#National Billboard advertisers

[iobillboard]

Detroit Billboards, IO Billboards

IO Billboards provide full-service outdoor advertising with billboards near Detroit region through unmatched knowledge. Our Detroit Billboards are effective and creative. Let our experience work for you. Visit https://iobillboard.com/static-locations/. Please call our expert at 248-489-8989 to learn more.

[batshit-auspol]

So a bit of background first for our international followers: Clive Palmer is one of Australia's many mining billionaires who like to meddle in our country's politics, and as such he is utterly despised by all of Australia.

Picture for context:

He is most commonly known online by the title "Fatty McFuckhead", (problematic as it may be) because he tried to sue a youtuber for $500,000 for calling him that - and he lost. So the name stuck.

Up until his most recent foray into parliament, the legally certified Fuckhead was best known for his batshit business ventures, such as attempting to build "The Titanic 2" (failed) and trying to build a dinosaur theme park (also failed, but at least nobody got eaten by a T-Rex in this one).

For a very long time Clive played the role of sugar daddy to Australia's largest conservative party, the ironically named Liberal Party, until they had a falling out in 2012 after Clive claimed there was too much money influencing politics (lol), at which point he started his own party, days after saying he totally quit and wasn't fired and he only left because he didn't want to be a distraction.

His initial run at parliament was actually kinda successful, with Palmer's group winning 4 seats, plus a member from the "Motoring Enthusiasts Party" joined them too after accidentally getting elected and not knowing what the fuck to do.

Despite this initial success however, Palmer's party (which ran on basically no platform other than "I'm rich") hit an iceberg (titanic 2 achieved) and seven elected state and federal politicians quit within the first year.

By the time the next federal election rolled around, only one Palmer party candidate was still running for re-election. The most successful of this group - Jaquie Lambie - quit to sit as an independant and is still in parliament today.

Here she is with a painting of herself strangling Clive (she sells signed copies of this)

And here the senator is posting about liking sausage:

Anyway, we're getting to the point: which is the yellow posters. By the 2016 election, just two years after forming, the party was in complete freefall. It won just 0.01% of the vote at their second election, and it was announced shortly after that Clive was quitting politics and the party was being shut down. Australia breathed a sigh of relief.

It was, of course, short lived.

Clive, in desperate need of attention, restarted the party for the 2019 election, fielding candidates in every seat and spending $60 million in advertising in an attempt to win votes.

Every single candidate lost.

It was in this campaign however that Australia really started to fall out of love with Palmer, because most of that $60 million went towards putting up the world's least compelling marketing billboards on almost every single free space in the country.

For a good six months this was basically the only thing you would see in Australia if you went outside:

Clearly Graphic design is his passion. And yes, the genius did just straight up try and copy Trump's homework while changing a few words, hoping nobody would notice.

Very quickly these all got vandalised and it seemed the ad companies didn't care enough to replace them.

We could go on posting examples, there are thousands, but the best is definitely the one Ikea put up shortly after Clive lost the election:

In 2022, Clive's party contested the election AGAIN, this time also opting to send millions on spam text messages to every person in Australia begging for people to vote for him, as well as buying almost every youtube ad for a year, at the cost of $100 million.

He won a whopping one seat.

During this election Clive ran on an anti-lockdown, anti-vax platform with the slogan "freedom, freedom, freedom". That message, however, was slightly undermined when his goons, dressed in 'Freedom!' shirts, made national news for trying to beat up a protester who turned up at a rally dressed as an annoying text message, shouting "pay your workers" at Clive.

As if that wasn't bad enough, at another rally Clive knocked himself unconscious while trying to jump up on stage, and then a few weeks later was rushed to hospital with covid, while his anti-vax ads were still in regular rotation on TV, at which point it was also leaked to the press that Palmer had been alledgedly trying to buy Hitler's car.

Utterly humiliated, the party deregistered again shortly after the election.

Can't wait until he runs again in 2025.

Anyway, on the other "Clive tweeting Miss Kobayashi's Dragon" thing, we have no idea what that means but here's a screencap:

[unityrain24]

email i got today not sure if this is news??:

----

Breaking news: a top Democrat in the House has highlighted the problem with the “duty of care” model in the Kids Online Safety Act (KOSA).1

During the markup last week, Rep. Frank Pallone said, “adopting the duty of care could cause social media companies to over-filter content out of an abundance of caution about legal risk, and as a result some young people could lose access to helpful and even life-saving content.”2

This is exactly what dozens of human rights, civil liberties, racial justice, and LGBTQ+ groups have been saying for years about why KOSA’s duty of care is so dangerous.3

Our grassroots campaign is working and it's getting the attention of top lawmakers. Can you help us continue the fight to ensure that KOSA is only passed if it gets fixed?

Donate

Pallone rightly went on to say that he doesn’t trust Big Tech companies to make determinations about what types of content recommendations cause mental health disorders, noting that our understanding of the science in this area is still evolving.

Here’s what this means:

It’s working. Your phone calls, emails, the videos you’ve made and shared, the small $5 and $10 donations that enable us to run online campaigns, display your comments on billboards in DC4, and keep the media and lawmakers staff as informed as possible about our concerns have made KOSA less likely to pass, at least not without major changes. The top Democrat on the House committee is speaking out against it,  and that wouldn’t have happened without all of our work together.

We still have a ton of work to do. Rep. Pallone’s alternative proposal is to try to address the harms of Big Tech by going after Section 2305, which would lead to many of the same harms he’s worried about with KOSA’s duty of care. So we still have to work to educate his staff and other members on and off the committee, and drive emails and phone calls urging Congress to adopt strong privacy and antitrust protections instead of stalling out again and again with bills like KOSA and EARN IT that raise serious human rights concerns. APRA, the privacy bill that also advanced at the hearing, has some positive features, but there’s a lot of work needed to make it strong enough to actually protect the most vulnerable people.

KOSA could still pass, and we need to keep up the pressure. Despite the surprise blowback KOSA faced at last week’s hearing, the subcommittee still voted to advance it to a full committee vote. That means it’s one step closer to passing, and there is still a very real possibility that it could be snuck into a “must-pass” funding bill like the National Defense Authorization Act (NDAA). There is a big push from backers of KOSA including full page ads, op-eds in major papers, and several large tech companies have already come out in support of it. We have to take it seriously as an ongoing threat.

There is also still a chance that KOSA could be amended to address our concerns. Senator Wyden has proposed some helpful amendments. One of the good parts of KOSA is its ban on targeted advertising to kids. That could be imported into a strengthened version of APRA, for example, while leaving the harmful duty of care model behind. There are lots of ways Congress can address the harms of Big Tech and protect kids without enabling censorship and surveillance.

So, we gained some ground, but the fight is far from over. If you’ve read this far, you must understand how important this is. If you’re in a position to donate, please click here.

Help stop KOSA

If not, seriously don’t worry about it. We’ve all been there. Thank you so much for being part of this movement demanding Internet policies that don’t throw marginalized people under the bus. We can fight for an Internet where kids aren’t just safe, but have basic human rights, and the ability to speak out and shape the world around them. 

