#grow and scale your business

[mothmage]

me when a new (god-tier, galaxy-brained, divinely-inspired, etc) fic gets slapped into my merlin-rotted brain:

[mehmetyildizmelbourne-blog]

Substack Mastery Book: Chapter 14

How to Add Interactive Educational Programs Using One of the 6 Globally Recognized Tools to Inform, Educate, Inspire, and Retain Your Subscribers Dear Beta Readers, Thank you for your feedback so far. You honor my content on multiple platforms. I understand this chapter may seem quite technical to beginners, as I designed it to benefit advanced freelance writers and content entrepreneurs who…

[beeseverywhen]

Not in the US so can't speak for what's happening there, but I've def noticed here that healthcare workers are struggling with dealing with sicker patients than they felt they were getting before covid and lots of them are mentioning a lack of immunity thanks to lockdowns. every time I hear it I can't help but think that the increasing desperation thanks to years of underfunding that's really beginning to have an impact since covid (because the pandemic served as the last straw on the camels back there AND because it showed our government that they could neglect the vulnerable to the degree that they were dying by the thousands and still nobody bothered to blame them.) Is a contributing factor in this and I don't understand why nobody is mentioning it???

We're getting sick because we've spent decades being bled dry and now we're hungry, stressed and being worked to the bone. Meanwhile we aren't getting any kind of return on the money we're pumping in to the healthcare system and our governments aren't doing shit to address health inequalities or any of the factors contributing to everyone's poor health.

If you look at covid death statistics, if you look at which countries are currently suffering from supply problems; a job market bursting with unfilled vacancies, civil unrest and protests, strained healthcare systems, and all the rest; the countries at the top are those that have allowed capitalism to call the shots for the past century, more than the rest. That is why the UK and America have been so badly impacted. Its no accident that we are paying so heavily, this system started with us. We forced it on the rest of the world and now, we're the first to pay the price. There is a direct correlation between the impact being felt post covid and a countries wealth divide and I'm tired of everyone ignoring that.

I look around me and People are going hungry, the food they can afford to buy is lacking in basic nutrients, of course people are sicker! Even if you can afford them, the shops keep running out of vegetables! Our health system was already breaking and then, we were hit by a pandemic it was completely unprepared for (tho it should have been) and now, people are getting way more ill than they need to before they finally reach hospital. When they get there, the hospitals are understaffed (thanks to years of underfunded budgets and the extreme stress so many health care workers were put under), we keep having drug shortages because our country keep straight up refusing to pay how much things cost, and what they are willing to pay, goes to pay about ten profiteering middle men at each stage of the supply chain.

People are massively stressed thanks to the cumulative weight of a completely broken capitalist system and those in charge are more worried about lining their pockets for as long as they can until the whole thing collapses, rather than actually trying to address any problems. Stress IS something that's known to weaken immune systems so why are we blaming something that MAY affect them??? Extreme rises in energy costs have meant everyone's spent a winter without adequate heating (even those that can afford it are revolting at the increase and so are trying to cut costs by using less energy.) Again, insufficiently heated homes are also known to affect immunity. And that's just the people who still have safe homes! Masses of people have been made homeless recently thanks to rising rents and mortgages which were already unaffordable, our housing stock is largely dangerous, with homes falling in to disrepair because landlords are barely regulated and when they do break laws they go unprotected.

Is anyone surprised that so many people are getting so ill and not getting better? Cause I'm not.

It's startlingly obvious when you start looking at the health divide between those who have spent 40 years subject to the whims of poorly restricted capitalism and those able to opt out. Medical technology is improving, but healthy life expectancy is now dropping year on year, because there are more people living here without the capital to turn away from jobs that will break them, than there are those whose inherited wealth opens doors away from employers that'll ask you to pay the price of bodily health, so they might strengthen profit margins. Its just basic averages. 1% of our citizens are standing on the backs of 99% of us and wondering why more and more of that 99% are getting sicker and sicker. The labour market for working class people has been allowed to drain its workers dry for years now. The progress made in the early to mid 20th century has slowly been worn away at, with the labour laws we fought for, only being accessible for an ever decreasing number of people. The laws are still in place but no low wage employer bothers to follow them any more than they have to. Do you know how many people I know who've been working without breaks, going unpaid for extra hours, been forced to follow unsafe working practices that they know are illegal and then being forced to lie to protect the employer that put them in that position? The people being broken by companies raking in billions, as they flaunt labour laws, don't have any means to access justice! If you complain, you lose your job. If you take them to court that costs money and that company is willing to drag out proceedings for years till you run out of the money needed to keep things going.

When i look at how much money is being wasted in government budgets, while the people responsible for making that money, see little return; I can't help but think of various theories for why certain societies in history have collapsed. (If you want to be really worried about the state of things, read the Wikipedia page on societal collapse. Spoiler: most of the potential causes of societal collapse have already begun in America and the UK. That guy who wrote that article saying America was already past the point of collapse might have been right.) One theory behind the bronze age collapse is just that... societies became too complex. A society where the 1% are given too much power over the 99% becomes one great big pyramid scheme. Unnecessary burecracy at every level (designed to squeeze as much wealth possible for the person overseeing that level) results in those at the bottom, working themselves to death and still going hungry. The theory goes that there comes a point, in societies like that, where the workers look at how they are living and just...walk away. They decide that the security once offered by that society isn't worth what it's costing them and fuck off to become farmers, preferring a life of hard work and little security, to what they had been living. Without the workers, the system breaks down. The only people getting fed are the ones growing the food. All this stupid stratification. Allowing every supply chain, business and institution to become unnecessarily complex just so on each level the people in charge can let their mates get a foot in on the profits. All these middlemen. Business consultants. Supply chains allow for a product to be sent back and forth from country to country just so more people get a cut. Its no different to any other pyramid scheme so why the hell are we allowing it.

We need to start telling our politicians to show some goddamn accountability for this shit. Stop accepting them skirting responsibility for being at best: Inept and at worst deliberately negligent. We all need to stop supporting a system that's hurting us all. In the hope that we might be one of the lucky ones. That's not the reality of things. We'll only get out of this hole we've inadvertently dug ourselves in to, if we stop fighting each other and work together to demand change.

You know how sometimes you catch someone in a lie, and so they tell an even bigger lie to try and cover up the first lie they told?

Well, that’s happening right now.

Last winter, a handful of celebrity doctors went on mainstream news networks to assure us that Omicron was “mild.” They carpet-bombed us with articles and tweets, doing their best to brainwash everyone.

They were wrong.

In the end, real science junked that idea. An article in the Journal of the American Medical Association showed that Omicron killed more people than previous variants, even when adjusting for other factors. Another study by doctors at Massachusetts General and Harvard Medical found that Omicron was just as deadly. In fact, “the risks of hospitalization and mortality were nearly identical.” As it turns out, the entire idea of “mild” Omicron was based on an old, flawed idea known as the law of declining virulence, developed by a doctor who was studying tick-borne disease in cows. It was debunked decades ago.

Most epidemiologists know that viruses don’t magically evolve to become milder. Virus evolution is random and chaotic.

In some cases, viruses evolve to become more deadly.

A handful of actual scientists tried to explain all this last winter, including disease experts at Johns Hopkins. A handful of other established experts spoke out against this myth. As a microbiologist at Penn State told Politifact, “You can’t just say it’s going to become nicer.” They were largely ignored, because everyone already sort of believed the misinformation. If they knew it was based on a study about cows, they probably would’ve thought twice.

This year, the makers of “it’s mild” are back.

They’re selling “immunity debt.”

We should be skeptical.

Schools and daycares are sending letters home to parents talking about this “immunity debt.” They’re saying that healthy children are getting sicker, even dying, because they weren’t exposed to enough germs over the last two years. Newspapers and TV stations across the country are running with it, proposing it as a “possible reason” for this year’s explosion in pediatric hospitalizations. Meanwhile, major medical organizations have sent a letter to President Biden urging him to declare an emergency over an “alarming surge of pediatric hospitalizations” due to a range of respiratory viruses, including Covid.

A lot of people are drinking the “immunity debt” kool-aid.

After all, Americans have believed for generations that getting sick is “good for you.” We think our immune system behaves like a muscle. We worry that if we’re not giving it a workout, we’ll get weak.

It’s a myth, just like the law of declining virulence.

Here’s why.

[ewomennetwork0]

Five Common Branding Mistakes Startups Make and Effective Strategies to Avoid Them

The journey of creating a startup is filled with excitement and anticipation. Amid all the hustle of building a business from scratch, it's easy for branding to become an afterthought. However, effective branding is integral to the success of your startup. It lays the foundation for your reputation and influences how customers perceive your business.

But navigating the world of branding can be complex. Here are five common mistakes startups often make in their branding strategies, and how you can sidestep them.

Mistake #1: Inconsistency in Branding

Inconsistent branding is akin to a misaligned compass - it leaves your target audience confused and directionless. Inconsistency can arise in visual design elements, tone of voice, or messaging across various platforms.

Solution: Develop a comprehensive brand guideline. This should detail everything from your logo and color palette to your brand voice and typography. Consistency creates a strong brand identity that resonates with your audience and sets you apart from the competition.

