#Modest Media Review

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A curious man wanders into your dress shop with a lot of questions.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (Cavill)

Note: I hope you all enjoy this random idea.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

One hand guides the fabric as the other turns the wheel. Your work is slow but steady, every stitch perfect, every seam precise. Your fare may be modest and your product simple, but its quality cannot be contested. Your labour as yourself is honest and plain.

The noise of the machine is your only company. The one-room shop nestled behind the butcher’s rarely sees a customer through its door. Instead, the orders are sent from the factories, returned with the printed adverts you disperse outside their doors. The writs are sent along with an envelope of pence and shilling and you complete each with equal diligence before sending them back bundled in paper and twine.

The operation isn’t especially fruitful but the profit is enough to subsist. Enough to guarantee your independence; a small apartment just above and a pot of stew to last you through each week. This humble existence is preferable to any marriage you’ve witnessed. 

The letters from your sisters reaffirm your spinster’s fate. You’d rather a hand wheel and a needle than a brood and broken back. A husband seems to provide several jobs at once, you’ll happily settle for one.

As your hands work from memory and your head wanders from tedium, the bell above the door gives a single sharp toll. You ease the wheel to a halt and leave the seam unfinished. You peer up above the black iron machine, reminding yourself to fix your hunch as a client enters. You can’t but wonder if he may have come to the wrong shop.

By his attire, he is a class above the factory women who require gray skirts and simple stays. His waistcoat is embroidered and his jacket is pressed and clean. He is tall, locks part tidily so his curls lay gracefully. His face is fresh-shaven, square jaw with a cleft, and shoulders broad and strong. He does not share the same sinewy gauntness as the labourers with the coal-dusted noses.

He carries a fine leather bag. Another clue to his status. His shoes, another. Polished and without creases.

You stand to greet him, “good afternoon, sir. Might I help you with something?”

His answer is not prompt. He takes in the finished dresses hung by the east wall and turns to examine the rolls of wool and cotton. At last, he returns his attention to you.

“Afternoon,” his deep timbre fills the small space, “you are the dressmaker.”

It isn’t a question, but you answer, “I am.”

He narrows his eyes as he approaches your desk, the sole fixture in the space. From without, the shop is just as bare. The blackened windows offer not insight into the business, its only suggestion the sign hung above the door, though the paint requires a fresh coat.

“And the shop owner?”

“That is me as well, sir,” you assert. The presumption is not uncommon.

“Ah,” he accepts your explanation without comment, “so, you will have sewn this.”

He puts his bag on the desk, nearly knocking your shears from the corner. You try not to flinch as they teeter near the edge and he pulls open the top of the leather bag. He pulls out a swath of grey. You recognise it and he rolls the cuff to show your initials sewn within.

“Sir,” you say precariously, “is there some issue with it? Is it your wife’s dress?”

“Wife? No, no,” he dismisses, feeling the fabric between his fingers, “rather I am in search of the dress’s owner. The initial must belong to them, yes? So you would have a name for the buyer.”

“Mm, no, those are mine,” you point at the letters, “as it is my handiwork.”

“That makes sense,” he frowns in disappointment. “So you wouldn’t know who would wear it?”

You rub your chapped lips together. You find your tongue sliding over them often when you work, turning them raw with the habit. The man’s lips are rosy and smooth, as well-kempt as the rest of him. He is no factory worker’s husband.

“I might… would you take it out?” You ask.

He obliges as you pluck up the metal cylinder from your desk and unfurl the tape measure from within. He shakes out the dress, holding it by the shoulders to reveal salt stains along the skirts and unleashing a dingy smell in the shop. You wiggle your nose at the stench but worse roils in from the butcher’s on hot days.

You take the measure of the sleeves and the waist, then to the hem. You scribble the numbers on a scrap and take that to compare with your ledger. The measurements are in now way defining but might narrow it down. He keeps the dress aloft and you return to him to check the thread along the seams. A few months ago, you changed the thickness as the factory workers complained of splits under the arms.

“Hm, it is a recent purchase,” you assure him and return to the ledge. 

He lowers the dress and approaches. You snap the book closed and turn your face up to consider him once more, “why do you need to know, if it is not your wife?”

“You are very discerning,” he remarks as he folds the dress and drapes it over his bag, “I’m certain then you can surmise the woman who wore this dress did not meet a kind fate.” He tugs up the hem and shows a tear trimmed in scarlet, the colour not obvious from a distance. “Holmes, Sherlock Holmes. I’m a detective and I’m trying to identify a poor woman found not far from here. I believe it is in your own interest that I discover her assailant.”

“I cannot say for certain which she is,” you turn over the scrap and re-open the ledger. You write down three names which match the measurements and hold the paper out to him. He takes it, his thick fingertips brushing yours. “Those are the ones which align with the dress.”

“Mm,” he hums as he tucks the paper into his chest pocket, “and your name? I couldn’t make it out on the sign.”

You recite your name flatly, “it isn’t on the sign.”

“It requires new paint,” he admonishes, “I could hardly find you.”

“I am aware,” you reply. “Thank you for noting.”

He’s quiet, “being a detective, however, I did indeed put together the clues.”

Is he making a joke? You cannot tell. He folds up the dress completely and puts it back in the leather bag. The smell persists.

“What are you prices?” He asks abruptly.

“Sir, I sew dresses for factory women, sometimes a few communion pieces, but I’m afraid I don’t do much suit work.”

“My sister requires a dress,” he sniffs, “as simple as it is, I can see your work is fine.”

“I have only wools and cottons,” you counter.

“Do you always turn away business?” He challenges.

“I wasn’t, sir, I’m only clarifying what I currently do. My prices are set for those fabrics,” you explain.

“I will pay for the muslin and velvet,” he waves his hand staunchly, “you will be paid for your labour. Can you sew with more than wool and cotton?”

“I can, sir, but you could find a ready-made dress in a market boutique if the dress is required promptly.”

“I can afford the time and coin,” he insists. “You are not a talented advertiser, are you?”

You’re taken aback by his bluntness. Often, his ilk have that demeanour. It’s why you’d rather the factory workers and the fish sellers’ wives.

“I suppose not,” you agree, “I would need measurements before I begin. You may send the numbers along with the fabric, then. And I would require a style. Perhaps your sister is a purveyor of fashion magazines?”

“I will send a messenger,” he shrugs. “Thank you for your time. I shan't get in your way any longer.”

“Good day, sir.”

“Good day to you,” he takes the bag from your desk and the shears fall to the floor with a clatter.

You skirt around to grab them as he bends and swipes them up first. You recoil as he closes the blades with a snap. He examines them before placing them back on the desk.

“Apologies,” he says, “and miss,” he looks at you, “take to heart what I’ve told you today. Keep away from the allies and perhaps you may consider locking your door.”

“Thank you, sir, your concern is appreciated.”

“Rather you might just keep those close, eh,” he points to the shears and his cheek dimples.

Again, you can’t be certain of his humour. You keep a placid expression, neither smiling nor scowling. He clears his throat and runs his hand down his jacket, gripping the lapel.

“Very well then, I’ll be off.”

He turns on his heel and marches to the door. You stay by the desk as the bell rings with his departure. Once the door closes, you cross the shop. You turn the lock into place, his foreboding lingering with the stale scent of dirty water.

🪡

Despite the unusual visit, your days roll on like a hand on a clock. The thought of the woman’s tragic fate looms like a shadow but fades. You have too much stitching to do to fret over that man and his ominous words. You assume his interest in your work thereafter was wholly feigned as he does not return.

That day, you pass off six parcels to Eustace, the driver who takes them down to the stacks to hand off to the floor bosses who will parse them out to the women they’ve been cut for. You pay him his toll before he climbs back into the seat of his cart, his horse kicking impatiently.

“Excuse me, sir,” another driver clops up along the other side of the street, a narrow squeeze between the slanting buildings. “I’m in search of a dressmaker. I believe the store is tucked behind the butcher’s and…” the man’s voice drifts off as his eyes flit to the meat sellers marquee.

“Right here, good sir,” Eustace responds, “wouldn’t ya know, she’s right here.”

You lift your chin to see past the cart and spy the driver. He removes his cap as his gaze meets yours. Eustache dips his chin as he adjusts his own hat and snaps his old mare into a canter. As you're left alone with the carriage driver, a vehicle rather lofty for a block like this, you fold your hands behind you.

“Sir, you hardly look in need of a work woman’s dress,” you say.

“Miss,” he ties the reins off and jumps down from his seat, “I am sent for you, not a dress.”

“For me?” You echo.

“Mr. Holmes has sent,” he crosses the muck and nearly slips. “He said he made an appointment for a seamstress.”

“An appointment? I wasn’t informed of the time,” you rebuff. “I’ve a shop to run, orders paid for. I can’t simply leave.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Holmes made mention of a fee,” the man feels around his striped coat, “he said a deposit would be needed.”

He takes out a brown envelope and hands it over. You take it, a small weight within. You look at the driver before you pull back the flap and peek inside. A large gold sovereign sits in the corner of the paper; a whole pound. That’s at least three days work.

You hold your breath, trying to maintain some composure. If that’s the deposit, what is he offering for the rest? You slip out the folded paper within, a page torn from a fashion journal. The dress is elegant if not extravagant. You don’t often do off-the-shoulder or ruffles like that but it isn’t beyond your skill.

You fold the flap closed again and lift your chin to face the driver, “I must lock up, you see?”

“Take your time, miss,” he says kindly. “Mr. Holmes isn’t expecting you to hurry.”

“Thank you, sir,” you bow your head and turn away.

You measure your steps along the facade of the butcher’s shop and curl around to the alleyway. You let yourself into your shop and tuck the envelope into your apron pocket. You take your sewing bag from under the desk and shake off the dust. You don’t often have reason to use it.

You open it up and pack away your shears, a measuring tape, pins with a cushion, your notebook, and a few other bits and bobs. Just in case. You grab a role of linen from against the wall. It’s heavy but you can manage.

You take the key from your desk drawer and switch off the overhead light. You lock the door and continue back out to the street. The driver puffs smoke from a pipe as he waits.

“Miss, allow me,” he snuffs out the pipe and puts it in his pocket. He nears and reaches for the roll of linen.

