#Transactional Email Service

[stevie-gforce]

So someone got into my panera account (that I haven't used in a year) and used my card to buy $120 worth of sandwiches and cookies. And then whatever airhead I was speaking to at the bank closed my debit card without asking me or verifying that I was actually the owner of the account!

On the brightside, whatever dumbass got into my account chose delivery, so now I have his address and phone number. I'm gonna get my money back and then this person and my bank can settle things between themselves

[electronicgoateewasteland]

People are looking to promote or advertise their products and services via SMS. Though the various modes of communication tools are present in the market still no one can replace “Bulk SMS services“. For that, you need the best bulk SMS service provider that should be reliable and affordable.If you’re planning to jump in the business of bulk SMS reseller is a good idea to sell SMS services under your brand name with the MsgClub reseller panel.

[ruinix]

recent walk in..sugar daddy quinn mad when he realizes you haven’t been using the black credit card he gave you for expenses

Hello, lovely. Of course, hehe.😏 You did not catch me writing this. I am just a ghost taking over the keyboard. I need to put this out before a new walkin comes out.... (edit not really fully sugar daddy!quinn. But he totally would pay for everything type of boyfriend)

Broken Promise, Broken Cards

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Spanking (pussy slapping??), Edging, Unprotected sex (protections, lovelies, they’re important), Squirting, Just Quinn being so angry that he became calm and he edges you coz he can.

Count: 3356 -> 3734 words (Edited) | Masterlist | Taglist

You’re sending him pictures of your shopping. One picture after another. One choice after another. Quinn helps you pick when you ask for his opinion. He has no problem answering your texts while he watches a replay of a game. The only problem is that Quinn has yet to receive a notification from any of your purchases.

With that, he can no longer focus on the game. It’s just white noise now while he refreshes his inbox.

Swipe down. Wait. Close the app. Open it. Swipe down.

Over and over again, whenever you send him a new photo of your successful purchase.

None. Not a single fucking one.

He is getting too agitated when he receives a photo of a paper bag of a particular brand of lingerie with your delicate hand holding it. You have your nails done earlier this morning. It’s so pretty with your favorite shade of pink and favorite flower designs. Just like how you described it before you went out. He can’t wait for your hands around him tonight.

‘Focus,’ he reprimands himself.

Shaking his head, focusing on the paper bag instead, locking in the brand, he gives the purchase a few minutes to process—or whatever the fuck—but again, nothing. He stares and stares into the screen, his eyebrows meeting. He remembers having every transaction on that card to be sent over his email too. He set that up long before. So, where the fuck are they?

Are you actually buying things or are you stealing them?

Did you bring cash?

Quinn didn’t give you cash for anything else other than your nails and the tip for its service today. His frustrations build up. He’s so close to calling the bank and making sure that the card is activated. When he receives another message, he takes a moment to calm down—he has to—before opening it.

He immediately gets distracted by how bright you look. You are grinning so much that the corners of your eyes crinkle, a blush flushing your face. Your nails are on full show once more as you hold up the bag next to your face. So beautiful.

After a solid five minutes, he remembers to refresh his inbox. Only then does it dawn at him.

Are you even using the card he gave you? No, that can’t be. You promised him to use that card today. You are definitely using it.

Aren’t you?

One last swipe down to refresh his email. Still nothing.

What the fuck.

You’re definitely not using the card.

Quinn paces. He’s getting angry for you breaking your promise, getting worried because you’re buying a lot of stuff today. More than you usually do. Didn’t you just complain about your depleting savings last night? It’s one of the reasons why he secretly transferred a few hundreds of dollars—exactly three thousand—into your account. He knows that you didn’t notice it, because you would’ve transferred it back to him after you lecture him about it. If it’s not that, did you suddenly replenish it in your own way? He quickly checks the date and confirms that it’s nowhere near payday, so that’s not it.

Where the fuck are you getting your spending money?

He refuses to acknowledge that you might be using your old credit card. The one with a fucking limit.

It can’t be.

There is no fucking way.

Something snaps in his head, pushing him to act. He rushes to your office, powers up your computer, and signs in without a hitch, because you’ve never put a password on it. If you do, he knows about your little notebook of passwords under your desk plant next to your monitor.

He never really goes through your stuff. He is content and trusts you with everything. Everything. He knows exactly how deeply you feel about him as much as he does with you. Although sometimes you hide your phone from him, that’s when you’re texting your friends about him. It’s obvious because you keep snickering while throwing glances at him. He doesn’t mind that. Not at all. You can talk to your other friends about other stuff. The fact still remains. He trusts you.

But, right now, he is losing it. He needs to see. He needs to look into your email. Just this one time. He’ll apologize for it later.

His eyes are locked on the notifications, the receipts, the confirmations. The account number on every single one of them is not the one on the black credit card he has given you. He had it memorized, and it doesn’t fucking match. You are not fucking using it. What the fuck.

An ache forms in his chest. It’s like a horrible backhand that could shake up his teeth, so horrible that he had to run his tongue over them, making a clicking sound to ensure his teeth are still rooted. He crosses his arms. His legs are spread wide as he slouches against the backrest, one leg bobbing up and down. He glares at the screen, trying to will the emails to disappear while he burns them one by one in his mind. He tries a different route to imagine the account number to change, but of course, nothing works.

He rubs a hand over his face. His head pounds at the start of a headache. His phone pings from another message. It sounds like a blaring siren, making his ears ring. After a few moments, a new mail pops up.

This is so much worse than you realizing the deposit in your debit. Because one, you broke your promise. Two, he feels useless. If you were not going to use the card, you could’ve let Quinn accompany you during this shopping spree that would at least appease his soul. But then, he can force his card into the hands of the cashiers. Realization hits him.

That’s exactly why you didn’t let him tag along. You know he’ll talk his way to overtake your payments. Exhaling, a chuckle escapes him. A smirk forms on his face as he gazes up the ceiling. You are such a clever girl, aren’t you?

He’ll give this to you, but you are in so much trouble when you come home.

As if on cue, you text him, “I’m on my way home.”

He turns your computer off, standing up. An eerie calm envelope him. He’s still so angry, yet instead of vibrating and burning outwardly, it settles deep inside his bones until nothing comes up. It’s an odd feeling. It’s not heavy. It’s not light. It just is. A calm before the storm.

He undoes his second top button. If you really want to use your credit card, you can. You’re your own person. Still, you should have kept your promise. Such a bad girl.

He walks back to the living room and sits down on the single seater, reaching the remote to close off every curtain, making his place dimmer and dimmer and dimmer.

Then he waits.

He waits until you come in with your impressive haul. Extremely impressive, because you have your arms full already. When you put them down, you only leave to get more of them until you get a little pile in the living room. It’s amusing how your grin looks so self-satisfied, not realizing that he’s sitting in the corner of the room, until your eyes land on him. Your smile turns sheepish, taking your hands behind you, not daring to come closer.

Truly clever.

“Hi, Quinny. Didn’t see you there.” You wave.

“My Love,” he greets, beckoning you with a finger, but you refuse to come, shaking your head. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to put these away.”

He watches you start with one bag with the little nightgown that looks so fucking sexy. You’re clearly distracting him and it’s working. Slightly. He obliges you, his amusement growing the more you ramble. You’ve enjoyed your shopping trip. You speak at a quicker pace than you usually do. You have a little bounce on your step. Your happy energy radiates from you in waves while you continue taking everything out of bags which you fold right after. He knows you’re aware that he knows. That’s why you’re taking your time.

Quinn’s aware that you are genuinely delighted that you distract yourself more than him.

He’s proud and happy that you enjoyed your day.

Truly.

It doesn’t erase the fact that he has already lost it. The calm that his anger turned is what’s keeping him from pouncing on you, from taking you over his lap and slamming his hand on your bare ass until you got handprints that will bruise and ache for a couple of days. Just like how you want them.

He still can’t believe that you’ve broken him just from breaking your promise.

It’s entirely laughable.

Yet heat streaks down his spine, down his lean abdomen, down to his cock.

He’s so fucking hard.

He stands up, stalking towards you while you’re crouching next to a pile of paper bags. You’re still rambling a pottery workshop you’ve come across. You’re saying that you want to go back there so you can make mugs for each other. When you’ve already successfully built a mug collection in one of his cupboards.

So adorable. So clueless about the danger prowling towards you.

He stops, his shadow looming over you. He counts the seconds, but you still don’t notice him, do you? Then he sees how your hands start to shake. You do. Silly girl.

A chuckle escapes him as he grabs your arm. He swiftly pulls you up then lifts you over his shoulder.

“Quinn!” You squeal, hitting his back a couple of times. “Put me down! You’re making me dizzy—”

You let out a moan when Quinn slaps the tender spot under your ass.

  “Quiet,” he orders, making you whimper like the dirty slut you are. “What did you say before you left?”

“Bye?” You sound so confused. “I love you?”

He spanks you on the same spot again, making you moan and whine. Even more when he slips his hand under your skirt, his fingers trail up and up, then he puts you down on the bed. Instantly, you flip over, looking at him like he has taken everything from you. He can already hear your protest that’s sitting on the tip of your tongue. He glares at you, daring you to speak them, but you don’t take the bait. You usually do.  Interesting.

“You bought a lot.” Quinn crawls over you.

His hand flattens over your sternum, effortlessly pushing you down.

Your pupils are so blown out when he levels his face with yours, his nose grazing yours, your breath mixing with his. He can smell the gum you chewed on before you arrived, the perfume you’ve sprayed behind your ears. Your eyes fall down his lips and up his eyes again, perfectly seducing him, but he refuses, moving away when you try to kiss him, your tongue darting out to entice him.

Not yet.

“Quinn,” you whine.

“Why’d you do it?” He asks. He kneels up, flipping you over your stomach, pressing a hand on your lower back to keep you from whatever you’re planning which is being  a brat. ��

“I didn’t do anything,” you say with pout, shuddering when he slips his hand into your shirt. He unclasps your bra without exerting an effort, so used to your undergarments. “What are you doing? I haven’t showered yet.”

