#automated brewing

[zeb-eb-beb]

hello 2am gender feelings/crisis. why are you here.

[jay-catsby]

we need excel macros for real life i need to be able to tell my house "okay at 9pm brew coffee and put it in the fridge following the exact same procedures we've used every night for five years"

[odinsblog]

Patrick Braxton became the first Black mayor of Newbern, Alabama, when he was elected in 2020, but since then he has fought with the previous administration to actually serve in office. (Aallyah Wright/Capital B)

NEWBERN, Ala. — There’s a power struggle in Newbern, Alabama, and the rural town’s first Black mayor is at war with the previous administration who he says locked him out of Town Hall.

After years of racist harassment and intimidation, Patrick Braxton is fed up, and in a federal civil rights lawsuit he is accusing town officials of conspiring to deny his civil rights and his position because of his race.

“When I first became mayor, [a white woman told me] the town was not ready for a Black mayor,” Braxton recalls.

The town is 85% Black, and 29% of Black people here live below the poverty line.

“What did she mean by the town wasn’t ready for a Black mayor? They, meaning white people?” Capital B asked.

“Yes. No change,” Braxton says.

Decades removed from a seemingly Jim Crow South, white people continue to thwart Black political progress by refusing to allow them to govern themselves or participate in the country’s democracy, several residents told Capital B. While litigation may take months or years to resolve, Braxton and community members are working to organize voter education, registration, and transportation ahead of the 2024 general election.

But the tension has been brewing for years.

Two years ago, Braxton says he was the only volunteer firefighter in his department to respond to a tree fire near a Black person’s home in the town of 275 people. As Braxton, 57, actively worked to put out the fire, he says, one of his white colleagues tried to take the keys to his fire truck to keep him from using it.

In another incident, Braxton, who was off duty at the time, overheard an emergency dispatch call for a Black woman experiencing a heart attack. He drove to the fire station to retrieve the automated external defibrillator, or AED machine, but the locks were changed, so he couldn’t get into the facility. He raced back to his house, grabbed his personal machine, and drove over to the house, but he didn’t make it in time to save her. Braxton wasn’t able to gain access to the building or equipment until the Hale County Emergency Management Agency director intervened, the lawsuit said.

“I have been on several house fires by myself,” Braxton says. “They hear the radio and wouldn’t come. I know they hear it because I called dispatch, and dispatch set the tone call three or four times for Newbern because we got a certain tone.”

This has become the new norm for Braxton ever since he became the first Black mayor of his hometown in 2020. For the past three years, he’s been fighting to serve and hold on to the title of mayor, first reported by Lee Hedgepeth, a freelance journalist based in Alabama.

Incorporated in 1854, Newbern, Alabama, today has a population of 275 people — 85% of whom are Black. (Aallyah Wright/Capital B)

Not only has he been locked out of the town hall and fought fires alone, but he’s been followed by a drone and unable to retrieve the town’s mail and financial accounts, he says. Rather than concede, Haywood “Woody” Stokes III, the former white mayor, along with his council members, reappointed themselves to their positions after ordering a special election that no one knew about.

Braxton is suing them, the People’s Bank of Greensboro, and the postmaster at the U.S. Post Office.

For at least 60 years, there’s never been an election in the town. Instead, the mantle has been treated as a “hand me down” by the small percentage of white residents, according to several residents Capital B interviewed. After being the only one to submit qualifying paperwork and statement of economic interests, Braxton became the mayor.

(continue reading)

[kiiozawa]

and i know it's going to eat you up inside

As much as sukuna had been groveling in my drabbles, I decided to write the breakup scene between sukuna and reader.

It got kinda long, so I put it under a read more so it doesn't take up ppl's dashes xoxo

☼ pairing; ex-bf! sukuna and server! reader (this is reader breaking up with sukuna)

☼ warnings; sfw, this is basically a prequel, but there isn't a happy ending here. slight toxicity. sukuna may be a little ooc here idk bro i'm new to this, modern!au non-curse!au, reader is called princess, brat, sweetheart,

☼ word count; 1,047

☼ notes; thanks to everyone who likes my little universe!! i appreciate it. 🌺🤞

Your bedroom is pitch black despite it being late morning already. The gunk in the inner part of your eyes feels gross as you rise from your slumber. You have last night’s mascara running down your tear-stained cheeks, but at least you don’t have to work a shift at the restaurant tonight. Time feels like it's moving so slowly yet too fast simultaneously. You swear that you have heart palpitations as you make a poor effort to get out of bed. 

Bzz-Bzz-Bzz

The familiar sound comes from your phone which is at 18%. The blue screen is the only source of light: 23 voicemails and 45 missed calls from Sukuna, your now ex-boyfriend. Ice fills your veins and you want to go back to sleep again. Despite your better judgment, you decide to listen to the voicemails, starting with the first one and making your way to the most recent one.