“It’s quite alright, sir,” you say.

“I insist, miss, can’t have a lady doing all that,” he takes it, not forcefully, and you let him.

As he goes to the carriage and opens the door, you give pause. You don’t know if you should be so easily swayed on a gold coin. Mr. Holmes hadn’t been entirely pleasant and you do prefer your simple work. Still, you can hardly turn your nose up at a pound. Not with the summer fizzling to a finale.

You lift your skirts and cross the street to the open carriage, “sir, might I have a name?”

“Gavin,” he answers, “and I have yours. Mr. Holmes made sure of it.”

“Yes, very good,” you say as you approach, another sliver of doubt trickling through. Mr. Holmes claimed to be a detective but is that really the reason he was strolling around with a dead woman’s dress? You gulp and look at Gavin then the carriage, “might I keep the window open?”

“Surely you can,” he agrees amiably. “Mr. Holmes lives quite a ways, shouldn’t mind the air. I’ll be certain to stay away from the stacks.”

“Thank you, sir,” you accept his proffered hand and he helps you up into the carriage. 

You settle on the bench as the door shuts and you open the window from within. You lean back, your hand grasping the top of your bag. You unclasp it as you feel Gavin climb up on the driver’s seat. You dip your hand inside and clutch your long shears.

You don’t forget all of what Mr. Holmes said.

[ihaveforgortoomany]

Veryyy general look at the Story Chapters (Books? Wait genuine question are we calling the main story Books or Chapters?) and the Books / media they are based on (Global only)

(I think someone has done this already?)

Prologue: This is Tomorrow - quick search seems that the title is a reference to the 1956 London Art Exhibition that opened in the Whitechapel Art Gallery and considered a watershed in British post-art and kick starting the art movement of "Pop Art" (see the effects of the Storm having comic book like attributes)

(Richard Hamilton was a painter famous for Pop Art and had a work in that exhibition so it checks out)

Book One: In Our Time - based on a collection of short stories of the same name by Hemingway. these are stories about before, during and after WW1. The stories have a general theme of separation, loss, death, grief and alienation. (Potentially allusions to Druvis maybe?)

Book Two: Tender is the Night - this is the final completed book by Scot Fitzgerald (who wrote the Great Gatsby and referred in the beginning quote of the game) and is a tragedy that follows the deterioration of a married couple that reflects Fitzgerald's own troubled relationship with his wife who Schneider's design greatly references. (The couple in the Book either inspire Druvis and FMN's relationship or Vertin and Schneider's relationship)

Book Three: Nouvelles et Textes pour Rien. (Translation is 'Stories and Texts for Nothing') - Again a collection of stories by Samuel Beckett. Seems to be lesser known, heres from Wikipedia "All three stories deal with the deplacement or expulsion of three old men who are forced to leave their modest lives in search of a new niche they might fit" (the SPDM kids desire to learn more about themselves and the outside world)

Book Four: EL ORO DE LOS TIGRES (Translation "the Gold of Tigers") - this is even harder to find stuff on and in English,An allegoric analysis of the contemporary juvenile reality. A review of the movie based on the book- "Inspired by a J.L.Borges' collection of poems, the story recounts the survey of an individual conscience by three young men, surrounded by the nihilism of a society with a hopelessly urban future" ( the struggle between Madam Z and the suitcase fam against the oppressive Foundation maybe?)

Book Five: Prisoner in the Cave - Based on Plato's allegory of the cave

Book Six: E Lucevan le stelle (Translation "the stars are shining") based on the opera of Tosca by Giacomo Puccini in 1900, the title is a direct reference to an aria sung in the Third Act which Isolde also sings parts of.

[kolbisneat]

MONTHLY MEDIA: August 2024

The days are getting shorter and the nights are getting cooler. The summer is waning. But the monthly media posts carry on. Here's how I spent the month of August.

……….FILM……….

Wendell & Wild (2022) I don't want this to be one of the last major stop-motion film to ever be made, but the filmmakers put so many stories into this that I wonder if they thought this was their last shot. Essentially a 12-course meal from a great restaurant: the accomplishment is impressive but the whole is overstuffed and some of the smaller portions were undercooked.

Love Lies Bleeding (2024) The lightly surreal elements of the movie were great, but there's a point late in the story when that surreality kills all of the momentum.

Spice World (1997) Still holds up.

Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves (2023) Still amazed at how well this pulls off what it seeks to do. But maybe I'm biased because I love practical effects, puppets, and action scenes that serve the narrative. We may not get another D&D movie but I'm glad we have this one.

Deadpool & Wolverine (2024) Based on other live-action multiverses, I went in with modest expectations, and this was a pleasant surprise. Maybe it's because it continues to do what Deadpool does well. Thoroughly entertaining in the moment.

……….TELEVISION……….

Neon Genesis Evangelion (Episode 1.14 to 1.20) It's been a couple of years since I stopped watching (mid season!) but luckily one of the episodes was essentially a recap of what's happened so far. Really ramping up in the abstract and the philosophical and I'm a big fan. These kids are meeeeeeeessed up.

Made for Love (Episode 2.01 to 2.08) I only really caught the first season in pieces but I knew enough going into this season that it really clicked! It hit me the same way early Black Mirror episodes felt, only with more humour, depth, and nuance. It's a real shame there's no plans for season 3.

……….YOUTUBE……….

I think this will be a Short Video by Matthew Colville A really great reflection on making art in the social age, the algorithm, communities/audiences, and how these can clash with the natural impulses of creativity. VIDEO

I'm What the Culture Feeling (The full story of Kendrick Vs. Drake) by F.D. Signifier Almost 3.5 hours but for someone like me (who knows next to nothing of this world, these artists, or this conflict) it expertly breaks it all down to paint a complete picture. Really great watch. VIDEO

……….READING……….

Cards On the Table by Agatha Christie (Complete) Top-tier Christie. The premise is so fun, and while I know the multiple detectives appear in other stories, it's a nice introduction to these characters. This book made me want to learn how to play Bridge.

The People of the Black Circle and A Witch Shall Be Born by Robert E. Howard (Complete) I have this collection of Conan stories and after a years-long break, decided to read a few more. Both great! The latter puts Conan in an almost supporting role and it's fun to see him take on a secondary role to the story. Keeps it interesting. And the former is such a classic pulp story (cults, magic clothing, a giant snake) that I can't help but love it.

Delicious in Dungeon Volume 14 by Ryoko Kui (Complete) It's been a 6-year-long journey for me and while I couldn't be happier with how it ended, I'm sad that it's over. Still so impressed with how well it stuck the landing for me. Do I wish there was more of a wind-down with these characters? Sure. But I really respect an artist who knows what they want to say/do and says/does it. Very excited to see what Ryoko does next.

Hellboy Library Volume 1 by Mike Mignola with John Byrne (Complete) Without being hyperbolic, this is one of my favourite contributions to the craft. So confident and fully-formed right out of the gate. Excited to reread this series.

……….AUDIO……….

The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess by Chappel Roan (2023) Technically I started listening to this at the end of July. I saw a positive review, figured I'd check it out, and it felt like that was at the same time everyone else in the world was talking about her. Love an album with such a focused perspective.

Currents by Tame Impala (2015) In recent years I've been really enjoying Tame Impala's one-off songs (Barbie and Dungeons & Dragons soundtracks, their collaboration with Gorillaz, etc.) so I figured I'd really dig into this album. Easy to listen to both casually in the background and with a magnifying glass just pouring over the lyrics. Love it.

……….GAMING……….

Neverland: A Fantasy Role-Playing Setting (Andrews McMeel Publishing) Only got a few sessions in this month but the crew is still reassembling the skeletal pirate they trashed years (real time) ago. Now they're about to face a big electric centipede to recover his legs.

Oz: A Fantasy Role-Playing Setting (Andrews McMeel Publishing) The Mof1 crew split the party and one half casually shopped and planned while the other half discovered a secret testing facility full of captured magic-users.

Wonderland: A Fantasy Role-Playing Setting (Andrews McMeel Publishing) We got in a single session of Wonderland and it was a small party but a lot of fun! Also the first true character death of our playtesters. Luckily we had backup characters though character 2 ended the session losing their arm. Hey that's Wonderland.

And that's it. See you in September!

[patricia-taxxon]

I got the rateyourmusic cosign & my mom is a goodreads star, so we both enjoy being falsely perceived as famous or notable when we really just have modest followings on social medias that present themselves as review aggregation services.

[centuries-of-thoughts]

A While-Reading Review:

The Secret Life of Groceries

By Benjamin Lorr

Part 1

At the 1956 International Food Congress in Rome […]the USDA set up an “American way exhibit.” It featured the first fully stocked supermarket outside of the United States. This was a modest staging, designed more for easy assembly and dismantling. It held a mere 2,500 brands, a few packaged meats in a lone refrigerated case, and a small selection of prepared food. When the exhibit opened, and crowds finally entered, the Italian women went berserk. One notable enthusiast began running up and down the aisles shouting, “It must be heaven…There are mountains of food!” Press reports described others as standing “stunned,” “goggle eyed,” “bewildered,” and “shrieking with surprise and envy.”

This was not media hype. Pope Pius XII himself weighed in, announcing his blessing from the Holy See. (Page 36)

I’ve never knew how much the grocery store is such an American thing. It could’ve only flourished and happen in America, originally. It as a normal way of life solidified before World War II, and by the 1950’s it became a social fact, just how you shop for food. This oversimplified summary is full of examples: 7/11’s start in the 1920’s, the rise of Piggly Wiggly’s (with It’s GameStop meme shorting story), and building a store so big it covers an entire square foot. While the world lost its minds over a very little mock grocery store in 1956, we were already living in Costco size stores.

So how did we get here? What in our mind causes the supermarket? It doesn’t answer it, if anything, its whole argument relies off of your familiarity with the American and the introduction of Joe Coulombe, the Trader Joe.

How Joe survived the corporate super market area of the 1956’s is nothing more than the true rebirth of American entrepreneurism. No truly, look up his theory papers: he combined the design philosophy of the Boeing 747 (newly released), targeting educated, but poor, GI Bill college students, and purchasing as self-expression. This was revolutionary in the sense that he had enough disposable, advent-grade, intellect that read the symbolism of America and pointed it towards his stores. He did everything, EVERYTHING, himself. He read laws to undermine industry norms and created new trends and cravings. He took risks and every tenth experiment hit, but it is nothing like our Trader Joe’s, he sold it and is run by someone else now.

