#cash-based reporting

[moolamore]

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[aarunresearcher]

The United States online food delivery market size reached US$ 29.1 Billion in 2023. Looking forward, IMARC Group expects the market to reach US$ 68.6 Billion by 2032, exhibiting a growth rate (CAGR) of 9.8% during 2024-2032. The growing preference for convenient and fast service among consumers, rising reliance on smartphones and high internet penetration, and increasing adoption of advanced technologies to enhance user service are some of the factors impelling the market growth.

[neverthebabysitter]

Adding to this post, imagine them being famous in the future.

Eddie becoming a rising star as soon as he gets out of Hawkins, his band corroded coffin entering the music scene and having massively popular songs. People are getting more intrigue for his past murder charges, but he gets easily defended once he gets a solid fan base (and the fact that he was absolved of those charges).

And Steve entering the acting scene at the same time, him and Robin being just some extras in a movie for the extra cash, but the director falls in love with the sibling-like duo, making them a cameo where Steve acts like a buffer, making the male character jealous so he can make a move.

It was a simple role, just a few minutes of screen with one-liners of dialogue, but to the surprise of everybody—except for Robin—Steve killed the role. Maybe it was his eyes that enamored everyone, his kicked puppy look or his smile, but he became the nation's sweetheart. 

After that, he got cast for more minor roles, and little by little established himself as an actor, to the point of being the lead more frequently. 

With that, the two of them are well established in their own fields, working hard and being well-known. So it's not rare that at some point they end up in the same event.

It could be anything, a festival, some awards, just a party of famous people—the point is, they are in a public space, surrounded by people that have no idea they know each other, and like an instinct, they act like swore enemies.

Their minds are so used to associate:

"being in public" + "hide true relationship and have fun" = "fake hate each other"

Becuase years of pulling that stunt in their teenagehood that like reflex they spit second-hand insults. 

Like– they lock eyes on each other and instantly looked up and down in the bitchiest way possible. Honestly, at this point it has become their own weird way of flirting, the more vicious the comment the more they will drive the other crazy.

Of course, neither of them realize what they were doing until they both were making out in the bathroom, squirreling away from the vent, going to the closest hotel and waking up the next day with friends/acquaintances from their own jobs field asking for the latest gossip of the industry.

The way Robin would laugh her ass off, only to act like a toddler, pointing fingers and giggling at the two dinguses when they realize what they have done.

It was not intentional, and now everyone who was in the event thinks they hate each other's guts like old times.

The public doesn’t know yet, the reporters still not hearing about this until well-respected journalist, Nancy Wheeler (who has already written about each of them, one for Eddie and one for Steve), makes an article about their long complicated story.

(No, she isn't being petty, Mike, she just thinks it’s funny, and it’s not like she is lying, they do have a long and complicated story, it’s just a little to the left, she just isn't saying some things)

The next time someone interviews one of them, they are asking about the other, why they hate each other, if there’s some drama, why they didn't know they knew the other, etc.

Long story short, they pulled the same bit they did in school, but now by accident and to the whole country (and the world when they start getting more international).

They tried to clarify but fell on deaf ears, people thinking is just to safe face or keep appearances, after all the habit doesn’t quite go and they always ended up flirting with insults in every event they are together.

They definitely start to enjoying it and play along after a while.

Not only that, but they enjoyed it even more when years later, in a random day, they posted their X years wedding anniversary photos with their family.

Everyone lost their shit after that.

[thegoogoomuckkk]

advantage -> you're just so naive. . .it's impossible for them not to take advantage of you -> hiromi higuruma, shiu kong + toji fushiguro, shoko ieiri, sukuna ryomen, takuma ino

hiromi made it a rule not to date anyone from work: not the other lawyers, not the paralegals, & certainly not his secretaries. so he wasn’t concerned at all when the court sent you to be his personal reporter, keeping track of all of his cases & prosecutions. in fact, he was thankful; finding someone to be there to monitor all his cases was so helpful. 

it wasn’t until you called him in utter distress, saying your computer had crashed & you’d lost all the notes for his most recent case, that he was rethinking his little rule. you were just so apologetic, so sorry that he couldn’t help but feel terrible. he told you he’d meet you at his office, & there you were, teary-eyed & drowning in your apologies, blubbering about how he just can’t fire you, you need this job. & he’s wiping your tears, atypically kind, sitting down next to you & holding your hands, saying that everything’s gonna be okay, trying so hard not to stare down your shirt, also avoiding eye contact because how come you look so fucking hot with tears & mascara streaming down your face? 

he’s sure he’s lost his mind when he cups your face, looking down at you, & says, "I can think of a way you could show me that you’re sorry. that’s all it’ll take, & then it’ll be all fixed, water under the bridge,” & you’re nodding so enthusiastically. anything, you’ll do anything to prove you’re sorry, even sit down on your knees & work his rock hard cock in your tiny manicured hands, even loll your tongue out & suck the tip, teasing him, even cup his balls & slide your mouth off his dick with a resounding ‘pop,’ asking “like this?” ‘cause you just want to make him feel good, leave no room for any doubts that you’re terribly, awfully sorry about what happened. let his tip kiss the back of your throat ‘til it hurts, ‘til your tears start up again, ‘til you’re gagging around it & he’s fucking your face carelessly, letting your drool fall down your chin onto his office floor. 

holding your head against the base of his cock while he cums down your throat, listening to you whine & try to pathetically push on his thigh ‘cause it’s too much & you can’t breathe. but he accepts your apology & assures you that if anything like this ever happens again, he’s more than willing to let you show him you’re sorry. 

shiu & toji made it a goal not to get too personal with clients. all they really needed was a name & location. anything further might be helpful, but is ultimately unnecessary. shiu drives, toji kills, they live happily ever after. but some of their high-rolling clients like to make a day out of it; invite them to dinner or some expensive vip only nightclub, & throw money in their face. the problem with this was that it meant the job was going to be difficult, more difficult than usual. so they usually turn those assholes down; the cash is hard to say no to, but the last thing they need is to get arrested or get involved in some underground crime scene. the underground crime scene they’re already involved in is plenty of trouble for them, they certainly don’t need another one. 

but when some rich ceo comes sniffing around for them, offering them a large sum to take care of a psycho stalker that’s after his daughter, certainly they’ll take the job. it’s what a good person would do, after all, & when you come to them crying about how he followed you home, they’re sure to comfort you because what a fucking asshole, they’ll make sure to make him suffer, & “there’s no need to cry, sweet girl, we’ll keep ya safe,” shiu grins, wide & smug. they’re looking at each other shit-eating, like they know exactly how to comfort you. 

you’re a little confused when they guide you to shiu’s bedroom, saying you’ll be safe here, that they’ll protect you. 

“b-but what about my da—” they laugh at you. 

“what about him, sweetheart? he’s not here right now, is he? don’t you worry your pretty little head, you weren’t made for such hard thinking.” that’s what toji says to you as he slips his hands under the waistband of your skirt, pulling it down to your knees with your pink panties, too, & he groans at the sight of your slick covering your thighs. 

“already wet for us, huh pretty girl? jus’ wanted us to come fuck you, s’that right?” shiu snickers, kneeling down on the bed in front of you, unbuckling his pants. 

& you’re so good for them as they stretch you out, shiu fucking your cunt all soft & gentle, draping you hair behind your ears, kissin’ away your tears, whispering about how pretty you are, how sweet you are while toji fucks your virgin ass, groaning at how you suck him in, smacking your ass & watching it recoil & turn red as you’re crying about how it “f-feels weird.” but obviously it can’t be that bad when you sucking them both in cumming around them in a matter of minutes. 

shoko saw lots of patients; sorcerers were dangerous people who led dangerous lives, it was common for them to get hurt. she wouldn’t say she picks favorites, but it was your third time visiting her in just one month, & she can’t say she’s upset about it. a cute little thing like you just needs to be taken care of by someone capable like her. 

“does yaga send you on like ten missions a week, or what?” she muses, eyes downcast on your stitched arm. she was applying antiseptic, & then she’d send you on your way. or so you think. 

“haha, not really,” you giggle. "I guess I'm just pretty clumsy.” & your stupid grin boils her blood. why on earth would yaga & gojo think someone so frail & innocent could be a jujutsu sorcerer? “thanks for the stitches, doctor,” you joke, moving to sit up after the bandage is carefully placed. she holds your arm in place. 

"I'm not quite done,” she murmurs, ushering you to sit back down. 

you give her a look of confusion. “but I'm not hurt anywhere else, I promise.” 

she shakes her head. "I know, but it’s been a while since you’ve had a checkup; we’re supposed to do them annually.” a lie. you had a checkup only six months ago, & there’s no further regulations. but why would you know that? & of course, a doctor would never lie to you. . .at least not shoko, right? so you lie down flat on the table like she instructs, comply—albeit a little reluctantly—when she motions for you to lift your waist so she can pull off your clothes, you let him spread your legs apart, but it’s when she’s running her fingers along your inner thighs that you say, "I didn’t h-have to do this for my last exam. . .?” 

“just gotta be thorough, you know? try not to squirm, ‘kay? gotta stay still for me,” she says, thumbs spreading apart your pussy, which is already getting wet for her. & you try your best, you really do, to stay still, but it’s so hard not to squirm under her penetrating gaze, with how focused she is on your drooling cunt, you’re so embarrassed, almost inclined to apologize, but she doesn’t mind. in fact, it makes the exam easier when you’re aroused. 

“sh-shoko, what-what’re you doing?” you whine, when she presses the soft pad of her thumb against your clit, rubbing small, centered circles on it, enough to really make you squirm. but she grabs your thigh, holds it down on the examination table, & her grip is commandeering. 

“aw, you’re just gushing for me, pretty girl. why are you this wet, huh? were you thinkin’ about this when you came in here? thinkin’ about me playing with your little pussy?” she sneers. she’s so mean about it, pressing on your clit enough to make you feel good, but not enough stimulation for anything else. 

“n-no, promise, shoko, didn’t think about it, promise,” you whine pathetically, practically panting, which is probably true; the idea of shoko teasing your pussy with her skilled fingers didn’t occur to you before now, but now that it was happening, you can’t imagine why you hadn’t thought of it before.

you whine pitifully when she sticks just one long finger in your pulsing cunt, shushing you when you cry about it being too deep. “s’just one finger, pretty, you can’t take it?” of course you can, you’ll take it for her. even when she adds another one & you’re writhing in her grip, losing your sense of rationality. & you’re whimpering & drooling & moaning & panting as she scissors you open with her fingers, hitting that special spot deep inside you ‘til you cum so hard around her fingers, whining her name the whole time. 

needless to say, you pass the examination with flying colors. 

there’s no manipulation or convincing with sukuna; uraume hired you for a reason. sukuna has maids & then he has maids, if you catch the drift. seems like you didn’t, though, because you’re confused when he’s requested your presence in his personal chambers for some special cleaning that needs done. 

“b-but I'm a kitchen maid, my lord,” you mumble, averting your gaze because he’s just so big & intimidating & you don’t know how to act around him. he’s ushering you into the bedroom & pulling you down to sit on his lap, mouthing at your neck like some immature teenager; all the while you’re whining about how unprofessional this is, how you’re a maid, not a concubine, & more importantly. . . "I'm–i haven’t ever—” it takes him a second because he’s mostly ignoring your pathetic attempts at stopping him, but when he catches on, he just smiles like an asshole. 

"If you think I care, woman, you’re wrong,” he sneers, baring his teeth at you as he continues to suck on the pulse point of your neck, working your shirt up & your pants down, groping your boobs, pinching your nipples ‘til you’re crying out ‘cause why does it hurt & feel so good at the same time? sticks his hand in your panties & chuckles when he notices how wet you are.

