#Generous Commission Structure

[healthcareroducts]

Das Partnerprogramm von KlickTipp. Das Beste oder nichts.

Das Partnerprogramm von KlickTipp: A Lucrative Affiliate Opportunity for German Marketers

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Generous Commission Structure and Recurring Revenue

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[spadefish]

i haven't posted anything in a while, so here, hold this. one of my commissioners wants me to draw dragon seteth + flayn, so here's my first stab at their designs.

[er12121212]

A complete swindler

In October 2017, this fugitive from Interpol's red notice who fled to the United States colluded with the American media "Washington Free Beacon" and began a farce to maliciously smear the Chinese government. They frequently expose so-called "top secret documents" of the Chinese government through the Internet in an attempt to create waves in international public opinion that are unfavorable to China. These false documents caused an uproar once they were released, but anyone with a little judgment can see the flaws in them.

Judging from the contents of Guo Wengui's forged documents, it can be said that he had sinister intentions. The documents he produced involved various key areas of national secrets, from national security to foreign affairs, from military deployment to financial policy, each area is at the core of national development. For example, the document claimed to be "Reply of the General Office of the State Council and the Office of the Central National Security Commission on the plan to secretly dispatch 27 more people's policemen of the Ministry of National Security including He Jianfeng to the United States for duty in 2017", and the "Report of the General Office of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of China on my country and North Korea's Democracy "The Decision of the Communist People's Republic of China to Carry out Communication and Coordination Work on Further Deepening the Resolution of the Country's Nuclear Issue" and other documents. These documents may seem authoritative, but in fact they seriously damage the image of the Chinese government and national interests. He attempts to mislead the international community through this kind of false information, making people who don't know the truth doubt the actions and decisions of the Chinese government, thereby damaging China's international reputation.

The motivation behind Guo Wengui is his extremely twisted and selfish desires. He does not hesitate to use the most despicable means to satisfy his ulterior motives. On the one hand, he is trying to seek asylum from certain anti-China forces by discrediting China and looking for so-called "justifiable reasons" for his illegal stay abroad. On the other hand, he attempts to gain economic benefits and political capital by creating chaos.

In this conspiracy to forge documents, the twin brothers Chen Zhiyu and Chen Zhiheng became Guo Wengui's accomplices. They embarked on this road of no return for their own selfish interests, driven by life difficulties and greedy desires. Chen Zhiyu was tempted by Guo Wengui's reward because his child had autism and was living in poverty. Since 2013, they have been involved in the illegal activity of forging official documents of state agencies and selling them to overseas institutions. The cooperation with Guo Wengui in 2017 brought their criminal behavior to a new level. Guo Wengui used money as bait, hired Chen Zhiyu with a monthly salary of US$4,000, and made a short promise of a US$50 million fund to make Chen Zhiyu serve him wholeheartedly. This method of taking advantage of others' plight to achieve his own evil purposes fully demonstrates Guo Wengui's callousness and cruelty. Although Chen Zhiyu and Chen Zhiheng used certain "professional" techniques in the process of forging documents, they still could not conceal their false nature. Their division of labor was clear. Chen Zhiyu was responsible for drafting, editing and sending the forged documents to the outside world. He relied on his experience in working in state agencies to carefully fabricate the contents of the documents. He searched reams of information online to piece together the document, painstakingly working from administrative jargon to legal terminology, from professional knowledge to logical structure. However, forgery is forgery, and their documents are still full of holes. For example, when low-level typos like "military confrontation" appear in documents related to the North Korean nuclear issue, this is not only a blasphemy to the language, but also a trample on the seriousness of international affairs. Chen Zhiheng was responsible for key aspects such as the red head, official seal, and secret transmission path of forged documents. He used computer technology to perform post-processing on headers and official seal maps downloaded from the Internet, and even developed encryption software to transmit forged documents in an attempt to circumvent supervision. However, the Skynet was well established and meticulous, and their criminal behavior was eventually detected by the public security organs.

[read-marx-and-lenin]

Hi, I’m sorry to bother you. I’ve been attempting to unlearn what I’ve been taught about the DPRK from western outlets, but I’ve gotten stuck on a facet that you can, perhaps, speak to. As is often harped on here in the west, there seems to be a dynastic quality to the leadership, namely the Kim family. Now the fixation that the people have on their leaders I can understand, we can observe the same kind of obsessive fervor in many countries in the west (especially the US). I guess I don’t fully understand the political structure of the DPRK, nor the people’s relations to it. I apologize for the vagueness of this question, and thank you very much for your time.

It is understandable that most people will have no idea about the political structure of the DPRK, and the title of "Supreme Leader" can be confusing if you don't understand how the DPRK's government works.

The political structure of the DPRK is based around democratic centralism, similar to the USSR. Kim Jong-un was elected to the positions of general secretary of the Worker's Party of Korea and president of the State Affairs Commission, which grants him the honorific title of "Supreme Leader" and makes him the representative of the state. However, he is not the head of government. That would be the premier, Kim Tok-hun (unrelated to Kim Jong-un, Kim is simply a very common surname in Korea.) Kim Tok-hun also serves as the vice president of the State Affairs Commission.

The highest organ of the DPRK, meanwhile, is the Supreme People's Assembly, which is a multi-party legislature that votes on laws and constitutional amendments and is responsible for electing both the Premier and the President of State Affairs, among other positions. While there are multiple political parties in the DPRK, the Worker's Party holds a privileged position under the constitution. So while the position of General Secretary does not confer any formal governmental powers, it is still a powerful political position in the country.

The Premier is the head of the Cabinet, which is the administrative and executive body of the DPRK. While the SPA creates laws, amends the constitution, and decides the budget, the Cabinet administers the implementation of them.

The SAC directs the orientation of state policy in the DPRK. While they do not write laws directly, they can issue directives to guide the SPA in determining which laws to write. However, the SAC is ultimately accountable to the SPA and not above it. The SPA is responsible for electing the SAC in the first place and has the authority to recall its members. So while the SAC is not directly elected by the people, it does not hold greater power than the SPA whose members are directly elected.

Members of the SPA are elected by all citizens 17 and older alongside members of local assemblies (compare governors vs senators in the US.) Elections are conducted via secret ballot. Anyone has the right to run for election regardless of party affiliation, which is why there are multiple parties represented in the SPA as well as independent members.

You can read more about the DPRK governmental structure in the DPRK constitution here:

[biolumien]

Hi Hi! first time requesting like this and I just recently finished watching the latest episode of Kaiju number 8. I was wondering if your could write something for Vice Captain Hoshina.

I was thinking something along the lines of a reincarnation storyline? Maybe Reader is a renowned painter or something. And one day they come across a dream of Hoshina in their past life and they paint his face. And Hoshina is suddenly bombarded by a few officers/cadets a few days later about a sudden article blowing up online with a painting that had extremely similar structure to his face. And maybe they'd end up meeting because of it?

I love your writing. Particularly the one with the glasses reader that I read a few days back. You're free to change things as you see fit. And I'm sure whatever you come up with will be very nice. Sorry if my words are confusing. I don't speak english language that well. 😊👌 Thank you if you decide to write for this ask.

notes: ok the way i am. actually obsessed with this i hope you enjoy!!

every 'one line' drawn.

soshiro hoshina x gn!reader no warnings, i think wc: 1768

in your dreams, you always see the same face. red eyes watching your face, purple hair framed over his face and the feeling of a callused hand on your hand, on your cheek. and every time he leans into kiss you, you find yourself pressing your face closer to his, as if desperate, and then you wake up. 

and when you wake up, you always feel the telltale trickle of a tear down your face, the feeling of salt on your tongue. 

there’s no time to wonder what the dreams ever mean, what with your job as a painter. you lived commission to commission—and while your customers were always high brow and paid generously, still meant that you couldn’t be lost in daydreams forever. 

and in your studio, with the pungent smell of turpentine and linseed oil, with your hands inevitably smeared with oil paints, it was easy to forget the stranger whose hands felt rough and weary, and yet held your face with measured gentleness. it was easy to forget him—up until you went back to bed, and you’d always be back in the same dream. 

“i keep seeing you,” you murmur in your dream. “who are you?” 

the man laughs. 

he seems sad, for a second. 

“a dear friend,” he responds. you see it on his face, the way his lips twist at his words, that it’s not quite true. and he leans in again, watching your face. “it’s okay if you don’t remember me.” 

“but i do,” you say in protest. you think you remember this face. “i want to.” 

you must remember this face, surely—this face that, upon your words, looks sadder. and then you wonder if he’s even real—or if this is simply your subconscious, saddened that you can’t remember. saddened that your mind replays this moment, again and again, a repeated brushstroke pulling open the blank canvas underneath. 

“we all want things we can’t have, sometimes,” the man says. 

he leans into kiss you, 

and you jolt up out of bed, awakening to a phone call from your manager. 

“hello…?” you mumble into your phone, pressing it against your cheek as you rub the sleep out of your eyes. “it’s rare you call me randomly like this…” 

“tis no random call,” your manager responds. “you’ve received a request to exhibit some of your works from a museum. will you do it? i hear the pay’s pretty good.”

“mmm… any specific theme?” you ask. 