This is a fantastic introduction into the mirror that is the American mind that became engrossed in the image and likeness of the supermarket. When you hear of the haphazardness, the care, and the expense that created our modern grocery stores, it is truly only down hill from here.

[ogradyfilm]

Recently Viewed - Tokyo: The Last War

Like many a follow-up to a bona fide cult classic, Tokyo: The Last War (sequel to Tokyo: The Last Megalopolis) is widely considered to be inferior to its predecessor; the reviews that I’d read online were almost universally negative, dismissing it as overly derivative of trashy, formulaic, uninspired American slasher flicks (the later entries in the Nightmare on Elm Street franchise serving as a particularly reductive, unflattering point of comparison). This unenthusiastic reception failed to deter me from purchasing a copy of Media Blasters’ recent Blu-ray release (under the alternative title of Doomed Megalopolis 2) at this year’s Anime NYC convention, of course—and the official beginning of the Spooky Season seemed an appropriate occasion to finally give the disc a spin.

To the surprise of nobody familiar with my easily pleased cinematic palate, I disagree with the critical consensus. Despite its obviously lean budget—which necessitates a less sprawling cast and more modest special effects than the preceding film—The Last War still manages to feel ambitious within its relative limitations. Indeed, I’d even argue that the narrower narrative focus lends the plot a greater degree of urgency and momentum; it is, after all, significantly easier for the audience to become invested in a conflict that revolves around a small handful of genuinely sympathetic characters, as opposed to a bloated, unwieldy ensemble of vaguely sketched archetypes.

Additionally, it’s not as though the movie is lacking in visual flair; it is consistently as spectacular as it can afford to be. There’s an especially impressive sequence, for example, in which the nefarious Yasunori Kato (a role reprised by the inimitable Kyusaku Shimada, whose magnetic screen presence elevates every scene—including those in which he never physically appears) slaughters a group of soldiers in magnificently brutal fashion. One poor bastard is hoisted aloft by psychokinetic energy and slowly twisted in half at the waist; another is decapitated by flying debris, his headless corpse twitching and spasming for several seconds after the fact. The commanding officer, however, suffers the most gruesome demise: forced by supernatural means to clutch a live grenade, the man can do nothing but scream and flail in desperation until the explosive inevitably ignites, graphically (albeit not entirely convincingly) tearing him to shreds.

Ultimately, Tokyo: The Last War hardly deserves its less-than-stellar reputation; it’s perfectly enjoyable on its own merits. Sure, it veers closer to conventional horror than the series’ previous installment (which is best described as “epic urban fantasy”)—but as a fan of both genres, I find absolutely nothing wrong with that. Heck, in my opinion, this dramatic departure in tone and style only makes it more interesting. Not better, mind you—just compellingly different.

[hwauroras]

THROUGH THE INFINITE CANVASES OF YOU. (제3장)

pic sources in order left -> right: pinterest, pinterest, pinterest

wc ≈2.6k. unedited, mild cursing. painter!seonghwa x artstudent!reader (ft. musician!san, artstudent!wooyoung and artstudent!rockstar!hongjoong). written in two different perspectives - third person for seonghwa and second person for the reader. no massive genre yet - but this part expands more on wooyoung's journey as an artist. hongjoong jokes about wooyoung and the reader's friendship. hongjoong calls the reader "sweetheart" at the end. mentions of frozen yogurt - if you're lactose intolerant, it's dairy free.

“hyung hyung hyung, look at this!”

seonghwa tilted his head at the man on the couch, gently placing down the food he just ordered on the counter.

“what’s up?”

san quickly pointed to the article on his phone screen, his eyes wide with excitement. this album was by far his best, as well as his most famous.

when the release date for san’s album was approaching, anticipation and excitement flooded social media. the album had been kept relatively under wraps, with only the album cover and a few teaser images being released to the public.

while san wasn’t famous by any means - at least, not compared to most of his label mates, the curious and breathtaking nature of the album art caused a lot of intrigue and speculation. and when it was released, it seemed like san blew up overnight, peaking pretty high up in the music charts.

seonghwa peered at the article, his eyebrow raising slightly as his eyes scanned the words.

“oh, damn. seriously? aurora wrote a review?”

“yeah! and now they want to interview me. can you believe that? i’ve been reading that for ages. this is it, hyung. i’ve peaked.”

“oh really? you didn’t think you peaked when you reached a million streams? or when you gained an extra ten thousand followers, and then some? or when someone stopped us on the street for your autog—”

"hey, hey, that's not what i meant and you know it!” san interjected, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson. "i know those are all massive milestones i never thought were possible for me - but getting an interview with aurora is something else. you know i’ve bought basically every edition since their exclusive interview with kim hongjoong.”

seonghwa grinned, picking up a cushion and playfully hitting san with it.

“and you know i’m just messing with you. i know this is a big deal for you, and i couldn’t be prouder. you poured everything into this, i’ve seen the tears and coffee and red bull induced texts of borderline insanity. i’ve known you for ages san, you’re a true artist - it's incredible to see you finally getting the recognition you deserve."

“oh hyung, you’re being modest now. i couldn’t have done this without you. i mean, have you seen all the speculation around what the meaning of the cover could be? that’s why it went viral. are you sure you don’t want your name out there too? it’s your work after all.”

seonghwa fell silent.

on one hand, the exposure would be great for his business - which was stable, but he was still relatively unknown.

but on the other, how could he possibly betray his muse like that? he didn’t care if they were just a figment of his very deep imagination. to him, they were real. the emotions were real. profiting off of them just felt…wrong.

with a shaky breath, he managed to mutter out a gentle “i’m sure, san.”

san’s eyes softened as he watched the older male shift awkwardly. though a subtle gesture, san knew this was when seonghwa probably felt the most vulnerable.

"hey, it's alright, i understand. i wouldn't want you to compromise how you feel for anything, not even for me. they deserve to remain cherished and protected."

seonghwa’s shoulders visibly relaxed, causing san to smile warmly.

“thank you, san. i’m sorry. i know i must sound ridiculous.”

“don’t be like that. you’re not being ridiculous. i respect your decision and i want you to be comfortable. now - could you please pass me a smoothie? i think i need to cool down after all that excitement. i mean, my heart is still racing.”

seonghwa chuckled and retrieved the smoothies he ordered, handing one over to the younger. as san took a sip, he leaned back on the couch, his eyes fluttering closed as he let out a contented sigh.

“you know hyung, you've always been my first and biggest supporter. none of this would’ve happened if you weren’t there. and even if your name isn't in the spotlight, your influence and your art are all over my music. it’s you who helped me find my voice, both literally and metaphorically."

seonghwa playfully nudged san, who let out a small laugh at the action.

“oh san. i see you’re still practicing your humility for the interview.”

“hey,” san replied with a dramatic shrug, a glint of mischief in his eye. “no harm in getting ready, right? gotta give them something deep and profound.”

seonghwa shook his head, a fond smile on his lips.

“you’re a handful, you know that?”

“sure, but you love me anyway.”

“nah, your mom just dumped you in the sandbox i was in one day, and i’ve been stuck with you ever since.”

“oh yeah, the sandbox … that was one mean sandcastle, huh, hyung?”

~

“oh hell yeah, we were the real envy of the playground,” you couldn’t help but sarcastically remark as you peered at the picture in wooyoung’s hands.

wooyoung chuckled as he held up the old, slightly faded but intact photograph.

"you know it! that sandcastle was the talk of the playground for WEEKS."

the photo depicted a much younger version of the two of you - annoying little seven year old shits, as you had so eloquently worded it when wooyoung first presented the picture. you were both covered in sand and sporting proud expressions as you stood next to what was, admittedly, a creation very worthy of its praise - a giant mound of sand and some sticks. what really topped it off was the pretty pink shell you brought from home, after your moms took you both to the beach.

“you remember that shell, right?" wooyoung asked, a familiar twinkle in his eye.

you nodded, your own eyes glossing over with mischief.

“how could i forget, stupid? i was the one that found it, brought it to school and placed it ever so gently onto our masterpiece. i was a revolutionary. truly.”

"oh, for sure. and now you’re a top scoring art student. with such groundbreaking ideas like that, i’m not shocked.”

“well thank you, soon-to-be-industry-recognized photographer. seriously, what an amazing opportunity.”

you beamed at your best friend, your eyes and your heart filling with pride.

surprised by the sudden change of topic, wooyoung’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red.

“ah … thank you, y/n. i still can’t believe crescent wants me to be their photographer. i mean, i know it’s only for one edition, but … come on. this is choi san we’re talking about.”

“and i know you’ll do great. you were chosen for a reason, wooyoung. you don’t have any connections to the industry other than hongjoong, and you still got the job. that’s how you know that the reason is talent. pure, raw talent.”

"thanks, y/n. i’ll give it my all, just like that day in the sandbox."

you waved off his thanks with a flutter of your hand before reaching for his half-eaten frozen yogurt.

“that’s what friends are for, right? now, tell me more about this crescent gig, since you’ve been all vague about it lately. when’s the shoot? do you have any ideas for it yet? are you being paid like cha-ching or CHA-CHING? is it enough to buy froyo that’s better than this?”

wooyoung laughed at your rapid fire string of questions, shifting his position to face you more comfortably.

“let’s see … the shoot is in two weeks, yes i do, i’m being paid an undisclosed amount of money, and it may or may not be enough to buy froyo that’s better than that. but can i just say, i refuse to have you slander my choices. it’s the best flavor and you know it.”

“oh sweetie … i pity you for having such sad, tasteless tastebuds. but i can agree to disagree for the sake of my curiosity. what are your ideas?”

wooyoung took a moment to collect his thoughts before responding to your questions, stars shining in his eyes.