Let’s do it,

Evan at ❤️ Fight for the Future

https://energycommerce.house.gov/events/innovation-data-and-commerce-subcommittee-markup-of-three-bills

https://www.techpolicy.press/house-energy-commerce-subcommittee-markup-of-the-american-privacy-rights-act-kids-online-safety-act/

https://www.stopkosa.com/

https://www.fightforthefuture.org/news/2024-05-22-listen-to-kids-billboard-outside-house-hearing-raises-up-voices-of-lgbtq-youth-who-oppose-kosa/

https://touchgrass.fightforthefuture.org/unserious-attempt-1-562-to-rollback-section-230/

Fight for the Future, PO Box 55071 #95005, Boston, MA 02205  Don't like these emails? Unsubscribe.

Sent via ActionNetwork.org. To update your email address, change your name or address, or to stop receiving emails from Fight for the Future, please click here.

[eilidh-eternal]

Today may have been a Holy day, but lord am I having some unholy thoughts about Simon and Johnny and their pretty little dancer who doesn't even know she's theirs. 18+ MDNI

Johnny convinces Simon to go to the ballet, Swan Lake specifically, whilst home on leave for the holidays. They spend Christmas and the new year together, even make the trip to London to celebrate with Price and Gaz--just in time for the English National Ballet's opening night of their annual Swan Lake production. There are billboards and advertisements for it everywhere in the city, and Johnny pesters Simon relentlessly, always pointing out the pretty little bird the ballet company chose for their advertising campaign. Always saying "C'mon Si, it's a classic. Just this once, just so I can say I've seen it."

And finally he gives in. Tells him to get tickets and make the arrangements so he'll stop nagging him about it. The night of the ballet they go to a swanky bar at an upscale hotel because Simon needs a bourbon if he's going to spend the rest of the evening with Johnny at the London Coliseum, theater packed with unfamiliar faces that care little to hide their staring or to mind his personal space. And the Bourbon is doing wonders to take the edge off, the burn of the liquor as it slides down his throat warming him from the inside out and blanketing his mind in a similar hazy warmth. It's done the job so well in fact that it takes his brain a moment to catch up with his senses when someone who isn't Johnny presses into the narrow space between them at the bar to flag down the bartender.

You wave them over and step up onto the foot rail to lean across the bar top, half-shouting your order over the noise of the other patrons. When the bartender hurries off to mix your drink you take a step back from the bar to give the two burly men their space but lose your footing when another patron bumps into you unknowingly from behind, and you find yourself nearly falling into Simon's lap.

Johnny has his arm around your waist to hold you up, and a steadying hand on your shoulder. "Nearly took a tumble. Are ye aw'right hen?"

You try to form a response, tell him you're sorry, that you're usually not this clumsy, but the words can't seem to find their way past your lips as your brain stumbles over the sudden warmth in the pit of your stomach and you're left staring up into his concerned eyes.

Another large, warm hand splays across your back between your shoulders and an even deeper voice rumbles from behind, "Are ya hurt, love?"

The bartender appears to deposit your drink, snapping your attention back into startling focus, and you quickly right yourself, pulling away from the embrace of the bright-eyed and sturdily built man you're currently chest to chest with. And if he is sturdy then the only way to describe the man who's hand still lingers at your back is massive, a veritable tower of muscle who's staring down at you with the same concerned pinch of his brows. You wonder at the reasoning for the black surgical mask, but now isn't the time to linger on thoughts of handsome strangers in crowded bars.

"I- I'm so sorry, I didn't mean- "

"No harm done, lass, no need to get yer feathers ruffled. Here," the dark-haired man assures you and kindly passes your drink to you from the bar, eyes traveling over you in appraisal as you take your drink with a shy 'thank you'. "Interesting choice of attire," he says with a gesture to your athletic shoes, yoga pants and oversized jumper.

"I uh... I'm not staying long. Just came for a little liquid courage," you explain.

"That's a shame. 'S not everyday a pretty dove falls into our lap."

Our? You're suddenly aware of the hand still on your back and you feel heat creeping up into your cheeks. Oh- oh. You take a step back as that heat creeps all the way to the tips of your ears. "I'm sure all the- um... I mean- surely you could have your pick of anyone here." He laughs at this and leans over to his... friend?

"Ye hear that Simon? Pretty little bird thinks we'd want just anyone." His friend doesn't say anything, gives no indication he's heard him except for the subtle tilt of his head and the upward cant of a brow as he turns round to see you better.

You're about to apologize, say you hadn't meant it like that, when there's a hand on your elbow and a familiar voice calling your name.

"Come on! We're going to be late for call time!"

You look between your friend, dressed similarly in athletic attire and shouldering a small duffel at her hip, and the two men at the bar. If you don't leave soon you are going to be late and that isn't how you want to start this night. You down the rest of your drink and stretch forward to slide your empty glass on the bar top between them. "I um, I'm gonna be late if I don't- I hope... I hope you two enjoy the rest of your night," you manage to say before your friend is pulling you away by your elbow, leading you towards the lobby.

Johnny watches with quiet amusement as your friend, wearing an identical jumper to yours, drags you away and ushers you out of the bar. He turns to Simon and finds him still watching the same direction you had left in, a hint of shared amusement reflected in his eyes as they meet Johnny’s.

Simon has a hand on Johnny’s back, guiding him through the crowd slowly dispersing from the theater. The ballet hadn’t been as bad as he’d thought it would be. He’d actually quite enjoyed the storytelling of it all and lamented that they hadn’t been able to see the orchestra in the pit. He’d have liked to have been able to watch the musicians, to see how they also moved in time with the music. And though he had certainly never seen the show before, not even on video, he couldn’t ignore the feeling that something about it had felt… familiar. Especially when he paid more attention to Odette.

“I dunno how they move like that, it doesnae seem natural,” Johnny rambles as the two of them make their way through the house doors. “I can barely get my leg up and over the hurdles for PT. Cannae imagine gettin it to go above my head, that looks bloody painful-”

Johnny stops speaking abruptly and comes to a halt beside Simon, nearly causing a collision with the older couple behind them. Just as quickly as he’d brought them to a halt he was moving again, but not towards the exit. He was pulling Simon towards a small crowd gathered near the promotional display for the show.

“Johnny, what- where are you going?”

He doesn’t answer, just keeps pulling Simon through throngs of people, shouldering a path forward until he reaches the edge of the small crowd. He lets go of Simon’s hand to move closer, and his brows furrow in confusion and growing irritation as people paying little attention to their surroundings bump into him.

A flash of movement above the heads of the crowd captures Simon's attention immediately, and his muscles tense, heart hammering in his chest, until he sees what exactly his attention has caught on. Feathers. White feathers. Johnny manages to shoulder his way to the front and Simon swallows his discomfort as he presses in behind him, but the feeling of unease gives way to something else when he see’s why Johnny’s dragged him here.

A dancer poses among the faux scenery, a small-scale recreation of the lake, wearing large, white wings, and smiling for pictures with small children. When the dancer changes position for another photo with another family, Simon sucks in a breath as he glimpses their face—your face.

The children smile and their parents take a few too many photos before scampering off to allow the next family their turn, and you shift from your pose, perched up on your toes with a leg high in the air behind you, akin to a swans tail, back down on two legs again and turn to greet the next family. Your eyes widen, and recognition flashes over your face when you have to look up at Johnny and Simon.

“Hello, little bird.”

Masterlist | Places!

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

[fieldtomatoes]

"Visual pollution: A jungle of distracting signs dwarfs a lone bench-warmer on U.S. Route 1 in North Miami, Florida. Such on-premise advertising - not controlled by federal legislation - as well as billboards, utility poles, junkyards, and automobile graveyards, mar the roadsides of America."