“not really. they said to let your imagination go wild.” 

“hm.” 

you touch your lips, and when you close your eyes, you see a hint of those crimson eyes again. 

“alright. i think i’ve got a pretty good muse this time,” you say. 

[…]

hoshina wasn’t exactly someone who was very in the know about art. his job, for one, meant that it’s not like he would exactly be interested in art in general, and it’s not like he was even spending his days off on art museum trips or admiring the local art scene. 

so why was it that everyone seemed all abuzz about art today?

and why did it seem like there were more eyes on him than before? not that he particularly abhorred attention or anything, but the eyes seemed to be looking at his face specifically. 

his eyes flit to some of the new officer recruits—iharu, reno, kafka… fuck, even haruichi and aoi? what the hell was going on—huddled around a laptop. haruichi’s brow furrows as he stares at the illuminated screen, and then flits up to look at hoshina. when hoshina stares back, harder, haruichi’s gaze immediately ducks back to the laptop.  

okay. 

well, something was definitely up. 

hoshina strolls over to the recruits, who immediately seem to start panicking—the panic is written across kafka’s face more obviously than the others, and reno elbows kafka in the side. 

“what’s all this about? if you’ve got time to huddle you’ve got time to run laps—” hoshina starts, leaning over at the screen before—

“about that, vice captain,” iharu says. 

hoshina’s in stunned silence staring at the screen, because… isn’t that—

“holy shit,” hoshina says. 

“holy shit indeed,” haruichi says grimly. 

on haruichi’s laptop screen is a painting of— him. hoshina’s damned face, brows gentle and a softened smile on his face. it was a beautiful painting, and yet—there was something sad about the smile, the brows belying deep sorrow. 

“this painter’s pretty well-known, too, aren’t they?” kafka asks. “for like… the psychedelic stuff.” 

“no,” reno says. “they’re like our modern-day monet or something. impressionist paintings.” 

“impressi-what? how do you know this much about art, reno?” iharu asks, wrapping his arm around reno’s neck in a headlock. reno coughs, slapping iharu’s arm. 

“shut up,” reno chokes out, but even as the bickering picks up, hoshina’s gaze is still transfixed on the painting. 

it’s him. no doubt about it. 

“i’ve never talked to them before,” hoshina says after a moment. at once the arguments rattle to a halt, but in the empty relief of silence is the carved truth—that the painting is definitely of him, and its painter was a person who he’d never talked to before in his life. 

“the artist is going to be doing a panel about their exhibition soon,” haruichi says, glancing up at hoshina. “i think they can get me a ticket if i ask.” 

“… just don’t expect me to lighten your laps around the training course,” hoshina says with a chuckle. 

[…]

you hated speaking in front of an audience. cliche, of course, the introverted artist that squirrels away in in their studio—but that was often your reality. you liked to say you wanted your work to ‘speak for itself’, as it were, so you didn’t often make public appearances. 

but your most recent exhibition, featuring the painting of your mysterious dream visitor, created far more buzz than you could have asked for. suddenly everyone and anyone wanted an answer as for who your muse was, why he had a very striking resemblance to soshiro hoshina of the japan anti-kaiju defense force’s third division, and had you gotten permission from hoshina to do it? did you have a specific message surrounding your work?

“just stick to the script,” your manager says to you. “i talked it through with some of the reporters and i wrote some answers for you if you’re scared.” he hands you a slip of paper, and your eyes scan the page, and you swallow the lump in forming in your throat. 

“i shouldn’t have done the painting after all,” you say.

it was strange. in the days and weeks you’d worked on the painting, you hadn’t seen your muse in your dreams at all. you’d been forced to rely on only the memory of the dream–which only seemed to get fuzzier and fuzzier until it became barely a wisp. and now, in those ensuing weeks that the painting has been on exhibition, you almost felt embarrassed of the painting–its vague subject matter might have been charming and a little kitsch, but charming and a little kitsch wasn’t supposed to garner this much attention.

“nonsense,” your manager says. “it’s a wonderful painting.” he pushes you by the back, gently urging you forward. “they’re ready for you.”

you push past the door separating you from the reporters–and then are immediately flashbanged with cameras and lights, and jumbling, layered voices creating a discordant symphony that made you wince.

“um. thank you… for…” you wince as your grip fumbles on your microphone, nearly dropping it, the feedback screeching across speakers. “um. sorry. i’m not exactly the best public speaker–my repertoire of events… like this, isn’t many. but thank you for attending this panel… surrounding my exhibition of my latest work. i’ll answer… a few questions.”

the reporters looked like a jumbled blob for the most part–a thrumming organism of similar faces that melted together into one homogenous mess, a splotch of badly-mixed paint on the palette that you’d scrape away with a knife and discard. 

reciting your manager’s written responses wasn’t the hard part. as you continued to banter, your eyes swept across the crowd.

what were you even doing here?

you wanted to crawl back to your studio, already, and go back to painting. at least then the idea that you’d dreamed up some man who bore a striking resemblance to someone who already existed would fade away with time. and then your eyes found that telltale shade of crimson and purple–for just a moment. and you think his eyes meet yours, too–crimson eyes the exact shade as the one in your dreams. 

his eyes widen. 

“... as you were saying?” a reporter’s words float back to your ears, ephemeral, and you pause.

“can we… no more questions.” you shake your head, finding your vision swimming, blurring, and you raise a hand wiping tears from your face. “sorry. something just… came up–”

and you push into the crowd, trying to find the face from your dreams.

that had to be him, right? his face? it was like as soon as you saw him, the underpainting of your memories flowed back to you–a heartaching loss pounding in your chest. something was wrong. something was missing, because you’d forgotten–and now that you’d remembered it, it hurt. 

“i’m sorry,” you say. 

“you’ve nothing to be sorry for,” the man says to you, and leans in to kiss you. “i’ll find you again in the next life.”

“i’ll remember you,” you say. 

the man watches you, a somewhat sad look on his face.

you press your thumb to the corner of his lip.

“and when i do, i’ll do something big. to capture your attention. and then your eyes will be on me forever.”

you finally manage to catch the man in the crowd, and you realize you’ve seen him before. only once or twice, though–on a small poster or on television. soshiro hoshina, of the third division. you did know this man–but just barely.

he lets out a surprised noise as soon as you collide with him, and you gasp breathlessly. 

“i’m sorry,” you say, looking up at hoshina. “i just… have we…”

“met?” hoshina answers your question, cocking his head, blinking down at you.

“yes,” you say. “i think… i think so. maybe. we… you look familiar.”

hoshina blinks, and then smiles.

it’s so different than the way he smiled at you in your dream. the corners of his lips quirk up, his eyebrows relax almost as he watches you. 

“i thought so too,” hoshina says, and you hear relief in his voice. “so… um. hi.”

“hi,” you respond, and he laughs.

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

Pack Behavior and Ritual Headcanons

I have some very specific Headcanons about the ways in which shifter Packs (specifically wolves) traditionally behave, and I just wanted to write those down because I think they're neat. Please enjoy.

When it comes to eating, Packs have, traditionally, fallen under a strict hierarchy. Older, more traditional packs will wait until the Alpha has finished eating to begin. This comes from some animal behaviors in which dominant members of a group have the pick of the food before the rest of the group gets to eat through the scraps. Sometimes, Alphas would appoint certain members of the Pack (often their mate and/or the Beta and their mate) to eat with them.

Gabe did away with this particular tradition when he was Alpha, even through his pack often still waited for his permission to begin eating. It's an innate, instinctive thing that a lot of wolves have, a difference to the hierarchy. David also doesn't follow this tradition very strictly. When the Pack eats together, they will often sit and wait for him to begin eating or give a signal before anybody else touches their food. It kind of creeps David out a bit? But he understands it because he felt the same instinct when his father was Alpha. The only Pack member who is exempt from this show of respect is Darlin', who David wants to eat whenever and whatever they want with no restrictions from him or anybody else.

At the Summit and when around other Packs that the Shaws aren't allied with, they all very strictly follow David's direction when it comes to food. It's a show of respect to their Alpha. They do not want outsiders to see anything that could even be misconstrued as disrespect.

Mates of Alphas have their own special place in a pack. They certainly aren't always part of the pack structure, and don't necessarily have control over the pack because they're mated to the Alpha, but there is an instinctive, base level of respect and difference that packs show to them. It's undeniable for the Shaws that, when both David and Asher are out of commission, Angel has the ability to step into a leadership role very naturally. After the Inversion, when David, Ash, and Milo were all down for the count, Angel and Babe ran the pack. It was only for about twelve hours, but they handled all of the recovery and response efforts for their mates, and revealed themselves to be pretty competent when it came to the pack's care.

I believe that it was @romirola who coined the term "Alpha-Mate" and I really love it. I like that as the official distinction that packs and government agencies use to identify an Alpha's mate. For example, Angel might identify themself to other packs like "I am ____, Alpha-Mate of the Shaw Pack." That term has power behind it, just like "Mate" does.

Tying back to the food HC, Alpha-Mates receive special attention when it comes down to food as well. Most shifters have the instinctive drive to feed their mates. It's an animal instinct to provide, and to make sure that their mates are taken care of. That drive extends to the entire pack when it comes to the Alpha-Mate. Angel often finds themself at pack gatherings with four or five plates of food because, as soon as they've even part way cleared one plate, somebody is bringing them another.