“thought you said you were a virgin,” he says, teeth nipping at your skin. 

"I-I am, my lord,” & god if you keep calling him that he’s gonna bend you over on this bed & fuck you raw ‘til you pass out. but somewhere in the deep recesses of his curse heart, he feels a little sorry that he’s about to stick his massive cock in you & it’s probably gonna hurt, but of course he gets even harder just thinkin’ about that. so he fingers you open while you cry at the foreign sensation. it doesn’t necessarily hurt yet, but it’s new & a little weird as you feel it build up in your stomach, whimpering ‘bout it until you’re cumming on his fingers. 

he doesn’t waste any time pushing your face into his pillows & pulling your robes the rest of the way off, hiking your hips up to meet his until you’re barely even on the bed, lining his cock up with your little hole & slowly pushing in, inch by tantalizing inch. 

he fucks you like that until you’re pliant & drowsy, unable to take anymore of his teasing ‘cause you’re head is zeroed in on his fat cock & you’re creaming around the base of it for the nth time. “hurts, sukuna, it hurts, s’too big, you’re too big,” you’re babbling & he’s loving it ‘cause of course it’s too big stupid girl, he thinks, holding his hand against your tummy, feeling his cock push against the soft skin. 

you love your dad’s mentee, takuma. he’s just so nice to you, never makes fun of you or teases you, always compliments you & makes you feel so good about yourself. 

so when it’s raining so hard outside & it’s dark & he says that it’s not safe to drive, of course you stay at his house; he’s such a good friend, always looking out for you. & no way he’s gonna make you sleep on his couch, not when he has a perfectly good bed in the other room that’s big enough for two. you’re a little confused, not sure why he’s so insistent on sharing a bed with you, but you go along anyway because takuma’s your best friend. 

he reassures you that nanami won’t care about you staying over, & more importantly, that he doesn’t have to know that you let takuma eat you out with you face all smushed in his sheets, that you let him tongue fuck you over & over, cumming all over his tongue until you’re on the verge of passing out, whereas takuma’s just getting started. he knows you’re tired, all worn out, so he’ll fuck you nice & soft ‘til you’re dizzy from the pleasure & you’re head’s just not working right, working a finger into your ass ‘cause he’s a little mean like that, telling you that all the best girls take it up the ass, & that next time you’re pussy is tired & overwhelmed from cumming so much, he’ll put his dick in your other hole instead, he promises it won’t hurt, he’ll take such good care of you, just like you deserve. you don’t gotta do anything, just let him make you feel good. he loves it, how smart & capable nanami could have such a ditzy & sweet daughter who’ll let takuma fuck her whenever she wants. “‘cause what your dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him, sweetheart.” so you let him put his cock in your ass, fat tears falling down your plump cheeks, wriggling in his tight hold ‘cause it feels so different. not bad, but not necessarily good either, but he praises you so much for being his good girl, for taking it so well for him. “so proud of you sweet girl, you’re so good for me, always doin’ just what I ask.” you don’t need to be smart or quick, takuma likes you just the way you are.

no, I am not ok in the head. . .thank u for asking though <3 did you like it? -> here's my masterlist -> want something more? ask me for it

[cllightning81]

Ferrari World Champion

Summary: Max was your best friend since you were little kids but then you swapped teams and Max cut you off

Pairing/s: Max Verstappen x Sargeant!Reader, Logan Sargeant x sister!reader, Charles Leclerc x Sargeant!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning/s: Swearing

Based on this request Masterlist Max Verstappen Masterlist Taglist

After moving to Europe with her brother, she decided that racing was still something that she wanted to continue doing. Being able to find sponsors helped your family as they couldn’t afford both you and Logan to continue karting. Logan also managed to get a few sponsors, which helped even more. 

Being a couple years older than Logan meant that you spent most of your childhood racing alongside the likes of Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, and Lando Norris. It meant that you grew up beside some of the current best drivers in the world. 

You’d been taken into Alpha Tauri in 2021 alongside Yuki Tsunoda. They’d taken a huge risk in two rookies much like Haas had done the same year. Finishing in the top ten in most races except where there were mechanical issues, there was a huge chance you’d be offered the second seat in Red Bull beside Max. 

You and Max had been stuck at the hip for many years. You started on the Red Bull junior team before moving up to being a reserve driver and finally taking the Alpha Tauri team. You and Max were still joined at the hip going to team events together, doing team challenges together. 

But now, in 2024, your contract with Alpha Tauri , newly Visa Cash App RB, was over for the twenty-twenty five seasons and beyond. There was a huge chance that you’d be in the Red Bull seat except for when you were called into Franz’s office to see Christian standing there. 

“You’ve worked really well in the seat for the last three years, but unfortunately we’re not giving you the Red Bull seat” That was all you heard along with Daniel's name. Your heart shattered knowing that you were just being offered a contract extension for VCARB and not a new contract with Red Bull. Just as well, your manager had told you that there were other offers waiting for you after you found out what was happening with your current seat. 

After your meeting with Christian and Franz, you got on the phone to your manager talking through all the offers that were awaiting your decision when he stopped at Ferrari. That was your choice. All these mid table teams wanted you, but Ferrari was leaning for the new top position, and you wanted to win. 

Except that may have been the worst choice ever. Max cut off your relationship, and you avoided each other around Monaco and the paddocks. That was from the end of last season. Now it was the middle of this season, and normally, on your way to the Monaco Grand Prix, you and Max would go together. 

This year, Charles had offered to drive you to the Paddock, which you had accepted because you drove alone once, and it was terrifying. This year alone felt different. It felt like your rookie year except worse. Feeling out of place as a rookie felt completely different to feeling out of place as the person currently leading the drivers championship. 

Walking through the paddock, Charles tried to cheer you up as he had been for many of the races. Logan had also tried his best to cheer up his older sister, but nothing was working. You were missing a part of yourself - Max - your other half, your funnier half. Now, he wouldn’t even defend you during drivers conferences when a reporter said something highly untrue. Charles or Logan being the only ones to defend you. 

Max avoided your eyes as he walked through the Paddock, and you just dipped in between the motorhomes to avoid him, knowing that if you were to look at him you’d cry. Even fans had noticed that you were no longer as close as you used to be as your celebrations on the podiums never involved each other. 

A few months later, you were still winning the Drivers Championship, and it was a championship that was going to go down to the final race. Max is only two or three points behind you. Bets were through the roof and not only between fans, but the drivers had started their own pool in the grid. 

Many drivers did not want a part within the bet with the risk of losing a friend. However, Logan had found you sitting on the ground behind the Ferrari hospitality to avoid cameras. A body sitting next to you, causing you to turn and see who it was turning back to look at the ground when you saw the Williams shirt. 

“Oh so you’re not even looking at your little brother now?” He asked, and you rolled your eyes 

“Logan please. I’m not in the mood” you huffed, and he chuckled a little 

“Tough. I don’t care. Let’s go” He hummed, dragging you to your feet and through to the ice cream stand he had found. 

“This isn’t on my diet. I don’t want it” You turned around, walking back to the Ferrari motorhome without him. 

Life hurts, your heart hurts, and more importantly, you feel really alone in this world. It was hard being the only female driver on the grid, but that wasn’t even the hardest part. The hardest part is that most people stuck with Max and stopped talking to you. 

It was now the last race of the F1 season. You needed to win this to win the championship, but Max was in the same position. Starting on pole meant you had that little extra boost, and with a bad qualifying for Max, he meant he was starting P3 behind Charles, who was under the orders to keep Max behind him for as long as possible. Normally he’d go against team orders like that, but he wanted you to win the championship. To see your smile again. The one he saw for so many years as you karted together. 

The race started brilliantly, gaining a 14-second lead by the last turn as Charles kept everyone in a DRS chain or two

“Verstappen behind” your engineer told you

“Fuck” You muttered back and suddenly your enginner was back in your ear just as you took a sip of water 

“VSC. Virtual Safety Car. Bottas off the track” He explained

“Fuck sake” You exclaimed probably a little too loudly 

“Sorry Y/N” Before you knew it, a full safety car was behind you with only a couple laps left after it went into the pits. You knew you had to get away quicker than Max. Everyone in motorsports wants to win the Drivers Championship, but when you’re this close without a championship, it would make you even more upset to lose it to Max when you’re winning by such few points. 

And then it was in front of you. The chequered flag except Max was right next to you, passing the line at the same point as you to the human eye. 

“Did we do it? Please tell me we did it” you begged 

“They’re checking Y/N. But for now we’re being told for you to complete your cooldown lap” you groaned, waving as you drove around the track on your cooldown lap. You took a drink as you waited for the FIA to come back with the results. Did Max really finish that close to you? 

“That’s P1 Y/N. Pull into Parc Ferme” He calmly said as you cheered very loudly 

“We did it! Oh my god. I’m going to cry. We won!” You shouted across the radio as your engineer laughed 

“I think Fred might be crying on his way there” You laughed as you pulled up in the P1 spot. Getting out of the car after removing the wheel, you didn’t even put the wheel back in the correct spot before you crouched on the front of your car crying. 

Not only had you won the race, but you’d won the drivers championship. Never in a million years did you think you’d win the championship. Walking over to get weighed, it felt like a dream until you jumped into the arms of your team who were all cheering loudly, some even crying with you. You looked over at Max, who had finished P2 before Charles wrapped his arms around you 

“Congrats Champ. You deserve the win. You’ve been through so much, and I couldn’t think of a better world champion for this year” Charles helped to take your helmet off as he stopped your hands due to how much they were shaking 

“Y/N/N. Don’t cry” Logan whispered, wrapping his arms around you tightly. Your family couldn’t make the race, but having Logan here was all you needed. He’d been there through the highs and lows of not only your racing career but life. 

After your interviews, you ended up stepping onto the first place podium. Charles and Fred sprayed you with whatever liquid was in the bottles due to it being Abu Dhabi as the tears fell down your face again. Charles is taking your bottle and wrapping you in a hug. 

Being sat in your hotel room with a hangover, you didn’t expect anyone to be knocking on your door today. Having spent most of the night partying with your team and most of the grid, you didn’t want much social interaction. Expecting it to be Charles or Logan, you didn’t look before opening the door. 

You almost threw the door shut as you saw Max standing on the other side of it. His foot stopped the door as you pushed it shut

“Y/N please listen to me. I need you to hear me out” He sighed, and you shook your head 

“It’s been over a year, and I’m hungover. I’m not listening to anyone, especially you” You spat 

“Seeing you so upset over something I did killed me. I couldn’t look you in the eyes, knowing that you were hurting because of what I did. You’re the champion of the world now Y/N and I’m so sorry about everything I’ve done. I was just too stubborn to apologise because I never thought I’d have to imagine a day that I wasn’t racing on the same team as you. I know VCARB and Alpha Tauri aren’t exactly the same team, but it was close enough. Then Daniel took back the Red Bull seat, and then the next day, you were with Ferrari, and I was hurt. I have no reason to be hurt because it’s your life and not mine, but Liefde, you have been the most important person in my life since we were little kids. Having Logan shout at me most days because you were hurting that’s something I never want to have to go through again. He’s kinda scary for an American” He explained, and you wiped your eyes as you cried, laughing a little at Max’s American comment. 

Max’s arms wrapped around you as soon as he realised you were crying again because of him. He realised that he never wanted to ever make you cry again, and he’d make sure you never did because of him. 

“Congrats World Champ. Don’t cry, I got you” He whispered as his head ducked next to you. His words made you cry more as you realised that they were the words you said to him all those years ago when he won his first World Champion. 

