#carbon fork

[goodoldbandit]

Mastering Motorcycle Front Forks: Standard, Adjustable, and Electronically Controlled Forks Explained

When it comes to motorcycle performance and ride comfort, your front fork system plays a pivotal role. Whether you’re a beginner rider, an enthusiast looking to fine-tune your ride or a tech-savvy speedster chasing the latest innovations, understanding the differences between standard, adjustable, and electronically controlled forks is essential. Each type brings its own set of advantages—from…

[almondmilkcleanser]

𝖈𝖗𝖔𝖔𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖑𝖊𝖌𝖘 𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒☾ ☽𝖓𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 - OO4

SYNOPSIS - what was supposed to be a quaint summertime retreat to your favorite cousin's mansion has now turned into a type of rendezvous that you never dreamed of between two contrasting butlers with, almost sinisterly, similar desires.

■ ` ♡ characters / fandom ; f!reader x sebastian michaelis x Claude Faustus ■ ` ♡ tw ; MINORS DNI

main menu | one-shots menu | masterlist

■ ` ♡ VIP GUESTS TO THE MEAL ↷@preciousamethyst @crow-like-shiny-things @chrollohearttags @muvaginger @justaproudslytherpuff @kookie-vuitton @starstarbinks @flxxrence @urbunniebaby @nocturessa @neko-michaelis @maidensblessing @aiyaaayei

■ ` ♡ A/N → siiiigh I'm so sorry for disappearing on you guys -- alot has been going on and I completely lost desire to write. Forgive meeeee. Enjoy this apologetic meal on my behalf <3

A few weeks passed. It was dinnertime. You sat at the far end of the table in silence. Sebastian was at Ciel’s side, calm and stoic. Claude was at Alois’ side, his eyes closed and hands behind his back. Alois, with an almost devious child-like glee, ate his bountiful meal in gulps. You often would glance at his direction just to make sure that the child chewed his food properly.

Mei Rin, Fin and Baldroy all stood by the door, their individual stances equally unnerving. You felt like everyone was watching you. Waiting for your next word or your next motion.

Everyone but Ciel.

Instead, he sat there, unamused, with one hand used as a rest stop for his cheek while the other lazily wrapped itself around a steak fork. That same hand repeatedly poked a large chunk of meat almost as if he were double checking if it was fully dead or not. 

You took a small bite of your meal. Tonight was themed after the French –  Steak au Poivre slow simmered in a red wine sauce. Your serving was pre-sliced into fine, almost mechanical slices. You could easily pick up each tantalizing piece with ease and pop it into your mouth without worrying about spillage. Each bite being more delicious than the next.

Each morsel melting in your mouth like butter. As much as it aggravated you to be seated with this brat, his lackey and a blonde-haired carbon copy diagonally from you, the fragrant morsels in front of you made it seem to be, at the least, moderately tolerable. 

“Dinner is excellent tonight.” you spoke, drawing up Sebastian’s attention first then Ciel’s. His piercing blue eye looked straight at you as you continued lapping up your meat with the viscous red sauce. You could almost see yourself in the viscous reflection. 

“Who is the chef with such talent?” a wiry smile spread across your full lips. As you looked up, you saw Sebastian’s burn into you. He didn’t smile nor did he frown. But he never broke his gaze off of you. Claude on the other hand, only opened his eyes. He too was waiting on a response. 

“Well,” Ciel smirked proudly as the words left his lips. His own little sense of pride beaming off his cool skin. 

“It was none other than Baldroy himself. He had a little help, afterall.” Ciel raised his hand, palm upwards, in Sebastian’s direction. 

“Oh, Young Master, you flatter me.” Sebastian bowed his head at the compliment. “Its all in a day’s work as the Phantomhive Butler.” If you could vomit your red sauce, you most definitely would. 

“I see.” You dabbed your lips with the cloth on your lap. Trying your best to be a defined lady. Even with the inert frustration and irritation this ordeal has put you through, you stil maintained your composure. Both Sebastian and Claude took notice of that. One of them more impressed than the other. 

“So what are the proposed plans for tomorrow?” you picked over your tray of vegetables, the leftover wine sauce coating your peas and carrots a dull maroon color. 

Sebastian peered his eyes at the Young Master who carefully picked at his vegetables as well. Sebastian cleared his throat, adjusting his tie in the process.

“A studious Young Master won’t be so well equipped to perform his duties if he skips his vegetables.” Ciel grimaced, sending Sebastian in a silent giggle. It took a while for Ciel’s brattish stare to pry off of Sebastian, but when his eyes bounced back to you with an uncomfortably childish smile, you sort of wished he would have continued staring daggers at Sebastian. 

“Tomorrow, we are going for a hunt.” You don’t know why this response made you unconsciously swallow. “Alois and I are going to pair up while Claude and Sebastian attend to you.” shit! “Afterall, its not all the time we have such a high-functioning lady in our company. We can see to it to make a few subtle arrangements.”

You forced a chuckle. “I can’t say that having your designated butlers following me around qualifies as subtle. I assure you that I can handle myself just fine on the hunt alone.”

“That just won’t do!” This time Alois chimed in, sending your stomach in a whirl. “Claude and Sebastian will be your company while Ciel and I talk much important matters. Won’t that be fun, Claude?” Alois’ piercing blue eyes radiated to Claude who merely nodded his head with his eyes closed. 

“Then it's settled.” Ciel smiled, clapping his hands together. “We shall meet in the morning. Make sure you get adequate rest, Y/N.” you scanned the room for a moment before deciding it was time for you to retire. Everyone seemed so rehearsed, everything too pristine. It made you sick. So, with a dab of your mouth with the napkin on your lap, you pushed yourself from the table, proceeding to the main hall doors that led to the bedroom chambers. 

“If its alright with you, Ciel, I would appreciate Sebastian to show me the way back to my room. I still get rather lost in such a big home.” you helped yourself through the doors, only leaving a big enough crack for another person to walk through. Sebastian looked down at the bored Ciel, who merely sipped his nighttime tea, unabashed at your mild tantrum. 

“Go see to it she finds her room, Sebastian. But don’t take all night doing so.” Claude’s eyes slid to Sebastian who kept a calm appearance. 

“Yes, My Lord.” Sebastian bowed his head, dismissing himself, and gracefully left the dining hall with a firm click of the doors. 

—

“I don’t enjoy hunting. Not one bit. And Ciel knows that.” you huffed on the bed, kicking off your shoes in a groan. “I don’t see why i have to accompany him on such a brutish, unneccessary slaughter.”

“Forgive me if I’m misunderstanding, but you didn’t seem to have a problem cutting into tonight’s steak.” You cut your eyes at Sebastian with a scoff. 

“Its different! I don’t want to see them being killed Sebastian. Sigh. Help me, please.” 

“As you wish.” Sebastian walked around to the other side of the bed. He moved your hair to the side to loosen the ties and clamps around your dress. As his fingers brushed against your bare skin, you trembled. You and Sebastian have been meeting almost every other night for the past few weeks.

He catered to your mind and serenaded your flesh, effortlessly. You took advantage of having him to your every beck and call in the interim of you staying there. Father seemed elated based off the letters Sebastian wrote him and business continued on as planned. But, tonight, you had another craving on the tip of your tongue. 

His slender fingers ran down the hem of your dress, slowly draping them off your shoulders little by little. He leaned down to kiss the nape of your neck, tracing his lips down your spine. 

“Your tense.” he whispered in your ear. “What ails you?” he slipped his hands into your dress, his gloved hands encircling your breasts around and around. “I thought this makes the lady feel good.”

“It does.” you sighed, tilting your head back . He flicked his fingers back and forth on your nipples. He climbed on the bed, on his knees, with his torso bent to press against your back. You felt the warmth of his chest against his dress shirt, making you crave to be flesh to flesh again. When he touched you one specific way, you tilted one of your shoulders upwards, mewling softly beneath clenched lips. 

He sucked his teeth playfully in a scolding fashion, using his chin to push your shoulder down. All of your clasps were undone, ribbons unraveled, hanging loosely against the seams of your dress. Without resistance, you angled your body so your dress could fall and your bare flesh be exposed in the mirror in front of you.

You angled your face to Sebastian, palming his angular jawline in a lover’s admiration. If one were to look at you two, they would assume that this was another night. That you two, completely enamored with each other, were tantrically peeling away the layers. Bracing each touch and kiss with delicate precision. 

Even when you closed your eyes, you could pretend that Sebastian was something more. That he was, perhaps, someone else. Sebastian kissed your jawline from the small piece of connecting flesh between your ear down to your chin.

Nipping intentionally here and there, smiling at your recoil in pleasure. He sifted through the bottom of your dress until he found his paradise. Parting your lips with his pointer and middle finger, he rubbed up and down, tauntingly missing the bud of your clit to make you squirm. 

“Please-” you groaned aloud, wrapping one of your arms around his neck. You gaped, hoping for another word to leave your mouth, but it simply didn’t. He motioned his finger around and around, pushing down, flicking back and forth, plunging into your wetness as he pleased. His breath hitched at your wetness, at the viscosity of your slick thickening stroke by stroke.

“The lady is needy today, what’s the matter?” He kissed your earlobe, smiling to himself. He knew it was going to be nearly impossible for yout o mumble a coherent sentence with him teasing you so much. Your eyes pressed shut, moans echoing across the room, you opened your eyes and gazed into the mirror just to see Sebastian staring right back at you with a fanged grin. 

“Talk to me, Y/N. You know I’m only here to take care of you.”

“Sigh” he continued at your neck as the thoughts tried to pool to the front of your mind. “I’m craving something else tonight.” his eyebrow raised, but he continued his pacing. 

“I want-” He pushed two fingers inside of you, this time leaving it there. The pressure surged up to your stomach, making you purr.

“I want you.” You moaned aloud, releasing onto his fingers. 

“And Claude.”

His movements slowed, making you panic. “O-only if its alright with you. I’m more than happy with you. I just- I’m just-” He reassuringly kissed your jaw again, slowly retracting from inside of you. 

“The lady doesn’t have to explain. By how.. Aroused you get,” he suckled those same fingers, humming in mischevious delight, “There’s no doubt who you’ll prefer overall.” 

“Time to come out of hiding, Claude.” huh?! 

You covered your chest on reflex as Claude pushed the wardrobe door open and climbed out without a hint of apprehension or embarrassment. Instead, he stood there, his eyes peered to you with his arms behind his back. A butler ready to serve. 

“W-what? For how long?”

“You forget our agreement, my dear.” Sebastian reached around to pull the zipper on the side of your dress, fully undressing you this time. His hands were meticulous, almost routine. “We are here to please you until your time here is over.” His crimson eyes looked to Claude with a reminiscent smirk. “Our dear Claude was never far, you see. He was merely waiting, every time.”

“Every ti-” Your memory reeled back to the night that Sebastian had your chest pinned to the bed and hips high in the air. He pounded in you relentlessly, making you squirm, whine, cry for him. The candle was at the top of the wax when you two started, and only finished when there was only a flicker of a wick left. You were so sore the next day you had to have your breakfast and dinner brought to you.

“Yes,” his lips grazed against your chin, kissing it softly. “Every time. Claude, you won’t be of much use to the lady standing in a corner, now will you?” There was a brisk woosh past you, and just like that, Claude was between your legs, his gloved hands opening your legs wide to peer deep inside of you.

He could see the remnants of your elixir spreading thin, spreading wide, eagerly waiting for someone to fill the void. He could even see new streams of slick coming down in real-time. Sebastian guided your other hand around his neck as he continued to fondle and kiss your flesh, his fingers tracing the outlines of your body, even following the jagged streaks of your stretchmarks as they traversed down, down, down.

As Sebastian worked up top, Claude helped himself to the bottom. He lapped up your juices with his wide tongue, taking corner by corner into his mouth and down his throat. He continued to sample you without ever coming up for air, his chin and cheeks spotting with your wetness the more he plunged into you with his tongue. 

Your hips buckled at the sensations electrifying every prickle of your skin. Sebastian pulled at the nape of your neck with his teeth, his dark eyes shining under the moonlight that beamed into your bedroom through the open balcony doors. The chilled breeze of nighttime air tickling the bare crevices of skin as Sebastian and Claude’s silhouette was tinted an opaque shade of blue.

You were so fucking close. Between Sebastian’s teasing and Claude’s tongue, your mind was turning to mush. Your senses were heightened and your body felt as though it was melting, solidifying, and melting again. Claude, his lips latched onto your clit, flicking it rapidly back and forth, pressed his hands into your thighs to keep them open. He could feel you trying to close them, but he just wouldn’t have it. Your climax was his and all his no matter how long it took. 

“A-ah! C-Claude, I- I’m going to,” you tried to break free of Sebastian’s restraints, but that only made him pin you more. His muscles hardened as he kept your arms in place.

“Don’t fight it, Y/N. Use him. Use us.” With a whimper, your ground your hips into his face, your hips buckling at each contrasting sensation from Claude’s tongue. He prodded you with two of his fingers, pumping back in forth in synchronicity with your grinds. His eyes peeled open, showing the simmering golden hues that entranced you so much.

He fixed them on you, his gaze smoldered  and alluring. Pulling you in pump by pump. He finally came up for air, droplets of your elixir streaming down his cheek and bottom lip.

He kissed your inner thigh, biting down with just enough intensity to make you thrash uncontrollably. Your juices poured nonstop, flooding the floor and the edge of your sheets. Even when the uncontrollable sparks bounced between your body and your mind, Sebastian kept you still, a smile of satisfaction spreading across his face.

“That’s right. Let it all go, Y/N. Marvelous work.” 

-

Claude dawned his hand with the same white glove as he and Sebastian exited your bedroom. You were tucked in, your hair brushed and your nightgown shielding your lustful mounds once more. As the two stood on the opposite side of your bedroom, Sebastian matched Claude’s pensive glare with a bemused one.

“Well, I guess the classic saying goes something like,” He chuckled at his own joke, fluffing his jacket back to its pristine nature,

“May the best man, or demon, win.”

[hamilton-here]

ok so ive got a funny idea lol when lewis promises to buy reader a bag or anything she wants as long as she wins their toy car race. And when she was abt to win lewis playfully snatched or cheated his way and then reader just became sad for the whole day pouting or just feeling small and lewis has to buy her everything now cause he's guilty and he feels sorry i just think this will be fun can be comfort to fluff pls thank u :))))

𝒲𝒾𝓃𝓃𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝐼𝓉 𝒜𝓁𝓁

Authors Note: Hi lovelies! Here’s another request completed. Sorry if it seemed rushed I didn’t know what else to add to it. Few more requests coming soon. Hopefully Lewis’s car is alright for qualifying. Lots of love xx

Summary: Lewis and his partner turn their living room into a chaotic toy car racetrack, sparking a playful, competitive showdown.