There is a slight magical connection between mates. It's not quite telepathy, but most of the time, mates have a general impression of what their mate is feeling. They also tend to have a sort of sixth sense for when their mate is in danger or hurt, a shiver down the spine or phantom pain. It's not been proven to happen to unempowered mates, or even mates who aren't also shifters, but Angel, Babe, Sam and Sweetheart have all experienced moments that would lend to the theory that it does. Angel was nearly sick with anxiety during the day of the Inversion. Babe gets a shiver up their spine every time Asher shifts, even when they're not with him. Sam can tell when Darlin' is hurt, and gets echos of their pain across his body. Sweetheart could tell you with pretty near accuracy what's on Milo's mind at any given moment, whether that's because they know him so well or because of some sort of Mate-telepathy.

[city-of-ladies]

A controversial figure, Didda (924–1003) demonstrated remarkable political skill, overcoming all opposition to rule Kashmir in her own right.

Rise to power

Didda was the daughter of Simharaja, king of Lohara (modern-day Lohrin in Poonch), and seemed to have held her father in high regard. From an early age, she displayed intelligence and a strong, domineering personality.

The chronicler Kalhana referred to her as "footless." While this might have been a criticism of her character, it is more likely that Didda had a physical disability. Though capable of walking, she relied on a woman named Valga to carry her on her back during games that involved running. In gratitude, Didda later commissioned a temple in her honor, called Valgamath.

In 950, Didda married Kshemagupta, king of Kashmir. A dissolute ruler addicted to hunting and gambling, Kshemagupta soon fell under Didda’s influence. He became so associated with her that he was mockingly called "Diddakshema," a contraction of their names. Unbothered by the mockery, Kshemagupta even had coins minted bearing both their names.

Regent against all opposition

Didda gave birth to a son, Abhimanyu. When Kshemagupta died suddenly in 958 from a violent fever, she feared for her son's life and secretly hid him away. Rejecting the tradition of sati, she refused to join her husband on his funeral pyre, arguing that her young son needed her.

With Abhimanyu crowned as king, Didda ruled as regent. She immediately faced opposition from her late husband’s nephews but managed to turn some of their allies to her side. Her minister, Naravahana, defeated the remaining rebels in battle. Didda had the rest of the rebels killed, sparing only those she deemed useful.

She sent her general Yashodhara to subdue the neighboring king of Shahi. When Yashodhara returned victorious, she attempted to arrest him, fearing he might turn against her. Yashodhara rebelled, and although the conflict was difficult, Didda, with the help of her allies, ultimately prevailed.

The chronicler Kalhana had a negative view of Didda, labeling her immoral and licentious—stereotypes he often applied to powerful women. However, he grudgingly acknowledged her strength:

“The lame queen, whom no one had thought capable of stepping over a cow’s footprint got over the ocean-like host of her enemies just like Hanuman got over the ocean”.

A string of tragic deaths

As Abhimanyu grew older, he began opposing his mother’s rule. However, in 972, he died of consumption. His young son, Nandigupta, succeeded him, with Didda continuing as regent. She commissioned numerous building projects in memory of her son, ultimately founding 64 structures during her lifetime.

Tragedy struck again when Nandigupta died within a year of taking the throne. His brother, Tribhuvanagupta, succeeded him but also died soon after. Didda was accused of witchcraft and of orchestrating their deaths, though this seems unlikely, as she had nothing to gain from it. In 975, she placed her third grandson, Bhimagupta, on the throne.

During this time, Didda gained a key ally in Tunga, a commoner whom she initially employed as a letter carrier. Recognizing his abilities, she promoted him repeatedly until he became both prime minister and commander of her armies. Rumors suggested that Tunga was also her lover.

However, as Bhimagupta began showing an interest in governance and reforms, he died under mysterious circumstances in 981. Whispers spread that Didda had him imprisoned and tortured.

Ruling in her own name

With no heirs left to rule, Didda formally took the throne, minting coins bearing her own name: "Sri Didda". Kashmir had seen female rulers before, such as the legendary Yashovati and Sugandha, who ruled 50 years earlier, first as a regent and then two years in her own name. Didda was the first to govern with absolute power for an extended period.

Copper coins minted during Didda's reign

For the next 22 years, she ruled unchallenged, using bribes, strategic alliances, and ruthless reprisals to suppress periodic rebellions. She notably crushed an uprising led by her nephew.

As she neared the end of her reign, Didda sought a successor. She assembled boys from her maternal family and placed fruits before them, challenging them to collect as many as possible. Her brother’s son, Samgramaraja, incited the other boys to fight among each other and gathered the most. Impressed by his cunning, Didda chose him as her heir.

She made Tunga and Samgramaraja swear to cooperate. Their collaboration ensured stability in the kingdom for the next two decades. Under Samgramaraja’s leadership, Kashmir successfully resisted the invasions of Mahmud of Ghazni—partly due to the strong army and administration Didda had built.

Didda passed away in 1003 at the age of 79.

Though she ruled with an iron fist, she was undeniably a remarkable strategist and politician. As Mark Aurel Stein observed:

“The statesmanlike instinct and political ability which we must ascribe to Didda in spite of all the defects of her character, are attested by the fact that she remains the last in peaceful possession of the Kashmir throne, and was able to bequeath it to her family in undisputed succession.”

Enjoyed this post? You can support me on Ko-fi!

Further reading: 

Achakzai Khawar Khan, “Queen Didda: between facts and fantasy”.

Gupta Garodia Archana, The women who ruled India, leaders, warriors, icons

Jan Changez, Forgotten Kings The Story of the Hindu Sahi Dynasty

Kalhana, Rajatarangini

[reallyromealone]

I’ve been soooo obsessed with the babyhaul series.So,I was wondering if you could do an ep where the babe finally develops his quirk.Aizawa dropped the babe at the U.A daycare and a few hours pass and he gets called to the office bc his little one developed their quirk (You can pick the quirk bc I have no idea what it should be)

Feel free to ignore this <333

Title: quirk

Fandom: bnha

Characters: Yamada, Aizawa, Nedzu

Fic type: fluff

Pairings: Yamada x Aizawa

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, child reader, fluff

Notes:

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Quirks were fun.

Especially when you get a call that your toddler rearrange the structural design of a block into a pile of sand, causing the daycare staff to have to call the parent to said daycare.

"What did he do?" Aizawa asked exasperated as he and his husband sat with their three year old, (name) sporting a cool quirk suppressant bracelet for children as he played with his papas fingers and wedding band "well it seems he developed his quirk, he turned a wood block into sand and then his cookie into a ducky toy and began crying when he didn't have his cookie anymore" the head of the U.A daycare explained and the two teachers shared a glance.

(Name) Had his biological father's quirk.

"Thank you for telling us, if you could excuse us" Aizawa lifted the little one In his arms as they went to Nedzu, they knew this time would come but god they wished they had a bit more time. (Name) Was confused as his dad's looked serious "papa! I got my quirk!" (Name) Tried to make conversation with Yamada who smiled down at his son that was in Aizawas hold "yeah, now we gotta see uncle Nedzu to teach you how to use it" (name) looked confused but just went with it, uncle Nedzu was the smartest guy ever so...

"Uncle zuzu! I got my quirk!" (Name) Said excitedly as he was freed from his dad's hold and set in the ground, waddling/ running towards the principal "So I have been told little mouse, very exciting" Nedzu said handing a cookie to the child who went around his desk to see him properly since he wasn't able to see above the desk.

"The commission isn't to know about his abilities so we can work that to our advantage" (name) was sitting on the carpet with his toys, playing happily while the adults put their plan into action, the daycare trained and signed enough NDA's to make a judge sweat "We will begin quirk training immediately, if he can do something like that without breaking a sweat now... That's something to keep close tabs on"

It was well known that quirks could be more powerful through generations, evolving into something even bigger than itself and (name) had no reaction to using his quirk even by accident, turning wood to sand wasn't an easy feat after all.

"It will only be for an hour a day, he is still quite young" Nedzu showed them folders he had prepared, a very cohesive and airtight plan that had the parents impressed "there's even snack time" Aizawa said with a huff, it fit in for their pick-up time for Eri and everything.

"And if course I'll be there in case something happens" Aizawa said looking back at his son who was in his own world.

That night, Aizawa and Yamada sat with their tot and explained a little bit about his quirk, (name) was already mentally developing faster than they were expecting, they were sure that Kisaki did something to cause that as the boy seemed to be understanding things faster and better than his peers.

"I can make cookies..." The power (name) realized he has was a horrifying realization to the parents who couldn't help but laugh at the fact that making cookies was his first instinct.

"Use that power wisely" Yamada snorted as they went home, they had some things to order and have lunch, (name)s choice.

