of Cincinnati

Bellevue, KY

The City of the village of Indian Hill, it's actual name

If you put the population density of Bellevue into Indian Hill, you could fit 115k people, and Bellevue isn't Insanely dense, it's mostly SFH and has a giant parking lot and some forested areas still