Warnings: none

Taglist: @nebulastarr @hannibeeblog @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The sun filtered through the blinds in lazy golden stripes, painting the living room in warm lines of light and shadow. Dust danced quietly in the beams, undisturbed by the chaos below. Because chaos, clearly, had taken over.

The room your once pristine, neutral-toned sanctuary now looked like it had been hijacked by Formula 1 meets Pinterest meets a group of unsupervised toddlers with a racing addiction.

Couch cushions had been unceremoniously yanked from their usual dignified places and reimagined as trackside barriers. A yoga mat, curling slightly at the edges, ran from the hallway entrance all the way to the centre of the rug, proudly marking the “main straight” in what had to be the world’s most low-budget Grand Prix.

A scattering of coasters had been turned into devilish little chicanes, cruel and precise. A cutting board formed a vicious hairpin turn so sharp it should have had a safety marshal. Two rolling pins heavy, wooden, unforgiving lined one corner like immovable Armco barriers.

There were sauce packets carefully labeled “debris,” a tea strainer in the middle of the track pretending to be a wire fence, and most hauntingly a fork stabbed into a raw potato, wearing a tiny paper hat labeled “Track Marshal.” You didn’t know whether to applaud the commitment or start googling “symptoms of cabin fever in grown men.”

And amid the carnage stood Lewis Hamilton.

Seven-time world champion. Fashion icon. Advocate. National treasure. The man you loved. Currently crouched like a tiger mid-stalk in front of the couch, wearing sweats, a vintage tee, and the steely focus of a man about to go to war.

He was breathing slowly, fingers flexed, eyes narrowed on the tiny black Matchbox Mercedes parked in front of him like it owed him money. He looked like he was about to give it a pep talk.

The toy car’s paint gleamed ominously in the afternoon light, poised like a weapon. Lewis exhaled softly across its hood like he was whispering encouragement into its plastic soul.

From the doorway, you stared at him, your oversized hoodie swallowing your frame, fuzzy socks peeking out like the least intimidating pit crew in the world. Your arms crossed.

“Are you seriously doing tire warmups with a Matchbox car?”

Lewis didn’t flinch. His grin was slow, boyish, and devastating. The kind of grin that had gotten him out of a thousand sticky situations media drama, late-night snack theft, one time even a broken vase. You were not immune.

“Gotta get temperature into the rubber,” he said solemnly, eyes still on his car.

You stepped carefully onto the yoga mat, your sock slipping slightly. “It’s plastic, Lewis.”

“Same principle,” he said, reaching out to nudge the car gently, then pulling it back, like he was checking tire scrub. He sniffed. “I smell victory.”

Your eyes swept across the setup. The absurdity of it. The engineering. The madness. You resisted the urge to start filming barely.

“Let me guess,” you said dryly. “Carbon fibre chassis. Two grams of downforce. And a suspicious advantage in Sector 3?”

Lewis lifted his chin, completely deadpan. “Mini Merc’s been in the wind tunnel all morning.”

“You blew on it.”

“That counts.”

You let out a snort and crossed the room to the box near the bookcase, the one filled with random old toys and mementos from your childhood.

You rummaged through it until your hand landed on a familiar shape. A red toy car slightly battered, plastic paint chipped at the edges, its wheels squeaking when you gave them a spin. You held it up like Excalibur.

“And here she is,” you announced grandly. “The challenger. The undefeated. Feared by controllers everywhere. Bane of egos. Reigning champion of the great Uno War of 2023.”

Lewis rolled his eyes. “That controller was cursed. It had stick drift.”

“You lost eleven times.”

“I was experimenting with alternate strategy.”

“Getting reverse-lapped is not a strategy.”

Lewis cracked his neck like he was prepping for Baku. “Best of three?”

Fifteen minutes later, the living room no longer resembled a place where humans might relax.

It had become a coliseum.

The track had evolved: now including a loop made from your old scarf, a jump constructed with baking trays, and an “elevator shaft” involving a phone charger, a shoebox lid, and very questionable physics.

There was a pit stop zone made of empty candle jars. One of your houseplants had been repositioned to serve as track scenery. And at the centre of it all stood your mutual friend, Miles chaos incarnated, occasional barista, and current kitchen gremlin perched on the counter like a sentient gargoyle.

He was wearing a mixing bowl on his head like a helmet and a whisk tucked into his shirt collar like a mic.

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen,” Miles announced into his phone, already live on Instagram. “To the 2024 Toy Car Grand Prix: Monaco Living Room Edition. I’m your commentator, race steward, and part-time sous chef, Miles.”

He angled the instagram live camera toward Lewis, who crouched dramatically at the start line, one hand hovering over the Matchbox Mercedes like a priest preparing for last rites.

“And here we have Lewis Hamilton. Some say he’s the greatest of all time. Others say he’s about to lose to a woman who sharpened her race craft on Mario Kart and vengeance.”

Lewis didn’t even look up. “You’re biased.”

“I’ve known her since university,” Miles said with a shrug. “And I’ve seen what she can do with a hairpin turn and caffeine. You’re toast, mate.”

The livestream chat exploded.

@Ava4LH: IS THAT A TRACK MADE OF COASTERS??

@softforlewis: Not Lewis giving full race energy with a toy car

@PastryQueenY/N: Y/N better win that bag, I SWEAR

@WheresBono: “We need to box now.” broooooo

Miles waved dramatically at the screen. “On pole, we have Y/N ‘Croissant Queen’ L/N. In P2, it’s Lewis ‘I Blew on My Car for Speed’ Hamilton!”

Lewis was flat on the floor beside Mini Merc. You knelt beside your car, steely-eyed. The prize sat in plain view dream: a caramel-coloured croissant-shaped purse with a gold chain. The most deliciously stupid bag in history. The bag you had begged for. The bag Lewis had mocked for weeks.

“I win, I get the croissant bag,” you said firmly.

Lewis raised a brow. “And if I win, I want a full spa day. Robes. Oils. Face masks. And not a single complaint.”

“Deal.”

Miles held up three fingers. “Three…two…one GO!”

Chaos exploded.

Your little red car shot off the line like a missile. Lewis’s Mercedes wobbled dramatically at the cutting board hairpin and clipped a coaster on the way through.

“There’s contact in Sector One!” Miles roared. “Red car leads through the coasters! Hamilton’s on the back foot!”

You were flicking your car with laser precision. “DRS activated. Let’s go.”

Lewis grunted, eyes narrowed. “Saving tires. Softs are dropping off. Pace is coming to me.”

“Maybe ask Bono,” you teased.

The chat was in hysterics.

@DRSDramaQueen: “Ask Bono” NOOOOOO

@JusticeForRedCar: Y/N DRIVING LIKE SHE’S IN MONACO

@TeamRedCar: Lewis is getting smoked

@F1butMakeItKitchen: this is better than Quali

Suddenly, Lewis’s car hit a rogue stack of cookbooks turned barricade and went airborne.

“HE’S OFF!” Miles screamed, nearly dropping his phone. “MERCEDES IN THE WALL!”

Lewis hissed, “We need to box now.”

More chat chaos:

@MiniW13: He SAID THE THING

@CarlosSainz55: bro is doing full commentary on a toy race I CAN’T

@CharlesLeclerc: justice for Y/N please she’s too good

@Lando.jpg: This is the best thing I’ve seen all week

You were wheezing from laughter, your car flying over the shoebox ramp with grace. “Momentums clean. No lockups. You good back there, champ?”

Lewis was sweating. “You’ve got illegal aero.”

“Cry about it.”

You were inches from the towel-draped finish line, victory in sight, the croissant bag gleaming -

SLAM.

Lewis’s hand came down from the heavens like Thor’s hammer, crushing your car mid-run.

The room fell dead silent.

Miles whispered, “ Sir…he did not.”

You stood slowly, spine ramrod straight. You walked to Miles, took his phone and stared straight into the livestream camera.

“This,” you said, voice calm, “is a robbery. Tell the FIA. Tell the UN. Tell God.”

The chat exploded.

@ScandalInSector3: FIA INVESTIGATION NOW

@ToyCarGate: HE DESTROYED HER CAR

@Lando.jpg: I’m crying. This is high treason.

@PastryQueenY/N: GET HER THAT BAG

You lifted your fallen soldier with reverent hands, cradling it like a fallen knight, and walked away without another word.

As Miles recorded every single thing… ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Lewis stood in the kitchen in stunned silence.

You were curled up on the couch in full dramatic widow mode: three blankets, fuzzy socks, and Gilmore Girls at max volume. You didn’t blink in his direction. You didn’t breathe in his direction.

Lewis tried everything.

“Want a milkshake?”

No response.

“…Boba?”

TV volume increased.

“Diamond earrings? Ferrari keychain? A small castle?”

You texted Miles from the couch: Tell your best friend I’m taking the croissant bag to court.

Miles peeked in. “Bro. She’s like mythical-level mad.”

Lewis groaned. “I know. I can feel the disappointment. It’s like tire degradation, but emotional.”

An hour passed. You posted a poll: Should I forgive Lewis? “No” was winning at 96%.

Finally, Lewis vanished.

Ten minutes later, he emerged wearing a suit jacket over pyjama pants, holding a legal pad.

“I present Exhibit A,” he announced solemnly. “In the case of Lewis Hamilton vs. The Bag He Mocked.”

You stared at him, unamused.

He dropped to his knees. “I’m guilty. Of sabotage. Of hubris. Of crimes against Matchbox humanity. But I panicked. You were so good - so annoyingly good. I’ve never been so intimidated by someone in fuzzy socks.”

Still silence.

“…I love you,” he added, gently. “And I got you something.”

He placed a shopping bag in your lap.

You peeked inside.

There it was. The croissant bag. Plush. Shiny. Ridiculous. Beautiful.

Inside? Pearl earrings and a folded note:

“Sorry for being a cheater. I love you. I’ll never sabotage your toy car again (probably). Please keep loving me anyway.”

Your lips twitched. You tried so hard not to smile.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But next time? I’m gluing your hands to the floor.”

He wrapped you in a hug, warm and cologne scented. “Deal. I’ll buy glue in bulk.”

You buried your face in his neck. “And I want the cinnamon bun one next.”

“Whole pastry collection. Yours.” ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

TWO DAYS LATER – PODIUM CEREMONY

Miles was back in full commentator mode, wearing a towel-cape and colander crown. You stood proudly on a stepstool; a dishtowel draped like a flag. Lewis stood beside you, presenting the croissant bag like a trophy.

“We are LIVE for the podium ceremony of the 2024 Toy Car Grand Prix!” Miles boomed. “Our champion, Y/N L/N, receives the Croissant Cup for unmatched driving skill, bravery, and pastry obsession!”

Lewis bowed, solemn. “For justice. For fashion. For the fallen red car.”

You shook his hand with mock seriousness. “I accept your surrender.”

The livestream chat lit up:

@HamiltonsRedemption: SHE WON JUSTICE

@Y/N4WDC: SIGN HER TOTO

@CarlosSainz55: I’m naming my next kart after her

@CharlesLeclerc: this is better than any podium I’ve ever done

@Lando.jpg: Miles needs a full-time F1 commentary gig

You leaned into Lewis’s ear and whispered, “Next time I’m breaking your car.”

He grinned. “Next time? I’m bringing a pit crew.”

And somewhere in the comments, a new hashtag was born:

#ToyCarGP

#JusticeForRedCar

#CroissantChampion ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Thursday Media Day – Paddock Interviews, Monaco Grand Prix

The Mediterranean sun shimmered over the marina, catching the curves of multi-million-dollar yachts and bouncing off the mirrored glass of the motorhomes lining the narrow paddock walkways. Monaco always had a different kind of electricity to it where opulence met chaos and champagne clinked just out of frame.

The Mercedes media zone was buzzing. Reporters loitered near the barriers, tech crews hoisted camera rigs onto their shoulders, and PR reps whispered into headsets while frantically scanning for any sign of tardy drivers.

Lewis Hamilton was right on time, of course.

Wearing a crisp white Mercedes polo, a silver watch glinting at his wrist and his signature cap tugged low, he stood with the relaxed confidence of someone who knew he was about to be grilled and secretly enjoyed it. His grin had been sitting just on the edge of cocky all morning. The reason? You.

It didn’t take long.

A Sky Sports reporter leaned forward with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. “Lewis,” she said sweetly, “we need to talk about the Toy Car Grand Prix.”

He blinked slowly, head tilting like a man playing innocent in court. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

Another voice chimed in from the back. “Mate, there’s a livestream. You’re trending in three different countries.”

Lewis’s smirk finally cracked. “Miles is banned from our house,” he muttered.

Laughter rippled through the crowd of reporters.

“Word on the street is you committed grand larceny,” she teased.

He let out a dramatic sigh, glancing up at the sky like asking for divine intervention. “Look. The car was half a centimetre from the line. I panicked. She was too fast. I wasn’t ready.”

“Too fast?” a new voice cut in, dry and laced with a level of sarcasm that only years of corporate leadership could sharpen.

Toto Wolff had arrived.

Wearing perfectly tailored black slacks, a crisp button-down and his ever-iconic sunglasses, he strolled into view like a Bond villain with an espresso addiction. He folded his arms, taking his place beside Lewis like a man stepping into a courtroom.

“You know,” he began, nodding thoughtfully, “I watched the replay. All sectors. I had our data analysts break it downturn-by-turn.”

Lewis groaned under his breath. “Toto, I’m begging you…”

“I’m just saying,” Toto continued, voice level. “She had better tire management, better throttle control, and most importantly didn’t smash anyone into the cookbook chicane you insisted on naming after Gordon Ramsay.”

A wave of giggles rolled through the press line.

“She also didn’t sabotage her opponent,” Toto added, lifting a perfectly judgmental eyebrow. “Unlike some of our drivers.”

Lewis turned to the cameras. “This is slander. This is organised defamation from within my own team.”

Toto lifted a hand in faux innocence. “No, no. We take these things seriously at Mercedes. We’re committed to nurturing talent.” He turned to the reporters as if making a public declaration from the steps of a royal palace. “Effective immediately, I’m considering replacing Lewis Hamilton with his girlfriend for the rest of the 2024 season. Primarily because I still harbour resentment against him for attending Ferrari the next year.”