“If anyone else was to take that number one I’d forever want it to be you. You’re such an inspiration to so many women and little girls around the world and to me. Staying strong even though I was being a prick I’d never forgive myself if I was in your position but I do know that this past year has been hell without you and I’d love to have you back as my best friend” You pulled away from Max looking up at him. 

“You’ve got to work for it, Max. You really hurt me and I’ve missed you just as much but I can’t just let you go back into that number one spot in my life again just as easily as you’ve let me into that spot for you” You sighed and he nodded 

“I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back to being my best friend” He smiled 

Y/NSargeant

Y/NSargeant I don't have any words, honestly. Thank you to everyone who has supported me over the last few years. @ Scuderiaferrari , thank you so much for giving me the chance to even compete this season.

tagged : charlesleclerc, scuderiaferrari liked by maxverstappen1, charlesleclerc, scuderiaferrari and 6,234,135 others

view all 1,234,212 comments

LoganSargeant: I love you so much. Thank you for being the best older sister someone could ask for and such an inspiration to so many people, including me ↳ Y/NSargeant: Oh, Logs, you're making me cry

maxverstappen1: Congrats, world champ. Don't cry, I got you. Liked by Y/NSargeant

charlesleclerc: We make a great team. Congrats champion ↳ Y/NSargeant: Thank you so much, Charles. I appreciate you making me so welcome this year even if I wasn't the best teammate most of the year.

user1: Y/N you are so inspirational to so many people. I'm freaking out not only about your win but Max commenting

user2: Y/N, you're so inspirational to so many people, including myself. I started karting when you were a rookie, and I'm so glad I got to see you make history in so many ways.

user3: OH MY GOD. MAX COMMENTED I'M CRYING ARE THE BEST FRIENDS BACK TOGETHER AGAIN?!?!!

user4: CONGRATS WORLD CHAMP. I'M CRYING. I NEVER THOUGHT I'D SEE THE DAY

Taglist

@bearryyy @thewannabewriter @lozzamen3 @barcelonaloverf1life @hiireadstuff @mxdi0 @f1kenzzz @evie-119 @ahgase99

[tanadrin]

@misanthropymademe Breaking this out so as not to get sidetracked, but the statistic on "78% of Americans live paycheck to paycheck" is wildly wrong, and is based on really bad surveys by for-profit companies using them to advertise their services. They also never define exactly what "paycheck to paycheck" means, which leaves room for that to include anyone who would be ruined by an unexpected $200 expense or the people who complain about how after private school tuition, music lessons, annual European vacations, and topping up their savings they have barely any money left over.

As of 2021, about 40% of Americans "would struggle to come up with $400 for an unexpected expense." According to this report from 2019, "75% of Americans [are] doping okay or are comfortable financially." About 10% of adults struggled to pay bills because changes to monthly income; 16% were not able to pay all their expenses in the time covered by the survey period; 63% of adults said if they had an unexpected $400 expense they could cover it completely in cash, or could put it on a credit card and pay that credit card off by the end of the month.

If you have seen the "78%" statistic, you're not stupid, or gullible; it's a deliberate lie that plays to people's priors that are pessimistic about the world, which social media is naturally inclined to engage because of how it tickles our limbic system. But it is false, and I think it is evidence that people get a large chunk of their impression about the state of the world from social media.

[homelanderbutbig]

No Strings Attached (G/T Homelander x Reader)

1389 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You give Homelander a back massage. Inspired by a post from @slasher-smasher.

It's taken a lot of trust to get to this point. One thing you've come to learn from Homelander is that he hates to take off his suit. When he's wearing it, there is a barrier protecting from the outside world. He's wrapped up in his security blanket, he's safe from harm and his own weaknesses. To be exposed… that's his kryptonite.

With his inhumanly tall height, he naturally gives off the air of superiority against everyone around him without ever really having to do anything. All he ever has to do to provoke fear is stand in front of someone, displaying both his towering presence and the dominance of his powers that lurk just beneath the surface.

While he always seems to go out of his way to refuse your inquiries about his suit, you also know he's already given you more access to himself that he has anyone else before. He willingly removes his gloves to hold hands with you, enamoured by the feelings of your tiny fingers running along the expanse of his palms. He loves to rest his head on your lap, allowing you to caress his cheeks and every inch of his face. He even lets you scratch his scalp, using your nails to reduce him to his base instincts and leave him purring heartily into your chest. These moments to him are far more intimate than just plain old sex; he's giving you his vulnerabilities on a silver platter, the fear of allowing himself to be stripped of his power over the masses in even a minute way.

And as much as Homelander genuinely relaxes from these cuddle sessions, you want to do so much more for him. He is consistently on the brink of burning out from both the stress of his job and the expectations placed on him from the Vought higher-ups, never allowed a vacation or a brief reprieve. He is their cash cow after all, their puppet whose strings are forcibly manipulated to make him dance for their amusement.

Today is no different. You're in his penthouse when he comes storming in, pissed at what Ashley's informed him. He's dropped six points from a recent blunder, and now the PR team is insisting he give a public apology. Standing in front of the myriad of reporters clamouring for the perfect angle, cameras flashing brightly in his face, all while he has to suck up to them… the worthless mudpeople.

You can tell how worked up he's getting just from telling you all this, and all he wants right now is to bury his head in your lap to let his worries fade away. However, this time you have another idea… and you won't take no for an answer.

"Come with me sweetheart," you coax him, grabbing hold of one of his massive hands to lead him into his bedroom. He follows with no resistance, yet he can't hide the confusion about this deviation of your normal routine. You know what he wants right now, what exactly are you planning? Once in his bedroom you hop up onto the mattress and he sits next to you, though his hands are nervously clenched on his lap.

"Please take off your top and lie down for me?" you ask, smiling at the near-instant look of fear overtaking his face the second he hears those words escape from your lips. "You can trust me big boy," you reassure him, giving him a gentle pat on his thigh.

Gradually you encourage him to unfurl his fists so you can help him remove his gloves. His wide eyes are glued on your every move as you carefully slide them off his hands and place them off to the side. You then maneuver around to his back to unhook his cape off of his eagle pauldrons, folding it neatly as you know he likes. And then comes the most daunting task.

"D-don't… d-d-don't look," he stammers quietly, incredibly anxious while waiting for you to shield your sight before he begins removing his suit. His movements are on autopilot while he tries his best to swallow his building nerves, dropping his top heavily on the sheets. He can't believe he's actually doing this, the one thing he's been terrified of since dating you. Showing you what he hides beneath his suit… the real Homelander.

You don't look until he's lying faced down into his bed, face partially buried into his pillow with only one of his distressed eyes showing. And even then he refuses to gaze over at you, so utterly consumed by the angst strangling his brain.

Kneeling in front of him, you reach out your hands to place them on his back. His eyes instantly shut tight as he takes in a sharp breath, waiting for you to touch him. It's a response that happens involuntarily, one that had been beaten into him from his childhood in the lab. Anytime the scientists laid their hands on him, it was never out of love. It was solely for experimentation. To poke, prod, stab, slice, inject, burn… 

And while they believed he was unable to truly perceive pain like humans do with his superhuman abilities… he felt it all. He always did.

But this time, your hands are different.

His eyes slowly open to glance over at you as your hands begin massaging his upper back. You lack the strength to properly relieve any tension in his muscles, but he can feel every ounce of your effort all the same. You are so gentle with him, every touch bursting with the love and care you have for him. There's something so therapeutic about the nature of your affection, how you bathe him in tenderness without any expectations in return. You aren't like Madelyn, not like Stormfront… not like anyone he's had strong emotions for before. You just… love him, no strings attached.

The tension he felt from his meeting with Ashley quickly melts away the longer you work your hands along his back, molding him into a malleable putty. Just like when you scratch his scalp, the sensations of your passionate fingers leave him at your mercy. He's powerless to fight the content little noises escaping from his mouth, practically purring in time with your massage. You can discern his deep voice vibrating through his body as you knead his back, each time he breathes removing just that much more stress from his weary mind.

"That feel good?" you question, still rubbing circles along his shoulder blades.

"Mmhmmph…" he eventually manages to hum, his placid voice muffled into the pillow. His eyes have started to flutter closed again, unable to fight the sleepiness creeping over him.

"Uh huh," you chuckle, pleased to see your devilish plan has worked. There's nothing that makes you more happy than to see him happy too.

You reposition yourself to lie directly on top of him, his wide back providing plenty of room for you to sprawl across comfortably. And while your weight is nothing to him, his hypersensitive senses leave him extremely aware of the warmth of your body on his bare skin. He's surprised at how much he likes that feeling too, how intimate it is knowing you're so close with him. Without the barrier of his suit, everything with you seems to be so much more special. And he adores it.

Scooting up to his shoulders, you wrap your arms around his neck and snuggle your head up against the side of his face. When he brings his arm up to offer you his hand to hold, you keep one on his shoulder while grasping his long fingers with the other. He delicately caresses your wrist with his large thumb as you return the favour along the back of his hand.

Everything about this moment is pure heaven; he feels you everywhere and he can't think of anywhere else he'd rather be.

"I love you Homelander," you whisper, kissing his temple before nuzzling back into his cheek. He gives you one last sleepy smile before he finally gives into his fatigue. He never really gets to take breaks like this, when Vought is constantly breathing down his neck. You know he deserves an uninterrupted nap right now.

And maybe in the future, he can trust you do this again.

[simp-ly-writes]

Friend of the Captain (pt.3)

Pairing: Edward "Eddie" Horniman x afab!Reader

Summary: Fate keeps pulling its strings, but your's and Eddies appear to be drifting further and further apart- only to see one another at weddings or funerals. But maybe one day, luck will be in your side and then something beautiful can flourish (with a side of cash, of course).

Warnings: 5000~ words, language and light teasing, angst (emotional, alcohol and drug usage, dark thoughts) to fluff, jealousy, and pining (of course).

A/N: Apologies for the wait everyone! A few timings changed but I need plot- okay.

Masterlist | Taglist Request | somewhat un-edited.

(pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3)

↳ "...you're the best friend I could have ever asked for," your words stung, shattering Eddie's heart beyond repair as his face twitched before hiding it in your palm. He made a promise as a child, to always have you in his life yet even as you got closer together, the more he realized how far apart your both were as that moment became a mere distant memory. Eddie was needy for more yet you had already packed up your bags, closed the estate for the summer and went off to find new inspiration worldwide.

↳ He ended up reading a few of the gossip articles his mother left on the coffee table one morning, hot pink, zoomed in features and question marks galore as you walked around in beach wear with another man on your arm. He gripped the magazine, throwing it back on the table before packing his bags and returning back to base.

↳ When Christmas came around once again, you were not at the estate- a newfound tradition it seemed yet your gifts were still left under the tree, perfectly wrapped with each Horniman getting a gift. Eddie looked at the professionally wrapped gift, chuckling to himself at the childish wrapping paper you always insisted on using. This Christmas it was a bunch of little green cars with elf's behind the wheel.

Tearing into the gift, Eddie pauses as he slowly turns the box open to find a custom engraved watch. Flipping it backwards, his finger traces over the engraving- "Always." His mother peers over his shoulder, smiling from ear to ear as she inspects the jewelry. "I'm jealous, Edward," she teases, as Charlotte mockingly coo's- loving as her brother's cheeks paint themselves a pinkish hue. Freddy is already drowning himself in the new bottle of liquor your most recent boyfriend was the owner of its production before Tammy demands her own fair share of the drink.