Mistake #2: Ignoring the "Why" Behind Your Brand

Many startups focus heavily on what they offer and how they offer it, forgetting to communicate why they exist in the first place. Without understanding your 'why', your audience may struggle to connect with your brand on a deeper level.

Solution: Revisit your brand's mission and vision. Why does your brand exist? What problem does it solve? What values does it stand for? Once you have clarity on these, make sure they are clearly communicated in all your branding materials.

visit for more : women speakers network

website : https://www.ewomennetwork.com/

contact us : women speakers network

[thecoachingdirectory]

Are you one of the coaches who need help on how to qualify your leads and stop wasting time with the wrong people? Jim Cocks of Clear Edge Coaching a business coach can help you. He is guiding extraordinary coaches to grow and scale online. Reach out and connect with him today!

[officialmahmoudsaad]

How to Be a True Entrepreneur: 8 Qualities of a Successful Business Owner

How to Be a True Entrepreneur: 8 Qualities of a Successful Business Owner Being an entrepreneur is not for the faint of heart. It takes a special kind of person to start and run their own business, and there are many qualities that successful entrepreneurs share. Here are 8 of the most important qualities of a true entrepreneur: Passion. A true entrepreneur is passionate about their business.…

[doux-amer]

#there’s still time to kill myself over this#and. calling logan by his first name when you’ve known him since approximately 9 years old.#imagine the first time stewy decided to drop ‘mr.roy’#logan coming at a young adult stewy with ‘how was your summer stewart’#and stewy (has been psyching himself up for this all summer): it was great logan. how was yours?#and they just stare at each other like that one gif of pd*ddy and the american idol contestant (via @stewkablooey)

[gguk-n]

The Exception (Max Verstappen x Reader)

Summary- 4 times Max let y/n get away with whatever she wanted and 1 time he didn't.

I just have so much love for maxie and I wanna show it so it came out as this. Hope you like it!! I hope maxie is only loved tbh

Max was very young when he had moved to a Netherland. If someone asked him when it was, he'd probably never be able to tell. But he could tell you about the annoying neighbours he had growing up. Yes, he did spend most of his time karting and didn't have the time at home or in school like normal kids his age would but the fleeting moments spent at that house in Netherland left behind fond memories that he can look back and only because of a certain little girl with chubby cheeks and two identical braids on either side of her head who had made quite a place in his life. Jos wasn't very happy with Max wasting his time entertaining those kids but he couldn't do much when the children's father was a tall bulky man who could take Jos out in one punch, insisted on letting the kids play together. The tall man had 3 kids Max noticed when he had dinner at their place for the first time; the oldest being the girl who we mentioned before followed by 2 younger brothers who seemed to love karting. They asked Max so many questions about it that they got scolded by their mother for ruining dinner for everyone but Max thought was cute because the youngest couldn't even pronounce karting but had a lot to say. Every time he would spend time with his neighbours, it would always be with the 2 young boys who wanted to learn how to kart better and become like Max like the younger one put it. Even now it makes Max laugh reminiscing about those days. They never really made it professionally though.

2008

Max and the 2 boys were playing around when their older sister asked if they would like to join her for a session of afternoon tea with Mr Whale and Miss Teapot. The brothers made a face of disgust and ran away from her, dejected she turned around when Max agreed. Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. She quickly dragged him into her room and had him sit next to Mr Longneck, the giraffe. An hour later Max was found in Y/N's room with two pigtails if you could call them that on the top of his head, a tiara and the prettiest necklace Y/N owned. Looking at himself in the mirror he couldn't help but laugh. Y/N on the contrary looked pleased with her handy work. She thanked him for being a good and compliant customer and to come back again if he ever wanted to look pretty. It wasn't easy to get Max to do what you wanted except he couldn't say no to her puppy eyes. She even gave him a drawing of him in his kart saying that it would bring him good luck since she couldn't be there and placed her favourite bracelet on his hand.

If Y/N was to ask him about the bracelet, Max would say he lost it as soon as she gave it to him, but deep down in the watch drawer of Max's Monaco apartment sat a brightly neon pink bracelet with Y/N’s initials.

2014

Y/N had started highschool and remained the annoying self Max had come to love. Her over the top demeanor and affection to screaming at the top of her lungs whenever she spotted Max never failed to make him smile. Having joined Formula one this year, meant Max was way to busy to be home but Y/N seemed to never forget to text him regularly. She would ask him to get autographs of other drivers or souvenirs from different countries. It was a regular race weekend when Y/N texted Max asking him to explain how the engine in a go kart worked. In a split second Max was on call with her asking "why she needed that?" to which she replied "I'm doing a project on that. I even made a small scale replica of your cart Look here!!!" She exclaimed. "I just need to shrink you and place you inside it" Y/N laughed. Max told her not to worry and that he would text her the details in a hour or so. Actually it took a couple hours and Y/N was starting to get agitated and called him back. Max replied with a almost done and smiled at her. He had literally written her entire report for her and sent it to review. Y/N almost screamed when she saw the assignment. She thanked Maxie for doing this for her and that she owed him her life. Max was just happy to be of help, he told himself more than he told her because who stays up till 5 in the morning on a race weekend doing someone else’s project.

He kept the small scale replica of his Kart on the mantle above the fireplace if anyone wanted to know what happened to the kart.

2018

Y/N was freshly 18, so getting drunk was the only thing on her agenda. On a night out, she was so drunk that no one could get her to move because she wanted her Maxie and would only leave with Maxie, she enunciated. Her friend was able to open up Y/N phone and thankfully find a Maxie in her favourite contacts. She called the number to be met with a groggy but worried voice. "Hi! This is Y/N's friend Kate speaking. Am I speaking with a....maxie?" she said tentatively. Max let out a sign while rubbing his eyes, "Yes, this is Max speaking." "Can you come pick Y/N up?" She asked hesitantly followed by, "She won't leave with anyone but you apparently." Max was already out of bed and near the door when he said "I'll be there in 10, where are you guys at?" She sent him the location and waited for 'maxie'. Nothing could've prepared them for this. They had thought Maxie was a friend, a boyfriend maybe even a neighbour; they did not think Maxie was Max Verstappen, F1 driver for Redbull racing. He apologised for the inconvenience and crouched down to Y/N level who seemed to have realised that he was here. She cupped his cheeks and giggled while turning his head to the crowd of people standing, "Look, this is my Maxie." Hearing Y/N say my maxie made his heart beat faster then it should've, he admits but that girl had a tight hold on his heart and he couldn't really do much about it. She stood up and wrapped her arms around Max asking him to carry her since her legs felt like mush. Max gladly carried her back to his car, as he fastened her seat belt she asked him to take her back to his place since her parents would probably disown her if she come in drunk for the 6th time this week. Max looked shocked and asked her to stop drinking so much since it wasn't good for her. All Y/N could mumble was that the alcohol made the pain in her heart bearable. This broke Max's heart. Who would dare hurt his precious little angel, if he met that guy he was so dead, Max thought. Little did he know that guy was the one driving her back home.

Y/N was a nuisance when drunk, she reminded him of the little girl he had befriended when he moved here. She wouldn't listen to anything he asked her to do that night until he agreed to let her do make up on him which he would gladly agree to, real or not.

2022

Y/N had recently graduated and was looking for a place to stay. It was one of those nights after a fruitless apartment hunt Y/N facetimed Max. He looked very comfortable in his sim racing chair in his luxurious apartment in Monaco having moved recently. "Maxie" the younger girl sighed. "Meisje, what's the problem?" came a concerned voice. "I can't seem to find a decent apartment, I've been at it for months now." she said. Max offered to help her find the right place and Y/N started listing out all the things she wanted in her apartment which was sounding a lot like Max current apartment which was true, that was Y/N's dream apartment currently; after seeing it a couple months ago when she had visited him as a housewarming surprise and even held a party for him. "You can move to Monaco, the house you're looking for is here" Max said. After a long pause Y/N replied with a chuckle, "I don't make formula 1 money. I'm too broke to afford a house here. In Monaco, I'd have to sell my organs to afford a place there." As if it was the most obvious thing, Max offered her to stay at his place and look for a job here.

The allure of Monaco was too much and Y/N was able to thankfully find a job there so that she wouldn't be completely dependent on Max which he wouldn't have minded. Max never let her pay rent, he'd always tell her to cook good food and that was rent sorted.