Cameras flashed. Microphones were shoved forward. Laughter echoed like it was a stand-up routine. The media was all over Toto’s last comment.

Lewis clutched at his chest dramatically. “I’ve been stabbed in the back.”

“She’s got race instincts. The fans love her. She’s marketable. She doesn’t throw tantrums in the debrief room.”

“And she’s really, really pretty,” a voice muttered from the back.

Lando Norris appeared, already grinning like he’d been waiting for this exact moment to stir chaos.

“Are we still talking about the toy car race?” he asked, hands in the pockets of his Mercedes hoodie.

Lewis groaned. “Don’t you start.”

“She destroyed you, mate,” Lando said, eyes wide with mock awe. “That red car? I’ve seen less commitment at Turn 1 in Silverstone. She was clinical.”

“You too, Lando?” Lewis muttered, eyes narrowed.

Carlos Sainz drifted in behind them, holding a tiny espresso cup in one hand and watching the scene unfold with the quiet pleasure of a man who rarely got to be on this side of the teasing.

“I’d sign her,” he said with a shrug. “Ferrari could use someone who doesn’t complain about tire deg every four laps.”

“Wow,” Lewis deadpanned. “This paddock is hostile.”

Then Charles Leclerc appeared, sunglasses perched atop his head, Monaco’s golden child looking too smug for his own good.

“She’s Monaco-born now,” he said with a grin. “We claim her.”

“No,” Lewis said firmly, holding up a finger like he was laying down law. “You are not putting her in red. I’m not losing another championship that way.”

Even the media couldn’t help themselves. Laughter echoed again as photographers snapped away, capturing the chaos for tomorrow’s back pages.

Meanwhile, in the Mercedes hospitality unit…

You sat curled up on a white leather sofa, the soft hum of the AC battling the heat outside. A giant screen in front of you played the interview in real-time. Beside you, Miles was halfway through a bag of popcorn, eyes wide with glee.

You, of course, were wearing the croissant bag. Proudly. Defiantly. Like a medal of honour from your own private war.

“He’s suffering,” Miles whispered reverently. “You look so smug. I’m obsessed.”

You sipped your coffee slowly. “I earned this. Every bit of it.”

The screen flickered back to Lewis, who was now attempting to salvage what remained of his dignity.

A reporter leaned forward. “Final question, champ. Any words for your girlfriend our new potential F1 star?”

He paused.

Then he looked directly into the camera. The teasing fell away for just a moment. His eyes were soft, voice warm and honest.

“She’s ruthless,” he said. “And brilliant. And I’m definitely not racing her in the house again without legal backup.” A beat. “But tell Toto to calm down. She’s already got my heart. She doesn’t need my seat too.”

The crowd awwwed as if on cue. Even Charles made an exaggerated swooning motion behind him.

Back on the couch, you felt a slow smile stretch across your face. You reached for your phone and typed a single message, your thumb hovering over the screen before hitting send.

Better start building your own croissant car, champ if you ever decide to beat me.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Lonely Souls Club 10

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as stalking, loneliness, noncon, 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: Two lost souls cross, but not all those are lost, want to be found.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

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!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Reader

Bucky puts a lap table across you. You thank him quietly and stare at the wall to your left. You're embarrassed. You never ate in bed, even if bed was your only place to sit. You could always get up and feed yourself.

He puts a container in front of you. Another thanks. He adds a can of ginger ale.

"Didn't know what you liked," he says.

"It's fine," you assure him.

He nods and sits sideways just on the other side of the table. He reaches into the paper bag with a crinkle. He takes out another container and balances it on his lap.

You chew your lip. The smell is driving you crazy. You're hungry. Very hungry. You don't eat much as it is and you never eat anything that takes very much effort. If it's not a lack of money, it's a lack of strength. Your stomach roars.

Bucky chuckles, "you're hungry."

"Um, yeah," you admit. Your body can't help but betray you.

He opens his container and you slowly do the same. The sudden release of the aroma has your mouth watering. You focus on unwrapping the utensils. Your hands are shaking.

Slow down. You make an effort to be patient. You don't want to show how your stomach feels ready to cave in on itself. He saws at the chicken in his container.

"I got grilled... wasn't in the mood for fried," he sounds almost apologetic.

"It looks great," you murmur as you slice off a tender morsel of meat.

Quietly you taste it. You could moan. It's so good. The texture, the flavour, everything. You have some of the rice next. It's wonderful too. And the seasonal mix of broccoli is perfectly steamed.

Your eyes sting. The food is so good, it's almost tear-inducing. And it's so much food. You could split it into three meals. That's what you would do if it was just you. Not quite full portions but enough to get buy.

You pace yourself. You take a bite of each in a cycle; meat, rice, veggie. You fill up quickly. 

You open the ginger ale and gulp. You cough as the carbonation burns your nose. You cover your mouth and glance at Bucky. He's already watching you. You take the napkin from beside the container and wipe your mouth.

"Sorry..."

"For what?" He asks.

"I just... hope I wasn't eating loud or anything."

"Nope. Just happy you're eating," he shrugs.

"Um, yeah, er." You fold up the napkin. "Think I'm done for now. I'm full."

"You sure?" He arches a brow at your leftovers.

"Can I finish later? Tomorrow?" You twist the napkin nervously. "I'm sorry. I don't want to waste it but I can't eat anymore."

"That's fine," he assures gently. "You like it?"

"Sure. It was yummy. Better than... well, just good."

"Mm," he hums and looks at his food. He closes the container, sticking the knife and fork in the side so they stand up.

"You can keep eating."

"I'm good," he stands and turns to you. You close up the container and hand it over. He takes it and stacks it on his. "Get you anything else?"

"No, no. You've done more than enough." You lower your chin and sip on the ginger ale.

He lingers for a moment before he retreats. He takes the paper bag with him. You stare at the metal tab on the can.

It's strange. You're uncomfortable about being here. Somewhere strange, somewhere not your own. You're an imposition. Yet, there's something that isn't so uncomfortable. It's a new but not unkind feeling to have someone want to take care of you.

You drain about half the can. When Bucky gets back, sets it on the night table and moves the tray from your lap. You lean back into the pillows. The weight in your stomach makes you yawn.

"Tired?" He asks.

"Sorry, yes," you clutch the collar of the borrowed shirt.

"Don't be. You should get some sleep. It's the best medicine."

You scoff, "yeah, well, afraid it can't fix me."

His expression softens. "I know, I'm sorry."

"No, I am. I'm not trying to be... well... I guess I am bitter, but... I appreciate everything. I'm just tired."

"Of course. I'll let you get some shut eye. You need anything, I'll be around," he backs up toward the door.

"Thank you. I won't though. I can't ask for anything else."

He turns and hovers hand by the light switch, "want this off?"

"If you don't mind."

"Sure thing, doll."

He flicks it and steps through the door. He pulls it shut but it doesn't click. You slide down and adjust the pillows. The effort exhausts you. You roll onto your side and groan, rubbing your bad hip.

The mattress is so nice. So cushy. Not like your lump one where you can feel the metal frame beneath. You sigh. Your muscles slacken and your eyes close on their own. It's nice to just relax.

Bucky

Bucky puts away the food. He didn't expect her to eat it all but how little she did, concerns him. It suggests that it's been a while since she had a full plate.

He's not very hungry himself. He's nervous. He finally has her with him, yet it doesn't feel real. She's still shy, still standoffish. She needs to adjust. He knows that.

He remembers when he was afraid. Sometimes he still is. When he came out of the darkness and had to face the world. Had to acknowledge all those things he'd done to survive.

He sits on the stairs again. It's like he's on watch at the foxhole again. That was a very long time ago. He remembers the dark nights, the looming threat of shells or gunfire. He thought then that he was as tainted as he could be. War never leaves any untouched.

Now, he sees that man as naive. A man who can't fathom the basest acts of humanity. A man who believed in humanity.

He cradles his head. He's tired. He hasn't been sleeping. What's new about that?

He stays like that until he's too anxious to be still. He turns and climbs the stairs. He keeps his footsteps light. He walks down to the bedroom door and hovers his hand by it. He recoils and retraces his steps. He goes into the bathroom.

He leaves the door open. He can hear her even with it shut but just in case. He cranks on the shower head and lets it patter against the curtain until it steams. He undresses and leaves the clothes in a pile. He stares at his reflection. 

He feels the mottled flesh around his left shoulder. He hooks his hand around and drags it. His arm releases and he puts it on the counter. He stands straighter without it, listing a bit to the right instead.

The other scars catch his eye. Thick slices on his rib cage, stray lines on his chest and stomach. There's more on the thighs. He knows not all were a prize of combat. Many were Hydra tools.

He steps under the hot water and lets the memories flow away. He's not that man sitting watch outside the foxhole, he's not the shell filled with the cruelty of others, he's not even the scared man who woke up in another century. He's feeling like himself. He's feeling whole. Just to have her near.

He washes methodically, at time mechanically. As he shuts off the faucet, he listens for her. He can hear how slow her breaths are. She's sleeping. That's good.

He ruffles his hair with the towel, absorbing most of the excess. He dries his face and neck, his chest. He feels a twitch at the thought that colours his mind. He thinks of her hands on the towel, guiding it over his skin. What would she say about all the scars?

He wraps the towel around his waist and goes to the door. He stands in the frame as he shuts the light out and gazes down at the bedroom. He doesn't move for a while.

The warmth of the shower cloys around him. He's tired now. He makes his way down the hallway. He pushes on the door so it inches open slowly. He sees her silhouette in the dim. She's on her side, her hand on her hip as if she'd fallen asleep rubbing it.

He goes around the other side and watches her. Gently, he lowers himself into the empty space. The bed doesn't feel so big now. He shifts down onto his side as he slides beneath the duvet. He tugs it up past her waist.

He keeps his hand on her arm. Her heat seeps into his palm. She doesn't react. He drags his touch up then down. She doesn't stir. He tracks her pulse to make sure.

He caresses her gently as her breaths push through her dry lips. He lifts himself to move closer to her. He dips his hand under her arm and follows the curve of her side. Up, then down. A little firmer than below. He feels her ease into his touch even as she remains asleep.

He shudders as his hand falls down to her stomach. What are you doing, sarge? He grazes up her torso and holds his breath as he cups her chest, just enough to feel the swell. His insides are churning. Stop.

He can't. He wants to be close to her forever. He wants to drape himself around her so no one else can ever hurt her, though her own body seems to be her greatest enemy.

He trails his hand back down and fumbles with the hem of her shirt. He pushes his hand beneath the baggy fabric and over her naked skin. She's soft and warm and intoxicating. He moves even closer, until he's flush to her back.

He nuzzles her head and kisses her hair. A groan escapes him as he slips his hand up to fondle her chest. He circles her nipple as it goes rigid, tracing it with his thumb as he purrs.

His hips move without a thought. He's throbbing and hard. He tilts against her, the bed rocking with him. He buries his nose in her hair and bites his lip.

Stop, stop, stop. He wants to stop but not as badly as he wants to keep going.

His breath plumes hotly from his nostrils as he chokes on a grunt. His stomach is heavy and his core thrumming. His thighs strain and cramp as he fights the peak. He's almost there. Almost...

He closes his eyes and pushes his head back as he gropes her tightly. He spasms as he cums and his motion peters out. He heaves and stays against her until he can move again.

He rolls onto his back with a sigh. He pushes the blanket down and peels away the slimy towel. It's all over. On his thighs, his pelvis, the cotton. It's so much he can smell it.

He listens to her. She whimpers. His heart pumps and he sits up. No, no, did she wake up?

She whimpers again and her foot kicks. She snorts. He focuses on her heartbeat. She's dreaming. He exhales in relief.

"I know, doll. You hurt bad," he puts his hand on her hip gently. "I'm gonna make it better."

[plumforests]

exit wound

prompt: ‘wound’ @drarrymicrofic | wc: 209

“It’s spreading.”

His face cracked in two, lightning-split, forked from the crown.

“I know.”

Eyes bottle-bright on either side of the chasm.

“I don’t—I don’t know how to stop it.”

Carbon curls sticking out, soot-storm static inside the bubble-sphere.

“Yes, you do.” 

The end of the line caught on his Cupid’s bow. Soon, Draco won’t be able to touch his lips.

“No.”

There’s a cauterised chamber in his mind, the only place he allows himself to cry.

“Draco. I’m not afraid.”

Of course not. Third time’s the charm.

“I’ll put your heart in stasis if I have to. I said no.”

Harry doesn’t smile, but he would if he could. Draco aches to see those dimples again.

“It’s okay. It won’t hurt, I promise.”

He bites his tongue and tastes ozone.

“Sorry, Scarhead. You’re not getting rid of me just yet.”

Green flames flicker between lashes, wild floo-fire—

“…Draco?”

A fulguration of the soul. His heartbeat, winged, a phoenix once more.

“Do you trust me?”

“Always.”

Curse-scar, severed core—cauterise the wound. Limit contagion.

“Fiendfyre.”

His gaze is steady, scorching. Black ichor pools in the corners of his eyes, unblinking.

“Do it.”

He’ll need two wands. Holly, hawthorn. He’ll need—

“Just one more miracle, Potter. For me.”

Please.

on ao3

[baocean]

𝙗𝙤𝙮𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪

⤷ chapter two - o week

her phone

being with the girls was probably one of your favorite things ever. all gathered around the kitchen table, laughing about the latest drama or something silly cleo’s professor said, picking at pieces from sarah’s plate because she said she was too full.

the group had formed slowly. you and kie lived together. kie and jj were best friends. jj played lacrosse with pope, john, and rafe. cleo and sarah were pope and john's girlfriends. as the first semester of your freshman year unraveled, more people started to get invited to the hangouts in dorms or on dark lacrosse fields after games.

by now, it was your own little family at kildare. family, even if you really only liked five out of the seven members.

jj maybank and rafe cameron were like carbon copies of each other. like birds to a feather, the became attached at the hip the second they were introduced during their visit to sign with kildare back when they were juniors in high school. you were pretty sure they were secretly in love with each other.

they were both self proclaimed 'chick magnets', were both annoying beyond manageable, and had this infuriating way of taking up every ounce of attention the second they walked into a room.

you tolerated them, mostly because you had to. tolerated jj’s smug winks across the table, tolerated rafe’s stupid dares that always somehow roped you in, tolerated the way they’d team up to poke and prod at you until you either snapped or laughed, depending on the day.

sometimes you wondered how you hadn’t committed a crime yet. other times, when jj tossed a bag of your favorite candy at your head mid-study session, or when rafe distracted professors long enough for you to sneak in late, you sort of got it.

the kitchen was loud- forks clinking, sarah giggling about something cleo said, kie tossing her head back laughing, when the front door slammed open so hard one of the pictures on the wall tilted sideways.

