#when its controlled by multi millionaires and up

[hillbillyoracle]

I am begging y'all.

Privilege doesn't make someone a bad person.

Privilege doesn't mean someone doesn't struggle or face hardships.

Privilege just means someone has access to some resource or does not have to engage in some behavior that others can't access/has to.

Refusing to recognize privilege gives cover for oppressors through the denial of inequitability.

Acting as if having privilege makes someone bad gives cover to oppressors who can selectively dole out resources to tear a community apart.

Privilege is neutral. It's a fact.

Moralize it at your communities' risk.

[eaglesnick]

No Society can surely be flourishing and happy, of which the far greater part of the members are poor and miserable” Adam Smith

The Metro had this headline yesterday.

"Rishi Sunak is demanding “restraint “ on pay - what a joke.” (Metro: (13/07/23)

The Metro goes on to point out that although pay may be going up, people are becoming poorer, especially those that work in the public sector, because inflation is far outstripping pay awards.

“Pay may be going up, but people are undeniably getting poorer. They’re feeling financially hopeless and helpless. Yet now, the Government and the Bank of England are joining forces to imply it’s all your fault for daring to ask for higher pay in the middle of a cost of living scandal."  (Metro: 13/07/23)

Multi-millionaire Sunak could of course, have followed the Metro's demand that he tax the rich a little more to help restore public sector pay and to encourage recruitment and retention within our public services. But Sunak is not going to increase taxes on the rich. After all, why would he when he and his wife are members of the Times Rich List with a combined wealth of £529million?

Sunak, for the tax year 2021/22, paid only 22% tax on a total income of £1.9million.  If you or I had earned that amount of money we would have been paying a tax rate of 45% on earned income over £150,000. The reason Sunak and his fellow multi-millionaire friends do not pay that higher tax rate is because much of their money comes from UNEARNED income: unearned income in the form of capital gains is only taxed at 20% no matter how many millions that happens to be.

 “The super-rich pay lower taxes than you …because the forms of income they often rely on are taxed much lower than the income of a typical person who has to rely on a salary.” (views-voices.Oxfam.ork.uk: 18/01/23)

Some will argue that calls to tax the rich fairly are merely the politics of envy. I would argue it’s more a question of morality than envy but lets leave that discussion aside for now. Lets look at Sunak’s claim that public sector pay rises are inflationary and that is why they have to be restrained.

“Rishi Sunak has said he would make the "responsible" decision on pay increases for public sector workers, in order to control inflation.”  (BBC News: 26/06/23)

Commentating on a £5billion increase in public sector pay, the financial journalist Andy Verity said on BBC news yesterday:

“£5billion pounds may sound a lot but, when the total spending in the economy is expected to be £2,200billion this year, it amounts to an increment of barely a fifth of one percentage point” (Andy Verity: BBC News:13/07/23)

Many economists dismiss the idea that public sector pay rises  add to inflation' as the public sector does not increases charges to reflect higher staff pay as happens in the private sector. But lets leave that argument aside as well. If a pay rise to match inflation was given for ALL public sector then economists estimate this would cost the Treasury an additional £23.5billion.

However, if you take into account what the government has already agreed to pay, and then also take into account the 30% in higher taxes and VAT receipts the government will claw back, then the total bill is below £10 billion. (Phillip Inman, Observer: 11/12/22)

This figure is twice the cost talked about by Andy Verity but it still only amounts to  TWO FIFTHS of a percentage point of total UK spending.

The sad truth is we are governed by a rich elite who put their own wealth and well-being before that of ordinary working people. For Sunak and his friends, the public sector is seen as a missed opportunity for them to make even more money than they already possess. The NHS in particular holds the potential for some individuals to make billions but first they will have to privatise it. What better way to do that than to starve it of funds, underpay and undermine its workforce, and run it into the ground.

[themultifamilymindset]

At Last, The Secret To Invest In Multi-Family Properties Is Revealed

The fact that more people are buying properties and renting them out means that the real estate sector is unquestionably seeing rapid expansion. Globalization, population growth, and a host of other factors are responsible for the booming real estate market. There are many opportunities to invest in the market, but it is up to you whether you want to use the investment to hold the property for appreciation or to rent it out. Although Multifamily Real Estate Investing is one of them, rental homes have long been favored. We'll notify you of some tips that will help you generate a good return on investment in this article.

Secrets to earning millions by investing in multifamily properties

There are numerous options to invest in real estate but Multifamily investment is transforming the financial status of many people. This is totally worthwhile and a secret behind people becoming millionaires by investing in multifamily properties.

Consistent income

Sometimes you suffer loss when investing in other areas such as stock or for holding the property. But after investing in the multifamily property you will receive income every month with consistency. There is a very very rare chance of loss. A regular income makes you financially strong and keeps you stable everywhere.

Time efficient and have a growing path

As we discussed its reliable revenue, you should be aware that buying them also saves you time and keeps you hassle-free. For real estate investors looking to create a sizable rental portfolio, multi-family properties are also ideal. It is much better to purchase all of your properties in one location rather than buying them separately in other locations, as this will save you a tonne of time and money.

Ultimately A less expensive option

A single apartment is typically less expensive to purchase than multiple apartments or housing. However, since you will receive larger returns and it will be more expensive if you purchase two properties in different locations, believe me, multifamily buildings are discovered to be less expensive indirectly. However, because they are selling them all at once, the majority of businesses offer this property type at substantially lower prices.

But how you can earn high returns in Multifamily investment

Take a glimpse at a few easy steps….

Begin the investment with a few units

Although it could look like there are 20–30 apartments or perhaps more when considering multifamily homes, that is not the case. Most reputable multifamily mindset firms let beginners invest in a small number of units so that they may start small and learn from it before moving on. The best recommendation is, to begin with, a small multifamily building, like a duplex or quadruplex. Starting with a modest multifamily building can make things a lot simpler for you from the off.

Finance your properties by considering each cost

Whether you want to pay for these properties with a loan or funds already in your account, keep in mind that there will be additional expenses both during and after the purchase. For multifamily housing loans, a 20% down payment of the purchase price is typically required, plus there will unavoidably be costs for maintenance and property management. Taxes, loan fees, insurance, ongoing expenses, loan interest, as well as many other costs, will be incurred both during and after the multifamily property acquisition.

Work with professionals

It's possible that you feel rushed as you try to comprehend and control each aspect of this. Therefore, it is best to link forces with any professional real estate expert who has vast experience in overseeing multifamily properties. A qualified property manager may assist you in generating additional rental income by ensuring that all daily operations are carried out efficiently and effectively. You can also use a service where a company finds a renter for you, collects rent, and takes care of maintaining your property.

To summarize multifamily investment is quite beneficial for high stable growth in the real estate market with stable income. For earning this stability you need to invest your money in a good location and with a small number of units.

Multifamily Mindset is a leading name in the market that has been changing the way people think through awareness of multifamily real estate. Our well-qualified and experienced experts are just like helping hands for people who have been looking the ways to invest their hard-earned money. Apart from this, you can learn more about the Multifamily Mindset Reviews through our articles and blogs which will enhance your knowledge.

If you want to join us then also let us know we will assist you at each step since our company is especially known for Multifamily Real Estate Investing and helping investors to better allocation of financial resources.

[cheapcourses]

Recession Proof Is Extra Than Simply A Program..It is A FAMILY! Entrepreneurship is not a luxurious.... it is a NECESSITY! As a group, we have now to alter the best way we have now been educated to function financially. It will permit us as folks, to get out of the rat race & play the wealth creation sport the best way it is meant to be performed. BECOME RECESSION PROOF The Recession Proof Household Welcomes You.... We all know that being an entrepreneur in some unspecified time in the future you are feeling such as you're on an island by your self. That is what makes Recession Proof so distinctive, we have now developed an entire household expertise for everybody concerned. When becoming a member of the household, you get entry to free networking occasions, mentee hosted trainings & telegram teams primarily based off of various pursuits. Now we have Trucking, Actual Property, & a number of different telegram teams for increasing your information. The particular piece to this all will likely be your capability to community and construct with different members in our Personal Fb group. Marcus "Him500" Barney additionally brings in his circle of profitable entrepreneurs and connections to assist us develop our sources. You guys will achieve entry to his private sources like his belief and asset advisor. Marcus has a ton of sources and connections which have helped him turn out to be recession proof and you'll achieve entry to them by being aside of the Recession Proof household. Most individuals know we have now our personal personal jet dealer/proprietor, American Categorical consultant, and Unique automotive importer throughout the household. Energy of sources! The Recession Proof household is on the transfer. In 2021 the aim is to create 100 Recession Proof millionaires! The way in which this household is setup, I am positive 100 millionaires will likely be made, however my query is, will YOU be one among them? Thirty-two-year-old Marcus Barney is the founder and CEO of Recession Proof, a multi-million greenback monetary literacy program and credit score specialist agency. The corporate gives entrepreneurs with specialised instruments, methods, and monetary sources that can be utilized to scale companies. Nevertheless, his principal focus is to show his mentees leverage credit score to create generational wealth. Marcus was born and raised in Stockton, California. His first enterprise was at sixteen. He and a few pals would go round to auctions purchaser vehicles earlier than flipping them for a revenue. On the age of eighteen, he studied for and bought the State of California Actual Property License. As of now, Recession Proof has helped over 50 folks step away from their -5 jobs to take management of their time, with a lot of these people occurring to turn out to be millionaires. The corporate has garnered $20 million price of start-up capital, which went into serving to over 200 entrepreneurs launch their companies. Recession Proof gives its purchasers with the sources wanted to achieve success and really feel empowered.

[jesusatmysix2-allgodspennies]

Watch "What happen to the money made from Slavery? Did You Know?" on YouTube

This right here is why America is on its knees today! This is why they're trying to pull the "poor" back into the post 60's!

America was built upon a slave owner mentality. The 60's forced the economic slave mentality to pay the slaves instead of just maintaining their existence for labor purposes. BUT THE SYSTEM ITSELF N-E-V-E-R CHANGED! Hate it or not.... Truth supercedes false reality.

By white America trying to maintain superiority under the same mentality. It's become indebted to every nation on the planet. Trying to feed and pay it's slaves. And America DID NOT start yelling tax the rich, until minorities figured out the game. Then they started raising taxes. Wasn't enough! Minorities from all over the globe started coming here, figured out the game. Never really putting into the economic structure, but becoming wealthy nevertheless. Unbalance! More taxes on the poor.

I laugh when I hear idiots say, "anybody can become a millionaire in America." Yup! America is rolling off money like toilet paper. Wages have gone up in most states. And so has every damn thing else. And again, the low income are phased out. The lie they tell you is.... "Oh, the jobs are there." Fuck!!! People work every damn day living out of campsite and tents, and cars. Paying taxes to do so. Yet, the same damn slave systemic mentality that white America refuses to change is in multi trillion dollars worth of debt to the world trying to maintain itself so they can maintain control over the minority. And they use political parties like divorced parents use their children as war weapons.

Honestly! If they rebooted the slave owner systemic mentality..... It would probably be too little too late. The only thing that would save this country is another world war. And trust me.... That's coming!

IF WE WIN!

[cesca-untoldstories]

Wait did Cesca ever end things with Daisuke, of so how did he react?

It was something... like a heat of the night 🎶 You lose your heart and sell your soul 🎶

Everything went too fast after 1989 until 1992. Francesca and Daisuke's relationship started in the mid 1990's after the great discussion between 'Cesca and Jotaro clearing their minds and what they were waiting for the future.

Francesca had a pretty strong emotional breakdown for that time since she had recognized how much she wanted and loved Jotaro but it was him who didn't listen and decided to study outside of Japan, in the United States. at that time Daisuke was one of Francesca's closest friends (and still hating Jotaro but feeling lucky he is finally out of the blue) it was nothing more than a friend until 'Cesca finished school and began a small relationship with Daisuke, it was not something quite balanced and rather it was an obsession on the part of Daisuke to have Francesca under control and move her forward under his own principles.