"well, for the shoot, i’ve been thinking of capturing san in his most candid moments. you know, those unguarded seconds when he’s lost in his music. the writing, the recording, the best, the melody. passion, emotion and vulnerability - i believe that's what makes his music so powerful. and luckily, with his look and aesthetic, i’m sure i could capture it in a way that exudes the sophistication and elegance crescent scouted me for.”

you listened intently as wooyoung described his vision. it was clear that he had put a lot of thought into it, and you couldn't help but be impressed by the confidence and passion that poured out of him as he spoke.

"that sounds incredible, woo," you replied, reaching out to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "i have no doubt that this will all turn out beautiful.”

“thanks, y/n-”

“i mean, san is such a fine man. he’d look good in any lighting, i bet. he probably doesn’t have bad taste in frozen yogurt either.”

wooyoung burst into laughter, your playful teasing and dismissal bringing back a familiar lightness to the conversation. he playfully nudged your shoulder, and you stuck your tongue out at him in response.

"you’re impossible, y/n. anyway, san’s very photogenic, so the shoot should be a breeze. and maybe, just maybe, i’ll consider trying a different flavor of frozen yogurt once we’re done - just so you can let it go.”

as you were about to respond to wooyoung’s comment (the audacity), a voice from behind you interrupted the conversation.

“alright, lovebirds? i thought i’d find you here.”

turning around in your chair, you observed the figure leaning against the doorframe.

hongjoong stared right back, the intensity of his heavily lined eyes almost piercing into your soul.

“no lovebirds here, hyung. just two best friends in a room.”

“oh yeah, sure,” hongjoong scoffed, his signature smirk creeping onto his face. “and let me guess, they might kiss?”

“no, we won’t.”

“boo, you’re no fun, wooyoung. alright, make way. i need to talk to you.”

the now bright red ponytailed man slinked over to the table, the chains on his flared pants making a jingling sound as he walked. he grabbed a chair and turned it around, plopping down onto it nonchalantly, using the back of the chair as an armrest for his distressed-sleeved arms.

“okay, that picture is so fucking cute, but- that’s besides the point. wooyoung. buddy. i’m gonna hit you with some bad news and then immediately replace it with good news. you ready?”

“lay it on me, hyung.”

“i spoke to the guys. and they’re not that interested in working with you to be honest. but you know who are? the hotshots over at lost island records.”

wooyoung’s eyes widened at hongjoong’s words, and a hand flew to your mouth. his curiosity piqued, your best friend leaned closer to the older man.

"lost island records? are you serious, hyung? how did you even manage to do that?”

“they have an email, dumbass. i just compiled some of the demos, and sent them in. they got back to me a couple of hours back, when i was working on a piece for the upcoming runway. i would’ve come earlier if i wasn’t being graded.”

“that’s … really huge. this is amazing, hyung! i’m at a loss for words, we’re going-”

“they only want you, wooyoung.”

wooyoung’s excitement shifted into a mix of confusion and surprise the moment the words left hongjoong’s lips. he blinked, processing the news, while you sat there, equally dumbfounded and trying to wrap your head around the very sudden and jarring turn of events.

lost island records, THE lost island records, a prestigious and famous music label known for its top-tier artists including choi san, was interested in art student jung wooyoung over up and coming artist kim hongjoong?

“w-wait, but … why only me, hyung? this doesn't make any sense. those are OUR demos. and YOU’RE the actual musician …”

“i don’t care for that label, to be honest. you’re a much better fit. so i just cut my parts out. they’re not our demos anymore, they’re yours.”

the classroom, which was empty except for the three of you and some easels, seemed to hang in suspense as hongjoong dropped this bombshell.

you watched the exchange, torn between excitement and concern for your best friend. hongjoong’s nonchalant, almost dismissive attitude toward the situation was baffling, and it took everything in you to not question him about it.

luckily, wooyoung finally found his voice again.

“hyung, i can’t do that. you did most of it, and i’m pretty clueless when it comes to music, compared to you. music is your life, i can't just leave you out of it.”

hongjoong offered a small smile, and lightly punched the younger on the arm.

“i’m almost offended you don’t seem to know that my dream isn't necessarily tied to a record label, wooyoung. it’s why i still do what i do and haven’t accepted any offers. trust me, i’ve had many. if i wanted that backing, i’d have it by now. i don’t care who hears it, i don’t care how many people hear it - as long as it resonates. i’m sure you’ll figure out how to-”

“i’m turning it down.”

wooyoung’s declaration hung heavy in the air and hongjoong, who had been so casual and nonchalant just mere moments ago, now stared at him with wide eyes - as if wooyoung were some kind of poltergeist.

"you’re turning it down?"

wooyoung nodded firmly, his expression determined and confident.

“yes. i’ve still got the photoshoot with crescent so it’s really no big deal. but if i’m making music, it’s with you. or with y/n, but like, that might not be the best idea unless i’m planning on making music that sounds like a dying whale.”

with your brain still buffering and in need of a full reset, you couldn’t think of a clever quip in time. so of course, you decided to settle for the only answer you were capable of mustering -

“fuck you.”

“aww, thank you! you’re an amazing friend too, y/n!”

the tension in the room seemed to completely evaporate as the banter between you returned, and hongjoong’s initial shock transformed back into his usual smirk as he leaned back in his chair, clearly very amused by the scene unfolding in front of him.

"wow, wooyoung," he added, "i am both shocked, and not at all. turning down an opportunity like this for the sake of loyalty. i knew you were the sappy one but i also thought you were supposed to be the rational one in this little friendship of ours.”

wooyoung, who was not the least bit bothered by the older’s jests, smiled warmly.

“oh don’t worry, i am. but, you know music is your passion, not mine. mine lies in photography, and i have an opportunity for that so not all is lost. i appreciate this, i really do, but i’d rather be true to myself, and create with the people who matter to me the most.”

hongjoong rolled his eyes dramatically, but there was an unmissable glint of respect and admiration in them.

“ugh, barf. you’re such a sentimental sap, wooyoung. it's kind of endearing. but … still gross.”

you couldn't help but laugh with them, relieved that the tension had all but disappeared. despite the unexpected turn of events, and despite how much you agreed with hongjoong, you were proud of your best friend for sticking to the morals you knew were very authentic and genuine.

shifting your focus to the pretty red haired man, you mirrored his expression and tapped his arm.

“hey, hongjoong. quick question.”

“go ahead, sweetheart.”

“what do you think of wooyoung’s frozen yogurt?”

“i swear y/n, if you don’t shut the damn hell up-”

~

TAGLIST: @hwalysm, @downbadreading, @joongs-moon

[dustedmagazine]

Marc Masters — High Bias: The Distorted History of the Cassette Tape (University of North Carolina Press)

There’s a popular theory, advanced with varying degrees of seriousness, that the best kind of music is whatever was released when you were about 16. There’s also a fairly well-known Brian Eno quotation about the way we tend to romanticize forms of media just as they fall out of currency, eventually becoming loved even for their shortcomings. One of the biggest strengths of Marc Masters’ High Bias, a new history of the compact cassette (as it was originally known), is that it refuses both the personally biased special pleading of the former and the possibly distorting format nostalgia of the latter. Instead Masters brings together a fascinating technical history of the creation, limits, and virtues of the cassette tape, an overview of some of the areas where the medium has been most richly used and adopted, and a reflection on its continued vitality.

That last aspect, which is reflected on throughout High Bias and forms the focus of the book’s last chapter, is one example of the balance Masters manages to strike. It would be easy to fall into a kind of strenuous insistence on the most optimistic vision of the cassette’s future, to tell us that it could or should regain a level of prominence it hasn’t seen in decades. But to do so would require a… selective choice of data, and would probably fall into a kind of “protesting too much” register for many readers. Masters instead has the confidence and knowledge of the actual current (vital, but subcultural) role of cassette tapes to make the more modest but resonant point that the ‘cassette revival,’ such as it is, is already with us and shows no signs of going away. And he both puts this in its proper, inspiring context and makes a persuasive case for its importance because of the book’s continual emphasis on the democratizing and personalizing aspects of cassette tape as a medium.

The opening chapters, which include relatively brief looks at the context of recording technology prior to and at the time of the cassette’s introduction, set the stage well. Masters doesn’t shy away from acknowledging the social, marketing and profit motives impinging on the development and success of the medium (and the sometimes panicked response of the music industry to it, “home taping is killing music” and all), and points out how those aren’t totally separable from the explosion in personal expression that tapes allow. From there, High Bias branches out, looking at various places and times cassettes have helped or even allowed particular peoples, scenes or genres to be heard and spread in ways other media haven’t managed. From Deadheads to the early days of hiphop, Awesome Tapes From Africa to some of the more extremely personal examples that sometimes overlap with those covered in Michael Tau’s recent Extreme Music (reviewed on Dusted here), this slim volume doesn’t pretend to be exhaustive but does manage to illuminate enough different areas most readers may find themselves surprised by at least one of the many little pockets Masters looks into.

The second-last chapter, “The Tape Makers,” may be where High Bias hits many of its intended audience in an even more personal place. Here the book shifts slightly from people making music onto, or then distributed via, cassette, and instead delves into the personal mixtape. The balance between creation and curation is never that clearcut, of course, and the chapter doesn’t pretend it is. But whereas after the cassette we have burned CDs and playlists, before the team at Philips first brought the compact cassette to the world there was simply no mass-available form that offered the particular form of expression that a mixtape does. As with the rest of High Bias, here Masters uses a blend of interviews, secondary sources and direct experience to convey the unique role and impact of the cassette, both in its historical moment and persisting into the current day.

It’s not that the cassette tape is a “better” medium than vinyl, CD, DAT, or saved or streamed digital files (what would “better” even mean in anything other than a subjective sense?), and it’s not that High Bias, despite its doubly accurate title (both a desired quality in a cassette and an implicit acknowledgment that this a very pro-tapes book), tries to make that claim. But Masters clearly had in his sights a compelling portrait of the strengths of the format, and what makes it different from those other media, and here he convincingly portrays it as a special and worthy one. He’s even set up a, well, mixtape for the book on Bandcamp (linked at the beginning of this review), 12 tracks all sourced from current tape labels he discusses in the book. Notably, you can buy that mix on a cassette.

