#Day Trading Program

[thedailyvio]

Day 221 - 223

Characters belong to @enjoliquej

Audio from Game Grumps play Sisyphus Part 1

[inkdragon42]

yeah... my Papa (my mum's dad) was a clockmaker and fixer. he went through a small trade-school-like program, where they had to make their own tools and learned how to MAKE replacements for broken or missing parts of antique clocks, esp for ones with wooden pieces... Of course it shut down some time ago now

But he apprenticed, and eventually inherited an antique jeweler's desk, and had an incredible workshop... he even did house calls out to different people's houses to fix their grandfather clocks!

he was one of the few clockmakers in PA who could do that kinda stuff. sadly, he passed away around 11 years ago

But!!! there's other crazy cool niche trades out there!

Like, I've interned at a kinda library/museum conversation lab! Where they fix up and take care of all the old books and manuscripts and things!

Speaking of the rare books field, anyone ever been to the New York Antiquarian Book Fair? or the Artists' Book Fair that happens at the same time, featuring contemporary book artists!? it's amazing!!!

There's an INCREDIBLE little trade school up in Boston called North Bennett Street School!

They've got longer (like grad program) and shortee courses in things like bookmaking (I got to take a one week summer course!), locksmithing, jewelry making (like welding an stuff!), furniture conservation, piano making, violin making, and more!

trades that are about craftsmanship and have an emphasis on quality, hard work, and stewardship are so vitally important to the well-being, and maybe even cultural health, of humanity....

making things and making them well. hell, even making them *beautiful* no matter how basic it may be.... Things that make other people's lives better, and actually *last*

got a bit ramble-y there... but yeah

it's so worthwhile to be a maker when you can, even in the little, mundane ways 🫀

the world is running out of glassblowers and yet you want to become a fucking doctor

[pttedu]

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[propfirmmatch]

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[darliings]

im talking about this here because i need to let this off my chest. but i went into a trade program for lower incomes. and today, without any warning, we were cut off. the entire program was shutdown NATIONWIDE. leaving so many people without some sort of income, or homeless, or forced to return home to abusive households that they were trying to escape. there are so many people who lost so much in ONE DAY. please understand that so many people are now left with nothing. this was a trade program for people who wanted to LEAVE POVERTY AND ENTER FIELDS WHERE THEY HAD A CHANCE!! and today it was STOLEN. and then to add insult to injury. staff members who are going to LOSE THEIR JOBS. are still stuck there for two more weeks while being forced to find something else in such a short notice. no one. and i mean NO ONE. was given a proper fair warning. please dont leave us to be forgotten.

[faramirsonofgondor]

AU where the mayor of Gotham retires or dies or something, and the Batsiblings decide it would be funny if they ran for mayor. Except they don’t run as their civilian identities, but as they’re vigilante ones.

Dick won’t stop pouting because the people of Gotham refuse to vote for someone from Bludhaven, Tim is incredibly offended that he ends up tied with Dick for last place, Damian is smug that he beat Tim and indignant that people refuse to vote for him because he’s “a child”, and Jason preens but is internally panicking as more and more people vote for him. He wins by a landslide.

His first act as mayor is to increase Bruce Wayne’s taxes. His second is to ban Lex Luthor from entering the city. Someone tries to tell him it’s illegal to do that and he just… walks away. Eventually he starts to get a hang of this whole mayor thing and ends up working with Wayne Enterprises to strengthen housing and construction in poorer neighborhoods, he gives teachers raises, encourages trade school and alternative routes for henchmen, he adds diversity and inclusivity courses to public schools, safety programs and gas masks are made more accessible, and he reinforces the security and integrity of Arkham.

Of course there are still times where he misuses his power a little bit, but it’s never anything serious and most Gothamites watch in amusement as the scene unfolds.

Like just imagine:

Jason, dressed as RH: You’re not allowed in, you know what you did.

Dick, standing outside the Gates of Gotham, giving his best pouty expression in his Nightwing gear: Please, Hood! I promised Robin I would take him to the zoo after patrol!

Jason: You should’ve thought about that before you ate the last cookie Agent A made.

Dick, now wailing: This is abuse of power! Cruel and unusual punishment! I demand a lawyer!

Of course there are also the times when Jason decides to do something nice for his siblings, except it just ends up confusing the fuck out of everyone else in Gotham. On Dick’s birthday, he announces that there is now an Official Animal of Gotham, and most people are expecting a bat, or maybe a bird, or hell even a crocodile. Everyone except for Dick, Bruce, and Alfred are confused when it ends up being an elephant instead. Jason also decides to unveil plans for a Gotham Animal Sanctuary on the same exact day. Everyone is even more surprised when Nightwing jumps on Hood, entrapping him in an octopus hug as their mayor flails around trying to pry him off. It doesn’t work and Batman has to pick Dick up by the scruff of his neck to get him off.

There are also some of the odder, but somewhat sensible laws that are passed. Condiments are banned during the holidays and in schools (Condiment King could be heard sobbing throughout Gotham when this proclamation aired). No one is allowed to dress as clowns for any circumstance. The sewers are off limits to everyone except maintenance/construction workers, who must carry guns on them at all times. Lex Luthor’s birthday becomes Gotham’s Official “Fuck Lex Luthor Day”.

Then comes Jason’s most popular decision to date, he has The Joker reassessed mentally, and when he’s found as sane he pushes for the death penalty to be given (not that he really needed to - it was going in that direction already). He almost expects an angry lecture or fight with Bruce to occur, but Bruce just looks at him and says, quietly, “You’ve done a beautiful job, son, I couldn’t be more proud.”

[malachitezmeyka]

If my school administrator has a million haters, I’m one of them. If my school administrator has a thousand haters, I’m still one of them. If my school administrator has one hater, it’s me. If my school administrator has no haters, then I have left this world. If the world is with my school administrator, then I am against the world

[bluemoonbun]

Reader is implied to like feminine things, though gender identity is kept ambiguous.

Damian was a good brother. That’s what he always told himself. He was a good brother, a good son. He was cold, rude, and erudite, but he was able and willing to help anyone who needed it.

When he arrived at Wayne manor, Bruce told him the general run down of why you were to be avoided when it came to anything vigilante related. You were still pure, a year younger than Damian but without any of the pain. The only one in the Wayne manor that could have a shot at becoming a normal person. Damian envied that, but kept it to himself. His anger often boiled to the top, drops of green venom dripping from his mouth when you tried to annoy him into spending time with you.

Your complaints of him ignoring you was scalding water on his already raw nerves. Why would you complain about not being the center of attention for five damn seconds? He would trade anything for the life you had. A life where you could lay around after school and never worry about a rogue bullet lodging itself in your arm, or a poisonous plant releasing psychedelic spores into an open wound.

You could and would never join the Robins. You were weak; it was in your blood. Always sickly, always the pacifist. You wouldn't survive a day in his life. And you weren't living his life; you were living his dream.

But apparently the effort the family was putting in wasn’t enough.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed that the manor felt… off about two weeks before the fight with Joker. He couldn’t trace it for the life of him at first. When he realized by the second week that he hadn’t spoken to you in days, or really seen you around the manor at all, he wrote off the worms writhing in his stomach. You must’ve been busy with a class assignment and had little time to annoy him with your demands of time together.

After the fight, however, he was a war of a thousand emotions. How dare you leave them? Why would you turn away an easy life fat on nepotism for a group of murderers, con men, the dredges of Gotham’s society?

Were you truly that desperate to be acknowledged that you’d turn your back on the family who did everything for you? He hopes you’re happy there, since you were clearly so upset at not being given attention.

Over time, however, things start to change. A few days after Jason made a full recovery, Damian looked at one of the drones Tim managed to get a chunk of code from. It took a lot of trial and error, and the development of an entirely new program to grab some of the code before it bricked itself, and enough all nighters and energy drinks that any doctor would faint, but it was managed. The code was dense, optimized to work with the least bloat possible, well tagged variables, and even a handful of comments in the code.

//Buy Bane those Boston Donuts from the donut shop on 5th //Why does this code need to be here so it doesn’t auto brick itself. What is in the code protecting it from the wrath of God //Louie likes Texas barbecue ribs. Possible treat? //DO NOT FEED THEM WHOLE RIBS. COOKED BONES BAD. //SINCE WHEN WAS THIS VARIABLE A STRING??? IT WAS AN INT 5 LINES AGO //Help the hopeless lesbians get together. //Would Harley and Ivy dating make Harley my mom or Ivy my big sister? Both???

His eyes skimmed the retrieved comments, laughing at a few. It seems that Bane, Poison Ivy, and Harley Quinn were the most common subjects of the notes, though a few mentioning the Iceberg lounge asking what non-alchoholic drink you’d like added, or Riddler offering you another puzzle to keep your mind active. Even Joker was mentioned, though it seemed mostly transactional.

It was strange seeing you in this light. You seemed to have a lot of spice in you, but a heart made of gold. You were definitely surprised whenever one othe villains offered to take you on some trip to amusement parks, regular parks, even just willingly watching anime with you. It was odd to see. Surely someone at the house did those things with you? He didn’t but he was extremely busy with school and vigilantism. Jason was legally dead, so surely he had all the time in the world.

“How was I supposed to relate to them? They’re what, 12 and into shit like that one with the cat looking dog thing and the robot girl. I have shit to do. Y’know, managing Crime Alley?”