"hide your sisters, hide your friends!" rafe’s voice bellowed through the house, just as he and jj crashed inside.

"jesus christ," kiara muttered from her spot at the kitchen table, barely glancing up from her wine glass.

“where you guys at?” john b’s voice rang out from the entry way.

you barely had time to turn in your seat before four very sweaty boys stumbled into the kitchen.

“you animals,” rafe gasped, dropping his gym bag on the floor like he was wounded. “you didn’t even wait?”

jj was right behind him, flushed from lifting and breathing a little heavier than normal, shooting you a look like you’d personally betrayed him.

"you said you'd be late, pope said to eat without you guys." kie pointed to pope, shrugging her shoulders.

john b came around the table, looking dramatically heartbroken, and leaned down to steal a bite of sarah’s plate. sarah smacked his hand away but was smiling, all fond and fake-annoyed.

“you know what?” jj announced, tossing his arm over your chair dramatically. “i expected betrayal from kie. and cleo. even sarah. but you?” he pointed at you, a fake look of disapointment crossing his features. “you were supposed to be different.”

you shook your head, pushing his arm off. “you’ll survive, jj.”

he fake staggered back like you’d shot him. “i might not.”

"there's more in the fridge." sarah rolled her eyes, smiling anyways when john leant down to place a kiss on her cheek.

jj slid into the seat next to you, knocking his knee into yours hard enough to make you jolt. you shot him a glare. he just grinned like he hadn’t done anything wrong, already reaching across the table to grab the salt.

the kitchen was loud, messy in the way only your group could manage- pope and cleo arguing over who could lift more weight, sarah and john b sharing a plate and whispering to each other like no one else existed, rafe dramatically reenacting his latest gym injury.

someone spilled a drink. someone else shouted about it. sarah’s laughter carried over it all, bright and wild.

kiara rolled her eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck. "you’re all so annoying," she said, but there was no real heat behind it. not when the house was full of everyone she loved.

yourusername: we’re back!

kiaracarrera: we are SO back baby

rafecam: i thought you had music taste

↳ yourusername: go ride the bench some more

↳ rafecam: RUDE?

sarahcam: i love u let's make love

↳ yourusername: ok 🩷

cleoanderson: ROUND 2

johnbroutledge: yup yup yup

popeheyward: 🕺🏼🕺🏼🕺🏼

jjmaybank: ooooooooooooooo weeeeeeeeeekkkkkk

rafecam: kiss me bro

↳ jjmaybank: bro i will

popeheyward: not o week 😔

kiaracarrera: yikes

↳ jjmaybank: dwayne get out of my comment section

↳ kiaracarrera: bitch shut up

sarahcam: the robes PLEASE

cleoanderson: awwwww look at the little cuties in their little robes

↳ jjmaybank: we so cute ☺️☺️

xoxo, mimi

masterlist | next chapter

taglist (taglist is open!) @babyamors / @jombies / @luvrclub / @yesshewrites1 / @cassiewritessalot / @rottinglexi / @certifiedjjsimp / @str4wb3rrym1lkl0v3r / @cinderellieeeeeeeeeeee / @isinpfortvdmen / @doesnt-care / @dylsdaily / @wasiasproject / @chuuuchuuutrain / @dr3amgrlll / @4jjsbank / @abigailovesz / @lmaowhatt / @idli-dosa / @papercranesandinkstains / @dramagodesss / @ayy1234567 / @wrtzia / @reeseswirl / @mrrayjay / @cokewithcameron / @dr3amgrlll /

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week - November 28, 2023

🐑 - Why did Fiona the sheep become a mountaineer? She was tired of the "baa-d" jokes at sea level!

1. Pope Francis dines with transgender women for Vatican luncheon

Pope Francis hosted a group of transgender women — many of whom are sex workers or migrants from Latin America — to a Vatican luncheon for the Catholic Church's "World Day of the Poor" last week.

The pontiff and the transgender women have formed a close relationship since the pope came to their aid during the COVID-19 pandemic, when they were unable to work. Now, they meet monthly for VIP visits with the pope and receive medicine, money and shampoo any day, according to The Associated Press.

2. New York just installed its first offshore wind turbine

The first wind turbine installation at South Fork Wind, New York State’s first offshore wind farm, is complete.

The 130-megawatt (MW) South Fork Wind will be the US’s first completed utility-scale wind farm in federal waters.

3. Anonymous businessman donates $800k to struggling food bank

But this Thanksgiving, a longtime prayer of food bank leaders was finally answered: an anonymous benefactor donated the full $800,000 they needed to move out of a facility they've long outgrown. That benefactor, however, preferred to stay anonymous.

"Very private company, really don't want attention," said Debbie Christian, executive director of the Auburn Food Bank. "It's a goodhearted person that just wants to see the work here continue, wants to see it expand."

4. Empowering woman saving hopes and mental health of suffering Ukrainian kids

Kenza Hadij-Brahim is at the forefront of promoting Circle of Toys

Hadj-Brahim is helping to launch the Circle of Toys initiative. A project that provides Ukrainian children in need of some normality with preloved toys. This new initiative connects people with old toys they might otherwise throw away, with Ukrainian families in need who want to provide some comfort to their children in this distressing time.

Find Refuge said : “The endeavour is driven by a sincere purpose: spark joy, foster play, and bring a hint of normalcy back to the young lives in Ukraine.”

5. TWO LOST CITIES HIDDEN FOR CENTURIES WERE JUST DISCOVERED IN BOLIVIA

Researchers have found these areas not only housed structures and pyramids but it has been uncovered that there were advanced irrigation systems, earthworks, large towns, causeways, and canals that cover miles.

Dr. Heiko Prümers from the German Archaeological Institute, who was also involved in the study comments that “this indicated a relatively dense settlement in pre-Hispanic times. Our goal was to conduct basic research and trace the settlements and life there. The research sheds light on the sheer magnitude and magnificence of the civic-ceremonial centers found buried in the forest”.

6. Sheep dubbed Fiona rescued from cliff in Scotland where she was stuck for more than 2 years

And at last, some positive climate news:

7. Three positive climate developments

Heating

When the Paris Agreement was adopted, the global reliance on fossil fuels placed the world on a path towards a 3.5C rise in temperature by 2100. Eight years on, country commitments to reduce their carbon footprints have pulled that down slightly, putting the world on a path for a 2.5C to 2.9C by the end of the century.

Peak emissions

Annual greenhouse gas emissions responsible for climate change have risen roughly nine percent since COP21, according to UN data. But the rate of the increase has slowed significantly. Recent estimates by the Climate Analytics institute find global emissions could peak by 2024

Rising renewables

Three technologies—solar, wind and electric vehicles—are largely behind the improved global warming estimates since 2015.

---

That's it for this week :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation here:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to reblog this post with your friends.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Summer in the 305 || LS2 {2}

Pairing: Logan Sergeant x fem!reader Summary: Logan comes home to Miami (305) for the summer break and you become attached at the hip. Warnings: 18+ only, made, smut, fluff WC: 1.7k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three

Logan must have managed to get some sleep on the flight because he was already up when you woke at noon. Sooty barely lifted his head from where he lay panting in his favourite spot in the sun, too tired from his morning run. After stopping to pet his head you walked into the kitchen and found your boyfriend shirtless, his hair still damp from the shower he had taken. You wrapped your arms around his waist and closed your eyes again as you rested your head against his back and started to doze off again.

“Go back to bed, sweetheart,” he said softly. He placed the knife down after finishing the lemon slices for the sweet tea he was brewing and reached over to the sink, almost pulling you off balance with the stretch to wash the acid off his hands.

“I’m good here. You can carry on, you won’t even notice me.”

He chuckled as your yawn warmed his back and he dried his hands. “You’re lucky I already went for a run then,” he teased as he grabbed your thighs and jumped, pulling you up onto his back. “There, better?”

You wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck before resting your cheek on his head. “Much.”

“I wonder if this is how the teenage mutant ninja turtles felt carrying their home on their back,” he mused as he crossed the kitchen to put the carafe of tea into the fridge.

“You would be the one that likes pizza. Wait, did you eat dinner for breakfast?”

“Maybe…” He was quiet for a moment, but the shelf it had sat on in the fridge had clearly been emptied and you pouted at missing out. “But I did save you a plate in the microwave.”

You untangled yourself from him and slid down his back onto your feet as your stomach rumbled loudly. He caught your hand as you aimed for the microwave and he tilted his head, tapping his cheek until you gave him the kiss he was after. With a grin he turned his head at the last moment to catch it on his lips and you laughed at the sly move before indulging in another, deeper kiss.

“What’s the plan for today, babe?” you asked while the meal reheated.

He leaned back against the cupboards and crossed his ankles. “Did you have anything in mind?”

You dragged your eyes slowly up and down his body before sending him a suggestive wink. “Maybe…”

He bit his bottom lip as it started to curl up and said, “I’ll have to check my calendar, but I think I can fit something in.”

“But not right now,” you stated as the microwave dinged and you hit the button to open it, the mouthwatering scent and steam wafting out. “Carbone’s trumps everything.”

Logan reached past you with a tea towel before you could burn yourself and placed it on the marble island before kissing the top of your head. “Can’t argue with that, sweetheart.”

Logan watched patiently as you speared the food with your fork, following it to your parted lips before he reached out and thumbed a dash of sauce that lingered at the corner. “You are torturing me,” he groaned as you took your time with the meal, humming exaggerated sounds with each mouthful.

“Oh? Did you want some?” you asked innocently.

He pushed off from the kitchen side and spun the barstool around to face him as he stepped into the gap between your legs, forcing them wider as your head tipped back to meet his eyes. “I want something sweet, sugar.”

You could feel his want pressing against you as you pulled his face down to yours, meeting him halfway with a desperate kiss. If you hadn’t been so tired from the late pick up last night this wouldn’t be the first time reconnecting after his two and a half weeks away. All those nights spent without him came roaring back and you moaned as his kiss drifted down your neck and he sucked the delicate spot above your collarbone.

“Lo, take me back to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Logan’s feet remembered the path through the house intimately, not needing to look where he was going when his vision could be completely consumed by you instead. He loved to just watch you, watch your reactions to the world around you, he could spend hours watching you sleep while he battled jet lag and whatever worries plagued his sleep. Watching you calmed him in a way nothing else ever would - it had been that way from the moment he saw you. 

“I love you,” he said quietly after laying you on the messy unmade bed, taking a moment to just remember how you looked right there. He inhaled deeply in awe as he saw the love reflected in your eyes and then he noticed your lips already swollen from his kiss and the air left his lungs. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Lo.”

His palms brushed the shirt up your thighs and you lifted your hips up so he could free you of the panties you wore before taking your shirt and casting it away as well. You wanted nothing more than to hook your leg around him and pull him closer but patience was one of Logan’s many virtues and he loved to worship your body before all else. Where Logan was all hard, toned muscles and strength, you were soft and supple, moulding to his hands as they roamed your body.

Your back arched to his touch and a soft moan graced his ears when he kissed his way across your stomach and up to your breasts. Your eyes fluttered shut as his warm tongue flicked your already peaked nipple before his lips sealed around it and sucked.

“Logan,” you whined, the sound high and needy as you reached for him, palming the erection that strained in his boxers. “I want to taste you too.”

He smiled at the sound and chuckled as he swiped a thumb over your lips. “Later, sweetheart. The second these touch me I’d be gone,” he admitted unabashedly.

You giggled at the honesty and let him take his time, this time at least. You had three weeks of having him home and you were going to drown yourself in him, but right now you would be patient - as difficult as the task was when his lips were set to ignite your blood on fire.

The room filled with the sound of your moans as you looked down your body and met his eyes, as pure and blue as Biscayne Bay. You could feel every and nothing all at once. Light danced around your eyes even when you closed them and still his fingers and tongue worked to keep the waves of pleasure rolling through you.

“P-please, oh, Logan,” you cried as your legs trembled around his head and he gave one last lick that sent a jolt through you.

“Hmm, taste so sweet, sugar,” he hummed as he licked his lips and kicked his boxers off. His dick spring free and slapped his navel before he wrapped his fist around it and took his place between your legs, a thick bead of precum already welling at the tip.

The first orgasm was still fluttering with aftershocks when he guided his cock to your entrance. You never felt anything more perfect than the moment where a little push was all that was needed, where the resistance broke and he thrust home where he belonged - filling you so completely that your bodies become one.

You couldn’t think, you could barely breathe. You could only feel him. He surrounded not just your body but your entire being, his natural scent that no body wash could beat, the taste of his skin you gently grazed with your teeth, the vision of losing himself in the moment, the sounds of his uneven breaths in your ear.

“Shit,” he groaned as his head collapsed to your shoulder and you felt his cock pulsing in your cunt. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

You giggled as you picked his head up to see his eyes set in an extremely relaxed face. “It has been a while, Lo,” you assured him with a smile. “I still love you.”

“And you felt so good.” He kissed your lips and made no move to leave as he started to slowly roll his hips. “Still feel so good.”

His release mixed with yours and escaped your body as he fought against the sensitivity he was feeling, basking in the slick warmth your body offered until he started to grow hard again. “This is how good you make me feel, sugar.”

You followed his line of sight to where your bodies joined and watched his long smooth strokes into you, feeling every inch as it disappeared. Your breath hitched as he retreated, leaving you empty as you saw his cock coated and shiny with come after each thrust. “Fuck,” you moaned as your head fell back to the pillow and your core tightened, the vision still playing in your mind as his thumb found your clit. He wasn’t going to come again until you did.

It was mid-afternoon by the time you re-emerged from the bedroom and Sooty seemed to have recovered from his run as he bounced around the living room excitedly. Logan grabbed the ball he dropped at his feet and opened the large glass doors into the backyard, tossing it out onto the grass for Soot to fetch. It was almost instantly dropped back at his feet, the dark tail wagging up a storm.

“You look like you need another run, boy. What do you say? Should we take mommy to the beach?”