Ian Mathers

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

upon his grace 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, bullying, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are called to court after the end of the civil war, but find yourself facing many challenges, expected and not. (fantasy medieval au)

Characters: king!Steve Rogers

Note: bro, Idk how I start at point A and get to fucking outer space. Also happy bday to Steverino.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The gardens of Astra Castle are unlike any you’ve seen before. Certainly, you’ve never been to a royal castle previously. Your father’s own hold is modest, still bearing the wooden foundation, whereas the rich lords have poured mortar and built in stone. 

So, it is a great honour to be among the noble women chosen to serve the queen. Most unexpected. As a daughter of a lower house, it is rather unusual, but it comes with the newly set writ tabled at the end of the uprising. That is how your father tells it anyhow. 

King Steven is as newly crowned as he is newlywed. After a lengthy revolt against the previous king, the land has settled, and upon his victory, the new ruler promises the expansion of prosperity to all. The very precedence of his war rested on the greed of the former court and its covetous lords. 

To those who took up his mantle, he has made good his word. To the commoners, he has sent bread and ale, livestock and alms; to the nobles, he has granted titles and lands. You were of the same doubt as your father, however, you expected to be forgotten in the disarray. 

Yet, you were not. You’re there with several other ladies. A set of blond twins borne of a duke and duchess, the sole heir of a widowed countess, and several earl’s daughters such as yourself. Unlike them, you do not wear satin or silk, not muslin either. You have only the dyed linen your mother attempted to enhance with some embroidery around the cuffs and collar. 

“Marcia and Marigold,” the twins introduce themselves as you cluster together in the gardens, grooms and servants bustling around carriages and chests. “Lady Calliope,” they call out the countess’ daughter, “we met prior, yes? Your mother is near Estrela.” 

“She is,” Calliope answers in her stern manner, herself seeming a widow in her black dress. The shimmery fabric makes up for its single tone. 

“Ameri, Dorida, and... Selene,” they point to the other girls, themselves clothed in scarlet, rose, and azure respectively. “We know the earls, your fathers. They gathered at our father’s hold for the battle near Caffre.” 

The twins take turns speak so that sometimes you cannot track whose lips are moving. It is even that they trade off in the middle of sentences. You find yourself almost as lost by their words as your new surroundings. 

“And you...” The twins turn their jade eyes upon you. It is there you have found the only difference in them; they have the same heights, the same hair, the same gowns even, but there is a sliver of grey through Marcia’s green iris. “We haven’t figured who you are.” 

“My father is an earl. In Woodsdam.” 

“Woodsdam,” they echo in unison and share a look. They are perplexed. 

“A minor house,” Calliope provides. “a farmer more than a noble, if I’m not mistaken.” 

“We have vast lands and we tend to them, yes,” you assure. You expect their condescension. Your father warned you for it but he bid that you keep your chin up. The king has given him a mission of his own and so you will represent the family for the time. “We keep our people well and we fed the king’s troops when they marched." 

“Mm, sounds very... common,” Marigold grins and her sister snorts into her hand. 

“We know many lords like us, yes. They work hard amidst their vassals. It keeps the lands strong so that we may better serve the crown,” you return evenly.  

Your mother helped you prepare. She coached you to keep your manners and your spine. The latter is much more difficult as you face these ladies and their bobbles with only a ribbon in your hair and a pair of patched gloves. 

“Woodsdam? I think I rode through it once on the way to my grandfather’s summer castle,” Ameri tuts, “it was little more than a swamp.” 

“It must’ve been the spring rains, perhaps, lady,” you offer. 

“Summer house,” she enunciates, “one travels there in the summer.” 

Your cheek twitches at her barbed retort. Very well. You are not used to their sharpness. Their chittering has thus far centered on gossip and the cost of their new caps. 

“A wonder the pauper’s daughter received an invite. Are you certain you can read, lady?” Dorida snipes and looks to the twins for approval. You notice how they all tend to do so. 

“It was sent to my father, Lord Eldon,” your voice quavers. You are not so strong as your mother bid you to be.  

They cackle at your meek response, “the precious maiden of Woodsdam.” 

You put your head down as the activity all around threatens to swallow you up. You wish the ground would rent and you would fall right through. All your excitement has dissipated to a sludge in your veins. You touch your cheek as you try not to show your embarrassment. 

“The Lord of Woodsdam,” a deep voice startles you as boots approach from behind, “is that what I heard?” 

You stiffen up as the ladies before you hush and blink, almost in tandem. They curtsey as their faces wash over in shock and you turn to face the newcomer. A man in a deep blue vest over black sleeves and grey breeches. He wears belt of gold and a circlet across his brow in a similar hue. It is that which betrays his statues. 

You lower your eyes and mimic the other women, mortified to be faced with new king so informally. You would not think him wandering out in the yard. Still, he has vowed to be unlike the former leige. That he would be of the people. 

“King Steven, your majesty,” the others titter in a messy chant and you murmur your own propriety as you back away. You find yourself still to the shoulder of the king as the other ladies give no room for you to join. 

The vision of him stains your mind. He is tall, with dark blond tresses that extend past his neck, and blue eyes which put his own attire to shame. He has a jaw which looks etched in stone and a bearing which matches his rank. He is tall and broad and a finely built knight. 

“It is an honour,” Marcia says most boldly. 

“You may rise,” he allows in a breezy timbre. “I did hear my wife would receive new ladies. Young ladies.” 

“Your majesty,” the murmur rolls across each lip. 

“It is much needed. We have so many established ladies at court and yet we need to think of the future. Of the next generation,” he declares as he emphasizes his words with his large hand. You watch his garnet ring to keep from so brazenly looking him in the face. 

“Certainly, your majesty,” Marcia and Marigold chime in unision. 

“And don’t worry for there are many young lords as well,” the king laughs galely at the quip which makes the ladies, yourself included, blush. “Ah, then, Woodsdam I believe we were speaking of...” 

You blink and glance at the other ladies. They are cowed, unsure if they were overheard in their derision. You hope as much as they that they were not. It is rather unflattering. 

“My father, Lord Eldon,” you explain, “your majesty.” 

“You? You are the young lady of Woodsdam I heard so much of.” 

“You did? Er, your majesty,” you curtsey apologetically; unnecessarily. 

“Certainly, I did. Your father was a great assistance in me holding counsel with the lower lords. He is very patient. “When not about his duty, he spoke of you oft. Though what matters are more important than family?” 

“Yes, your majesty,” you can’t help a smile, “my father is a very kind man.” 

“Kind and courageous. I’m certain you’ve inherited as much,” the king praises, “and these other ladies. The twins who belong to Mawsley, the Countess of Clovers daughter, and the three earls daughters from the White Plains.” 

The ladies each bow their heads as he proclaims them by their forebearers’ titles. You watch from aside, feeling even more out-of-place. The king recites them all proudly as he extends a finger for each. 

“Allow me myself to extend a welcome to Astra. When you are sorted, my wife shall receive you all and have you acquainted with the grounds. I hope you enjoy them, we’ve had the gardeners at work day and night,” he pronounces, “for now, I must be off, for a king has many obligations and not so much time.” 

He bows and turns on his heel, marching off with his shoulder straight and head high. He walks as a soldier does, not some lord. You’ve seen the difference before, more recently in the aftermath of battle. A soldier is more akin to a farmer, much as your father, whereas a Lord tends to keep his steps tight. 

“Wow, oh my,” Dorida fans herself, “he is rather handsome.” 

“Oh yes,” Marcia and Marigold say, the latter forging ahead, “we met him at our father’s castle. He is ever so charming.” 

“Hm, and the queen would love to hear it, I’m certain,” Calliope intones brusquely. 

“The queen is not here,” Ameri sneers, “so what does it matter? Besides, is it so wrong to state a truth?” 

“He is very elegant,” Selene agrees. 

“Much too kind, as well,” Marigold snips, “Woodsdam? He speaks as if it more than some paltry farmhouse.” 

“You’d never even heard of it,” Calliope remarks. 

“And how had you, hm? You seem the bookish type. Perhaps you should leave the maps to the men. What good will a river or road do for a widow’s welp?” 

“Needn’t be cruel,” Calliope rebuffs. 

“Pity if this is the lot they send,” Marcia shakes her head as the sisters share another cryptic look. 

You keep to yourself. That is all you can do. It is better to watch and learn than to leap and land wherever you might. Your mother always said so and she was your best teacher. 

“Right, there must be some maid who might show us to our rooms,” Marigold stands on her toes and waves at each passing servant. “I tire of the sunlight and boorish company.” 

👑

You have two trunks awaiting you in your chambers. Not as the other ladies who had at least a dozen each. Less humble than your lunger are the rooms themselves.

There is an antechamber hung with tapestries showing wildlife and flora, a table set for two and cushioned bench by the window. The bedroom is draped in similar hangings with a four-post bed and a grand hearth. A desk, another bench, a woven carpet, and fine accouterments on square tables. And a closet for the commode as well and a pot in the far corner of the bedchamber. 

If only your mother and father could see this. They would be just as amazed. You can’t help but admire all of it. To touch the curtains as you approach the window and stare off at the afternoon sky. The gardens are a medley of hues; petals and thorns; leaves and dirt. It’s all so wonderful, you can still hardly believe it. 

Seems those other ladies can’t either. You can’t help but think of their words anon. They said so outrightly what you doubted inwardly. You don’t belong here. It must be so clear to them. 

You lean on the ledge and peer down into the garden pathways. It is almost a labyrinth with how intricately they’ve laid out the hedges. You lower yourself down to your elbows and cross your arms as you sigh. 

Your eyes are drawn from the swaying roses to the dark speck that appears below. You squint at first. From the second floor, it is harder to discern. It is the glimmer of gold in his hair and the defined gait that gives away the king. For an instant, you believe you might be dreaming. 

He walks along one path and to the next. There is another with him. A man with darker hair and a stauncher figure. They speak and stop just as they enter a circled walkway centered by a large vase of flowers. The other man talks, though you can hear neither, and the king rubs his chin. 

You should turn away. They might think you an eavesdropper. Oh, too late! You don’t dare move as the king tilts his head. You wouldn’t want to pique his attention. You cannot tell if he has spotted you. Not until he raises a hand and waves. The other man stops and looks to follow the gesture. 

You stand up straight but before you can flee in horror, you recall yourself. It is improper to turn your back to the king. You lift your hand and return the wave. He dips his head and turns to clap his companion’s shoulder, pointing him onward. 