[9:38 PM]

“You can't be serious. Princess, this has to be a joke. You wouldn't break up with me over this. C'mon, answer my calls, baby. You wouldn't do this.” 

End of voicemail.

[11:12 PM]

"Listen you fucking brat, pick up my calls. I'm not fucking around. You're not breaking up with me. You can't."

End of voicemail

[1:56 AM]

"You're mad, I know that sweetheart. I'll take you to your favorite restaurant tomorrow and I'll get you flowers again. We can talk it out."

End of voicemail

[3:02 AM]

"Princess, I tried to stop by your apartment again, but you didn't answer. You're my girl, princess. You should know that by now."

End of voicemail 

[9:45 AM]

"I'm still going to be here for you sweetheart. Call me when you come back to your senses."

End of voicemail

Silence fills your room as you finish the very last voicemail. The automated voice asks you if you want to delete the messages, but you can't bring yourself to do it—your phone powers down from being left uncharged during the night. Fresh tears start to bubble up, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep your sobs in. 

A storm is brewing in your heart because a part of you wants to call Sukuna back and tell him that you made a mistake. The other part of you reminds you that you left for a reason. The memory of last night comes flooding back in as tears roll down your cheeks. 

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

You accidentally tell Sukuna "I love you." at the end of your call only to be met with silence on the other end. It has only been a couple of months since you began dating the tall tattooed man, but it comes out so naturally that you don’t even realize it until it is too late. You quickly excuse yourself and tell Sukuna that you’ll see him in a little bit for your date. 

You could feel your nerves going haywire in your body as you check yourself out for the 10th time in your vanity. Surely, Sukuna will tell you that he loves you, right? He might have the empathy capacity of a walnut, but he will definitely assure you that he does love you, right? Except, you don’t hear those reciprocating words come out of his mouth throughout the whole date. The earlier nerves were replaced by a dull pain in your chest. You’re hoping and praying that Sukuna will just say it as you’re in the passenger seat of his car when he pulls up to your apartment building. It starts to dawn on you that he isn’t going to tell you those four little words that you yearn to hear. And it sends your heart to your stomach. 

"Umm... About earlier-" Your voice is shaky as you try to find the courage only for it to be in vain. 

"Don't worry about it." Sukuna interrupts as he leans over to kiss you only for you to hold up your palms to his chest and look at him with wide eyes. 

"Excuse me? Is that really all you have to say?" Frustration coating your words. You hear Sukuna grumble as he looks at you with what you can only categorize as annoyance. 

"Tch, you shouldn't be so needy, babe. Y'know that I don't like clingy girls." He mocks as he leans back into his seat, pulling a cigarette out of his pack from his leather jacket. 

Something in you snaps and you swear you feel the moment your heart shatters into tiny million pieces. Heat coats your cheeks as you press your lips together. You have your fists so tight that they turn your knuckles white. Despite the pain in your heart, your eyes remain surprisingly dry as you open the door. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, doll." He says as he exhales the smoke from his cigarette. 

"No you won't."

"I thought you didn't work tomorrow?" Sukuna raises an eyebrow. 

"I don't. I'm saying that I'm breaking up with you, Sukuna." The words feel like they weren't coming from you, but you have your resolve of steel. You slam the door shut as you run into your apartment building. Even through the glass doors, you hear Sukuna’s booming voice calling out your name. Still, you refuse to turn back. Your phone buzzes and you don't need to look to know who is calling you as you enter your unit. 

Once you get into your room, you yank the sheets off your bed because it all smells like him. A fresh change of sheets later, you lay down as tears suddenly start to escape your eyes. All you want is to answer Sukuna’s calls, you want to give up and tell him to come up and hold you and comfort you.

Soon enough everything in your room starts to remind you of Sukuna. The dresser he put together for you, the pictures of him on the wall, the nightstand where he would put his pack of Camel cigarettes. You feel like you are being haunted as the tears keep flowing out. Your choked sobs are silent as the buzzing of your phone fills the room. You have to stay strong because you deserve better. If Sukuna can’t tell you that he loves you, then you’ll move on, right?

 well we all know how that works out don't we rip reader

[amberlynnmurdock]

Neighbor Pt. 6

Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: On a random midnight, she comes to Matt's apartment to feel less lonely. Matt lets her in.

Words: just under 3k!

Genres: FLUFF with a dash of angst because of course... they are just two lost souls confiding in the other <3

A/N: I sort of had trouble with this chapter but she's finally here lol. This picks up from Pt. 5... hope you like it!!!