Well, Dick had come over to hang out plenty of times. Surely he’d spent at least a few hours with you every now and then? “I have an entire team and criminals to manage of in another city, Damian. I don’t have as much time as you think to do whatever it was with them they’d wanted to do”

Maybe Tim? “I have college and stuff, Damian. And I don’t have the energy to put into hanging around them. I’d probably just be sleeping most of the time.

Bruce? “I have to manage you, Gotham, and the Justice League, Damian. I barely have time for myself.”

… Alfred? “I tried, Master Damian. However I’m constantly pulled thin between so many tasks. Besides, all you have is school most days, and you’ve had summer vacations and weekends. Shouldn’t you’ve had plenty of time to spend with your younger sibling?”

… He did have the most time outside of vigilantism. And it took him a week to realize you were missing.

You had to realize that they were under extreme stress though, right?He couldn’t spend all his free time with you. He had his own friends to hang out with. How were you two even supposed to relate?

One day at dinner, the thoughts were thrashing in his head, slamming against soft tissue and tearing through brain matter. He aimlessly poked at the food on his plate.

“You alright, replacement?” Jason asked, pausing in his extremely rare dinners with everyone else. Alfred had promised him a tray of fudge to take home this time around, and nobody made fudge quite as good as he did.

“… They were gone for two weeks.”

Everyone stopped eating as he continued.

“Two weeks. Two full weeks before they showed up at that fight. Did anyone here even know? I only noticed after a week and assumed they were just holed up in their room with a class assignment or something.” He was rambling. Everyone was quiet and looking at each other. How did it manage to slip past everyone? They were detectives, for Christ’s sake.

They were your family.

—

Dinner ended with guilt wrapping around their throats and pulling.

Eventually, all of them found themselves in your room. It had been emptied, but showed no signs of struggle. All the small items, the comforter, and your clothes were gone. But what was taken left something behind. Copies of photos of you winning state level competitions, letters requesting your attendance at seminars, photos of gold medals and blue ribbons spread across the floor. Most damning of all was the most recent photo. A certificate by some big time tech company being handed to you. Edward Nashton stood behind you, a firm, reassuring hand on your shoulder.

When had this happened? They never remembered hearing of something like this. A news clipping on the back told them it was maybe a week before you left.

“The Wayne prodigy stated that their family had more important things to see to than such an occasion. I can’t imagine something more important that either of my kids being recognized by a multi-million dollar tech company! I remember postponing an anniversary with my husband to celebrate our child placing second in the science fair. But I guess that’s just the Waynes for you!”

That’s just the Waynes to you.

But it’s ok. He can make it better. He can be a good big brother. He can spend time watching anime with you and decorating your room with lace and fairy lights and go makeup shopping with you. You just need to come home. Now.

---------------- Taglist! Ask to be added! Edit: It is now closed!

@jjsmeowthie , @jsprien213 , @ladyrosemone

[heartavenue]

જ⁀➴ Things To Script: Politics Edition

Yes, this is an American aesthetic. Yes it is because I am American.

Elections are completely fair, not rigged, no scandals, fair.

There are no two of the "lesser evils" all candidates are genuinely good people and they want nothing but the best for the country.

All candidates represent the American people, if the American people find that the elected official is unfit they will be REMOVED (yes this is Trump shade.)

There is separation of church and state.

Americans are more open-minded about candidates from parties other than the Democratic and Republican party

(should I just say script out conservatism in general? I mean this is your reality you can if you want!)

We have no official language and ALL languages, cultures, backgrounds are represented and have the ability to be taught.

DEATH to the electoral college.

Fake news, propaganda, lies, non fact checked information cannot make it's way towards journalism.

News outlets have to report TRUE, unbiased information (I'm looking at you FOX)

No trade wars...

America does not involve itself in colonialism, imperialism, militarism, etc (mainly because those things do NOT exist.)

Supreme Court Justices do not rule for life.

There is an age limit to the presidency (this is subjective but personally I don't want an 80 year old president)

The minimum wage is increased from $7.25 (can you believe it's still that) to $20 (or whatever you prefer)

Free healthcare across ALL fifty states.

Planned Parenthood is in every state, providing safe abortions, sex ed, contraceptives, etc to everyone who is in need.

Abortions can NEVER be banned.

Free childcare across ALL fifty states.

Our politicians are civil, cordial, respectful, kind, intelligent (another dig on...let's just say a few people)

World peace

All oppressed/colonized people are FREE and live without any colonial influence.

Affordable prescription drugs.

Baby formula is affordable (this isn't really political but no formula should cost FIFTY BUCKS?)

Gay marriage is legal across all states and can NOT be revoked.

No fascism, Nazism, white supremacy, zionism, any bigoted idealogy in general does NOT exist.

Books are not banned/ can't be banned.

No fracking.

Free college.

No discrimination against ANYONE no matter their race, ethnicity, nationality, origin, sexuality, gender identity, etc.

Rape, sexual assault, pedophilia does not exist.

Crime in general doesn't exist.

Free therapy across the country.

The government actually WORKS to make this country better.

ICE does NOT exist.

Federal assistance programs can NOT be cut.

No wealth gap (no top 1% and the struggling 99%)

No homelessness.

No poverty.

Maternity leave is LONGER (isn't it like 2-6 weeks? come on now...)

Court rulings that have been passed can NOT be overturned (think roe v. wade)

No pink tax!

First time homeowners receive a grant from the government to help them with payments.

Credit scores isn't an issue, anyone regardless of their wealth can purchase a new car/home/rent an apartment.

Native Americans are seen as the true indigenous people of the Americas an they are incredibly respected, the land is returned back to them.

Follow up: Columbus Day does not exist.

The KKK doesn't exist...or MAGA or TRUMP!

No anti-vaxxers (get vaccinated, no they don't cause autism and no they aren't chipping you or whatever right wingers think)

They are laws put in place to protect our planet, nature reserves, recycling is MANDATORY, wildlife parks, etc.

History is NOT erased and is actively taught/encouraged in schools.

Guns...do I even need to explain at this point...

Immigrants are WELCOME and there is no stigma, discrimination or stereotypes about them either!

This country is extremely diplomatic we are on good terms with all countries, every meeting with them goes well and can only strengthen our allyship.

DEI EVERYWHERE!

everyone is WOKE, I mean unprecedented woke, profoundly woke EVERYONE GET MORE WOKE NOW!!!

No wars.

There is RESEARCH done on women's health (why don't we know anything about endometriosis fr...)

Mount Rushmore doesn't exist

Okay that's all I could come up with for now! Buh bye my loves!

[icfminstittute]

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[chrissssssmut]

How about a yandere fic for Karina for her b-day?

In where Karina invites her fellow idol Y/N to come celebrate her b-day in her home. Hopefully you add some smut 🫶🏻

HER BIRTHDAY, HER RULES

Karina x Male Idol Y/N

AN: Happy Birthday Karina! Decided to make this story first since its her birthday today! Back to regular programming!🥰💕

You hesitated outside the door, shifting the wrapped wine bottle in your hands. Karina had texted you personally a week ago.

“Hey Y/N. My birthday’s coming up. I’m throwing something small, just close friends. Would love for you to come.”

The fact that she’d invited you—you out of all the other idols—made your heart stutter a bit. You two had shared a few polite moments backstage at shows, stolen glances in green rooms, nothing more. Still, Karina had this way of making everything feel personal when she spoke to you. Like you mattered more than you should.

The door clicked open before you could knock.

Karina stood there, dressed in a silky midnight-blue robe that shimmered slightly under the warm lights behind her. It hung off one shoulder just enough to show the smooth slope of her collarbone.

“Y/N,” she purred, her lips tugging into a slow smile. “You made it.”

You smiled back, slightly stunned. “Of course. Wouldn’t miss your birthday.”

She leaned in, gave you a soft cheek kiss that lingered longer than expected. Her perfume was sweet—jasmine, maybe vanilla—and it fogged your brain just a bit.

When you stepped inside, the silence hit you.

No music. No chatter. No guests. Just the flicker of candles on the coffee table and a half-empty bottle of champagne.

You glanced around the penthouse. “Uh… am I early?”

Karina turned, pouring a glass like it was nothing. “Not at all. You’re actually the first one here."

She handed you a flute and raised her own. “Cheers.”

You clinked glasses with a soft smile. “To you.”

“To me,” she repeated, eyes locked on yours as she sipped.

Minutes turned into an hour. You sat on the couch, trading stories, laughing more than you expected to. Every few minutes you’d glance at your phone, expecting more guests to buzz the door, but nothing happened.

Finally, you asked, “So… are the others late or something?”

Karina blinked, then gave a tiny shrug. “They said they’d drop by. Maybe they flaked.”

She leaned closer, her fingers lightly brushing your knee. “But I’m glad you came. Honestly, I only really wanted to see you.”

Your throat tightened, heartbeat ticking a little too fast.

“Me?”

She smiled. “Yeah. You’ve been on my mind a lot lately. I figured tonight might be the perfect excuse to get you alone.”

Her words danced between casual and dangerously intimate.

You looked away, trying to collect yourself. “Maybe I should slow down on the drinks—”

Karina refilled your glass before you could protest. “Don’t be shy, Y/N. Just relax. It’s my birthday, remember? That means I get what I want.”

She sat closer, her thigh pressing against yours.

You took another drink.