2023

It was the night of the Abu Dhabi grand prix. Max had just won his third WDC so him and his friends decided to go out to celebrate, Y/N included. The night carried on as usual, Max not touching much of the alcohol since Y/N decided to down drinks like a thirsty person. She was now in the middle of the dance floor making herself familiar with Lando's crotch, much to Max's dismay. He made his way to her and led her away from Lando while she shouted at him to let her go. They were now stood in the quieter part of the club but you could still hear the music blasting. Y/N looked visibly annoyed at being taken away from the dance floor. "You are drunk, you'll regret it tomorrow." Max said. "That's for sober me to deal with. Drunk me just wants to forget about everything and having an eventful night with a guy would do just the trick." she said. Max winced at the words and held her arms so that she could steady herself. "I don't wanna feel like this," was this the alcohol giving her the confidence, "the guy I've been in love with for ages can't seem to see me as a woman. I've been trying for years now. If I walked out naked, I'm sure he wouldn't even be phased." she sounded dejected. "Any guy would want you, Meisje." Max whispered. "But not the one I do" she stepped closer, enough that their breaths mingled. The woman in front of him was driving Max mad, had she not been drunk he would've shown her how much any man would want her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked into his eyes before saying, "He's so dumb, can't even see the woman in front of him." The statement felt oddly targeted. "You know, he's a 3 time world drivers champion and he doesn't even get that I love him so much." she said while looking into his eyes. "You're in love with me?" Max exclaimed. "I have been since the day you let me make pigtails on your hair but thanks for realising now." she replied sarcastically. "You're drunk, you don't know what your saying" Max replied. "Well, sober me would never tell you this but I love you Max Verstappen. So much that you make my heart beat faster and my chest swell when you look at me. I think about marrying you and having a family with you, but you think I'm joking." she declared. Max couldn't help but smiled, "Tell me all of this in the morning when you're sober so that I can tell you that I love you too schat and then I can finally kiss you." "You can kiss me now" Y/N made a kissy face and eagerly leaned in. Max shook his head and carried her back to the hotel room.

Y/N indeed remembered everything and the first thing she did even though she wreaked of alcohol was finally kiss those soft pink lips.

this is just brain rot at this point. hope you liked it

[emmyrosee]

You’ve been sneaking into Kenma’s room for years.

It started when you were very young, having left your gameboy at Kenma’s house after a few rounds of Mario. You managed to toss a few rocks at his window, and once he silently unlocked the door and let you in, you quickly scurried back out hours later with a grateful smile.

Then, you started to sneak through his window. Seeing the flashes of lights at god knows what hours was something you knew meant he was awake, and you’d climb out from your sheets and crossed the street to his place. Again, you’d throw rocks at his window, and when he’d tried to go open the door, he hadn’t expected you scale up the large tree just a few feet away.

Tonight was no different; he’s tapping away wildly on his console while you scurry up the tree in your slippers, smooshing your face against the glass when he finally sees you and opens the window.

You’d finally tumbled in, and he gave you a tired sigh, “you’re annoying.”

“And you’re still playing. I wanted to watch you play.”

“You could’ve just texted me. You left marks on my glass.”

“I needed the exercise. What time do you need me out of here?”

“Kuroo drags me by the ankle out of here by 06:30. Be out beforehand.”

You smirk and nudge his shoulder with yours, causing him to send you a glare before sitting back down on the floor. “Sleep on the bed, help yourself to pajamas.”

“You like him, kenma,” you tease. You see him tense up before he shakes his head.

“No,” he says simply. “I don’t. Not like that anyways.”

“Just not used to you having other friends besides me,” you hum. He huffs in annoyance.

“Are you gonna watch, or do I have to kick you out of my room?”

“Fine,” you sigh. “I’ll behave. Only because I hate climbing your tree.”

Kenma doesn’t like Kuroo. Honest! He thinks he’s cute, sure, gets why the girls like him and boys follow him around, he’s fine enough on a scale of emotional and physical attraction.

But Kuroo’s not the one Kenma’s eyes stay focused on. It’s you.

You’re funny, he likes the way you eat foods that you don’t like first, before diving into the favorites after to savor them. You’re cute, and you’re bad at the differences between contexts of words, and you have a little eye twitch that bestows you in a moment of quick thoughtfulness.

You don’t ask him why he’s up so late, you ask him the answers to homework and give him gummy worms as a thank you. You never overstay a welcome, always either leaving before the sun comes up, or staying quiet while you sleep on the bed.

He likes the way your eyes shine when you’re excited, the roll of your eyes when he tells you “no” when you want the answer to be “yes”, the little snickers that slip out at Kuroo’s expense at Kenma’s quick thinking.

“Kenma?”

“Im busy.”

“I want to cuddle.”

The way you want physical touch when you’re tired.

Yeah. As your best friend, he really is bias to that one.

With a groan, he pauses and saves his game under slot 3, shuts down the console before crawling up and into his bed next to you, the cold sheets shooting his nerves until they warm under your shared warmth. You bury your nose in his collar and he takes out his phone for you both to watch tiktok.

“Kenma?”

“Go to sleep.”

“When you marry Kuroo, can I be the ring bearer?”

“If i marry Kuroo, I want you far, far from my ceremony.”

He practically hears you pout, “you’re no fun.”

“I sure am not.”

For someone who has no fun, not one fun bone in his body, he’s amazed at how comfortable you are in his grip and he in yours, fingers fisting his nightshirt until his own eyes grow heavy.

And if Kuroo walked in just a few hours later at 06:30, only to see his best friend cuddling with someone he loves most, he didn’t say anything and closed the door softly behind him.

[bynux]

"don't vote for Harris or you're supporting genocide" "voting blue is still voting for fascists" Then what else do you expect us to do?

Here are some options y'all seem to insist on and why they're fucking stupid:

Vote Third Party :: Until we have ranked-choice voting (and probably even if we did have ranked-choice voting), it is practically impossible to make a 3rd-party candidate viable. There's not enough of the population that's far enough from moderate to give up their "safe" blue vote for some "revolutionary."

Don't Vote At All :: I'd prefer to pick my enemy. If I'm going to be working in spite of the government, or even against it in some ways, I'd rather the people I'm working against not already be targeting me for being queer, for example. If my options are "bad" or "much, much worse" I'm gonna pick "bad" and try to improve things from there.

Violent Revolution :: It's a cosplay power fantasy in the same vein as the Right-wingers looking for a reason to shoot protesters. Assuming you even have enough people organized and enough firepower to pull that off in the first place…have you prepared a plan to keep the innocents alive and safe? Are you sure you can keep supply chains for food and medicines intact? Are you sure there will be resources available for the disabled, the scared, the young and old, those who won't be able to fight and still need to be taken care of? Turns out revolution is ugly and causes a lot of undue collateral damage. Are the lives "saved" really going to outweigh those whose lives will be upended and destroyed? It's not like a newly-toppled, unorganized country will be able to do anything about Israel/Gaza, so you're just hurting and killing far more people than you're saving.

As for the power you do have to better things (and make Leftism more viable as a political stance in the US)?

Work at the level of your local government. If you're in a small enough town or neighborhood and think you have what it takes, run for local office. Be a local face of the left wing; you're far more likely to sway a small town to your views than the whole country, and each small town with a socialist-leaning government is a dot on the map for larger-scale viability, and you can help keep your community safe while trying to build up in scale.

Build community so we can keep each other safe if worse does come to worst. Push mutual aid initiatives, help at food banks, grow produce to donate to those in need, apply to work at your local free clinic, empower local businesses whenever possible so that if there is a socioeconomic collapse, you and those you love aren't left completely without resources.

Protest, and make it disruptive. You can be disruptive without being violent: graffiti, blocking roads, encampments, sit-ins, to name a few examples. Create inconveniences so it gets people's attention whether they like it or not.

Above all, FUCKING VOTE BLUE. You're choosing your enemy. You get to help decide if the government we're working in spite of is run by milquetoast neoliberal war hawks who do, on some rare occasions, actually make things marginally better…or full-tilt Christo-fascists who want to kill some of us for kissing people with the same genitals as us. There aren't any other options that are going to be picked. It sucks, but at the bare minimum we can pick the option that isn't going to actively murder us while we try to build up viability for a candidate who won't sell out brown people to an ethnostate.

If you aren't doing at least one of the things above, then don't lecture me about how I keep myself and my community safe. I'd love to see a United States (or some future iteration of it) that acknowledges the sovereign rights of indigenous peoples, that doesn't fund genocide, that provides healthcare as a basic human right, that doesn't meddle in every other country's business. But if we are to see that, let alone help that happen, we need to survive this next presidential administration.

Edit: y'all have lost reblog privileges. If you wanna screenshot this and have stupid unnuanced opinions OFF of my post, be my guest. Just leave me tf alone.

[quasi-normalcy]

So what occurs to me is that Baby Boomers/Gen X and Millennials/Gen Z (the cutoffs are a little arbitrary, but bear with me) both grew up in the shadow of extinction, but have had qualitatively different experiences of it.

For the Boomers, the big fear was a sudden, violent catastrophe; nuclear war. US and Soviet ships start shooting at each other off the coast of Cuba; someone, somewhere in the huge and ponderous Cold War military apparatus, mistakes a meteor for an incoming ICBM, and just like that, your world is over. You're always just one bad day away from death on an unimaginable scale.

This fear has never really gone away (and certainly it's had something of a revival, recently), but it went into remission after the end of the Cold War. For Millennials, the overwhelming fear isn't of a sudden catastrophe, it's of a death by a million cuts; global warming. A slow decay growing faster; a downward spiral as everything you love and value crumbles and rots and turns to garbage around you.

When what you fear is a sudden catastrophe, normalcy--"business as usual", abstracting maybe a few reforms of the political systems--becomes a refuge. It could all be gone in a flash, but at least it's here now. It's real, it's solid. You can live in it, while it's standing.