Part 5

Matt felt rejuvenated the next morning. 

Maybe it wasn’t stress he had been feeling the past few weeks… maybe it was something else, something he hadn’t felt in a while. Something that made him need sweet relief that throwing punches and taking hits couldn’t provide. He needed something more sensual—intimate. Something else to get his anxiety and frustration out. Even if it was a brush of contact. Something as simple as a touch. 

Yeah, it had been a while since he’d felt that. And it felt so good to listen to her like that… despite how wrong it was. That was until she said his name out loud. Matt pondered the question all morning as he lay in bed waiting for his alarm to go off. What did it mean? Did she like him like that? What should he do next?

  Nothing, he decided. It was wrong he knew she felt that way about him… it was wrong he continued to listen to her. It was wrong of him to think he could ever make her happy when he leads the life he leads. But God, did it feel so good to think that for a moment—just a moment—it might be possible. 

He rolls out of bed as soon as he hears his automated alarm go off. Wake up, wake up! Matt slams the alarm with his fist, harder than he intended to. He sits for a moment on the edge of his bed, feeling achy all over. Other people in the apartment are waking up right now, too. Downstairs, someone turns their stove on and begins to cook bacon. Another apartment opens its windows to the cool winter air. And her—she’s awake now, too. She turned her TV on to the news.

“Daredevil took down an armed robbery and saved an old woman at the corner bodega…“ 

Matt tunes it out immediately. 

It was strange to hear news about himself playing in her apartment. It made him uncomfortable. There he was, imagining a future with her and playing with the idea of being intimate with her, all the while having one of the biggest secrets ever. 

After a hot shower and brewing coffee, Matt was just about to be on his way out. He heard her shuffling behind her door, slipping her boots on, and zipping up her coat. They always walked out at the same time, an unspoken ritual. Maybe it was safer to keep it like this, Matt thought. Maybe this was as far as they’d ever go. 

Matt took a deep breath as he stepped out, unsurprisingly at the same time as she did. Matt heard her heart rate quicken as she saw him. 

“G’morning, Matt,” she said softly, as casually as she could.

“Morning,” he smiled. Act natural. “Sleep well?” 

She paused, ever so slightly, and locked her door. “I did, better than I normally do. You?”

“Same,” Matt answered, picking up on her hesitation. Maybe he should leave the conversation at this, not push anything further. From the way she was speaking quietly to her slight quiver, Matt knew she was nervous. He didn’t want to make her feel that way. 

“I hope you have a good day, Matt,” she smiled, walking ahead of him down the stairs. Before Matt could give a response, she was already out the door. Matt slowly followed behind, somehow feeling guilty about it all over again. 

She weighed heavy on his mind all day—did he do something wrong unknowingly? All of this was confusing—he heard her say his name at her most intimate, and this morning she seemed to want to avoid him altogether. What happened?

Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe there wasn’t anything wrong. 

***

Matt walked up the steps to his apartment slowly, one hand using his cane to guide himself, the other holding onto the rail. He passed the floors of the other apartments. They were all so loud to him. Fran had the TV on a bit higher than usual. Someone’s dog was barking begging to be fed. Another was on the phone having a heated conversation with an in-law. All day, Matt was consumed by conversations he wished not to be part of. Sounds he wished he could drown out and turn off.

Finally, he reached the floor of his apartment—and hers. He liked that he shared this floor with only her. He paused at the top of the steps and pressed his fingertips against the wall. She was inside, home already from work. From the sound of her soft breathing and very still movement, Matt knew she was sleeping. A part of him melted inside. Tired from a long day of work himself, he walked as quietly as he could to his apartment and opened the door slowly to avoid making any sound.

He wasted no time changing into his Daredevil gear and waiting on his roof.

***

Matt felt accomplished when he arrived back on his rooftop after a night out as Daredevil. He stopped another robbery and saved an old couple’s bodega. He saved an old man from being mugged. He saved a young girl and her mother from an abusive ex-boyfriend. 

Entering his apartment, he stripped himself of his Daredevil gear and locked it away in his old trunk. He paused, hand still on the locked trunk that held his most detrimental secret. This trunk used to belong to his father. He pushed it inside the closet and closed the door. He made a sign of the cross and stalked off to the bathroom. 

It was shortly past midnight. After washing off in the shower, Matt changed into sweatpants. He lay in bed and shut his eyes. His thoughts always drifted to the same thing: was there more to this life, than just keeping a secret? 

After reciting a prayer and just as he was about to fall asleep, he heard a gentle knocking on his door. His eyes shot open and his senses were fully engaged in the source of the sound. More knocks came. It was her. She shivered under her cardigan and shifted in her slippers from foot to foot, anxiously. Was something wrong? Why was she at his door so late?