Oh, you hope he is not unhappy. If you pray, perhaps he will not have recognised you. You needn’t an enemy of the king as well. 

[mechanical-magician]

BOMB RUSH CYBERFUNK HEADCANONS: RISE EDITION

Headcanon Directory >>

> BRITISH

> She lives out of her hippie van, it's all supped up for living in!

> She's 24 now, but she's been living out of her van on the move since she was 18.

> Rise started her travels in France, and initially was only doing it to just get away from everything back home. Her parents, the authorities, school; she just wanted to leave it all behind and take up being a rudie full time

> A few months in, she started vlogging her lifestyle and actually started to gain a modest following. Slowly over the years, she's become a micro-celebrity in the lifestyle and rudie communities!

> Rise has traveled basically the entirety of Europe at this point, but has always found herself returning to New Amsterdam. She just loves everything about the city!

> She was in an online relationship with the leader of Devil Theory, Osiris, for a few months, before meeting him IRL and dating like that as well. However, she felt it was better for both of their careers if they split off. But also, she internally has found that she's scared of committing to staying in once place. She knows Osiris would never leave his crew, so she knew it was for the best if they went their separate ways.

> That isn't to say that she's not still friends with Devil Theory! While they DO get a little pissed about her doing her stuff on their turf, all she has to do is offer them some cool rocks or something and they'll skitter off like gremlins

> Bel absolutely has a celebrity crush on Rise

> Rise is a social media influencer, but she doesn't see herself as being shallow. She rose to where she is through not only her looks, but also her ability to show off her skills in skating and graffiti. She's an inspiration to all soon-to-be writers/rudies.

> She snorts when she laughs :]

> Rise loves trying all new foods local to where she travels. She likes to find the most obscure, hole in the wall, places and try them. Good reviews from her usually cause a small boom in that place's popularity!

> She's multilingual! English, French, Dutch, and German she's all fluent in! She's working on other languages as well

> She's VERY sensitive to light, and so she wears her shades everywhere for that purpose. They're extra dark to help her out :]

> The police have tried to cancel her

> They failed

> "The bird flu? Yeah... they kind of do that."

> Pansexual!

[samiabadilah]

Week 11 Progress Update

As we enter week 11, GreenBlade Lawn Care is gradually gaining momentum. This week, we earned $55 on our best day, thanks to a couple of new clients who signed up for our sustainable lawn care packages. We've been focusing on delivering exceptional service, and it’s starting to pay off with positive reviews and referrals. Our social media presence has grown slightly, helping us reach more potential customers. Although our revenue remains modest, we're encouraged by the consistent interest in our eco-friendly services. We're committed to continuous improvement and look forward to expanding our client base as we approach the final weeks of this project.

[zaidshair]

ABOUT

[ KUKKUTARMA ]  [ INSPO]

BASICS: Name: Zaid Shair (Zah-eed Shayh-yeer) Age: 41years old. he's a cancer that's all I know so far Gender & Pronouns: Cis man - He/Him Place of birth: Sheffield, England PERSONAGE: Previous occupation: executive chef and owner of two fine-dining restaurants: - in London, Mango (successful) - in New York, Chutney (derisive) Powers: plasma blasts. Zaid passively absorbs cosmic energy, like a living storage cell. Energy must be released by force. Crystal bracelet: green malachite First impressions: Zaid can be intense, but soft-spoken and calm. He knows how to be friendly and personable. He can let his emotions get the best of him. He does have a Mr Hyde to his Dr Jekyll, but that only comes out in certain circumstances

PLOT IDEAS:

cooking baba: an obvious outcome for Zaid on the island. His passion for cooking is greatly diminished, but needs must for survival on a strange island, and everyone knows food boosts morale. Something to do with cuisine, be it connections pre-island, hunting/gathering, planning/rationing, food-sickness, cooking, etc!

fwb: Zaid is hurting, they're hurting too. good thing they're both attractive, because then pain becomes beautiful and sexy, right? power play: figuring out powers! working together or against each other! lots of room for experimentation here adventure time: I love adventure plots and there's ample grounds to explore and get in trouble together!

APPEARANCE: Height: 5'8" Eyes : brown Hair: black, worn short. Trimmed beard and moustache Build: compact Tattoos: tattoos on his arms, tbd

BACKGROUND: Nationality: Pakistani-British Family: Three grandparents, two parents, multiple younger siblings (tbd), loads of uncles, aunties, cousins, etc. A big family that he never quite got close to, except for that one unmarried quirky-dirky Jotie-Auntie.

BULLET POINTS:

- Zaid, eldest child in his family, first brought shame to the Shairs when he decided to eschew a degree in commerce, and went to cooking school instead - Coming out to his family was somehow less shameful than his career choice, because he still liked girls, mashallah! Zaid didn't mind the various arranged dates, but his ambition overshadowed finding a match. -He moved to Paris, then London in his early 20s to apprentice in restaurants, growing in rank and gaining respect as a dedicated, hard working line cook. He took an executive chef job at a boutique hotel in London in his late 20s - His first point of pride was opening his fine-dining restaurant Mango in 2015 in touristy Soho. Lauded in reviews for his insightful, delightful take on Pakistani cuisine, Mango became one of the trendiest eateries in London. - He refrained from the allure of 'celebrity chef' despite network and social media offers, aiming instead for that Michelin star status. He just wanted one, he was modest. - Gaining that one star should've been the biggest highlight of his life, but it was eclipsed when he met the real and only love of his life (so Zaid claims), Tej Virani. - In Zaid's mind, their romance was a firestarter, burning quick, bright, and hot. Zaid did everything to keep Tej living a comfortable life, and was proud of how he oh-so magnificently balanced work duties around Tej's whimsical needs. - After gaining his Michelin star, everything in Zaid's life seemed to bottleneck: the unexpected arrival of Tej's niece Inika, his PR agent's push for Zaid to move towards celebrity status (write that book! guest judge on Masterchef and Chopped! live-feed the cooking seminars at schools!), his own personal temptation to open a new restaurant in New York. - Zaid was convinced he could do it all. He packed up Tej and their little ward Inika and emigrated to New York. Surely he could pull this all together, with his usual efficiency and drive. - Surely, he could not. COVID happened. His relationship suffered, celebrity hopes were locked down; and with that, his new restaurant plans suffered. Chtuney eventually opened with a whimper rather than a bang, and the restaurant limped along for a year under poor leadership and red tape, as Zaid spiralled further into disarray in his personal life. Tej slipped out of his grasp and maybe it was for the better. Maybe not. - When he finally cracked from stress, he cracked hard. In a fit of spite, he stole Inika from Tej, headed to Montauk, and promised they'd never return. He and Inika would start a new life, back in London - no! In Sheffield! - and Tej would never see them again. - Tej's plaintive convincing made Zaid relinquish his mad plans, but by then it was too late. Zaid was so focused on Tej and their argument, he wasn't paying attention to the child. They lost Inika to the night waters of Montauk Beach. The child was gone, drowned, dead and Zaid was inconsolable and blamed Tej for all of it. - The funeral was for an empty casket, which was in many ways deeply symbolic for Zaid over the next few months of solitude and grief. - His New York restaurant in shambles, his relationship had long sailed. Zaid settled into trying to recoup his losses in New York. After which he intended to return to London with his tail between his legs. But instead, Zaid ended up on an entirely different island.

[atopvisenyashill]

What kind of jobs do you think asoiaf characters would have in the real world?

jon - history podcaster, famous in lefty circles, robb keeps begging him to get a real job so the stans of his haters stop review bombing robb's law practice

dany - political twitch streamer, they have beef bc jon is an anarchist and dany is an ML.

barristan - he's an econimist and a landlord and dany gets dragged constantly for being friends with him and retweeting his shitty medium articles.

grey worm - he has A Real Job as a low level agriculture engineer but he does political commentary in his free time which is why he's friends with dany & barristan.

arya - runs a coffee shop and is everyone's favorite manager because she's super chill and drives them to protests on her days off. has a burner twitter account and ratioed barristan online once.

sansa - a small business owner that has one of those cute little storefronts where four or five small businesses band together to be one shop.

robb - has a law practice doing something Important like immigration help or something. lives in a nice apartment above his practice.

theon - literally just freeloads at robb's apartment.

jeyne westerling - receptionist at robb's practice, the power dynamic IS weird but also kind of sexy. they are both clearly fucking theon as well, ned has no idea this is happening and keeps asking about grandkids even tho jeyne has an IUD.

catelyn - she clerked for a scotus judge and she is NOT modest but she IS modest about the thanksgiving she spent at RBG's house. her instagram is dedicated to promoting sansa's business because she is sooo proud.

jeyne poole - the only non nepo baby in the group who lucked out in befriending two rich girls in the art fair circuit and got a storefront with them.

loras tyrell - think mayor pete but with more personality.

margaery tyrell - the third business owner with sansa & jeyne, but she uses her mother's maiden name so no one associates her with her brother's tacky lib poitics or accueses her of being a nepo baby (she definitely is, but she takes the accussation personal)

renly baratheon - a fed from a family of feds, and the FACE of a pinkwashing campaign

cersei & tyrion - political family but for local politics like the daleys or cuomos or castro brothers (as in joaquin and julian). they fucking hate loras for primarying tywin from the center and winning but also lowkey hate each other because they both want Tywin's seat as like, Lieutenant Governor or some shit.

jaime lanniser - was supposed to be in politics but got ptsd from his time in the military and became a professional hater and freeloader until brienne talked him into getting a degree and helping people instead of just giving donations to charity for tax write offs.

brienne of tarth - i have no idea what she does but she works for a non profit and is solidly middle class as a child.

the martells - they own a local chain grocery store and they have a rivalry with arya but they keep it classy. oberyn posts thirst traps all the time and doran made him put 12 disclaimsers on every social media profile about not speaking for the store but otherwise he does what he wants. yeah man pour milk over your tiddies for charity who gives a fuck.

[kiranapassionategamer]

Real Money Ludo Game: Your Path to Earnings

Ludo, which is famous in every household, is no more just a fun game but has various other benefits. The digital revolution led to Ludo becoming more and more a possible source of revenue for many. The favorite pastime of many people became an internet game with real money staking in our days, and you should try it. This article focuses on how the typical childhood board game, Ludo, has turned into money-making venture on the internet.