Quinn doesn’t fucking care if you showered or not. Since when did he care? He doesn’t care even if you come from a workout. He has fucked you like that. Many times. All sweaty and dirty. He already licked your sweat as he plunged deep inside your quivering pussy. You coming from a whole day of shopping is simple play for him. You’re just trying to get out of the inevitable punishment.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he rumbles against your ear. He slides his thick fingers under you so he can touch your tits. So soft. So perfect in his hands. Your nipples are so taut from anticipation and his attention. He pinches the sensitive peaks, your hips coming up to grind against him. He pulls away, receiving an unsatisfied groat. “Uh, uh. Answer me before you get what you want, you dirty slut.”

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp.

“That’s what you are, isn’t it?” He grits. He slides down one hand down your abdomen, down into the waistband of your skirt, down until he reaches and feels the wet patch on your panties. He presses and teases along your clothed slit. “See? So fucking wet. I barely touched you.”

“Quinn, please,” you plead, panting for more.

Why are you still not repeating your broken promise?

He’s getting so annoyed. He forces your clothes off, tearing every piece of clothing on your beautiful body. He ignores how much you complain, ignores your little ‘ouch’ because you’re full of shit. There’s no way it’ll hurt when he is tearing the fabric instead of pulling it against your fucking skin. Do you think he’s fucking stupid? Do you think he’ll hurt you that way?

He’s not a fucking rookie.

He keeps you down, spreading your legs by kneeling between them, watching how your pussy drips on the silk sheets, how your entrance quivers, begging to be filled. Languidly, he feels your folds. You feel so fucking good, so fucking soft, so fucking wet.

You gasp and moan like you’re already getting fucked. You’re just so sensitive, aren’t you?

Then he gives you a slap right there. On your dripping pussy. On your clit. His other hand grips your hip to keep you there when you attempt to crawl away, but he gives you another slap. Then another. Another.

You are moaning and writhing from the pain, begging him to stop, when you’re the one pushing your wet cunt against his palm. You keep seeking, even after briefly reeling away from every hit. Your eyes look over your shoulder, meeting his, begging and begging, mentally conveying, “More, more, more.”

Such a good slut.

His slut.

You’re his.

Quinn slides his middle finger into your heat, smirking at how your walls quivers around him. Your cunt is so red from his spanking. His thumb teases your other hole. You writhe, wantonly moaning, pathetically grasping the sheets for support.

You’re not running away now, huh?

Not when he is fingering you. Not when he pounds and puts pressure on that specific spot that has you screaming breathlessly. You want this so much. You’ve been waiting for a relief that he can easily give you.

He adds another finger, thrusting them into your pussy. Harder. Deeper. The squelching noises are music to his ears when it’s coupled with your moans and groans.

Then he feels the familiar pattern of your pussy walls. You’re going to come soon. He knows you so much. Knows your pussy more than you. Knows your little tells like how your thighs quiver, how your toes curl, how your back arches into the bed.

He knows it.

So, it’s so fucking easy to just…pull away.

You look back harshly. You look betrayed as your breaths come out choppy. Disbelief reflects in your eyes, not used to him not letting you come. He always makes you come. Not now though. Quinn takes his fingers from your arousal to his lips and slowly licks them, like he’s feasting on your pussy, groaning at how you taste. Fuck, you’re truly his favorite flavor.

“Quinn, I…” you call, your eyes tearing up. “You didn’t…”

He flips you over your back. He rests your ass over his thighs while your legs are spread out.

“Didn’t?” he mocks which you only process that as a question. You’ve already been dumbed by your pending orgasm, by your need for it.

“I didn’t come,” you whine, jutting your hips up the air, begging for another touch. “Please make me come.”

“Yeah,” he nods. That makes you smile, sighing in relief. Shaking his head, he silently says, “No.”

He doesn’t let you say another thing, plunging his fingers into your pussy. He fucks you fast and deep, thumb swiping over your clit just so perfectly, only to pull away when you’re on the verge of an orgasm.

By the third time, you finally understand what’s happening and you’re begging and begging.

Your pleas don’t reach him though.

They can’t. Not when he’s still not satisfied. Not when you still don’t say anything. However, the strange calmness that locked him is already dissipating the more he makes a mess out of you. The more beautifully and frustrated you cry.

Oh, his poor, sweet Love.

“Quinn, I’m sorry. I just wanna use my card.” You sob. “I’m sorry. Please. Please. I need to come. It’s been an hour.”

An hour?

You’re counting?

He pauses his torture, because you are finally talking.

You cover your face, hiding your fucked out face, hiding your beautifully blushing cheeks, hiding how your hair sticks to your skin.

“I saw you deposit money in my account again. I thought using my card would be a great revenge. Now, I know it’s not. This sucks! It hurts not to come. We both know you’re just going to pay the bill when it comes.” You sob, looking absolutely hurt and exhausted.

Quinn quickly pulls you up, soothing you with a hug. He sighs as you melt into his touch. You sniffle but your hand reaches between you two, tugging at his pants, trying to get to his cock.

“You have to make me come.” You beg, looking at him with your best puppy eyes. “Please?”

“You always beg so perfectly.” He tucks your hair behind your ears. “Wasn’t so hard to admit your wrongs, was it?”

“I know. I already said sorry—”

He cuts you off by pushing you back. He quickly tugs his pants down, pressing his dribbling cock to your pussy, shuddering at the feel of your trembling entrance. One swift thrust and he’s seated inside of you. Fuck. Your pussy is truly made for him. He perfectly fits. All of him. He can feel every crevice, every texture, every arousal that coats you deep inside. Shit. So good. He can come just by being inside of you, by feeling your tight pussy’s embrace. Did you know that?

But he knows that it’s not enough for you tonight.

You need him to fuck you, so he does. He fucked you hard and rough that your eyes are rolling up as you come. Even then you plead for more and more.

So he gives you everything. Changing the tempo here and there, going slow and deliberate, going back to a fast pace. He gives you everything because you deserve it.

Every time he feels that you’re about to come again, he whispers into ears, “That’s my good girl. Give me one more. That’s it. My good little slut. Take what you need. Come, my Love.”

Every time.

He draws out your fifth orgasm then he comes deep inside you, swearing loudly into your ear. He’s coming so hard that his eyesight dims. Your pussy milks every drop of his cum. How he still manages to flick your sensitive clit while he comes so hard is a mystery, but it doesn’t matter when you start to gush.

You’re making such a mess.

You always do.

“Quinn, oh my, fuck,” you cry out.

“It’s okay. I got you. Just let go, my Love,” he encourages, flicking your clit again and again, until you’ve successfully drench both of you. “No more?”

“No more. No more.” You shake your head, so he stops. “Kiss me.”

He obliges you, kissing you, whispering praises in between. You both spend minutes just kissing until you’ve calm down. Quinn gives you one last kiss before he stands to run a bath. He puts a few drops of lavender and chamomile oils in the tub. It’ll soothe you.

He comes back out to wrap you with a fresh and heated towel while the bath fills up. You look so spent, so Quinn holds you for a few more minutes, whispering more and more soft praises in your ear, because you’ve earned it.

When he hears the tub fill up, he takes you to it. He helps you in, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Just relax here. I’ll join you in a bit, okay?” He says as you settle. You nod at him as your eyes slowly blink. “I won’t take long. Don’t sleep. Not when I’m not here.”

“Okay, Quinny,” you say as you yawn. Your tummy rumbles. “Hungry.”

“I’ll get you a sandwich then I’ll make dinner after our bath. Sounds good?”

You smile at him.

His heart flutters, his stomach filling up with butterflies. He presses another kiss on your head, before he’s off, leaving you to have a little alone time. He got one thing in his mind.

He made his way to your bag that’s left behind on the floor. Humming a soft tune, he carries it to the counter, setting it down, as he takes out the ingredients for a sandwich. Just bread and your favorite jam. Washing his hands quickly, he fixes your sandwich, placing it on a plate. He also takes a fresh and cool bottle of water. It will do for a light snack before dinner, but he doesn’t take it immediately to you.

He sits on a stool, rummaging through your bag, finding your wallet.

He smiles at your photo with him there. It’s taken from a polaroid. He knows there’s another photo tucked behind it. It’s you and him in an ice rink that you had personally printed out. You’re truly cute.

He touches your face, heart pounding at how breathtaking you always look.

Even when you’re so fucked out, your beauty never changes. He can’t wait to grow old with you. He bet with everything he has and more that you will still look like the beautiful woman in the world, because you are.

Then he takes the credit card you’ve used today.

His smile never goes away as he stares at it for full minute.

Then he snips it in half and does the same to another and another.

Now, you only have one card left.

[wildestdreamsblog]

My Love, let me go

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader (Idol AU)

Summary: Breaking up with him during his military service was, initially, a good idea...until you found out that someone like him just wouldn't let go. (One shot)

Warnings: Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, , If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: An effect of my brainrot (also have u see taehyung??? That in itself is an explanation enough) ✨

While the whole country and perhaps, even the whole world, waited in anticipation for June 10, 2025, you gnawed your lips in worry.

While the entire country screamed purple with his face splattered everywhere you looked, your heart was beating with anxiety for his return.

While people have been swarming in the country for his comeback, you wanted nothing but to leave.

If you could, you would have escaped the country by now. In fact, it was not from the lack of trying. You had planned months ahead; your luggage and plane tickets were all ready to go. Your leave was already planned in your work. Your itinerary for the whole month away from South Korea was planned, budget executed down to the single won. You were ready.

You knew you were ready.

However, what you failed to account was him.

You should have known, though, that you couldn’t outplan a manipulator such as Kim Taehyung.

Everything that could go wrong that day did go wrong.

First, your airline emailed you with an apology—your flight had been rescheduled to next week due to a sudden technical issue. You clenched your jaw, told yourself it was fine. You’d just leave the city instead. Maybe escape to the countryside.

So you booked a train ticket.

Your card got declined.

You blinked at the error message in disbelief. Moments later, your bank sent you a polite notification informing you that due to a “suspicious transaction,” your card had been frozen pending a thorough investigation.

Fine. You’d drive, then.

Except, of course, your car wouldn't start.

You stared at the motionless vehicle in your driveway, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.

Perfect.

Kim Taehyung: 1. You: 0.

And he hadn’t even arrived yet.

You didn’t have access to your money. You couldn’t use your car. You couldn’t even go to the place you already paid for. You were sadly, for all intents purposes, helpless and stuck.