Daisuke was the one that made 'Cesca made the decision to leave the Kujo household and say goodbye to Holly, thanking her for her years of solidarity and kindness, to move into a building with Daisuke. She would start studying medicine and Daisuke had already been in administration for two years. but each time things began to hurt more between them. Daisuke's obsession to possess Francesca as "a trophy" led him to hide the letters that Jotaro sent Francesca regretting his actions. he tried to mold Francesca as he was soon to inherit his father's billion dollar company. but it was not until 1992 that Francesca exploded emotionally.

In 1992 Francesca disappeared from the map of Tokyo and from the house that she paid together with Daisuke, the money that Holly brought her from time to time scared her and Jotaro coming to Japan to talk to her about what was happening to his mind and heart. when they saw that she was no longer at home. Francesca had disappeared from everywhere. a radical change led her to transfer her papers and her classes to the prefecture M, city S... Morioh, which was where she was accepted to continue her studies.

Daisuke ended up having long conversations with Jotaro, neither of them knew Francesca's true whereabouts, they both decided to "give up" on her location and Daisuke ended up marrying a close friend and having an adorable daughter nicknamed Min-Min.

The family situation did not turn out very well for Daisuke since after a couple of years he ended up divorcing and his wife disappearing as well. a divorced and possibly widowed father in charge of a little girl. His company began to grow more and more, it already had the prestige of being one of the most impressive fashion brands in Japan, but soon its doors were opened more to foreigners. He was one of the most prestigious millionaires in Japan and the world, a man who preferred to keep his wounds under his workaholic desire to be someone in life.

In 1999 he reappears in Morioh, A multi-millionaire walks the small shores of Morioh. most of the time in a black lamborghini with people following his trail, work is work and he has heard of a certain Rohan Kishibe who has things to offer but who would say that he would have to schedule more days in that small town since he has found again faces with an old rival in the Hotel where they are staying, Jotaro Kujo.

and what worse for Francesca herself. (RUNNING AWAY FROM JOTARO, DAISUKE AND KEI IS SUCH A OLIMPIC SPORT FOR HER)

[nickgerlich]

The Cansolidation Continues

Craft beer traces its origins to 1965, when Anchor Brewery became the first craft brewery since Prohibition. It was a modest start, and it took another two decades before more than just a handful of other brewers launched their own small-batch brands.

Of course, we all know what happened as we moved a couple of decades into the 21C. Today, there are nearly 9000 craft breweries. In spite of this, Big Beer still dominates, but at the same time, it has caught their attention. While market share of craft brewers remains low (12.3% by volume, and 24% by sales revenue), Big Beer became more than a little concerned about these upstarts back in the 1990s, when Miller and AB-InBev started purchasing some of these small competitors in order to at least have a presence in the segment.

Unfortunately, those early acquisitions usually found the small company being rolled into the big, and brewing standards dropped sorely. In other words, small-batch goodness was replaced by the same mass-produced swill for which their new parents were known.

Lately, though, these acquisitions have become more democratic in nature, with the purchaser allowing their spoils to function very autonomously. Good examples include Lion’s takeover of New Belgium (Colorado and North Carolina), and Miller Coors’ purchase of Terrapin (Georgia).

Yesterday, though, yet another purchase was announced, but this time it wasn’t a big brewery making the deal. Monster Beverage Corporation, makers of Monster Energy drinks, bought Canarchy for $330 million in cash.

And it’s not just the uniqueness of a nonalcoholic beverage company doing the buying. Canarchy itself is unique in the craft beer industry. Formed in 2015, it is a collective of regional powerhouse craft beers who combined forces to have an even bigger presence. Many of their brands are very well-known today because of this consortium. It’s what brought together Oskar Blues (Colorado and North Carolina), Deep Ellum (Dallas), Cigar City (Tampa), Squatters (Utah), Wasatch (Utah), and Perrin (Michigan) all under one umbrella.

But while Big Beer acquisitions allowed those craft beers to enjoy far greater distribution than they could on their own, energy drinks use a very different method of distribution. Monster gets its product to market primarily through full-service beverage distributors, which is very different from the three-tiered distribution system mandated by law for beer.

I get it, though, because there is a mad dash in the beverage industry to produce a wide array of mash-up products. I can envision Monster/Oskar Blues blends and others, not a whole lot different from Coca Cola’s announcement to partner with Constellation Brands to produce an alcoholic version of Fresca.

We can thank craft cocktails and seltzers for all of this buzz. And maybe we can thank COVID as well, because consumption is up during the pandemic, as well as alcohol-related disease.

I became aware of the Canarchy acquisition this morning on Oskar Blues’ Facebook page, and judging by the comments, a lot of people are not happy. They fear that these brands will go downhill, something that has certainly happened in the past. It is now a golden opportunity for all of the Canarchy brands to use their social media sites to control the unrest, and reassure consumers that all will be well. I am optimistic that the more recent trend toward autonomy will prevail.

And who is to blame these craft brewery owners from cashing out? They each walk away multi-millionaires, and those running Canarchy will likely still have their jobs once the dust settles on the transaction. Heck of a deal. Don’t you wish this were you?

As for Monster, they have an instant footprint in craft beer, and even if they never try to do something creative by mixing brands, they own the sixth-largest craft brewery in the US, brewing a whopping 490,000 barrels of goodness. It may just be an investment, but my hunch is there will be some collaboration as well.

I’m good with this, if only because of how New Belgium and Terrapin have been allowed to function on their own. I have been to all of these breweries except for Perrin, and I will vouch for the quality of them. Smart move, Monster. I wonder, though, if the owner of Anchor Brewery had any inclination 57 years ago that what he started would one day lead to all this.

Dr “Beers To Ya“ Gerlich

Audio Blog

[mickylikesstuff]

Sword Art Online <Status: Offline>

(AO3), (Details of the Series), (Original Idea), 

Log 1 : < B.Wayne>

Bruce stared at the body of Damian, lying peacefully in his bed.

  Again

  It has been a week since the announcements about Sword Art Online being compromised that trapped thousands of people in the game. Upon investigation with Tim and Victor, they know that there nothing they can do about the situation since the server is heavily guarded by multiple learning AI, those AI that keeps the players in the game and keeps them alive.

  The first-week people started to be restless about their loved ones being trapped in the game, it quickly became panic when the body counts begin to rise upon knowing the players that committed suicides as a means to escape but they died instead of logging off.

  Ever since Bruce landed in Japan, he Immediately takes action and prepares to settle in Japan to investigate for himself. Preparations are made such as organizing the Safehouse they are stationed in, hiring a caregiver for Damian in their stay, and Bruce taking a break from being the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, A Break not retirement. Period.

  To the populous, the 22-year-old Damian Wayne had been out of commission for unknown reasons. There are theories around that says he might have an accident, or he survive in an assassination, one thing is sure that sources say that Damian Wayne was last seen in Japan. It is announced that Bruce Wayne arrives in the country to personally take his son to another country for his safety and recovery. To please the public Mr. Wayne only took a personal interview for Lois Lane-Kent and Tim handles Vicki Vale.

  But the truth is that they never left the country because Damian is a Player of the Death Game SAO. A Beta-tester to be specific. One of the one hundred beta-testers that were fooled and used for the game's needs. 

  Tim took charge of Wayne Enterprises as the main CEO while updates are given to Bruce. Bruce is to be present in a bi-monthly report by video conferences. Clark is asked (ahem -again- ahem) to pretend to be Batman in some nights, he’s very convincing.  Dick with Barbara and Kori’s help maintained a balance to be in Gotham and Bludhaven, they dropped in sometimes with the Titans. Jason and Stephanie keep the gangs in line and keeping tabs on the Rouges.

  As of now, the Sirens are not much to be dangerous since Harley broke up completely with Joker. Selina is part of the Batfam, and occasionally Batwoman and Signal drop by and Alfred is the one who keeps their heads above water with the help of Jim, Leslie, and Aunt Agatha Wayne.

 After days of arrangements and meetings with the customs and Japanese public officers, it is safe to keep this event quiet from the world at large. Bruce agreed to keep things quiet if they agree to have HIM completely involved in saving the SAO Players.

 The officials are reluctant to have him on board at first until he proves to them that Bruce is not the Air-headed careless multi-millionaire playboy as said in the tabloids, he is dangerous due to his hidden talents such as coding, investigational skills, and his other many unknown skills. Count on the influence he has as a Wayne, and he did supply the Justice League not just the American branch but the whole world itself including the Japanese branch.

  When it comes to his sons, He will do everything in his power to keep them all safe even if he failed.

  But Why?

 Why Damian? Why his son again?!

 How could he let this happened the second time?

 First, Ten years ago Dick with the Original Team after that simulation gone wrong, Now this?!

 He should have said No to Damian’s involvement and fought harder against it!

 He should have known better!

 He should have been with Damian in Japan!

 He should have looked at this deeply!

 He should have investigated it even further with Damian’s reports in his beta testing period!

   He is Batman for christ's sake! He has to find a solution to this BULLSHIT!

 And he called himself a father. What a Joke.

   Bruce stopped his inner turmoil before it becomes more destructive. Damian needs his help, to be on the outside. Decode the Cardinal System encryptions and helping out the families and loved ones of the SAO Players also supplying resources to the government and the game itself. 

  Damian experienced the freedom he can achieve to be a child ever since Thalia gave Damian to him. He learned to have friends, to smile, to blend in, and be a civilian. Damian made him proud even if they did start out wrong and awkward like the loons they are. He learned how to stand up for his own beliefs that defy Thalia's. That family as a Wayne is Everything. 

  Memory after memory of His family came at him.

 Alfred as his father that no one can ever change that truth.   Thomas will always be a dad.

Dick as the oldest brother and a father himself, is the person Bruce wanted to be. Brave, Amazing, and Good.

Jason shows him how to be himself and what the real problems are. Fearless, Bold, and Outspoken.

Tim is always a strong believer, If only he believes in himself.  Intuitive, Selflessness, and Passionate

Barbara

Cass

Stephanie

Selina

Duke

Damian

...

...

 Oh Damian, That spitfire of a boy who challenges everyone, Now is the Most Compassionate, Graceful, and  Courageous young man after everything he has been through.

  How EVERYONE has been through... 

  He can never find a different family like his home again. He will never change that for the world and he will stand up to protect them all as long as he live. 

  Taking a deep breath, and slowly releases it. He needs a clear mind if he wants to help his son out. Now the Damian has grown throughout the years of being Robin and is about to embrace his new identity.

  But the structure and function of the NerveGear are surprisingly superior for something that is a gaming console.  Its Full Dive comprehends the human brain much deeper. Reports said that This technology could interpret brain waves into actions, but also send signals to be interpreted by the brain as well. That is directing sight, feel, hearing, smell, and taste. Kawahara described a world with a device that emulated the feelings of the real world. A player could feel the heat on their skin radiating from the sunlight due to the Nerve Gear sending the signals to the brain to sense it. With that being said, this is the simulation all over again. If Sword Art Online is not a death game, based upon Damian’s previous reports it will become the most successful technology of the generation. For that to be a consumer product for 10,000 people is an impressive feat.

  Thankfully, there is a way to see Damian inside the game. Victor came up with an idea and uploaded a controlled AI program by Tim’s design to follow Damian around inside SAO, they modify a few programs so that the bird blends in the game.  A simple little robin with the muted colors of Red, Yellow, and Green, they hope that the bird finds Damian in there first before anything happens to him. In sometime Bruce can control the little bird just to guide Damian in his dark times.

   Maybe this time Bruce can be Damian's Robin .

Taglist:

(None... For now)

To celebrate a new year guess I’m gonna publish this. So what better way to celebrate this, than having the family together.

Introducing the Wayne Family…

AN: Time To leave 2020 behind and welcome the New year 2021! Stay safe everyone! Happy Holidays!