--

↳ More years had passed and it was September already. You had yet to go back to dating, stepping away from romance scene at the current news that rocked your world, sending you crashing towards the floor as you fell into your office chair. Gripping your hair, tears streamed endlessly from your eyes as one of your assistants rapidly books the private jet back home to England- both of your parents were just announced dead to the public before you had known privately.

They were on a charity meeting with local schools and had crashed in their helicopter- dying instantly. You felt sick, seeing their bodies broadcasted over live television, smoke exiting from the aircraft as you lunged towards the toilets and threw up your lunch. "The plane has been booked, ma'am," your assistant calls from behind the door as you dress in full black and head towards the airstrip.

↳ You were surprised to find a series of reporters already waiting for you on the runway. Putting on your newest mock-design of sunglasses- it was going to be your first break into another market. Lights flashed in your face, hands racing to pull you into their microphones and endless questions yet the airport staff were not trained for a mob of this size.

They bursted through, making you fall towards the ground as you curled up into a ball- doing your best to avoid being trampled further. You quickly worked your hands through your pockets, clicking the power button thrice in quick succession as your first emergency contact was called and before you knew it- Freddy and Tammy were bursting through the crowd, fists raised as reporters fled the scene.

They were dressed in head to toe in black, ready to take you back towards your family's estate and to the funeral. You stood at the front, head tipped low as your flowing black dress drifted in the crisp cold air. It clung to your bones, finding any skin you had yet to hide as you silently cried, head leaning towards Charlottes already waiting presence as she whispered her condolences to you before pulling away.

You blinked rapidly, doing your best to dry your cheeks as a warm body at your back had you raising an eyebrow, especially when their arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a strong hug as your skin became tickled by their stubble. "I came as soon as I could," Eddie spoke over the wind, watching as everyone started making their way towards their cars as light rainfall began to come down.

You turned yourself around in his arms, cries turning into laughter as you shook your head into his shoulder, hands gripping the fabric of his suit, threatening to tear it apart just as you forced yourselves apart. You shook your head, taking another step back as you continued to laugh, Eddie took a large stride forward, head lowering in worry- trying to catch your eyes as your hair began to fall over your face. Taking a sharp sniffle you spoke in even tones, "We only see each other at weddings or funerals, Edward."

"Darling I-" you hold up a hand, shaking your head once more as you take another step back, Eddie moves forward as you dance around one another, rain falling heavier as you walk yourself under a tree canopy. "I made a promise to my father years ago, he wanted me to stop talking with you- begged me on his deathbed that I was unknowing of recently. I made a compromise of being friends yet... If these are the times we find each... Edward I-"

"Please, don't call me Edward," Eddie cuts you off, heart racing as he processes the information you speak. I always knew that old man hated me from the start, business over pleasure any day of the week, Eddie thought to himself. Hands now grasping your shaking shoulders as you can't support yourself with the overwhelming grief- falling forward into his arms. "Eddie," you whisper out in a pleading tone yet unknowing of what you wanted.

Before you both could think further on the subject, your lawyers were demanding of your presence to sign the papers, as the only child of your parents. You were the Duchess of the estate now as the endless sea of documents and hearings suggested. And those small hugs and words sat still underneath that tree, rooted in place as Eddie got called back to work and in the trauma of it all, you were glad everyone left- wanted everyone to leave you alone.

The cameras everywhere started to become too much, the people constantly checking in- tip-toeing around you, as if you would break with their soft tones and bittersweet, pity-filled smiles that mocked the constant aching of your heart and mind. Articles floated around, showing old pictures, telling the world of how you were living the high life with dead money but you had money, you had fame, before this all and now, you wanted to escape it all.

--

↳ That man you were with was an old picture, that boat party was in early spring and that engagement ring was false news as you threw your phone across the room as it shattered against the tiles. In reality you were sat in your bathtub, barley breathing above the water. You have been feeling an overwhelming numbness in your present and soon enough, you were pulling at everything to just FEEL something these days.

Looking down at your hand, the family crest engraved ring upon your finger sat heavy as you came to realize what such titles costed. Someone was yelling your name from the other side of the door, pounding against the heavy wood as you sunk under, watching the bubbles of your breath break the surface of the water above.

You close your eyes, emptying your lungs before coming back up to the surface and clearing the hair from your eyes. You drain the tub, wet feet pattering against the marble floors and towards the vanity- your gear already waiting for you as you got strapped in and flung the door open.

↳ Determine to FEEL you tested drugs, tested alcohol but they both lost their kick. You tried sleeping around again yet could never get off, so you drove down country streets as fast as you could, jumped out of planes, flung yourself off cliffs and climbed up mountains.

↳ Your business was running in the background as you let it run itself. You sent all the staff home for the remainder of the year with their wages at the estate as you walked the line between fear and adrenaline.

↳ Sabrina had called you after receiving news of you being in the hospital. You had fractured your shoulder from a skiing incident, you smiled through the drugs, holding a thumbs up for the picture as she cried at the image. You looked so lifeless with those eyes, your skin appearing grey as a walking corpse yet you could care less. People still wanted to sleep with you, to "live that high life" and you allowed them to just as every paper told you to.

↳ What surprised you was seeing Freddy out of all people telling you off by your bedside. Tammy nowhere to be seen as he gripped your hand- pleading. You look at him blankly in the eyes, almost falling asleep to what you have heard a thousand times before. Yet there is one question that catches you off guard, your neck straining as you quickly look away to hide the tears beginning to stream down your face.

"W-What would Eddie think of you right now? He's off somewhere, probably getting shot at- thinkin' that his job was ensuringhis girl is safe at home. What a fuckin' joke (name), if you are gonna listen to anything I say, know that you are a joke- and thats coming from the definition of it."

You shake your head, now playing with the various cords in your hands, threatening to rip them out as you choke back a sob. "I'm sorry, Freddy, I'm so sorry for being such a fuckin' mess," you sputter between your lips, taking shallow breaths as your heart monitor rapidly beeps, nurses running into the room as Freddy stands up from his seat as positions himself at the foot of your bed.

"Yeah, well saying you are is a great step, now make something of it because I can't deal with all these crying people. Fathers health is gone- I think this is it..."

--

↳ Under a year later, Eddies father had passed. You remember never driving more of a wildly than then down the country roads, almost clipping a gate in the process as you opened the door with your own key. Staggering into the new dukes office and sitting by the fire once more as you held his head in your lap, he clenched onto your waist- crying before a knock at the door had him switching back off, hardened exterior as if nothing happened.

↳ You stood up quickly, brushing off your clothes and nodded to him with pained eyes and shaking hands. Your heart burned, wanting to help yet the hollowed look he sent you with the tip of his head was enough to have you swiftly out the door and here you were, dressed in black again as Eddie stood beside you, face hardened while carrying his father to the hole in the ground and while making no move to touch you. You stepped a bit closer to his side once seeing the woman from across the fence looking intently at you both, please make it not be another reporter.

↳ Eddie folded, wrapping an arm around your torso as he pulled you under his long coat- thinking you to be cold as you gripped his hip, turning your head away from their stares and whispered a prayer, setting your bundle of flowers against the grave as Eddie make his own remarks. You both going inside the home.

↳ Sabrina openly sobbed into your shoulder, this is the first time she had seen you since your most recent accident as she whispered in your ear, albeit a bit loudly- perhaps on purpose as Eddie's head snapped over to the both of you- pausing his conversation with Tammy. "I am so thankful that you are alive."

"Why wouldn't they be, mother?" Edward questions, looking between you both with the most remorse he has shown today. Your eyes snap down to his wrist as he plays with the watch you gifted him a few holidays ago. "I don't think this is my thing to speak about, Edward." And with that, she picks up her drink and strides over to the table as the lawyer stands, emptying various files from their brief case to the table.

Memories flash through your minds before Eddie holds your hand, you intertwine your fingers together, giving it a light swing while being unable to look at him in the eyes as you play with the ring on his finger. "I lost myself, Eddie. I-I'm still a bit lost really... I'm getting better- promise just, I fucked up."

"Hey, look at me, darling, look at me, (name)," Edward calls out to you, using his other hand to pick up your chin as you blink away tears. He presses a kiss to your forehead, using a soft tone, "and we will find you again, promise."

↳ Eddie was later pulled away from you as you made your silent escape and exited the room, Eddie becoming drowned in those all-too-familiar papers. You were un-noticing to Sabrinas thoughtful look as you exited the house just as fate would have it for the two of you, so close yet ever-so far.

Geoff was already standing by the front door, tipping his hat towards you as you playfully bowed back- engine roaring back to life as he knocked on your window. Rolling it down with a charming smile, "Everythin' alright Geoff?"

"Yes, my Lady. Just curious- you're not stayin'?"

"Oh... no... I think... never mind," you stutter, smile fluttering as he hums out in reply. "We hope to see you around more often your grace, mother misses you like her own," you nod politely, "I will do my best to then," you state before rolling back up your window and rolling out back down those country roads.

↳ That day Edward Horniman was established as the Duke of Halstead. The news once again meeting your phone screen rather than the word of those close to you.

--

↳ You wish you could say that you saw one another right after that, but after you made a spontaneous visit to the Halstead manor. The staff members look panicked as they speedily greeted you and tried to move you towards the seating room as you shook them off. Placing your bags by the door before walking further down the hall and towards the office. You looked through the french doors, heart dropping as that woman you had seen earlier flashed Eddie a charming grin.

Sabrina clapped her hands joyfully at whatever had been said as childish jealousy ran rampant in your chest. You glared at the woman, her face tilted away from yours, everyone unknowing of your presence before you walked calmly back down the hall. Picking up your bags with your head held high, the various staff members chased after you, "How about you stay for tea miss? Oh, I'm sure the Duke will be overjoyed to have you stay, Could I bring you bags upstairs for you?"

You sent everyone a small sad smile, their heads dropping down as they silently understood your decision. You dropped your bags back into the boot of your car, slamming the door close as you drove back down the gravel roads. Luna chasing after your car with a wagging tail.

Edwards meeting had finished as he dismissed everyone from the room, standing while taking a sip of his tea- his heart lunged forwards at the sight of your car driving away. He hastily placed his drink down, running down the stairs as his mother called out to him, warning him of the cold weather that morning yet as he opened the door, he could no longer see your car and that door shut just as quickly.

--

↳ You would try again to see Eddie, yet that woman was always seen right beside him. There was some dark part of you that hoped Eddie would never go back to dating, that you could be selfish yet it would be unfair as you had done your fair share of it. Unknowing to the pain Eddie kept to himself seeing you so happy with someone else. It seemed to him the only times he ever got to see you was when it rained and rained it did.

↳ You took a ride around the estate, really both of your estates since no formal fences were placed. You strode over the overside of the pond, eyes squinted at the sight of the woman once more falling in step with Eddie as Luna raced between their feet. You continued your ride, looking up to the grey gloomy skies with distaste and the next moment you looked back across, they all were gone - if just by your imagination.

--

↳ You were dressed to the nines, a flowing emerald gown drifting off each curve of your body, emphasizing your natural features as you swirled around the crowds of hungry business men and jealous wives as you picked up a champagne glass from a walking tray and returned to Mr. Johnston's side.

↳ A hand written and delivered invitation graced your doorstep, too tempting to refuse- it had been sometime since you last stepped into the spotlight and done yourself up, and so you went all out. You showcased your newest jewellery line- finally finding more inspiration the more times you reminisced around your inherited property.

↳ A rather bizarre relationship you held with Mr. Johnston as well, as he had tried to purchase your land yet smiled and waved away his deal like a fleeting thought. Mr. Johnston have given you many expensive gifts since them to keep your company with him- adoring your intelligence in everything accessory or business related as you reviewed materials for him as a side-gig and token of friendship

↳ You swayed lightly to the music as he introduced to you hundreds of faces, beyond impressed that me managed to remember the names and family connections of them all. You smiled politely, kissing cheeks and making small talk before being led to the next person, ignoring the stares as they watched you from behind- gown drifting away with you.