National Geographic - December, 1970

[finitevariety]

"Logan Charles Roy was a legendary news proprietor, a media visionary, a brilliant businessman, a job creator and, above all, a loving family man. For over 60 years, he presided over the company he founded, Waystar Royco, the largest family-owned media conglomerate in the United States.

Logan's childhood was marked by adversity. Born in Dundee, Scotland, on the eve of World War 2, his father died shortly after his birth. A few years later his mother, Helen Roy, sent Logan and his older brother Ewan to Canada to escape. They were never to see their mother again, and their sister Rose also died as a young child. Both Logan and Ewan were raised in rural Quebec by relatives.

Though academically gifted, Logan left school at the age of 13. After a brief period working as a store clerk, Logan inherited his Uncle Noah's small advertising billboard company along with his brother Ewan. Over the next decade they grew their small businesses into the largest billboard companies in Canada. From there, the brothers' diverging interests saw Logan take control of the company.

Logan moved to the United States in 1972, determined to diversify Waystar Royco by moving into media. He quickly acquired several declining newspapers, such as the New York Globe, working his magic to dramatically turn these around and [elevate?] them to their former glory.

Logan firmly established himself as one of the country's most important media moguls with the launch of ATN, American Television News, in 198[1?/4?]. Now widely regarded as the nation's most [?respected] news source and a [?format admired] around the world, ATN changed the American media landscape overnight. Since its launch, ATN has, in the service of public interest, provided a [??] breed of television ...

[STEWY FINGER INTERLUDE 👀 ]

... several American Presidents ... necessary, a strident defender of the ... American people against threats both [[?? and ??].

Though Logan scaled such lofty heights [??presumably 'in his'] public life, he remained a humble individual, prioritizing his work, his family, and his [??]. He is survived by his wife Marcia and his children, Connor, Kendall, Siobhan and Roman Roy."

[fiber-optic-alligator]

New Idea just dropped in my brain after watching Harambe's tragic back story. And I'm so excited.

Transformers have become extremely endangered because of the war. They are all on Earth and can't communicate with humans. Overtime. All the possible tech humans were able to extract from them did eventually satisfy human curiosity enough to see them as less of a threat. And just now treat the last surviving cybertronians on Earth as though they were simple space curiosities. To be kept in a zoo setting. That are owned by states. Sometimes they are shipped to other states as a way of maintaining cordial political affiliations between nations. Since they are so expensive to maintain and keep in one place. Could think of it as a Planet Of The Apes, old gods situation lol.

NOOOOOOOOO that would be so sad😭

It’s like a reverse first contact au! Just imagine going to a major zoo to see the giant alien robots. They’re highly profitable and the zoo has so much advertising to show that they have one of these amazing creatures and they fully intend to charge you a pretty penny in order to see it. Billboards with the robot’s snarling face plaster the drive there with loud words screaming in your face to COME SEE THE TERROR OF THE STARS. When you get there, the signs directing you to different exhibits in the zoo have little symbols to go along with which animals are where. You see a giraffe, a rhino, maybe even a lion or tiger…and then you see the Autobot or Decepticon insignia, depending on which bot is being housed there. And when you finally get to the exhibit itself? TONS of people are pressed up against the extremely durable glass, cameras flashing, fascinated murmurs mingling in the air while a recorded voice drones on in the background telling you different facts about Cybertronians. You squirm your way through the crowd and get a clear view of the massive being…only to see a very depressed hulking mass of metal slouched in the corner of the enclosure. Its metal is dull and its optics are dim as it stares unhappily at the ground. And then when it looks up and suddenly makes direct eye contact with you, you feel a tug in your heart and a sinking feeling in your stomach that makes you want to give this bot all of the freedom it desires.

These things are advertised as the tyrants of the stars…but what if they’re so much more than that?

[sunsetkerr]

THE WORLD CHAMPS | s.kerr

summary: you are about to play the game of your life and sam is right there on the sidelines cheering for you. [1.6k words]

pairing: netball!reader x sam kerr

notes: netball!reader is my new favourite thing

YOU KNEW THAT AUGUST would be a busy month for you and sam. she and the matildas had just progressed out of the group stages in the world up, but so had you. 

at 18 you received the call-up to play for the australian diamonds netball team. you played in the constellation cup against the silver ferns and came out on top, a new name in national netball; people loved you.

you played through the year with the diamonds, often playing with your state team too. but in the january after your first cup, you tore your acl. only 19, people thought you were done for with the way you went down. it had the nation talking about netball, about how its rising star had fallen from the sky.

an estimated 6-9 months in recovery became 12 and you hadn't picked up a ball since; resenting the sport that you loved. once cleared to return to netball, you were eager to return, to show everyone they had no reason to doubt you; that you would play for australia again.

the diamonds kept you in the reserves your first season back in 2015, too nervous about your leg. you got to watch the diamonds take home the world cup on home soil. whilst you couldn't play for the nation, you played at suncorp level once again- this time, smashing your scoring record. you shot 653 goals in the regular season for the thunderbirds, beating your personal best of 597.

you were back and netball fans around the nation knew it.

the next season you were back working with the diamonds, making your way towards one goal- playing in the world cup.

when it came around, you were picked in the starting seven- shooting goals for your country. you broke your personal best again, 653 becoming 672. you were approaching most goals scored ever by a singular player.

but second place smacked you and your girls harshly back into reality, you left with no cup. you left runners up. clips of you crying on the court went viral, your fans knew what that game meant to you. you were broken to lose.

the next year, you were signed to nike. you became a spokesperson for their newest line of netball shoes that they had manufactured and your face was plastered all over the country. billboards, posters, and any advertisement had you on the front.

soon, nike called you to a shoot with all of their major athletes, wanting to showcase the faces of their campaigns; and that’s when you met sam.

your entire world shifted. she was funny, confident, beautiful and smart; and you fell for her straight away. netball and sam were the only two things on your mind.

two months into being friends, she asked you to be her girlfriend.

news outlets were noticing how much time you both started spending together, how you were always in the stands at each others games if they didn’t conflict with the other persons. the instagram stories, being in the background of each others posts. people began to catch on.

but when you scored the winning goal at the 2022 commonwealth games against jamaica, sam and the rest of your teams family rushed the court; and she kissed you right there, on live television.

the secret was out, and you and sam quickly became one of australia’s favourite couples.

you both constantly showed off your unwavering amount of support for each others careers. matilda’s fans adored seeing you in the documentary and revelled in getting a peak into how crazy your life with sam really is. constantly travelling, constantly trying to make time for each other.

you both knew that your careers meant the world to you. you were determined to go back to the world cup in 2023 and win. she wanted to do the same.

but you both always knew what you went home to; each other, and that was enough for you both.

you worked hard to get picked back into the starting seven for the world cup, your coaches noticed your commitment and dedication- you were put in the line up, no questions asked.

you worked through the group stages and through the second stage, then the play-offs. the grand final was now staring you in the eyes, and england would be tough to beat, but you weren't planning on taking it easy on them.

you woke up early to get to the training centre with the girls, letting sam sleep in. you talked tactics, did some drills and watched through some past matches from the cup to talk about focuses for the final. you always got nervous before a big game, but this one had skyrocketed your anxiety.

sam had been called by your teammate ruby, when she found you throwing up in the bathroom for the second time that day.

"you're crazy if you think you're playing, you're obviously not well," her voice crackled through ruby's phone. you knew that you were fine, it was just the nerves- they were knocking you onto your ass.