The freedom you felt since he enlisted was slipping through your fingers by second, the weakened hold he had on you that you fought so desperately to loosen was starting to tighten again. You could feel it in your chest, your throat closing up like it always did when you sensed him near.

He hadn’t done anything directly yet…and the last time you spoke to him was when you went to visit him in his camp to end things. It had taken everything in you to face him, to stand in front of that beautiful, dangerous man and tell him you were walking away. It had taken too much of you to look into his dark and beautiful eyes to tell him that you and him were over.

But even now, you wondered—was it really courage? Or just convenience?

Because the truth was, you waited. You waited until he was safely behind gates and schedules, too far away to reach you, too confined by uniform and duty to chase after you and tear your resolve to pieces like he always did.

You ended things when you knew he couldn’t stop you.

And somehow, that made it worse. Because if there’s one thing you knew about Kim Taehyung, it’s that he never lost. Not really.

Worst of all, he never intended to lose you.

You had stood there, heart pounding, words trembling out of your mouth like fragile glass, fully expecting a reaction. Anger, disbelief, maybe even pain.

But he laughed.

He laughed like you had just told the most ridiculous joke in the world.

Head thrown back, shoulders shaking, lips stretched in that maddeningly beautiful smirk—he laughed so hard that soldiers and officers turned to stare. He laughed for too long until he uttered the words that still haunted you to this day.

Love, we will never be over.

You walked away that day, blocked his number, changed your address and never looked back.

Well, until now.

But that had been more than a year ago, you told yourself. A whole enlistment cycle. A whole lifetime, almost. He was a superstar—the superstar. There was no way he was still holding onto that, right?

Right?

And yet, deep down, under the logic and self-reassurance, under the layers of “he’s moved on” and “you’re safe now,” a familiar chill coiled in your spine.

Because if there was one thing you’d learned from loving him—it was that Kim Taehyung never forgot.

Looking back, there was no way for you to know that someone so well-loved by the public like him could be so…ruthless. So possessive. So traditional.

There was no way you could have known. The world adored him. He was beloved—a walking contradiction of mystery and warmth, always poised with that elegant ease, always smiling like the world had never bruised him. With his slow, thoughtful words and strange little quirks, Taehyung disarmed everyone, and you were no exception.

If only you weren’t swayed by his charming smile, or of how strange he was in the most beautiful way, then maybe you wouldn’t be hiding right now. Yes, you were terrified of him, but it wasn’t because you thought he would physically hurt you.

No.

You were scared of him because of how intense he loved you.

He loved you too deeply that there was no way it would ever be normal. He loved you too deeply that there was no more room for you in the us that he imagined.

Back then, he wanted to know everything—every detail of your day. What you ate. What time you slept. Whether your coworker was a man or woman. And when knowing wasn't enough, he wanted control. Where you went. Who you were with. Why you didn’t text back fast enough. Why your voice sounded tired. Why you were smiling in a photo someone else took.

At first, you made excuses. You called it passion. You called it longing. You rationalized that someone as big as he was basically could not have a simple relationship. That someone like Taehyung, someone so famous and busy, was just desperate to hold on to something real. That you were that something.

But even when you saw him almost every weekend, despite both of your demanding jobs, it was never enough. He was never satisfied with moments. He wanted all of you. He wanted to consume you. He wanted control.

Where you went. Who you were with. Why you didn’t text back fast enough. Why your voice sounded tired. Why you posted that story without tagging him. Why you looked so happy in someone else’s photo.

He said it was because he missed you. Because loving you from a distance was unbearable.

And you believed him.

He wanted you by his side, always— Wanted you on every tour, in every city, behind every curtain.

He wanted to be the only person you needed. And every night, he wanted to consume you—body, mind, time, and soul.

He asked you to quit your job so you could always be with him.

Said it so calmly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because, as he told you, he was the man. He should be taking care of you. His woman should not have to lift a finger to live. “Whatever you want,” he said, “it’s yours.”

But you never wanted to give up your independence. He never understood that despite the endless explanations you gave him.

You had seen what that looked like. You saw how dependent your mother was to your father, and you didn’t want that from you. You never wanted to ask a man for anything.

Taehyung quite literally hated how you couldn’t be with him in each tour or how you couldn’t live with him. In turn, you hated how he couldn’t just let go. You hated how he could not accept that you needed to be independent despite loving him.

You were too tired of it all that at one point, you told him that it was best for you two to see other people. And he just stared at you, eyes dark and wide with disbelief. Then he laughed. Not loud, not cruel. Quiet. Frightening, to which he answered why you needed anyone when you had him.

He said that maybe it was best to remove those people from your life.

Perhaps, asking him to breakup was the wrong thing to say.

Back then, you thought that that was the end, that you signifying your discontent with the relationship would mean it was over between the two of you.

You should have known that there was no leaving Taehyung.

If he couldn’t control you, he would control the situation. He was good at it, you surmised, shaping how other people see him.

He was good at playing the victim.

He was good at manipulating people into thinking that his love was normal and that he couldn’t live without you. He played it too well that you even villainized yourself when he got hospitalized.

They said he collapsed. Said he hadn’t eaten. Said he had broken down.

Fans were worried, news of his health took the social media in storm.

Park Jimin had shown up at your door, eyes bloodshot, jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful. He shoved past you without asking and stood in your living room like he owned the place.

“I didn’t know you were like this,” he said bitterly. “He only ever loved you. And what did you do?”

“You left him.” His voice shook. “How can you be so cruel?”

You had no answer. Because somehow, Taehyung had made even you question yourself.

Had it really been that bad? Hadn’t he always just loved you… deeply?

You came back. Of course you did.

But after that, he was even worse.

 And now, here you were, uncertain of whether the events that just transpired were back luck or someone who was pulling the strings.

Despite that, your paranoia lessened as days went by.

It was like what happened the day of his discharge were just fluke because what followed was silence. News of him meeting his friends and even attending Hoseok’s concert were all over the social media. He was out there living his best life. It seemed like he was living well, it seemed like he had forgotten about you. There was even no attempt to contact you.

Maybe, the military life changed his outlook for the better.

Maybe the enlistment and rigorous life squashed the darkness and obsessive need in his hear.

Maybe you were overthinking.

But dear, how wrong you were.

It was a little over a week later when it happened—when everything began to unravel.

You were running late one night, dinner with colleagues stretching longer than expected. The car ride home was quiet, and all you could think about was how good it would feel to collapse into bed. You’d had one too many drinks, just enough to fumble with your keys at the door. They slipped from your hand, clattering to the floor.

You bent down to retrieve them—only for the door to slowly creak open on its own in the silence of the night.

Your blood ran cold.

Your gaze dropped to the bare feet inside your apartment, and slowly, it trailed upward—over the hem of cuffed jeans, up the muscular thighs that haunted too many of your memories. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart hammering in panic. You didn’t want to look. You didn’t need to.

Because you already knew.

But you didn’t have to wait for confirmation. Kim Taehyung crouched in front of you, his expression unreadable as he picked up the keys from the floor and held them out to you.

He held them out to you with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Looking for these?” he asked, voice low, calm, like he hadn’t just broken into your apartment. Like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be here.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Your heart thundered against your ribs, panic clawing its way up as you stared at him—his face as achingly beautiful as ever, but his presence colder than the air-conditioned hallway behind you. You tried to speak, tried to find the words that could explain your fear, your confusion, your boundaries—but nothing came.

He tilted his head, studying you, then stood up to his full height. “You look tired,” he murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “You shouldn't drink so much. It's not safe. What if something happened to you? You should have called me. You know I would have picked you up”

You flinched away from his touch, finally finding the strength to take a step back. “Taehyung,” you whispered, “what are you doing here? H-how did you find me?”

“Love, please don’t be mad,” his deep voice implored you as he reached for your hand, his grip, though it didn’t hurt, was tight. It was clear that you were not going anywhere. His unbridled strength was new to you. Taehyung had always been strong, but this was different.

He pulled you inside your apartment as though it was his, as though he had every right to be there himself. As soon as you stepped over the threshold, you noted the smell of homecooked meals. Your eyes went to your dining table where dinner was set, coupled with candles.

“W-why are you here? How did you find me?!” asked him, pulling your hand away as he closed the door gently. He leaned against the door, body relaxed, but his eyes never left you. And you just knew—if he didn’t want you to leave, you wouldn’t.

“You know…” he began, his voice almost wistful. “I tried to stay away. You hurt me when you left me, did you know that?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

“When you came to the base to break up with me, I was devastated,” he continued, stepping closer. “I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I kept thinking…why? Why would you say those things? I knew you were only pushing me away because of the eighteen months we had to be apart. That’s what it was, wasn’t it?” His voice dropped to a whisper, lips curving upward in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You were scared I’d forget you. You wanted to see if I’d chase you.”

You took another step back, but your spine hit the edge of the console table behind you.

“I tried,” he repeated, softer now. “I tried to respect your decision. To give you space. But I couldn’t stay away from you.”

His smile was almost self-deprecating. “Isn’t it pathetic that I could only stay away for a week?”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides as your body began to shake not from fear alone, but fury. Fury at him. At yourself. At the twisted, beautiful thing that love had turned into. You shook your head. “I didn’t try to break up with you, Taehyung,” you said through gritted teeth, voice rising despite your best efforts. “We broke up. I changed my number. I left my company. I moved apartments. I changed everything just so you wouldn’t be able to find me. We are over.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, he tilted his head to the side. Something shifted in his expression—not anger, not sadness, but something worse. Amusement. A quiet, terrifying confidence.

You watched his muscles tense beneath the stretch of his black shirt, fabric clinging to the lean power he’d carved into himself over the past eighteen months. He looked different. Sharper. Bigger. A version of him that didn’t need to raise his voice to command a room—or to cage someone in it.

“You don’t really think I didn’t know where you were all this time… do you?” he asked, tone light, almost teasing. “Come on, darling. You know me better than that.”

Your blood turned to ice.

“You know I’d go crazy if I didn’t know where you are,” he continued, his smile softening as if this were some kind of confession, not an admission of obsession. “You know that.”

And just like that, the bottom fell out from under you.