When what you fear is a slow rot, "business as usual" becomes part of the horror. You're not escaping anything; you notice things getting worse around you with every passing summer; even worse, you are--however infinitesimally--assisting in your own demise; slowly and thoughtlessly, you are weaving the rope that will be used to hang you. Normalcy becomes your executioner.

[princessbrunette]

ᡣ𐭩 ｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅PRINCESSBRUNETTES SCREAM SALON INTRODUCES … ໒꒰ྀི ˃̵ ࿁ ˂̵ ꒱ྀིა

THE BOY IS MINE ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

♩ ariana grande — the boy is mine ♩

pairing: mayor!rafe x catwoman!reader.

cw: supernatural abilities, hybrid!reader, a whip, leather, violence, drugging, sexual content, dubious consent.

you are responsible for your own media consumption. welcome to kinktober day one.

mayor rafe cameron was a fascination.

he had a way of captivating an audience, without necessarily being smooth speaking and self assured. there was something… off about him. confident in himself, dare you even say arrogant — but with each press conference his eyes dart around, pupils enlarged, tongue poking out to lick his lips and he would often grow passionate and jump over his words. each night when you’d tune into his speeches on the television, claw grazing the static of the screen you would wonder — how could someone so untouchable seem so… human?

“and uh, to target this rat infestation across the city… we will be releasing the stray cats.” he speaks into the podium microphone, illuminated by the flashes of the paparazzi and press.

“yes, you will.” you whisper, face so close to the screen you could hear the buzzing of the electrics. he was just perfect.

you’d always figured ‘love potions’ were a little phony. how could a feeling induced by oxytocin and noroadrenaline be replicated with a drug? how could it replace the feeling of first locking eyes, or the warm tingling feeling in your stomach when you hear their laugh? desperation costed you sleepless nights in your apartment, failed scientific concoctions upon failed scientific concoctions until you reached a breakthrough. perhaps it wasn’t to be so phony after all, but you had one perfectly crafted dose — and there was only one way to find out.

you don’t like to waste time, so the next thing you know you’re standing in the pouring rain, suited up in skintight black, feeling free. you’d let your true self take its form, fangs glimmering in the city lights and twitching ears perfectly cupped by your suit hood. what was the point in hiding? if all went to plan, rafe cameron would love you for you.

leaping across the skyline, you travel to what can only be described as the most luxurious penthouse in new york city — the perfect place for the man of your dreams to rest his head. you figured it would be harder to find his address, but for someone who could create a love potion from scratch — it was child’s play. you wondered if you could see this place being your home too, resting your head on the pillow beside him, perhaps curling up on the windowsill.

the large window looking into his warmly lit apartment allows you perfect access. your heart pounds so fast with excitement that you think you might pass out as you squat over the view, large pupils darting about the room until they fall onto him. the mayor, in the flesh, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

he wouldn’t think to look up and see you there, watching him. of course not — what human being would be able to scale a building just to gaze through his window? he should have been perfectly safe.

should have been. it was a good thing you weren’t human. not fully, anyways.

you gaze over him as he goes about his nightly business, blazer removed and top button undone now as he looks over papers and sips at his drink. you take a moment to groom yourself, tongue rolling over the back of your knuckles to lay down the fur on the back of your ears over your hood out of habit as you practically salivate over him. rafe cameron was even more gorgeous in person, especially candidly, more relaxed, when he thought no one was watching.

he wanders off to the bathroom, and you take your opportunity, slithering in through the window he’d left open. he always did like the sound of the pouring rain, there wasn’t so much of that back in the outerbanks, where he was originally from (according to his wikipedia page, anyway.)

it had been a rough day for rafe, dropping his glass down on the sink counter as he leans against it — staring down his visage in the fluorescent light of the bathroom. he wasn’t always sure if he was cut out for mayor. really, releasing the stray cats to tackle the rat infestation problem? there was a myriad of reasons that could potentially create more problems, bring disease and an even dirtier appearance to new york city — but he was lost on what to do. times like this, he wondered if this was what he truly wanted to do rather than what he knows his father wished for him.

he cups his hands beneath the running water, leaning down to flush his face with the cool liquid. another problem for another day, he decides. for now, he could clear his racing mind with none other than the beloved white powder he told himself he was quitting. who cares, today was a special occasion.

rafe stands up straight, and before he can bother to fix his messy curtain bangs, now a mess and haphazardly stuck to his wet forehead — he could have sworn he’d seen a dark black mass lurking by the doorway. it disappears as quickly as he’d spied it, and he blinks the droplets out his eyes as he stares through the mirror. he couldn’t tell you what he saw, its appearance too quick for him to comprehend — but it had unmistakably existed.

“hey…” he drawls, wiping his dripping chin with the back of his wrist as he edges towards the door. one footstep, another, he continually creeps through the hallway until he’s back to his large, luxurious bedroom — now the scene at which you sit, ever so casually on his bed. just… smiling. “wh— who the hell are you, huh?” his voice trembles. he’s even more gorgeous close up.

“you shouldn’t leave your window open, mayor cameron. might let in a stray.” you practically pur,

he looked like his soul left his body. you expected that, expected some pushback — it’s why you had the dosage ready, the syringe of abnormal pink potion sucked up and ready to deploy into his delectable veins.

“alright look, i’ve got security armed to the god damn teeth downstairs okay so — so i suggest you get the hell out.” he licks his lips, irritation that you’d even try to invade his space crawling up the back of his neck in a wave of frightened heat. your clawed hand curls around the whip tucked into your side, tilting your head with a mischievous smile. he’s too busy taking in… you to notice, and just as he does you take action — cracking it right at him, the leather coil curling forcefully around his ankle and with a yank, he’s falling.

“jesus— the hell do you want?” he hollers as you drag him closer, closer. you’re walking to meet him halfway now and his eyes just won’t leave you. everything about you is so feline, down to the way you walk— hips practically rolling in a hypnotising fashion side to side. if he wasn’t so frightened, well — he just might fall in love organically.

“c’mon mr mayor cameron, be nice t’me. i wanna play.” you pout, and his struggles stop in awe once you lower himself over him to straddle him, his big body encased by your leather clad thighs. in all honesty, he was too confused and entranced to fight harder. rafe always had that weak spot with women. “hands by your sides or i’ll slice you open, handsome.”

he reluctantly does as you say, but when you present the syringe, he starts to struggle again — so you tighten your legs around him. “hey, hey— wh—what is that?” he raises his voice and you furrow your brows, a clawed finger pressing to his lips, surprisingly silencing him.

“shhhhh, shhhh.” you hush, before your finger slides down to his chin, grazing the skin with your claw. it slides lower and he daren’t move now, the extension of you so sharp that he fears it could slit him if he wasn’t careful.

“think you’re gonna get away with this, huh? breaking in like this?” as your claw slides directly down to his chest you smile, so casually — not a care in the world. you rip his shirt open, buttons clattering against smooth wooden flooring and his eyes widen, just so you can access the skin over the hard planes of his chest.

“you wouldn’t turn me in.” you tell him confidently, and he actually huffs out a laugh of disbelief, jaw tense and eyes wild.

“oh i wouldn’t huh? alright uh— and why the hell not? who the hell are you?”

you pierce his skin with the needle and his jaw drops, injecting the potion directly into his heart.

“the love of your life.”

rafe cameron’s eyes flutter shut, and it’s only a few hours later when he comes to— laying in the centre of his bed.

“hu—huh wait uh—” he croaks the second his eyes flutter open, only to be silenced by a claw over his flushed lips just like before. it was dark now, all artificial lights cut — you always preferred the light of the moon anyway. his eyes hadn’t adjusted and yet he knew it was you, felt your familiarity, your warmth all around. he pants, and you shush him.

“shhhhh, shh shh shh.” its like dragging your fingernail along velvet — soft, addictive, feeling each tiny feathery bristle caress the vulnerable skin beneath your nail. he stares, wide eyed and parted lipped, somewhat aware of the fact his hair is a mess. he doesn’t care to fix it.

you’re straddling him, all of your body weight and yet somehow you’re feather light — knees pointed upwards, the leather of your suit glowing and catching the light.

“you’re finally awake.” you hum, a vibration behind your voice, a true purr — like the hum of an engine. something below ignites, his crotch heats.

he’s overly aware of the fact he doesn’t mind you there, wishing nothing but to observe you for the moment. you lean back, bone coloured claw hooking into the zip at your neck as you drag it down, lower and lower — revealing the glow of soft skin beneath. rafe can’t look away, you’re like nothing he’s ever seen before. you’re beautiful. you’re… beautiful? the woman who trespassed onto his property? he urges himself, with everything in him to fight — and suddenly he’s catching you off guard, gripping your neck and flipping you onto your back.

you seem taken aback, a break in the confident routine as you blink up at him, the colour of your eye no longer visible, overtaken by inky black pupil. as your back hits the mattress, your plush tits bounce with the movement, now nearly completely exposed by your unzipped catsuit, cool metal zip below your belly button. at the sight of this, rafe winces — overcome by his desires and can’t help but press his erection harshly against the mound between your legs.