(Comment any suggestions Here)

[scotianostra]

Ocean Mist, The Shore, Leith.

The steamer, ‘Ocean Mist’ was built in 1919 by George Brown & Co, Greenock.  It was originally named Samuel Green and was built for the Navy as a mine sweeper, but the 1st World War was over by the time it was completed, so it was sold as a yacht. In the mid-1980s, 'Ocean Mist’ came to Leith where it has been ever since, it has opened and closed a few times over the years.

Below is a full history of the bat through the past century until this year, mostly gleaned from the excellent EdinPhoto.org  web page

  The ship was sold in 1919 to  Mr. K. L. Guinness, a member of the renowned Irish brewery family and inventor of the KLG spark plug.  It was re-name Ocean Rover and its fishing gear was removed.

Accommodation was created for the owner and his guests.  The owner indulged in an early form of Rally Racing so he had the original Fish Hold and Ice Room adapted to carry road racing cars around Europe.

In 1925 it was sold to the Duke of Leeds of Hornby Castle and its name was changed to Aries. In 1930, the yacht was sold to yet another member of the Royal Yacht Squadron, Sir Harry K. Newton, Bt.  Its name reverted to Ocean Rover. In 1934, the yacht was acquired by Sir Alfred L. Goodson of Brixham, Devon, and was based at Cowes, Isle of Wight, then in 1938, it was purchased by James Napier of Old Kilpatrick on the Firth of Clyde.

  After a relatively short period as a Clyde based yacht, due to the outbreak of War in September 1939, Ocean Rover was laid-up in Bowling Harbour.  It was requisitioned by the Admiralty during November 1939, along with practically the entire British Fishing Fleet, to undertake the duties of Mine Sweeping and Coastal Patrol.

It was, understandably, used as a Group Commander's Head Quarters ship. Without conventional fishing equipment - trawl winch/gallows etc, it would not have been readily suitable without extensive conversion, to undertake practical mine sweeping duties.

It was designated as a Torpedo recovery vessel based at Arrochar, Port Bannatyne, Ormidale - Loch Riddon, and Rothesay, prior to becoming an anti-mine calibrating vessel stationed at Rosyth, Granton and Leith. It then took up duties on the South Coast, being Portsmouth based and working from the Solent out-station of Cowes.

Most other vessels of her size were trawlers.   These were quickly sold out of Admiralty service very soon after the war was over in 1945.

  However, Ocean Rover remained laid-up at Portsmouth, apparently not suitable for commercial use, until 1949,  when it was purchased by Mr. F. D. Fenston of London.  He moved it over to Cowes to be cleaned up and re-furbished as a yacht.  The crew were still accommodated in the original open plan cabin on the aft side of the Engine Room bulkhead.

Materials for luxurious projects, such as yachting, were very strictly controlled by government edict and coal was even more strictly rationed.  So Ocean Rover remained unused for quite some time, mostly laid-up in a mud berth at the yard of G. Marvin in Cowes. Most other vessels of her size were trawlers.   These were quickly sold out of Admiralty service very soon after the war was over in 1945.

  However,  Ocean Rover remained laid-up at Portsmouth, apparently not suitable for commercial use, until 1949,  when it was purchased by Mr. F. D. Fenston of London.  He moved it over to Cowes to be cleaned up and re-furbished as a yacht.  The crew were still accommodated in the original open plan cabin on the aft side of the Engine Room bulkhead.

Materials for luxurious projects, such as yachting, were very strictly controlled by government edict and coal was even more strictly rationed.  So  Ocean Rover remained unused for quite some time, mostly laid-up in a mud berth at the yard of G. Marvin in Cowes.

By 1954 most of the war-time restrictions had been lifted and Ocean Rover had a new owner, F G (Tiny) Mitchell  -  a Peterborough multi-millionaire and a keen and successful racing yachtsman in the Solent.

  He was a larger than life figure, who  wished to have a large stable boat to accommodate his personal requirements.  He found this yacht to be very suitable, and re-named the yacht,  Ocean Rover.

He arranged for it to be fitted out as an accommodation ship and for its boilers to be altered from coal burning to being oil fired.  He berthed the yacht on the River Medina at Cowes.

Apart from being much more economical, this avoided the filthy aspect of 'coaling ship', which necessitated everyone leaving the ship, apart from those involved in such duties.  Even after the last drop of coal was loaded the cleaning up ritual took just as long as the entire loading process.

With the passing of 'Tiny' Mitchell in 1957, Ocean Mist was used by his widow, Mrs 'Blackie' Mitchell for a few years although it never sailed.

During 1960 the yacht was purchased by Mr. Hobbs of the Great Glen, Inverness, and could be seen at various locations along the Caledonian Canal for several years.

After Mr. Hobbs, the owner, died in 1965, Ocean Mist became the property of the Executors of the Hobbs estate, ultimately being bought for use as a floating restaurant and moored alongside the 'Kings Wark' quay in the Old Harbour at Leith Docks, beside Bernard Street Bridge, from the 1980s onwards.

The floating restaurant closed in 2000.  From March 2005, 'Ocean Mist'  was to undergo a  £500,000 refit to be converted into a floating shops and offices.  This plan never came to fruition. The owners  'Water of Leith 2000' , began restoring the ship in March 2005 but, four months later, they announced revised plans. Instead of converting the ship to offices, they now plan to sell it to a company that has approached them wishing to convert the ship into a 'very special' restaurant with conference facilities. Ocean Mist  became Cruz on February 8th, 2007. The ship had a new top deck and restaurant. Downstairs were  described as 'an ultra-modern white lounge' and 'an intimate dark piano bar.'

I must admit I never visited Cruz, so have no idea what the interior looked like.

Leithers on social media reported a "flurry of activity" in January 2020 and news was soon released that new owner Alan Pendle was planning to turn the ship into a floating hotel, he said in an interview last year that “My wife and I have spent our life savings on her and she’s not a normal hotel so we hope that she becomes the jewel of Leith.” He has had  previous experience restoring ships, namely the MV Fingal, based around the corner at Waterfront Leith.

  So Ocean Mist opening as a Hotel, and a brand new chapter  in her life is imminent, but for the pandemic it would be open by now, I saw no signs of life aboard when I passed on Thursday afternoon.

  There are a couple of old pics of the ship here http://www.edinphoto.org.uk/10/12_edinburgh_today_-_cruise_ship_ocean_mist_background.htm

[1d-fics]

1. Gods & Monsters - velvetoscar

The instructions were simple: seduce and destroy Harry Styles. Not once did they discuss the option of Louis actually falling in love. So, naturally, that's exactly what he did.

2. Have Faith in Me - stylinsoncity

As the son of Anne Styles, millionaire owner of one of the world's most luxurious fashion labels, Harry has spent his last seventeen years living in carefree extravagance. And now he's grown tired of it, along with the pressure from his mum to follow in her footsteps and the constant care given to him by her past assistants.

When his mum's newest assistant, Louis, moves into the guesthouse, Harry determines to be treated differently. To be treated like an adult. Except Louis is not at all what Harry was expecting...

This is a story about growing up, growing in love and having the faith to make it last.

3. Take My Breath Away - realitybetterthanfiction

There is a prestigious school in the British Royal Navy classified as Premier Delta - or as it is known by its flyers, 1D. These select pilots are an elite set of Naval lieutenants who are trained in the skill of aggressive aerial combat. They are instruments of war, trained in times of peace. They are dogfighters, relentless and fearless in their mission to protect their beloved country. From their lofty vantage, they are always watching, waiting, and ready to lay it all on the line.

Lt. Harry Styles, call sign Sparrow, is a prodigy when it comes to flying. The owner of an unrivaled Naval pedigree, being a pilot was always written in the stars for Harry. With his trusty RIO, Lt. Niall Horan, Harry has made an unprecedented ascension in the ranks of the Naval aerial combat elite, and has been recruited to the esteemed Premier Delta flight school, carrying on his family’s legacy. What he finds there are unexpected friendships, perilous challenges, and something beyond what he ever thought possible. Because as his father had always told him, before the great Captain Styles went tragically missing in combat, you don’t fall in love with the sky, you fall in love with what keeps you on the ground.

4. The Wonderlands - stylinsoncity

"Somewhere between chaos and control — these are the wonderlands."

Harry's daughter, Andy, is signed to Louis' girl band. Her path to success is marked by competition, chaos, and for Harry, a love affair.

5. Pray for Some Sweet Simplicity - delsicle

Louis is the only omega to ever make it in the cut-throat world of competitive motorcycle racing—that is, he would be if anyone actually knew about his identity. Now, his sights are set towards competing in—and winning—the European Grand Prix, the biggest and most difficult race of the entire year, so he can disappear underground for good. He’s close enough, too, until an alpha sports journalist is assigned to follow Louis’s every move as he prepares for the event of his career.

Or, an AU where motorcycle racing is the biggest sport in a heavily divided world, Louis is trying to take control of his own destiny, and Harry is in for more than he bargained for.

6.Up to No Good - whoknows

Harry doesn’t think of himself as a womanizer, not at all. Sure, he enjoys sex, enjoys how women feel underneath him, and by some people’s standards he has sex with quite a lot of people, but that’s no reason to tell him that he can’t have a female PA anymore.

It’s especially no excuse for giving him a male PA who’s possibly the most gorgeous boy in the world who won’t even let Harry look at him for too long.

Sometimes Harry hates his life.

7. Another Day Gettin’ into Trouble - whoknows

Harry’s drunk when the idea occurs to him. He’s also a pop star, so sometimes his drunk ideas turn into actual things instead of just ideas. The clone-a-willy kit is one of them.

In Harry’s defense, when he first thinks about it his intention is just to buy the kit and give it to Louis to make his own dildo with, because that’s what he wants anyway, right? To have a penis filling him up?

Then he realizes that it would be weird if Louis made a copy of his own dick to fuck himself with. It’d be super weird. Louis fucking himself? That’s a weird idea. Harry’s pretty sure Louis wouldn’t like that.

Clearly the only solution here is to use his own dick for the mold.

8. Peaches and Cream - seducedbycurls

The study was to see if two strangers could live together for a month and fall in love.

“We are a new organization working to prove that love can do extraordinary things.” “You will do everything together & you are not allowed to leave the resort for the whole month.” “We want to prove that opposites attract.”

Louis is allergic to peaches, Harry smells like peaches. Louis just came for the money.

9. Just a Walk in the Park - comingbackhometoyou

It's 2015, the first time dinosaurs walked the earth in over 65 million years. The multi-billion dollar company, Twist Corporations, is planning a summer opening for their world changing attraction, "Jurassic Park".

They take an interest in the history making duo of Dr. Louis Tomlinson, a stubborn paleontologist, and his partner, paleobotanist Dr. Liam Payne, giving them the chance of a lifetime to work for the new theme park. Louis is apprehensive, but Liam has a "gut feeling" that it will change their lives. He isn't wrong.

Featuring Niall as the top engineer to get the park up and running, Zayn as the raptor expert, and Harry as the grandson of one of the most influential men in the world.

[the-tummy-closet]

“Is this really so necessary?”

His low growl was a bit more aggressive than he meant it to sound, his lips pressing together as he avoided their gazes to hide the regret flickering in his eyes.

N’s gaze narrowed sternly.

“You’ve eaten nothing all day. For two days, potentially, but no one was keeping a close enough eye on you to be certain. And it's been like this... for weeks. You can't possibly think that we haven't noticed.”

“I ate yesterday.” E protested, desperate to sound firm but hating the sullenness in his own tone. It wasn’t a lie, but he hadn’t eaten much.

“You have to stop this.” N’s voice was half-scolding, half-pleading, as he leaned close enough to force E to look him in the eyes as the other man swallowed hard. “We know this is difficult for you. But you can’t starve yourself like this no matter how bad you feel otherwise. Malnutrition is the last thing you need to deal with right now.”