The months of peace you thought you had—the freedom you clung to like a lifeline—all of it shattered in an instant. The new phone, the job, the address, the carefully orchestrated distance... none of it had ever mattered.

Because he had known.

He had always known.

And the freedom you had fought so hard for?

It had only ever been an illusion.

Your breath hitched. You felt it the cold seep of dread slipping into your bones, anchoring you in place as he stepped just a little closer.

“You didn’t really think you could disappear from me, did you?” he asked softly, brushing his fingers along your arm like he was soothing a frightened animal. “Don’t worry. I’m here now.”

if I write another story for when the member gets out of military, who would you want it to be?

[payblogs]

DARK SMS - DRAGON+

In today’s fast-paced digital landscape, maintaining privacy and security while communicating is more important than ever. Introducing DarkSMS, a cutting-edge virtual SMS platform designed to streamline your messaging experience without compromising your personal information. With our innovative virtual number service, users can receive SMS messages securely and anonymously, eliminating the risks associated with sharing private phone numbers. Whether you’re signing up for online services, verifying accounts, or simply looking to keep your communication confidential, DarkSMS has got you covered. 

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Get SMS

Getting SMS messages through a virtual number service has become increasingly popular due to its convenience and versatility. Whether you need to receive texts for verification purposes or want to maintain privacy while communicating, virtual SMS provides a robust solution.

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[deergirlspirit]

WARNING TO OTHER ARTISTS ON TUMBLR

Recently I have been the victim of a Phishing Scam. Blame on me for being to trusting but in the end they had stolen both my services and my money.

They ran a PayPal scam, getting hold of your email [which can be used to look up payment app users] and then sends legit looking emails under service@PayPal.com.

The user name of this person is

To identify if the emails are legit look for transaction numbers, and if your still unsure contact PayPal service yourself and they will confirm if there is a record of such emails linked to your PayPal account.

If i can help others not fall into this trap then good.

I won't stop doing commissions but better beleive I will have stricter policy's in place now.

[doctordeathawaits]

INFO - LIST FOR TRANSABLED AID ACCESS

A list of discreet access of assistive aids , ways to hide assistive aids , and euphoria inducing replacements .

Where to get assistive aids ?

01 , An obvious choice would be online shopping , although discreet shopping can be a bit difficult . Buying many things at once so you get a big / couple of packages could be a way to not turn any eyes , especially now that the holidays are coming up . " But I live with people who have the tendency of opening my packages " , there are a couple of options of what you can do - use a p.o box or locker service ( ex: amazon locker will send you an email with pickup instructions ) , choosing a specific delivery time of when you are only home / you have time to be the first one to pick it up ( tip : have delivery notifications on so you can be the first one to receive it ) , have delivery instructions to specify where to put the package ( ex : behind a pot plant , under the steps , etc ) , have it delivered to your friends / work . " But big shopping sites aren't safe for me " , Facebook Marketplace and Craigslist could be a better option for you , may be also safer as you can request the person selling you the item to make it discreet / can also be on the cheaper end , as they tend to be used . It can also be safer on the end of simply picking it up , making it so that there isn't any sort of electronic transaction that can be seen on a bank / phone receipt . 02 , Thrifted / Yard sales are also a good option - not only is it generally more discreet , allowing you to take it home by simply putting it in your bag without any other notice , but it's also generally cheaper , seeing that often times its used items still in a somewhat good condition . " What / where do I look for ? " , I would often suggest Goodwill , as they tend to have a wider range of mobility aids . You can also find them at your local small shops - try calling ahead and asking if they have anything , as they mostly will have more time to look through their storage . " How do I know it's worth it ? " , shopping out is a greater option as you can test out if the aid is good for you . When shopping for aids , test if they are sturdy , if they are the right size for you / there is any ability to diy fix it to your measurements , and how you would be able to put it away / hide it .

When it comes to what sort of aid is the most discreet : Canes : foldable canes are the most discreet , they are compact and are able to be carried in a bag . Double use canes , such as umbrella canes , are also discreet in the sense of being able to play it off as just an umbrella . Rollator : also good to consider a foldable rollators / walkers , ones that also have a seat can be passed off as just portable seats . Wheelchairs : Wheelchairs , unless you live in a spacious area without any judging eyes , are hard to turn discreet . While folding wheelchairs are a thing , plus lightweight ones - like most wheelchairs , they are expensive , and often are badly fitted / uncomfortable . ++ temporary replacements are a better option . Hearing Aids : Hearing Aids kept in their case can very easily be passed out as to be wireless earbuds / there are many hearing aids that resemble simple ear buds. Although , Hearing Aids bought online aren't the most reliable , and may be even dangerous - so temporary / thrifted replacement is a better option .

Where do I hide my aids if I am in an unsafe environment ?

While hiding things from the people you live with can be draining , it is still suggested for your safety .

01 , Folding Aids - Any aid that is able to be neatly folded and easily stored is the best when it comes to hiding . Placing them in bags in also the best , as you are able to take them out once you leave your place . Another way would be having a designated spot outside your place , where you can easily access it once you are out . More ways of hiding them : in drawers , unused umbrella holders , under your mattress , in coat hoodies , old shoe boxes .

02 , Aids with Wheels - While trickier , definitely able . The biggest suggestion is to have folding versions . You can fold them and store in the back of your closet along the wall . You can put it on the frame of your bed and put a mattress over it . If you have a rug , putting it specifically near / under your bed , and then the aid right under the rub can also be an option . If you have a dresser , sliding it between the wall and the dresser's side can help . On top of closets can also be good . When needing to store it for outside use , big portfolios could fit them . 03 , Hearing Aids - Probably the easiest to hide as they resemble ear buds . Although getting custom / decorated cases can be good for disguising them . Nonetheless , if needed , hiding them in small pockets of backpacks , coat pockets , pencil cases can be extra security . " What if I immediately need to hide something for my safety ? " , when opening your drawer - look past the drawer / take it out , you will see that there is room on the inside of the frame , even with the drawers fully closed . You can throw any smaller sized aid in that space , and then simply take out the drawers to take it back when ready . Another way for more bigger aids - take out all of the drawers from a dresser , put the aid inside , then put the drawers back in . If the back of your dresser is a softer material that's able to be cut , cut a ⊏ shape so that it creates a flap , put your aid in and tape the flap , put your dresser back up on the wall - the flap is an easier access than taking out all drawers . Although if you feel like you are in immediate danger for having an assistive aid in your home , prioritize your safety and take the aid out of your home . You are worth more than something that you will be 100% able to get back in the future < 3

DIY - ING

Everyone should be able to have access to assistive aids - even when it comes to creating their own .

Folding Crutches . ( need to already have simple crutches ) Cane out of yardsticks . ++ easier , You can make a cane by taking hard pvc pipe , sealing the bottom + adding a stopper ( shaped rubber or foam ) , while at the top you cut out to sides of a handle - a top and bottom , glue it with hot glue and attach it.

While it may not be as sturdy - it's still a good alternative .

More affordable assistive aid shopping :

essentailaids.com , affordable canes / crutches / walkers - lots of accessories , has wheelchairs too .

mobilityshop.co.uk , also affordable AND a huge range , so you have some options . Also offers accessories and some more simpler accessibility aids .

argos.co.uk , on the more pricier end yet still quite affordable , also offers joints support and braces .

abilitysuperstore.com , while not as affordable as other sites , still has a pretty decent price range - but has way more options to offer .

[fairuzfan]

During an appearance at Vassar College in early February, controversial New York Times Jerusalem bureau chief Ethan Bronner was asked about the ongoing evictions of Palestinian families from homes in East Jerusalem which Israel occupied in 1967. Israeli courts have ruled that Jewish settlers could take over some Palestinian homes on the grounds that Jews held title to the properties before Israel was established in 1948.

Bronner was concerned, but not only about Palestinians being made homeless in Israel’s relentless drive to Judaize their city; he was also worried about properties in his West Jerusalem neighborhood, including the building he lives in, partially owned by The New York Times, that was the home of Palestinians made refugees in 1948. Facts about The New York Times’ acquisition of this property are revealed for the first time in this article.

“One of the things that is most worrying not just the Left but a lot of people in Israel about this decision is if the courts in Israel are going to start recognizing property ownership from before the State [of Israel was founded],” Bronner said according to a transcript made by independent reporter Philip Weiss who maintains the blog Mondoweiss.net.

Bronner added, “I think the Palestinians are going to have a fairly big case. I for example live in West Jerusalem. My entire neighborhood was Palestinian before 1948.”

The New York Times-owned property Bronner occupies in the prestigious Qatamon neighborhood, was once the home of Hasan Karmi, a distinguished BBC Arabic Service broadcaster and scholar (1905-2007). Karmi was forced to flee with his family in 1948 as Zionist militias occupied western Jerusalem’s Arab neighborhoods. His was one of an estimated 10,000 Palestinian homes in West Jerusalem that Jews took over that year.

The New York Times bought the property in 1984 in a transaction overseen by columnist Thomas Friedman who was then just beginning his four-year term as Jerusalem bureau chief.

Hasan Karmi’s daughter, Ghada, a physician and well-known author who lives in the United Kingdom, discovered that The New York Times was in – or rather on top of – her childhood home in 2005, when she was working temporarily in Ramallah. One day Karmi received a call from Steven Erlanger, then The New York Times Jerusalem bureau chief, who had just read her 2002 memoir In Search of Fatima.

Karmi recalled in a 15 May 2008 interview on Democracy Now! that Erlanger told her, “I have read your marvelous memoir, and, do you know, I think I’m living above your old house … From the description in your book it must be the same place” (“Conversation with Palestinian Writer and Doctor Ghada Karmi”).

At Erlanger’s invitation, Karmi visited, but did not find the elegant one-story stone house her family had moved into in 1938, that was typical of the homes middle- and upper-class Arabs began to build in Jerusalem suburbs like Qatamon, Talbiya, Baqa, Romema or Lifta toward the end of the 19th century. The original house was still there, but at some point after 1948 two upper stories had been built.

Erlanger, responding to questions posed by The Electronic Intifada via email, described the residence as “built over the Karmi family house – on its air rights, if you like. The [New York Times] is not in [the Karmi] house.” Erlanger described the building as having an “unbroken” facade but that it consisted of “two residences, two ownerships, two heating systems,” and a separate entrance for the upper levels reached via an external staircase on the side.