Understanding Online Ludo Platforms

Online Ludo are social platforms where individuals can visit to participate in Ludo games with financial risk involved. These platforms are a perfect replica of the actual game that can be played anytime on smartphone, tablet or computer. By offering secure payment options, they ensure that people can bet real money and win prizes legally and without risks.

How to Get Started

Getting started with real money ludo game is simple. All you need to do is:

Choose a reputable platform: Look for platforms with good reviews and proper licensing.

Sign up and create an account: You’ll typically need an email address or a social media account to register.

Deposit money: Add money to your account using any of the supported methods like credit cards, e-wallets, or bank transfers.

Join a game: You can choose to play against random players or invite friends to join you.

Safety First: Ensuring Fair Play and Security

When playing Ludo for real money, security is paramount. Reputable platforms use advanced encryption to protect your financial details and personal information. Additionally, fair play is ensured through the use of certified Random Number Generators (RNG) which make sure that the dice rolls are completely random and not manipulated.

Tips for Safe Play

Always set a budget for your gaming activities.

Never share your account details with anyone.

Play on secure and well-reviewed platforms only.

Strategies to Win at Ludo

While Ludo is largely a game of luck, certain strategies can increase your chances of winning:

Think ahead: Plan your moves considering potential counters by your opponents.

Spread out your tokens: This reduces the risk of being captured and sent back home.

Wait for the right moment: Sometimes, waiting a few turns to move can be better strategically.

Leveraging Ludo for Income: Real Stories

Many players have turned their Ludo skills into a steady income stream. From small daily winnings that add up to significant amounts, to winning large tournaments that offer hefty prizes, the possibilities are endless. Success stories of players who have achieved financial gains through Ludo are both inspiring and a testament to the game’s potential.

Choosing the Right Platform: What to Look For

When selecting a Ludo platform to play for real money, consider the following:

User reviews and ratings: These can provide insights into the reliability and quality of the platform.

Customer support: Efficient customer service is crucial for resolving any issues.

Bonus and rewards programs: Some platforms offer bonuses that can increase your playing funds.

The Social Aspect of Online Ludo

One of the charms of playing Ludo online is the social element. You can connect with friends or family members who are far away, or make new friends from around the world. Many platforms also have chat features, allowing players to communicate during games, which adds a fun and interactive element to the experience.

Potential Earnings: What Can You Expect?

The amount of money you can earn playing Ludo online depends on several factors including the stakes, your skill level, and the frequency of your play. Some players play casually and earn modest amounts, while others take it more seriously and can earn substantial sums. It’s important to approach the game with realistic expectations and understand that while you can win money, you can also lose it.

Final Thoughts

Online Ludo games offer a unique blend of nostalgia, fun, and the potential for financial gain. Whether you’re looking to earn a little extra cash or just enjoy the game in a new way, playing Ludo online can be both rewarding and entertaining. Remember to play responsibly, and you may find that this classic game can be much more than just a way to pass the time.

[sketchfanda]

Chestnut Stud across the Multiverse: Warrior Monk review: Pacifica Northwest

At a local tropical resort, a hot young tanned platinum blonde piece of ass stretched and hummed as she walked around the vicinity of the hotel swimming pool. Basking in her owl glory as she could see heads turning from local and tourist alike at the sight of her which only made to give her ego a fine boost. Yes she was sexy and she damn well knows it, naturslly so did they, why wouldn’t they want to look? But this was nothing compared to the good mood she was in and the reason for causing said mood in the first place. Which she keeping nice and snug,safe and sound In her hotel room and it just made her tingly in all the right places as she grinned at spying her friends who she invited to join her on this little vacation trip. A deep sigh of satisfaction escaping her pretty pouty lips as she got their attention and did a little stretching, “Whew,jackie,Wendy…sorry I’m late girls, my roommate went above and beyond today…and let me tell ya..” the young debutant spoke as she parked herself right in the comfy pool chair, her body relaxing as she let out a lusty,relaxed shudder. Almost sexual or orgasmic eben as she continued, her two companions giving her some very deadpan stares. ““I got so fuckin’ LAID!! Wooo damn,ooooh my poor, poor womb..” she purred snd hummed she rubbed said spot around her stomach. The camel toe of her pussy visible thrive her pink thong swimsuit. Licking her lips as she took delight in the looks from Jackie and Wendy, giving them a look as if to say ‘Jelous?’

“Classy pacifica…..” snaked Wendy, the ginger redhead freckled tomboy quite a stunner, with a sensual bidy with muscle tone honed from a freak growth spurt and years of rugged activity and lumberjack work with the tan especiallt to show for it. Jackie lynn Thomas was quite the toned,tanned freckledmtombiy herself bottom heavy with the legs and ass to show it along with a tan from decades of dedication to the craft of surfing and skateboarding. Her hair a wild curly blonde mane with some noticeable blue streak. The pair’s swimsuits Especially did wonders to show off their stunning bodies even if they were modest compared to Pacifica’s own. Their snarky glares at the valley girl as she had her legs positioned in a way as she sat, practically spread and showin off her cameltoe. They swear they could it quivering under that thing of hers as she shamelessly basked in their reactions, her expression radiating smug satisfaction. ““That what You calling your dildo? Because last me and Jackie checked when we rode in here? You came alone besides us and we haven’t seen You take any guy here back to your room…” the redhead quipped as Jackie nodded beside her. Indeed for someone who lived the kind of life she did and the looks she had, she could have her pick of many dude here. Yet here she was not having been seen flirting with any of them. When you were pacifica northwest,emancipated heiress and social media influencer, the dating world was your oyster and a regular all you can eat buffet.

Pacifica simply grinned a catlike minx smile a she licked her lips, having expected Wendy or Jackie to get curious like that. Sensually humming snd purring as she checked her pool bag beside her and reached into it,fishing around to locate something. Finding exactly what she was looking for as she took out her cellphone “Ooh I’m mot talking about a dildo you lovely lady friends of mine. My roomie is much better then that and the next best thing to a boyfriend but then again with his food he is, I might never need a man at all..” the platinum blonde purred sensually as she unlocked her phone and accessed her photo and video gallery.  Biting her lio as she found what she was looking for and accessed it, turning it around to show them the screen as the video began to load and buffer. “Normally I’d say checkout Capsule Cocks’ video review tab but this is the next thing since I have the original…” thst got Jackie and Wendy’s attention even more than Paz already. Capsule Cocks? As in the special Rated R to XXX branch of adult sex toys and items from the one and only Capsule Corp. Social media related to them was ablaze with praise for their products but one common set of words tended to get thrown around here and there. Something called the Warrior Monk? When finally the video began to play as the lair glued their eyes to the screen.

Soon the platinum blonde bombshell appeared on the digital video clewrly using some sort of special camera drone which captured her stunning body in head to toe. Which was highlighted by the bright hot electric pink outfit she wore as she adjusted her violet jacket and gave her long wild styled blonde mane a flip. Blowing a kiss at the camera as she began to speak. “Hello out there all you bored singles and what not who decided to brighten your dull lives by checking out this video. Now when you’re a girl like me with independence and a lot of money but too much free time? Well life doesn’t sommuch gives you lemons but the way to make lemonade out of them..” she spoke as the camera showed what had to be her bedroom in what was some sort of deluxe luxury penthouse. As bent over,the camera getting a fine view of her pink clad juicy bubble butt as it wiggled and swayed. The heiress giving a hum of satisfaction as she took out a simple box and opened it, taking out a simple,single Dyno-cap. Holding it between her thumb and pointer finger as she examined it inquisitively. “In my case I met up with the head honcho of Capsule Corp at some party,can’t remember what it was for or what we talked about exactly. But she personally sent me this a gift and all I got to do is accept a sponsorship deal for Capsule Cocks. That is after I review whatever this is,she was insistent I do this soon as I got this so here we go…”“with that said, she gave a click to the capsule and threw it, the coloured smoke blasting as a cryo-contained appeared, the bombshell debutant humming as she pushed the button to open it. Brow raised as out came a compact 5′1′’ fellow,shorter than her by a few feet and inches, clad in tight boxer Spatz and not impressing her in the slightest. Walking around as she examined him and looked him over from head to toe and found some sort of pamphlet manual inside the container which she began to west out loud.

“Congratulations on your acquisition of our most popular product. The Warrior Monk is,in our humble opinion, our finest product in Capsule Cocks’ special Line of full bodied autonomous techno-organic sexual performance gynoids” Hat made the heiress quirk her brows in deadpan disbelief. This little runt was some kind of sexual android and the best they had? She found that hard to believe as she confined to read the pamphlet over. ““His popularity stems from his physical skill and sexual performance which are very high level and world class. Once you’ve bonded erotically with your Warrior Monk, he will be 100% devoted to you in ensuring your carnal needs are fulfilled and then some…” Pacifica pouted cutely as she discarded the pamphlet, clearly disappointed as she had been expecting something a lot more than this. Sighing as she shrugged her shoulders, seeing the Warrior Monk silently and stoically observe her. Watching as she shrugged off her violet cost, exposing her bare,suntanned shoulders as the camera caught her exposed backside flexing muscles bought about by some swimming. Pacifica continued to hum absent mindedlt as she leaned in close to the Krillin clone,draping her arms around his shoulders. A hum of approval as if she found or felt something impressive as her hands traced along his muscles. Fingers tracing ever inch of what was quite the physique from the sculpted biceps and triceps to the washboard abs.