Some time later…

Your limbs felt warm. Too warm. You were buzzing—not wasted, but definitely past the point of making sharp decisions.

Karina had settled on the floor in front of you now, sitting between your knees, her chin resting on your thigh. Her robe had slipped further, revealing the delicate strap of a lace bra.

“I always wondered what kind of drunk you are,” she murmured, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your knee. “Turns out you’re cute when you let your guard down.”

You chuckled, leaning back into the couch. “And you’re… kinda dangerous.”

She grinned, tilting her head. “Is that a complaint?”

“No. Just an observation.”

Her eyes darkened a shade. “Good. Because I like when you look at me like that.”

She leaned in closer, lips inches from your throat. “You know, I wasn’t lying when I said other people were invited. I just… never sent the invites.”

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

“I wanted tonight to be just us. I wanted…” She paused, her hand slipping up your thigh, slow, deliberate. “…to finally have you to myself.”

Your breath caught.

She leaned up, kissing your jaw lightly. “Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

She pulled back just slightly, eyes glittering with heat. “Didn’t think so.”

Your pulse was a wild thing beneath your skin, thudding in your ears like war drums.

Karina straddled your lap now, her knees pressing into the couch cushions on either side of your hips. The silk robe slid open as she moved, a glint of smooth thigh and lace flashing beneath it. Her fingers dragged up your chest slowly, nails light enough to tickle, but firm enough to leave you chasing every touch.

"You're so tense," she whispered, brushing your hair back. "Let me take care of you."

Your breath hitched as she leaned in, pressing her lips to your neck—not kissing, not yet. Just letting them hover, her breath hot against your skin.

“You have no idea,” you rasped, voice lower than it had been all night. “How long I’ve imagined this.”

“Oh?” she purred, dragging her tongue up the shell of your ear. “Tell me. What did you imagine, Y/N?”

You swallowed thickly, your hands finally moving to grip her waist. Her robe was hanging off her shoulders now, nothing between you but the thin silk belt and your self-control—both of which were about to snap.

“I imagined you like this,” you muttered. “On top of me. Taking control. Making me beg for it.”

Karina let out a soft, low laugh that vibrated against your throat. “Beg? You don’t need to beg. Not tonight.”

She leaned back just enough to untie the robe’s belt, slow and teasing. The knot slipped loose with a quiet whisper, and the robe fluttered open, revealing the full curve of her chest barely contained in a black lace bra, the matching panties hugging her hips like sin.

She reached for your shirt, tugging it up. “Off. I want to see you.”

You didn’t hesitate.

The second it was gone, her palms were on your bare chest, gliding, exploring—fingertips dragging down toward your abs like she was memorizing every inch of you.

"You've been hiding this under stage outfits and leather jackets? What a waste."

You laughed, breathless. "You watch me that closely?"

She smirked. "Only all the time."

Then her lips were on yours—no teasing now. No hesitation. Just heat. Her mouth was soft but demanding, her tongue sliding over yours with perfect control. She kissed like she meant it, like she needed it, and every brush of her lips made your body thrum.

When she pulled back, her lips were slick, swollen.

“I want you to do exactly what I say,” she whispered, grinding her hips against your growing bulge. “Can you be good for me, pretty boy?”

You groaned. “I’ll be whatever you want.”

Her grin turned wicked. “Lie back.”

You obeyed instantly.

Karina rose just enough to strip off the robe and toss it aside, then climbed back over you—only now, she took the belt from the robe in her hands. She leaned down and gently, with deliberate slowness, took your wrists and pinned them above your head.

She bound them together with practiced ease, then tied the belt to one of the couch’s vertical bars.

You tugged slightly, testing. Secure.

“Comfortable?” she teased, her eyes glittering with heat and something darker.

“Only if you sit on my face next.”

Her breath caught—and then she laughed, genuinely. “You’re cute when you’re desperate.”

She slipped down your body, kissing a trail across your chest, tongue flicking one of your nipples just to hear you gasp. Then she undid your belt, popped your jeans button with one hand, and tugged everything down in one swift motion.

Your cock sprang free—hard, leaking, and throbbing.

“Oh,” Karina whispered, staring for a moment before biting her lip. “Pretty.”

She wrapped her fingers around the base, pumping slowly, teasing you with feather-light strokes.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to see this?” she murmured. “All those times backstage when you’d talk to me with that perfect smile, and I’d wonder… if you’d fuck me as well as you sang.”

“Why don’t you find out,” you growled.

She glanced up, eyes dark. “Oh, I will.”

Then she leaned down—and took you in her mouth, slow and devastating.

Her tongue curled around your shaft as she sucked, mouth hot and wet, lips stretched perfectly. She started shallow, teasing the tip with little flicks of her tongue, before taking you deeper, inch by inch.

You groaned, arms straining against the restraints.

She moaned around you, the vibrations making your back arch. Her hands pinned your hips down, keeping you still as she worked you over—messy, relentless, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

“Fuck, Karina—” you gasped. “Gonna cum if you keep that up—”

She pulled off with a pop, saliva trailing from her lips. Without a word, she let your cock rest against her tongue, then lightly slapped it against it—once, twice—watching the way it twitched, glistening with spit. Her eyes never left yours as she dragged her tongue slowly up the underside, savoring the mess she’d made.

“Not yet,” she said sweetly. “You don’t get to finish until I say so.”

Then she stood, peeled off her panties, and straddled you again—her folds glistening with arousal, her chest heaving.

You looked up at her, completely undone. “You’re evil.”

She grinned. “You like it.”

She reached down, guided your cock to her entrance—and then slowly, deliciously, she sank down onto you.

Both of you groaned in unison.

She was tight. Warm. Wet. You could feel every inch of her, the way she clenched around you, how perfectly she fit.

She started to move—slow rolls of her hips, rocking back and forth, her hands planted on your chest. Her rhythm was devastating, pulling you right to the edge over and over.

“Look at you,” she moaned, riding you deeper, harder. “Tied up, moaning for me. You belong to me now, Y/N. No one else is going to get you like this.”

You could barely speak—just gasps, curses, your body shaking beneath hers.

“Say it,” she demanded, picking up pace. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” you choked out. “Fuck, Karina—it’s you. Always you.”

Her face lit up with something more than lust. Something fierce. Possessive. Triumphant.

She rode you harder now, skin slapping, your moans echoing in the room, tangled bodies slick with sweat and heat and everything you weren’t allowed to feel on stage.

When Karina’s rhythm grew erratic, her hands gripped your chest tighter, nails digging crescents into your skin. Her head dropped back, mouth parted, hair clinging to her damp neck as her moans turned into frantic whimpers.

“Fuck—Y/N—” she gasped, voice breaking. “I’m… I’m gonna cum—don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”

Her thighs clenched around your hips, trembling as she rode you harder, faster, chasing that edge with a wild kind of desperation.

You reached up, your hands now free, grabbing her hips to hold her steady, thrusting up into her as her body tensed.

“Karina—cum for me,” you groaned. “I wanna feel you fall apart on me.”

That did it.

She let out a strangled cry as her orgasm slammed into her—“Oh my god—fuck, Y/N—yes—” Her hips stuttered, grinding down hard as her walls clenched around you, pulsing with heat and need.

Watching her come unraveled you completely.

“Shit—fuck—Karina—” you growled, eyes locked on her as your own climax surged through you.

You spilled into her, deep and hot, groaning into her neck as she kept moving—slow now, milking every drop, dragging her soaked folds along your cock with deliberate, overstimulating rolls of her hips.

“God, you fill me so well,” she whispered breathlessly, body twitching from aftershocks. “I can feel it inside me… so warm. So mine.”

You let your head fall back, completely ruined beneath her, chest heaving, sweat-slicked skin against silk and lace.

She leaned down, brushing her lips over yours with a satisfied smirk.

You lay back, skin damp, your heartbeat still stuttering as Karina curled up beside you on the couch.

“Happy birthday,” you breathed.

She smiled against your shoulder. “Best gift I’ve ever had.”

Then, after a pause, she whispered:

“You’re mine now, right?”

Your head turned. “Huh?”

She was still smiling, but there was something unreadable behind her eyes now.

“I mean, after tonight… there’s no going back. You know that, right?”

Her fingers trailed your chest, light but possessive.

You swallowed hard.

She leaned up to kiss you again—slow, sweet, and a little bit dangerous.

And in that moment, you couldn’t tell if you were drunk on the alcohol… or her.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Stirred & Sweet

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Rating: T (Teen)

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Word count: 3k+

Warning: Mild language, teasing from teammates, and an excessive amount of Dirty Shirleys.

Summary: being a bartender isn’t so bad after all

A/N: I got carried away and I didn’t want to do more than one part though… enjoy

🏷️: @yailtsv

There are slow nights at Ted’s, and then there are nights like this—where the place is packed shoulder to shoulder, the music is loud enough to shake the walls, and I’m pretty sure I’ll smell like grenadine for the next three days.

It’s my usual Friday night shift, and I’m behind the bar, flipping between orders faster than I can process them. But then, right in the middle of pouring a vodka soda, I hear a voice that’s unmistakable over the noise.

“Yo, can I get a Dirty Shirley?”

I don’t even have to look up. I already know.

Paige Bueckers.

Five-year UConn legend. Face of the program. Probably could get a drink for free just by flashing that stupidly perfect smile.