Questions The Electronic Intifada sent to Thomas Friedman about the purchase of the property were answered by David E. McCraw, Vice President and Assistant General Counsel for the newspaper, who wrote that the original Karmi house itself “was never owned even partly by The Times. The Times purchased in the 1980s a portion of the building that had been constructed above it in the late 1970s.” The purchase was made from “a Canadian family that had bought them from the original builders of the apartment.”

McCraw acknowledged in a follow-up conversation that as a general principle of property law, the “air rights” of a property – the right to build on top of it or use (and access) the space above it – belong to the owner of the ground.

Exiled from Qatamon

Ghada Karmi standing by the front door of her childhood home in Jerusalem’s Qatamon neighborhood in 2005. (Steven Erlanger)

Hasan Karmi hailed originally from Tulkarem, in what is now the northern West Bank. In 1938, he moved his family to Jerusalem to take up a job in the education department of the British-run Palestine Mandate government. Ghada – born around November 1939 (the exact date is unknown because her birth certificate along with all the family’s records, photographs, furniture, personal possessions and an extensive library were lost with the house) – has vivid memories of a happy childhood in what was a well-to-do mixed neighborhood of Arab Christians and Muslims, foreigners and a few Jewish families. The neighbors with whom her parents socialized and with whose children the young Ghada and her siblings played included the Tubbeh, Jouzeh, Wahbeh and Khayyat families. There was also a Jewish family called Kramer, whose father belonged to the Haganah, the Zionist militia that became the Israeli army after May 1948.

Karmi describes the house at length in her memoir – but she told The Electronic Intifada her fondest memories were of the tree-filled garden where she spent much time playing with her brother and sister and the family dog Rex. The lemon and olive trees she remembers are still there, Erlanger noted to The Electronic Intifada.

In the mid-1940s, the lively Qatamon social life gave way to terror as the dark clouds of what would come to be known as the Nakba approached. Violence broke out all over Jerusalem after the UN’s devastating recommendation to partition Palestine without giving its people any say in the matter. Spontaneous riots by Arabs were followed by organized violence from Zionist groups and mutual retaliatory attacks that claimed lives from both communities. This climate provided the pretext for the Haganah’s premeditated campaign to seize Jerusalem.

Poorly armed and disorganized Arab irregulars, who had nevertheless succeeded in disrupting Zionist supply convoys to Jerusalem, proved no match for highly-trained and well-armed Zionist militias which, on the orders of David Ben-Gurion, began a well-planned campaign to conquer the western parts of the city. The occupation of western Jerusalem and some 40 villages in its vicinity was executed as part of the Haganah’s “Plan Dalet.” These events are well documented in books including Benny Morris’ The birth of the Palestinian refugee problem, 1947-1949 (1987), Walid Khalidi’s (ed.) All That Remains: The Palestinian Villages Occupied and Depopulated by Israel in 1948 (1992), Salim Tamari’s (ed.) Jerusalem 1948: The Arab Neighborhoods and their Fate in the War (1999) and Ilan Pappe’s The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine (2006).

Zionist militias used frequent bombings of Arab civilians to terrorize residents into fleeing. These attacks were amplified by posters and warnings broadcast over loudspeakers that those choosing to remain behind would share the fate of those killed in atrocities.

Karmi wrote that one night in November 1947, their neighbor Kramer came to see her father and said, “I have come to tell you at some risk to myself to take your family and leave Jerusalem as soon as possible …. Please believe me, it is not safe here.” Many Qatamon families left after the Zionist bombing of the nearby Semiramis Hotel, which killed 26 civilians including the Spanish consul-general, on the night of 4-5 January 1948.

The Karmis however held on, and Ghada records in her memoir her mother steadfastly saying, “The Jews are not going to drive me out of my house … Others may go if they like, but we’re not giving in.”

Toward the end of April, bombardment by Zionist militias against virtually undefended Arab areas became so heavy, and the terror generated by the Deir Yassin massacre earlier that month so intense, that the Karmis relented and departed by taxi for Damascus, via Amman, with nothing but a few clothes. Their intention was to bring the children to safety at their maternal grandparents’ house while the adults would return home to Jerusalem. A few days after reaching Damascus the elder Karmis tried to return to Jerusalem but were unable to do so. So began the family’s exile that continues to this day.

As Arabs left their homes, Jews were moved in by the Haganah. “While the cleansing of Qatamon went on,” Itzhak Levy, the head of Haganah intelligence in Jerusalem recalled, “pillage and robbery began. Soldiers and citizens took part in it. They broke into the houses and took from them furniture, clothing, electric equipment and food” (quoted in Pappe, p.99). Meron Benvenisti, an Israeli scholar and former deputy mayor of Jerusalem, wrote in his book Sacred Landscape of personally witnessing the “looting of Arab homes in Qatamon” as a boy. Palestinians also lost art work, financial instruments and – like the Karmis – irreplaceable family records, as the fabric of a society and a way of life were destroyed.

Jerusalem return denied

The Karmis’ story is a variation of what happened to tens of thousands of Jerusalem-area Palestinians during the Nakba, in which approximately 750,000 Palestinians were expelled or fled from their homes all over the country and never allowed to return. (In my book One Country I describe the departure under similar circumstances of my mother’s family from Lifta-Romema.)

As of 1997, there were 84,000 living West Jerusalem refugees (23,000 born before 1948), according to Tamari. Half lived in the West Bank, many just miles from their original homes, but thousands of others were spread across Jordan, Lebanon, Syria and the Gaza Strip.

Arab property is well-documented through administrative and UN records, but tracing the fate of an individual house or proving title is extremely difficult if not impossible for Palestinians scattered, exiled and forbidden from returning home. Some, who have foreign passports that allowed them to make brief visits, have attempted to locate their family properties. In recent years a small Israeli group called Zochrot (Remembering) has even joined in – taking some displaced Palestinians back to their original villages and homes, whose traces Israel often made deliberate efforts to conceal or destroy. But such activities are not welcomed by most Israeli Jews still in denial about their state’s genesis.

Ghada Karmi recalls an earlier attempt to revisit her family home in 1998. The residents were unwelcoming and would not give her the phone number of the landlord, though a plaque outside bore the name “Ben-Porat.”

The owner of the original, lower-level house at the time The New York Times bought the upper levels was Yoram Ben-Porat, an economics professor who became president of the Hebrew University and was killed with his wife and young son in a road accident in October 1992. According to Erlanger, the house remained with heirs from the Ben-Porat family who rented it out until it was sold in 2005 to an Israeli couple who did some remodeling. It is unknown when the Ben-Porats acquired the house or if they were the ones who had the upper levels built.

During Karmi’s 2005 visit, Erlanger invited her to see his part of the house and introduced her to the Israeli tenants in the lower level who gave her free access while Erlanger took photographs. For Karmi, revisiting the house was disconcerting. She described to The Electronic Intifada its occupants as “Ashkenazi Jewish Israelis, liberals, nice people who wanted to be nice.” She felt like asking them, “how can you live here knowing this is an Arab house, knowing this was once owned by Arabs, what goes through your mind?” But, she explained, “in the way people have of not wanting to upset people who appear to be nice, I didn’t say anything.”

The New York Times

In the early years after their original residents left, many of the former Arab neighborhoods were run down. But in the 1970s, wealthier Israeli Jews began to gentrify them and acquiring an old Arab house became a status symbol. Today, Israeli real estate agencies list even small apartments in Qatamon for hundreds of thousands of dollars or more, and house prices can run into the millions. In Jerusalem, such homes have become popular especially with wealthy American Jews, according to Pappe. The New York Times did not disclose what it paid for the Qatamon property.

It was a curious decision for The New York Times to have purchased part of what must obviously have been property with – at the very least – a political, moral and legal cloud over its title. Asked whether The New York Times or Friedman had made any effort to learn the history of the property, the newspaper responded, “Neither The Times nor Mr. Friedman knew who owned the original ground floor prior to 1948.”

As Friedman prepared to make the move to Jerusalem from Beirut where he was covering the Lebanon war in the early 1980s, The Times hired an Israeli real estate agent to help him locate a home. According to McCraw, Friedman’s wife Ann went ahead to Jerusalem and looked at properties “and she, working with the agent, made the selection for The Times.” During the process Friedman visited Jerusalem and looked at properties as well, a fact he mentions in his book From Beirut to Jerusalem. By the time the property was selected, Friedman had moved permanently to Jerusalem and oversaw the closing.

The choice of the Qatamon property – over several modern apartments that the real estate agent also showed – makes The New York Times a protagonist and interested party in one of the most difficult aspects of the Palestine conflict: the property and refugee rights of Palestinians that Israel has adamantly denied. It also raises interesting questions about what such choices have on news coverage – with which the newspaper itself has had to grapple.

In 2002, an Electronic Intifada article partly attributed the pervasive underreporting of Israeli violence against Palestinians to “a structural geographic bias” – the fact that “most US news organizations who have reporters on the ground base them in Tel Aviv or west Jerusalem, very far from the places where Palestinians are being killed and bombarded on a daily basis” ( Michael Brown and Ali Abunimah, “Killings of dozens once again called ‘period of calm’ by US media, 20 September 2002).

In 2005, The New York Times’ then Public Editor Daniel Okrent echoed this criticism, writing:

“The Times, like virtually every American news organization, maintains its bureau in West Jerusalem. Its reporters and their families shop in the same markets, walk the same streets and sit in the same cafes that have long been at risk of terrorist attack. Some advocates of the Palestinian cause call this ‘structural geographic bias.’” (“The Hottest Button: How The Times Covers Israel and Palestine,” 24 April 2005).

Okrent recommended that in order to broaden the view of the newspaper’s reporters, it should locate a correspondent in Ramallah or Gaza – where she or he would share the daily experiences, concerns and risks of Palestinians. This advice went unheeded, just as Executive Editor Bill Keller recently publicly rejected the advice of the current public editor that current Jerusalem Bureau Chief Ethan Bronner should be reassigned because of the conflict of interest created by Bronner’s son’s voluntary enlistment in the Israeli army.