You took the two glasses of sweet tea you had poured and gave one to Logan as Sooty barked his answer. “That sounds like a yes to me. Why don’t you see what the boys are up to? They were as desperate for you to come home as I was, Callum especially.”

Logan grinned at the news of his close knit friends and he had promised them a good catch up over the break. Pulling out his phone he fired off a quick message to the group chat and was quickly bombarded with replies and a plan was made. Pocketing the device, he pulled you into his arms and watched the palm trees and ocean move with the breeze.

“Good to be home?” you asked softly as he fell quiet with reflection.

“Better than good. There’s not a word to describe it. It’s exactly what I need right now.”

logansargeant

Liked by yourusername, williamsracing, clementnovalak and 37,273 others logansargeant: Home is where the heart is. Time to rest, recharge and re-emerge stronger. ↳ yourusername: whoever took those stunning photos has serious talent (it also helps that it is impossible to get a bad photo of you) ahem… username1: in y/n we trust, out there doing god’s work for the Williams girlies. view all comments

Click here for part three.

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[ysrjune]

“ ᯓ SCOTT BARRINGER X TEEN!SON ˖ ֹ੭

a/n: request from @blckberrie 🍒 ,, first part is more about Leo than Scott, but it gets to both of them after that!

How does Leo act when he goes through puberty?

13 • Leo is very awkward and likes to keep to himself. He's often sitting in his room playing video games, painting/drawing, listening to music, or doing homework. He keeps himself busy—he doesn't like to stay still and be lazy unless there really is nothing better to do.

14 • He's not as awkward anymore. He knows how to “act normal” because he's more comfortable in his changing body. He's starting to look exactly like Scott, and he actually takes pride in it. Leo grew up hearing that his father was a good-looking man, so to be told he looks like Scott is an honor. Leo doesn't play football, and he doesn't take much interest in the idea as an extracurricular. Playing it with friends or relatives is fine.

15 • His freshman year of high school isn't as bad as he thought it would be. Scott told him how to get through high school smoothly. Leo seriously thinks his dad is a master mind at this kind of stuff. The 15 year old is actually very smart and gets great grades.

16 • The era of Leo's first girlfriend. He's so embarrassed to mention it to his parents, especially Scott, even though you'd think it would be his mother. No, Scott wants to know everything about this relationship. What the girls name is, why Leo likes her, what she looks like, has she had a boyfriend before, is she a skank?

“Dad!” Leo whines at the dinner table, sitting across from his parents as Scott is asking all these questions. “Whats so wrong with asking if she's a skank? There was a bunch of 'em back when I was your age.” Scott smirks, knowing he was bothering Leo, but he didn't care. He always bothered Leo. “Scott, you're being annoying.” Leo's mother holds onto his father's forearm. “Thats what dads are supposed to be.” Scott responds.

“To be fair, dad.. Mom says you were pretty annoying before you even became one.”

“You two love to pick on me, dont you? But once the tables turn and it's my turn to have some fun, you get butthurt.” The older blond rolls his eyes and eats the food off his fork. “Look, sport. You just gotta be careful with girls, alright? And dont be getting them preg-”

“OKAY, DAD. JEEZ.” Leo blushes harshly.

17 • He's a carbon copy of his father. Witty, sarcastic, and kind of mean. Lately, he's been spending more time with Scott. They've gotten closer. They really do have the same kind of humor. They go out sometimes and make fun of their appearances or just say really dumb stuff. Leo also loves to argue with Scott to annoy him and get himself out of things.

“Leo, go get me a rag from the garage so I can clean this mess up.” Scott asks as he works on his car. “Get it yourself, man.” Leo rolls his eyes and stays put next to Scott.

Scott looks over at his son with an annoyed look. “You're out here to help me. Not sit on your ass. Get inside and get me a rag, now.”

“I dont even wanna be here in the first place! It's hot, and you didn't give me enough time to put on sunscreen, so now I'm gonna burn. And mom's gonna get pissed about it! All cause of you!”

“Leo just go get me the fucking rag, God damn it! You're such a bum. Go back inside afterwards—I dont wanna see you for the rest of the day. You piss me off.”

Leo came back from the garage with a rag but didn't go back inside like Scott said to. Instead, he was hovering.

“Why are you still out here? Go!” Scott groans, not looking at the teenage son.

“I changed my mind, I wanna spend time with my dear old papa.” Leo curls his finger in Scott's hair. “Im about to give you five across the face, moron. Leave me alone. Go back inside and lather yourself up with sunscreen or something.” Leo, for some reason, starting spinning around with his eyes closed.

“But fatherrrr! I wanna hel—STOPSTOPSTOP IM SORRY!” Leo yelps as he's getting wet by the hose. The cold, cold water caught him off guard. Scott starts laughing and sprays it all over Leo's face and hair. “DAD STOP IT!!” Leo keeps yelling, but honestly, it's his fault for not even attempting to move out of the way.

18 • Prom and Graduation! Scott starts Prom Day off by following Leo around the house and taking pictures of him everywhere—Leo getting out of bed, eating cereal on the couch in his boxers, brushing his teeth, trying on his outfit, and styling his hair. Leo's so mad. Scott is being so annoying. Leo didn't end up going to prom with a girl since he and that girl didn't end up lasting too long. He instead went with a group of buddies. All the boys were in glasses, and they just looked so silly. Again, Scott was taking hundreds of photos. Graduation went the same, basically.

ᯓ ♡ —

“ITS THE THIGGISH RUGGISH BONEEE” Leo yells around the house every few minutes. He's so obsessed with that part of the song. It gets on Scott's nerves how comfortable this kid is singing around the house like that. “I miss when he was too shy to ask how to shave.” Scott complains to his wife as they watch TV in the living room. “Hes always liked singing, Scott.”

“No, he's always liked being an annoying prick.”

“Sounds like someone familiar.” She laughs at Scott's unamused face.

Leo shuts his door when he goes back to his room, but then he turns his music on, using a speaker. Scott HATED when Leo would blast his music. Especially because he wasn't very fond of the type of music that Leo likes to listen to. Scott is hoping that this is a phase. LIVING DEAD GIRL is heard.

“This song again.” Scott throws his head back on the couch. “Is he not sick of this song? He listens to it every day, and you can hardly even understand what the guy is saying!”

ᯓ ♡ —

“Bruh im so HUNGRY.” Leo bursts into his parents' room and flops onto Scott. “Theres food in the fridge, fatty.” Scott replies, changing the TV channel. “I want in-n-out.” Leo says. “Do you have in-n-out money?” Scott shoots back. “Yeah, you have money saved up, dont you?” His mother asks.

“Oh.. hah.. about that money..” Leo says nervously. “Mother fucker I swear if you wasted that shit on something stupid, im gonna beat the hell out of you.” Scott didn't mean it, but he wanted to let Leo know that he really didn't want him to spend money on snacks or anything of the sort when there's some at home.

“I went to the game shop and bought a game.” Leo confesses. “You had 20 dollars. Are you telling me that you spent twenty dollars on a damn game?” Leo didn't want to answer. Scott was intimidating, so he just ignored him. “Ma, do you have money..” He asks. Scott scoffs and pushes Leo off of him. “With your ugly ass..”

ᯓ ♡ —

“I dont like her. She's too nice. She's hiding something.” Scott whispers to his wide with a raised eyebrow as Leo and his girlfriend walk away to go get something in the kitchen. “She gives floozy vibes.” She gasps and elbows Scott. “This is a 16 year old girl you're talking about!”

“What?! I was 16 once, too! And And! There were a bunch of 'em.” He whispers again. Scott takes another look at the girl. “You know what, she sort of looks more like a loser now that I think about it. We're safe, amiga.” Scott smiles. “Literally shut up. I hate you. I wish you left me when I was pregnant.”

“Girl you better check this attitude, I do not like it.” Scott rolls his eyes and shoves his hand to her face with a laugh.

The girl and Leo look back at his parents, and Leo's face is flushed. “Ignore them.. they're weirdos.”

ᯓ ♡ —

“And so then we take this tool and??” Scott asks Leo as they work on teaching Leo how to do an oil change. “Er.. I dont know. I wasn't paying attention. I was watching Crash fight with the neighbors cat.” Crash is Leo's cat. The one he'd had since he was 7.

“Oh my God. Did you forget to take your normal pills?” Scott groans. Normal pills.. Leo introduced Scott to the dream meme, so now he calls Leo's medication for ADHD "normal pills."

“OH MY GOSH!!! I knew I had forgotten something. It was right at the bottom of my nose! I'll be right back, big dawg.” Leo pats Scott's back and goes inside. Scott was fighting demons right now. This kid needs a to-do list, definitely.

ᯓ ♡ —

“GIRL WHY CANT YOU SEE YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE FOR ME? AND IT JUST TEARS MY ASS APART TO KNOW THAT YOU DONT KNOW MY NAAAAAAMMEEE” Leo sings to his mom as she makes dinner. “Who sings that song?” Scott walks in with a few groceries. “Dad, oh my God. How do you not know? Its by D12!”

“Keep it that way.”

She cackles, seeing how Leo's face literally goes: 🤨.. 😐

“HAW-HAW! Good one!” Leo says sarcastically and sits down at the table.

@bxbyysstuff @anakinstwinklebunny @lovethestarrs @valloos @anisangeldust @xo-yaaaaaasxo @anakinca @dollfilmz @gothams-sweetheart @sockiess @sythethecarrot @speaknow-sw @loveamira @alealuvshayden @mvst4far @prettiestmini @amiratheangel @blckberrie @literally-izzyy @litt1e-misssunsh1ne @chanellyvstvd

[room-temperature-orange-juice]

District 12 SOTR tributes at a pizzeria

Maysilee

- eating the pizza via fork and knife

- spends an hour just cutting the pizza into small squares

- makes 20 employees quit on the spot

- is the sole reason the restaurant shuts down

Wyatt

- eats pizza in layers.

- he just.

- he takes the cheese off, eats it individually, and then eats the rest of the pizza.

- drinks un-carbonated soda. He waits for the bubbles to go out before he drinks it. He times it. He keeps records of this. Domino’s pizza is winning thus far

- shows up with Lightning McQueen crocs

Lou Lou

- under the table

- putting skittles on her pizza

- having the best time out of anyone there

- walls out with $4.23 more than she came in with, they don’t know how

Haymitch

- sitting two tables away

- pretending he doesn’t know them

- goes to the bathroom and uses the fire exit to sprint away

[mostlysignssomeportents]

FTC vs surveillance pricing

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

In the mystical cosmology of economics, "prices" are of transcendental significance, the means by which the living market knows and adapts itself, giving rise to "efficient" production and consumption.

At its most basic level, the metaphysics of pricing goes like this: if there is less of something for sale than people want to buy, the seller will raise the price until enough buyers drop out and demand equals supply. If the disappointed would-be buyers are sufficiently vocal about their plight, other sellers will enter the market (bankrolled by investors who sense an opportunity), causing supplies to increase and prices to fall until the system is in "equilibrium" – producing things as cheaply as possible in precisely the right quantities to meet demand. In the parlance of neoclassical economists, prices aren't "set": they are discovered.

In antitrust law, there are many sins, but they often boil down to "price setting." That is, if a company has enough "market power" that they can dictate prices to their customers, they are committing a crime and should be punished. This is such a bedrock of neoclassical economics that it's a tautology "market power" exists where companies can "set prices"; and to "set prices," you need "market power."

Prices are the blood cells of the market, shuttling nutrients (in the form of "information") around the sprawling colony organism composed of all the buyers, sellers, producers, consumers, intermediaries and other actors. Together, the components of this colony organism all act on the information contained in the "price signals" to pursue their own self-interest. Each self-interested action puts more information into the system, triggering more action. Together, price signals and the actions they evince eventually "discover" the price, an abstraction that is yanked out of the immaterial plane of pure ideas and into our grubby, physical world, causing mines to re-open, shipping containers and pipelines to spark to life, factories to retool, trucks to fan out across the nation, retailers to place ads and hoist SALE banners over their premises, and consumers to race to those displays and open their wallets.

When prices are "distorted," all of this comes to naught. During the notorious "socialist calculation debate" of 1920s Austria, right-wing archdukes of religious market fundamentalism, like Von Hayek and Von Mises, trounced their leftist opponents, arguing that the market was the only computational system capable of calculating how much of each thing should be made, where it should be sent, and how much it should be sold for.

Attempts to "plan" the economy – say, by subsidizing industries or limiting prices – may be well-intentioned, but they broke the market's computations and produced haywire swings of both over- and underproduction. Later, the USSR's planned economy did encounter these swings. These were sometimes very grave (famines that killed millions) and sometimes silly (periods when the only goods available in regional shops were forks, say, creating local bubbles in folk art made from forks).

Unplanned markets do this too. Most notoriously, capitalism has produced a vast oversupply of carbon-intensive goods and processes, and a huge undersupply of low-carbon alternatives, bringing the human civilization to the brink of collapse. Not only have capitalism's price signals failed to address this existential crisis to humans, it has also sown the seeds of its own ruin – the market computer's not going to be getting any "price signals" from people as they drown in floods or roast to death on sidewalks that deliver second-degree burns to anyone who touches them:

https://www.fastcompany.com/91151209/extreme-heat-southwest-phoenix-surface-burns-scorching-pavement-sidewalks-pets

For market true believers, these failures are just evidence that regulation is distorting markets, and that the answer is more unregulated markets to infuse the computer with more price signals. When it comes to carbon, the problem is that producers are "producing negative externalities" (that is, polluting and sticking us with the bill). If we can just get them to "internalize" those costs, they will become "economically rational" and switch to low-carbon alternatives.

That's the theory behind the creation and sale of carbon credits. Rather than ordering companies to stop risking civilizational collapse and mass extinction, we can incentivize them to do so by creating markets that reward clean tech and punish dirty practices. The buying and selling of carbon credits is supposed to create price signals reflecting the existential risk to the human race and the only habitable planet known to our species, which the market will then "bring into equilibrium."