“the hell is goin’ on, alright — who — what did you do?” he emphasises with a hard squeeze to your neck making your eyes flutter, and yet your smile — all curled and deranged and your canines glimmer in the low light, the purring sound only getting louder.

“dont fight it, mr cameron. just do what feels good.” it comes out strained from the way he’s squeezing your neck and he lets go, sitting up on his knees but making no move to leave. dragging a hand down his jaw, he results back to staring. “cat got your tongue?” you whisper, sweetly amused. he licks his lips instinctually, moving to choke you again, stop you, but his hand rests there lightly — the two of you locking eyes. angrily, he leans down and kisses you, wet and sloppy.

you take the opportunity to lock your legs back round his waist and flip him back onto his back, grinding your crotch down onto his, making him groan.

“thats better, can’t have you trying to kill me again.” you tease before pushing his ripped shirt open to touch his skin. he winces, irritated and overwhelmed when you drag claws down his chest hard enough to leave chemtrails of pink skin down the muscled planes.

“yeah? thought you cats had nine lives?” he grumbles, gripping your hips and grinding you harder on his lap, causing you to mewl — digging your mouth into his shoulder and sinking his teeth in. “jesus— okay.” he squirms, unsure if you bit hard enough to draw blood.

he decided he didn’t care if you did. what was he so mad about again anyway?

[deadhands69]

A Nice Fantasy with Nice Shoulders, 2

MDNI

The follow-up to Katsuki Bakugo helping with a sex quirk here, thanks for the suggestion to do another one @jovialgalaxymilkshake

Katsuki Bakugo x gn/afab reader

All characters over 18 and you should be too if you're reading this.

Warnings/Content/etc: soft!Bakugo gets insecure but don't worry it's fluffy, established relationship, swearing, oral (f receiving), sex (various positions.)

*this was written kind of fast and not proofread, sorry for any typos

A few things have happened in the month since Katsuki Bakugo helped you survive a sex quirk. 

One, Mineta had become completely terrified of you. Which is fair and appreciated. He received some form of punishment keeping him busy elsewhere, but you still ran into him occasionally. Seeing him run from the room every time you entered made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Two, your friends all seem oddly supportive. You were surprised to learn, most of them knew one or both sides of you harboring feelings for each other. After the initial awkwardness in the way they found out, everything felt pretty normal again. Most of them were only shocked because they, like you initially, assumed he had left for the weekend. (this group does not include Izuku Midoria who was, and still is, pretty horrified after seeing the bite mark his childhood friend left on your neck. Still, he’s outwardly trying to be supportive.)

Three, sadly, Katsuki hasn't touched you much since. Sure, he held your hand and kissed you but made no effort to take things further. You weren’t sure if it was in your head, but he almost seemed to pull away when your kissing became more passionate. 

That's not to say you weren't still enjoying his company. Things had otherwise been going amazingly. From day one, he took you on cute coffee dates where your conversations flowed easily. Nice walks around the park, holding hands. Movie nights in his room, cuddled up for hours. He buys you flowers, makes you food, and acts like the perfect boyfriend. That much is obvious to anyone around you.

But no one knows you aren’t sleeping together. He’s stayed just as possessive and close as before too. In lieu of covering your neck in marks again, he’s been latched to your side, dragging you around with him wherever he goes and glaring at anyone who’s eyes linger. It’s kind of endearing, in a Katsuki way.

You know he wanted to make-up for what he wished he had done prior to hooking up with you, and you appreciate it, but it’s been a month and he’s still keeping everything G rated. This feels like a huge contrast to the rest of your class who are fucking constantly. Shouto took Momo on a few dates before resuming their sexual relationship. Mina and Kiri never stopped. It’s only you and Bakugo who scaled things that far back and stayed there. It’s becoming confusing.

The credits roll on the low budget horror movie playing on his laptop. Already half seated on his lap, you press yourself up to straddle his hips. Playfully, you peck his lips. He smiles and returns the light kiss as you run your hands through his soft hair. Pulling a handful, you tilt his face up and deepen the kiss. You feel him grow hard against your leg before he pulls his lips away, resting his forehead on your shoulder. 

“Uhm,” you’re unsure how to start this conversation without making it sound like he’s doing anything wrong but you try. “It’s been really great spending time with you. Really. You’re so much sweeter than I ever could have imagined.” His eyes cast down, jaw clenching. He already knows where this is going. “But, it’s been a month and it would be fun to do more than just hold your hand and barely kiss you. It’s not anything we haven’t already done.”

His blonde head nods beneath you.

“And I get it if you’re not ready, you can say that-”

“I’m okay with it and whatever, just don’t feel like it right now.” he presses you back onto the bed, “I’m tired.”

“Okay,” you say with uncertainty, “night.”

Weird, you think to yourself on the walk back to your dorm. Maybe it wasn’t as fun for him the first time as it was for you.

Deciding it’s definitely not in your head, you make a mental note to text Shouto in the morning for a second opinion. 

As you could have predicted, Shouto is just as clueless as you are regarding Katsuki’s actions (or lack thereof.)

“I don’t know, Bakugo’s a weird dude. I haven’t seen him with a girlfriend either so I really don’t have anything to compare this to. I’ll ask Kirishima in class later, they’re closer so maybe he will know.”

“Thanks, Sho!” you respond before huge hands engulf your shoulders. Katsuki rests his head on top of yours before asking if you’re ready to grab coffee before class. You know he’s a bit jealous of the interaction, but after weeks of reassuring him Shouto is your best friend, and only your friend, he knows he needs to try to be nice.

“See ya, Icy-Hot,” he grumbles before half pulling you out the door.

A few hours later, you’re laying on Katsuki’s bed while studying in his room. Your phone buzzes.

Kiri [hey, trouble in paradise with Bakubro?]

You [not trouble exactly]

You [he just hasn’t really wanted to do anything again after the first time]

Kiri [that’s weird]

Kiri [he’s been in love with you for years, maybe he just doesn’t think you want to?]

You [that’s definitely not it]

Forgetting to hide your reactions, you look up to see red eyes glaring at you from across the room.

“What’s up?” he asks tentatively, moving to the bed next to you.

“Nothing,” you answer.

“It’s definitely not nothing. Not with that face,” he reaches over you to grab your phone. Your arms extend, but his are longer so he takes it with ease.

Looking at the conversation, he stiffens. After a few reads, he sets your phone on the bed by you again before hanging his head in his hands.

Shit.

“I really like you, ya know,” he mumbles so quietly you almost don’t hear it.

“But..?” you ask, terrified it’s all about to end.

“There’s not a but,” he pauses, closing his eyes before continuing, “quirks like that’ll make you enjoy things more. What if I’m disappointing and you realize you don’t want any of this with me?”

Wait, what? Katsuki Bakugo whose name you screamed when he made you cum repeatedly is now insecure about sleeping with you? What universe is this?

You try so hard to hold back but can’t help yourself and start laughing hysterically.

He looks annoyed.

“It’s not funny…”

“Seriously?” you choke out, “even if you’re absolute garbage in bed, which you’re not, you’re hands down the best boyfriend ever. Why would I give this up?”

“Just don’t wanna disappoint you.”

“You won’t. I promise.” 

At that, you pull him onto the bed with you, gently pressing your lips onto his before kissing him harder. This time, he doesn’t object. His hands explore your body, feeling every part of you he’s missed so much over the past few weeks. 

“Been thinking about you all day,” he breathes into your ear while hurriedly pulling both of your clothes off, “wanna make you feel good.” 

Lightly, he nips at your neck before kissing his way down your body and settling between your legs. Your hand cups his cheek before brushing the hair away from his eyes. Tentatively, he kisses you. Starting at your inner thighs, moving in. You feel his hot breath on your lips before his tongue finds your clit - sending tingles through your body.

“Fuck, you’re good,” you moan, gripping his hair a bit tighter. He continues lapping at your folds, grabbing your free hand and squeezing.

You glance down. Crimson eyes stare back at you, his lips glistening as he moans into your cunt. He’s enjoying this as much as you are. 

One of his fingers presses at your entrance, you nod in approval. He smiles, slides it in, and resumes sucking on your clit. You whimper, clenching at him inside you. Adding another finger, he brings you over the edge. Smashing your thighs against his head, you moan his name while he continues grinding his hand and mouth into you. 

He rests his whole face against you as the two of you catch your breath. Loosening your grip on him, your legs relax and you stroke his messy hair.

Eventually, he makes his way back up to your face. You feel him hard between your legs as his wet lips meet with yours. 

“You could never be a disappointment,” you whisper to him between heavy kisses. 

Pulling your hips up towards him, he grinds into you a few times before pressing his tip further.

You feel the stretch as he slides in. He catches his breath for a moment before moving. His speed increases, hitting further and further in with every thrust.

In the last month, you’d been dreaming of the way he feels. How his dick hits every perfect spot inside you. Before you know it, you’re overcome with pleasure. Your walls throbbing around him while you grip his back.

“Missed your pretty noises,” he groans into your ear before pulling back to flip you over. 

Without missing any time, he’s in you again. He leans forward. One of his arms wraps around you, the other tangles into your hair, pulling you close to him. A few hard slams and you feel him twitch inside of you.