Thus, in a sense, Bronner’s structural and personal identification with Israel has become complete: when the younger Bronner joins army attacks in Gaza, fires tear gas canisters or live bullets at nonviolent demonstrators trying to save their land from confiscation in West Bank villages, or conducts night arrest raids in Ramallah or Nablus – as he may well be ordered to do – his father will root for him, worry about him, perhaps hope that his enemies will fall in place of his son, as any Israeli parent would. And on weekends, the elder Bronner will await his soldier-son’s homecoming to a property whose true heirs live every day, like millions of Palestinians, with the unacknowledged trauma, and enduring injustice of dispossession and exile.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

And much more besides. And I got all of this through fraud and deception.

* * * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

February 3, 2025

Heather Cox Richardson

Feb 04, 2025

I’m going to start tonight by stating the obvious: the Republicans control both chambers of Congress: the House of Representatives and the Senate. They also control the White House and the Supreme Court. If they wanted to get rid of the United States Agency for International Development (USAID), for example, they could introduce a bill, debate it, pass it, and send it on to President Trump for his signature. And there would be very little the Democrats could do to stop that change.

But they are not doing that.

Instead, they are permitting unelected billionaire Elon Musk, whose investment of $290 million in Trump and other Republican candidates in the 2024 election apparently has bought him freedom to run the government, to override Congress and enact whatever his own policies are by rooting around in government agencies and cancelling those programs that he, personally, dislikes.

The replacement of our constitutional system of government with the whims of an unelected private citizen is a coup. The U.S. president has no authority to cut programs created and funded by Congress, and a private citizen tapped by a president has even less standing to try anything so radical.

But Republicans are allowing Musk to run amok. This could be because they know that Trump has embraced the idea that the American government is a “Deep State,” but that the extreme cuts the MAGA Republicans say they want are actually quite unpopular with Americans in general, and even with most Republican voters. By letting Musk make the cuts the MAGA base wants, they can both provide those cuts and distance themselves from them.

But permitting a private citizen to override the will of our representatives in Congress destroys the U.S. Constitution. It also makes Congress itself superfluous. And it takes the minority rule Republicans have come to embrace to the logical end of putting government power in the hands of one man.

Musk’s team in the so-called Department of Government Efficiency, or DOGE, has taken control of the U.S. Treasury payment systems that handle about $6 trillion in annual transactions for the U.S. government, thus gaining access to Americans' personal information as well as information about Musk's competitors. From there, Musk claims to have been cancelling those transactions he thinks are wasteful. He claims, for example, to have “deleted” the popular Internal Revenue Service (IRS) Direct File system that enabled people to file their taxes online for free, without the help of paid tax preparers.

Musk’s team apparently consists of six engineers, aged 19 to 24, who are taking control of the computers at government agencies. From the Treasury Department, they went on to the U.S. Agency for International Development, which receives foreign policy guidance from the State Department. Their breaching of the computers there compromises our national intelligence systems, which must now be considered insecure.

From there, they went on to the General Services Administration (GSA), which manages the federal government’s 7,500 or so buildings. Musk’s people sent an email to regional managers telling them to begin ending the leases on federal offices. According to Chris Megerian of the Associated Press, the person in charge of that initiative is Nicole Hollander, who describes herself on LinkedIn as employed at Musk’s social media company, X.

Today, according to an email sent to employees of the Small Business Administration, Musk’s people have gotten into that agency’s human resources, contracts, and payment systems. The Small Business Administration supports small businesses and entrepreneurs, and under the Biden-Harris administration, small businesses boomed thanks to small-dollar loans to women, Black, and Latino entrepreneurs.

By this afternoon, Musk’s people were digging into the data of the Department of Education with an eye to dismantling it from the inside before Trump tries to shut it down with an executive order, although only Congress itself can shutter the department. According to Laura Meckler, Danielle Douglas-Gabriel, and Hannah Natanson of the Washington Post, Musk’s DOGE staffers had accessed sensitive internal data systems, including the personal information of millions of students who are taking part in the federal student aid program. It is highly unlikely that Congress would destroy the Department of Education, so Musk and Trump hope to hollow it out from within.

On a livestream last night, Musk said of his destruction of the federal government: “If it’s not possible now, it will never be possible. This is our shot, This is the best hand of cards we’re ever going to have. If we don’t take advantage of this best hand of cards, it’s never going to happen.”

Three federal employees unions are suing the Trump administration to stop Musk, and today, Democratic members of the House and Senate tried to enter the USAID building but were denied entry. Led by Senators Chris Murphy (D-CT), Brian Schatz (D-HI) and Chris Van Hollen (D-MD) and Representatives Jamie Raskin (D-MD) and Gerry Connolly (D-VA), the Democrats condemned what Raskin called Musk and Trump’s “illegal, unconstitutional interference with congressional power.”

“Elon Musk, you may have illegally seized power over the financial payment systems of the United States Department of Treasury,” Raskin said, “but you don’t control the money of the American people. The United States Congress does that—under Article I of the Constitution. And just like the president, who was elected to something, cannot impound the money of the people, we don’t have a fourth branch of government called Elon Musk. And that’s going to become real clear.”

Senator Murphy said: "[L]et's not pull any punches about why this is happening. Elon Musk makes billions of dollars based off of his business with China. And China is cheering at [the destruction of USAID]. There is no question that the billionaire class trying to take over our government right now is doing it based on self-interest: their belief that if they can make us weaker in the world, if they can elevate their business partners all around the world, they will gain the benefit.”

Murphy continued: “But there’s another reason this is happening. They’re shuttering agencies and sending employees home in order to create the illusion that they’re saving money, in order to…pass a giant tax cut for billionaires and corporations.”

While Musk and his DOGE team are trying systematically to dismantle the government, today Judge Loren L. AliKhan of the Federal District Court for the District of Columbia blocked the Trump administration’s attempt to freeze trillions of dollars in grants and loans before DOGE got going. AliKhan said that by impounding funds—which Congress declared illegal in 1974—Trump’s Office of Management and Budget “attempted to wrest the power of the purse away from the only branch of government entitled to wield it.” It is Congress, not the president, that determines federal spending.

Meanwhile, the elected president, Donald Trump, sparked a crisis last Friday when his White House press secretary, Karoline Leavitt, announced that he fully intended to go through with the trade war he had hyped on the campaign trail. Trump announced he would levy tariffs of 25% on most products from Mexico and Canada and of 10% on products from China, beginning at 12:01 a.m. on Tuesday, in violation of the trade agreement his own team had negotiated during his first term.

As soon as Leavitt announced the upcoming tariffs, the stock market began to fall, and by last night, stock market futures had fallen 450 points on the expectation of tariffs hitting at midnight tonight. Today, the stock market continued to fall. Even reliable Trump allies began to complain that the tariffs would raise prices. The Wall Street Journal editorial board called Trump’s tariffs “the dumbest trade war in history.”

Today, the president of Mexico, Claudia Sheinbaum, announced that she and Trump had “reached a series of agreements” that would pause the threatened tariffs for a month. Mexico agreed to “reinforce the northern border with 10,000 elements of the National Guard immediately, to prevent drug trafficking from Mexico to the United States,” while the U.S. “commits to work to prevent the trafficking of high-powered weapons to Mexico.”

When Trump announced their conversation shortly afterward, he omitted the part of the agreement that committed the U.S. to try to stop the flow of guns to Mexico. He also did not mention that, in fact, Mexico committed to putting 10,000 troops at the border in 2021. As Catherine Rampell of the Washington Post commented above a record of Mexican troop deployments: “Any news outlet reporting Mexico conceded anything to Trump to get him to delay tariffs has not done its homework. Trump boasts he got Mexico to commit to stationing 10K troops at our border. Apparently he didn’t realize Mexico already has 15K troops deployed there[.]”

The crisis at the northern border worked out in a similar fashion. After conferring, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and Trump announced a 30-day pause in the implementation of tariffs. Trudeau agreed to appoint a border czar and to implement a $1.3 billion border plan that Canada had announced in December.

In other words, while Musk was causing a constitutional crisis, Trump created an economic crisis that threatened both domestic and global chaos, then claimed Biden administration achievements as his own and declared victory.

The tariffs on Chinese goods went into effect as planned. China has promised to levy tariffs of up to 15% on certain U.S. products beginning a week from today. It also said it will investigate Google to see if it has violated antitrust laws.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[coachwip]

SCAM Warning to all artists in commission. If you see this I ask you reblog it asap so the message gets around. Maybe this is old news but it almost got me and I don’t want it to get anyone else. Long but please read.

I was contacted by someone wanting a commission. Harmless. Got the info, did the work. Finished up and sent them a sample for approval. They loved it so I sent them my PayPal. They then claimed to have sent my requested amount. No notification popped up on my account but I received an email saying there was a restriction on my account that needed more money to be fixed and ‘credit’ my account and receive payment. 100 dollars more! From THEM! And then I was to refund the 100 back??I thought this was insane (I should have listened to that initial thought) and I immediately reported back to them what ‘PayPal’ was asking. To my surprise they didn’t seem phased and went along with it. After I was sure they were comfortable with the insane ask and gave them my word that I’d send it back immediately. They said they sent the extra 100. But again no notification came to my PayPal account. But I got ANOTHER email ‘confirming’ they sent the amount.

At this point I’m starting to panic, not realizing I was being played like a fiddle. I couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong, I couldn’t understand why PayPal would make such a strange and risky function. I was terrified a real person had trusted me and I was failing them. I told them what was happening and they insulted me. They pointed out the ‘simple’ instructions. Which stated that I could use a different pay method like Zelle or Venmo and then THEY would handle it from there. That’s when the lightbulb finally turned on. I told them I wasn’t comfortable anymore and said I’d contact PayPal directly to get this sorted out. And they instantly got aggressive. Bingo…

The person was emotionally manipulative and accusatory. Put me into panic as I was trying to figure out if it was a real person or not. That’s how they get you. They RUSH you. Demand something be done immediately so you don’t have time to think.

My suggestion to avoid this.

1. DO NOT let your customers send more than your negotiated amount for any reason. Do not agree to it no matter how hard they push.