“Well now you’re certsimly no string bean or stubby runt that’s for sure…and looking at you a bit better,you’re pretty easy in the eyes. Not what I’d call macho or pretty but…kind of handsome and cute in your own way…” Paz quipped as she planted some kisses on his face. Before soon pressing to his as she locked lips with him, soft sensual moans escaping her as she felt him respond, gasping as he found her wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her in closer to deepen their kiss. Her bright blue eyes widening as she found him quite proactive and reactionary to say the least. As she found his tongue in skin her mouth, exploring and seeming to want to memorise thst oral cavern as pacifica squirmed and clenched her thighs. Her body language in the video making it clear she was getting wet from this make out, gasping as they swapped spit and shuddered at feeling his hands move to grab her ass with a firm squeeze. Breaking their liplock as she panted for air,an erotic gleam twinkling in her eyes as she brushed her lush mane. “Mm well now maybe you might be living up to your hype after all little man…” sensually licking her lips, pacifica came to find thst cool,mute gaze on her quite..exhilarating as if his attention being focused on her,and her alone. It was delicious as she grabbed and unzipped her outfit,peeling it off as she kicked off her boots and wiggled her sexy toned pornographic bodied self out. Humming as she noticed the crotch of his boxers was beginning to develop a swell and bulge indicating he was certainly endowed. Standing naked before him with her juicy tits and her bouncy bubble butt as she did a twirl and pose for him, shaking her booty as she leaned to him,arms hugging her tits together with a squeeze as she took enjoyment in his attention focused on her. Culling his face in ernhands as she caressed it with growing tenderness, pouting adorably as she gave his cheek butterfly kisses.

“But you know it’s so unfair I’m the only one naked….so what say we change that and see what I’m going to be laying with. Better hope Briefs didn’t stick me with a lemon…” the heiress mused as she knelt down on her silk carpet floor, grasping the waistband of those boxers and pulling them down. Flinching as she felt Something heavy smack her face with an uppercut as she shook the dizziness out. ““What the bell little ma-!? Oh,my…GOD!!” Video pacifica and Jackie and Wendy bith echoed the same statement as they be helped the sight before them. The biggest,thickest cock they’d ever laid eyes on as it stood erect and pulsed with raw desire, the length and girth veiny and bound to a set of smooth,heavy balls. Pacifica taking delight jn their reactions as she gestured their attention back to the video where her recorded self  began to pant and drool,as if the scent snd sight of this dick,no this COCK was sitting off Something in her brain, like a switch was flipped. Her brain tapping into deep primal instincts, those inner animalistic drives to mate and breed with a raw,virile alpha male. Grasping her Warrior Monk’s cock as she stroked and massaged it,her expression one of growing lust an desire as she shot him a sultry gaze. “Okay then I take back any negative comments I said before….you’re definitely living up,to your reputation…got it right where it counts but…you know how to use it?” She purred as she licked her lips and planted kisses along his length from tip to base. Even his balls got a smooch and a lick as her pussy fished and quivered staining the carpet with her nectar.

Before Jackie and Wendy realised it,the video feed from the drone shifted to show pacifica laying flat on her back on her bed. Her head hanging off the edge of the mattress,her blonde mane swaying as her wide blue eyes flowed with pink hearts as her Warrior Monk was providing her with a powerful facefucking. He neck bulging from the invasion of his length and girth  as he pumped his shaft into her mouth,pistoning like a sexual jackhammer. Her moans muffled as her oussy was squirting like a geyser indicating how hard she was cumming,clutching the bed sheets as her compact stud laid atop her in a 69 position, massaging her hips and thighs along with her juicy,meaty as as he licked away at her pussy, drinking uo from the shower of juices that sprayed his face. It was clear Paz didn’t start off easy or gentle and that what was fast becoming her favourite toy and best friend in her life was aiming to give timeto her thst way because that’s how she wanted it. Jackie and Wendy could feel their swimsuit thongs become soaked as their own pussies gushed, faces flushed with red blushes of arousal  as pacifica played them her little amateur porn show. The video really kicking into high gear as the sunlight shining through Pacifica’s penthouse marked the passage of time.

The video had shifted from the 69 facefucking to Paz riding her Warrior Monk cowgirl style. Hands clasped with his together as she bounced on hismcock with abandon, tongue wagging out as those hearts glowed in her eyes. Deep moans pouring forth from as her as jiggled and her tits bounced. “Oh fuck,oh god,it’s too much!! It’s too good,I’m gonna die! Who needs any other man when I’ve got you!! Oh godI’m falling in love with my sex toy!” She cried and howled as the scene then shifted to her in reverse cowgirl position,panting like the bitch in heat she was as her compact stud massaged and smacked her ass like some erotic bongo drum. Then next came her taking it doggy style as she knelt on the bed in her hands and knees, tits swaying,ass jiggling as he held her waist and pumped away until she couldn’t ho,sup her upper torso. Face falling onto the bed as she hit onto the sheets,her ass raised high as her new lover kept tucking her. Soon she found herself laying front flat,still biting the sheets as she clutched them, drooling as her stallion laid atop her. Kissing along her neck and shoulders as his hips blurred,such was the force and speed of his virility. Who knows how many time they had been drumming together or individually as the pornographic montage kept going. Not one bit of momentum stopping as Paz took load after load in her pussy,her ass,her mouth, her tanlined skin glistening with sweat as finally,the sun seen setting,she laid together in the messed up bed. Sheets in disarray and soaked with sweat and juices as pacifica laid in bed with her short king,their loins connected as they snuggled and made out sensually with passion,their newfound bond forged and connected. The video ending as Paz looked smugly at her two gal pals, whose facial expression were,ones of pure voyeuristic arousal. They were clearly in shock and yet amazed at the same time by what they just witnessed as she giggled sensually.

“He’s safe and snug in his sleeping chamber in Capsule mode,I need to let him have his rest. I couldn’t not take him with me,I never leave home without him. Who needs some sleazy baby dicked chumps and minute men when all you need is a Warrior Monk in your lives…” Paz shuddered as her pussy fished,feeling the phantom sensations of her Krillin clone’s godly cock. His,lips,his touch,his flavour, she was addicted and she knew it. And oh how she loved it. Taking delight in how Wendy and Jackie went from deadpan to borderline bitches in heat. ““I’d highly recommend ordering your own but if you want to be really sure? I think my compact stallion woild be more than anle and up for handling the 3 of us at once…wouldn’t be his first time that’s for sure,what can I say,I like to make sure Capsule Cocks get their money’s worth and so do you….naturally I need to have your permission to record it,consider it yiur reviews….we got a deal ladies…” the blonde’s grin grew as Wendy and Jackie shared a look and nodded, making it clear they wanted her to take her to her room and they could have a personal up close hands on look see at this hih class quality sex toy. Because god damn no way they were passing this up, good men were hard to come by and if Capsule Cocks were growing and making them? Not damn they wanted what got the Pacifica Northwest personal quality seal of approval that was for Damn sure. Jackie herself shuddering as she recalled her brief stay with the actual Warrior Monk himself during her time as a college au pair. God how long had it been since Daddy Krillin….

[mightyflamethrower]

Swedish Wind Farms Facing Bankruptcy

By Paul Homewood

From the Brussels Signal ;

Two Swedish economists have issued a warning that the country’s wind-power industry is on the brink of a wave of bankruptcies.

Christian Sandström and Christian Steinbeck analysed wind-power companies’ annual reports in Sweden and their work revealed “significant financial problems”, they told Swedish media outlet Kvartal on February 28.

“The total loss for the years 2017–2022 amounted to 13.5 billion Swedish krona [€1.2 billion], which meant a loss margin of 39 per cent,” they said about the sector.

Such heavy losses seem to be the rule rather than the exception for wind-power companies in Sweden, according to the annual reports.

The Swedish Government has been pushing its national energy policies in a “green” direction, promoting wind power and decommissioning nuclear power plants. But the cost appears to be much more painful than previously thought, the economists stressed.

Sandström and Steinbeck have been pointing towards profitability problems in the wind sector for some time “despite suppliers benefiting from Government support through electricity certificates and being exempt from covering the entire expenses associated with grid adaptation for wind energy or the depreciation of properties near installations”.

Since the economists’ initial findings, Markbygden Ett, Sweden’s largest wind-farm installation with 179 turbines, is already facing bankruptcy, stacking up hundreds of millions of krona in debt.

The firm is not alone – many other alternative-power companies in Sweden are in trouble.

Sandström and Steinbeck pointed out that the sector as a whole has not made a profit in any year since 2017.

Company losses have ranged from 19 per cent to 90 per cent of turnover between 2017 and 2022, they said.

“The losses are simply because the industry cannot produce electricity at a cost below the market price, despite extensive subsidies,” the economists noted.

“That would put any other industry out of business, [although] the rate of investment has been very high.”

Both newer and older plants in the heavily subsidised industry shed cash, while economies of scale are also a limitation. The biggest farms make the biggest losses and only moderate-sized wind farms, with between 20 and 30 turbines, are turning any profits and those are at best described as “modest”.

Costs have failed to come down despite growing experience among those operating in the sector and the researchers did not observe any correlation between time elapsed and increased electricity production from existing turbines.

“Just as sailors on sailing ships once had to pray to higher powers for wind to get somewhere, wind farms can only wait for the right amount of wind,” they added.

On top of that, just 20 per cent of wind turbines in Sweden are Swedish owned. The rest are operated by foreign enterprises. Some 13 per cent of the reviewed turbines are Chinese.

Sandström and Steinbeck said the Chinese investors made their calculations based on “wind mapping” carried out by the Swedish Energy Agency and they have doubts about the accuracy of the data.

Also hammering profits is the fact that large parts of the Swedish wind-power industry cannot transfer or save power over-generation, meaning electricity needs to be consumed instantly or not at all – making it effectively unsustainable.

A few wind farms in the South of the country have gained financial momentum in recent years but all the others are stacking up more losses.

The academics noted that the change in the Swedish energy mix – decommissioning nuclear plants in favour of wind power – was politically driven and that no robust, financial independent industry has subsequently emerged.

A peculiar paradox also haunts the sector, the economists stressed. Low levels of wind leads to high electricity prices yet it also hinders electricity delivery.

On the flip side, when the wind is more powerful, oversupply drives down prices when there is ample electricity for sale.

“It is difficult to see a way out of this dilemma,” Sandström and Steinbeck concluded.

Three things stand out here.

Second is the fact that low winds mean high market prices, and vice versa. Obviously wind farms make their money when the wind blows, so low prices at those times drastically impact earnings.

In the UK, the CfD subsidy protects wind farms from these fluctuations, whilst ROC subsidies are generous enough to offset low market prices.

And thirdly, the article rightly notes that wind farms don’t have to pay for grid adaption and other wider system costs.