I glance up, and sure enough, she’s leaning against the bar, chin resting on her hand, watching me with that casual, slightly smug expression. Azzi, Ice, and the rest of the team are packed in behind her, laughing and teasing each other.

“Gotcha,” I say, grabbing a glass. “Coming right up.”

I make Dirty Shirleys all the time—it’s one of the easiest drinks in the book. But mine? Mine are the best. It’s not just about throwing Sprite, vodka, and grenadine into a cup. It’s about balance, ratios, the right kind of vodka, and just a little extra touch.

I slide the drink across the counter. “One Dirty Shirley, Bueckers. Hope it lives up to the hype.”

Paige takes a sip, and for a second, her expression is unreadable. Then, her eyes widen slightly, and she licks her lips like she’s trying to make sure she actually tasted what she thinks she did.

“Oh, hell no.” She looks at her teammates. “This is the best one I’ve had in five years.”

Azzi snorts. “You’ve had a lot of Dirty Shirleys, huh?”

“You don’t understand, Z.” Paige turns back to me. “How did you—what did you do?”

I grin, wiping my hands on a bar rag. “Trade secret.”

“No, for real. How are you this good at making drinks?”

I lean on the counter. “My dad owns a bar back home. He taught me everything. Ratios, ingredients, even flair bartending when I was like thirteen—don’t ask me why he thought that was a good idea. By the time I was seventeen, I could make drinks better than half the bartenders at his place.”

Paige shakes her head, impressed. “Damn. So I just got served a professional-level Dirty Shirley?”

“Something like that.” I smirk. “And now, the only way you’re getting one this good is if I make it myself.”

She raises a brow, a challenge in her eyes. “Bet.”

⸻

From that night on, Paige only orders Dirty Shirleys if I’m the one making them.

It turns into a thing.

She’ll walk into Ted’s, lock eyes with me across the bar, and hold up a finger—no words, just that stupidly charming smirk. And I already know. One Dirty Shirley, coming right up.

She hypes it up to the team, tells anyone who’ll listen that I make the best ones. She even gets a little dramatic about it sometimes.

“I refuse to drink a basic one now,” she tells me one night, sipping happily. “You’ve ruined them for me.”

“Oh no,” I deadpan. “Whatever will you do when I graduate?”

“Guess I’ll have to marry you, so you can make them for me forever.”

I choke on my laugh. “Paige.”

She just winks and takes another sip.

⸻

A few weeks later, it’s almost 2 AM when my phone buzzes.

I groan, rolling over, barely registering the name on my screen before answering.

“Paige,” I mumble. “Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?”

“Okay, don’t be mad,” she says, which means she’s about to say something ridiculous. “But I really want a Shirley Temple.”

I squint at my phone, confused. “Like… a non-alcoholic one?”

“Yes.”

I blink. “You called me at two in the morning for that?”

“You’re the only one who makes them right!” she whines. “Please? I’ll owe you forever.”

I sigh, already sitting up. “You better leave your door unlocked.”

⸻

When I get to her dorm, she’s waiting at the door, practically bouncing.

“You actually came,” she grins.

“You sounded desperate,” I tease, lifting the pitcher. “Figured it was my duty.”

She drags me inside, already pulling out cups. “You’re a lifesaver.”

We end up on the couch, sipping Shirley Temples and watching Friends. Somewhere between episodes, I stretch out, and Paige throws a blanket over both of us.

It’s late. Really late. But she’s warm next to me, and my eyes are getting heavier.

I wake up hours later to the sound of the TV playing softly, Paige’s head resting against my shoulder, and an almost-empty pitcher on the coffee table.

Not bad for a midnight call.

⸻

A week later, I’m back at work when Paige shows up again. But this time, she doesn’t ask for a Dirty Shirley.

“You’re trying something new tonight,” I tell her, already reaching for ingredients.

She looks skeptical. “You’re experimenting on me?”

“Yup.” I grin, setting up the glass. “I promise it’ll be good.”

She watches as I pour Seagram’s Ginger Ale, add two and a half shots of Don Julio, a shot of Tequila Silver, then grab an orange popsicle straight out of the freezer. I drop it in, stick and all, then drizzle in some strawberry syrup.

Paige raises a brow. “What the hell is this?”

“A masterpiece.” I slide it to her. “Try it.”

She takes a sip, then licks her lips slowly, processing the taste.

“Oh, that’s dangerous,” she murmurs.

“Told you.”

She takes another sip, eyes lighting up. “Okay, this is actually insane. What’s it called?”

I wipe down the counter. “I don’t know yet. You get to name it.”

She thinks for a second, then smirks. “Huskies Sunset.”

I laugh. “Why?”

“Because it looks like a sunset, and it’ll probably make you howl if you drink too much.”

I shake my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love it.” She grins, lifting her glass. “To Huskies Sunsets.”

And just like that, we’ve got a new favorite.

A few days later Paige send me a text

Paige: Yo, you working tonight?

Me: Yeah, why? You tryna bother me while I work again?

Paige: Maybe. Also… bring your best sales pitch.

I stare at my phone, confused, but before I can ask what she means, she sends another message.

Paige: Just trust me. You’ll thank me later.

I shake my head, pocket my phone, and head to Ted’s.

⸻

When I walk in, I immediately notice something weird.

My boss, Mike, is standing behind the bar—not working, just standing there, arms crossed, a deep-in-thought look on his face. And across from him, sitting on a stool like she owns the place, is Paige.

The moment she sees me, she waves. “Took you long enough.”

I set my bag down. “What’s going on?”

Mike looks at me, then at Paige, then back at me. “Your girl here has been talking my ear off about adding some drink to the menu.”

I blink. “Wait… what?”

Paige smirks. “Huskies Sunset. I told him it deserves a permanent spot.”

My jaw nearly drops. “Paige.”

She shrugs, all casual. “It’s a hit. I mean, I should know—I’ve had like five.”

Mike sighs, rubbing his temple. “Look, I’m not against it, but I don’t just put random drinks on the menu. It’s gotta sell.”

Paige leans forward. “It will sell. I promise you. Y/N makes the best drinks on campus, and this one is dangerous in the best way. People will eat it up.”

I can’t help but smile a little. She’s really going to bat for me.

Mike looks at me. “You got a name for this thing?”

I nod. “Huskies Sunset.”

He thinks for a moment, then sighs. “Fine. But it’s on a trial run. If it doesn’t sell, it’s out.”

Paige claps her hands. “Oh, it’ll sell. Just wait.”

⸻

Turns out, she wasn’t wrong.

The moment word gets out that there’s a Paige-approved drink on the menu, people start ordering it like crazy. It gets to a point where I can barely keep up—I’ve got orange popsicles flying, tequila pouring, and strawberry syrup everywhere.

And of course, the team eats it up.

Azzi is the first to tease me. “Wow, Paige gets one favorite bartender, and now she’s getting drinks added to the menu?”

Ice shakes her head. “Nah, this is next-level simp behavior.”

I roll my eyes. “She just likes the drink.”

Ayanna grins. “Just the drink? Y’all are literally always together.”

I scoff. “We are not.”

Paige, unbothered, sips her Huskies Sunset. “We kinda are.”

And that’s all it takes. The teasing gets worse.

Suddenly, everyone’s pointing out every little thing we do together—how we study at the same table in the library, how Paige randomly FaceTimes me while I’m at work, how we spend way too much time coming up with new drink ideas.

It doesn’t help that one night, she asks me to teach her how to bartend.

I try to play it cool, but the moment she steps behind the bar, sleeves rolled up, ready to learn? Yeah. I might be in trouble.

⸻

“Alright, Rookie,” I say, setting a bottle of tequila on the counter. “First lesson: pouring without spilling.”

Paige smirks. “Easy.”

It is not easy.

She tries to pour a shot, but the moment the liquid starts flowing, she panics, overcorrects, and half of it ends up on her hand.

I laugh. “Oh, yeah. Natural talent.”

She glares at me, shaking tequila off her fingers. “Okay, okay. Let me try again.”

She does better on the second attempt, actually filling the shot glass without a mess.

I nod approvingly. “Look at that. You’re learning.”

She grins. “Told you I could do it.”

I lean against the counter. “Alright, next test. Shaking a cocktail.”

I set up a simple drink and hand her the shaker. “Two hands, firm grip, shake hard but controlled.”

Paige takes it, mimicking my stance, and starts shaking. At first, she looks focused. But then, halfway through, the lid pops off.

Cue tequila flying everywhere.

I barely dodge it, while Paige gasps, looking at the mess.

“Oh, my God.” She stares at me. “Did I just—”

I burst out laughing. “You definitely just showered us in tequila.”

She winces. “Oops.”

I grab a rag, wiping my arms. “You’re lucky I like you.”

She smirks. “You like me?”

I freeze for half a second.

“…Shut up.”

⸻

The teasing from the team only gets worse after that.

Especially when they find out Paige has a new habit of calling me in the middle of the night.

KK: Ayo, why did I just hear that Y/N got up at 2 AM to bring Paige a Shirley Temple?

Ice: A Shirley. Temple. AT 2 IN THE MORNING?

Azzi: Just date already, my God.

Me: IT WAS JUST A DRINK.

Paige: I have high standards, what can I say?

Caroline adds a poll to the team’s group chat:

Will Y/N and Paige finally admit they’re basically together?

✔ Yes, they’re oblivious

✔ No, but they should be

✔ They’re already dating and just don’t know it yet

Paige just sends a single response.