"you're crazy if you think i'm not," you bit back, sam surprised by the bite in your tone. "i ate heaps at breakfast, and then ran sucicides for 25 minutes, sam" you explained. ruby shot you a look, knowing you were lying to your girlfriend. "i'm fine," you emphasised.

"you need to call it if you're not y/n" she said, sat with her elbows against her knees and her hand over her mouth. sat back in the hotel, she began to bite her nails. knowing that you could be bleeding out, and you would still play in this final. nothing would stop you. they would have to drag you out kicking and screaming.

"would you?" you ask her, eyebrows raised. sam didn't respond, only sitting in guilty silence. sam has played games ill on multiple occasions. through gastro, the flu and covid. you sat by her side every time and knew that, inevitably, she would be walking onto that pitch; too strong willed for her own good. you weren't much better.

"sam?" you called her name.

"no.." she sighed, knowing you were right. "no, i wouldn't" she said. "but even when i was sick i still told you if i was or not, so tell me; are you okay?"

you sighed, resting your head against the tiled walls of the bathroom. "i think it's just nerves," you admitted, "i-" you sighed again- "i'm shitting myself, i'm so nervous."

"baby" she tutted, "you're gonna be great. you've got this in the bag, yeah?"

"don't say that," you shook your head, "we lost to them last time."

it was true. in the group stages, you did- you lost to england.

"yeah, by a fucking point y/n"

"a point that i missed," you felt that loss heavy on your shoulders.

"she contacted you and the ref didn't call it," sam argued.

"i still missed"

"and you're not going to today," she told you, "you're gonna beat that pb, you're 33 off beating it". it was true, you were once again nearing your personal best for most goals in a season. "and i know that you're gonna shoot more than 33 tonight," she smiled.

"you think?" you whispered.

"i know"

and she was right. just as the half time whistle sounded, you had a penalty shot. the crowd cheered as you set up for your shot. sam was starting to stand up in her seat just a row behind the bench. she was cheering louder than anyone else there. you heard her 'come on, y/n' over everyone else in the crowd. macca and alanna sat on either side of sam, mary, hayley and steph there too to cheer you on.

you took a breath, straightened your elbow and shot with one hand, other arm by your side- your signature.

nothing but net.

the crowd went crazy. steph, your goal attack, engulfed you in her embrace. the england defenders congratulated you. you turned to where sam was sat and smile. she was now standing up straight celebrating with her teammates. she held up her first and met your gaze.

you smiled again, pretending to shoot another goal. she whistled out at you and pointed to you. the cameras caught it all. the crowd cheering at your interaction.

australia led at halftime 27-23.

in the last quarter, you were on fire. you shot every goal you went for, and the wheels fell off for england.

when the final whistle sounded, you were a world champ. 

your team defeated england 61-45. your subs rushed the court, so did your coaching staff. you screamed, running to meet your teammates. 

sam watched on as tears streamed down your face. liz, your captain, passed you the trophy as it was brought out for your team. you raised it up, the crowd knowing how special this was for you. after a long journey, you finally got to hold that cup. you looked up into the stands, to find sam. she was crying too, wiping tears from her eyes as macca hugged her. you sent her a smile, tears still streaming down your face as you cried. you blew her a kiss with your other hand, and she caught it, holding up her hand. 

“holy shit!” you shouted over to her. 

“i knew you could do it!” she called back. you laughed at her before being brought back into the moment with your team, only now- you were world champs. 

and even though the title rested on your shoulders, you couldn't wait to go home with sam tonight- you were always a champion to her, title or not.

[mpreginthestars]

Shawn thought that his career as a model was over when he found out that he was pregnant… that he would be shunned by his peers, and never work again. People in the industry tend to be so cruel whenever someone gets pregnant. They act as though it’s some kind of death sentence, or something… like it’s the worst thing to be. It’s so unfair.

Best case, a pregnant model loses a few jobs here and there, and becomes a token… the pregnant guy that only wears high-end paternity wear, or the pregnant guy that only has his belly photographed, because it’s just so “beautiful.” Pregnant guy this, pregnant guy that. Pregnant guys don’t get to walk in Fashion Week, or receive offers for spots in any big campaigns… the kinds of things that Shawn has gotten used to.

Getting pregnant is usually a career killer for guys like him, who are always featured in major promotions, commercials, and magazines… especially when the creep that knocks them up is a well-known photographer, who’s done the same thing to at least three-dozen other guys... but, against all odds, the trajectory of Shawn’s career hasn’t wavered since he got knocked up.

Work has remained consistent for him, even as he’s gotten larger… and, unlike some of his other expectant peers, he’s not just a cheap token, or a check on an inclusivity box. He’s continued to travel all around the country in the last seven months — walking runways in almost every major city in the country, working on huge nationwide campaigns, mingling with celebrities, shooting commercials for big companies, and having his face plastered across billboards and storefront windows — and he doesn’t plan on slowing down anytime soon.

Some of the shots from one of his latest jobs — a photo shoot for a national sporting goods franchise — are being advertised everywhere, to promote some of their newest apparel… and neither his pregnancy nor his belly are being treated as a major focus in their marketing. He’s just a guy, who happens to be pregnant, kicking a soccer ball around, and he looks damn good.

Shawn thought that his career was over when he found out that he was pregnant… but, man, was he wrong! By some strange twist of fate, he’s become an anomaly… a shining exception to a longstanding rule… and he couldn’t be more proud of himself for holding onto his livelihood, and not letting his fears stop his from continuing to work.

_________________________________

[sonatine]

Fandom:

Star Wars - All Media Types

Relationships:

Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker

Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker

Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker

Additional Tags:

Challengers AU

okay the loose structure of challengers

spans forty years

He was at the top of his game, but in a way that bored everyone. Another win. Another trophy. Another photoshoot airport in-flight green tea smile for the cameras locker room post match shower hotel bed jack off yoga sauna airport locker room tennis court shake hands smile show hotel alarm airport court match. Endless cycle. It was all getting a bit— tedious. 

Padme on the other hand: she'd served her country faithfully for a decade and then decided she'd missed tennis. At forty, she came out of retirement and made her comeback. Gen X women, who had grown up on the girl power 90s with the iconic Padme Amidala in a Nike two piece posters on their walls, loved her. Millennials in school loved her. Men of every age loved her. Her straight eyebrows and amber eyes peered at you from every billboard advertisement. Her dimples winked at you from each perfume commercial with whimsical yet unintelligible storylines. Her power serve graced every magazine cover in the nation. 

Everyone loves a comeback story. 

And now that Anakin and Padme are back on top — separately — the tongues began to wag again. Not that it matters much in Padme’s case. She's pathologically private about her personal life now. She must be donating over half her salary to paying off the press. Anakin, however, will never have that kind of leverage. His antics have sold too many stories. He's dressed in standard incognito to watch her match today: black baseball cap and sunglasses, long hair curling around his ears. He clenches his hands: everyone else’s heads swing back and forth as they follow the ball across the court. But Anakin only watches Padme. 

Mace texts again. Cameras still haven’t spotted you. But LEAVE AT THE HALF, OKAY?