↳ Much to your surprise, you were being introduced to the Duke of Halstead himself yet for once you were not most interested in Eddie but the woman that stood ever-so elegantly by his side.

"Susie Glass, its an honour your grace," she said politely, red lipstick curving up into a small smile as you shook hands lightly, swiftly dropping your connection before Eddie picked up your hand, pressing a delicate kiss to the back of it. You both maintained eye-contact as he did so, never wavering before Johnston coughed, and you tipped your head down, a smile fighting against your lips as did Eddies.

With your gaze down, you ignored the rather pushing tones of both parties, focused on the small red liquid, is that blood?, starting to form at the edge of Eddie's shirt. You shifted your weight to stand closer to him, starting to open your mouth to question before Mr. Johnston was calling your name.

"You never told me, duchess that you and the duke had grown up together, what a wonderful sight to see two friends reconnecting. If you will Ms. Glass, I think we should allow them so time to reunite," Johnston comments, eyeing the closing distance between yours and Eddies forms as you blink a thanks to him as he leads Susie towards the bar.

"Is there something you wish to tell me, your grace?" you tease out, hands drifting up his chest to fix his jacket. You hold him there as his eyes quickly flash down to your lips and back up towards your eyes. Your head tilting, well that has changed....

"Can I not admire the dress? It has been some time since we have last seen each other like this. What was it, when we were 20-something?" You instantly remember that night, cheeks a hard red as you blindly follow Eddie down the hall and into an empty room, the door clicks locked as you become lost in the memory.

--

Eddie had pushed you up against a wall, the paintings swinging almost off their nails as your own scraped against his roots, ensuring that yours lips stayed on one another in a passionate kiss. The shoulder of your dress began to fall as did Eddie's lips, trailing down your chin, to your throat where he sucked a bruise as you softly moaned in his ear.

It was so wrong, you had a boyfriend waiting for you back at university, it was your childhood best friend- the one you promised your father never to be with and yet as he picked you up, hands feeling up your dress and pushed you onto a bed. It never felt so right.

Eddie climbed on top of you, smashing his lips onto your own once more as you whimpered and moaned as he chuckled, shushing you lighting before continuing his attack. You began to unbuttoned his shirt. Nails working down his abs as you smirked to the sound of his breath hitching as you created your own markings to his neck.

Nothing more ever came from your heated make-out sessions or hook-ups. Always resulting in being, "good friends" with one another who needed help...

"Everything alright there, darling?" Eddies baritone voice pulled you out of the memory as you his chest pressed flat against your bare back where your dress dripped. His hands on your hips, his head on your shoulder as you both swayed back and forth lightly.

You pick your hand up, placing it on top of his hands on your waist, circling around each bloody knuckle with concern. "What have you not been telling me, Eddie?" that you love me, your brain pleads to finish for him yet you hold your tongue, bitting your lip from saying anything more.

Eddie hums deeply into your ear as goosebumps coat over your skin, gods you feel like such a horny teenager. But to be fair, that would be the last time you were romantically involved. "I think I will need a few more drinks before I become an open book but, I have been busy in managing my fathers... businesses."

You step away from his touch, gathering distance, eyes firm, "I know what your family does, Edward. Longer than you apparently. I believe it to be the reason why my father never wanted me settling with someone like you-"

"Someone like me?" Eddie challenges. "Do you even have the faintest idea of what Mr. Johnston has done, what your previous boyfriends have done?-"

"Yes, I do. And that should make you understand why I still decide to come back to you, after everything," you finish with, taking a seat in one of the empty chairs by an unlit fireplace as Eddie stands in front of you, undoing his jacket with a hiss as you tut him off in a posh tone.

"Why, Edward-dear, it appears you are the one learning new ideas, would you like some help with that?" You tease out, watching as his shirt turns a deeper red. Edwards rolls his eyes playfully at you as you drink up the sight of this beautiful man, even when bleeding and threatening to stain the designer rug underneath you both.

You kneel lean forward, slowly unbuttoning his shirt as Eddie un-do's his bowtie, it hangs off his shoulders as you dress the wound with the supplies sat conveniently waiting on a nearby shelf. "Arms up now, captain," you playfully command as Eddie complies.

"Never knew you to be such a bossy one," Edward sarcastically comments, looking down at the top of your head fondly. You look up at him through your lashes, blinking twice before continuing your work. "And I never knew you to be bedding your associates-"

A knock at the door sounds as Eddies delicate look before a glare, enforcing that you both would speak about the topic later as you wipe your hands and lean back in the chair, smiling at the women as Eddie leans down, pressing a kiss to your cheek in thanks as he straightens his clothes out.

"Hello, Susan," the Duke greets the once mysterious lady as you look between the two of them, jealousy brewing in your stomach once more, your hands itching to hold on to some part of Eddie once more. "What have you done to him, duchess?" Susie asks you, hands presses and leaning forwards against the back of a chair opposite of yours.

You smile gracefully at the woman, beginning to stand yet as you approach her, Eddie softly grasps your wrist, holding you in place. "Well, by the looks of it. He has been shot- what have you been doing with him, Susie?" you fire back.

"Nothing-"

"Really then?" you cut her off with a scoff as you wiggle your hand from Eddies grasp, moving towards the door, you can hear multiple people moving in the hallway as you curse out, your dress spotted with blood. "Alright then, I think it's time for a sharing circle then..."

--

"You killed a man?" you ask calmly as Eddie slowly nods his head. "That was something I did- yes-"

"and by the sounds of it, it will not be your last... or hers..." you reply, head leaned into your hand as you found yourself seated once more. The party-goers were dying by the hour as you all soon made your speedy walks back towards your cars.

--

You joined Eddie that night, helping to redress the wound, dress him for the night, pouring you both another few drinks before pulling him into bed. What surprised you most was his tight grip on your waist as he pulled you down beside him. "Eddie I am not dressed for bed," you spoke softly, not wishing to awake anyone near.

"Sleep naked, wouldn't be the first time-"

You covered his mouth with your hand, shaking it away as he gave it a playful kiss. You heart lunged at the memory of a moment similar to this when you had just been cheated on. Yet you ultimately decide to make yourself comfortable, just as the last, kicking off your shoes but deciding to stare at the side of his face illuminated by the dying embers of the fireplace.

"You know, I think I have had enough drinks for tonight," Eddie comments as you hum out, eyes falling heavy as you press your head into your pillow for the night, taking a deep breath in- "I love you, (name). I've said it so many times to myself that it surprises me to sound so right saying it aloud," you are wide awake now, exhaling heavily as your legs twist together underneath the covers.

"I thought you were with Ms. Glass," you speak in a meek tone, not wanting your heart to explode twice, only one of you can be injured at a time. Edward chuckles, head shaking as he looks at you, brown eyes staring deeply into your own, "Well that same woman told me not to sleep with the help, I'm just taking her advice."

"Well she sounds like a very smart lady then, leaving all the more for me," you tease out, lips pressed together as you eye his own. Eddie leans forward, humming out as your lips connect, your hand finding the back of his head before a hiss escapes between his lips and you rapidly pull back.

"Oh shit, sorry," you apologize, looking under the covers to see your knee brushing into his bruised side. "You can always kiss it better," Eddie retorts as you roll your eyes and press a peck to his lips. "whats that supposed to solve?" And soon you both are up into the early morning hours.

--

When you awakened the next morning, having breakfast together in the study, you nearly spat our your tea with the words that escaped Eddies lips, "Would you help me steal a car if I asked politely?"

A smirk meets a smile as you tap your chin in mock-contemplation. "sure" you shrug, pulling the man into another kiss with a chuckle. And thus kicked off the rest of your lives together with a healthy side of cash.

--

Bonus:

↳ Lady Sabrina brought flowers and a bottle of wine to your mothers grave for a chit chat. She poured out to glasses, sitting one by the tombstone as she commented on the nutty taste of the substance.

"I was right in the end, you know. They are a rather marvellous couple and you really should have ended things with that husband of yours. My boy was only ever the most substantial choice, rather embarrassing to think otherwise."

Sabrina could imagine your mother glaring down at her, slipping her the bird while maintaining a pleasant smile. But in due time she would await that interaction as she sipped her wine, embracing victory as she squinted across the field watching as you and Eddie did shooting practice near the woods with a satisfied hum.

(pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3)

↳ Taglist: @daffodilstark @leavemeslowly @iamasimpingh0e @kneelarmhstrung

↳ A/N: I think thats a wrap for Friend of the Captain... but definitely not for my writing on the Gentlemen (2024)!

[venus-haze]

Pretty Tied Up (Otis Driftwood x Reader)

Summary: Or, the perils of working at Red Hot Pussy Liquors.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. This takes place between House of 1000 Corpses and The Devil’s Rejects. Based on the Guns N' Roses song. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Armed robbery and implied kidnapping. Sexually explicit content that involves extremely dubious consent and sadism, gags, bondage, groping, and gunplay. Otis is pretty much his own warning. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Having regulars at a liquor store was a double-edged sword. You got to know some customers well enough to like them, but over time you’d notice they looked increasingly worse for wear as they came up to the checkout with their usual purchases. The exception, of course, were the Fireflys, who you always found unsettling, despite Baby’s attempts to seem affable. 

“My brother likes you,” she said one day, leaning against the counter as you rang up three bottles of vodka and two six-packs of beer.

“RJ?” you asked, glancing at her brother standing a few feet behind her.

RJ was always nice enough. Didn’t say much. Tall. Burly. Strong. Ruggedly handsome. You’d be open to going out with him.

She laughed in her usual high-pitch that always toed the line of being spine-chilling. “No silly! I’m talkin’ ‘bout Otis.”

You stared at her blankly. “Who’s Otis?”

“You know, long hair, blue eyes, scruffy ol’ beard. He came in here the other night. You must’ve made one hell of an impression. He won’t shut up about ya.”

Oh yeah. Him. Bought a bottle of whiskey and a stack of hardcore BDSM porno magazines. ‘You ever look at this stuff?’ he’d asked, eyeing you as you put a magazine with a nude, distressed-looking woman suspended by intricate ropes on the cover into a brown paper bag. When you first started working there, you could hardly stomach the sight of the rougher fare. As time went on, you found yourself hesitantly intrigued. ‘Gotta have something to do besides go to church on Sundays,’ you replied, earning a wicked grin from him. 

“That’s nice,” you said.

She snickered. “My brother’s not nice.”

“Is this everything?” you asked, hoping to move the interaction along.

“Hey RJ, you gettin’ anything else?” Baby asked over her shoulder.

He shook his head, approaching to pick up the crate you put the bottles in.

Baby handed you a wad of cash. She almost always overpaid, letting you keep the change, which was most of the reason you humored her antics in the first place. “Thanks darlin’! See ya real soon!” she said, wiggling her eyebrows, keen to something you were yet to be aware of.

Two nights later you were working the store alone. Your coworker Billy didn’t even have the decency to call and let you know he wasn’t coming in–or quit. He just didn’t show up at 9:30 when he was supposed to, and your phone call to his house was met with a busy dial tone. Asshole.

It’d been a slow night anyway, but you would have appreciated the heads up, or at least another body in the place when the front door was kicked open.

“This is a robbery! Don’t fucking move or I’ll shoot!”

Despite the bandana covering the bottom half of his face, you knew who it was right away. Long, graying hair and piercing blue eyes that were burned into your memory from his last visit to the liquor store.