“Fuck, sorry,” he slips out and you feel his warm cum explode on your ass, trickling down the side.

“Shit, that’s so hot,” he mumbles to himself, sitting up to admire the mess he made while absentmindedly stroking your hip. 

Ten minutes later, you’re cleaned up wearing his giant (on you) t-shirt and your underwear. You cuddle up to him while he starts another awful d-list horror movie. 

“Still mine?” he asks, wrapping his arms around you. You smile knowing that was never in question for you.

m.list

[ewomennetwork0]

From Podcast to Profit: Boosting Your Business with Insights from Female Entrepreneur Podcasts

From the bustling world of entrepreneurship, staying updated and inspired is crucial for success. This is where the magic of female entrepreneur podcasts comes into play. These podcasts are not just a source of inspiration; they're a goldmine of strategies, stories, and insights that can transform your business approach. Today, let's explore how tuning into these podcasts can propel your business to new heights.

The Treasure Trove of Podcast Wisdom

Podcasts hosted by female entrepreneurs are rich with real-world experiences, practical advice, and innovative ideas. Each episode offers a unique perspective, whether it's about overcoming challenges, leveraging opportunities, or staying ahead in the competitive market. But how exactly can these podcasts translate into tangible benefits for your business?

Actionable Strategies and Tips

Many female entrepreneur podcasts feature episodes specifically designed to provide actionable strategies. From marketing hacks to financial advice, these podcasts cover a wide range of topics. Implementing these tips can lead to significant improvements in how you manage and grow your business.

Inspirational Stories

Hearing the success stories and challenges of other women entrepreneurs can be incredibly motivating. These stories not only provide a sense of camaraderie but also offer valuable lessons learned from firsthand experiences.

Staying Ahead of Trends

The business landscape is ever-evolving, and staying abreast of the latest trends is essential. Podcasts often feature discussions on upcoming trends in various industries, helping you to keep your business strategy up-to-date.

More info : business networking group for women entrepreneurs

[messylustt]

౨ৎ ‧˚

𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥) — 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭

miguel o’hara x fem!reader. 4.8k words

fic masterlist previous part pt four next part

violence + mentions of blood and injuries (this is quite visual ha); angry + kinda ‘blood lust’ miguel; someone gets electrocuted, reader kinda does (small amount—I’ll be honest I don’t know how getting electrocuted exactly works, so for the purpose of the story ignore if the way it happens isn’t realistic, thank you!) — when you’re left alone in the tech room, many spiders out on missions, something unexpected happens. when miguel finds out his face falls and his claws twitch in anger. after the incident, you find miguel walking down the hall, calling to him he asks you questions, and you offer your help with something.

It was silent. For what felt like too long. Besides the tap of your fingers on the keyboard—which had begun to slow.

Usually you’d hear distant conversations or the sound of web shooting, but instead only silence greeted you. Unease began to make your body turn, your chair spinning with you.

You weren’t sure if you were just being paranoid. You were alone in the office. Which wasn’t anything strange, but it meant that your growing paranoia festered a little stronger.

You edged closer to the door, finally hearing what sounds to be rumbling. Low and too vague for you to decipher. Your hand reaches out to the door handle, but just as your fingers brush the smooth metal, you’re forced back.

Your body flies, coming to a bruising hit on your hip, making you hiss in pain. But you’re quick to get up, rushing to a clear wall, and away from the explosion. You breathe heavy as you slump against it, your ears slightly ringing, while your gaze stays blurry against the random scraps of metal and dust.

You look to the communal intercom, quickly rushing towards it. Someone or something that isn’t supposed to be here is. You have to warn the spider-people who are out on missions.

But where are the others?

Just as you reach the com, the sound of quick scuffling boots can be heard to your left. You snatch up the intercom, slipping under your desk, tucking your feet into the dark just as multiple pairs of unwelcome boots come into view.

Your shrink further into yourself. You couldn’t speak in warning to the spider variants or these guys would hear you. Your eyes narrow on the bottom of their legs. All black, but so far appearing humanised rather then some large monster. An anomaly?—you think to yourself—multiple?

You clutch the intercom mic tighter, your finger grazing the on button. And that’s when they begin to speak.

“Get the tech.” A gruff voice says. “Now! We can’t waste our time!”

You can hear more scuffling of boots as the sound of unplugging, or more so ripping follows.

“Boss, they’ll be back.” One of them said. You try to get a good look at them, but your movements will cause too much attention, so you grind your teeth and listen harder.

“If you pick up that damn monitor we might have a chance to get out quick enough.” What you assume to be the gruff voice of ‘boss’ says.

“Who even made you in charge?” One grumbles out.

“Who’s idea was it to lure those stupid spiders out on some fake mission, that, might I add, required a decent bunch of those freaks?”

“Not all of them, though.” One adds. You try again to peak out. You manage to scale the bodies of three, all in black, with…masks. Damn it. They looked worn out—handmade.

“Well, lucky for us the remainders are all too busy in the lobby. Now hurry up and pack the bags.” Boss agitatedly says.

And as if luck is still on your back-burner, your foot slips, only a fraction, but enough to knock a piece of stray metal across the floor.

“What was that?” One of the masked men asks.

The silence now following sounds threatening. You place your hand over your mouth, to quieten your breathing, as the scuffs of boots draws closer.

;;

“Ben!” Exclaimed Miguel, just as static breaks through his ear. He hisses, not expecting it, as he holds the earpiece, brows furrowed. Then the static grows clearer.

“Get the tech. Now! We can’t waste our time!”

“Boss, they’ll be back.”

Miguel narrows his eyes as he listens, confused at first. When he looks to the other spider-people they’re are all holding their own earpieces, trying to comprehend what they’re listening to.

“Who even made you in charge?”

“Who’s idea was it to lure those stupid spiders out on some fake mission, that, might I add, required a decent bunch of those freaks?”

“Lyla, what is this?” Miguel asks. She appears by him, tapping away at screens.

“It appears to be coming from a communal intercom.” She says.

“At HQ?” He asks, already flexing his claws. “Which one.”

“I’m just finding out. The connection is muffled.” More tapping.

“Well, lucky for us the remainders are all too busy in the lobby. Now hurry up and pack the bags.”

The voices still infiltrate Miguel’s ear. “Lyla.” He sounds impatient. “Which one?”

Then she stops tapping. “Y/n y/l/n’s.”

Miguel freezes, looking at Lyla as if she would be one to crack a joke. Then he hears the knock of something metal through his ear piece, followed by a ‘“What was that?”’. He can now hear your heavy breathes, slightly muffled, as heavy boots hit the floor.

Then all sound is gone.

He doesn’t wait for anyone, pressing his wristband to open the portal to HQ. But Jess stops him. “Miguel, think about this. What if it’s them?”

Miguel glances at her, shrugging her grip off his arm, as he taps at his wristband again, the portal opening up. His expression is downcast, one could easily say terrifying.

“Miguel! You have to think this through.” Jess persists. “We have spider-men and woman back at HQ—”

“Who are clearly too distracted to do anything.” Miguel grunts out, webbing towards the portal. But Ben intercepts this time.

“She’s right, Miguel. Don’t worry about the tech, we can get it back, or even get new ones—“

“The tech?” Miguel actually sounds in disbelief. “You think I’m fucking worried about the tech?!” His red eyes gleam, and Ben gulps.

“Then what are you worried about, Miguel?” Jess asks, exasperated. “Because I don’t see anything else that needs urgent attention. The tech is the main—“

“¿Tú no? The tech is the last of my worries, Jess.” Miguel interrupts. But this time he isn’t yelling. This time it’s toned down, and somehow that makes him appear much, much scarier.

“Miguel.” Jess tries to calm him down, not understanding what he could find more worrying. Data had been saved on that tech, important data. She places one hand on his wrist, but he immediately shrugs her off, glaring.

“Get out of my way.” He snarls. She doesn’t move, crossing her arms. “The reason why you aren’t hurt against that wall is because you earned my respect. That’s slipping, Jess.”

“Miguel you’re frantic.” She says.

“Call it what you want. I’m getting to HQ.” He webs past her, and Jess finally has the mind to let him go. Though she still stands there worried, and confused about what could have made Miguel so urgent to get to the scene.

;;

You tighten your hold on the intercom, now switching to use it as a possible weapon, as the boots near. You prepare yourself by silent deep breaths and a focused gaze.

The boots stop in front of you, pausing for only a moment. Then the desk is being flung to the side. You choke a gasp, managing to slam the intercom down into the guys shin, the harsh metal side bruising and buckling his leg.

He exclaims in pain as you scramble to your feet. You can finally see the detail on the three mens’ outfits. A dark green weaved into the fabric. Then you see the claws for hands, and all three of their masks turned to you. Shit.

“Who are you guys?” You manage to get out, as you reach behind you for a keyboard.

One looks at the other before looking back at you. “Were you here the whole time?”

You say nothing, edging closer to the exit. It’s silent from them for a moment then “…kill her.” The gruff voice of ‘boss’ says. And they’re quick.