Unfortunately, reality has a distinct and unfair leftist bias. Carbon credits are a market for lemons. The carbon credits you buy to "offset" your car or flight are apt to come from a forest that has already burned down, or that had already been put in a perpetual trust as a wildlife preserve and could never be logged:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/18/greshams-carbon-law/#papal-indulgences

Carbon credits produce the most perverse outcomes imaginable. For example, much of Tesla's profitability has been derived from the sale of carbon credits to the manufacturers of the dirtiest, most polluting SUVs on Earth; without those Tesla credits, those SUVs would have been too expensive to sell, and would not have existed:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/24/no-puedo-pagar-no-pagara/#Rat

What's more, carbon credits aren't part of an "all of the above" strategy that incorporates direct action to prevent our species downfall. These market solutions are incompatible with muscular direct action, and if we do credits, we can't do other stuff that would actually work:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/31/carbon-upsets/#big-tradeoff

Even though price signals have repeatedly proven themselves to be an insufficient mechanism for producing "efficient" or even "survivable," they remain the uppermost spiritual value in the capitalist pantheon. Even through the last 40 years of unrelenting assaults on antitrust and competition law, the one form of corporate power that has remained both formally and practically prohibited is "pricing power."

That's why the DoJ was able to block tech companies and major movie studios from secretly colluding to suppress their employees' wages, and why those employees were able to get huge sums out of their employers:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/High-Tech_Employee_Antitrust_Litigation

It's also why the Big Six (now Big Five) publishers and Apple got into so much trouble for colluding to set a floor on the price of ebooks:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_v._Apple_(2012)

When it comes to monopoly, even the most Bork-pilled, Manne-poisoned federal judges and agencies have taken a hard line on price-fixing, because "distortions" of prices make the market computer crash.

But despite this horror of price distortions, America's monopolists have found so many ways to manipulate prices. Last month, The American Prospect devoted an entire issue to the many ways that monopolies and cartels have rigged the prices we pay, pushing them higher and higher, even as our wages stagnated and credit became more expensive:

https://prospect.org/pricing

For example, there's the plague of junk fees (AKA "drip pricing," or, if you're competing to be first up against the wall come the revolution, "ancillary revenue"), everything from baggage fees from airlines to resort fees at hotels to the fee your landlord charges if you pay your rent by check, or by card, or in cash:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/07/drip-drip-drip/#drip-off

There's the fake transparency gambit, so beloved of America's hospitals:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/13/a-punch-in-the-guts/#hayek-pilled

The "greedflation" that saw grocery prices skyrocketing, which billionaire grocery plutes blamed on covid stimulus checks, even as they boasted to their shareholders about their pricing power:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-12-war-in-the-aisles/

There's the the tens of billions the banks rake in with usurious interest rates, far in excess of the hikes to the central banks' prime rates (which are, in turn, justified in light of the supposed excesses of covid relief checks):

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-11-what-we-owe/

There are the scams that companies like Amazon pull with their user interfaces, tricking you into signing up for subscriptions or upsells, which they grandiosely term "dark patterns," but which are really just open fraud:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-10-one-click-economy/

There are "surge fees," which are supposed to tempt more producers (e.g. Uber drivers) into the market when demand is high, but which are really just an excuse to gouge you – like when Wendy's threatens to surge-price its hamburgers:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-07-urge-to-surge/

And then there's surveillance pricing, the most insidious and profitable way to jack up prices. At its core, surveillance pricing uses nonconsensually harvested private information to inform an algorithm that reprices the things you buy – from lattes to rent – in real-time:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/05/your-price-named/#privacy-first-again

Companies like Plexure – partially owned by McDonald's – boasts that it can use surveillance data to figure out what your payday is and then hike the price of the breakfast sandwich or after-work soda you buy every day.

Like every bad pricing practice, surveillance pricing has its origins in the aviation industry, which invested early on and heavily in spying on fliers to figure out how much they could each afford for their plane tickets and jacking up prices accordingly. Architects of these systems then went on to found companies like Realpage, a data-brokerage that helps landlords illegally collude to rig rent prices.

Algorithmic middlemen like Realpage and ATPCO – which coordinates price-fixing among the airlines – are what Dan Davies calls "accountability sinks." A cartel sends all its data to a separate third party, which then compares those prices and tells everyone how much to jack them up in order to screw us all:

https://profilebooks.com/work/the-unaccountability-machine/

These price-fixing middlemen are everywhere, and they predate the boom in commercial surveillance. For example, Agri-Stats has been helping meatpackers rig the price of meat for 40 years:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

But when you add commercial surveillance to algorithmic pricing, you get a hybrid more terrifying than any cocaine-sharks (or, indeed, meth-gators):

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/tennessee-police-warn-locals-not-flush-drugs-fear-meth-gators-n1030291

Apologists for these meth-gators insist that surveillance pricing's true purpose is to let companies offer discounts. A streaming service can't afford to offer $0.99 subscriptions to the poor because then all the rich people would stop paying $19.99. But with surveillance pricing, every customer gets a different price, titrated to their capacity to pay, and everyone wins.

But that's not how it cashes out in the real world. In the real world, rich people who get ripped off have the wherewithal to shop around, complain effectively to a state AG, or punish companies by taking their business elsewhere. Meanwhile, poor people aren't just cash-poor, they're also time-poor and political influence-poor.

When the dollar store duopoly forces all the mom-and-pop grocers in your town out of business with predatory pricing, and creating food deserts that only they serve, no one cares, because state AGs and politicians don't care about people who shop at dollar stores. Then, the dollar stores can collude with manufacturers to get shrunken "cheater sized" products that sell for a dollar, but cost double or triple the grocery store price by weight or quantity:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/27/walmarts-jackals/#cheater-sizes

Yes, fliers who seem to be flying on business (last-minute purchasers who don't have a Saturday stay) get charged more than people whose purchase makes them seem to be someone flying away for a vacation. But that's only because aviation prices haven't yet fully transitioned to surveillance pricing. If an airline can correctly calculate that you are taking a trip because you're a grad student who must attend a conference in order to secure a job, and if they know precisely how much room you have left on your credit card, they can charge you everything you can afford, to the cent.

Your ability to resist pricing power isn't merely a function of a company's market power – it's also a function of your political power. Poor people may have less to steal, but no one cares when they get robbed:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/19/martha-wright-reed/#capitalists-hate-capitalism

So surveillance pricing, supercharged by algorithms, represent a serious threat to "prices," which is the one thing that the econo-religious fundamentalists of the capitalist class value above all else. That makes surveillance pricing low-hanging fruit for regulatory enforcement: a bipartisan crime that has few champions on either side of the aisle.

Cannily, the FTC has just declared war on surveillance pricing, ordering eight key players in the industry (including capitalism's arch-villains, McKinsey and Jpmorgan Chase) to turn over data that can be used to prosecute them for price-fixing within 45 days:

https://www.ftc.gov/news-events/news/press-releases/2024/07/ftc-issues-orders-eight-companies-seeking-information-surveillance-pricing

As American Prospect editor-in-chief David Dayen notes in his article on the order, the FTC is doing what he and his journalistic partners couldn't: forcing these companies to cough up internal data:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-07-24-ftc-opens-surveillance-pricing-inquiry/

This is important, and not just because of the wriggly critters the FTC will reveal as they use their powers to turn over this rock. Administrative agencies can't just do whatever they want. Long before the agencies were neutered by the Supreme Court, they had strict rules requiring them to gather evidence, solicit comment and counter-comment, and so on, before enacting any rules:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

Doubtless, the Supreme Court's Loper decision (which overturned "Chevron deference" and cut off the agencies' power to take actions that they don't have detailed, specific authorization to take) will embolden the surveillance pricing industry to take the FTC to court on this. It's hard to say whether the courts will find in the FTC's favor. Section 6(b) of the FTC Act clearly lets the FTC compel these disclosures as part of an enforcement action, but they can't start an enforcement action until they have evidence, and through the whole history of the FTC, these kinds of orders have been a common prelude to enforcement.

One thing this has going for it is that it is bipartisan: all five FTC commissioners, including both Republicans (including the Republican who votes against everything) voted in favor of it. Price gouging is the kind of easy-to-grasp corporate crime that everyone hates, irrespective of political tendency.

In the Prospect piece on Ticketmaster's pricing scam, Dayen and Groundwork's Lindsay Owens called this the "Age of Recoupment":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/03/aoi-aoi-oh/#concentrated-gains-vast-diffused-losses

For 40 years, neoclassical economics' focus on "consumer welfare" meant that companies could cheat and squeeze their workers and suppliers as hard as they wanted, so long as prices didn't go up. But after 40 years, there's nothing more to squeeze out of workers or suppliers, so it's time for the cartels to recoup by turning on us, their customers.

They believe – perhaps correctly – that they have amassed so much market power through mergers and lobbying that they can cross the single bright line in neoliberal economics' theory of antitrust: price-gouging. No matter how sincere the economics profession's worship of prices might be, it still might not trump companies that are too big to fail and thus too big to jail.

The FTC just took an important step in defense of all of our economic wellbeing, and it's a step that even the most right-wing economist should applaud. They're calling the question: "Do you really think that price-distortion is a cardinal sin? If so, you must back our play." Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

https://clarionwriteathon.com/members/profile.php?writerid=293388

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/24/gouging-the-all-seeing-eye/#i-spy

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

Rebuild & Restore - Chapter 11

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

All Falls Down (Prequel)

Series Masterlist

@paigereeder thank you for all your help sis! you da goat!!! ❤️🫶🏽

Wednesday Morning

“This is fucking nuts” Kiyana muttered as she placed her head in her hands. Her house was in absolute chaos this morning. Kairo was teething so he was grumpier than normal and Kamari and Kaiden were upset that their dad wasn’t there.  Since Josh was getting more popular within the WWE Universe, he was starting to get requested to do more WWE Live tours.   He had left Monday night for the UK while he did tell the boys that he wouldn’t be home until Friday, it must’ve slipped their tiny minds. 

Kamari and Kaiden  had rushed down the stairs after brushing their teeth only to find the downstairs guest bedroom empty. Kiyna watched with bated breath as their little feet ran into the kitchen, their little faces scrunched up in confusion, looking exactly like carbon copies of their father. Kamari looked towards the glass sliding doors, his eyes widening as if he had a eureka moment and dashed towards the door, pushing the curtain out the way only to let out a sigh of frustration as he saw the backyard was empty too. Kamari then turned and looked at Kiyana. 

“Where’s my dad?” He muttered and he walked over to the table to sit down next to his baby brother, who was in the high chair starting to get fussy again as he chewed on his hand..” Kiyana sighed and grabbed both of their plates off the kitchen counter and brought it over to the table. Once she sat the plates down Kaiden, who had been sulkily looking out of the glass  door, came over and sat down so he could eat. 

“He’s still on the road, Bean.” Kiyana said softly. 

“What! Who's gonna take me to school?”   Kamari, dropped his fork and folded his arms over his chest with a scowl that could rival his fathers. While Kamari was sulking, Kaiden started to cry. Kaiden’s crying was like a domino effect. Kaiden’s crying had triggered Kairo and he started wailing, reaching his arms out for his momma and while Kamari was usually her tough child, she even saw a couple of tears slip down his cheeks.

Kiyana sighed before scooping Kairo out of his highchair and grabbing one of her dining room chairs and moving it between her two older boys and pulling them into her lap comfortably. She quickly pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Josh who responded almost immediately. 

To -  Boys Dad: Hey, are you busy?  From - Boys Dad: For you never  Incoming FaceTime Call from BOYS DAD 

Kiyana answered and the smile that was on Josh’s face quickly dropped. “Aye, what's with all the tears?” All three boys immediately looked towards the phone at the sound of their dads voice. “Wassup y’all?” 

“Who's gonna take me to school?” Kamari repeated his question from earlier, taking the phone out of Kiyana’s hand and holding it himself. 

“Grandma’ is coming to take you. We had this conversation Monday night, Bean. remember at dinner?”  Josh let out a sigh when his sons continued to cry. “I’m sorry. I’ll be home Friday night okay.”  She watched as her boys' tear-streaked faces softened slightly upon hearing their dad's reassurance. “And we can do whatever y’all want to do. Y’all got me for three whole days before I have to leave again.” 

Kamari and Kaiden reluctantly nodded their heads, their crying had eased up. “Alright y’all finish breakfast before Grandma gets here.” Kiyana said softly, pressing a kiss on Kamari and Kaiden’s heads. The boys nodded and blew their dad kisses before getting off of their mothers lap and eating their -now cold pancakes. 

Kiyana took Kairo upstairs to get him dressed so he could go with her mother as well. She was still on the phone with Josh who bit his lip as he looked at her through the screen. “What?” She asked after placing Kairo in his crib with some toys so she could find him an outfit. She set the phone up to where as though she didn’t have to hold it. 

“I feel like shit now, Key.” His voice came through the phone. 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like shit Josh.” She shot back defensively. “I just thought them seeing you would calm them down and it did.”  She grabbed Kairo a couple of outfits out of his closet and started packing his diaper bag. She heard Josh smack his teeth. 

“I’m not blaming you, Kiyana damn. I'm just saying I feel like shit because I know they’re used to seeing me there on Wednesdays.” Kiyana sighed and picked up Kairo and brought him over to the changing table so she could start getting him dressed. “I miss them like crazy.” 

“They miss you too..” 

“What about you? Do you miss me?”  Kiyana sighed and tried to fight the smile from coming on her face. Something happened between them on Monday night. She didn’t know if it was just her emotions running on high or the fact that she actually missed him but she actually initiated the kiss between them. She was the one to pull him closer to her and he was the one who stopped it from going to far.

“You alright?” Josh asked her as he walked into the kitchen, his eyes dropping down to her ass that was encased in a pair of tight black biker shorts.  Kiyana nodded as she finished loading the dishwasher.

“Yeah, I'm just exhausted. The boys sleeping?” 

“Yeah, they rocked.” He laughed and walked closer to her leaning his hip against the counter so he was facing her. “You not mad at me right?” 

“No, I'm not mad at you. I’m just..” She sighed and shrugged, “I just don’t wanna lose my job over this.” She whispered and Josh nodded, now feeling guilty for losing his temper earlier. 

“He put his hands on you Kiyana. He needed to be dealt with.” Kiyana felt the tear slip down her face and before she could wipe it away, Josh stepped closer to her and cupped her cheeks in his hands, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. “I’m sorry.” 

"I know," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I never wanted you to get involved."

Josh shook his head gently, his eyes locked on hers. "Kiyana, divorced or not, you're still important to me. And I wasn't about to let that bitch put his hands on you.” Kiyana sucked in a deep breath and she stood there, staring into Josh’s eyes. Josh’s eyes dropped down to her lips. 