[c3stlav1e]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥   basics 

♡ .  stage name: sohee

♡ .  birth name: yoon sohee

♡ .  birthday: june 30, 1997

♡ .  zodiac: cancer

♡ .  birthplace: incheon, south korea

♡ .  ethnicity: korean

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥   personal

♡ . personality

sohee is first and foremost soft, sweet, and generally sensitive. she chooses to be trusting and always actively tries to see the good in people first. this leads her to make excuses for people when she shouldn’t sometimes, but it also allows her to make connections with people more naturally. she tends to act pretty childlike at times, both the good and the bad. she gets excited easily, and people find her very endearing. she cries when she gets frustrated which usually makes her even more frustrated because it becomes harder to communicate. she can be rather self critical with a need for validation that can lead her into unhealthy spirals. this, combined with her inherent trusting and idealist attitude and her past trauma has led her into multiple toxic relationships in the past.

♡ . family

. jang hyemi ; mother

. yoon gwangjae ; father

. yoon minhee ; younger sister

♡ . physical

. height: 160 cm ( 5’3” )

. faceclaim: yoo siah “ yooa ”

. body mods: none

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥   professional

♡ . label: mgc entertainment ; rainbow entertainment

♡ . training period: 4 years at mgc entertainment ; 2 years at rainbow entertainment

♡ . group position: lead dancer, sub vocalist

♡ . idol persona

although not the maknae, she is often seen as the baby of the group. her sweet and innocent-like persona and visuals quickly made her the nation’s darling once again. she is the second most popular member domestically after anya, but prefers to take performance or acting experiences over modeling. she has appeared in a few dramas, the most popular being her role as jookyung in true beauty. she is rather touchy and in any given piece of content for the group, you will likely see her cuddled up with a member at any given time. she is the member most likely to do aegyo without putting up a fuss, and lovies have dubbed her the queen of aegyo both for this reason and because she manages to actually look impossibly cute while doing it. she loves to interact with fans, and there are endless compilations of “soft sohee moments with fans” on the internet. she is also a huge cat lover with a cat of her own that is constantly featured in her social media posts. she will take any opportunity to coo over a cat whether its one that is just minding its business in the street or if a fan takes the time to show her one in a fancall. she will send pictures of cats in their messaging service and always captions it with “this reminded me of our cutest lovies,” and she will happily don any animal ears given to her proudly. but especially the cat ones. she is the most likely to cry at their concerts and her members like to poke fun at her for it at times, tomi posting a full slideshow of pictures of her crying for her birthday several years in a row.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥   history tw ; csa

sohee has always been a pretty baby. everyone always told her parents so. no one had ever seen a baby more beautiful and sweet-natured, they said. she was perfect. on a whim when she was just about to turn 2, her mother entered her in a beautiful baby contest run by a famous childcare brand looking to find their next baby models. her win set her on an unexpected path of billboards and fame, the citizens of korea all knowing her name and cooing over her image before she could even form full sentences. she kept modeling and appearing in commercials throughout her childhood. she was a darling sensation in the late 90s and early 2000s, even brands like samsung sought her out for advertisements. she first realized her dream of becoming an idol when was around 5 and she had to perform a rendition of a children’s song for one of her commercials. it was her biggest hit, the catchy jingle and her cute little face boosting the company’s sales ten-fold. 

she kept modeling and acting in commercials for years, but as she got older, she began to book less and less. she was still pretty, they said, but she was losing that same toddler charm she once had. when she was 9 years old, she and her parents were approached by a scout from mgc entertainment, the company of one of the highest-selling girl groups of the time. her parents were a little hesitant, not only ready to be done with the industry they had been sucked into so suddenly, but believing sohee was too young to be a trainee. the scout was convincing enough though, telling her parents that they wanted to make her the next boa. sohee begged and begged for them to let her join, and after a week or so of consideration, finally agreed. she did an obligatory audition but was immediately accepted, the company seeking her out for her visuals and her already hefty resume as a child model. 

she enjoyed her training at first, happy that she spent her days learning to sing and dance with other kids her age. that was until one of the dance instructors began giving her special treatment. he always gave her praise in front of the class despite berating other kids, he would give her special lessons in his own studio, and eventually he began making advances on her. she didn’t understand it at first. she liked being his favorite, even though some of her friends began to turn on her because of it. she liked being praised and encouraged. but often times she was self-conscious of the way he would put his hands on her while guiding her movements, or his tone of voice when he would speak to her when they were alone. 

it got to the point where one day, she begged and begged her mom to let her stay home from practice and quit being a trainee. concerned for her daughter after her initial excitement, she eventually got the truth out of sohee and was enraged. her parents immediately took the issue to the company, but they informed them that they had signed exclusive 5-year contracts with them, including nda clauses. the company threatened the family with legal action if they continued to speak on the issue or if they pulled sohee out of the training program. unable to risk the costs, they reluctantly sent sohee back to the program. they warned her to stay away from the teacher as much as she could, but to tell no one else about the issue.

the next day after class, the teacher pulled her aside and told her that she would never make it in the industry if she couldn’t handle special treatment. that he was only helping her to reach her dreams and that every girl who had ever made it as a star had been in her position. she kept attending his lessons after that.

she was always torn. she still had a deep love for performing. she got lost in a dance or a song, relishing in the way she felt strong and impenetrable when she was on the stage. but she was slowly becoming more isolated, and the instructor made her feel wrong for wanting to chase this dream. in the 5th year of her training, the final year of her dreaded contract, one day she arrived to the studios where she had spent years practicing and found them entirely abandoned. it turns out that the company had been under investigation for fraud, money laundering, and csam related crimes for the past few months. suddenly everything that she had been working for, that she had been suffering for, disappeared before her very eyes.

it took years for her to get over the crushing loss of her dream and even begin to heal from the trauma she had experienced. 3 years after the disappearance of mgc entertainment, just after her 16th birthday, another scout approached her on the street on behalf of rainbow entertainment. she denied her at first, struggling to even hold a conversation as anxiety rubbed raw at her throat, but she took her card, if only to get away quicker. but the longer she considered it, the more she was reminded of what her dream had meant to her. her parents were hesitant at first, not quick to forget the way she was torn apart when this dream did not work out before, bit after seeing her renewed determination, they agreed. but not before hiring a lawyer to sit in on any contract signing.

she found a new life while training at rbe, a renewed passion for what she had longed for before. she still struggled with symptoms of ptsd at times, but she had found a strong support system in her friends, especially seolah who she had quickly found solace in. she was overcome with joy on their debut day, hardly unable to stop crying as her dream finally came to reality after everything she had gone through to get there.

[iobillboard]

National Billboard Advertisers

IO Billboards is the National Billboard Advertisers Company, providing billboard ad services to many national and multinational brands in Michigan. We provide billboards services to many clients at a very low cost. To learn more, visit https://iobillboard.com/about/. Call our experts at 248-489-8989.

[alien-in-residence]

The Last Human Diplomat Ch.1

The Greatest Gift to Give is Hope, the glowing holo billboard said to Rhean on her way to work. It depicted a group of dirt-covered humans in tattered robes reaching up their arms towards a handsome looking Rouen-Ta with perfectly manicured horns and fresh, clean clothes. The billboard towered over the foot traffic of the station like a condemnation from the heavens.

Rhean could not help but look at it every morning on her commute. It sickened her. She did not look like that. The refugees she represented did not look like that. They were not dirty primates living in rubble. They were people struggling to tread water in the harsh political currents of The Exchange. And it was Rhean’s job to help chart the course for them.

While walking through the station she couldn’t help but feel a little lost at sea. A miasma of alien heads, tentacles, and eye-analogues bobbed their way through the pedestrian hallways. A sense of otherness threatened to take hold of Rhean. She repeated her mantra in her head, I belong here. I’m as alien to them as they are to me. I am a representative of humanity. I belong here. I am as alien to them as they are to me….