2. If you don’t get a notification in your ACCOUNT. Then it’s not a real transaction.

3. Question everything. And do not be afraid to pull the ‘I will just call them and have them sort this out’ card. If they are real this won’t be a problem.

4. Check the email. Look for misspelling. The email I was sent had a double e in service. Look for INSANE requests that would put people at risk.

5. Trust your instincts. Mine were late but they did eventually save me. Better late than never.

This was incredibly embarrassing to share but it’s a harsh reality we all deal with and I know I’m not alone in being too trusting sometimes. I want others to be aware and prepared. I felt tagging the account was inappropriate and wouldn’t lead to much help as it was most likely a throw away anyway. I will report them. Stay calm, stay alert, stay safe.

[velvettte]

part one || series masterlist

nanami kento was dressed to the nines today.

his suit was a slate gray, fit and tailored to his frame so perfectly that he’d caught his secretary staring at him for more than her usual twenty seconds after he walked past her desk.

he set his briefcase down at his desk and checked his watch, only to be disappointed by the time it showed.

8:15 a.m. a full forty five minutes until he’d get to see you again.

not that he should want to see you — despite not knowing whether your first encounter was genuine or not, he knew enough to declare one thing.

he was absolutely, most definitely, caught in your storm.

he’s about to settle down at his desk, taking out his laptop and about to do some research before his mahogany doors open to reveal you, draped in sunlight.

you wore a suit of your own, a set so finely crafted and tailored that he’s left catching his breath as you walk through the doors. you gently adjust the blazer, grinning at him as soon as the door closes behind you.

“hello mr. nanami,” you say, and your tone is all business despite the informal grin on your face. “i thought it would be a good idea to drop in early in order to provide you papers of the transactions that are to occur between these two companies.”

nanami feels a bit comforted by the professionalism, moving his eyes to look at the documents you’d just handed him.

he scans the words, pausing when he spots a particular clause he never remembered in the negotiations.

“i’m sorry…i believe one of these documents contains a non disclosed clause. if these documents are to be used in the barter of services between our companies, i will have to involve my legal staff, as these are undiscussed terms.”

he pointed to line eighty, where it said “if jujutsu technologies does not reach a profit margin of at least 20%, the company will be acquired and merged into atlantis technologies.”

he looks to you and is surprised to see calculatedness on your face, a far cry from the giggling, sweet version of you he met last night.

“my apologies mr. nanami,” you say, and he is unnerved by the confidence your voice holds, “this clause was not an addition by me to this contract. it was actually a clause given to me by your superior, the former ceo of jujutsu technologies before he chose to step down. i merely added it into the contract so it would come to your attention in case you weren’t already aware. it seems that you weren’t.”

he meets your eyes to se something mirroring genuine remorse as you produce what was certainly the email chain between you and a man he called more friend than superior.

a man who’d currently put this entire company in hot water.

against his will, he looks at your lips, trying not to be distracted by the softness of them as they curved into a satisfied smile when he signed the papers that would place his company under intense negotiations.

he also tried not to wonder how your figure would look beneath your blazer as you walked out of his doors again.

“emily!” he hollered to his secretary, who ran in the moment he called.

“yes sir,” she said.

“get gojo satoru on the line.” he pauses, wondering how you could shake up his routine so much. “we need to talk.”

read part three

taglist: @iniyalovesall @debussy42 @chosostonguepiercing @salsakiyoomi (send an ask to be added!)

[treason-and-plot]

“What?” says Roy. He shakes his head in an effort to wake up his brain, which seems to be suffering from momentary paralysis. He is on the one hand delighted that Michael is in deep shit, but he is also dismayed that Anya is so upset. It hurts his heart to hear her cry. But his dismay is exacerbated by the fact that she had such a strong reaction to the revelation- she’s acting as if her father had been caught having an affair. Which obviously isn’t the case.

“How did your mother find out?” he asks Anya, deciding to reserve sharing any of his personal thoughts about Michael’s indiscretions, at least for the moment. Anya puts the phone down to blow her nose. She takes a few deep breaths. When she speaks again her voice is a little less wobbly.

“The bank rang her about an unusual transaction on their joint credit card and she asked them to email her a statement. Dad looks after all the bills including the payment of their credit card and normally she never gets to see any bills or statements. The unusual transaction just turned out to be my sister borrowing the card to buy §300 worth of Simmora makeup, but Mum went through the rest of the transactions and she noticed that every week there was a charge of §200 billed to a company called-“

“Active Advisory Pty Ltd,” Roy’s brain whispers to itself.

“Active Advisory Pty Ltd,” Anya says. “Which sounds like a financial services company or something, right? Which Mum thought was really bizarre. So she did some investigating and found out it’s actually the company name of the owners of a strip club called The Pink Pony. So Mum confronted Dad about it and he admitted he’s been going there every week for the past year! And spending §200 on private sessions!”

“Well, shit,” says Roy. “That’s…that’s a lot of visits.”

“Mum’s devastated!” says Anya. “I am too! I can’t believe Dad would cheat on Mum like that! It’s just made me question everything I thought was real.”

“Technically, is it really cheating, though?” says Roy.

“How can you say that!” gasps Anya. “Of course it’s cheating!”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m just trying to wrap my head around everything,” says Roy quickly. “And hey, what about your sister stealing the card to spend §300 on makeup? That’s terrible!”

“Roy, I don’t think you understand. My parents are probably on the verge of divorce over this! My mother hasn’t stopped crying since my Dad confessed and she’s talking about going to stay with her sister in Barnacle Bay! The last thing they’re concerned about is Eva blowing money on make up!”

“Well, maybe they should be at least a little bit concerned,” says Roy. “Just saying. But, ah, okay, obviously the other stuff is a bit more concerning. Particularly the amount of money he’s been spending-“

“The money isn’t the issue here, Roy!” says Anya. “You just don’t seem to be getting it! My Dad has been visiting prostitutes! Sex workers! I can barely think of a worse betrayal! P….poor Mum….” 

 She starts sobbing again.

[imaginedreamwrite]

Ghost, Ghost, Host

Part 1: A Cursed Purchase 

Transaction #60236 has been completed, shipping details will be sent to your email with instructions on pick up to follow 

With the tip of your finger you scrolled halfway to the bottom of the email. Your receipt was included to document what you’d bought from this lost packages website your friend used. While she had used it to buy expensive items for a fraction of the price, you were rather interested in books. 

It didn’t matter what state they were in, how old or how new they’d been. Your interest in books was mostly to fill the gaps on your bookshelf left by your roommate before she moved out. Of course part of you was curious about the stories that might have lied between the pages of this book box. There was no guarantee what you would find, how many books were even salvageable but that was par for the course. 

That was part of the risk, part of the fun to see what you got and how good they were. Of course in the description of the box was a generalized itemized list—a few of which contained diaries or journals. That had made you even more curious, your interest peaked to an indescribable level. 

The time between ordering the lost mail, receiving the confirmation and shipment was a matter of just over a week. Your shipping and delivery notice was sent to your email with the reminder that the postal service would only keep your items for so long before they would be sent back with an undelivered notice. It was standard practice of the mail service to put limits on how long they would hold items and yet you were more anxious about potentially missing this purchase than you were for others. 

It was a series of anxious tracks of mind that blurred your excitement into a state of tension. Regardless of your momentary yet blinding trainwreck thoughts over these packages, when the email had come and you were granted the ability to pick up your boxes, you hadn’t hesitated to go.  

You had free time thanks to finishing your tasks earlier than expected, and that had given you the freedom to go. They gave you little explanation however there was a note added to the delivery instructions we just want to get rid of them. It made you curious, it made you ponder what extras could be in the second box. 

Despite the eagerness that made you want to rip into the box immediately, you had loaded them into your vehicle after leaving the postal service. You slammed the trunk of your vehicle and walked around to the driver's side and jumped in to avoid the inevitable rain that was coming. With the claps of thunder rumbling in the darkening clouds, and the streaks of lightning that seemed to be closer than you'd like, it was a race. 

It would be a race to get home, a race to beat the torrential downpour that was coming, and a test of your patience not to rip into the box right now. Though the weather was momentarily on your side, you still hadn’t wasted much time parking and taking your boxes into your apartment. Regardless of having to take two trips to take the box of lost packages you still managed to get into your apartment before the rain. 

It was only after you’d started opening the first box that you'd heard a crash of thunder and the steak of lightning across the dark sky. Your attention had flitted from the open box of books and the first two that had been set on top, both generic and modern authors. You grabbed the books and set them aside, both by a popular adult author that catered to mysteries, and then you had moved on. Book after book was removed from the box until you had gotten nearly to the bottom, where a set of journals had laid there. 

Your attention was piqued, and you’d almost entirely forgot about the second box in favour of the three journals in your possession. The first of three journals that had been laying against the bottom of the box was leather bound and stained with splotches of mud or oil that wouldn’t come out of the cover. Despite the stains on the cover, as soon as you had opened the cover it was apparent that the inside of the journal was still in good shape. 

JSM were the initials that had been written in ink on the first page under the cover, with a detailed drawing of the Scottish flag in the center. You had surmised that the flag and initials would both more than likely be significant to whoever had owned the journals when they were lost. Curiosity had grown and you'd set the first journal down to grab the other two, both of which were in the same state. 

“JSM and a Scottish flag.” You hummed under your breath and grabbed the journals before you picked yourself up off the floor. You moved from where the boxes were positioned near your old coffee table to the couch. You sat down against the second hand piece of furniture and leaned against the armrest on the left. As you began reading the first page of the first journal you had chosen first, a loud clap of thunder had resounded followed by the flash of lightning as it descended upon the city. 

For a moment you had turned your head to look out the window of your apartment, eyebrows furrowing as a torrential downpour of rain had begun battering the city. It was expected and warranted given the perfect conditions to form a storm like this. And while it was hard for you to keep your eyes off the destructive yet peaceful nature of the thunderstorm, you had wanted to deep dive into the journals. There was a kind of excitement over receiving journals from someone that fed into nosiness. 

“So, you were a soldier...” You mumbled under your breath, coming to the quick conclusion when you’d gotten to the second half of the second page. The first part that you'd read about so far, a description of the kind of city they were in, and the heat that he couldn’t escape. As the words went on, he had talked about his work as a special services soldier which you'd mentally reminded yourself to try and research later. 