Paige: Drink up, haters.

⸻

A few nights later, Paige shows up at the bar with an idea.

“So, we’ve got Huskies Sunset,” she says, sliding into her usual seat in front of me. “But we need something else. Something bigger.”

I raise a brow. “Bigger?”

She nods. “Like… a team drink.”

I pause, considering it. “A UConn team drink?”

“Yeah! Something for game nights. Something we can all order and make a thing.”

I grin. “Alright, Challenge Accepted.”

We spend the next few nights messing with ideas, trying out flavors, and (accidentally) getting a little buzzed in the process. Paige is surprisingly good at taste-testing—she knows exactly what she likes, and she’s weirdly good at pairing flavors.

Finally, we land on something.

Blue curaçao for the Huskies’ blue, lemonade for a crisp, refreshing taste, a splash of Sprite for bubbles, and a frozen lemon slice on the rim.

The Husky Huddle.

When we debut it, the team goes crazy.

“Oh, this is dangerous,” Azzi says after her first sip.

Aubrey nods. “Yeah, we’re gonna need this before every away game.”

Ice grins. “Okay, but y’all see what’s happening, right?”

Ayanna smirks. “Oh, we see it.”

Paige looks at me, all innocent. “See what?”

Azzi shakes her head. “Y’all are literally co-owners of the Ted’s bar menu at this point.”

Ice grins. “More like co-owners of each other.”

Paige chokes on her drink. I roll my eyes.

“Y’all are so annoying.”

Azzi just raises her glass. “To Huskies Sunsets, Husky Huddles, and to Paige and Y/N finally admitting they’re a thing.”

Paige and I exchange glances, then both sigh.

We clink our glasses together.

“To Huskies Sunsets,” I say.

“To the best bartender at UConn,” Paige adds, smirking.

⸻

Six Months Later

By now, Paige is a staple at Ted’s.

She still only orders Huskies Sunsets when I’m working. Still calls me in the middle of the night for Shirley Temples. Still shows up unannounced to drag me out for “taste-testing” sessions.

The team hasn’t let up on the teasing. If anything, it’s gotten worse.

KK: So, what’s the hold-up? Y’all married yet?

Ice: I give it another month before Paige breaks and asks Y/N out.

Azzi: One month? You’re generous. I say two weeks.

I just roll my eyes every time. Paige and I—we’re just us. We exist in this weird, perfect space where we know we like each other, but neither of us says it out loud.

Until the night she makes me a drink.

⸻

It’s a slow night, one of those rare ones where I’m not drowning in orders. Paige is at the bar, as usual, twirling a straw between her fingers like she’s debating something.

Then, out of nowhere, she stands up.

“Okay, switch places with me.”

I blink. “Huh?”

She jerks her head toward the bar. “I wanna make you a drink.”

I scoff. “Paige, last time you were back here, you covered yourself in tequila.”

She grins. “Yeah, but I’ve learned. Trust me.”

I hesitate, then sigh, stepping aside. “Alright, Rookie. Show me what you got.”

She cracks her knuckles, looking way too serious for someone making a cocktail.

She starts with a base of passionfruit juice, a splash of lime, then adds two shots of rum. But then, she does something unexpected—she grabs a bottle of peach liqueur and pours just a little in, followed by a drizzle of honey.

I raise an eyebrow. “That’s… an interesting mix.”

Paige winks. “Trust the process.”

She shakes it (without spilling this time) and pours it into a glass over crushed ice. Then, to top it off, she adds a small mint leaf and slides it across the counter.

I pick it up, skeptical, and take a sip.

And damn.

It’s smooth, a little sweet, a little tart, with just the right kick.

I look up at her, surprised. “Paige. This is actually good.”

She smirks. “I know.”

I take another sip, then tilt my head. “What’s it called?”

She leans on the counter, looking at me with that lazy grin of hers.

“Date Night.”

My heart does a full-on somersault.

I set the drink down carefully. “Paige.”

She shrugs, trying (and failing) to look casual. “So, what do you think? Wanna make it official?”

I stare at her for a long second, then grin. “Well, I do like the drink.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “That’s all I get? After six months of pining?”

I take another sip. “Mmm… maybe you should take me out on a real date and find out.”

She leans in, eyes bright. “Deal.”

⸻

Four Years Later

If you had told me back then that one day I’d own my own bar, I probably would’ve laughed in your face.

But here I am, standing behind the counter of Sundown, my very own place in Dallas, with a fresh-cut lime in one hand and my phone buzzing on the counter.

I glance at the screen.

Paige: You at the bar?

Me: Where else would I be?

Paige: Cool. I’m ten minutes away.

I shake my head, smiling to myself.

Some things never change.

⸻

When Paige walks in, the place is packed. It’s a Friday night, and everyone’s here for happy hour, but the moment she steps inside, a few heads turn.

She’s in a hoodie and joggers, looking effortlessly cool, like she didn’t just drop 25 points on the Mercury last night.

She slides into her usual seat at the bar, grinning at me. “What’s up, Superstar?”

I snort. “You’re the only superstar here.”

She taps the counter. “Debatable. Now, hit me with the usual.”

I shake my head, already reaching for the ingredients. “Still not tired of Huskies Sunsets?”

She grins. “Never.”

I make her drink, sliding it over with a flourish. She takes a slow sip, eyes locked on me the whole time.

Then, she sets the glass down and leans in, voice softer. “So… you excited for tomorrow?”

Tomorrow.

Our engagement party.

I glance down at the ring on my finger—the one Paige had slipped on my hand last year after surprising me with a proposal at Ted’s.

(She had tried to be all smooth, but her hands were shaking so bad she almost dropped the ring in my drink.)

I smile. “Excited? Yeah. A little nervous? Also yeah.”

Paige tilts her head. “Nervous why?”

I gesture around. “I don’t know… this bar, this life—it’s everything I wanted. And now we’re about to start a whole new chapter.”

She reaches across the bar, taking my hand in hers. “And that scares you?”

I shake my head. “No. It just… feels big.”

Paige squeezes my hand. “Well, for the record, I think we’re gonna be just fine.”

I look at her—the same Paige who used to drag me out of bed for late-night Shirley Temples, who spent hours behind the bar learning to mix drinks just so we could have an excuse to hang out longer.

The same Paige who, after all these years, still only orders Huskies Sunsets if I’m the one making them.

I squeeze her hand back. “Yeah. I think so too.”

She grins. “Good. Now, gimme another drink. And make it something new.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Something new?”

She nods. “Yeah. Something fresh. Something that screams ‘future wife of a WNBA star.’”

I laugh, already reaching for a bottle. “Alright, challenge accepted.”

And as I start mixing, Paige just sits there, watching me with that soft, lazy grin—the one that says she’d spend forever right here if I let her.

Good thing forever is exactly what we have.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[tradingtips]

Unlock Trading Success: The Ultimate Guide to Instant Funding Prop Firms

In the ever-evolving landscape of trading, instant funding prop firms have emerged as a game-changer. But what exactly are they, and why are they so significant in the trading world? Let's dive in and explore this fascinating topic.

Understanding Prop Firms

What is a Prop Firm?

A prop firm, short for proprietary trading firm, is a financial company that invests its own capital in trading. Unlike traditional firms that manage client funds, best prop firms leverage their own resources, taking on the risk and reward themselves.

History and Evolution of Prop Firms

Prop trading has its roots in the early days of Wall Street, where firms employed skilled traders to maximize their profits. Over time, this model has evolved, incorporating advanced technologies and diverse financial instruments, making prop firms more dynamic and accessible.

What is Instant Funding?

Explanation of Instant Funding

Instant funding refers to the immediate provision of capital to traders by prop firms. This model allows traders to start trading without the usual lengthy vetting process associated with traditional funding methods.

How it Differs from Traditional Funding

Traditional funding often involves rigorous evaluations, capital commitments, and long waiting periods. Instant funding, on the other hand, bypasses these hurdles, offering traders quick access to funds based on their trading potential and performance.

Advantages of Instant Funding Prop Firms

Quick Access to Capital

One of the biggest draws of instant funding prop firms is the speed at which traders can access capital. This allows traders to seize market opportunities without delay.

Flexibility in Trading

These firms provide significant flexibility, allowing traders to employ various strategies without being tied down by stringent rules or substantial personal capital.

Low-Risk Opportunities

For many traders, the risk is a significant barrier. Instant funding prop firms mitigate this by sharing the risk, providing a safety net that encourages more bold and innovative trading approaches.

How Instant Funding Prop Firms Operate

Funding Process

The funding process in these firms is streamlined. Traders typically go through one step evaluation prop firm period, after which they receive immediate capital to start trading.

Requirements for Traders

While requirements can vary, most firms look for traders with a proven track record, a sound trading strategy, and a clear understanding of trading risk management.

Performance Evaluations

Regular performance evaluations are conducted to ensure traders meet specific benchmarks. These evaluations help both the trader and the firm align their strategies for mutual success.

Popular Instant Funding Prop Firms

Overview of Top Firms

Several firms stand out in the instant funding space, each offering unique benefits. Some of the most popular include FTMO, TopstepTrader, and MyForexFunds.

Comparison of Their Offerings

The Talented Trader: Known for its comprehensive evaluation process and generous profit splits.

TopstepTrader: Focuses on futures trading and offers extensive educational resources.