She made it to the embassy offices before most of the other ambassadors. She was the lone human in the cluster of self-important diplomats, but several others also shared her species’ isolation. The Rankart ambassador was a member of a new species on the stage, newer even than humanity. They had made some small talk with Rhean but the fate of humanity always made people nervous. That, and Rhean’s many scars.

Rhean sat at her desk and enjoyed a cup of coffee. Commonalities of biology meant that many species of The Exchange utilized mild stimulants and some of those that did, specifically used caffeine. It was not terribly hard then for Rhean to convince local fabricators to design her some coffee grounds and a machine to brew coffee. The fabricators could not have imagined how important it would be for Rhean’s mornings and for her meetings with other Human refugees. Little comforts like hot coffee went a long way in this alien land.

Rhean was early enough that she could enjoy her morning coffee without interference or interruption. The other ambassadors trickled into the annex and Rhean managed to greet some of them. Being seen and more importantly being seen as friendly were fundamental to her job. She had to fight to undo the message of the advertisement on that billboard. Humanity needed help but they weren’t a huddling mass of miserables waiting for a mighty savior. Humanity was scarred and determined. They would not be at anyone’s mercy ever again.

Rhean poured out her cold coffee as the Rouen-Ta ambassador finally arrived. She entered like a sovereign returning to their castle. Lhuk was the most senior ambassador and represented the most powerful nation in the annex, The Rouen-Ta Republic. Her importance dwarfed the other diplomats like a gas giant consuming a field of asteroids. Lhuk made her usual ‘good-mornings’ to the ambassadors she was clearly working down today. Rhean returned to her office to await her moment.

The human ambassador’s office was not sparse but it was not lavish. She had three paintings on the walls, all of which faced the one chair she had set up for visitors. Rhean’s desk was faux-wood of a dark color with complicated patterns in the grain. She had been very specific with the fabricator and even she didn’t remember her precise reasoning for its design. It contrasted with the generally light metal walls and their obnoxiously clean surfaces. Rhean liked to imagine that it gave her desk the impression of being something ‘real’ placed into a simulated world.

Rhean was pretending to read through messages as she waited for Lhuk to arrive. Lhuk would normally pop her bovine-like head through the door and ask some innocuous question then depart. She did it nearly every day, making appearances, being friendly, being important.

Lhuk was a born and bred diplomat. Among the Rouen-Ta that was likely literally true. Rhean did not dislike her for it, but she found some of her habits clearly disingenuous. Rhean hoped, somewhat naively, that among professional liars like the other diplomats, they could at least be honest with each other. But deep down Rhean understood that a diplomat’s job was being a constant actor, putting on display what she wanted others to think of her people.

Rhean stirred when she heard Lhuk chatting up the Rankart ambassador that shared a wall with her office. She arrayed her desk to have a thin layer of data sheets and print outs. Lhuk popped her head into the door frame and spoke through her ambassador’s translator. It expressed tone and inflection perfectly but the disconnect between lips and sounds could never be removed. “Morning, Rhean. How’s the atmosphere? Not too-”

“The air’s fine, Lhuk,” Rhean interrupted. Her voice was sweet and her tone endearing. She spoke the Rouen-Ta high-language well. “I’m glad you stopped by actually, are we still good for dinner tonight with the representative from the Yonk College?”

Lhuk kept her translator set to Rhean’s language, “Oh yes, of course. I’m glad you reminded me. I’d have been late again. You know how the Duoro ambassador is with his lunches. They always seem to stretch between two meals.” Lhuk dipped her large head almost imperceptibly as she continued her rounds through the office.

Rhean was quite pleased with herself. It took careful tact and fore-planning to get a bow from a Rouen-Ta. That slight head dip wasn’t exactly a bow but Rhean considered it a victory nonetheless.

The dinner with the Yonk representative had been extended to Lhuk, not Rhean. Rhean had been maneuvering for weeks to get her invitation. Four ambassadors were going, including Lhuk and herself. The Yonk representative had been unclear in his invitation and had used a formal plural pronoun instead of a singular one when addressing The Honorable Rouen-Ta Ambassadors. Lhuk, ever the opportunist, had used it as political leverage to lord the invites over the others in the annex. It was likely that any guests brought would be interpreted as servants by the Yonk. The situation had numerous social layers to it, but Rhean needed to be in that room with the representative.

Rhean set herself to actually reading and responding to her messages. Her position as ambassador was tenuous to say the least. For one, she didn't represent a nation or state. The rest of the workday was relatively relaxed. Rhean took calls with refugee representatives across the exchange and worked with suppliers to get relief packages shipped to where they were needed. Lhuk had disappeared around mid day to lunch with the Duoro ambassador who had afforded himself an isolated office away from the ambassador complex. It was clear his separate office was meant to convey prestige and put his Duoro clan on level with the Imperium, but Rhean just thought he was an ass.

With about a standard hour left in the station's main work shift, most of the ambassador complex was empty. They usually worked lax schedules. Working too late into the night could convey you were busy. And a busy ambassador looked stressed. And what would an ambassador be stressed about? It did not look good to be stressed.

Oh yes, what could I possibly have to be stressed about?, Rhean thought as she sighed and reclined in her chair. Everything’s cheery and fine for a human being these days. In her mind her inner thoughts oozed with vicious sarcasm.

Her final task of the day was not logged anywhere and she had been careful not to even write it down on the corner of a report anywhere. She packed up her things early, which to the other ambassadors was late, and locked up her office. Only the Rankart ambassador was still there when she departed. And they were likely to be there well into the night as their people tried to avoid war with the Imperium.

Rhean made her way carefully and casually to a ritzy part of the station known for its exotic food. She walked through the front entrance of an ancient looking establishment and then straight into the back. The staff knew her and some even waved as she came to pick up her order.

The restaurant served a wide clientele but specialized in food tailored for species near the core. This was one of the few places on the station that felt truly multicultural. It was a widely known secret that the chef was Kiran. If people on the station had any issues with him breaking from traditional caste roles, they didn't voice them.

Rhean found familiar faces in the kitchen. She had made herself a regular here and might have gotten a handful of Va-tess line cooks addicted to coffee. A sous-chef saw her and shouted something that Rhean did not recognize. Not soon after the head chef, Mikta, emerged. His facial tentacles moved in a pattern that Rhean had come to recognize as a sign of joy. The two hugged tightly and Mikta replied in Imperium Standard, “You showed up so late, I barely have time to eat with you before the dining room fills up.”

Rhean laughed and replied, “Late? I told you I’d come by seven and it's five!”

Mikta’s vocalizer laughed back, “Come over here, I’ve got your order ready.” He nearly waddled as he walked. His age was evident even across the species border. Rhean did not know what differentiates a young Kiran from an old one, but Mikta nearly shouts his age at the universe with his actions. “I might have some time to make you some guhbaht soup,” he offered.

Rhean raised her hands in defense and protest, “I have a diplomat dinner tonight, I can’t show up full again.”

Mikta waved her protest away, “Fah! Those diplo-corps cooks don’t know what they’re doing. You should eat something edible while you can.” Mikta approached a cook and sent them off to collect Rhean’s order. Before she could protest further, he began making something at the stove top. “You should know you’re not getting out of here without eating something.”