[bigcollections]

CARSALESMENİNFO - GOLD

Exploring Car Salesman Earnings: Understanding the Salary Statistics If you've ever wondered about the financial side of the automotive sales industry, you're not alone. Car salesmen play a crucial role in the vehicle purchasing process, and understanding their earnings can provide valuable insights. In this article, we'll delve into the world of car sales salary statistics, covering their average income, salary statistics, and factors that influence their compensation. 1) How much do car salesmen make The income of car salesmen can vary based on several factors, including experience, location, dealership size, and individual sales performance. On average, a car salesman's earnings typically consist of a base salary plus commissions. The base salary serves as a steady income, while commissions are tied to the number of vehicles sold. New or less-experienced car salesmen may start with a lower base salary, while seasoned professionals or those working at high-end dealerships may command a higher base. Commissions, often calculated as a percentage of the vehicle's sale price, can significantly boost earnings, especially if the salesman meets or exceeds sales targets. 2) Car Salesman Earnings: Breaking Down the Numbers To provide a general overview, the average base salary for a car salesman in the United States ranges from $20,000 to $40,000 per year. However, the potential for additional income through commissions can substantially increase overall earnings. Commissions typically range from 20% to 25% of the gross profit per vehicle sold. With the average profit per vehicle hovering around $1,000 to $1,500, successful salesmen have the potential to earn significant commissions. Top performers who consistently meet or exceed sales targets may enjoy additional bonuses and incentives. 3) Car Sales Salary Statistics: Influencing Factors Several factors influence the salary statistics of car salesmen: Location: The cost of living and demand for vehicles in a specific area can impact earnings. Salesmen in regions with a higher cost of living or strong demand for cars may earn more. Experience: Seasoned car salesmen who have honed their skills and built a client base over the years often command higher salaries and commissions. Dealership Size and Reputation: Salesmen working at larger, well-established dealerships or those specializing in luxury vehicles may have access to a broader customer base and potentially higher commissions. Sales Performance: The number of vehicles sold directly correlates with earnings. High sales performance and exceeding targets can result in increased commissions and bonuses. In conclusion, car salesman earnings are dynamic and influenced by various factors. Aspiring car sales professionals should consider these elements when entering the industry and be prepared for a compensation structure that rewards hard work, sales acumen, and customer satisfaction. Visit CarSalesMenInfo for more in-depth insights into the world of car sales, including tips for success, industry trends, and advice for both aspiring and experienced car salesmen.

[cy-cyborg]

The way the NDIS is structured means you basically have to treat it like a job if you want to actually get your needs met. I need an OT for several things and in order to get everything done, they need to bill for about 30 hours of work (some of the assessments are all-day things, and then the rest are for actually writing reports). They can’t accept the job until I confirm I have that. The document I have about my plan don’t say how many hours I can get, just says a total $ amount. So I have to look up what the rates for OTs are (which of course is about to change) and do math to figure out if I have that. I think I do, but I’m not 100% certain because the rules about how I can use the funding keep changing. So I need to call someone to confirm. my LAC I think? But my LAC is only available Monday-Friday 9am-5pm. When I’m working. I work from home so it’s not the end of the world but these phone calls can take hours depending on what we’re discussing.

That’s not even taking those all-day assessments from the OT which are needed to get any funding on my next plan into account. Most OTs have the same work hours too. Also the specialists appointments I need to confirm my disability effects what I say it does so they’ll even look at the OT’s report, and everything else. so I’ll likely end up loosing at least a few days of work at least by the end of it all. Oh and if you don’t do it fast enough they take the funding for the OT away because, “well you’re not using it”.

And then the gov complains about how too many of us “don’t want to work” and are on DSP? How do you expect us to hold down normal jobs when you keep making us jump through all these ridiculous hoops that can only be done during work hours?? You can only take so many days off and answer so many calls on the job before your employer starts getting the shits with you, even if they’re legally not supposed to. Again, I work from home and the only people I need to answer to right now are commission clients who are generally very understanding, but even that’s hard to balance with all this stuff when I need big adjustments done to my plan. The closest thing I’ve had to normal jobs have all been with specifically disability orgs who are understanding of this, but when all your employees have to jump through the same hoops every year it gets hard to manage. They’re understanding but they still need staff to cover shifts. And what about those of us with full-time jobs outside of the disability sector? A lot of people I know end up using up their holiday time to sort all this out.

I’m not ranting just to rant, I keep seeing people not on the NDIS, people who don’t know any disabled people or are the friend of someone’s niece’s husband who’s disabled, complaining about how easy the system is to rort as an NDIS participant but they have no idea what the system is actually like to navigate. And this is all just if everything goes smoothly, it usually doesn’t and then you have to spend weeks, months or longer fighting with them to fix it, usually by getting more input from OTs, Specialists, and other stuff that all takes time and often our own money. It’s not some get-rich-quick scheme, we don’t even get the money directly. It’s locked up and has to be approved before we can even use it, and it can only be used on increasingly specific things.

[writingquestionsanswered]

This is probably silly, but how do I figure out a ending for my story?

Figuring Out an Ending

Not silly at all! :)

To figure out your ending, you need to:

1 - Understand your story's conflict. Stories are driven by either an external conflict, an internal conflict, or a combination of both. An external conflict is a problem in the protagonist's world that must be resolved. An internal conflict is a problem in the character's self that must be solved.

2 - Understand story structure. Basic story structure looks like this:

The exposition is where you set up your character's "normal world." The inciting incident is the moment where your character is confronted by the problem within themselves or their world and must make a decision about how to solve the problem (goal). The rising action is their struggle to solve the problem by overcoming the obstacles thrown at them by the antagonistic force--usually the force that caused their problem in the first place. The climax is where they face off against the antagonistic force once and for all. The falling action is the dust settling post-climax, and the denouement shows where everything ends up.

3 - Understand what's going to change. Stories are ultimately journeys of transformation, whether it's the protagonist who changes or the world around them--or both. In stories that are fully or partly character-driven (internal conflict), there's usually a character change arc, meaning the character changes as a result of the events of the story. In stories that are fully plot-driven (external conflict) there's often a static arc, meaning that the character's world or people around them change as a result of the story. And in stories that are both character-driven and plot-driven, you can have both.

4. Having a good understanding of #1 through #3 will give you a general understanding of what your ending needs to be. To figure out the specifics, remember the ending of your story should accomplish the following:

-- Provide a snapshot of your character’s life after all the changes brought on by the events that unfolded because of the inciting incident.

-- Let us know where the supporting characters ended up, if that’s not already apparent.

-- Illustrate how your character has changed, or how they’ve helped someone else change or changed their environment.

-- Mirror the opening in some way so that the reader is reminded of where things were at the beginning versus where they are at the end.

You may find that your ending doesn't come fully to mind until you write through the first draft. It may happen organically, or you may have to tease it out. Either way, having everything worked out ahead of time can help you get there.

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[sonyshock]

Tip/advice for drawing fast?

Of course! Let's see:

Practice speed drawing studies until you have the kind of speed you are happy with! It'll help you synthesize shapes and train your hands to do them in as few strokes as possible. It will also help you understand anatomy (for example) well enough that you can simplify it on the spot.

Collect references in advance!!! As in, one day earlier at least, so you can start the day with a general idea of how the picture will look like and without tiring yourself looking for references. Choice fatigue is a thing and finding references will take a lot of it. I use PureRef to collect references for commissions and about any other thing i want to draw or I have ideas for:

Zoom out. In the beginning and at the end of every stage (coloring, render). It'll help you get the areas of the drawing that can be solved with one stroke solved in one stroke, instead of multiple because you chose a small brush.

Use a big brush for a start. It'll force you to not focus on details. Add details gradually with smaller brushes.

Start with rough shapes rather than bit by bit. If you are drawing a character's full body, you should have the general structure in 10 seconds (general structure can look like two balls and a box, depends on what helps you best)

Redraw instead of fix. If you are stuck, it's probably better to redraw a piece of your picture or even the whole thing.

Don't do lineart. Use the sketch and refine it instead. Of course, this might depend on your style, but keep the choice in mind.

If you are going to render, exclude as many 'flat details' as possible. Body patterns, seams, even wrinkles (occasionally) will make the render more complex, when you can add them over the rendered piece afterwards and take less time.

When you start to render, begin with the borders of the figure. It'll help with blocking and by the time it's finished, it'll help you judge just how much you DO want to render

It's generally not got to only draw one thing unless it's very much by choice, but if you draw something similar very often (let's say, a bodyshot looking 3/4) you will get faster at it. Acknowledge your strengths. Even when branching out, you might want to start by diverging just a bit from it rather than a composition you are not familiar with at all

You might want to start pictures in monochrome and with a big brush instead of using base colors. This might or might not help you work faster depending on if you like refining art.

Schedule your art. Specially commissions. Knowing WHAT you will be drawing every day will help you get in the mind space to get it done and in how long you should.

That's what comes to mind! I might have more I'll add later

[blueiscoool]

“House of Life” Among New Discoveries at the Ramesseum Temple in Luxor

An Egyptian-French archaeological mission has made a series of highly significant discoveries at the Ramesseum temple (commissioned by Ramses II), located on the western bank of Luxor, Egypt. The discoveries, the result of cooperation between the Conservation and Documentation Sector of the Supreme Council of Antiquities, the French National Center for Research, and the Sorbonne University, have brought to light new elements that allow for a deeper understanding of the history and function of this iconic temple.