MyForexFunds: Provides a range of account types and flexible funding options.

How to Choose the Right Prop Firm

Factors to Consider

When selecting a prop trading firms, consider factors like the funding amount, profit split, evaluation process, and support services. It's essential to choose a firm that aligns with your trading style and goals.

Questions to Ask

What is the evaluation process like?

How much capital can I access initially?

What are the performance benchmarks?

Are there any hidden fees?

Requirements to Join an Instant Funding Prop Firm

Skills Needed

Successful traders typically possess strong analytical skills, discipline, and a deep understanding of market dynamics.

Trading Experience

While some firms welcome beginners, having prior trading experience can significantly boost your chances of securing funding and succeeding.

Financial Prerequisites

Most firms require a small initial fee to cover the evaluation process. This fee is usually nominal compared to the potential funding amount.

Trading Strategies for Success

Recommended Trading Strategies

Strategies like day trading, swing trading, and scalping are popular among prop traders. Each strategy requires a different approach and level of expertise.

Risk Management Tips

Effective risk management is crucial. Techniques like setting stop-loss orders, diversifying trades, and keeping a trading journal can help mitigate losses and maximize profits.

Common Challenges and Solutions

Dealing with Performance Pressure

Performance pressure is a common challenge. To manage this, set realistic goals, maintain a positive mindset, and avoid overtrading.

Overcoming Trading Losses

Trading losses are inevitable. The key is to learn from them, adapt your strategy, and stay disciplined to bounce back stronger.

The Role of Technology in Instant Funding

Technological Advancements

Technology plays a pivotal role in modern prop trading. Advanced algorithms, AI, and real-time data analytics empower traders to make informed decisions swiftly.

Use of Trading Platforms

Prop firms often provide state-of-the-art trading platforms, offering tools and resources that enhance trading efficiency and effectiveness.

Instant Funding vs. Traditional Prop Trading

Key Differences

Instant funding offers faster access to capital and fewer barriers to entry compared to traditional prop firm trading, which often involves extensive evaluations and higher initial capital requirements.

Pros and Cons of Each

Instant Funding: Pros include quick access and lower risk. Cons might include less comprehensive support and training.

Traditional Prop Trading: Pros include thorough training and higher potential funding. Cons involve longer waiting times and higher initial costs.

Case Studies

Success Stories

Many traders have found success with instant funding prop firms. For example, a trader might secure $100,000 in capital after a brief evaluation and quickly double it through strategic trading.

Lessons Learned from Failed Attempts

On the flip side, some traders fail due to poor risk management or lack of discipline. These cases highlight the importance of a solid strategy and emotional control.

Future of Instant Funding Prop Firms

Emerging Trends

The industry is evolving with trends like AI-driven trading, decentralized finance (DeFi) integrations, and more personalized trader support services.

Predictions for the Industry

Experts predict continued growth for instant funding prop firms, with increasing accessibility and more innovative funding solutions becoming the norm.

Conclusion

Instant funding prop firms are revolutionizing the trading world, offering traders quick access to capital and low-risk opportunities. By understanding how these firms operate and what they offer, traders can make informed decisions and capitalize on the benefits they provide.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs):

Q. What is the typical funding amount provided by instant funding prop firms?

The typical funding amount varies but usually ranges from $10,000 to $200,000, depending on the trader's experience and the firm's evaluation process.

Q. Can beginners join an instant funding prop firm?

Yes, some firms welcome beginners, although having some trading experience can increase your chances of success.

Q. How do instant funding prop firms make money?

These firms make money through profit splits with traders, evaluation fees, and sometimes through spreads and commissions on trades.

Q. What happens if I don't meet the trading performance requirements?

If performance requirements aren't met, traders might lose access to their funding or face reevaluation. Some firms offer second chances or retraining programs.

Q. Are there any hidden fees in instant funding prop firms?

While most firms are transparent about their fees, it's essential to read the fine print to ensure there are no unexpected charges.

Blog Source: Unlock Trading Success: The Ultimate Guide to Instant Funding Prop Firms

[andhumanslovedstories]

There's so many horrible things happening in America right now that it has been interesting to see what individual horrors hurt me personally the most. I grew up going to the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. Musicals, plays, concerts, that weird bust of JFK, playing around on terrace during intermissions, putting on a velvet dress that you're going to ruin dropping a milk dud in your lap and not noticing until it's fully melted, wearing the pinchy shiny shoes that are the training bras of women's formal footwear, operas I didn't like but did love, jazz I didn't understand but still fascinated me, red carpet, big stairs, the absolute nightmare amount of experiences I had as a new driver as I repeatedly got trapped in the Kennedy Center's fucking private DC island or whatever the hell is going on traffic-wise, free performances on small side stages, getting to see an enormous production on the Center's most enormous stage, all of which was accessed by walking through that a long, tall hallway lined with flags of the world that made you feel like a dignitary attending the most important even in the world.

And now Trump's taken it over. He fired its board. He appointed one of his loyalists to run it. I want to throw up.

Sometimes I miss DC so much. I love the Pacific Northwest and expect I'll live here for the rest of my life, but this isn't my hometown. I grew up the edge of the District. I've lost cumulative years of my life stuck in traffic on the inner loop and outer loop. Because of the Smithsonian, it used to be so baffling to me that anyone ever had to pay to get into a museum. I've used the Washington DC zoo as a shortcut to a different part of the city because it's free to enter. You couldn't count the amount of knockoff Spider-man popsicles that I've eaten sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. My reading tastes were molded by Kramer Books in Dupont Circle. I spent afternoons walking around the National Mall, normally just a big empty field until there's an event--book fair, country music program, international cuisine, whatever--at which point for a day or a weekend or a week it becomes a sea of tents and stages. I went to protests outside the Capital and the White House about the war in Iraq. I froze my toes off watching Obama's 2008 presidential inauguration.

It seemed like everyone's family touched the federal government in some way. Everyone's family had moved here because they were military or state department or a political consultant or worked with an NGO or some other reason that meant you had to be here, in the nation's capital. Plenty of people had connections to the federal government that we more hush-hush. Like kids in class straight up going, "I have no idea what my parents do for a living. They're not allowed to tell me." High schoolers regularly, accidentally drove into the CIA parking lot and got escorted out because the premises were that accessible. My family moved here because my dad is a reporter who ended up covering international trade. (Imagine how much his job sucks right now.) He switched beats one summer to cover the White House instead. He got to fly on Air Force One. He got official Air Force One M&Ms. I was SO disappointment my dad didn't work there for Bush to call on him by nickname.

Every day my family got The Washington Post. I read the comics and the kid's page, then the rest of the Style section, then Metro, then news. I learned to read from it. We wrapped our delicate Christmas ornaments with its pages. We used yesterday's papers to clean our windows because they didn't leave streaks. I took journalism in high school. You can't IMAGINE how much and how frequently we talked about Watergate. When Post changed its motto to "Democracy Dies in Darkness" after Trump's election in 2016 that meant something to me. I knew Bezos owned the paper now, but that was still my paper, and the motto spoke to something I fervently believed: if people just knew what was happening, they wouldn't allow it to happen. If you expose a problem, people will naturally agree that it is a problem and that we should do something to fix it. Flash forward to Trump's third fucking campaign, and the newspaper wouldn't endorse a presidential candidate. Chickenshit cowardice. Then they change the motto. "Riveting Storytelling for All of America." Eat shit. You're nothing now.

Politics in America is just telling everyone how much you hate Washington, DC so that they'll elect you so you can move to DC. Well, guys, the city fucking hates you too. Republicans will never give the District actually meaningful political representation because no one in that city would vote for them. It's not just the policies; it's the contempt. No one in the new administration loves the city they schemed and lied and stooped to take over. It's just iconography to them, and all they care about is taking that iconography for themselves. Trump doesn't give a shit about the summer program for the Kennedy Center. He has never seen a show at the Kennedy Center. When he was president, he never attended the annual awards. He's trying to destroy one of the most significant places of my life and I'm genuinely unsure if he has ever stepped for inside of it.

[dreamlandbarnes]

f1 fic recs

a compilation of all the fics i've been reading in the f1 rpf tag on ao3! please leave comments and kudos for the authors, and check the tags before reading. sorted by pairing, and summary and word count are provided. none of these fics are mine.

if your fic is on here and you want it removed, please let me know!

part 2

charles leclerc / max verstappen

bloodsport by 140445 | 37,711 words | M

“I don’t care about then, you are here now,” Charles says. “You are on my side now.” Max is on his side. It’ll feel like that, too, at some point. Surely. Or: Max and Charles as teammates for the 24 hours of Le Mans.

such murderous and vengeful desire by foggystars | 20,676 words | E

Where Carlos’ girlfriend has her fingers crossed, keeps covering her eyes as if she can’t bear to watch, Max is focused, mouth set in a hard line. He’s leaning in, balancing on the edge of his seat. To anybody else he looks intent, focused on the screen. To Charles, he looks like a bird, poised to take wing. Like he’s about to fly right through the screen and take the steering wheel from Charles’ clumsy hands, get in there and drive the car himself. When Max Verstappen suffers a career ending injury, he pours all his effort into turning his old rival, Charles Leclerc, into a worthy champion. Five years and two world championships later, they finally decide to talk about it.

like in love with me by linearity | 7,800 words | T

Austria 2019, a two-person house party, Abu Dhabi 2021, a silly lover’s quarrel, and a stove-side morning proposal.