You try to rush away but one yanks you back by your hair. You angrily swing around and knock the metal keyboard across one of their heads. Some of the pieces shatter against his mask.

But then one is grabbing your neck, pushing you against the wall. “Sorry—boss says no tattle tales.” The guy tightens his hold, and your hands scramble against his in an effort to intake air.

There’s a moment where your vision blurs. But there’s also a moment where his knee shifts letting your leg harshly kick out. You’re glad to find him humanised in his pants as he doubles over.

You rush away from the wall, heaving. One of the masked men is already trying to grab you and as his clawed hand wraps around your arm, he’s pulled back, a shining orange web yanking him straight into a monitor, his head smashing against glass.

The speed makes his claws cut across your flesh but your adrenaline is far too prominent for you to care. You notice the other guy stalking towards you, making you swiftly gaze around at your environment, Weapon. Weapon. Weapon. You stop on a machine, wires poking out, sparking with electricity. Holding a certain point you pull two out, ripping the electric wires, before stabbing them into his stomach, the electric current making his body shake and twitch.

You soon have to let go as they grow unbearably hot, leaving scolding burns on your fingertips and palms. That’s when you notice the owner of the orange web. Miguel has ruined the guy he originally threw into a monitor, his body now a bloody pulp.

You have to quickly look away to the second guy who had obviously gotten up from your kick and landed straight into Miguel’s palm. Miguel is retracting his claws from the masked man’s body, blood tainting the tips of his fingers, as he breaths harshly but somehow still controlled.

Miguel looks to the guy knocked out in front of you, still occasionally twitching from the strong current of electricity. You feel light headed, placing your hands on your knees as you try to slow your breathing.

But then you feel a hand. And not a friendly one as the masked man passes on some of the electricity moving through his body into your thigh. You scream, the half electrocuted guy—his hair frizzed and slightly cinched—stumbling to a stance, just as you fall to the floor.

Then you hear a crash and a curdling scream—not from you.

Miguel inserts his claws into the guys neck, practically ripping his throat out, as the guy chokes on his own blood. The blood sprays across Miguel’s face, leaving slight speckles as he rips the rest of the man with his teeth, letting him drop to the floor.

It was animalistic in way, as his tongue licked his fangs, his breathing now harsher—angrier.

But then he sees you drifting from consciousness on the floor.

Miguel doesn’t know what breathing is, or the meaning of the word slow, as he reaches your side in a millisecond, his hand coming to grab your face between his fingers—maybe a little harshly but his entire being was still on overdrive.

Miguel tightens his hold on your cheeks as he slightly shakes your head. “Y/l/n.” He hisses. “Wake up.“

He’s gentle now, realising that you’re a human and not some villain he needs to hurt, as he checks your pulse not wanting his claws to cut you. “Y/n!” He finally exclaims, as you get roused awake.

Your leg feels painfully numb, as your eyes flutter open. A thin layer of tears is making your eyes sparkle as you finally meet Miguel’s gaze. You try to slow your breathing, shutting your eyes to reassess.

Miguel tightens his hold on your cheeks. “No, no. Open them.”

You do, though they stay hooded. “I’m just…tired. No need to sound so harsh—shit.” The lasting electricity still spasms up your leg, as the hold of Miguel’s hand makes the tears fall.

You begin to shake your head, partially trying to get out of his hold. “Stop.” You say.

“Stop what?” Miguel instantly replies, his gaze shooting to your thigh.

“Just—“ you breathe. Then Miguel finds the deep scratch mark on your arm, his hand grabbing it as his eyes dart. “It’s fine. Just a cut.”

“Y/n, you just got attacked. You’re a weak human, don’t try to sound so tough.”

“You’re not helping.” You hiss, tilting your head back as you try to keep the tears in, not wanting them to fall. “And that was kind of mean.” You mutter the last part just for the sake of it. Using your pain induced state as an excuse to blurt out your annoyed feelings with Miguel.

Miguel grabs your chin, trying to pull your gaze back to his, but you resist, keeping it tilted away. “Stop.” You say again.

“No.” He answers, successfully pulling your chin back, and holding it there. “Why aren’t you looking me?”

Your eyes are darting around, before you choose to close them. “Y/n.” Miguel is stern, but underlying that he sounds almost desperate—almost.

You can feel him move closer to you and you place your hand out to stop him, your palm ending up against his chest. “Can you not—“

“What—not help you?” He asks harshly.

“Can you look away.” You say, finally opening your eyes. “Please.”

“Why?” Miguel isn’t budging, staying close to you. He’s already dialled in medical on his wristwatch.

“Jeezus Christ, Miguel! I don’t like fucking crying in front of people. It’s a weird thing I can’t get rid of. I hate it. It makes me feel embarrassed—“

“Embarrassed?” Miguel interrupts.

“Yes. Embarrassed.” You hiss harshly. You couldn’t find your filter, your tone far more aggressive then usual with the throbbing pain in your arm and the spasm of your thigh.

“Well, that stupid.” He says.

“Yeah, it is. But it’s not going away. So if you could just look away and let me…I dunno…recompose myself.”

“Recompose yourself?”

“Yes! Stop repeating what I’m saying!” You exclaim, only to follow with a groan of pain as you try to sit up.

Miguel knows your mind is frazzled and your body is reactive. He pushes you back down, grabbing your cheeks again.

“You got partially electrocuted and cut—deep, I’d think you’re a psychopath If you didn’t cry.” Miguel says, his volume dropped to one almost soothing—almost.

“Doesn’t make me hate it any less.” You mutter.

“Wow…I’ve never seen you this annoyed before.”

You narrow your eyes on him. His hand that was gingerly inspecting your thigh had slipped over your waist, partially caging you in.

You try again to sit up. But Miguel yet again, keeps you pressed to the floor. “O’hara.”

He leans closer to you, narrowing his eyes. “Stop moving.”

“I’m fine.”

“No your not.” He easily answers, which earns him a half hearted scoff. “You know I think I prefer you trying to suck up instead.”

You meet his gaze glaring. “I have not been sucking up, I just like—“

“This job. Yeah I’ve heard you.” He interrupts.

He can hear commotion behind him, but the voices of rushing spider-people makes his shoulders relax. The medical have arrived, and as you notice the new people you quickly wipe your cheeks, brushing against Miguel’s hand, as you get up.

Miguel finally let’s you, by slipping his arm around the back of your waist. You try to swat it away—any physical touch usually induces the waterworks you desperately wanted to keep at bay—but he tightens his hold, resulting in your side being flush against him.

The medical spiders inspect your bruised body. “It’s her thigh and upper arm…” Miguel begins telling the spiders. Then he grabs your hands holding your palms out. “And hands.” The burnt marks look raw, and you hiss as Miguel had to slightly stretch the skin to show.

He immediately lets go upon hearing the sound of pain. “Thanks Miguel, we’ll take it from here.” A medical spider says, already at your side checking your cut.

Miguel narrows his eyes on the spider variant, watching as you bite your lip as they inspect your wound. He sighs, finally getting up and letting your waist go. At the sudden shift your hand flies out to his leg, or more specifically his thigh.

Your quick, tight grip has Miguel stopping. You change your position, not having realised how much you were using Miguel as physical support, before you’re quickly taking your hand away and coughing.

You give him a brief nod. “Thanks for the help.”

Miguel scoffs. “Help? I did a bit more than help.”

You’re praying to get some anaesthetic soon so that your pain won’t make you loose your job. You press your lips together harshly. “Of course. You did spectacular.” You say.

The sarcasm isn’t lost on him. He eyes you once more before he’s walking out the exit.

You sat there, finally taking a proper breath. You don’t know why you were holding it for so long. …maybe you did have a clue. The image of Miguel ripping the guys neck out, blood staining his face is still fresh in your mind.

You’ll be honest, it scared you. He kind of scared you. But not in way you’d think he’d hurt you, just one that made him seem unpredictable. I mean what happened just then, with his touching and softer tone was something completely unforeseen.

If someone told you he would be do that today you’d actually laugh. Miguel was unpredictable and intimidating in general, sure, but what seemed to scare you more was the way he looked when his eyes shone with blood lust. His eye colour seemed fitting now.

You also happened to be scared of the way the sight made you feel. Something that settled far too low in your stomach.

;;

Miguel went straight to the lobby where a spider variant he kept high up in the ranks resided. “You. Get up. Now.”

The spider variant immediately stood, as he nervously followed Miguel to his office. The orange tech screens were the main thing lighting the place.

And as Spider-Man took a breath he lost it as soon as Miguel slowly turned to him. Blood still stained his skin and claws and suit, and the spider-man felt the urge to run.

“Where were you today?” Miguel asked, leaning back against a table and crossing his arms almost too casually.

“I was…here, Miguel.” He said steeling his spine. He knew where this was going.

“Were you?” Miguel asked, his eyes trained on the spider.

Spider man gulped. “I’m really sorry, Miguel. I didn’t hear any sort of explosion. I didn’t get any awareness. Which…shouldn’t happen.”

“You know what ‘shouldn’t happen’?” Miguel asks, now twirling an empty glass on the table. “Spider men and woman shouldn’t only rely on that “tingle thing”.”