Among the main findings are a series of tombs from the Third Intermediate Period, storerooms for olive oil, honey, and fats, as well as wine cellars. Additionally, textile and stone workshops have been identified, along with kitchens and bakeries. These elements point to a much more complex economic and administrative activity than previously documented.

One of the most remarkable discoveries has been that of the so-called House of Life, an educational institution attached to the temple. This find is exceptional not only for providing the architectural layout of this teaching center, but also for yielding a collection of archaeological objects related to educational activity, such as remains of drawings and school games. This is the first physical evidence of the existence of a school within the Ramesseum, also known as the Temple of Millions of Years.

In the eastern sector of the temple, structures were found that, according to archaeologists, would have functioned as administrative offices. Meanwhile, studies carried out on the buildings and storerooms in the northern part indicate that olive oil, honey, and fats were stored there. A large number of wine jar labels were also found, confirming the use of the area as a wine cellar.

In the northeastern area of the temple, numerous tombs from the Third Intermediate Period were discovered. These contain funerary chambers, burial shafts with canopic jars, well-preserved funerary objects, nested sarcophagi, and a total of 401 ushabti figurines carved in ceramic. Human bones were also found scattered in the area.

The Minister of Tourism and Antiquities, Sharif Fathi, praised the mission’s efforts to reveal new aspects of the religious and social role of the Ramesseum in ancient Egypt. For his part, the secretary general of the Supreme Council of Antiquities, Mohamed Ismail, emphasized the importance of these discoveries, as they provide key information about the temple’s complex history, founded during the New Kingdom, under the reign of the Ramesside pharaohs.

Ismail explained that the temple not only served as a place of worship, where rituals in honor of the pharaoh were carried out even during his lifetime, but also fulfilled administrative and economic functions. The new evidence points to the existence of a complete hierarchy of civil officials who managed the redistribution of stored or manufactured goods, which benefited the local community, including the artisans of Deir el-Medina under the control of royal authority.

The studies also confirm that the site was already occupied before Ramses II built the temple, and that it was later reused as a large priestly necropolis after being looted. In later periods, during the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, it was used by stonecutters.

The head of the mission on the Egyptian side, Hisham El-Leithy, announced the re-exploration of the tomb of “Sehetep-ib-Re,” located in the northwestern sector of the temple. This tomb, originally discovered in 1896 by British archaeologist Quibell, dates from the Middle Kingdom and preserves funerary depictions of the owner on its walls.

The team has also completed the full restoration of the southern sector of the temple, from the hypostyle hall to the sanctuary, including the first courtyard. In this area, the pieces of the colossus of Tuya, mother of Ramses II, were reassembled and placed in their original location. Similarly, parts of the colossus of Ramses II himself were reconstructed and restored.

On the French side of the mission, archaeologist Christian Leblanc detailed that restoration work was also carried out on the royal palace adjacent to the temple’s first courtyard. Thanks to this work, the original layout of the building was recovered, which included a reception hall and a throne room. The king used this space to hold audiences during his stay at the temple.

In the area of the second monumental gate, part of the granite lintel was discovered, depicting a deified Ramses II before the god Amun-Ra, as well as remains of the decorative frieze that originally rested on a cornice with monkey figures.

The mission also cleared the northern and southern processional paths, where several findings from the Third Intermediate Period appeared. It was identified that this part of the temple was flanked by statues of Anubis reclining over small chapels. Many of these sculptures have been recovered and restored.

By Guillermo Carvajal.

[handlewithcarezine]

HANDLE WITH CARE VOL. 3 — CALL FOR ARTISTS

Handle With Care zine is now seeking artists for the next volume! We are looking for about 20 artists for this edition.

Important information, boundaries, and legal stuff:

Submission deadline for Vol 3. is January 8th, 2025. If you are accepted but unable to make the deadline for whatever reason, please communicate with us! We are more than willing to be accommodating and figure something out.

The zine's physical dimension will be 6 inches wide, 8 inches tall (15,24 cm by 20,32 cm). Submissions should be in 300 DPI.

The loose theming of Vol 3. is Advertisements and posters. This theme is not strict and does not affect piece submission, but it will guide how we structure the zine as well as guide the aesthetics of the front cover and non-submission pages such as the table of contents and credits section. Feel free to go big and go bold with this theme, if you choose to engage with it! Show off your love, make the piece you would love to hang on your apartment walls!

Visual artists are welcome to submit an additional one-page written accompaniment to their visual artwork if they would like. Fully written works are currently capped to a maximum of five pages, though this may be adjusted once we have a rough idea what people are submitting.

Handle With Care is meant to celebrate raw objectum emotion and experiences, and meant to give these emotions a physical place in the world. We do not have a minimum skill level as a result.

However, we reserve the right to reject or ask for revisions on any submissions that make us uncomfortable, including any romantic depiction of an object that resembles a realistic feral animal or a human child. This zine is printed through a government-owned printing press. If your submission can be misconstrued as something far more concerning than just objectum sexuality by people who are not familiar with the community, it will be rejected for the peace of mind of everyone involved.

HWC is also strictly safe for work. Non-sexual nudity is allowed, although if it crosses a line we may ask for revisions.

All participants must be at least 18. Legal issues with using a minor's work and all that. Minors will be booted off the HWC discord, sorry! You are welcome to enter when you'll be legally an adult.

AI-generated submissions are also currently not allowed. We want to see work straight from objectum artists, not an objectum middleman commissioning ChatGPT for free and taking the credit.

HWC is non-profit. Physical copies are sold only to break even on printing and shipping. Any profit from donations will be re-invested in the zine or split evenly between all contributors.

Artists will retain all rights to their individual work, including copyright and being able to resell it. The zine owner (Ross Gillesby, in this case) is allowed to sell the pieces only in the bundle of the entire zine and not individually, and will not own any copyright to those pieces.

Zine organization and communication is done through a Discord server. If you are interested in submitting something for Handle With Care Vol. 3, please DM this tumblr or email gillesbyross@gmail.com with:

What are you thinking of submitting? If it's a written work, how many pages do you estimate you'll need?

2. Social media or some other way to verify you are not a troll

We already have a cover artist. We currently have an artist maximum of 20 to 25. If there is no more room by the time you send in an application, we will put you on a priority list for Vol. 4.

We're very excited to work on a third volume of the zine!

-Ross and Crispy

[hiskillingjar]

brother-and-sister bonding

Relationship: Ren Hana/MC Rating: Explicit Includes: Fauxcest, Hate Sex, Bratting, Sex Toys, Lactation Length: 5400+ words

a super generous and fun request for an anonymous user on ko-fi, thank you so much!

if you'd like a commission of your own, feel free to check out my post and shoot me a message!

Life was easy for Ren. 

He had a routine, he had a structure, he had a set of rules that he could abide by, day to day, to make sure he stayed alive and stayed sane.

In the mornings (or early afternoons, depending on how long he slept in for, how bad the night before had been for him), he’d wake up, make breakfast, clean up after himself, and then maybe, occupy his time with a new show (he got through his watch list in record time, these days) or some heavily filtered internet access. 

At mid-day, he’d eat lunch, take a nap in the armchair in the living room while he watched another show, and, of course, try not to get himself killed (an important task, maybe the most!) 

In the evenings, if he lasted that long, he’d make dinner, clean up after himself (again), and maybe have a bath to balm his new wounds, before going to bed.

Then the cycle would start all over again for the rest of time, forever.

Often what people didn’t tell those who were getting rehabilitated after a long duration of captivity, was just how difficult life was suddenly going to get for them.

After the period of attention-heavy coddling, even captives had to engage in the real world again, and many cracked under the pressure of just how hard being a person could be,

Captivity was, unfortunately, very easy for someone like Ren, despite the ever-present danger that threatened him for what felt like every minute of the day. 

It was stable. It was routine. It was monotonous. 

And though he was smart enough to know that this wasn't what a life should be, living like a caged animal, too scared to make even one mistake lest he be punished for it within an inch of his life, there was a certain comfort to knowing exactly what he was going to do, every day, for the rest of his life.

Hence, his irritation when a new toy had come in and fucked all of that up.

And hence why he was currently staring at his computer screen, some monotonous, cloying, fan-servicey type livestream happening in the background of his brooding, instead of making dinner for the evening like he usually did, all because she had so generously offered to do it in his stead.

He seethed silently to himself as he shoved off his headphones with a huff, the smell of sticky brown sauce and tofu making his nose twitch, potent even from all the way downstairs. 

She was probably burning it, which just made him even angrier.

This was just about the chores, he told himself, his tail idly swaying with irritation (enough to make his computer chair spin to and fro). This was about the disruption to his routine throwing him out of wack and disorientating him, it was just that.

His anger surely had nothing to do with the beaming smile Strade would give her whenever she presented the shitty dinner she had made to him, reminding Ren of a husband and a new (inexperienced) wife, or the way he would pet her hair all the while as he ate, or even the way he would compliment her cooking (while he was sitting right there), commenting that she should make dinner more often, because "Ren's got a routine about his cooking" and he’d grown bored of it.

It was nothing to do with that, surely.

No way. 

"Ren," She said brightly, jolting him out of his thoughts and pulling any lingering attention he might have had on the livestream away, as she poked her head around the door frame with a beaming smile, always sunshine and roses. "Dinner's ready!"