Anonym by additiv | 13,971 words | E

The truth is, Max finds Charles unbelievably annoying. He’s chaotic and unpredictable. He’s staring at Max across the room one moment, and in the next, seems to have forgotten he exists. He swaps clothes with people at random, whipping off his faded Gucci t-shirt in the middle of the dance floor, to trade it for some girl’s crop top, laughing and crowding close to block the view of her body while they make the exchange. When he disappears to the bathroom, Max never knows whether he’ll reappear with glitter on his eyelids, or white powder on his nose. He flirts with every person in the room, and probably sleeps with them too. He ignores Max completely, then goes home with him. He’s always gone when Max wakes up; nothing left behind, nothing missing. He refuses to stay the night, but refuses to let Max get over him. And, he refuses to let Max know anything about him.

when you cut me open by triangularity (linearity) | 44,900 words | E

Well, Charles concedes, miserably. He did die last night. A few days staying with his vampire ex-boyfriend probably isn’t the worst thing he’ll have gone through in January.

a life in your shape by weiwuxian (BreathOfDream) | 29,431 words | E

“Oh god, not you,” Charles groans, crossing his arms on his chest. The Batman visibly rolls his eyes (blue, of course, because all men that messed with Charles’ life had that in common apparently) at his reaction, but another look at Charles makes him step closer. “Yes, always a pleasure. Are you ok?” or: 5 times both Max and the Batman makes Charles' life a lot more complicated than needed + 1 time he doesn't

Frecheit by additiv | 208,723 words | E

The first time that Max heard the name Charles Leclerc was in 2022, just after winning his first WDC. Maybe it only stuck because he heard it twice in one night; first as Leclerc was announced as the 2022 F3 champion. Second, as Helmut lamented not signing him to the Red Bull driver development program. Now, Max is ready to put the newly-promoted Ferrari driver in his place. The problem is, Leclerc seems to think his place is on the top step of the podium. And he is not playing by the rules. An age-difference fic, where they never got to work out their differences as kids. 3-time WDC Max's experience of being personally victimised by baby-Charles.

in dream by 140445 | 81,025 words | E

Charles tried to figure out the dream on his own. In the morning he sat down with a cup of coffee, trying to make sense of what he had seen—he even googled it. Surely, Charles couldn't be the first or only person to dream about someone he shouldn't. But there were no search results for my professional rival is suddenly also my soulmate or soulmate dream of someone i'm not supposed to want???.  (In a world where soulmates identified each other by sharing a dream, Charles dreamt of the last person he expected.)

heart of the wind by pipitass | 13,830 words | M

There’s a slip of paper taped next to one of the doorbells — third floor, second door. It should, in theory, be the one directly across from his own. Max V. “Yes?” “Uh— hi.” He clears his throat. “It’s your neighbor. From across the street. Your, your clothes…” He doesn’t really know what to say after that. Hi, I got into a street fight with your bedsheets yesterday. Welcome to the neighborhood.

charles_leclerc ✔️ posted: 😘 by ninetqs | 11,500 words | M

Charles posts a photo with a mystery man and casually breaks the Internet in the process.

cameras in the traffic lights by c_e_1 | 9,958 words | M

Pop Crave @PopCrave • Aug 13 2023 Popstar Charles Leclerc has put his instagram on private after fans spotted Formula 1 driver Max Verstappen in the background of his vacation photos 303 comments | 1.6K retweets | 10K likes

(don't read) the last page by mintchocolatechip97 | 7,475 words | E

Max feels a light tap on his arm, and turns to see the beautiful door-opener, chestnut brown curls fluffed up on his head like he’s been running his hands through his hair. “I have been on a set a time or two,” the man says, trying and failing to wink, “but this is my first time in a writers room, so you are not the only rookie here.” He clearly speaks English fluently, but has a smidge of a European accent, which Max thinks might be French. “I’m sorry,” Max says, a little annoyed that this stranger is speaking to him as if they know each other, “I didn’t catch your name?” Several emotions flit over the man’s face, in such quick succession that Max can’t quite catch them all. In the end, he looks mortified. “Oh, I am so sorry,” he says, “This is going to sound terrible, like I am the worst kind of person, but I thought you would know who I was.” Dr. Max Verstappen gets hired as the expert medical consultant for a new Netflix show. Charles Leclerc, former teen heartthrob, stars.

all i know of love is hunger by 140445 | 28,509 words | E

Anger flares in Charles’ chest. Not the kind that he feels in the car, when he’s on Max’s tail, when they are braking late and later. The one that’s been looming over his head ever since Max announced his retirement. The one he hasn’t been able to tame until now, until he can give it a name. Betrayal.

hollywood and highland by japrufrocks | 26,730 words | E

Max had left New York a week before Charles had, seven days exactly. Max had gone to Hollywood; Charles had gone to a hospital. Now they're starring in the same film. Hollywood gives its darlings everything. It takes everything too.

straight lines (that unwind you) by 140445 | 16,330 words | E

“Do you know him?” Arthur asks. “No,” Charles decides. Because he does not. He knows Max is a mathematics major, and that he plays chess. And that he hits the gym. And what he looks like when he comes. Details.

all to play for by linearity | 49,300 words | E

Charles Leclerc is not at Red Bull to win races. He is here to win championships.

my thoughts will echo your name by witchee_writer | 38,826 words | M

“Do you think you’ll ever want to do Le Mans one day?” asked Max, glancing sideways at the man sitting next to him. Charles’ eyes lit up, a grin spreading across his face. “I think I want to win Le Mans one day.”

heart on your sleeve by nyoomfruits | 4,812 words | T

The thing about having a racing helmet that constantly displays your emotions for the whole world to see, is that you kind of get used to it after a while. These days Charles almost forgets it’s even a thing. Almost. But then he goes and falls in love.

ghost of you by nyoomfruits | 3,436 words | T

“All right, are you now finally ready to explain why four time world driver champion Charles Leclerc is currently in my living room?” Max says, as Charles towels off his hair. Charles pauses, lets the towel fall into his lap, stares at Max with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, did you say four time?”

The HR Situation by thearchercore | 3,027 words | Gen

Jacob found out many things during his first month in the new HR role - Mary and Connor from Aero Engineering were dating. Thomas and Nick from Comms got recently divorced and it's a sensitive subject. Eddie from Legal had to go to an Anger Management class but hasn't had any issues since his return. Oh, and also - Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc were fucking weird about each other. or: Charles and Max go to Mercedes and the HR Department is in shambles.

Sawtooth by nottonyharrison | 40,305 words | E

In another universe, Max rejected karting at the age of fifteen, no longer prepared to be a proxy for his father’s dream. He moved back to Belgium to live with his mum and sister, excelled at school, and eventually went on to complete a Masters of Mechanical Engineering. Now 27, after four years working for Alfa Romeo and Sauber, first as a junior performance engineer and then on the pit wall for Zhou Guanyu, he’s put forward for a job with Ferrari when Carlos Sainz is left without a race engineer thanks to the increasingly hectic F1 schedule. The problem is, Max has a crush on Carlos’ teammate. A huge, obvious, embarrassing crush that leaves him stumbling for words, face burning every time he’s within six feet of the guy. What makes it even worse is that sometimes he’s sure that Charles is looking right back.

leminiscate by weiwuxian (BreathofDream) | 27,799 words | E

Charles tries to imagine Max, on the opposite side of the kitchen. Eating bread too, like he did that first morning of the After—gross and charming. Tries to think about the way he would hold him, maybe. Of the softness of his lips, glossed by butter; and how he would laugh and push him away. His phone dings and he blinks himself awake once again.

achilles comes down by sincerelylancelot | 21,068 words | M

The World Championship trophy rests in his trembling hands, his name etched in fine gold. It isn't until he's staring down at it—his name nestled close to Max’s—that he realises his dreams have always been carved out of someone else’s pain. Jules. Max. And now, maybe even himself.

charles leclerc / carlos sainz jr

a bad recompense for your love by steviethenarwhal | 65,162 words | M

“I do not want to date you,” Charles says. Carlos’s eyes slide warily over to him. He tries to explain. “I do not date men. It would be… not smart.” “I don’t want to date you either,” Carlos says. “I do not date racecar drivers.”

translation theory by linearity | 9,500 words | E

Charles Leclerc, Ferrari’s golden boy, their Il Predestinato. He likes it up the ass and likes getting fucked by rockstars who have more tattoos than thoughts in their brains. What a fucking joke.

semiotic study by linearity | 8,600 words | E

Carlos knows. He knows what this is and what this is not. This is not romance, this is not love, but Charles makes it so easy to slip into that illusion. Charles makes it so hard, and Carlos cannot be without.

last night by venerat | 24,259 words | E

Rule #1: When you go to America, don't lose your virginity to your best friend's roommate. Charles fails Rule #1.