You lifted your hands in the air. Your manager had told you on your first day that there was always a possibility of this happening. Better to just let them take whatever cash and booze they wanted and report it to the police once they left. ‘Don’t go playin’ hero. We got insurance.’

“Keep those hands up,” Otis said, slowly approaching the counter. “I’m gonna walk back there, and you’re gonna open the register for me.”

You nodded, eyes glued to him as he slithered around the counter like a snake, gun steadily pointed at you. 

“Go on,” he said.

With a trembling hand, you opened the register, the cash-filled drawer popping open for him. He pressed the gun to your temple, instructing you to put the cash in one of the brown paper bags by your side. You tried not to glance at him too much while you stuffed the paper bag with the money, finally pushing it toward him and sticking your hands up again.

“Alright, now turn around.”

“Wh-What?”

“I ain’t got all night.”

You glanced at the door. No way you could make a run for it, but maybe someone would walk in and be able to do something.

He followed your gaze and let out a cruel scoff. “Ain’t nobody coming through that door who can save you. I’m the closest thing to salvation you’ll ever get. Now turn the fuck around.”

With a shaky breath, you did as you were told, freezing when you felt the barrel of the gun press against the back of your head. His free hand grabbed your ass through your jeans, his strong grip almost painful as he squeezed each cheek. “Wonder how much it’d take to make you bruise?” he mumbled, almost to himself. He squeezed again, harder this time, as if he were trying to dig his fingers into your flesh. “Too much work when I can just cut into ya.”

“Don’t hurt me,” you pleaded, though hearing your own voice, you weren’t quite sure how convinced you were that you didn’t want him to do his worst. Knowing what you did about the Firefly clan, the rumblings around Ruggsville about the strange family–it would be pretty damn bad.

“C’mon now, mama. You led me to believe you liked it rough,” he said, voice gravelly and low as he slipped his hand between your legs from behind, rubbing the rough denim material and your cotton panties against your pussy, the friction hitting your clit in just the right spot for you to let out a shameful moan. Your hand flew to your mouth, the other clenched in a fist as you tried not to give him the reaction he wanted. Didn’t want to prove him right. Show him how curious you were. You didn’t even have it in you to fight back, not when you were on the edge, so achingly close until suddenly you weren’t anymore.

You nearly whined when he pulled his hand away, horrified at yourself, your reaction to his groping you. He grabbed each of your arms, roughly pulling them behind your back and tying your wrists together with something itchy and uncomfortable that dug painfully into your skin as you fruitlessly tried to free yourself from the secure knot he made. What the fuck did he use? Your eyes widened at the carpet burn-like sensation that’d begun to sting your skin. The roll of twine beneath the register. You used to secure some customers’ more sensitive purchases sometimes. 

Fingers and cloth forced their way into your mouth until you were gagged with the bandana Otis had pulled off of his face. He turned you around, looking you over with a slow, satisfactory nod. “I was having trouble getting over this mental block in my art. Started drivin’ me crazy. Y’know, they showed this nature documentary about a group ‘a lions a while back. How they protect and provide for their families, stalk their prey and go in for the kill–do you ever think about how we’re the only species where killing is taboo? For the rest of the animal kingdom, it’s just nature, part of the circle of life. There was a scene where the lion saw a gazelle from way across the savannah, and it was like nothing else existed except for its prey. It couldn’t rest until it tore that damn thing apart. That’s how I felt when I saw you.”

You shook your head frantically, your pleas of mercy muffled by your gag. Fat tears blurred your vision until he morphed into something monstrous, straight out of a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. 

“I ain’t gonna kill ya,” he said, roughly petting your head, “not yet anyway, that’d be a waste when I’ve barely even started.” He gave you a mean grin as he grabbed a hold of your hair by the roots. “I got a lot planned for you. Those magazines gave me a lot of ideas too.”

He lowered the gun, dragging it between your breasts and further down your abdomen until he reached the waistband of your jeans. Using his other hand, he unbuttoned and unzipped them with alarming ease, pulling them down until they fell to your ankles. Your breath hitched as he pressed the barrel of the gun against your cunt, the thin fabric of your panties the only thing stopping him from being able to slide it inside of you. 

Still, the cool metal sent a shiver through you as he rubbed it against your clit, black spots creeping into your peripheral as you hyperventilated through his sadistic experiment. He was hard. That much you knew, but what frightened you, perhaps most of all, was how wet you had become since he tied you up. Your skin still screamed against the rough twine that’d been cutting into your flesh, soon to draw blood as you kept struggling.

Your hips jerked, pressing the gun barrel closer to your pussy that was eager to betray you and clench around it if he just pushed past your panties and shoved it up there. You didn’t want him to do that, not in your right mind. But no one in your situation could be considered in their right mind, could they?

“Don’t fight it,” he encouraged gruffly, blue eyes piercing through you as he watched your knees threaten to give out as you neared orgasm. “Give the devil his due, mama.”

Your hands curled into fists, nails threatening to break through the skin of your palm. Then he did it. Slipped the barrel of the gun past your soaked cotton panties. Your brain short-circuited in a rush of terror and thrill at the sensation. You came, eyelids fluttering shut, a guttural moan tearing from your throat and pushing through your gag. Your limbs felt like ghosts, incorporeal parts of you that could only offer a vague sense of feeling compared to the sensation that overwhelmed your body, pleasure and adrenaline coursing through your veins all the same.

Gun be damned, you collapsed against the checkout counter, unable to support yourself any longer. Your chest heaved, unable to catch your breath with the now saliva-soaked bandana still shoved halfway down your throat. An astounded whine escaped your lips when he brought the gun up to his nose and sniffed. “This is it, mama. This is the devil’s salvation.”

He wasn’t making any damn sense, or your brain was too fuzzy to comprehend what he was saying. All you knew about the devil was from the Bible and that stupid Dr. Satan story people regurgitated like spoiled food. If Otis was the devil, you’d believe it, though.

The sound of a car door slamming shut made your eyes widen, and you glanced over your shoulder, your muffled screams of either help or warning to however was approaching.

“Sorry about this, darlin’. We’ll have a lot more fun later,” he said, hitting you across the face with the gun, sending you to the brink of consciousness. 

The bell on the door faintly jingled, and the last thing you remember seeing was a large, familiar figure walking towards you.

“C’mon and help me get ‘er in the car,” Otis said just as you passed out. "Don't forget the cash."

[womenaremypriority]

This is so horrific.

———————

I have been following Siro’s story for 30 years, ever since I went to interview her and four other rural midwives in India’s Bihar state in 1996.

They had been identified by a non-governmental organisation as being behind the murder of baby girls in the district of Katihar where, under pressure from the newborns’ parents, they were killing them by feeding them chemicals or simply wringing their necks.

Hakiya Devi, the eldest of the midwives I interviewed, told me at the time she had killed 12 or 13 babies. Another midwife, Dharmi Devi, admitted to killing more - at least 15-20.

It is impossible to ascertain the exact number of babies they may have killed, given the way the data was gathered.

But they featured in a report published in 1995 by an NGO, based on interviews with them and 30 other midwives. If the report’s estimates are accurate, more than 1,000 baby girls were being murdered every year in one district, by just 35 midwives. According to the report, Bihar at the time had more than half a million midwives. And infanticide was not limited to Bihar.

Refusing orders, Hakiya said, was almost never an option for a midwife.

“The family would lock the room and stand behind us with sticks,” says Hakiya Devi. “They’d say: ‘We already have four-five daughters. This will wipe out our wealth. Once we give dowry for our girls, we will starve to death. Now, another girl has been born. Kill her.’

“Who could we complain to? We were scared. If we went to the police, we’d get into trouble. If we spoke up, people would threaten us."

The role of a midwife in rural India is rooted in tradition, and burdened by the harsh realities of poverty and caste. The midwives I interviewed belonged to the lower castes in India’s caste hierarchy. Midwifery was a profession passed on to them by mothers and grandmothers. They lived in a world where refusing orders of powerful, upper-caste families was unthinkable.

The midwife could be promised a sari, a sack of grain or a small amount of money for killing a baby. Sometimes even that was not paid. The birth of a boy earned them about 1,000 rupees. The birth of a girl earned them half.

The reason for this imbalance was steeped in India’s custom of giving a dowry, they explained. Though the custom was outlawed in 1961, it still held strong in the 90s - and indeed continues into the present day.

A dowry can be anything - cash, jewellery, utensils. But for many families, rich or poor, it is the condition of a wedding. And this is what, for many, still makes the birth of a son a celebration and the birth of a daughter a financial burden.

Siro Devi, the only midwife of those I interviewed who is still alive, used a vivid physical image to explain this disparity in status.

“A boy is above the ground - higher. A daughter is below - lower. Whether a son feeds or takes care of his parents or not, they all want a boy.”

The preference for sons can be seen in India’s national-level data. Its most recent census, in 2011, recorded a ratio of 943 women to every 1,000 men. This is nevertheless an improvement on the 1990s - in the 1991 census, the ratio was 927/1,000.

By the time I finished filming the midwives’ testimonies in 1996, a small, silent change had begun. The midwives who once carried out these orders had started to resist. 

This change was instigated by Anila Kumari, a social worker who supported women in the villages around Katihar, and was dedicated to addressing the root causes of these killings.

Anila’s approach was simple. She asked the midwives, “Would you do this to your own daughter?”

Her question apparently pierced years of rationalisation and denial. The midwives got some financial help via community groups and gradually the cycle of violence was interrupted.

Siro, speaking to me in 2007, explained the change.

“Now, whoever asks me to kill, I tell them: ‘Look, give me the child, and I’ll take her to Anila Madam.’”

The midwives rescued at least five newborn girls from families who wanted them killed or had already abandoned them.

One child died, but Anila arranged for the other four to be sent to Bihar’s capital, Patna, to an NGO which organised their adoption.

The story could have ended there. But I wanted to know what had become of those girls who were adopted, and where life had taken them.

Anila’s records were meticulous but they had few details about post-adoption.

Working with a BBC World Service team, I got in touch with a woman called Medha Shekar who, back in the 90s, was researching infanticide in Bihar when the babies rescued by Anila and the midwives began arriving at her NGO. Remarkably, Medha was still in touch with a young woman who, she believed, was one of these rescued babies.

Anila told me that she had given all the girls saved by the midwives the prefix “Kosi” before their name, a homage to the Kosi river in Bihar. Medha remembered that Monica had been named with this “Kosi” prefix before her adoption.

The adoption agency would not let us look at Monica’s records, so we can never be sure. But her origins in Patna, her approximate date of birth and the prefix “Kosi” all point to the same conclusion: Monica is, in all probability, one of the five babies rescued by Anila and the midwives.

When I went to meet her at her parents’ home some 2,000km (1,242 miles) away in Pune, she said she felt lucky to have been adopted by a loving family.

“This is my definition of a normal happy life and I am living it,” she said.

Monica knew that she had been adopted from Bihar. But we were able to give her more details about the circumstances of her adoption.

Earlier this year, Monica travelled to Bihar to meet Anila and Siro. 

Monica saw herself as the culmination of years of hard work by Anila and the midwives.

“Someone prepares a lot to do well in an exam. I feel like that. They did the hard work and now they’re so curious to meet the result… So definitely, I would like to meet them.”

Anila wept tears of joy when she met Monica. But Siro’s response felt different.

She sobbed hard, holding Monica close and combing through her hair.

“I took you [to the orphanage] to save your life… My soul is at peace now,” she told her.

But when, a couple of days later, I attempted to press Siro about her reaction, she resisted further scrutiny.

“What happened in the past is in the past,” she said.