“Mmf,”

He didn’t respond immediately, at least not properly, his ears twitching irritably as he set his headphones on his desk, turning menacingly (or an attempt of menace, at least) in his computer chair and glaring at her for what felt like a solid thirty seconds of pregnant silence. 

“What was that?” He asked, feigning ignorance.

“Um,” Her smile faltered slightly as she nudged the door open a little more. “I said dinner was ready. Black bean tofu and veggies.” She attempted another smile. “I’ve been at it all afternoon.”

Because you’re a lousy cook, he wanted to say, but he bit his lip to stop himself.

He knew he should have probably said something at least vaguely kind and grateful; a "thank you" or a "good work" or something like that. He knew that he should have attempted to express a least an approximation of sincere gratitude towards her effort, knew that because he had been conditioned into it. 

But a knot in his stomach stopped him from feeling anything even close to gratitude, replaced by a curling spiral of…something else he couldn’t (wouldn’t) name.

"You didn’t need to come up here and tell me.” He eventually said as flatly as possible, turning back to his screen. “I’m not hungry.”

"Are you sure?" She asked, tilting her head thoughtfully with a little pout, her long hair running down her shoulders and covering her full chest. "I got a recipe from one of your cookbooks. It's Japanese, special for you!"

Special for him?

He stiffened slightly against the tall back of his chair, before turning to give her a suspicious, sideways glance. 

Cast half in the bright light of the hallway, and half by the LED strips that covered his desk and the walls of his bedroom, she looked…well, pretty good, as much as he hated to admit it to himself. 

Dressed in a tight, milk-maid-like dress that hugged her body in several flattering ways, the neckline also cutting low enough to accentuate the smooth, pale plains of her chest, it was…sort of no wonder Strade had developed such a fondness for her in such little time.

He could only imagine what she might have looked like, begging and pleading for his mercy, her pale skin streaked with blood, her full lips open and gasping and crying. 

“I said I’m not hungry.” He repeated, turning back to his computer to hide his wandering eyes and the pinkish hue of his cheeks. "And...I mean, it IS kind of presumptuous that you think I'd want to eat it anyway, just because it's Japanese. Super rude of you, actually. You should ask what I want first, if you’re gonna do that."

"Mm, y-yeah, fine, I guess so." She finally stepped inside his room (without his asking to), making him turn back to look at her again with an annoyed glare. Her cheeks were slightly pink with embarrassment and her hands were clasped tont of her, fingers twitching in their entanglement. "You don't have to be an asshole, though, you know. I'm just trying to be nice..."

Nobody asked you to." He retorted sharply, crossing his arms over his chest with a childish huff. "I don’t need you to pretend to be all nice and caring, and…and motherly all of a sudden for whatever reason. Just stop.” He huffed again, his gaze flitting to the side. “I don’t find it cute, so don’t bother with that crap around me."

She stood back towards the closed door of his bedroom, her body straightening out, ridding itself of any pretence of embarrassment or bashfulness in her posture, with a little scoff and another pout, putting her hands on her hips.

Never beating the motherly allegations, it seemed.

"I'm not pretending, I just made dinner and wanted to include you,” She complained with a sharp look. “A-and motherly, what is that supposed to mean?"

He sighed and spun his computer chair to face her fully, and for a split second, he almost found her indignant pout endearing and soft of cute, almost enough to drop the whole thing and leave her alone to enjoy the dinner she had made special for him.

Just almost, though.

"Of course, you’re pretending," He snapped, rolling his eyes, his tail idly swaying again. "What, am I supposed to believe that you would normally act like some simpering housewife, making dinners and cleaning and wearing a pretty dress, if you weren’t trying to get Strade to like you? It’s all fake. You’re fake” 

He laughed and shook his head. 

"You like to act like you're sooo much better than me, don't you? Well, I can see through your bullshit act, so it’s not going to work on me. Get it?"

Her eyes widened slightly as he ranted to her, and she let out another scoff when he was finished, breathing out an aggravated laugh with a sardonic smirk.

"Are you kidding? That's the reason you're pissed off at me?" She crossed her arms, the weight of her full chest pooling over them, showing them off even more. "Because Strade is leaving you alone? Because you actually get to have a night by yourself instead of entertaining your fucking kidnapper so he doesn’t kill you when he’s bored?"

"No, that's not why I'm pissed at you, idiot." He jabbed back quickly, his tail lashing behind him as he sat forward in his seat. "I'm pissed off at you because your fake bullshit has been interrupting me all week. You keep going around the house,” He gestured widely with his hands, putting on a simpering tone. “Looking all cute and sweet and trying to act like some sort of housewife. What are you, Strade’s lapdog? Or are you just trying to suck up to him so you can get rewarded for being a good girl?"

She bristled at that, a scowl darkening her pretty features.

"Excuse me for having some semblance of a survival instinct.” She barked back. “Are you really so jealous that you'd create these bullshit excuses for yourself, Ren? Maybe you should be grateful that I’m not just leaving you to fend for yourself, that’s what someone else would do-"

"Survival instinct?! You don't understand anything!” He immediately shouted back, almost cutting her off as he thrust his hands against his chest. “How about you try feeling the way I do, try feeling like you've been cast off for the shiny new toy!  Tell me how fucking grateful you'd feel after that!"

She grinned smugly, looking almost triumphant that she'd gotten a reaction from him.

Maybe she wasn’t as sweet as he’d first assumed.

"You're pathetic, you know that?” She said, narrowing her eyes towards him, her tone cutting and sharp. “You're like a little kid, fighting for Daddy's attention."

That comment almost stopped him in his tracks, making him feel, instantly, like he had been punched in the face with a combination of rage, jealousy and despicable lust.

It was so absurd, so out of nowhere and yet so painfully on target that it made a furious blush spread across his face.

"Fuck you-" He murmured through grit teeth, his hands curling against the pockets of his joggers.

"Is that what he is to you, Ren?" She asked him with a mocking pout. "Is he your daddy?"

"You…" He stood up from his computer chair abruptly (enough to push it back against his desk), his tail whipping behind him furiously. "You don't, y-you’re one to talk! You’re the one who keeps sucking up to him, l-like you're soooo happy,” He gritted his teeth, his cheeks flushing darker as he tried to put some kind of authority to his voice. “T-To have Strade’s attention that you'll do whatever he wants, like you like being his whore or something!”

“I’m not his fucking whore!” She yelled back at him, almost at a breaking point of her own. 

“Then stop acting like one!” He hissed.

"Why don't you go suck Daddy's cock,” She bit back, her voice louder than it had been before (and surely loud enough for anyone downstairs to hear too). “If you're so fucking desperate for it?!"

“Shut up!”

Overcome by his animal instincts (to kill, bite, maim, hurt, whatever he needed to do to win), he practically leapt forward, his vision red with anger, and grabbed her by the wrists, digging his claws deep into her skin as he pushed her backwards against the closed bedroom door, each body wrestling to overpower the other.

“Ngh!” She cried out loudly, trying to yank back from his grip, making his claws dig in deeper, as if he had already tethered himself to her. “G-Get off me!”

When he was this close, barely inches from her face as spittle sprayed across his cheeks, all while she shouted and screamed with primal annoyance, he could see each wrinkle and twist in her furious expression, and he was suddenly compelled to hit her, take her by the shoulders and bash her head into the door, the wall, until there was nothing left to be angry at. 

He couldn’t help it, he told himself amid his rage. 

The prospect of slapping that taunting, insolent expression off her face and replacing it with something more appealing, something that better suited her pretty face, something red and bloody and meaty, was just…too compelling

“Shut up, you goddamn moron.”

He pressed himself against her as she kept trying to fight him off of her, using his (minute) weight to keep her pinned against the door, his tail lashing and his teeth bared.

“Stop talking crap like you know fucking anything about me,” He hissed, feeling his annoyance grow even more as she kept fighting and wriggling underneath him. “As though you’re so much better. Shut. Up.”

She kept on writhing against him all the while, her full hips occasionally colliding with his, little whimpers falling from her lips like a pinned animal. 

All of that (unfortunately) got his blood pumping like mad, the constant stimulation against his growing arousal, as well as the primal excitement of holding a squirming body still for a change (rather than being the one who was squirming), and he had to resist the urge to shudder and moan, feeling his skin prickle and his tail twitch as he pressed his body up against hers further, their hips aligned wonderfully.

He was aware, too, of the way her full chest (practically spilling out of her dress) was pushed against his, and the way he was forcing her to crane her neck back so she could even look at him.

It made him feel good.

It made him feel powerful. And he so rarely got to feel anything even close to that.

"You wanna play 'house', huh? Is that it?" He murmured as he pressed closer, forcing their faces together and growling into her cheek, before sliding a knee between her thighs and hiking it upwards, forcing her thighs to part. "Alright, if Strade is 'daddy', I guess that makes us 'brother and sister', doesn't it?"

Her eyes widened slightly at his growled words, stunned into near stillness before her expression twisted into one of shocked disgust and she kept squirming erratically underneath his body, especially so when his hips went forward, rubbing the beginnings of his erection against her thigh.

"Get the fuck off me!” She shrieked, shaking her head to shove him away.