E tore his gaze away as a bowl of something warm and savory-smelling was placed in front of him. He wanted to be grateful, to thank them, to show how much their love meant, but he could barely think past the unbearable wave of self-loathing that was washing over him. He hated to cause them concern for his well-being. He hated being the center of attention-

“E.” She spoke up next to him and he blinked, shook away the thoughts. He grasped the spoon in his mechanical hand - his organic one was shaking too much at the moment, and lifted a mouthful of food to his lips. It was thick, flavorful stew; rich with meat and vegetables and with a pleasant tang of chives in the broth.

“Thank you.” He finally choked out after he’d swallowed the first spoonful, and B placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

“You really musn’t be so forgetful, darling.” She teased gently, and regret squeezed his heart again.

They both knew better, even though he’d never been able to bring himself to explain it out loud. The sinister, cruel feeling of triumph, of control, in forcing his body to be hungry, when the rest of the world was crashing to the ground around him. If he could do nothing else, he could look back on his childhood days when he scraped by on barely three meals a week, and remind himself that he was powerful, so powerful, because who else could have done that and live to become the man that he had today?

Hunger had been such a constant in his early life that it was nearly a comfort. A once painful sensation that had morphed and twisted into old familiarity, that he returned to time and time again even now to assure himself that he was stronger than all the burdens he had to carry. When he was hungry, he was strong. When he was...

He stopped suddenly, gulping against a bubble of air that rose in his throat. He felt B’s hand press to his back; he’d distracted both her and N from their quiet conversation off to the side.

“E?” She prompted, and he forced back another hiccup.

“I think that is enough.” He mumbled with little hope, knowing that’d he’d barely dented the meal in front of him. Sure enough, B clucked disapprovingly.

“I don’t think so. You can’t be full already?”

The pressure in his insides forced up a faint burp that he quickly failed to stifle as he pressed the back of his organic hand to his lips. “Quite.”

“Half.” N’s voice floated over his shoulder. “Finish half and you can be done after that.”

“I am... not sure if I can.” E admitted miserably, and he heard a patient sigh.

“You can and you will. You’ve let yourself go too hungry for too long. You’ve got to get back to normal capacity somehow.”

Despite his growing discomfort, the stew never lost its flavor or pleasantness. Even as sharp pains began to twist in his stomach, the thick broth and tender meat and greens were luxuries that he never allowed himself privately. A multi-millionaire he’d built himself into, and yet, never once learned to eat as he should. No wonder his friends were worried about him. No wonder he caused them so much distress...

White-hot pain flashed in his belly without warning, and E let the spoon clatter back to the side of the bowl, a faint groan slipping out before he clenched his teeth, and pressed his hands to his middle before he realized he’d moved. He was almost halfway through... maybe it was enough.

“I-“ He started, then a strangled belch left his lips and he shut his eyes in mortification, the swell of his stomach pressing painfully against his fingertips.

The other two had come up beside him again, and this time it was N’s hand on his back, soft and comforting, massaging circles against his tense shoulders. “Im sorry. I know you’re hurting, but you’ve got to tough it out for now. It’ll get better once you get back on track. Just a little more, then you can be finished.”

“Surely this could be done in smaller increments?” He almost pleaded, lifting a hand to his mouth again - whether to prevent another burp or convince himself not to be outright sick, he wasn’t certain. “This is hardly conducive to-“

“No, because we can’t stay with you every minute of the day. Not until the commotion dies down. Maybe if you had let us help from the beginning instead of wresting control-”

“I was trying to- I was only-“ E tried to quash back the rising sense of panic and hurt, but then his painfully-full stomach clenched dangerously and his words cut off in a low moan as he hunched forward. N’s hand found his shoulders again and then his voice broke.

“No, I’m sorry. I- that's not- you were right to begin with and we couldn't see it. I'm sorry. It's just so hard to-”

“You’ve done more than anyone else.” B cut in quietly. “Singlehandedly. We’d probably not be here right now if you hadn't stepped in... But seeing you waste away under the stress is killing us, E. We can’t let you shield us from harm then stand back and do nothing while you starve to death. You’ve got to let yourself be taken care of when you can’t do it yourself. You’ve got to let us help.”

“I did not intend-“ His words were strained and thin-sounding, hands cradling his swollen belly, the muscles of his abdomen fighting against the sudden influx of heavy food. Then B’s hands pressed over his, one over his mechanical fingers and one over his real ones.

“Shh. You don’t have to do this alone, alright? We might not be able to do much out there, but let us do what we can right now.”

E opened his mouth to pointlessly, fruitlessly, protest, but he only hiccuped and shuddered just as N sat himself down across from him and picked up the spoon.

Chagrined, E looked into the other man’s eyes with faint horror to be treated with such indignity but N shook his head with a weary insistence.

“Eat. You have to.” And the way the spoon was pressed to his lips, E could not refuse despite the deep shame cutting through him. He knew, ultimately, that this was for his own good. Besides, he wasn’t certain he could pull his hands away from his stomach long enough to even hold the spoon.

He opened up and accepted the mouthful, chewing slowly and swallowing painfully before taking the next. He didn’t want to complain, to make things even worse than they already were, but his belly was so terribly sore from the long-denied meal that he could barely breathe. A faint whimper slipped past his teeth after a few more bites, despite his every attempt to contain it. It was followed by a dreadful-sounding gurgle that churned up from somewhere deep in his gut and N paused, exchanging a faintly alarmed look with B. Apparently they’d also heard it.

“Alright. Okay, that’s enough.” N finally relented, putting the spoon down and pushing the bowl away from both of them. He rose to his feet and came around the table, exhaustion lining his eyes at the agonized haze in E’s expression. “Let’s get you to bed.”

It was a struggle to his feet, but with help, he managed to not only get into the next room, but also to shed his business-formal wear and change into soft clothes to sleep in. He all but crawled between the covers, his composure slowly breaking, more soft whimpers bubbling up with every breath. His hands clutched at his swollen stomach and he burped more than once, unable to find relief.

Then he heard a soft voice and felt the covers rustle as N slipped into the bed behind him.

“What... what-“ He could only bewilderedly mumble his confusion, then realized B was folding herself into the other side of the bed, curling close to him as well. “I do not wish to-“

“You’re not causing us any trouble.” N insisted firmly before E could even hope to finish yet another sentence. “We just want to help you. We want you to feel better.”

Then warm, strong hands curled around his waist and pressed gently to the curve of his abdomen. The terrible ache in his belly receded just slightly at the warmth, then he groaned aloud before he could restrain himself as N’s fingers pressed down, rubbed soothing circles against the pain. He was cradled in caring arms back against the man’s chest, just as B’s hand patted gently just above the edge of his ribcage.

Another soft belch rumbled up and he stiffened, closing his eyes again and cursing his body. B chuckled and he peered at her blearily.

“You’ll only feel better if you let it out, darling.” She pointed out, patting against his chest again with a soft thump while N’s hands continued to press out every aching, twisting cramp in his overfull stomach. E writhed once before forcing himself to be still, groaning again as he breathed out, both the other two carefully feeling over his stuffed belly to try to comfort him in any way that they could.

“Maybe I did push him too far.” E could hear the regretful whisper behind him, but then B shook her head.

“Look at him! He wouldn’t have lasted much longer if we’d let this go on.” Her voice turned teasing again and he squinted at her in exhaustion. “No more getting away with skipping meals, E.”

“I’m sorry...” He moaned faintly, belly rumbling painfully under N’s palms, struggling with the meager meal that felt so unbearably excessive. “I never intended to cause you concern... or allow the problem to go on for this long. I realize I have been foolish, but it is just...” A low gurgle interrupted him just before he burped again, grunting with, finally, a hint of relief.

“It’s what you’re used to.” N finished gravely, pausing for the briefest of moments as E sank back again heavily. He hadn’t even finished the bowl, and he was this miserable... “But of all the ways you could cope, I hope you realize this is one of the worst possible choices. Eventually you have to have food, E. You can’t run off empty forever.”

N waited until he’d gotten a soft moan of agreement before he resumed the massage, somewhat relieved that it seemed to be helping whatever atrocious bellyache his friend was currently suffering.

“Get him on his back so I can get his arm off.” B spoke up suddenly, smirking cheerfully at E’s muffled protest. He didn’t struggle though as he was coaxed into a different position, freeing his left shoulder where B pressed the switch beneath the mechanical fibers. The limb detached with a clicking sound, and B pulled the contraption away and set it on the nightstand nearby. E breathed a pained sigh and N made a wider circle over his distended middle with his fingertips in an attempt to soothe.

“Didn’t M tell us it’s bad for your shoulder to sleep with that?” B chided, combing her fingers through the strands of E's long hair to push it back from his face. He was sweating slightly but thankfully didn't look too green.

“Such an assertion is conditional.” He argued, but barely, voice thick with sleepiness and lingering discomfort. “It is only detrimental when repeated several nights in succession.”

“And how many nights has it been?”

“Four.” He mumbled uncertainly, wincing at a cramp that gurgled audibly in his belly even as N did his best to rub it away. “Maybe five.” A kneading motion forced up another quiet belch of strained digestion and he flushed with shame.

“If you get worked up you’ll only feel worse.” B warned as she pressed close again, and he nodded once, trying to submit to the gentle care.

His breathing was slowing, his eyes closed and his limbs and head laid more heavily against the mattress. The restless writhing in his muscles had calmed and B rubbed a hand up and down his side, loosening the tension there, while N continued massaging his overfull stomach with a firm but gentle pressure.

“Thank you...” E murmured dazedly past the fog shrouding his thoughts, and if he’d been more awake, he would have seen the relieved flicker of a smile on N’s face that brightened instead of fell when he hiccuped faintly again.

“Of course, darling.” B’s voice was a bit softer than she usually let show. A kiss was pressed to his temple, and he felt it, but was too far gone to respond.

Consciousness was slipping from him, and only the faintest hint of a sigh signaled when he dropped off completely.

[princegabriel]

@lilyistryingherbest requested Chained to a Bed with someone on the Carte Blanche or Damien. Of course, I picked Juno “Listen, when you get tied up as often as I do” Steel. Thank you for the prompt! @badthingshappenbingo 

Snare

by princegabriel/ FaintlyMacabre

Rated: M

Characters: Juno Steel, Peter Nureyev, Jet Sikuliaq, Vespa Ilkay, Rita, Original character

Summary: If, for whatever reason, you were to ask Juno Steel, he would tell you that no, seduction was not his wheelhouse. If he were feeling chatty, he'd probably tell you, without much exaggeration, that back on Mars, a night out had an even chance of ending in a bar fight as in a hookup. He was abrasive, and brash, and naturally unpleasant. 

But under certain circumstances, he can give it a shot. It just may not go as planned.

CW: This one’s kind of a doozy. (Under the cut)

Dubious consent—I'd describe it as uninformed consent on the part of one character, and unenthusiastic consent on the part of the other. Both are deciding to do what they're doing under their own steam, but for sketchy reasons. Also, as part of the plan, Juno drugs the antagonist to knock him out so he'll be out of the way for their heist. I didn't write sexual assault, but Juno experiences a loss of control that he definitely does not want to be experiencing, and panics as a result. The feeling/themes are similar, so if that's a no-go, totally get it, turn back now, take care of yourself! Also, alcohol, references to murder, and canon-typical quippy tone (may be jarring to some readers, given the subject matter).

---

If, for whatever reason, you were to ask me, I’d tell you that no, I’m not exactly a natural seductress. (Also, never ask me that. It’d be weird.) I’m not the type of lady who can charm my way into someone’s bed or even their good graces. I’ve got just enough charisma to be annoying.

Again, don’t ask me. But you know who maybe should have?

Buddy Aurinko.

Maybe if she had, I wouldn’t be lying here, chained to a bed in an unexpectedly swanky hotel room, but really, it wouldn't be fair to put all the blame on Buddy. Let me start at the beginning. My name’s Juno Steel. I was a private eye, who was a cop, who became a thief, and if most of the people I left behind in Hyperion City could see where my life has taken me, they wouldn’t bat an eye. Or if they did, the eye they batted would be mine.