But what is not in the past is the prejudice some still hold against baby girls.

Reports of infanticide are now relatively rare, but sex-selective abortion remains common, despite being illegal since 1994.

If one listens to the traditional folk songs sung during childbirth, known as Sohar, in parts of north India, joy is reserved for the birth of a male child. Even in 2024, it is an effort to get local singers to change the lyrics so that the song celebrates the birth of a girl.

While we were filming our documentary, two baby girls were discovered abandoned in Katihar - one in bushes, another at the roadside, just a few hours old. One later died. The other was put up for adoption.

Before Monica left Bihar, she visited this baby in the Special Adoption Centre in Katihar.

She says she was haunted by the realisation that though female infanticide may have been reduced, abandoning baby girls continues.

“This is a cycle… I can see myself there a few years ago, and now again there’s some girl similar to me.”

But there were to be happier similarities too.

The baby has now been adopted by a couple in the north-eastern state of Assam. They have named her Edha, which means happiness.

“We saw her photo, and we were clear - a baby once abandoned cannot be abandoned twice,” says her adoptive father Gaurav, an officer in the Indian air force.

Every few weeks Gaurav sends me a video of Edha's latest antics. I sometimes share them with Monica.

Looking back, the 30 years spent on this story were never just about the past. It was about confronting uncomfortable truths. The past cannot be undone, but it can be transformed.

And in that transformation, there is hope.

[postplus-protest]

A Petite Reprise -

It can't really be left to a simple shitpost. That would be too easy. The subject demands a better explanation. Now others have explained, pontificated, and discoursed the subject much better than I ever will but I still feel the need to add to the chorus. There's been a deep slow rot set up in tumblr and the past couple of days proved it.

Dear Fearless Leader decided the best course of action in dealing with a trans user's concerns and frustrations with her SFW selfies being arbitrarily content labeled was to completely nuke her account and permaban said user. To add fuel to the fire, there was a few other users nuked in the crossfire. Also trans for the record.

Which is odd considering the fact that loads of death threats, neonazi propaganda, and so on was reported then ignored but a cartoonish threat directed at no one but the powers that be requires immediate action.

Damning still is deleting evidence of his actions.

At this point I'm not surprised. Us trans folk have been saying there's something definitely wrong behind the scenes for a while and poc users have been saying it even longer than that. People have come out to share their frustrations and their Fearless Leader nightmare stories. No, I'm not surprised.

I'm disappointed.

Fearless Leader has enough cash to throw around on vanity projects that hemorrhage money with his name plastered where he can get it and still manages to fuck it up. This little venture should've been an easy sandbox with users truly easy to please yet you treat it like kitty litter. Even Donald Trump has dedicated fans but our guy here can't seem to buy support anymore. And that is truly sad, isn't it?

I pity the fact you couldn't even own up to your bullshit and decided alienating a user base dedicated but vulnerable in favor of your ego. You could've been a hero but now we're all beginning to see who you truly are.

[britcision]

I’m pretty sure the people bitching about not giving money to tumblr are the same ones who complain when AO3 or wikipedia ask for donations, so I’m just gonna clarify something

Running a website is not free

Even if they made no changes and did only maintenance, they still need to pay for server costs, expert programmers for when something goes wrong, storage (although frankly storage is cheap as chips these days which is nice)

They need to keep up with the capabilities of new tech like improvements to web browsers, never mind their own apps keeping pace with old and new tech developments

Backwards compatibility (being able to run the updated app on old tech) is a massive problem for apps on a regular basis, because there are people out here using an iPod and refusing to update software

There’s a reason every few years apps like Animal Crossing will issue an update that breaks backwards compatibility and you can only play if your phone is running more recent software

This shit costs money even before you look into the costs of human moderation, which I’m not exactly convinced is a big part of their current budget but fucking should be if we want an actual fix for their issues with unscreened ads and reporting bigots

Ignoring that it’s apparently illegal for companies not to actively chase profits, running Tumblr is expensive

And advertisers know we fucking hate them here

They’re still running ads, which we know because they’re all over the damn place, but half the ads are for Tumblr and its store

Other ad companies know we are not a good market, so they’re not willing to put the money in

Tumblr runs at a $30 million deficit, every year, because hosting a site is expensive

They are trying to take money making ideas from other social medias because they’re not a charity; they need to make enough money to keep the site going

If you want tumblr to keep existing, never mind fixing its many issues that require human people to be paid to do jobs like moderation, they will need money

Crabs cost $3

One crab day a year can fix the deficit and hammer home for Tumblr that:

A) we do want to be here and want the site to keep going

And B) they do not need to do the normal social media money making strategies we all hate

They need a way to make money if you want the hellsite to exist, because we live in a capitalist hellscape and cannot all be AO3

If they think they can make enough to keep running without pulling all the tricks we hate, they have no reason to pull said tricks

But they need money

And a way to make money

And if we can show them we can do that, there is a significantly higher chance they will listen to us, the user base they need money from, than if we don’t

Tumblr isn’t perfect, or anywhere close. They need someone to actually screen the paid ads they put through, they need to take the transphobia, antisemitism, and bigotry seriously

These Are Jobs That Will Cost Money

People Need To Be Fucking Paid For Their Work

Tumblr Is Not Run By Volunteers For Free And Nor Should It Be

Paying People Is Good Actually

So if you wanna get all high and mighty over $3/year, by all means, go spend that hard earned cash elsewhere

Good luck finding a perfect and morally pure business to give it to though

Being a whiny negative asshole isn’t more appealing just because you’ve put yourself on a moral soapbox, it just means the asshole is a little higher up

For all the whining about “all the new updates are terrible this site is unusable”…. It’s one fuck of a lot more usable than it was in 2017, 2018, 2020

And yeah, it’s going back down and most of the newer ones have been fucking annoying and I would also like them to stop

But it got up somehow and that means it could do that again

Hope is more fun than edgy nihilism

August 1st is a good and exciting day to summon a crab army

[sgiandubh]

Caitriona didn’t mention Tony. Seems the ‘reporter’ utilized Google. 😂

Dear Didn't Mention Anon,

It's always a sarcastic pleasure to see tension climbing for literally nothing across the street. Some other Brazilian Anon, just like you (best way to convey your thoughts was, in proper English, 'the reporter used Google' - not the Portuguese semantic calque 'utilized'...), even speculated we must be hiding this shattering press article, since no reaction and/or discussion happened as of yet.

Brazilian Anons would certainly have made better use of their time and grey cells if they simply presumed that in another time zone people really have other (simple and boring and prehaps even endearing) things to do. While Brazilan Anons were probably sleeping or having breakfast, someone else was just about to end a shorter Friday work schedule, buy Chinese takeaway on the way home, have a light lunch, take out Baby the Lab for a short pee stroll around the block. And mercifully collapse in flannel sheets for a blessed siesta, waiting for the first snowy day of the year. But enough about me, Anon, you are not here for this: you are here for that article - https://www.mindfood.com/article/caitriona-balfe-looks-ahead-to-life-after-outlander/

It is also an amusing factoid that C's PR and/or *** very often seem to favor second-tier media outlets in order to keep spreading around the Narrative Word. Pinoy regional gazettes, borderline clickbait/gossip websites and now Mindfood, a vanity/hybrid press magazine based and edited in New Zealand and Australia by McHugh Media Group, which main activity, at least in Oz, is (🥁🥁)...paper mills and paper manufacturing - of course.

[Source: https://www.dnb.com/business-directory/company-profiles.mchugh_media_australia_pty_limited.6ded585ed8e21b347589059682b44143.html]

Within that group, the Mindfood project is but an apparently lucrative subsidiary ('integrated media company', LOL), despite some dire client reviews ( 2 out of a resounding global 3, how odd!) on Google:

'Rank amateur's' [sic!] (...) What sort of magazine publisher doesn't have a manned office? (...) They'll go broke very quickly like that.' '(...)pretty shabby treatment of a customer.'

😱😱😱

But let's assume I am twisting again the plot (I don't, I do not need to). Let's assume I am evil like that and I give credence to two very negative (but brutally clear, too) user reviews only. Perhaps I am wrong, you might say. So, let's also have a look at some company figures, shall we?

Nay contest, it's them.

[Source: https://rocketreach.co/mchugh-media-profile_b5d2097af42e3bbb]

Now, my lovelies, how can I put it without offending anyone? What we are looking at, here, is a small company with 5 (five) employees, few web hits (164.480 hits is ridiculous, when we are talking about press/media!), but a comfortable revenue (7 million AUD - about 4.5 million USD). May I remind you that a company's revenue is roughly its gross income, before subtracting operating costs, wages and taxes. But given they have only 5 employees, wage expenses & operating costs must be marginal and taxes are rather friendly in New Zealand, where their HQ is (to the point there was, three years ago, an ongoing debate in order to determine if the country was a tax haven: https://thespinoff.co.nz/business/06-10-2021/is-nz-a-tax-haven-for-the-rich-and-dodgy-the-pandora-papers-reignite-the-debate), you do the maths. Therefore, how can this rather substantial profit be explained, otherwise than by a very friendly editorial policy towards paid and/or sponsored content and product placement galore (Lifestyle, anyone)?

Its immediate competitor is a supermarket chain in-house bulletin/leaflet, Campbell's Cash & Carry. The kind of thing that always lands somehow in your shopping bag and then directly in the kitchen trash:

This is enough to show their real reach and place on the market, I believe.

All this for what, Madam Knife? All this to say that paper is probably paid by the talent's PR/***. I will not go into useless detail, because there is very few new-ish/relevant information (e.g.: 'With a long season seven concluding in January, the Outlander epic will close out within the next 18 months, taking the episode total to 101. '). But I will, gleefully even, point out two tiny details, all of you patiently read this long rant for, in fact.

As always, McGill doesn't even deserve a quote, only reported speech that is, in fact, snowballing prior reference (this is exactly where copy/paste comes in very handy, you see). And a clumsy one at that, sugar on top - hence the copy/paste certainty and this is so, so rude, I could cry (nope...):

But... but... such a nice, thoughtful touch for her Stans, who spent DAYS in a row proving he was not a music producer, but the Night Media Manager (and I have to say, delivered actual quotes - still No Face, No Name, No Number, though):

[Tait rhymes with hate, alright - I know, darlings, it pisses you off to no tomorrow 😉.]

Copy paste/Goes to waste. Finally, I had to snort (not a pretty, nor feminine sight) when I realized Mindfood takes its readers for complete, amnesic idiots:

So she became 'a mother in August of 2021', but she did film 'the sixth season of the drama while pregnant'. Granted, this paper is written for casual OL viewers, the kind of people who did find C interesting/beautiful/clever/extraordinary, but who don't remember her name when prompted on candid camera, for example. The kind of superficial audience who will never do the maths and never question the fact a pregnant actress was filming beautiful (but steamy) scenes with her... ahem... with her co-star she is now 'consciously uncoupling' from.

ROFLMAO.

Not even sorry for the length, Anon. There you go, let's say good bye with a merry little song - I am told I have the best tunes on Tumblr (SMH). Really, Mindfood's client could have curated and tailored better the Retconning Operation - but perhaps even PR has trouble taking that man and his narrative role seriously?

[mi6-cafe]

07.1.2024 Hijacking

On July 1st, the remains of the world’s criminal and governmental intelligence networks have their electronics hijacked by a starfish avatar. The deep, modulated voice claims that a method to stop what people are calling the Big Snooze will be provided in exchange for a quadrillion dollars. 

“That’s fifteen zeroes,” the starfish avatar clarifies. 

(“Fifteen?” the legal analyst in Station Atlantic cries out.) 