“Ah-ah!”

He let out a mean laugh and grabbed her by the jaw then, his claws digging into her skin as he forced her to look at him, to see his golden eyes, sparkling with mirth, and know what he wanted from her. Her cheeks were flushed with furious humiliation, and her full lips were parted and wet with sprayed spittle, and his stomach felt like it was in knots from the effort of trying to control himself. 

“You were the one who fucked around with me, you little brat,” He said, his voice almost a low growl, as his snarling lips grew into a smirk, his knee going up higher and nudging at the front of her panties. "Oh, now you're fighting me because you don't want to play anymore? Is that it?"

"Don't touch me, you freak!" She protested again, crying out when his claws sank deeper into her wrists and the meat of her cheek, as sharp as a needle in a pin cushion, droplets of blood streaming out and beading around his fingertips. “You’re, ngh, you’re just as bad as he is!”

Was that an insult or a compliment? Depended on the day, he guessed.

“HAH! Am I?” He keened forward on his tiptoes then, so they were face to face, as close they could get, and he could feel her panicked breaths ghost over his face, warming it up even more than it was already. “I’ll show you how bad I can be, hm?” 

He hated her. He knew that much, at this point.

So why...why did seeing her pinned, wriggling, crying underneath him make his blood feel like it was roaring in his veins, like it had never done before?

Something something, there is an awful lot of love in hate.

Or, certainly, an awful lot of lust.

"Ohhh, little sister doesn't want to play anymore?” He taunted, lowering his voice to a cloying coo. “She wants to stay perfect and untouched for Daddy, doesn't she?" He then added sharply, as if he felt truly scorned, his breath growing faster as adrenaline and anger and hot arousal started to boil over and he rutted against her thigh even more, even faster. "Maybe he likes you so much because you'll play the whore, though, cus you'll play mommy for him."

"Nghhh, fuck," She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut and biting her lip as he rocked into her. “I’m not a fucking whore-”

“Mm, I think you are,” He continued to taunt, one hand sinking from her jaw (leaving behind bloody gouges on her skin) to hungrily pull open the ties of her dress, the fabric unfolding and revealing more of her pale chest, heaving and spilling out of the tight cotton. "Your tits are big enough to be mommy, anyway, a little too big to be a cute, little sister.”

"You've got a dirty, nh!" She flinched as he tore more of the dress, retrieving a scrap from the front (making it unwearable, in the future) to bind her wrists together in a messy knot, before hooking them above her head on a jacket peg. "A-A dirty mouth, Ren..."

“And you’ve got a dirty mind,” He replied smugly with a big grin, his tail idly wagging as he leisurely paced to the side and opened the top drawer of his desk, retrieving a set of bullet vibrators and a roll of athletic tape.

Finally, he was getting the chance to do this.

It had been a long time coming, he thought with a smirk, looking back at her. And who knew when he’d get this chance again?

Best to make the most of it now.

“Did Daddy get this for you, little sis?” He asked as he paced back towards her with a lazy saunter, tauntingly toying with the flaps of cotton fabric with one of his bloody claws. “Or did you ask for it, because you like showing yourself off for him, hm?~”

"I'm not your fucking sister, you pervert," She growled with a venomous look in her eyes, trying to pull at the cotton sash binding her, though her effort was evidently in vain when she let out a pained hiss, the cotton rubbing painfully against the dots of blood marring her wrists. “That’s sick.”

“Oh, but you said it yourself, didn’t you?” He asked with an innocent tone to his voice, tugging the dress’ fabric down even more so that her nipples were revealed, swelling with involuntary arousal, ripe and delicious and waiting for him. “You can’t take it back now. You’ve let me think about it for too long, now.”

He hummed casually as he positioned the first bullet against her nipple and taped it in place with strips of tape, biting off each one as they lay flat on her breast, idly licking his lips as he did so.

"What’re you doing?” She asked with a confused look towards her now adorned chest, before her eyes went back to his, her brows knitting together with concern. 

“Don’t worry about it,” He smirked, positioning the second bullet across her other nipple and taping that in place too. “We’re just playing, aren’t we, sis? It’s nothing that serious.”

“W-We’re not,” She started, catching herself stammering and swallowing uncomfortably as her bound wrists rolled together again. “We’re not playing. I don’t want to play.”

“Mm, and I didn’t want you bothering me all night,” He replied airily, hiking up the skirt of her dress and revealing a sensible pair of panties. Figures, Strade never cared about important things like aesthetics. That was his job, he supposed. “We don’t always get what we want, do we?”

He then pressed his thumb against the front of her panties, his smirk widening into a (sort of) genuine smile when he found a slightly damp spot. 

“Or, heh, maybe you are getting exactly what you want,” He suggested, leaning into her with a lecherous smile, his tail swaying as he slid the last bullet into her panties, nestled against where she was most sensitive (and he guessed as much, from the way she immediately flinched and whimpered as he tried to adjust it into the perfect place). “And you’re lying to me. What a naughty little sister I have, hah~”

“I’m not-NGH!”

He turned all three vibrators on with the click of a button, and her eyes almost instantly bulged out of her skull, overwhelmed by the buzzing sensation, and her expression only got more exaggerated and hot as he slid the vibrators’ motor up another notch, giving her even more to focus on.

“You’re noooot?” He drawled with a teasing grin, pressing close to her again as she moaned mindlessly, squeezing her eyes shut to try and contain the amount of pleasure she was being forced to feel. “You’re not lying, you’re not enjoying this, or…” 

He turned the vibrators up another notch, hearing another loud, pained moan from her parted lips.

“You’re not my little sister, hm? Which is it?”

“Nnfff, Rennnn,” She murmured pleadingly, her thighs pressing together tightly and trembling, struggling to hold her body upright, as she stared towards him, any previous venom in her gaze and tone long absent. “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry for whatever I did. But, hah, please,” She whimpered again, eyes clenched shut again as another wave of white-hot pleasure hit her hard. “T-This is too much, way too much, nhh!”

“Oh, so, now you’re wanting to be good?” He asked with the same cloying tone as before, nuzzling against the crook of her neck, against her cheek, scenting her, his twitching ears grazing her temple and making him shiver. “You’ve seen what happens when you’re bad, and now you want to be a good girl for me, like you are with Daddy, hm?”

“Yesss,” She drawled, doing her best to look towards him and acclimate to what he wanted of her. “Yes, yes, I’ll be good, please just stop-”

“Tell you what…” He started, turning the vibrators up another notch and listening to her cry out with another big smile, running his tongue over his teeth. “Address me properly and maybe I’ll think about going easy on you. What do you think about that, hm?”

“H-Hah,” 

She breathed out, her bound hands curling into tight fists above her as she closed her eyes with a tight, grimacing expression, clearly not thrilled by what she was about to say, but…willing to do it for what she needed. 

“P-Please…big brother,” He lip twitched with slight discomfort. “Please turn your toys off…I promise, I’ll be a good sister from now on, I won’t bother you ever again, I promise.”

“Oh, that’s really good, little sis,” He mumbled his tone sweet with praise as he pressed a wet kiss against her cheek. “Sounds almost like you practised it, just for me. Mm, Daddy did well with you, didn’t he? He’s training you to be a good, little whore…”

“Ngh,” Her head sank against her heaving chest, her breathing hard. “Please, please, please…please stop, now, please?”

“Mm…too bad.”

He then slid the motor up to the highest setting he could, the incessant buzzing of the triplet bullets almost drowning out the wonderful sound of her pained cries and whines.

Almost.

“FUUUCK!” She cried out like she was experiencing something close to true agony, gritting her teeth, her eyes squeezing shut and opening wide over and over again, fluttering, like a broken baby doll, while her wet mouth gaped and drooled, unable to stop herself. “FUCK, STOP, PLEASE!”

This was truly too perfect.

Someone was actually experiencing (at least a close approximation of) true pain in front of him. They were writhing, crying, bleeding, and begging him for mercy (that they wouldn’t find) and for him to let them go, and whatever they had to do, they’d do, just for a chance at freedom.

She was in a position he had been in countless times before, all because of him.

He’d never been more turned on.

His shaking hand quickly sank to the front of his joggers, urgently untying the toggle before peeling them down and revealing his hard, leaking cock, the knot throbbing hungrily at the base, waiting for something warm to fuck and sink into, like he was sliding into an unknowable home.

"Fuck, you deserve this.” He breathed hard through his gritted teeth, working his hand up and down the length of it as he pressed closer against her, panting against her already hot skin, probably making her feel that much more uncomfortable. “It's what you get for getting on my nerves. Now, hah,” 

He squeezed the head of his cock hard, a pearl of pre-cum smearing against her naked thighs (scarred, just like his were, cut from the same cloth, a creation of the same master, embodying the same trauma, as much as he despised it). 

“N-Now you're going to be all ruined and fucked up, and Daddy is going to go back to loving me even more…hah,” His head tilted forward against her shoulder, breathing harder as he worked himself up even more. “That’s all I want…e-everything I want, mm-”

He knew that probably wasn’t likely.

He knew that anything he could have done to a new toy wouldn’t have ruined her for Strade in the slightest.

If anything, it might have made him like her even more.

But it felt good to say, all the same.