Someone found her a stool and Rhean sat down to watch the master at work. “I surrender, I surrender. But please, nothing too big. I have to at least pretend to enjoy these diplomat’s hospitality.” Mikta grumbled something that was likely another jab at the diplo-corps. Mikta expertly skinned and gutted a fish with more eyes than Rhean was comfortable with. He used his four arms to their full extent and was soon grilling a pungent collection of fish and vegetables. His arms were a flurry as they added spice and sauce. He finished by scooping the slurry into a flatbread cone. He said nothing as he handed it to Rhean and his eyes demanded that she eat.

She bit into the collection and closed her eyes in bliss. The spice was up front but not all encompassing. Whatever species of fish it was, its meat was perfect. It all crumbled together in her mouth as she chewed. Some of the alien vegetables crunched beneath her teeth while others formed a flavorful mash. She was foolish to ever resist Mikta’s cooking. If Mikta could smile, he’d be beaming like an old grandfather.

He turned to Rhean’s order and examined each item with a keen eye. The staff had learned their lesson from previous outbursts and none of it was sent back. Mikta took an extra moment to look over the loaf of human styled bread. He showed the full length of the baguette to Rhean and asked for her approval. He behaved as if she was the expert but Mikta never missed an opportunity to master a new culture’s food.

He looked through the final bag and pulled a long thin fish out of it. “Now be careful with this one. If you cook for any Yonks you have to be careful about deveining it.” He turned the fish over in his hands, inspecting it carefully. “Let me gut it for you.” He moved to grab a knife but Rhean stopped him.

“I can handle it. Don’t worry, I’m not cooking for any Yonks with this. I just wanted to try it.”

Mikta looked unsure but returned it to the bag. “Be careful, still. I don’t know how it would affect humans if you cut it up wrong.” “I’ll be extra careful with it,” Rhean assured him. “You worry too much Mikta.” She looped her arms through the bags and took another bite of her flatbread cone. “And thank you again for the food.”

Mikta switched from doting to adoring, “It is called a nueh. I will make you many more when you come to dinner here tomorrow.” Rhean laughed but agreed to come back for dinner. Mikta shoo-ed her out like a child late for school.

Rhean was running late. She considered taking the station tram back to her apartment but stuck to the pedestrian walkways. The tram would keep a record of where she got on and where she got off. So she took the longer route, sticking to pathways and sidewalks until she finally arrived at her apartment in one of the mid-rings of the station.

Her apartment was the stereotypical ambassador or politician’s home. Wooden surfaces had become the recent wealth display across the Exchange and Rhean had followed along. In her case all of the wood was false with metal or tile breaking up the monotony. Unlike her co-workers, Rhean wasn’t an ambassador for a sovereign nation. Her salary, her entire position, was funded through donation.

As much as Rhean hated the condescending billboard from her morning commute, the donations it brought in funded her job. If the Exchange didn’t pity humankind, they wouldn’t throw money at refugee relief. Without that pity money, Rhean couldn’t buy Mikta’s exotic fish.

She set to work carefully. She put all the produce in her cooler and organized the meats by the prep needed. She set aside a small collection of green vegetables along with the toxic fish that Mikta had warned her about. She turned on her stove top and quickly sliced a few cubes of the greens. She didn’t know what the veggies were called but they were close enough to cucumbers for her palate. She let all the constituent parts of her dinner sit in her frying pan on low heat. Her main objective became the deveining of the toxic fish.

The creature had a set of six eyes that Rhean tried not to look at as she cut off its head. The thing wasn’t a fish by earth taxonomy but translation was already tricky enough without scientific pedantry. The fish had a large chitin plate that ran the length of its back. She ran a thin knife between the plate and the flesh beneath. A web of membranes fought back at her knife. She was careful as she went, cutting as close to the chitin as she could manage.

As Rhean neared the tail of the fish she was tempted to just rip off the chitin. She was diligent however and carefully cut away the last few tendons connecting it to the fish’s flesh. Her reward was a disgusting view of the fish’s red on purple meat. All along its thin back muscles ran deep blue veins, filled with toxins that would kill a Yonk in a minute and make a human feverish. She had practiced this next task several times. She put on sanitary gloves before she started.

The deveining went even slower than the shelling. Her hands cramped before she could finish. The veins resisted careful extraction, wanting to tear in halves and spill their deadly contents. In the end, she had a half handful of loose veins and viscera. She took a portion of the toxic veins and tossed them into the composter. After cleaning her knife she chopped the remaining fish flesh into rough filets.

She threw the filets in the frying pan with little regard for seasoning while she collected the remaining veins into a mortar and pestle. She ground down the viscera until she was left with a pinkie sized pale-blue mash. This was finally deposited into a sealed plastic baggie that Rhean pressed flat into a coin shape.

She made a show of trying to finish up her staged dinner. She burnt the ends of the fish meat and took a few bites that were eventually spit out. Most of the dinner ended up in the composter along with the previously discarded veins. She threw her knives and the rest of her kitchen implements into a sterilizer. Hopefully if anyone got to this point, they’d see what she intended them to see: Rhean had cooked herself a somewhat exotic dinner.

The dress she had chosen was a reserved maroon pantsuit that was maybe a half size too loose along her waist. The designer was over a century dead and Rhean didn’t know of any seamstresses that could fix it for her. Her constructed appearance combined the vague impression of professionalism and a hint of enticing mystery. Or at least she believed it would’ve with a human crowd. For all she knew, she might be the spitting image of some Yonk chicken analogue.

She hid the disk of poison in a concealed pouch along her hip. The ancient designer had been gracious enough to stitch in pockets. Rhean looked to her data slate and saw she was definitely going to be late. She sprinted to the tram station near her apartment block. The wave of alien passengers pressed against each other as she pushed her way into the train car. As a thousand appendages pressed into a confined metal tube, that sense of otherness threatened to overtake her. The small disk of poison became her anchor.

I belong here. I’m as alien to them as they are to me…

[albatrossmuffin]

A Subtitler’s Hypothesis for the Timeline of the End of FS2

Be prepared for a novel here 😂

So the opening montage through the night pool scene is likely March (potentially early April, but no one is actually -seen- going to school yet, so probably end of March)

Although clearly everyone has some kind of arrangement or virtual accommodations with school, because they are ALL at training camp from April – August/September, maybe even through early October (so Haru, being out of the country away from school for a couple months? Paltry lol he did not quit school imo)

              -Nationals in DF were in August (high school nationals are in August, I checked lol), which was followed by the All Japan, however based on how warm everyone is dressed in Tokyo afterwards in FS2, it can’t be earlier than September/October-y 

Fukuoka Tournament – (late?) October – I say late based on those warm clothes again; I’ve worn shorts in early October in Tokyo before lol. And yet those in Iwatobi aren’t dressed too warmly yet, so it couldn’t be later than that. It doesn’t seem like a lot of time passed between the All Japan and Fukuoka, so they could both realistically be in October, even. But there’s two facts to sort of reverse engineer that this was Octoberish

-A Japanese fan pointed out the clock at sunset when Rin is showing his family his bronze medal, it’s around 5:10, and the sun is starting to set. Looking at sunset time maps, this would fit in October. (The sun sets in the late 5 o clock range in mid to late October in Fukuoka)

-Ikuya tells Ai in early December that Haru “got out of the hospital last month” aka November, which saying last month idk it makes it sound to me like it was a different month than the actual competition lol