Our crew's on a "relocation" mission to a little satellite hotel orbiting Pluto. The creep who runs this place is kind of a hoarder, and his is the kind of hotel where dreams (and, according to rumor, the occasional interspace traveler) go to die. The job was basically show up, rob a terrible person, get out of dodge. There was just one thing I didn’t like about this plan.

“Remind me why I’m doing this again?” I leaned back against the high top table, holding a drink like a lifeline in one hand and fighting the urge to push away the hair covering my eyepatch with the other.

“It’s because you’re so incredibly charming, love.” I jumped a little. That wasn’t the voice I’d expected to hear.

“Ransom?” I hissed. “Where’s Buddy?”

“Not happy to hear my voice, Juno?” The question was all tease and no hurt. “The captain thought I could use some practice working behind the scenes.”

Well, I knew what that meant. “So, you got bored?”

“When I have you to worry about?” Nureyev quipped. “You’ll forgive me my caution; you do have such a talent for getting into trouble.”

“Which brings me back around to my question.”

“You are playing this role because both Buddy and Ransom are wanted by the Plutonian government, and because the rest of us are unsuited to this kind of undercover work.”

“Big Guy! When did you connect to this line?” I'd nearly choked on my drink when Jet’s voice had rumbled into my head.

“I have been connected this whole time, since I dropped you off.”

“And you didn’t think to say anything?”

“There was nothing to say,” Jet said. “Talking would only have been a distraction.”

“You must admit, you do fit the profile of our mark’s usual type,” Nureyev said. I didn’t have to admit any such thing, but I knew. Osric Salazar, multi-millionaire, hotelier and general misanthropist, liked his partners more rough than refined, more sour than sweet; in the slinky dress that showed off a fair number of my scars and holding a double shot of whiskey that was threatening to vanish into thin air, I fit the type pretty neatly. It was maybe the only thing I’d ever fit into neatly in my life.

“Yeah, yeah, the role was made for me,” I said over the glass. “The part I’m not thrilled about is where I’m the bait.”

“'Bait' is such a strong word, dear,” Nureyev said. “This is really more of a honeypot job.” His voice sounded neutral, but carefully so. To anyone else, I'm sure he would have sounded genuinely calm, but there was something in his diction that made me think he was less assured than he let on.

“Well, either way, I’m pretty much just a piece of meat on a string—”

“The target is approaching on your three o’clock,” Jet cut in. “Do not turn quickly; it appears he is trying to stay in your blind spot.”

I made myself sip at the drink and lean on the table as though I wasn’t about to be ambushed.

“Don’t believe I’ve seen you around here before.” The voice was like honey over coffee grounds, and I probably would have liked it if it hadn’t belonged to the owner of this... fine establishment. The Renegade’s Arms was just far enough from everywhere that people only went there when they had nowhere else to be and just enough of a dive that it wasn’t frequented by anyone rich or flashy enough for people to make a fuss if they vanished.

“There’s a first time for everything,” I said, refusing to turn and look.

“Let’s hope there’s a second one, too.” Salazar walked around the table and into my field of vision, but… a little higher. He was a wall of a person, reminding me of Pilot Pereyra, who’d used their intimidating size and demeanor to cow every would-be opponent into submission for years as mayor. I hoped it would be easier to exploit Salazar’s weakness than it had Pereyra’s; that walk in the desert had been no walk in the park.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said, and ignored the rise of Salazar’s eyebrows as I knocked the rest of my drink back. “You gonna buy a lady a drink?”

“Oh, sugar, it’s on the house.” I tried not to flinch at the hand that Salazar planted on my back, which steered me the short distance to the bar. “Another?”

“Whiskey, neat,” I said, setting the empty glass down on the bar.

“Make it a double,” Salazar told the bartender. “Top shelf.” The bartender nodded and once again, all the bastard’s attention was on me. Great.

“So, what’s a pretty lady like you doing in a place like mine?” Salazar purred. The sound sent chills down my spine, but definitely not in the way Salazar intended. Well, probably.

“Currently, getting drunk for free,” I said. “So, thanks for that.”

“I’d take it as a personal offense to find out that a gorgeous creature like you would ever have to buy his own drinks.”

“If you wait there, I can give you a whole list of people I know who’ve personally offended you,” I said.

“Gorgeous and funny,” Salazar said, looking me up and down in a way that made me want to wash with sandpaper.

I did the next best thing and downed my drink. “Thirsty, too.” Salazar raised a hand and gestured to the bartender, who got me another. “So this is your place?”

“I haven’t exactly made it a secret,” he said, looming closer.

“I hear people do small talk,” I said, “you know, early in their acquaintance.”

“So you’re sticking around?” Salazar said. He was even closer now, and he smelled aggressively like mint and aftershave. It wasn’t terrible, and everything was going according to plan, but knowing who this person was, I felt kind of queasy about it. In my earpiece, barely audible, Nureyev huffed out a short, sharp breath.

“Not like I got anywhere else to go.” I looked down into my drink while I said it, trying to look like like I wasn't angling for anything more than a bed for the night and someone to help me keep it warm.

“I wish I were sorry to hear that,” he said, practically in my ear. “But really, the way I see it? Whoever you’re running from, their loss is my gain.”

I turned to look at him again and all I saw was teeth. I couldn’t help but recall the first time I’d seen Nureyev, when he was just Rex Glass to me, and the smile that looked like he could rip me apart, easy and natural as breathing. This was different. Salazar’s teeth were big and blunt, like tombstones; it would take him some work to tear into you and he’d enjoy it.

Hopefully he’d take my focus on his mouth as interest rather than self-preservation.

I’d told Buddy I was all right to kiss a mark if the job demanded it, and I was. I’d told her I was all right to do more than that if I knew about the possibility beforehand, though hopefully in this case the neurotoxin-laden lipstick I was wearing would do its job before that became an option. Nureyev and I had talked about it—we were both coming at this with our separate and collective baggage, but honestly, I’d thought it would be a harder conversation to have. We decided that if it was the best plan we had and if whoever was on the job was comfortable, it was all aboveboard.

When Salazar pushed the door to his apartment closed and then pushed me up against it to kiss me, though, I couldn’t think of anything but Nureyev on the other side of my earpiece. If he was still there. I definitely wouldn’t blame him if he’d decided to hand it off to someone else.

Salazar kissed like he was fighting, and I grabbed the collar of his shirt so I’d be ready if it swung in that direction. One of his hands slid up my thigh, taking the hem of the dress with it. I stopped him when he got to my hip.

“Not,” I said against his mouth, “doing this against the door.” At the very least, the farther into his apartment we went, the longer he’d be distracted. And it gave the lipstick a few extra seconds to work. Salazar was a big guy, it might take a bit.

The bed was in the next room. It was big, covered in a rich-looking comforter and sheets that probably had some kind of thread count, with a huge ornate headboard, from which hung a—Jesus Christ. He had a pair of cuffs threaded through it. I was starting to rethink the door.

I didn’t get a real good look at it after that because Salazar spun me around and walked me back until my knees hit the edge of the bed. He climbed over me, biting and sucking at my neck, and I had a moment to just hope this lipstick was as unlikely to re-transfer as Buddy said it was, before I felt his teeth moving up to my ear. The ear with the earpiece. The earpiece I was using to stay in contact with my fellow crewmembers for the purpose of robbing the person who was currently getting real familiar with my earlobe.

“Hey, uh, no,” I said, like a professional, “my earring—”

“Oh,” he said, pulling back, and I tried not to sigh with relief. “Let me get that for you.” And he fucking took it off. The only positive side to the situation was that it really was a gorgeous ear cuff with a hidden wireless transmitter and he didn’t seem to suspect. He put it on the bedside table and picked up where he left off. And I thought, “Maybe it’ll be fine, maybe they won’t need to contact me for a while, maybe they get what they need and I sneak out while he’s unconscious and that’s that, job well—” A siren cut off the “done.”

Salazar sighed, hot on my neck. “I hate to leave you here, gorgeous—”

“Then don’t,” I said.

He shook his head. “Nothing else for it.”

“Uh, hey, but wait,” I said. “If the fire alarm’s going off, shouldn’t I be getting out of here too?”

“It’s not the fire alarm,” he said, getting up and smoothing out his clothes. “It’s the burglar alarm.”

Yeah, I’d been afraid of that. “Okay, well, if there are dangerous burglars around, maybe I don’t want to be a sitting duck.”

“Oh, if that’s what you’re worried about, darlin’, don’t be.” He came back and I thought for a second that it had worked, turned out I was pretty good at distractions after all. He took my hands and kissed me, and yeah, I actually felt kind of smug about my performance right up until the cuffs closed around my wrists.

“What,” I said.

“Didn’t want to bring these into play so soon, but we adapt, don’t we, sugar?” he said, with a fucking wink. “I can’t have you running off before I get back. Don’t worry, I’ll lock you up safe as houses.” I wished a house would fall on him.

He took a handgun out of a drawer, waved at me without looking back, and then he was gone. I heard the click of two locks, and that was the last I saw of Salazar.

So now you’re all caught up.

I wait a few seconds before turning my head in the direction of my removed earpiece and saying, “Hey, he cuffed me to the bed, get me out of here.” I have no way of knowing if anyone is responding, or even if they can hear me at all. All I have is this dress, a pair of stupid strappy heels (what is it with Buddy and putting me in six-inch heels?), and zero arm mobility. Well, not quite zero. I look up at the headboard. It isn’t metal, at least, but it doesn’t look cheap either. It’s either wood or painted to look like it, and if it is paint, it's been expertly applied, which points to good quality. If Nureyev were here, he’d have a lockpick in his sleeve or metal-tipped nails or something useful, but he’s not, so I pull myself up to sit against the headboard and start scraping the chain against the back of it to try to wear through.

“That alarm’s still going,” I say through gritted teeth as I try to saw through the headboard. I hope they can hear me, but even if they can’t, it helps to think they might. “Means Salazar's probably knocked out, definitely hasn’t resolved the situation, so I guess you’re still holding your own. In case you’re done before I get out of these, I’m in Salazar’s quarters, the door past the stairs, in the second room. Two locks on the door.” The cuffs are chafing my wrists, but I just clench my fists and try to go faster. “God I hope you get here soon, this is the least efficient way to get out of this but it’s all I’ve got.” The alarm shuts off and instinctively, I stop moving. It’s too quiet to move.

“Damn it, whoever’s listening, say something!” I hiss. I’m getting uncomfortably close to panic. “Yell, come on, just say something!” I feel trapped in these shoes and this dress and these fucking handcuffs and so I start moving again, pulling the chain forward like I could break clean through the damn headboard. It doesn’t work, just like I know it won’t, but I can’t do anything else. I can’t do anything. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

In the quiet, I hear the locks click and I freeze again. If it’s Salazar… he might suspect I’m part of this. Is he coming back to kill me? I get my legs over the side of the bed just for solid ground underneath me, the smallest illusion of control. It puts my arms at an even more uncomfortable angle, but they were never going to do me any good here anyway.

I can’t hear footsteps, and I don't know what the hell that means. I feel myself start to spiral again until I see Vespa in the doorway with a duffel bag.

“Oh, thank god.” Should have known—of course the assassin’s not going to make a sound. I’m sure I’d feel weirder about her seeing me like this if I weren’t so relieved.

“Where’s the key?” she says, looking right, left, up, right again, checking for… security cameras, maybe?

“I don’t know!” I say. I feel like my body hasn’t caught up to my brain, which hasn’t caught up to my mouth. Adrenaline is still rushing through me—it couldn’t shut itself off the instant I knew I was saved, but I’ve apparently started to autopilot into our usual dynamic. “He didn’t exactly give me a tour. ‘Hey, just to be on the safe side, here’s the key to the cuffs I just surprised you with, also I’m definitely not going to murder you—’”

“Shut up, Steel,” she mutters. She’s already got the drawer of the little side table open and there’s the key. I guess it’s not something he really has to hide. In a second, my wrists are free. “Come on, Sikuliaq’s got the car running.”