Good Boy by chiliconcarlos | 8,445 words | E

Really, it’s all Alex’s fault. ~~ Or: the one where Charles and Carlos want to settle the question of who's better in bed.

at the dinner table with god and my father by Cloudcollector | 4,599 words | M

There is a table in his house that knows more about him than his father. Or, Carlos and his father. And the family dinner table through the years.

win or lose (it's how you play the game) by chiliconcarlos | 18,321 words | E

It all starts because of a stupid bet.   Or: Carlos suggests a hickey bet for their '23 season, and it goes about how you'd expect.

darling by magnificentbirb | 6,579 words | T

The pet names begin as a joke.

carlos sainz jr / oscar piastri

take it or leave it by venerat | 6,771 words | E

r/relationships: My (22M) coworker (29M) keeps irritating me at work

he just turned in like i didn't exist by linearity | 36,500 words | E

Oscar doesn’t have a problem with his soulmate. It’s his soulmate who has the fucking problem.

Happy Death Race by powerfulowl (playmyace) | 28,390 words | E

Carlos gazes up at the fake blue sky. Dopey grin, contrapposto pose, head as empty as the cottony clouds above. “Look, look. Look, Piastri. It is always daylight.” Oscar imagines pushing him into the piss water canal. "Yeah, cool. Stop dying!" (Oscar is in a time loop and Carlos won't stop dying.)

when both our cars collide by buildyourfences | 8,483 words | M

It’s race day, which means his phone shouldn’t be ringing. And yet, it is. “Carlos, why are you not at the track yet? We are waiting for you.” “But–” “I sent you the updated schedule last night, please get here as soon as possible.” The call ends. He blinks down at the phone in his hand. Friday, March 1. Well, that’s not right. Carlos is trapped in a time loop. He can't stop crashing with Oscar.

at a constant speed by wisteriagoesvroom (bobaheadshark) | 11,676 words | E

“Are you close?” Oscar asks. “What does it look like?” “I wasn’t expecting it to be, uh, so…” What? Oscar wants to add. Hot? Desperate? Pathetic? All of the above? --- Or, carcar get themselves into a situationship, and it just keeps situating.

left a calling card so they would know that it was me by xxxdeerlordxxx | 6,139 words | E

Carlos continues to sit there, in the cockpit with his back to the wall, pieces of the torn advertisements raining down on him. He can see a big screen from where he’s at, the replays they show over and over, of Carlos spinning out, of Oscar driving away from the incident like nothing happened. Because of course no one believes him. But Carlos knows that Oscar’s to blame. Just not in the way people might think.

hatred cradles you by foggystars | 6,829 words | E

“You see?” Carlos asks, hanging up the phone. “He does not pick up.” Oscar shrugs, unsure why Carlos seems to think this is his problem. Just because Oscar’s his teammate doesn’t mean he knows where Lando is at all times, like some sort of twink-seeking missile. Then Carlos says, “I wait for him in here,” and nods to himself. He’s walking into Oscar’s hotel room before he can stop him, and all Oscar can do is blink stupidly at the empty stretch of hallway where Carlos once stood.

in midnight’s jaws by Springsteen | 30,806 words | E

Werewolves are fiction, the stuff of books and movies just like witches and zombies. Men do not turn into wolves, or fly on broomsticks, or raise the dead. There must be a logical explanation for the restlessness in Carlos's blood, for the waves of pain so sudden and intense it feels as though his bones are trying to break free of his body. Surely there is a perfectly good reason for Carlos to have woken in the dirt the morning after a full moon, with no idea where he is or how he got there. And surely there was a reason he turned to Oscar Piastri, of all people, for help.

pulling teeth by arboretics | 9,030 words | Not Rated

Oscar is very private, very in control. Carlos pretends he is both of those things, too. But after a late night collision in Baku 2024, things spiral between them into something straddling a game and an uncomfortable intimacy. A year on, Oscar and Lando are battling for the championship, Carlos is fighting for low points finishes, and Oscar loses his grip on the whole situation.

the better half of a good time by antimonyandthyme | 4,413 words | E

“Most guys, they look at the date.” He manages to make it sound both admiring and chiding. Oscar is very quickly losing control of this conversation. “Do you make a habit of just giving your license out? To every stranger you meet?” “Only those I really like.”

reckless attention by crescenteluce | 4,290 words | E

It’s probably on Oscar to be the bigger person here, to tell Carlos if he can’t do it sober, he shouldn’t be doing it at all. But that’s the thing about Carlos – he doesn’t exactly inspire Oscar to be the best version of himself.

george russell / max verstappen

winning mentality by linearity | 18,500 words | E

It’s not, like, a thing. It’s only happened twice, if you don’t count the time during the pre-season when Max shoved a thigh against George’s crotch, and George, touched-deprived and broken-hearted, let out a sharp gasp and came instantly. Max, looking shocked and frightened, stormed away.

cut your teeth by 140445 | 9,224 words | E

And that is the thing that brought George here. Eat or be eaten. It’ll happen either way. Maybe here, he will like the taste.

full throttle by calenmirel | 3,397 words | E

Later, Max will turn to him, meeting his gaze head on, and ask if George truly hadn’t seen him in his mirrors at turn eight, like George had claimed. He'll rub his hands on his racesuit as he says it, like he'll be rid of the phantom feeling of George's hair from between his fingers if he wipes them hard enough. George will look back at him, licking the taste of Max from the back of his teeth like he can savour it, and will reply, “of course I didn’t,” lying through his smile.

alexander albon / george russell

a feeling all brand new by ginnydear | 16,481 words | M

Alex is halfway through his sandwich when he starts to feel talkative, so he takes a sip of his tea and waits for Logan to finish chewing before he says what’s running through his mind at full speed. “I think I’m homophobic.”

nothing but teeth by crescenteluce | 25,057 words | E

“Oh, come on.” Alex says, poking George in the thigh again with his foot. “Don’t tell me you’ve never done a little-” Alex makes a complicated hand-wavy gesture that has the contents of his glass nearly sloshing over the sides. “At your fancy boy schools, a little stiff upper-lipped make-out amongst the chaps? In between rounds of cricket and fox hunting?”

carlos sainz jr / max verstappen

ease the madness by magnificentbirb | 12,231 words | M

Max signed away his soul on his sixteenth birthday.

pierre gasly / charles leclerc

a long time (maybe forever) by strongestavenger | 10,021 words | T

AITA: homophobic but only to my roommate/best friend? First of all, I swear I have never been a discriminatory person – I have lots of gay friends and my little brother is bisexual. I know that sounds stupid as hell but it’s my only defense right now. My problem is that I (Marc, 26M, straight) have a roommate (Jacques, 28M, gay), who has also been my best friend since we were kids, and I think I’ve started to feel homophobic towards him? (or: Charles needs some outside help to figure things out.)

miscellaneous / general / multi

One thousand laps of jeddah by in_in_in_in_in_in_in | 68,585 words | Gen

George feels sick for the whole ride to the track. He has no idea how he got from breakfast to the car, let alone how he shook off Alex. He knows that he said ‘for god’s sake, Alex, I’m not on drugs’ about a hundred times, even though he’s not at all sure that it’s the truth. What else could have happened to him? Did he dream the race last night?

eat them alive by linearity | 57,000 words | E

Oscar lost Lando a championship and left McLaren. There was still a year in between.

the condominium community committee by jusst_you_wait | 36,452 words | T

the condominium community - 2:36pm Oscar and Logan have been added to the chat George Hello, welcome to a group chat we have for the Formula apartment building! There are only 18 (20 now) of us so we like to keep in contact about the building maintenance and other neighbourly orders of business. I’m George, and I liaise with the building manager on behalf of all of us when there is a building specific issue rather than an apartment issue. Welcome to the building! Lando do u copy and paste that from ur notes every time Alex I bet he has it memorised ~ or, the ridiculous chat fic where the f1 grid all live in the same apartment building

temperature get to you by minieggs11 | 9,339 words | E

It’s Logan’s last ride of the night, it’s clearly two drunk tourists going back to their hotel. As long as they give him a five star rating, he doesn’t care what happens.

sugar and spice by pipitass | 10,785 words | E

“Do you know already? Who you’ll pick?” Oscar frowns. Eyes still closed, scrunched now. Sharp brows downturned, meeting in the middle of his face. “When you win.” The frown deepens for a second. Then his face releases, and he shrugs. Shuffles as he goes to lay down, kicking his shoes off before he brings them up so his toes are poking at Max’s thigh, settling in. “Someone nice.”

triple header by 140445 | 7,890 words | E

Because Oscar isn’t here with Charles. And he’s not here with Max. He doesn’t get it, this thing between Max and Charles. They look like they’re here together, share glances that make Oscar feel like an intruder—but Max brought Oscar back to the booth to sit with them. For Charles to flirt with him. As if it’s some kind of game, where Max brings back prey for Charles to take.

somebody else by piastrism | 31,252 words | E

Oscar misses the color lilac — the color of the twilight sky behind Charles as they drank wine on Sedici, and the long-faded color left behind on his hips by Max’s fingertips.

we'll take the shadows (since the limelight isn't ours) by magnificentbirb | 2,177 words | T

Lando hears the screech of tires on asphalt behind him, the distant crunch of carbon fiber colliding with a wall. He glimpses only the aftermath of the carnage—the dust and smoke, the flashing lights, the unmistakable gleam of bright red—and then he’s clear. And that’s when the seconds slow down.

possessed by light by Anonymous | 6,885 words | Gen

It is a lesson you learn alone. Or that you are supposed to learn alone. At some point you will look at yourself in the mirror and see not just flesh and blood. You will see the capabilities beyond that. You will see your body as a ladder to forever ascend, to always want more. You will see just what you’re made of—and you will realise it has to be used. You will learn not to waste it. Charles did not learn that on his own.