It felt like hours that you’d been sitting on the couch reading this journal that you’d recently bought, and within the pages you’d come across names that had just made you more curious than anything. Captain Price and Gaz, two names that had been repeated a lot, had given your curiosity more than you’d imagined. And yet that was nothing compared to the person this soldier had called Ghost. Although whoever the JSM was had drawn sketches of landmarks and maps, small doodles here and there, you hadn’t come across a sketch of Ghost like you'd been hoping for. 

“...sergeant...” As thunder crashed outside, and lightning lit up the room, a voice had echoed in your ear as if someone was sitting next to you. The sound was muffled and not quiet audibly, almost like a whisper on the wind. 

The book had fell from your hands to your lap as your body reacted with a surge of fear and apprehension. You turned your head and looked at the space around you, surely trying to tell yourself that it was your brain playing tricks on you. Had you lost your mind? Have you completely lost it or were you just tired? 

Deciding to ultimately brush it off was the best course of action, and you’d closed the journal and set it to the side with the others. As thunder crashed again, you move quickly toward your bathroom with your phone in hand. After stepping inside and closing the door behind you, another loud boom of thunder seemed to rattle the windows with the force. Your gaze swept across the mirror before darting to the lights hanging above you, your narrowed eyes taking in the state of the flickering lights before the room was cast into darkness. 

You cursed under your breath and fiddled with your phone to turn on the flashlight. As the light was cast upon the mirror in front of you, a startled and sharp scream was ripped from your mouth. 

Standing behind you in the reflection of the mirror was a man wearing a tan tactical vest with a UK flag attached to the front. Beneath the tactical vest was a dark blue shirt that looked as if it was stained with blood near his right shoulder, and a set of thick black gloves on his hands. His hair was cropped into a mohawk style with the sides cut short, however it was his eyes that had still been the most frightening stimulus of this thing’s appearance. 

“What the fuck?!” Your fearful scream had turned to a curse, and the phone in your hand slipped from your grasp clattering to the ground. You immediately dropped to the floor to grab it, your fingers wrapping around the sides as you lifted it and then clutched it to your chest. With a sense of frantic panic, you aimed the flashlight toward the space where the man had been and found the space empty. 

You didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified, and any opportunity to react further about the state of your mental wellbeing was completely undone when he appeared again just as the lights come on. 

“Are ya done screaming?” His voice was stronger now, crystal clear and crisp.

Tag list: @supermegabitchboyexceptimagirl

[mediamime]

Do you do commissions??

Thank you so much for the ask and for the interest in my art!

I am taking commissions right now. I've listed my terms below, as well as a price sheet, if anyone is interested.

To get started with a request, send me a direct message here on tumblr.

MEDIAMIME ART COMMISSION TERMS OF SERVICE

Commissioning me means you are agreeing to the following terms and conditions:

Future terms and pricing may change, but you are subject to the Terms of Service and pricing at the time of the transaction. 

General:

Artwork is delivered to the client digitally. 

The final file resolution at delivery is 2480px x 3508px at 300 dpi and the file type is .png, unless otherwise specified by the client. The file is delivered via email or dropbox, as necessary for file size.

Be aware of my art style and previous body of work before commissioning:

Things I will draw: fanart, OCs, NSFW (suggestive but not explicit)

Things I will not draw at this time: fetish art, explicit NSFW, mecha/mechanical

Things I will consider drawing depending on the request: furry

The best way to determine if I am comfortable drawing something is to reach out and ask.

I reserve the right to reject a commission for any reason.  

You are responsible for providing reference images and notable details you want represented for OCs. You are responsible for providing specific images or photographs if you wish for me to redraw something.

You must be 18 or older to receive an NSFW commission. All NSFW requests require that you provide your full date of birth and a typed confirmation of “I am 18 years or older.”

Payment:

Payments will only be accepted through PayPal Invoices in USD. 

I require full payment before the commission begins. 

Once I accept your commission, I will send an invoice to your email via PayPal, due within 10 days.

Once the invoice is paid, I will start your commission.

If the invoice is not paid in the allotted 10 days, I will cancel the commission. 

Deadlines and Refunds:

The turnaround time for a commission is approximately 14 days from the date the invoice is paid. I will communicate if there is a delay and give an updated estimate on completion time. If I cannot finish your commission within 28 days from the date the invoice is paid, you will be refunded in full. 

If you decide to cancel your commission:

You will receive a full refund if I have not yet started the commission.

You will receive a half price refund if I have started the commission. In this case, you will receive the work I have completed so far.

No refunds will be issued once artwork has been completed.

Usage Policy: 

My artwork is for personal use only. You are not allowed to use my artwork for commercial purposes.

I reserve the rights to my art. Do not claim my art as your own.

I reserve the right to post my art. 

If the commissioned art is posted, you may request to be tagged in the post before the commission is completed. 

Otherwise the post will be marked as “Commissioner wishes to remain anonymous.”

If you would like your commission to be private (not posted publicly), you must request so before the commission is completed.

If you decide to post the finished result yourself, I ask that you tag me as the artist.

[darkmaga-returns]

Washington state Democrats accidentally leaked a document entitled “2025 Revenue Options” describing how they plan to hunt down citizens for additional taxes. An email containing the document and an accompanying PowerPoint presentation was sent to everyone in the Senate and entail exactly how they will wordsmith their way into extorting the people. “Do say: ‘Pay what they owe’ — but Don’t say: “Tax the rich” or “pay their fair share” because “taxes aren’t a punishment,” the graph read.

The proposal includes an 11% tax on firearms and ammunition. Storage units would be reclassified as RENTALS and seen as retail transactions. Amid the cost of living crisis exacerbated by shelter costs, these politicians believe that citizens should pay more in property taxes.

“Avoid centering the tax or talking in vague terms about ‘the economy’ or ‘education,’” the document states, instead opting to use positive connotations such as “providing,” “ensuring,” and “funding.” These lawmakers note that they must “identify the villain” who is preventing “progress.” That villain is the government, but the government needs to pin your woes on another source to create division. “We can ensure that extremely wealthy Washingtonians are taxed on their assets just like middle-class families are already taxed on theirs,” the slide reads.

The leaked document assures that this common rhetoric is intended to blind the masses into believing that tax hikes will not affect them but the dreaded “rich” who do not pay their “fair share.” In truth, no amount of taxation could ever be enough for the government as it spends perpetually with no plan to “pay their fair share” of debt.

Smart money has been fleeing blue states for this precise reason. Amazon’s Jeff Bezos notably fled Washington state for Florida, reportedly saving $1 billion on taxes alone. He moved his parents out of the state as well to avoid the death tax, which is among the highest in the nation at 20%. Governor Jay Inslee is wrapping up his term by insisting on a “wealth tax.”

The state is expected to face a $16 billion revenue deficit over the next four years and believes a 1% levy on the wealthiest residents could generate $3.4 billion over that time period. Businesses generating over $1 million annually would be in a new tax category called “service and other activities” and would be required to pay a 20% surcharge from October 2025 to December 2026. Come January 2027, successful businesses would be punished with a 10% tax. Why would anyone choose to conduct business in a state that punishes success? Innovators are not going to begin their businesses under these conditions and established companies will simply leave.

“Let’s be clear: there is a deficit ahead, but it’s caused by overspending, not by a recession or a drop in revenue,” Gildon said in a statement. “When the cost of doing business goes up, consumers feel it too. His budget would make living in Washington even less affordable.”

The state failed to manage its finances properly, and that burden now falls on the people. We see the same problem emerge at the local and federal levels. Governments feel entitled to YOUR money. Rather than correcting the root issue of spending and misallocated funds, governments believe the people they govern will foot the bill. The rhetoric is always the same as they insist they are “progressing” society by punishing the greedy and vilified rich. In truth, everyone suffers as a result of government mismanagement.

[vasiliquemort]

Startle for emergency!

I am so unspeakably distraught to conclude this kind of post, yet any help could be absolutely enormous in forthcoming day.

Last year my family moved away air raid's proximity and we were heavily self-reliant from that moment in terms of infrastructure, which was heavily damaged in our area - it is a complex and expressively exhausting position at the moment, we cannot relocate forward but we learned how to force way through this kind of situation.

Yet couple of days we got cut from electricity fully in absolutely sudden motion - both our solar panel (new controller required must arrive here in a lesser part of week, I hope deeply, then we'll must replace it and hove lesser part of our electricity restored possibly) and generator (in cold weather it overloaded during starting water and now requires terminal assertion to be able to provide us *anything*, which either may take unsure amount of time to find solution on our own or enormous by today cost for getting fixed professionally out in the city) are in matter of day turned out of work and it is sole question of time until we'll be majorly cut out by complete loss of charging possible.

Winter's costs of living were atrocious and I am distraught how to properly move forward and be able to provide us what we need (without waterpump our current savings are now settled away to costs of drinking water, with technical being further extracted from snow, and left amounts to be saved for further sustaining in worse case of scenario) and stay safe in case of emergency when we'll have to relocate (I'm physically sick and distraught from thought of again trying and finding refuge and comfort somewhere - things locally are not well and won't be better in a long time), situation might either improve closely in time or not, either way requiring enormous labour and exhaustion of resources.

I feel atrocious for asking - yet, I adjure and ask yourself to help, in any way that is safe and adequate and could be asked for - absolutely any solution would be *enormous* in the face of current situation (30 dollars in total could potentially advance finding professional solution to generator and possibly cover it's budgeting in service, as much as that!), I would be thankful and relieved into tears - my asking for aid comes solely from distraught exhaustion and anxiety of forthcoming winter days.

I ask you to possibly consider concluding *any* (and *any* help would be gargantuan!) aid through either PayPal (HoneyVasilia@gmail.com is both my personal email and one linked to PayPal's account) or, possibly, ko-fi (ko-fi.com/vasiliquemort, yet I am not assured if it fully viable for transactions - at least never had them concluded there previously) - for every solution I kiss your gentle hand and would thank enormously!

I hope it wasn't ugly of a calling - by either possible solution, I'll work for further advances untill failing, and by either of it - I wish every person warmest days of oncoming, most pleasant of evenings, and full times of comfort and safety!<з