I grab the ear cuff and slide it back into place while we get out of there.

“Mistah Steel oh my god please don’t be dead or hurt, say something please,” Rita’s sobbing into my ear.

“Let's go, Steel," Vespa whispers over her shoulder. I nod and let my eye focus on the green shock of her hair to follow her out as I turn my attention back to Rita before I worry her into an early grave.

“Rita,” I say, “Rita, I’m okay. I’m out. Vespa got me.”

“Boss?” she says, sniffling. “That you?”

“It’s me,” I say. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“Only I could hear you and I was trying to tell you Mistah Jet and Miss Vespa were on their way and you didn’t answer and you sounded so scared—”

Yeah, I don’t want to think about that right now. “I’m okay. We’re headed back to you.” Vespa's taking us out the fire exit, in the opposite direction of the guest area, and there's Jet, just like she said. We get in the backseat and drive away into the night as the last of my adrenaline gives up the ghost and I let the now-familiar smell of the car ground me.

I'm okay. I'm going home.

[everydayanth]

Having followed the science side of cannabis over the past few years with J working on research teams around the US, this is all shit that NEEDS to be talked about. 

The cannabis industry is full of rich ass bros and I have so many stories I don’t even know where to start. As a complete outsider moving with J, I had a front-row seat to confusion and chaos, and as someone who grew up poor in a diverse neighborhood and schools (which I am incredibly thankful for), then studying social science, the sudden immersion into the world of Cannabis was a wakeup call for me. I understood the theory of white privilege, I understood the application of it and how it worked, but there’s an economic component I never had access to. I was on the same free lunch programs and going through the same foreclosure threats as my neighbors, and I didn’t fully understand the racial component of that until I saw it in Cannabis. 

When J got dropped into Cannabis research because of a sudden start-up failing to follow its investor requirements working in biotech (it was a big deal, so I’m not going to mention specifics, since we’re still in an odd place with all this), we had moved to the west coast from the midwest where Cannabis was still 100% illegal and problematic. I grew up in the midst of gang wars over drugs, calling it Marijuana (can you hear the white accent?) and being warned about the devil. I’d witnessed several people murdered over Cannabis in my neighborhood through gang violence, or else locked up by police for seemingly no reason. 

Cannabis and minority culture were very much intertwined in my mind, and I understood it as a cultural difference from my white religious family, who fought among themselves about alcohol allowance according to God, and respected the law selectively (so the whole “bUt It’S iLlEgAl” argument was a joke).

Cannabis was in the same debate as beers, wines, and liquors, but it still held memories of violence for me. Though I know those incidents were more about power, control, survival, and a means around a racist system now, at the time of moving to the west coast, Cannabis was a duality to me: a misunderstood cultural component, a criminalized tool for a racist agenda, and a thing I saw so many depend on when life got too hard in the way of alcoholics – a thing that would stop me from leaving if I let it too close. 

J came into biotech from a pre-med/criminal justice education. He is very well versed in the War on Drugs and the legal history of the US being a racist, white supremacist agenda for cultural, legal, and economic authority through institutions like religion, education, and law. For him, Cannabis and minority cultures, both Mexican and Black American (and, as we learned from friends in southern California, also in many ways Native American) were intertwined as well.

So when his company dropped him into Cannabis, then moved us around several times with unfulfilled promises and broken contracts, both of us were new to Cannabis and astounded at the whiteness of the industry. Of course the white stoners of the 60s and 70s were spearheading it though, they had the money and their minority counterparts were in prison. It’s wrong, it needs to change. But I was naive to be surprised by it. 

What really affected me though, was the people with money. They were everywhere in the industry and they were old-money white or upper-middle class converted drug-dealer white. But by all accounts of my and J’s education and experience, it should be a minority-lead industry, right? People whose cultures value the cultivation of the plant should have far more interest, ability, and practical/research knowledge. But they were cut out by the nepotism, money, and white privilege (i.e. criminal justice system). 

The science initiative was: analyzing this plant will help us understand the pieces of it and what can be used medicinally or how it is currently helping so many conditions. A great intent, J even got to work with some amazing researchers, but science needs money. So the focus quickly shifted again and again to investors. 

And the investors were always white. They were always men. And in my experience, they were genuinely horrible people. 

We felt so stuck. Exhausted, our stuff had been in storage for years, contracts were falling through, we never knew where we were going or when. This wasn’t cushy science or higher academia, because universities get federal funding, so they can’t invest in something that’s federally illegal without jumping a lot of hurdles. Additionally, many minorities can’t afford to invest in something that is federally illegal. It’s a bigger risk, a vulnerable position to make your interest known as a minority in the industry – not with the prison and arrest ratio numbers the way they are. 

The investors and businessmen were playboys. They talked about bitcoin and big money, went to clubs and cheated on their wives and girlfriends, and tokenized, exoticized, and appropriated minority culture. They invested in research until they made the start-ups worth something with the promise of science, then withdrew their investments and stocks, doubling their fortunes and dissolving the company. Or, as was most often the case, just cutting the research budget after using the science research as an attraction for other investors, and hoping the science guys would quit before they got fired. If they quit, they’d be bound by the do not compete clause and couldn’t use the research with a competing company, which means the current start-up could retain the IP. But they would hang on for long enough to have to be let go, taking their IP and starting again.

They should have started their own lab instead of relying on a company to fund them. But to get a license to work with Cannabis as a plant, as a thing that can’t even cross state lines or be in a lab with out a license/card, you need to qualify by state standards, and generally only the big companies do. So even if they started their own place, they’d have to leave Cannabis, and at that point, they had some incredible research halfway done that could be really meaningful and helpful to a lot of people. Working in several states, the message became clear: this industry is a playground for people with money to make more money and everyone in charge wants to keep it that way.

I’m not in a place yet where I can consolidate my experience as an outsider with an ethnographic distance. I get a pit in my stomach when I think of an investor who took us out to dinner in Seattle. J was working tirelessly, doing 3 people’s jobs because they refused to hire more people despite having the money, he filled in basic hourly positions to compliance and legal staff. They were a small company and continued to make huge mistakes. Going out with investors, we were told, was part of the game, part of the obligation to getting the funds to do the real science. 

Working from 6am-10pm and coming in 7-days a week was part of getting a salary at $40k, part of being a scientist and checking experiments and building data and value. Being versatile and filling other roles like marketing and compliance, that you could be held legally accountable for as an individual in some states (J did great though, he was fine), is part of working for a start-up, is part of a new industry, is part of new science! They did everything they could to normalize practices that we didn’t have enough professional experience to identify as wrong, inefficient, or red-flag warnings. 

But we learned. And we did make a difference sometimes, changing important minds about the value of Cannabis, the need for federal legalization, decriminalization, and the importance of accountability regarding pharmaceutical corruption. But the investors, oh how I dreaded the word investor. 

And this was a big one. 

He took us to a restaurant so dark I couldn’t see my food and pushed together fancy dinner-date-for-two tables in a long line to accommodate everyone with the air of someone who was accustomed to fixing everything with money. His son worked in the company and was the reason the guy was investing. My end was the tag-along-SO end, and our discomfort was palpable. 

Usually at investor dinners, we ended up paying our own bills because important people would leave sporadically or, I dunno, they were cheap? They’d cover the C-Suite and we’d be left on our own, or, and I really hated this, they’d each order 5 drinks and the most expensive entree and then split the bill evenly, so the poor people like me, who budget their spending, ate an $11 meal with a $6 beer but paid a $60 cut of the whole bill (buy more drinks then, take your share, wealthy peers have yelled before – but then the overall bill is still bigger, so that literally doesn’t help me at all; don’t eat anything then – well, that doesn’t really feel like an option at a big business dinner). 

Or, the really shitty one, someone would order a round of drinks, then expect you to get the next round. If this is standard cultural practice where you are, awesome, you have a social agreement, this is not standard here though, and meant actual multi-millionaire investors expected their own hourly employees or $40k salary workers to buy a round of drinks for 5+ people on a regular basis. Do you know how fast that adds up? And, here’s the shitty part, they would start with “you wanna get this round and I’ll get the next?” and then never get the next. EVER! They’d be fall-down drunk or disappear. This happened weekly.

Over and over it happened in a world of overconsumption, privilege, wealth, and the desire to have no worries, party hard, do drugs, yeah! Which, fine, but not when there’s such a power dichotomy and economic disparity. I started to see the tricks, the cons, the advantages, the selfish narcissism, the cheating and taking from others without sharing, giving, or participating in the group. The investors were not part of the group. They didn’t care about the science, they cared about profit margins and knowing when to jump ship with the largest pay off. It got to the point where I (arrogantly, probably) felt like I could screen investors and tell after a single dinner if they were going to scam the program or use the science to get licenses then dump them, or never actually give them the equipment to do their work. There were a few who genuinely cared.

Anyway, this fancy restaurant: we didn’t know who was paying, but I opened the menu and the absolute cheapest thing was a caesar salad for FOURTY-NINE DOLLARS! 

But no, we don’t get to order our own food. Fancy investor says we all must try this specific steak because it’s his favorite, one for everyone! Which makes it sound like they’re paying, but I’ve learned you never know. One girl was vegan and I tried to jump on that train to go for the comparatively reasonably priced salad, but alas, decisions had already been made, wine was being poured without question, steaks were being served, and at the end, checks were served down the table in a neat line of leather books, a bill was put in front of the two of us for $250 and my jaw dropped. The server goes “Mr. [Name] has kindly taken care of the wines for the table.” WINES HE ORDERED AND STEAKS HE INSISTED WE EAT! Ugh, I was so confused and angry and sick of the talk and playing nice and making friends. I went to the bathroom and hyperventilated with J texting me that he’s done and we need to find a way out (but remember the IP and non-compete clauses, getting out is hard). 

The guy ended up paying for everyone. It was $7,000. I can only assume he wanted us to see the bill and his generosity, or that the CSO said something about people not being able to afford it. Either way, that same story repeats itself over and over: white millionaire man invests in cannabis as quick buck, no interest in science, makes fortune and leaves with no legal retribution. 

When J worked with UCI, they tried to press for legal retribution for fraud against a company that had partnered with them, but it didn’t stick because the independent companies have the money, the power, and the law. 

It was like living in a reality tv show, in a bubble where the real world happened outside. If you move between places often enough, you don’t fit in either. I tried to stay on the outside, but most of those guys tried to stay on the inside. And on one hand, I get it. They see fast cars, easy money, models and big parties, they grew up white and wealthy without realizing it because they have no context of diversity or poverty, they don’t actually see the harm they cause, they don’t actually care, because all they want is to fit in the bubble. It’s infectious, addictive for them.

And I despised it because being inside the bubble made me physically ill. It wasn’t anthropological fieldwork, it wasn’t removed from my life, I had no safe home base to return to, to think and consider and code notes, this was my life. 

Now, we are just about to pass the two-year mark living in RI. It will be the first time we’ve lived anywhere for more than a year since we moved from the midwest almost seven years ago. We’re recovering as a team, as a couple. I’ve gotten more done in the last two years than the 6 before that combined. We got to travel to so many places, and actually meet some amazing people. The companies moved us and paid for housing. There were benefits is what I’m saying, I don’t regret our choices, because I didn’t know what the consequences would be and we made each choice together. We’ve learned so much about each other from the experience. And we survived it together, and I’m proud of us for that.

J ’s all but given up on science now, we left the millionaires to their parties and drugs and alcohol and broken relationships, and I should mention, because I know my tone here may seem dismissive in its generalization, that I learned a lot about stoner cultures and rave cultures and drugs and more about history and criminal justice, and I think there can be a time and place for drugs and alcohol, and that Cannabis should be legalized and fully decriminalized. 