But why is Ikuya and Ai’s convo in early December, you ask? With the phrase “last month,” there has to be a month in between Fukuoka and Haru going to Iwatobi. I would say there is no more than that based on Ikuya’s clothes in the scene. The girl, and others around are wearing wintery coats, yet Ikuya, compared with his coat in FS1 when everyone leaves for New Year, isn’t that bundled yet. So it’s cold, but not cold enough for Ikuya to be in full ‘winter mode’ yet, aka early December. So:

Fukuoka Tournament – October-y

Haru in the hospital for some length of time – November (with My MakoHaru heart, I’d vote he gets out before Makoto’s birthday lol ^^ BUT he does need to be out with a few weeks left in November so he has time to shoot the advertisement billboard, and get his stuff ready/school affairs in order to go to Iwatobi in December)

-sidebar, after this convo would be where Ai goes to Hungary to study abroad (maybe after New Year); the line “soon after entering university” has to mean within his first year of school, so away he goes lol

(Even if the tournament & hospitalization were both in October somehow, and “last month” meant October [the deciding factor would be how long you think he was in the hospital for], this would still be mid or late November because of the Ikuya clothes thing, and needing the time for the billboard and school, so everything still applies lol)

Haru in Iwatobi – December; where it makes sense he wouldn’t leave before New Year, when people are home to celebrate

So January he would get his affairs in order in Iwatobi and Tokyo, and be gone from late January/February through the end of March

Why I think the epilogue is the end of March: We’ve got both new students showing up in Tokyo, and also Momo hasn’t had his send off race yet – it’s a between period where things are happening over the break. Further evidence, in ES1 when they go to the send off race, a calendar showing a third week in a month is seen (you can see a digit in the teens in the week above, and a digit beginning with 2 in the week below) – there is no month, but it can only be March, because February would be too early, and April way too late.

Unrelated to the timeline lol: so in my headcanon world, Rin & Makoto have come to Hungary for some form of tournament: Haru is back now (precise verbs were “is back” & “is returning”), so his rehab must be in its end stages. There could be a tournament happening in Hungary that will be Haru’s first ‘official’ tournament of his return, and Rin is there to compete, and Makoto is there to support/shadow trainers, etc (that could have happened through a connection with Azuma, Nao, or his school, or even Natsuya take your pick lol). After said tournament, Haru may stay in Hungary a few more weeks to get his stuff together, then return to Tokyo.

Why is it a tournament, not some kind of training camp? We were given one tiny, tiny clue lol: When the world championships were in Budapest last year, Free’s website made some kind of note about broadcasting or something I cannot recall tbh lol but the important thing is they called it “Hungary Tournament,” the same way they call all the tournaments in FS. Smart Japanese fans pointed out that nowhere in any media coverage of the Budapest championships was it called “Hungary Tournament.” So it had the vibe of a subtle wink to fans lol, but it could be either one (headcanon stays almost the same lolol).

Yeeeah lol I hope this is helpful to anyone!! :D

[coochiequeens]

I feel sad for the model but is anyone really surprised that an organization in a city that is synonymous with sexually exploiting women saw nothing wrong with a woman with self-harm scars in the first place?

A digital poster created by Pride Amsterdam is sparking backlash for featuring a trans-identified female model with a significant amount of of self-mutilation scars on her arms. 

Photos of the advertisement began circulating on social media last week, showing a digital information stand in the iconic libertine city displaying the poster, which was part of the “My Gender, My Pride” campaign. 

The campaign was launched as part of the wider Pride parade celebrations held annually from July 30 to August 7, which often take on a different theme every year.

Jason Bhugwandass, the subject of the digital poster, is one of 10 Ambassadors selected by Pride Amsterdam to represent the theme of the campaign. In the photo, Bhugwandass appears topless, displaying ‘gender affirming’ mastectomy scars and a stuffed dog perched on her shoulder. 

But it was the trail of jagged self-harm marks from wrist-to-shoulder that sparked the most concern.

The digital poster invites passersby to scan a QR code and watch a video created by Pride Amsterdam featuring an interview with Bhugwandass. In the video, Bhugwandass explains she takes a stuffed dog with her everywhere she goes in order to self-soothe. 

Bhugwandass, 23, had been featured in a documentary released at the Netherlands International Documentary Film Festival in 2021. The hour-long film, titled ‘Jason,’ revealed Bhugwandass had been the victim of extreme domestic violence as a child. A profile on Bhugwandass published in RTL Niews in January adds that Bhugwandass was also abused by “multiple neighbors” throughout her youth.

At age 16, Bhugwandass was diagnosed with PTSD and housed in five locked youth treatment facilities over the course of one year due to repeated suicide attempts and depression. While in the facilities, Bhugwandass was often placed in solitary confinement, and experienced additional emotional trauma. 

While the image of the billboard was circulated by many accounts, it wracked up mass attention after popular British feminist influencer Aja posted it to her Twitter on July 28.

“A woman who clearly spent years engaging in self-harm on her arms is now being celebrated because she has moved her self harming on to her chest,” Aja wrote, “This [message] is extremely dangerous.. its Pro-Ana the 2022 version.”

Pro-Ana, a shortened version of “pro-anorexia,” is a reference to an online subculture popularized by Tumblr which glorified eating disorders and self-harm. The subculture gained notoriety in the mid-2000s, where young girls flocked to post and circulate “thinspiration” on their blogs in an attempt to encourage each other to take on fad-diets and shed as much weight as possible. 

Aja’s tweet wracked up almost 5,000 ‘likes’ as of this article’s writing, and over 450 primarily furious replies to the post were logged from feminists and those who have survived self-harm.

“I honestly cannot believe this exists,” user @stemfemm wrote in response to Aja, “The self-inflicted scars and the top surgery scars are one in the same. Self hatred and self loathing, now used to market trendy plastic surgeries to help you run further from yourself.”

This is not the firm time a trans-identified female has been used to advertise the benefits of ‘gender affirming’ surgeries while also appearing to have engaged in significant amount of self-harm prior to the procedure. 

In December of 2021, an image from infamous gender surgeon Dr. Sidhbh Gallagher began to circulate on social media, showing an image of one of her clients she had posted to Facebook.

The female who had been given a double-mastectomy was similarly sporting a disturbing number of self-harm scars on her stomach and arms.

The outrage regarding the Pride Amsterdam billboard came just one day after England’s National Health Service announced that the country’s only pediatric gender identity clinic would be closing its doors. The news followed a damning investigation into the Tavistock’s Gender Identity Development Service (GIDS) that was released in March of this year.

The review was the result of multiple whistleblowers coming forward with concerns about the clinic and its minor patients. Some said they felt Tavistock was engaging in gay conversion therapy for pursuing heavy-handed gender-based solutions, as well as often ignoring co-morbidities in young patients — such as autism or mental health concerns.

Of note, the review’s interim report pointed to a 2011 study which found that up to 10% of young people being referred for gender identity services in the Netherlands were on the autism spectrum.

By Janet Douglas Janet Douglas is a social media commentator for Reduxx. Janet is an American scientist who feels passionately about corporate transhumanism and how it contributes to the global erasure of the sex-based rights of women and girls.

[qualitysigns]

Las Vegas, Nevada, USA

this sign was originally on a billboard advertising the Palms Casino Resort in 2001 and was later acquired by the Neon Museum.

after the casino was bought in 2021 by the San Manuel Gaming and Hospitality Authority, a government entity of the San Manuel Band of Mission Indians/Yuhaaviatam of San Manuel Nation, the tribe gave a grant to the Neon Museum to restore the sign. the restoration was completed in 2023 and the sign is on display at the museum, now fully functional.