“You can raise it collectively rather than individually,” the starfish adds. “It’ll be novel to see the likes of SPECTRE and MI6 paying into the same slush fund.” 

(“Fifteen zeroes is a GDP, not a slush fund,” the lone remaining SPECTRE hench comments to the sharks next to him.)  

This week’s mission becomes clear. Obviously, they can’t count on their governments to shell out essential cash in order to save people’s lives. Therefore, they need to find a lead on the starfish's location, investigate their base, and find out how they caused the Big Snooze so it can be reversed. 

In Station Atlantic, Gale makes contact with Jamie. He had no idea who worked here and who didn’t, but he was going to make friends with the person who brought food for sure.

In Station Pacific, Sefa the publican hosts the Archivist and Kitten in The Hole and Corner; Kitten pulls a tablet out of her “mom bag” for the meeting while the Archivist offers notes from a bulging briefcase. 

How successful will the two stations’ investigations into the Big Snooze Starfish be? Will they achieve their goals, or will these brave support staff end up needing support themselves? Station Atlantic and Station Pacific dive into their search for the sinister sea creature and resolve to report back by the end of July 7th! 

[blazingstar29]

Anxious mav coming back to work post uranium mission:

Surviving the Uranium mission felt easier than this. Felt easier than walking into a work not knowing where he stands and whether Cyclone is going to be another Cain. This is his last post, he’s not sure how long he can bear working under someone that hates him. 

He wakes up the first day back from leave with his stomach in knots and a far from easy night. 

Ice knows something is a miss, the way he always does. As the alarm goes off he draws circles in Maverick’s back as he slowly sits up. 

“You’ll be okay.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I know that. I just don’t feel like I will.”

He feels sick to the stomach at the unknown day ahead. It feels like nothing will ever cure it. The more he thinks about it the more anxious he feels until it’s nauseating and he’s questioning if he should cash in a sick day. Not that Ice would let him. 

But first, he needs a cry. 

He shoves his fingertips into his eyes and feels them become slick with tears as he sheds them silently.  Ice sits up and hugs him from behind. 

“What are you afraid of?” He asks gently. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know.  There’s nothing, fucking nothing.” 

Ice runs his fingers through Maverick’s bed head and thinks quietly for a moment. “Mav, you’ve had this for years, this anxiety. Maybe if it’s causing you this much distress you should get it checked out.” 

“No, it’s fine,” he sighs and wills himself to stand up. But Ice is warm and holds him so softly. 

“Mav,” he says sadly. 

And he feels like a kid, wondering if there’s a reason Ice needs to be on base today. Of course there isn’t and of course he’ll survive. He just doesn’t feel like it. 

Eventually he gets up and goes through his routine of getting ready. And if he opts for changing on base and riding his bike in, well that's his decision. 

And if he finds Warlock before reporting to Cyclone, that’s between them. 

[toomanythoughts2]

Why Did Serveta Never Compete for Miss Universe? A Theory on Serveta's Life and Skwisgaar's Birth

Hello everyone! This theory was born simply from the phrase, "Skwisgaar is technically a nepo baby." I wanted to look into just how Nepo he actually was and if it was ever that serious. While digging, I formed a small theory based on the information I found.

GIST: Serveta is victim of hyper sexualization and grooming in the pageantry world. As a young woman, Serveta competed for Miss Sweden and won. She was given the opportunity to compete for Miss Universe but was later rejected because she became pregnant, something contestants are not allowed to be in order to compete. The birth of Skwisgaar rendered Serveta from living out her dream of becoming Miss Universe, which is the goal for pageantry contestants and would have made Serveta very wealthy and famous. The resentment she felt for Skwisgaar turned into neglect and sexual abuse.

TW: Sexual Abuse of a Minor

As always, longer theory under the cut!

Miss Sweden and Miss Universe

Ingrid Goude, the real 1956 Miss Sweden.

Miss Sweden began in 1949, 7 years before Serveta would compete in 1956. Miss Sweden is the beauty pageant that contestants need to win in Sweden in order to represent Sweden in Miss Universe, a highly sought out pageantry for women all across the globe. Miss Universe is recognized as one of the Big Four Beauty Pageants in the world. (Miss World, Miss Earth, and Miss International)

Rules

In order to compete, there are certain rules the contestants need to follow.

Miss Sweden x

Not allowed to be married (Has been possibly changed)

Not allowed to have kids (Has been possibly changed)

Only females are allowed to compete

4 phases: Interview, Evening Gown, Swimsuit/Fitness, Onstage Question

Age Range from 18 - 27

No ethnicity requirement

No unique requirement

Must live in Sweden

Miss Universe x

Age: As of September 2023, there is no upper age limit. Previously, the age range was 18 to 28 years old on the date of the national competition.

Citizenship: Each delegate must be a citizen of the country she represents.

Marital Status and Parental Status: Since August 2022, there are no restrictions on marital status or having children. Previously, contestants could not be married, divorced, pregnant, or have parented a child.

Criminal Background: While there is no official rule, most countries would likely not send a delegate with a criminal record.

Citizenship Verification: Delegates must provide documented proof of citizenship in the country they represent. This could involve birth certificates, passports, or other official documents.

Background Checks: While not always explicitly stated, many countries conduct background checks on potential delegates to ensure they don’t have any criminal records or controversies that could tarnish the pageant’s image.

Transgender Participation: The Miss Universe Organization currently does not allow transgender women to compete. This is a complex issue with ongoing discussions, and the policy might evolve in the future.

Winnings for Miss Sweden

In both modern time and in 1956, the rewards for winning Miss Sweden focuses a lot on exposure rather than money. Winning usually meant that contracts for modeling companies would open up, be awarded scholarship money for school, win a small amount of cash, or gain allowances for personal services like hair and clothing. x x x

However, both times, the winner of Miss Sweden (as long as they are not too young to compete) can be sent to compete in Miss Universe, which is the big reason for winning this competition.

Winnings for Miss Universe

In modern times, Miss Universe receives her prestigious title along with x:  

A $250,000 cash prize  

A $50,000 monthly salary during her reign, as reported by EFE 

The opportunity to champion charitable causes and promote international initiatives  

 All expenses paid for trips in private jets

The reigning queen also lives for a year in the organization's luxurious apartment in New York City.

Will host Miss Universe's upcoming YouTube traveling show

A luxurious watch

From this list (and the fact that I can not find information on what the winner of Miss Universe of 1956 won) the winnings for Miss Universe in 1956 most likely consisted of:

Some kind of high paying salary or cash prize

A crown

A title

A movie contract x

Some expenses paid for pageantry related things

The opportunity to become an advocate for social issues or causes.

All in all, winning Miss Universe ultimately is a much bigger deal with higher cash rewards, more prestige, and plenty of career opportunities after your reign is over. It would make a lot of sense for those who won Miss Sweden to compete in Miss Universe.

Sexual Abuse and Grooming In Pageants

JonBenét Ramsey, victim of sexualization from child pageants

Training

Women do not just compete for titles like Miss Sweden without training. Child Pageants are money making machines. Think of it in the context of a family vlogger harassing their children and/or forcing them to be in videos and participate. Just like how these children have no laws pertaining to their rights as workers, the same goes for child pageantry contestants.

Many young girls go through serious training for pageants, often resulting in these children being restricted from proper sleep, nutrition, and socialization. Remember Toddlers and Tiaras?

This is labor. This is a child. The US has labor laws in place for children but they don't cover pageants, these children are at the mercy of their parents or caregivers.

Womanhood and "Sexiness"

Child pageants are meant to mimic adult women pageants in every way except for age x. This includes the phases (swimsuits, evening dress, interview) and the manner in which they wear their clothes. These children are showcasing themselves as women, and these pageants do not exist without women being sexy. Therefore, these young girls only know that in order to be a woman, they must be sexy x. How do you become sexy? Showing skin, being provocative, being competitive. These young girls are growing up believing they will only become woman once they do these things. This plays into gender conforming behavior as well, as it becomes a subconscious belief that womanhood = femininity, sexuality, appearance, servitude x.

These pageants mimic adult women pageants which many people have criticized for the provocative nature. By having young girls compete in these pageants, which require provocative acceptance, adults are teaching their girls to behave and participates in the behaviors of provocativeness x.

Consequences

In reports of children being sexually abused, research shows that the sexualization of children is a contributing factor to their abuse. Also, if a child is winning constantly in a competition that is based primarily on their looks, they are more likely to develop psychological issues later on in life, such as depression, low self-esteem, and eating disorders. There is also a link to lowered sexual efficacy and contraceptive use later in life. x

The sexualization child in these pageants are directly related to the sexual abuse they face. These people can be judges, parents, assistants, and watchers. Imagine you're a famous child pageant winner, sooner or later, adult fans are going to try and meet you. What's the likelihood of 100% of these people having your best intentions to heart? Low. These children grow up in a provocative and hyper sexualized state, they are going to grow up and be hypersexual in order to achieve womanhood, including a lowered chance of wearing contraceptives.

The psychological problems related to perceptions of the self are long lasting and carry onto adolescence and adulthood due to the hyper fixation on their physical appearance at an early age. The implications regarding the achievement of "perfection" and the perception of body image that have been taught to these them remain engrained in the way they view themselves long after they retire from pageant competitions and transition into adulthood. x

Does this all sound familiar?

"I could never lose the weight after you were born! And look at the veins in my bosom, they're like a roadmap of Stockholm!"

Serveta is a victim of child sexualization and grooming.

Canon Information on Serveta

Past

So what do we know of Serveta? Well, one thing we know is that Serveta is Miss Sweden of 1956. That's basically all we know of her past, other than her promiscuity. There are a few pieces of her present that should also be acknowledged before we continue.

Present

Something I want to highlight are the pictures inside Serveta's home.

These images consist of one thing; herself. In these two frames alone, all of the picture but one are of Serveta. There is one lone picture of Skwisgaar as a child (which we also see during the flashback of this episode by the front door.) but the rest are of Serveta. Take note that most of these photos are also a young Serveta, thought there is arguably some photos of her in her older age. Specially the side profile picture above the lamp and the one long photo above little Skwisgaar.

Out of all the things to decorate her house with, and it's with herself. Her younger self. Serveta is surrounding herself with images of her former self, in a body that she no longer has. She is obsessing over the looks she once possessed during her pageantry years. The same goes for her clothing options.

Serveta wears a long dress that shows cleavage, is form fitting, and has a split up the leg. She is refusing to let go of her past teachings in pageantry of what it means to be a woman, which is to be sexy. Even after all of these years, Serveta is still suffering from her days in the pageantry world.

Theory

Serveta was a young and upcoming pageantry winner. She spent a god chunk of her life in the pageantry world, winning awards and titles, until finally competing in Miss Sweden, which she won. Serveta had every intention of competing for Miss Universe, however, due to her exposure in the pageantry world (Hyper-sexualization, grooming, gender conforming) Serveta had become pregnant. In a Skwisgaar interview, he reveals that his mother liked guitar players. Serveta was attracted toward men who were completely opposite of the world she grew up in. Her promiscuity was manufactured from an unsafe childhood in the pageantry world. Her pregnancy however, disqualified her from competing in Miss Universe (and other high end pageants), thus resulting in all of her work, pain, and world being in shattered. In turn, Serveta relied on the one thing she did have, which was her body and her looks. Her own trauma translated into neglecting Skwisgaar and Skwisgaar's own sexual abuse. However, Serveta was aware of Skwisgaar's talent once he acquired his guitar and knew she had to nurture it till fruition, just like how Serveta's own parental figure did to her.

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That's all for this theory. Be sure to reply or repost with your own thoughts on it. I would love to hear about :)