What I am fed up with is the wealthy and their context bubble, the investment in their friends, the quick scams that are perfectly legal and make them richer for doing nothing, and the irresponsibility; the avoidance of confrontation, integrity, and honesty, disregarded for a quick buck. Lives left a mess in their wake with no jobs as the company falls apart. For me right now, the Cannabis industry is being lead by people soaked in the slime of deception hoping to make money with the same corporate structures of taking advantage of their workers that their fathers used before them. It is currently a racist, classist industry, sure there are some amazing exceptions, but as a whole, there is a problem with where the money is coming from and going to. 

 Most of the investors I’ve seen support Trump’s policies (passionately and often because they personally benefit), while the workers adamantly oppose or avoid caring about politics at all. Just because you’re a fanatic about something doesn’t mean you get to stop caring about or considering the impact of what you do or the world outside of it. If you work in Cannabis, know who you are working for and what the impacts of your work are. I have found that, more than any other industry, Cannabis seeks to maintain a status quo in white power, authority, and culture (re: religion, morality, ownership, wealth, cultural institutions, legality, etc.), while retaining the image of being individually diverse, subversive, and rebellious, leading to intense appropriation, exoticization, tokenism, and continual reinforcement of white privilege and classist power.

That’s it. That’s all I’ve got to say on it right now. I’m exhausted. I need to go recharge and find some hope. But I think making people aware of these areas that don’t get seen, because they don’t want to be seen, is part of building hope. People starting to look around and realizing how many millionaires there are, and how easily they make more money this way without social contribution, is part of identifying the problem, and I am eternally grateful to comedians like Hasan Minhaj and Trevor Noah, who look in these dark corners and find a way to make us all look with them, stirring up conversation as we decide what to do about the mess. 

[venactricisfics]

Malibu Desert

Battered and bruised

Mayans Based Story

Adult Content

Master List 

Chapter Twelve

"Does it still hurt?" Bishop asks as his fingers move gently over my cheek. I wasn't sure if he was trying to seduce me or if he were just concerned. The swelling had gone down.

"Not as much, " I barely winced.  

His voice had echoed concern since we left the dress warehouse a week ago. And it had been just as long since he'd really touched me. I didn't doubt Bishop cared about me, but he kept his distance. More of my body was covered by cuts and bruises than skin at the time but I grew tired of being treated with kid gloves. 

"I'll be ok, " my hand rests over his aching for the connection.  "I promise." 

"I know, querida, " he locks his gaze with mine. "I hate seeing you in pain."

"I hate being in pain, " I step closer to him, "not as fun as it looks."

"You hungry?" his hand moves lightly down my arm. 

I manage a subtle smirk, "Not for food." His lips brush my forehead, "Me too. But I can't, not until you're better." 

"It's taking too fucking long, " I pout, "I miss you." My hand moves inside his kutte and rests on his side, "A lot." My touch glides further down, fingers toying with his belt. 

He takes my hand in his and laced his fingers through mine, "You have no idea how much I want you." 

"Then take me, Bishop, " I plead as I straddle his lap, "I know you won't hurt me. I trust you." 

He gives my hips a light squeeze as he grinds up into me. I breathe through the pain but I let out a pained groan. I was defeated. No matter how much I wanted him, my battered body betrayed me.  "Soon enough, mi amor," his lips graze the corner of mine. I nod feeling the tears pooling in my eyes. His thumbs brush them away. "You are worth waiting for."

"Can we leave the house? I'm feeling cooped up, " I settle down next to him on the couch. 

"If you're ready, of course. You want to come to the clubhouse with me tonight?" He drapes his arms lightly around my shoulders as I rest against him.

"Templo?" I snuggle into him. He nods. 

"Ok. Can I borrow EZ for a bit? I need his brain to help me run some numbers."  My inheritance came with so many complications. More than even I realized. 

"The prospect is all yours, " he responds. "When you're ready we can head over." I stand up knowing it would take me longer than normal to get ready. I had to cover as many of the bruises as I can. The guys knew what happened but I couldn't take anyone else looking at me like I was helpless. 

I step out clad in jeans and a long-sleeve blue blouse. It was too hot for long sleeves but it covered most of the bruises. My make up was a little thicker than I normally wore it. 

"How do I look?" I ask. 

"Gorgeous as always, hermosa, " he starts to scoop up the keys to my SUV. 

"Your bike, please?" I wanted normal. Or as normal as possible. 

"Ok, " he grabs his Harley keys from the bowl and takes my hand and leads me out. Everything fades away when I wrap my arms around him and we head down the road. I let my hands move lower as we ride. Resting them on his thighs instead of his waist. He let me play a little. My fingers trace the length of him through his jeans. He stopped me when I moved my hand under his shirt to dip in the top of his jeans. "Dangerous territory, querida." I hear the grin in his voice. 

The gates of scrap yard rattle open and we pull through. "If I can't fuck you, " I whisper so that only he can hear, "I want to get you off." His hand extends to help me off his bike, "Alright, we can certainly talk about that later." 

"Good, " I give him a soft kiss at the sound. of approaching motorcycles. We walk together up the steps and into the clubhouse. 

"Prospect!" Bishop shouts when he opens the door, "help Nova out with whatever paperwork she's needing." He gives my hand a squeeze before moving into the room behind the stained glass door. I can't help but watch him as he walks. Of course, I thought Bishop was hot. But there was so much more to the man than that. My life was so much more now that he existed in it.  

"What did you need help with?" EZ's words interrupted my thoughts. 

"Oh yes, " I take a seat at a table, "my father's businesses. I need help looking over everything. It's a lot. And I heard you're a genius." 

"I wouldn't say genius but I am good at things, " he replied. 

"You got your laptop? I forgot mine."

"Get distracted ogling Bish?" He grins as he pulls his laptop from its bag. 

"I'm surprised any of you get any work done when he's here, " I give him a smile in return while we wait for his computer to boot up. "My father's lawyer sent me this stuff. He's coming next week to discuss everything. But I want to be ahead of the game. Also want to figure out what any of this has to do with Galindo." 

EZ gives me a look when I mention Galindo’s name.  He didn’t seem to know how much if anything Bishop had shared about their dealings with Galindo. The truth was I didn’t know much. Other than the dress warehouse, I knew nothing. I had a hunch it was more than a place that manufactures Quinceañera dresses. Maybe if I’d asked Bishop would have told me. Maybe. I didn’t want to cross that boundary.  But from the look on EZ’s face, I was toeing a very close line. 

“What is it?” I asked. 

“Seems you are in fact extremely rich,” he scrolled the page down, pointing at the numbers. My eyes widen. I had no idea how much my father had. Or that Warren had control over all of that.  

“I didn’t know his legit stuff added up in the multi-millions. He inherited my uncle’s more unsavory business after he died. And my father insisted I marry Warren so that he could handle everything when his time came,” I respond. 

“How could your pop let you hook up with a guy that would hurt you like that?” EZ asked genuinely.  

“He didn’t know,” I draw in a breath as all the memories flood, “Warren didn’t really hurt me until after my father died. And he was very Catholic. My father didn’t believe in divorce. He would have killed him.” I chuckled, “I guess that would have saved so much time and trouble.” 

“True, then you wouldn’t be here,” EZ said. “Things happen the way they’re supposed to. I should’ve gone to Stanford, married Em. But things happened that changed that.  So here we are.  An ex-con and a millionaire.” 

I glance over at the stained glass door, “Do you think it’ll change things?”

“The money?” EZ responds.  I nod. “I don’t think so,” he continues, “he loves you. Hell, you’re family to the rest of us. The money is just a bonus.” 

“You’re right,” I cut my eyes back to him, “I was an only child growing up. You guys more than makeup for that.” 

“Make up for what?” I smile hearing Bishop’s voice behind me.  

“Oh just making up for things I didn’t know I wanted,” I raised my eyes to meet his, “things I didn’t know I couldn’t live without until now.” I stand up, slide my arms around his neck and press my lips fully against his. He rests his hands lightly on my waist, swaying me to the music that began playing on the jukebox. 

“Come outside,” we walk together down the steps and take a seat on a bench beside a roaring fire. The other guys followed behind shooting the shit. 

The sun had set in Santo Padre and cool night air clung to us.  A warmth spread over me both from the flames and from the man sitting beside me.  My fingers trace soft circles on his thigh, inching higher and higher up. I trace the outline of his cock through his pants. Slowly and gently teasing him. Discreet enough that no one knew exactly what I was doing, but he did.  He takes a draw of his cigarette looking from my hand to me and then the others. 

“Leave us,” Bishop commanded. And the Mayans obeyed, taking their part of the party back inside. Once the last man was back inside he cast his eyes back at me, “Continue what you were doing there.” I move my hands over his lap, massaging his thighs and his member over the denim. He stiffened as I tickle his balls.  I keep this up for several minutes before I tug his belt open and push down his zipper.  He lets out a groan when he’s finally free of the confines of his pants. My eyes lock on his as I continue to massage him. Long slow movements.  My fingertip traces around the head of his rock hard cock, leaking with precum. I move my fingers lightly from base to tip, holding my hand like a claw.  One that you’d see in an arcade.  

“Fuck,” he groaned as my fingers curl around his length and start stroking.  My free hand focusing solely on the head, intensifying the sensation for him.  He let me take charge control his pleasure. He brushed my hair from my face as I lower down to his lap, my tongue moving slowly over the head of his cock, swirling in circles. My lips wrap around him as my hand continues to stroke. I change from fast to slow and back again as my lips and tongue focus on the tip. Sucking and licking.  Smirking hearing his reaction.  

“Jesus fuck,” he cries out.  I can feel his balls tighten as his cock starts to twitch.  He’s close so close, his fingers tighten in my hair and I slide my lips further down his member as he shoots thick streams of hot white cum down my throat.  I lick and suck him until I’m satisfied with his release. I raise up with a smirk, wiping the corners of my lips. I wait for him to relax from his high before tucking him back in his jeans. “You got that outta your system now, querida?”

“Uh-huh,” I respond as I snuggle into his side and stare at the fire.

“Good, now focus on getting better so I can get inside you again,” he kisses the top of my head with a smile. 

[klbmsw]