Kiyana felt her heart rate spike and before she knew it, she was leaning up on her tippy toes connecting her lips to his. Kiyana and Josh both moaned into the kiss as it deepened. Josh gripped the back of thighs and lifted her up, placing her on the counter without breaking their kiss. 

Josh’s hands roamed over Kiyana’s body, his touch sending shivers down her spine as she arched into him. Their kiss deepened even further, as she opened her legs wider and started to pull his shirt over his head. He broke the kiss so he could take his shirt off. 

“Wait,” He panted out as she pulled him back towards her. “Key, wait.” He muttered as she started kissing on his neck. “Key, fuck.” He muttered out as she moaned into his skin when she started to grind her hips against his erection. He placed his hands on her hips, using all of his strength to stop her from grinding on him. “I don’t want you to regret this when you wake up in the morning.” He grunted out as he pushed himself away from her. 

She nodded her head, her eyes glistening with a mix of desire and disappointment. She took a deep breath, steadying herself on the counter. "You're right," she whispered, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

“You aint got nothing to be sorry for Key.” He grabbed his shirt off the kitchen floor and put it back on before looking down at his watch and cursing. “Fuck, I gotta go finish packing.” She nodded and hopped off the counter and followed him to the front door.  “I’ll see you on Friday okay.” 

“Key, you still with me?” She jumped as she heard Josh’s voice call out to her. As she looked over at the phone she could see the hickey that she left on his neck. “Kiyana?” 

“Yeah I'm still here.” She whispered, licking her lips. “And Yes, I do miss you.” 

“Good, because I miss you too.” 

Kiyana kept her head down as she went to the nurses station, ignoring the stares of her co-workers who had undoubtedly heard about the ass whooping Josh put on Elijah. 

“Don’t yall have work to do?” Debra asked, startling the two nurses who were staring at Kiyana and whispering back and forth with each other. “Go on, shoo.” She said, motioning them along with a roll of her eyes. “They acting like they never seen someone get their ass whooped before. How was your two days off?” 

Kiyana chucked and swiveled her chair so she was facing Debra. “It was cool.  Felt like old times again, just me and my boys.” 

“And Josh?” Debra asked, being her nosey self and Kiyana bit her lip and shrugged.  

“I mean he was there too. The boys wouldn’t let him leave.” Debra let out a ‘hmm’ and Kiyana furrowed her eyebrows. “What?” 

“I’m just saying, it was hella cute how he went after Dr. Daniels for you.” 

“Ms Deb…” Key trailed off with a roll of her eyes. 

“And Seeing y’all standing next to each other.” She whistled and flagged herself with her hand. “Y’all one hot couple.” 

“That got a divorce for a reason..” 

Debra raised an eyebrow, sensing Kiyana's discomfort. "I get it, I get it," she said, her voice softening. "But seriously though, it must've been nice having some time off with your boys. You needed that."

“Yeah I really did.” She whispered, biting her lip as another flash of her and Josh kissing popped in her head. 

Kiyana went through the rest of the day thinking about Josh; she had to stop herself from texting him about six different times. Instead she texted Samara who called her and literally laughed on the phone. Kiyana had hung up on her… she was not in the mood. 

As she walked back towards her station after her lunch break she was floored to see a beautiful bouquet waiting near where she normally sat. Debra gave her a teasing smile and nodded her head towards the card. Kiyana rolled her eyes and picked the card up, her heart hammering in her chest as she started to read it.

I can’t apologize enough for what I did to you, to us. But being with you the other day, I realized how much I fucked up and I hope you can find it in you to give me a chance to fix everything. Ps. sorry us Fatu men keep giving you a hard time.  Love Josh 

soooo.. what do you guys think? Y'all thonk Kiyana is gonna forgive him for the afffair? Or y'all think she just gone use him to get her rocks off lol?

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[noctunis]

could i request a afectionate Cloud x shy Touch starved reader? Cloud was in many Mission and he came Back that night and reader woke Up with him in bed in the morning. And they then cuddles and kiss a Lot so basically Lots of fluff. I would be very glad <3

your kissed sheets 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

cloud strife (ffvii) x reader

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

i’m still mad at wingstop for giving me carbonated water when i asked for sprite. like they literally charged me for a sprite when all i got was sparkling water, no syrup in it at all 😭😭

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

mentions of reader being lonely, mentions of eating or not being able to eat ( pasta if it’s relevant ), intended lowercase, lmk if i missed something!! 💕

┊ ˚➶ word count ｡˚ 🎼

1121 words, ~8400 characters

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

another tick of the imaginary clock in your head and you huffed once again, your fingers drumming on the wooden table. your eyes stayed glued to the steam rising into the air while the soft aroma of buttered noodles wafted in the air. your lips twitched into a small pout. from the window behind you, the dark night sky was accompanied by the moon as the almost blue light shone through the glass panes— therefore you knew that it was too late for cloud not to be home yet.

letting out another sigh, you let the defeated breath escape your lips whilst you mindlessly twirled the noodles around the metal fork. you couldn’t even bring yourself to take a bite anymore. looking back down at your plate, there remained no evidence of the food even being eaten, the bundle of pasta clumped together and now losing its heat as you had been sitting there for so long. usually, you’d sit beside cloud as you both ate dinner— and it wasn’t like he made so much of a difference, he usually just listened to you talk about your day while he slipped some responsive comments just as a way of letting you know he was listening. cloud always listened to you, even if he was silent.

your bottom lip stuck itself out with your pout as you decided you couldn’t even eat anymore. scooting the dining chair back, you couldn’t even cringe at the sound of the wooden legs screeching as they scraped against the hard floor. you stood upright and walked over to the cabinet, grabbing a plastic container and shutting the lid on it once you had emptied the remaining contents of your plate. you let yourself close your eyes with your head tilted back as you inhaled through your nose. you let the air fill you lungs until you couldn’t anymore. if cloud saw you now, he’d probably say something like, “what’re you sulking for?”, and that part made a small chuckle leave your lips. it was like you could hear his voice echo through your mind, his monotonous voice going ever so slightly softer when he was talking to you rather than when he was talking to wedge or barret— tifa and aerith never failed to tease you about it whenever you’d act confused when they brought it up.

grabbing the plate, you savored the warmth of the tupperware before opening the fridge and being hit with the bright fluorescent light of it. you placed the leftovers there before closing the fridge and being met face to face with the photos pinned on the stainless steel with magnets. it was littered with small polaroids of you annoying cloud. you smiled as you let your fingers graze the old pictures; some with cloud holding his hand up to the camera as he’s squinting from the flash, others where he’s straight out of the shower with his hair dripping and flat. then your eyes drift over to a newer one, a one with lots of colors. eyes narrowing at it until you realized it was you in the photo, candid as you looked up at the greenery of the botanical garden you had begged cloud to go to. you had a flower tucked behind your ear and cloud’s hand in your lap. he didn’t give himself much slack, he had always told you how he wasn’t much a photographer— yet every photo you’ve seen him take came out truly beautiful, even if you hadn’t been paying attention at all.

deciding you couldn’t handle anymore moping for the night, you decided to head to bed, each step feeling agonizing. you unceremoniously let yourself plop down on the bed as you went face first into the soft pillows, letting out a small groan in exasperation. your head turned to the side for some air, your eyes fixated on the curtains on your window nearby while the moonlight shone through it, the particles of the dust that you’ve been meaning to clean for days floating into the air into the rectangular shaped light.

you let out a sharp exhale through your teeth, before closing your eyes. another night without cloud in a cold bed, how fun. what’s one more night, though? you just kept telling yourself he was fine. cloud was tough, he was an ex-SOLDIER, after all— he could handle himself. you would feel his embrace soon enough. that’s all you could think of whilst you drifted off to sleep, the moonlight becoming darker and darker with your eyelids closing more and more.

and your thoughts couldn’t have manifested themself better, you thought, as your hand managed to snake around something warm around your midriff. your fingers twitched around the squishy feeling before you felt short, thin strands of hair. your eyes fluttered open before they drifted down to your abdomen, seeing an arm that you recognized the grip of all too well. your let your thumb rub across the protruding, linear muscles in cloud’s hand.

your head turned to the side and in your peripheral, you see the spiked chunks of cloud’s hair and his milky skin in your sideview. letting out a huff, your eyebrows furrowed while you turned back and faced forward, body almost shrugging his touch away. your vision could barely focus in front of you with how dark it was, but at least it wasn’t so cold anymore. you wouldn’t admit it now, especially as you were a little upset at him, but you were relieved he had come home in one piece.

you let out another tense sigh, before cloud mumbled against the nape of your neck, “i know.” your frown deepened as his voice sounded tired, you’ve never heard him sound so gentle— even when he’s talking to you.

“i’ve been away for a while, huh?” he asked, you could feel his lashes blink against you as they tickled your neck. you nodded slowly. you’ve been away too long, you thought. he exhaled deeply himself, his grip loosening a bit before you grabbed his arm and pressing it further against your middle. you let your hand run against his wrist, letting it dance along his skin as you swiped over his arm hair.

cloud’s eyes narrowed at the feeling before letting them close against you. if he couldn’t do anything to change your mind tonight, he’d just have to try harder in the morning.

“i’ve missed you.” you whispered.

he hummed softly, the gravel in his voice becoming thicker with the sleepier he got.

“you, too.” he said. that was the closest cloud’s gotten to saying i love you so far, but it’s alright. you didn’t mind— you’d give him all the time he needed.

𐙚 taglist ; @alieeelinn

𐙚 requests are closed — june ninth, 2024

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To be alone with you 7

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, cheating, and other possible triggers. 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: Your babysitting gig becomes complicated. (f!plus sized!reader)

Character: dilf!Clark Kent

Note: Long time, no see.

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 <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Spaghetti and meatballs. Simple and delicious. You assume it’s one of Clark’s specialties, the way Jonny talks about it. A plateful steams before you, the garlicky scent tugging at the appetite you hadn’t noticed before.

After the unsettling night alone, you’re starting to feel normal again. It’s comforting to have someone else there, even if it is Clark. He’s not a bad guy, he’s nice enough, it’s just that underlying imbalance that makes it awkward. Technically, he’s your boss. Even if he wasn’t, he’s much older, you’re not sure you have much in common.

“Uh, what do you want to drink?” Clark calls from the kitchen, “I see Sprite and… not much else.”

“Oh, I’ll have one, please,” you answer. You don’t drink soda often, your mom’s the one who keeps the Sprite in the fridge but it’s so hot out you could go for a crisp drink.

You wait patiently, not wanting to be rude and start before he’s sitting down. It only seems right after he went to all the trouble of cooking for you. Clark appears with two glasses. You’re surprised he didn’t just bring the cans but don’t think much of it.

He puts a glass beside your plate, then his own, a few cubes of ice in his. You notice how his hair curls with the heat, a little askew from his efforts in the kitchen. You smile and thank him for the drink.

“This looks good. You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble. Dad left me pizza money.”

“It’s fine. I’m a bit restless without anyone around. I’m used to this,” he shrugs as he sits down, his shoulders wider than the chair. Sometimes you forget how big he is. It’s almost absurd when he’s just an overworked suburban dad in your head.

“Dig in, please. You didn’t have to wait,” he stirs the sauce into his noodles.

“Oh, it’s okay,” you twirl your fork in the pile of pasta. You blow over the steaming sauce and lean forward, tasting it as you try not to flick sauce all over. You hum and do your best to slurp up the ends of the noodles without making a mess. “That’s pretty good.”

“Yep, got more than my good looks,” he chuckles, “I can cook too.”

You smile, taking another bite and chewing through the tension. There’s a bit of zest to the sauce. You can’t disagree with his self-appraisal. He can cook.

You take the folded paper towel next to your plate and wipe your lips before you reach for your soda. You gulp it greedily and nearly choke. You sputter as the carbonation bubbles up to your nostrils.

“You okay?” Clark asks, his cheek ticking.

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” you sniffle and push the paper towel to your nose. You laugh at yourself and clear your throat, “I… haven’t had sprite in a while, guess I forgot how it tastes.”

“Ah, well, did you want water?” He asks.

“No, it’s fine. Not bad,” you turn the glass and look at the soda, “bit of an aftertaste.”

“I don’t really have soda,” he sits back, poking at his plate, “most water. A juice box here and there.”

“Makes sense.”

Your forks clink as you eat in silence. The air is thick as both of you search for something to talk about. Where you’re struggling to find some commonality, there’s a twitchiness to him that suggests he’s trying not to say everything.

“If you’re up for it, maybe we could watch a movie?” He suggests.

“A movie?” You weigh the prospect. You suppose it’s a better idea than staring at the wall. Movies are a great way to fill awkward silences. “Sure, why not. Been a while since I saw anything good. Do you have anything in mind?”

“Nah, not really. I mostly end up watching Pixar so it’s on you. I trust your judgment.”

“You shouldn’t,” you scoff, “I love Pixar.”

He smiles and gives a small chuckle, “well, just don’t be mad when I mouth along with the dialogue.”

“Kidding,” you take another sip of Sprite, trying to wash away the tomatoey tang, “promise, adult movies only.” You cringe as you realise what you said, “I mean, grown-up– er–”

Clark laughs louder, “I got it,” his cheeks bulb as the cleft in his chin deepens, “I know what you’re saying, don’t worry about it.”

“Right,” you shift in your chair, thoroughly embarrassed. You really are so smooth. It’s a good thing it’s just him, you’re sure he’s not very worried about your dumb remarks.

🏡

Despite your efforts to help, Clark insists on cleaning up. You let him as you go upstairs to take a quick shower. Sweating in the sun reading all day has left you feeling a bit musty.

You pull on a pair of striped pajama shorts and a loose tee shirt. You do a face scrub and some moisturising serum before finally emerging, feeling fresh and a bit sleepy. You can hear Clark below scuttling around.

You go downstairs and peer towards the darkened doorway of the kitchen. You pass it and stop just at the threshold of the front room. You find Clark laying out the cushions on the floor along with the throw blankets and pillows. The coffee table is moved aside to allow for some space as the TV glares behind him.

You give him a curious look and he flinches as he notices you. You come forward slowly as the loose hem of your shorts ripples against your thigh. You’re suddenly very aware of how much of your legs are bare. Oh well, it’s only Clark.

“What are you doing?” You ask as you cross the room.

“Oh, me and Jonny do this. I figured you weren’t into making forts but I just thought–” he stops and looks down at his handiwork, “it’s lame, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I’m just trying to make things feel normal… for both of us.”