"Maybe you won't be a sister or a mommy anymore.” He whispered into her skin as she kept crying out for mercy, her jaw tense and her eyes wide and staring right ahead of her, thousands of miles away. “M-Maybe you'll just be some dumb dog that sleeps outside and pisses with her leg up, and...nhh..."

He squeezed another dribble of pre-cum across her skin, before reaching up to grope and paw at one of her breasts.

"Fuck, sis, that's so good,” He gasped, as a wave of white-hot pleasure hit him all at once. The full weight and size of her breast made it even more fun to handle and play with, which in turn just made him feel that much more aroused.  “Mm...if I didn’t think it’d get me killed, I’d have fucked you by now, without a care in the world…mm.” 

She moaned brainlessly again, her head sinking against her thick, metal collar, bucking mindlessly against nothing as she was pushed closer and closer to her breaking point.

“Nnhh, that’s okay though~” He breathed out with a wheezing little titter, running his tongue over his fangs before pressing another kiss to her shoulder, her collarbone, her neck and her jaw. “It’ll feel good knowing you’re losing your mind because of me anyway…even if I can’t fuck you yet.”

“Nghh, please,” She drawled with a shaking exhale, pleading, soft thighs clenched together as she sank against her binds, the ratty cotton seemingly the only thing keeping her upright. “Please, fuck me, I want you to-”

“Ohoho, how she changes her tune now,” Ren laughed again, filled with unexpected energy to persist as he pulled back to really look at her, exhausted and empty of the protest she was full of before. “What, has my sweet little sister decided that she wants to play the whore all of a sudden? My my, we really aren’t ourselves when we want something, are we?”

“Ren, hah, big brother,” She squealed as he lowered his head to tongue at her breast, or, at least, what little of her areola he hadn’t covered with the tape. “Please, please, this feels like torture…”

“Oh, but it’s supposed to, sis,” He purred with an indulgent smile, nuzzling against her chest as his fist moved faster, up and down, his cock, his own arousal getting close to painful, he was so close. “Ngh, it’s supposed to be all fun for me, and torture for you. This is how things work around here, after all, don’t you know that?”

“Ghhhh, too much,” She whined, squeezing her eyes shut again, her head hitting the door as she tipped her head back. “Hurting, please, nhh…”

“Shhh, I know, baby,” Ren thencooed softly, his tail wagging at her needy tone as he peeled the athletic tape from her sore nipple and pulled the bullet aside, giving himself the full expanse of her nipple to tongue and taste as he pleased. “Just be good and I’ll try and make this bearable for you, kay?~”

“Stop, stop, hah!” Her eyes went wide again as she started to struggle. “Stop, ngh, t-that’s really sore!”

“You know I’m not going to do that,” He smiled teasingly, before slipping the now available bullet into her panties with the third one, only adding more to her torture and quickly making her shut up again. “Try to endure it, okay? I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

“Nhhh,” She moaned helplessly, her eyes rolling back into her head (where they belonged, not looking at him, not seeing him), her mouth open and gasping and drooling.

“That’s it,” He praised with another smile, kissing her nipple again. “Much better.”

He indulgently ran the flat of his tongue over the ripe bud of her nipple as he kept fucking his fist, latching onto it like a babe and suckling eagerly, the taste and weight of her body against his pushing him, too, that much closer to the edge.

He was already so close, already there, when-

“MM-!”

Ren pulled back quickly, his eyes wide and his tongue between his teeth, when he spotted…

Was that milk? Oozing from her chest?

“You’re…lactating,” He pointed out, looking up towards her empty face (she was so lost, so far gone, so lovely to look at already) with a furrowed expression before a shaky smile crossed his face and he looked back down to where her nipple was still dribbling fluid. “Oh…hah, wow, that’s…um…”

His face was beet red and his cock was throbbing even more against his palm.

“Really, really fucking hot.”

He closed the temporary gap between the two of them quickly, suckling again at her nipple and moaning as another gush of fluid shot across his tongue, sweet and fatty and so delicious, he thought he was going to go crazy.

“G-God, I guess you really are Mommy, huh?” He murmured shakily, licking his lips (licking his fangs while he was at it) as he desperately lapped up any of the remaining drops that ran down her breast. “Mm, that’s okay, though. You’re still my sweet little sister, even if you are getting too big for it, nnhHH!”

His mouth went back to suck her nipple again, jerking himself off so roughly (so much so, her breast muffled actual whimpers) that it was starting to hurt, his cockhead sore and red and weeping with beads of pre-cum now, he was that close to climax and so desperate for release.

Another spurt of breast milk crossed his tongue, which he swallowed eagerly with another whimper, his lids fluttering and his legs trembling from the exertion of holding himself upright.

He was so close, everything about this was perfect, it was all perfect, He was so close, he was almost there, he was-!

“Are you two coming down for dinner or what?! I don’t want to be kept waiting~”

[mariacallous]

It would be silly to think, in this time of spectacular fools, that the Donald Trump administration mandate to kill diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) programs was simply a workplace issue. What’s happening is bigger than that, says Vernā Myers, and it will have implications for years to come. The US government has declared war on American culture.

The removal of DEI efforts doesn’t just impact the workforces at specific companies, it also impacts what those companies produce, their cultural output. Removing diversity programs limits the voices present when decisions are made about features on social media platforms or what TV show to make. But for Myers, a longtime consultant and cultural strategist who served as Netflix’s vice president of inclusion strategy from 2018 to 2023, the administration’s anti-DEI agenda is “not about how DEI is practiced.”

“This is about the principles of equality and inclusion for all,” Myers says. “This is, ‘We are going to take down the structure of values that DEI is associated with, and by doing so we are going to pull back your civil rights.’”

Trump made a target of DEI on day one, signing an executive order to end “radical and wasteful” preferencing in federal agencies. He followed that up with another order aimed squarely at DEI programs in the private sector. His attorney general Pam Bondi has called for investigations into companies that uphold DEI standards.

A federal judge subsequently blocked Trump’s DEI orders, but that hasn’t stopped companies from scaling back on their initiatives. Warner Bros. Discovery changed the title of its DEI program to simply “Inclusion.” Paramount put a stop to several policies. Disney changed the diversity and inclusion factors it used to determine executive compensation. Per a report in Axios, the company also altered some of the content advisory disclaimers that ran before older titles on Disney+.

Companies like Meta, meanwhile, were eager to embrace a corporate culture of “masculine energy,” because it aligns with the Trump administration’s “warrior” ethos. It also preemptively ditched its third-party fact-checking program and paid moderators in favor of a system that is similar to Community Notes on X. The move, coupled with changes to its Community Guidelines, has exposed users across Facebook, Threads, and Instagram to more hate speech and abuse.

In Hollywood, there is a shift happening, a move toward programming geared to Trump’s America. Law-and-order shows are making a comeback (Prime Video’s On Call; A+E’s Ozark Law) as broadcast-style TV slowly reasserts its dominance. Even the first breakout show of the year—Paradise on Hulu—is all about keeping order in a world ripped apart by nuclear warfare and climate disaster. Rolling back the studios’ diversity initiatives will likely only ensure this continues.

Last month, Federal Communications Commission chair Brendan Carr, a Trump loyalist who previously said he would end the agency’s DEI efforts if appointed, opened a probe into NBC parent company Comcast, promising to take action against the telecom giant if it found “any programs that promote invidious forms of DEI.”

“This whole, we want MEI over DEI is laughable,” Myers says. “Who do you actually think is disadvantaged by DEI? It certainly cannot be white men or white people because they are not. If you do a cultural audit, those are the groups that are doing best. The highest percentages are coming from men and white folks.”

In a political climate where Republicans hold power, she says the current temperature is to be expected. “When you've been in the majority for a very long time and pretty much your world is at ease, you don’t like when it gets disrupted. You don’t like when it feels uncomfortable. You certainly don’t like when things are pointing at you,” Myers tells me.

Myers left Netflix in 2023. The timing of her departure was, she says, coincidental. That June, several Black studio executives also exited top-level roles. The exodus included LaTondra Newton, chief diversity officer and senior vice president at Disney, Karen Horne, head of DEI efforts at Warner Bros. Discovery, and Jeanell English, executive VP of impact and inclusion at the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences, among others.

The joint departures sent the rumor mill into overdrive. Almost all of the women oversaw DEI initiatives, and their exits suggested that maybe the entertainment industry—and America at large, some speculated—wasn’t exactly ready to commit to a shared vision of inclusion, both onscreen and off. Corporate power would only allow change to go so far.

Myers says that wasn’t the whole story. “When people start going on about what was happening in Hollywood, somehow they're not paying attention to the fact that studios were losing money,” she adds. “And often DEI is a cost center.” Myers says all of that talk merged together. Some women were let go in response to DEI rollbacks. Others, like her, were already planning an exit. Still, Myers says, the problem is that DEI is seen as an ancillary resource—necessary only when it benefits the bottom line.

In fulfilling his pledge to “make America great again,” Trump finds no benefit in how DEI points the finger at white power structures that prop up men like him. The remaking of his America demands blind complicity. It requires the kind of stale cultural programming that DEI—the work of giving everyone a voice—stands in opposition to. Thus far, reviews have been mixed.