The spider hangs his head lower in apology. “Someone could have died today.” Miguel continued. “And you would have what—been too busy playing poker?”

The spider variant winces at his words. Miguel knew of his addiction, always using his free time to gamble.

“Do you get that?” Miguel asks.

“I do. I’m sorry.”

“Sadly that’s not gonna cut it.” Miguel says, making spider man look up. “I left you in charge while I was gone. You failed miserably.”

“Miguel. I didn’t mean to only rely on my usual awareness, it’s a force of habit. That’s never happened before. I can always sense when danger is close.”

“But you didn’t.” Miguel says. “There’s someone in medical right now who got injured—badly. And she was all alone.” Miguel has stood up, stalking towards him.

“Now for personal reasons I may find her annoying.” He quickly mutters out. “But that certainly doesn’t mean you can let her die. Do you hear me?”

Spider man quickly nods. “Of course. This’ll never happen again.”

“No it won’t.” Miguel turns away, and the finality in his voice makes spider man’s eyes widen.

“Miguel—“

“Go home.” Miguel cuts in, stepping up to his screens. Anger still seeped from every pore.

;;

You woke up, feeling a dull ache in your body, but for the most part you felt alright. Better, a lot better. You swing your feet off the medical bed, realising that the lights were out.

Your feet hit the cold floor, before you quietly step towards the exit door.

Making it out to the hallway you were grateful you were already on the high level, no need for a long travel up the stairs.

You needed to rest. Alone. Not surrounded my medical items. You slowly headed to your room, but stop upon seeing a familiar body walking away.

“O’hara.” You say, making the figure freeze.

You quicken your steps, reaching him. He turns and you have to stop the intake of breathe at the reminded visual of the now dried blood.

“You didn’t want a shower?” You joked, forcing a chuckle.

Miguel just scans your body, narrowing his eyes, his expression is it’s typical, solemn and moody. “You should get back to bed.”

“I was actually heading to my room. But I just wanted to…thank you.” You say, finally making Miguel meet your gaze.

“You really did help me back there.” You spare him a small smile and a nod. Then your gaze gets caught back up in the blood stains, as you gulp.

“You saw, didn’t you?” Miguel suddenly asks.

You look up. “Mm?”

“The reason I’m covered in blood.”

“Oh.” You say. “It was…quite impressive.”

“No it wasn’t.” Miguel says making your brows furrow. He steps a fraction closer. “You didn’t think so.”

“What do you mean?”

Another step. “You thought I looked animalistic. Scary.”

You dart your gaze down to his slowly moving feet before quickly looking back up. You shake your head. And in return Miguel nods.

“You think I’m scary.” Everything he’s saying is statements. He knows, but you keep shaking your head.

“Don’t do that. Don’t lie.” He says, much, much closer now. “You’re terrible at it.”

You stop the shake of your head, blinking a few times. “O’hara—“

“Just be honest.”

“I am.” You say, straightening your spine. And as your eyes dart you notice a deep cut running across his thigh. The dried blood, his.

You step closer. “Why didn’t you get that checked out?”

He glances down at his wound. “It’s fine.”

“Oh come on, don’t do that. Don’t act like your above it all, including pain, and infection.” Your blatancy makes Miguel raise a brow.

You pause for a moment, mulling over potential decisions in your head. Then before it could get later and before you could back down you speak. “Follow me. Let me help.”

Miguel stares at you. “It’s fine—“ he goes to monotonously repeat.

You just grab his wrist, pulling him towards your room. Miguel grabs your wrist in turn, preparing to pull your hand off.

“Hey. You made me go to your room, now I’m just returning the favour.” You say.

Miguel stares at you, scoffing. You let go of his wrist, knowing you don’t have the strength to pull him. “If you’re scared I don’t know what I’m doing, then know that I studied to be a nurse before I found out about…all this.”

“Why?” Miguel asks. “Why help?” He elaborates.

“I just told you.” You say, beginning to head to your room. “I feel weird if I’ve seen your room when you haven’t yet seen mine.”

“That’s not a good reason at all.”

“But your walking my way aren’t you?”

Miguel hadn’t realised that he’d moved to your door without the permission of his mind. He curses under his breath as your scent floods his senses, your room making it ten times worse. This is the last thing he needed.

But you’re already shutting the door and ushering him further in. “You can um…” you look around. “You can just sit on the bed.”

No—Miguel thought. God, no. But you were already getting out an older looking kit from under textbooks—your stuff having been brought to you from your universe.

He slowly sits, trying not to get one bit comfortable. You reach his side placing the kit on the bed, as you drop to your knees.

Miguel’s breathing stops at the visual. You’re directly by his thigh…kneeling. No, no.

Miguel clicks his jaw, looking away. He looks back down, to see your hand is midway from touching his cut thigh. “Why are you doing this?” He can’t fathom why you would actually want to help him.

You sigh. “I just feel kinda bad.”

“Bad?”

“Mhm.” You nod.

“For any particular reason?” Miguel pushes.

“No.” You sarcastically scoff. “You’re just generally a person everyone feels bad for.”

Miguel narrows his eyes as you chuckle. He shifts on your bed. “Stop doing that.”

Your hand stops by his cut, thinking it’s the touching of his wound, when in actual fact it was the way your ‘chuckle’ had sent a strange vibration through him to somewhere he desperately didn’t want you to notice. He was right. This was a terrible idea.

Then you’re touching him. Delicate and gentle, as you pull away his ripped suit. You begin to dab what looks to be an alcohol cloth onto his wound, and in response Miguel snarls, his grip tightening around your sheets.

“Sorry.” You mutter.

“Dios.” He mutters, closing his eyes a moment. “Stop being nice.”

You look up at him. “I have to say, I’ve never heard someone say that. Usually it’s ‘stop being mean’.”

His face is tight as you continue to clean his cut. “Someone said that to you?”

You pause. “No actually. But I just mean in general. And I’m not being ‘nice’ to you. I’m returning a favour.”

“Ah.” He hums, before all his muscles tense. “Can you hurry up.”

“You’ve never let anyone touch you up before, have you?” Catching onto the fact that he’s clearly cleaned his past wounds himself.

Miguel glares at you. “So, you can stop.” He reaches to take the cloth from you, but you lean away resting your hand on his knee for support.

“You can just sit on the bed.” Miguel grits out. He couldn’t watch you being on your knees for him any longer. Not unless he’d do something he’d end up regretting.

“That’s okay, it’s an easier angle here.”

God. You had to stop. ‘Easier angel’? Yeah, Miguel definitely wasn’t thinking about you cleaning his cut. He runs his hand through his hair.

You quickly reach out grabbing his wrist. He looks at you, expectantly. “You have uh…blood on your fingertips…claws.”

Miguel darts his gaze across your face. “And you’re worried about it getting my…hair dirty?”

You shrug. “Well, now you’re making me sound stupid.”

“I don’t need to do that.” He quips, and you shoot him a glare. “But um…” he drifts off, as you look up at him, now waiting expectantly.

“Did you find me…scary, or whatever?” He asks, and surprisingly there’s a hint of…vulnerability hidden in his tone? No—you think to yourself—that can’t be right. “Before. With the anomalies.”

You dab a fraction harder, making Miguel hiss a groan. You ignore the way it vibrates through your body. You shake your head.

“Why do you keep lying?” He asks.

You sigh. “I just—“

“Just?” Miguel seemed to really want to get an answer out of you. He shifts closer. And when you don’t answer, continuing to focus on his wound, he grabs your jaw, pulling you up to meet his gaze. You gulp, his large hand nearly reaching to wrap around your neck.

“Do I scare you?”

Your chest picks up a quicker beat. He leans closer, pulling you towards him, your chest hitting his leg. “Do I—“

“Yes. Alright.” You quickly say. “A little bit…yes.”

His grip tightens around your chin a fraction. “Because of what you saw?”

“And the way you talk to people.” You mutter out. Why were saying this? This isn’t something you say to your boss.

You hadn’t noticed at first but one of his claws had begun to brush back and forth against the skin of your jaw, his eyes not leaving yours. You were utterly frozen. And there’s a moment that you just catch where his gaze darts down to your lips, his breath feeling extremely close.

But then he’s leaning away, his jaw clenching as he looks to the door. “Are you done?”

You quickly look down to his cut, rushing to get out a bandage. “Uh, almost.” Your entire body was buzzing.

While you stayed focused on finishing him up, Miguel’s gaze went back to staring at you. He almost gave in—almost. He wouldn’t, though.

You were scared of him. He knew you were somewhat so, but now hearing you say it confirmed that you’d never see him how he had gradually started seeing you. He had to stop. Now, before he dove in far too deep.

He couldn’t let himself go any deeper. Because at this rate he’d certainly drown, and if he was going to die, it wouldn’t be from some silly little crush.

okay, I’m sorry, I lied. there is nothing sexual in here. but I didn’t think adding anything like that yet would work. since a lot of you guys asked for a slow burn

again, I hope this is up to a good standard for you guys to continue reading. I wanted to add something a little different then the usual Spanish lesson then Miguel’s end of the deal. I needed some action of some sort.

and ofc, part five will come soon x love you all MWAH

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