You give an empathetic smile, “it’s nice. Really,” you look him in the eye, the bold blues gleaming back at you, “it’s sweet. And it looks cozy.”

“Great,” he lightens up as he drops the last pillow, “well,” he turns and grabs the remote, “choose something.”

You nod and take the remote. You sit on a cushion and lean back against the couch. You flick through the new additions on the main screen and choose a movie you’ve heard a lot of buzz about. You blink as the light suddenly goes out and you look over to see Clark’s shadow moving towards you. It gives you an eerie wave of deja vu as you recall the silhouette of the intruder.

You shudder and reach to put the remote up on the couch behind you. You turn back around and a large yawn erupts without warning. You rub your itchy eyes and shake your head, the edges of the television almost blurry as you try to focus on it.

“Tired?” Clark nudges you as he sits beside you.

“Didn’t sleep after… after last night,” you say.

“Ah, of course not. That was a stupid question.”

“It’s f-i-ine,” you yawn again, “really. I’m sure I will tonight. Especially with you here.”

“Really?” He breathes.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be able to turn the lights off if I was alone,” you lean into the couch as you slouch down, “anyway, I’ll be quiet. Movie’s starting.”

He doesn’t answer as he mirrors you, plumping a pillow behind himself as he wiggles down and gazes up at the screen. Your eyelids feel heavy as you fight to keep them open. The opening scene barely ends as you feel your body slackening with fatigue. You’re barely going to make it through the credits.

You turn onto your side, leaning on your elbow as you hug a pillow under your head. You feel Clark shift too. You blink, a long blink, and when you open your eyes again, you’re lost. You have no idea what the characters are talking about.

You flutter your lashes and try to sit up. You give up as an achy weakness bites at your muscles. Oh well, if you fall asleep, you fall asleep. You can’t fight it anymore.

You close your eyes and wade in the shallow pool of exhaustion. Your head goes wobbly as you’re vaguely aware of the hues flickering and flashing from the television. A sudden warmth rests on your hip, a light sensation you can’t place.

“Are you awake?”

The question blows through you. You don’t have the strength to answer. Your eyes feel strange, dry and almost painful. 

You wiggle, shaken by a strength not your own. You slip further from consciousness. You flip onto your back, dragged down until you're entirely flat on the floor. Your eyes are glued shut as you’re trapped in the dregs of sleep. You can’t break through, but you can feel the world around you.

You feel a tickle over your stomach and along your chest. A soft squeeze and a dampness blows over your throat. Heat surrounds you as something prods below your jaw, something soft brushing on your neck. A low drone swirls in your ears.

“Mmm, sweetie, you smell good,” Clark’s voice distorts as you languish in the void, “I bet you feel even better.”

Another tickle. Just along your thighs. A coolness that breezes over you as fabric ripples against you. The loose leg rumples against the crease of your leg as a stroking sensation flicks around your clit.

The electrifying currents radiate from your core. Your chest rises and falls with your rushing breaths. Your heart beats loudly, further deafening the muffled voices coming from the television and the low moan drifting into your ear. Your name plucks at you but cannot rouse you.

Wetness across your cheek then on your lips, delving inside, pressing to your tongue. A sloppy lapping, slickness around your mouth, a new weight over you. Tugging at your shirt and roughness against your tender skin. Squeezing and kneading your chest as a fire razes over your.

Your legs are pushed wide. You feel the world shift and tilt as you come near the surface. Your eyes slit and you can see shadows pulsing all around. A heavy blackness hangs over you as you feel heat against your thighs. Firm muscle holding you open.

You gasp as the wetness along your cunt eases the intrusion. Your eyelids flick up and your eyes roll as your head lolls dizzily. You fight to lift your head but can’t. It’s too much just to look around. 

The single digits moves in and out of you, inching deeper each time, the ridge of knuckles grazing your walls. You moan as the hand pulls back and a second finger stretches you. In, out, the wet noise of your tight cunt nips at your shame. 

It’s not a dream. It can’t be. It feels too real. Too deep. He’s touching you, he’s inside you. Mr. Kent rocks his hand against your cunt as he hangs his head next to yours and pants, his large body draped across you.

“Baby,” he purrs as your arms remain paralysed at your sides, “shhh, it’s okay. It won’t hurt…” he whispers, “the pills will help.”

You don’t understand what he’s saying or what he’s doing. No, no, you’re wrong. It has to be a dream. He wouldn’t do this. He doesn’t want you. He has a wife. He’s heartbroken over her.

The glare of the TV limns his shoulders, broad and rounded with muscles. He’s naked. The colours skew over his skin as he curls his back, dragging his fingers free of your cunt. He leaves a wet trail down your thigh.

He pushes his knees up, keeping you splayed around him. He feels along your shorts, once more delving past the loose cotton. He prods against your folds. A bulbous, thick shape that has you clenching. He lines his tip up with your entrance and leans in, just enough for you to whimper.

He slides back along your lips, slickening himself with your stolen pleasure. He rubs against you, over and over, stopping again at your entrance. He huffs and jostles you, urging his thick forearm under your neck. Your head hangs back over his arm as you groan and curl your fingers against the blankets.

“Baby, it hurts me too,” he dips his hips, forcing his tip past the tight resistance. Your voice rises, tiny, short squeaks as you feel the daze splitting with your inside. “Just a little…” he rocks back and in again, an inch at first, over and over, shaking each time. “Little more…” he sinks in further and your voice grows more steady. 

Your eyes are wide and terrified as the pain assures you of reality. You tense but your body won’t obey. You can’t stop him. You can’t move!

“Little…” he repeats and thrusts deeper again, “...more,” he rolls back and in. His arm bends around your neck as he buries his face in your hair. His other hand braces your thigh, nails digging in as he keeps his motion. With each tilt, he slides in more. More and more until you’re agonizingly full.

You let out a whine, long and desperate as he reaches his limit. He keeps himself there as he whimpers and shakes. He wiggles his hips as he feels you around him.

“Oh god, I… you’re so good. Why are you so good?” He puffs and thrusts, jolting your entire body, “you… you’re so good I had to. I know…” he ruts again, “I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t…” he chants as he keeps his motion, easing back slowly only to snap back into you.

Your eyes wet and tears trickle out. It’s more than the pain, it’s the horror swelling in you, boiling but unable to flow over as you remain helpless. You close your eyes and choke on a sob as he rams into you faster, flesh clapping louder each time he dips into you.

You ache as he fucks you. On and on. It feels like forever as you strain against the futility, only able to bend and unbend your fingers. Please stop. Please get off. All you can utter are senseless garbles.

“Baby,” he growls, “I’m gonna– I can’t–” He pushes off of you in a panic, sliding halfway before he spasms and bucks, whimpering as you feel him spill into you, “shit, shit, shit,” he pants as he stills himself, “I didn’t mean to… not inside…”

Your head falls to the side, your eyes rolling back into your skull. You let the darkness win. You’re going to wake up and it’s all going to be a nightmare. Right?

[plethoraworldatlas]

Conservation groups filed objections this week to the U.S. Forest Service’s proposed final management plan for the Grand Mesa, Uncompahgre and Gunnison national forests in western Colorado. The plan would allow commercial logging on more than 772,000 acres of public lands, including mature and old-growth trees — a 66% increase from the current forest plan.

“A sizeable area of our beloved forests could be sacrificed to commercial logging at the expense of our already dwindling wilderness areas, wildlife habitat and recreation,” said Chad Reich with High Country Conservation Advocates. “Outdoor recreation is a far larger economic driver for our communities than the local timber industry that benefits from cutting these forests. The Forest Service would’ve known that if it had conducted an economic analysis, as required by law.”

Under the proposed plan mature and old-growth forests, which store massive amounts of carbon, could be commercially logged. Forest managers would not be required to identify and protect old-growth and mature trees. Steep slopes across the forests, including Upper Taylor Canyon and Slate River Valley, could also be logged despite the high risk of severe erosion and threats to water quality.

“The proposed plan directly violates federal policy on protecting mature and old-growth trees as a cornerstone of U.S. climate action,” said Alison Gallensky, conservation geographer with Rocky Mountain Wild. “The Grand Mesa, Uncompahgre and Gunnison national forests boast the highest carbon sequestration capacity of any national forest in the Rocky Mountain region. Despite this the Forest Service has failed to ensure these vital carbon sinks aren’t logged and sold.”

Objections also challenged the Forest Service’s failure to take urgently needed climate action by prohibiting new coal leasing in the plan.

...

The Forest Service recommended adding only 46,200 acres of new wilderness area in the final plan. The community’s conservation proposal had called for more than 324,000 acres of new wilderness lands. In addition, the Gunnison Public Lands Initiative offered a broadly supported proposal for new wilderness and special management areas in Gunnison County that was mostly excluded.

...

“Community members proposed special management area designations to protect pristine forestlands in the North Fork Valley from logging and oil and gas drilling,” said Peter Hart, legal director at Wilderness Workshop. “The Forest Service ignored those proposals and chose not to protect those areas in the new plan.”

The groups also raised concerns about the plan’s failure to address the myriad needs of plants and animals that depend on the forests.

“Over 20 years ago Colorado Parks and Wildlife reintroduced Canada lynx to the San Juan Mountains,” said Rocky Smith, a long-time forest management analyst. “This is a great source of pride for wildlife lovers in this state. Lynx are federally threatened and depend on mature forests with large trees. This plan allows for logging that could easily degrade or destroy much of the best habitat for lynx and their main prey, snowshoe hares, and undermine Colorado’s hard work to reestablish and maintain a viable lynx population.”

The Grand Mesa, Uncompahgre and Gunnison national forests also provide habitat for the iconic bighorn sheep and lesser-known species like the Grand Junction milkvetch and the Tundra buttercup. These species, among others, need special designation the Forest Service grants to plants and animals when there is concern about their ability to survive in the area. Many struggling plants and animals were left off the list in the proposed final plan.

“Without the species of conservation concern designation the Forest Service has no obligation to make sure the plants and animals continue to exist locally,” said Chris Krupp, public lands attorney with WildEarth Guardians. “In many cases, the agency decided not to designate wildlife, plants or fish merely because it had no data on their population trends. Without species of conservation concern designation, the number of bighorn sheep in GMUG could dwindle down to almost nothing and the agency wouldn’t have to do anything about it.”

[wheelie-sick]

Things to research before getting your first custom manual wheelchair

one of the biggest things I can recommend to anyone getting a new custom chair (but especially a first custom chair) is to understand all of the parts of a wheelchair and what they do. I decided to make a guide with wheelchair parts to research and places to look for information to make this process a little bit easier. additional link suggestions are welcome.

General resources:

Permobil - The Wheelchair Handbook

Motion Composites - Preparing for Your Wheelchair Evaluation: Before the Evaluation (Part 1)

Motion Composites - Preparing for Your Wheelchair Evaluation (Part 2)

1. Frame

Motion Composites - Folding vs Rigid Wheelchair Frames: How to Choose

Permobil - Manual wheelchairs: rigid and folding frames. How do you choose?

GTK - Oh what’s in a frame? Comparing Multiple Materials

Motion Composites - Wheelchairs: Carbon Fiber Versus Aluminum

2. Front frame angle

Motion Composites - Understanding the Impact of Rigid Wheelchair Front Frame Angle

Sunrise Medical - Rigid Frame Wheelchairs – Frame Angle and Inset

4. Seat dump

Permobil - Ergonomic Seating and Manual Wheelchairs

Spinlife - Wheelchair Back & Seat Angle

5. Caster size, style, and position

Motion Composites - Front Casters for Manual Wheelchairs Practical Guide

Sunrise Medical - Front Caster Position in Manual Wheelchairs

6. Caster forks

New Mobility - Caster Wheels and Forks

Sunrise Medical - Maneuverability in Manual Wheelchairs - What Fork to use?

New Mobility - Innovations: Emerging Trends in the Wheelchair Market (information about single sided forks)

7. Footplate

Motion Composites - Footrest Options to Support Function and Mobility

When Tania Talks - Active User Wheelchair Footplate Options

8. Calf strap

Spex Seating - Lower Leg Support Considerations in Wheelchair Seating

9. Seat pan

Permobil - Solid Seat Insert for Wheelchair: Taking a Closer Look at Cushion Components

10. Seat cushion

Permobil - What to Look for in Seating & Positioning Products

Permobil - How to Choose a Cushion in Long Term Care

Permobil - Cushion Geometry: Linear and Contoured

Freedom Mobility Center - Wheelchair Seat Cushions: 5 Tips for Choosing the Right One for You

Mobility Basics - Seat Cushion Rigidizer

Motion Composites - Selecting the Right Cushion for Your Wheelchair a Clinicians Guide

Motion Composites - Covering the Basics of Wheelchair and Back Support Covers

11. Seat belts

12. Clothing guards

Sherman Oaks Medical Equipment - Wheelchair Clothes Guards / Side Guards Guide

13. Arm rests

United Spinal Association - Wheelchair Armrests What Do They Really Do?

Spinlife - Wheelchair Arm Rest Choices

Motion Composites - Armrests: Getting the Support you Need

14. Back supports

Motion Composites - Solid vs Upholstery Backs

Mobility Management - How to Choose the Right Back Height for your Client

Freedom Mobility Center - Why a Solid Back is Preferred Over a Sling Back

Mobility Basics - Back Supports

Sunrise Medical - Tips for Selecting Prefabricated Wheelchair Backs

Motion Composites - Covering the Basics of Wheelchair and Back Support Covers

15. Head supports

16. Push handles

Motion Composites - Push Handles: Pushing Around

17. Wheels

Motion Composites - Rolling Along: The Importance of Rear Wheel Selection

Sunrise Medical - Comparing Wheelchair Wheel Spoke Options

Mobility Basics - Manual Wheelchair Wheels

18. Tires

New Mobility - Everything You Need to Know About Selecting the Right Wheelchair Tires

GTK - Solid versus Pneumatic Tyres

Mobility Basics - Manual Wheelchair Wheels

Motion Composites - Tire Selection: Balancing Performance and Maintenance

19. Brakes

Motion Composites - Wheel Locks: Unlocking Safety and Function

20. Push rims/Hand rims

Motion Composites - Getting a Grasp: Understanding the Impact of Hand Rims

DME Hub - Wheelchair Hand Rom Options and Factors to Consider

21. Anti-tip wheels

22. Camber

Motion Composites - Camber - Degrees of Performance

23. Center of Gravity

Motion Composites - Rear Wheel Position 101