Dear Republicans, We all have a very important question to ask you and we really need a cogent answer if we are going to move forward. What would Trump have to do for you not to vote for him? We all know that Fox is your favorite channel now. They are the number one television programming in the country but can you relay to us how you all went from Ronald Reagan's hawkish philosophy on Russia where we suspected Putin of everything where anything was possible to the Trump/Fox belief now that Putin is our greatest ally? Because we are all wondering how you go from "patriots" who honor our armed forces into these spineless and feckless know-nothings who ignore the verifiable fact that Putin has paid to have America's sons murdered in Afghanistan? Are you so far down the cult of personality that you won't ever raise an eyebrow as Trump denies ever hearing about the Russian bounties? Is your patriotism an illusion just like your fiscal conservatism?  Because I'd like to leave a list of things that you actually stand for for future generations when they need an example of your stellar hypocrisy in the age of Trump so they can learn from your craven recklessness. Can you all even imagine what you all would be saying if 5 of president Obama's campaign staff had been convicted of felonies and he ordered Eric Holder to drop the cases against them or pardoned them outright? And there's the lot of you as silent as the grave. We just crossed 170,000 dead Americans which is more than any other country despite the US being only 4.5% of the planet's population. We could have saved over 100,000 of those lives if Trump had just listened to doctors but he didn't and neither have you. Why have all the other countries in the world flattened their infection rates but we haven't hmm? Is it because they don't know how to freedom? Or is it because your favorite entertainment channel and president keeps telling you not to listen to Dr. Fauci because the hydroxy can cure you? Did it cure Herman Cain? Cain was a multi-millionaire and he could have bought all the hydroxy and Remdecivir he wanted. He got the best medical care money could buy but all that money couldn't stop him from dying. It's easy to see that your entire modus operendi these days is to own as many libs as you can but how many other anti-masking dunderheads have to die before you understand that the 170,000 dead isn't just coroners being lazy and filling out death certificates like the Qanon *imbeciles* are saying right now. Would any of you care to wager whether "Q" is Russian or not? Trump is actively and wantonly trying to cause the Postal Service to be as slow as possible right now because he doesn't want Americans to vote by mail. He wants to vote by mail but he wants everyone else to stand in line to vote. Why is he so afraid of Americans exercising their voting rights? If he has so many great ideas then shouldn't he be able to win easily? Can't he just say, 'are you better off now than you were 4 years ago?' Why is it okay for him to vote by mail and it's not okay for anyone else? Why can Florida 'do it right' but Nevada can't? Or is it only the states with Democratic governors that 'can't do it right?' You all are always so keen to say how much you love the constitution but you keep voting for Republicans who try to destroy the post office by making it fund its retirement 75 years in advance. Now Trump is destroying sorting machines we spent millions of dollars on while his lackey Louis DeJoy has the unmitigated gall to claim that destroying those machines will make the USPS 'more efficient.' How do you all like the deliberate-slowdown of mail service? The postal service is something spelled out in the constitution and the president is actively trying to sabotage it which is causing millions of people who rely on it for the life-saving medications. Is that part of 'owning the libs' too? Because I hate to inform you all of this fact but Trump crossed that 'what would he have to do to get us not to vote for him' the day he shoved Spicey out into the People's briefing room to lie about 'the biggest inauguration crowd in history, period.' You all may not care that he has lied over 20,000 times and committed a multitude of felonies while. in. office. but the rest of us are not only sick of Trump's shit, we're sick of yours as well. We're sick of you all behaving like good little Manchurian citizens worshipping at an alter where you have become so lost that you think Russia is our ally and Kim Jong Un is our 'friend.' We're sick of the flagrant stupidity of you anti masking assholes who think you're 'freedom wolves' when the truth is that you're lemmings taking turns like Herman Cain jumping off the cliff. Our country and constitution are on fire right now because you refuse to be responsible citizens who vote for what's best for the country.Well lemme tell all you Republican potatriots something, we're bringing hell come November 3rd and if you all think we're just going to sit by and watch you cheat in yet another election then you're sadly mistaken. We're done with being the land of gun care and health control. We're done with your very existence being a pestilence of hate and racism every time we have an election. All that's done in darkness eventually comes to light. This administration will produce more convicted felons than Reagan's which holds the record for now and by the time Attorney General Adam Schiff is finished, we'll have put the first president in prison where he belongs if he doesn't flee to Russia. Oh and Trump finally got his wall. Mexico didn't pay for it though. Joe Biden will take it down because he's not afraid of Americans, even you treasonous lot. Neither is Kamala. They're going to delouse the people's house on January 20th and start cleaning up the mess you made by electing a moron.     Thomas Clay Jr

[songtoyou]

Chapter 18: Strung Up

Tolerate It

Paring: Modern Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Story Rating: R (No minors should read this fic).

Word Count: 1,686

Warnings: SMUT. Bondage. Forced orgasms. Fingering. Intercourse between two consenting adults.

Story Description: Tommy Shelby is the owner and CEO of Shelby Company Limited. Starting out as a Bookmaker, Tommy had big ideas to expand his riches. In the past ten years, the company has grown rapidly to expand its business ventures from bars to producing alcohol, manufacturing motor vehicle parts, and exporting. One of the richest men in Great Britain, Tommy Shelby, has it all. Unfortunately, the death of his wife, Grace, left the multi-millionaire mogul alone and depressed. He needed someone to fulfill his needs and deepest darkest desires.

Chapter Snippet:  Slowly, Tommy walked towards Rose and circled her. She was his prey, and he the predator. Unraveling the rope, Tommy began to tie Rose up intricately. He took his time with the shibari knots to tie around her breasts, arms, waist, legs, and feet. The knots looked beautiful against Rose's flesh.

A/N: Thank you for all of the support for this story. I greatly appreciate it. 

I do not permit my work to be posted on any other site without my permission.

Tag list: @owenniasstars @mamacitapascal @lilymurphy03​

Of course, Tommy Shelby had a "playroom" in his house. It was a room that Tommy showed Rose when she visited his home previous times. However, tonight would be the first time Tommy and Rose would have a "play" session in the room.

He needed the release. He needed the control. And Tommy knew Rose required the need to feel secure and protected. Subspace allowed Rose to feel free in a weird sense and not worry about her current problems.

At the moment, Rose didn't want to have to think or be concerned about anything. Tommy would guide Rose into subspace during their sessions. For tonight, Rose wanted to feel as if she were floating or flying away from her problems.

After putting Charlie to bed, Tommy took Rose by the hand and led her to his bedroom. He escorted Rose to his grand walk-in closet, where a hidden door was located. The door unlocked when Tommy inserted the secret access code. Tommy allowed Rose to walk in first as he followed behind. Without needing to be asked, Rose took off her clothes as Tommy gathered his supplies.

The room was equipped with everything one would need to play out their wild sexual fantasies. There was a four-poster queen-sized bed in the middle of the room, along with a couch and an ottoman. The room had a classy feel despite being used primarily for sex and living out one's fantasies. Deep dark red and black were the primary colors of the room.

Rose watched Tommy as he took out different sets of whips, clamps, and vibrators. He set them to the side on a table and got out some rope that he would use to string Rose up. Tommy wanted her to be immobile, an object for him to use as he wanted.

Slowly, Tommy walked towards Rose and circled her. She was his prey, and he the predator. Unraveling the rope, Tommy began to tie Rose up intricately. He took his time with the shibari knots to tie around her breasts, arms, waist, legs, and feet. The knots looked beautiful against Rose's flesh.

"You feel okay?" Tommy asked as he tugged on the ropes to make sure they were secure.

"Yes," Rose answered. She was slowly shifting into subspace.

Tommy placed a handkerchief in Rose's palm. "If anything becomes too much, release the handkerchief, and I will stop immediately."

"I will," said Rose, then Tommy put the ball gag in her mouth and strapped it on tightly. She could feel the saliva being to pool in her mouth and around the ball gag.

Attaching the rope to hooks on that dangled from the ceiling, Tommy hoisted Rose up until she was off the ground. He ran his hands alongside Rose's breasts and gave a tight squeeze to each nipple. Taking the nipple clamps, Tommy dangled it in front of Rose mockingly. These special clamps were not her favorite, but he was going to use them anyways. The man had a sadistic side, after all.

Rose squealed as the clamps were tightened around her nipple, and Tommy tugged at them. With the ropes pulling around her body, the pain of the nipple clamps, and the ball-gag stuffed in her mouth, Rose could feel her pussy getting wetter and wetter. She needed Tommy to touch her but knew he would prolong her suffering and needs.

Tommy stood back and admired his work. "Beautiful," he said and retrieved the flogger.

Tommy paid extra attention to Rose's wet folds. He teased her at first—only light touches of the flogger. The soft stinging sensation only aroused her more. She strained against the rope to try to get some friction, but it was no use. When Tommy began to whip Rose harder, she screamed around the gag, drool sliding down her mouth and onto her tits. He did this for a while until Rose's backside was nice and red. He loved seeing the "little red ribbons," as he called them, all over her body.

Rose jerked when she felt Tommy's hand slide up and down between her folds. The feeling didn't last long as Tommy went back to flogging Rose more harshly this time.

"Changretta, Solomons, and every fucker will know who you belong to, my dear sweet Rose," Tommy fumed as he continued to torture the woman he has come to care for and appreciate her friendship. Rose was his, and Tommy would make sure that everyone knew that, especially his enemies. He would mark every inch of her body to draw that point home.

The muffled screams from Rose only turned Tommy on more. He was rock hard but wasn't done. Putting down the flogger, Tommy grabbed a Hitachi wand and waved it in front of Rose with a smirk on his face. Rose merely giggled behind the gag.

"You ready for this, my dear?" asked Tommy walking closer to Rose and tugging on the nipple clamps. He stared intensely into Rose's eyes; there was a glossy relaxed look to Rose. She was slowly entering into subspace. "How are you feeling?"

"Green," Rose managed to say through the gag. More drool continued to dribble out of her mouth and onto her chest.

Nodding his head, Tommy turned on the wand and placed it directly onto Rose's already wet pussy. Tommy paid extra attention to her clit as he inserted two fingers into her folds and began pumping in and out. Despite being tied up and strung up, Rose's body began to quake at the euphoric sensation she was feeling all throughout her body.

"Can I cum, please?" Rose pleaded, her orgasm rising and about to be released.

"Yes!" Tommy ordered as he continued to not let up. He would make Rose suffer through as many orgasms she could take. And Rose could handle it. She would take everything Tommy would give her.

Rose didn't have much time to settle down from her first orgasm before the next one emerged. It would be by the third mind-blowing orgasm that Tommy finally let up and untied Rose's legs and feet. Her upper body was still strung up and prohibited her feet from touching the ground. Unbuckling his belt, Tommy wrapped both of Rose's legs around him and slowly inserted the tip of his cock into her overly sensitive and wet folds.

Tommy pulled the ball gag from Rose's mouth as he wanted to hear her plead, beg, and scream while he fucked her at a brutal pace. Whenever Tommy was in control during situations like this, he had to maintain a sense of calm throughout a scene. He couldn't lose control as it could result in someone getting hurt. As a "top," it was a much different experience for Tommy. It results in a connection being formed, deep concentration, and heightened senses. He had to make sure he was aware of everything that was going. Tommy was always zoned in Rose's needs and desires during a scene. He got a different erotic high that was still pleasurable.

Tightening her legs around Tommy, Rose let out a high-pitched scream. She continued to milk Tommy's dick as her orgasm subsided. Feeling his own orgasm arising, Tommy dug his hands into Rose's ass and continued to pound into her. A loud guttural yell emerged from Tommy as he spilled his seed inside Rose. Removing the nipple clamps, Tommy rested his head on Rose's breasts. He stayed that way until his breathing evened out.

Soon, Tommy untied Rose and carried her into the master bathroom, where he began to run a bath. As the water continued to rise in the tub, Tommy turned towards the woman sitting on the countertop. He gently grabbed her face with his hands and rested his forehead against hers.

"You're okay." While sounding like a question, Tommy wanted Rose to know that she was safe with him. He lightly began to rub her limbs to bring back circulation. He knew the bath would help.

He put in some essential oils and checked the water to make sure it wasn't too hot. When the tub was filled with enough water, Tommy gently guided Rose into the large bathtub. The hot water helped as Rose submerged her body underwater. Rolling up his sleeves, Tommy began to massage Rose's arms, hands, legs, and feet.

Rose could feel her slowly coming down from subspace and back into reality. Tommy was always good when it came to aftercare. It was a vital part of a Dom/sub relationship. She looked over at Tommy with his head resting on his arm as he used his fingers to trace patterns on her stomach. Rose reached up and ran her wet hand through his dark hair. She did this for a while as a way to show her appreciation towards the man. And appreciative Rose was to Tommy Shelby.

"Thank you," Rose managed to say. Her voice was still somewhat sore from all the screaming she did during their session.

"You're welcome," was all Tommy said as he continued to rest his head against the tub and enjoying the feeling of Rose's hand run through his hair. He felt safe. He felt secure.

For the first time in a long time, Grace was not in his thoughts.

It surprised him how Rose was able to warm his heart since their first meeting. Not many women were able to do that. Not May, not Jessie, nor Tatiana. Tommy felt a kindred spirit in Rose Turner. They were similar yet so different. Instead, it was the woman in the bathtub who was Tommy's primary concern and would continue to be for quite some time. It wasn't something Tommy could put into words, at least not yet.

Was Tommy falling in love with Rose? He would never admit it. Nor would she. Tommy knew he couldn't fall in love with a whore. Rose knew she couldn't fall for a gangster who maimed and murdered his rivals.

So, both would take what they could give. It would be the small moments both would be grateful for the most throughout their time together.