Matt threw on a shirt quickly and walked over to open his door. Just as she was about to turn around and retreat to her apartment, thinking this is stupid, Matt opened his door. She stood there with her arms tucked around her frame and shivered from the cold in the hallway.

“Hi,” she said in a tired voice, “I’m sorry, Matt. I know it’s late. But I heard your shower go off and assumed you were awake and—God, I realize how creepy that sounds that I heard your water running so I knew you were awake—never mind. I’ve spoken too much,” she rambled nervously, shivering from the cold in the hallway. Matt was surprised by her presence; he wasn’t upset at all. He welcomed her sudden appearance but couldn’t help but wonder why she was there. 

Not to mention her apologizing for hearing his water running, and assuming he was awake. After all the things he’s heard her do through her apartment… Matt was in no place to judge (not that he would, anyway).

“It's okay,” Matt whispered her name. “I was awake. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, and Matt didn’t have to listen to her heartbeat to know she was lying. It was in her voice, her mannerisms. The way she answered quickly without really considering his question. “I just—“ and she was shivering so much.

“You can come in,” Matt opened the door wider. “It’s cold in the hall.” 

“Okay,” she stepped inside his apartment and away from him as he shut his large, old door. Matt locked it and turned around to smile at her. It was then Matt realized he forgot to put his glasses on. 

“I’m sorry, let me get my glasses on,” Matt said sheepishly, reaching for them on the side table. 

“It’s okay,” she said, “you don’t have to put them on.” She paused, looking at his handsome face in the low glow of his apartment. He wasn’t hard to look at at all—from his warm hazel eyes to his plump lips. 

“Are you sure you won’t be uncomfortable?” He asked. 

“Yeah,” she answered. “I’m barging in on your place—you don’t have to sacrifice your comfort for mine.” 

He smiled at that and then offered her to take a seat on his couch. He allowed her a moment to get a sense of her surroundings—she’d never been in his apartment before. Her heartbeat was steady. She looked around his living room and squinted at the windows when the large screen across the street flashed bright purple and pink lights. 

“Wow,” she said, looking back at his dark apartment. “Those are bright.”

“So I’ve heard,” Matt said lightly with a warm smile. “Do you want any water?”

“I’m okay. Thank you.”

She curled up on the corner of his brown leather couch, tucking her feet in underneath her legs. She was still shivering. Matt offered her the blanket that lay on it and she took it gracefully. 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said sheepishly wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, “truthfully, I couldn’t sleep and I could use a friend to talk to.”

A friend? Matt’s heart jumped at this. She considered him a friend. 

“I’m glad you came,” Matt replied. 

“On Christmas, you told me that any time I felt lonely, I could come by. So… this is one of those times.”

“Yeah,” Matt nodded. “Felt lonely tonight?”

“Not anymore,” she sighed, pleasantly, like his presence alone was enough to cure whatever it was she was feeling. “I took a long nap after work to avoid it and woke up feeling worse than I did before. Like a harrowing, deep hole in my chest.” 

Matt knew that feeling all too well—a hole he’d been trying to fill since he was 11. It occurred to him in that moment Matt hardly knew anything about her. Where she came from, what her story was. She knew bits and pieces of him but he didn’t know anything more than that she lived alone and worked at a bookstore. 

“I understand,” Matt said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe another time,” she said, pushing the matter away. “I just wanted to get my mind off it.”

Matt was happy she was comfortable enough to come to him this late at night for nothing more than just another person to talk to. He could be that person for her—he wanted to be that person for her. 

“I didn’t know you had hazel eyes,” she said softly. “You shouldn’t hide them as much as you do behind those red glasses.” 

Matt blushed—unfamiliar with this feeling in his chest, like a bubbling warmth spread over that harrowing hole she was talking about just moments ago. “Oh,” he said. “People can get uncomfortable when they see my eyes.”

“Then screw them,” she said defiantly. “Like I said…you shouldn’t sacrifice your comfort for theirs.” 

“Thank you,” Matt replied. “For understanding that part.” 

“Were you—“

“Born blind?” Matt had finished this question so many times, that it became a habit to interject whenever anyone began to ask it. “No. It was an accident when I was a kid.”

“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind,” Matt shrugged. He wanted to open up to her, as much as he could—without revealing his biggest secret of all. “I saw an old man crossing the street. A large truck with chemical containers was coming down the block at the same time. I pushed the old man out of the way. The truck lost control, and swerved to avoid hitting us. Well, it did bump me a little, and all the chemicals fell over, leaking everywhere. Some of it got in my eyes and—“

“That was it,” she finished his sentence. “Wow.” 

“That was it,” Matt repeated. His gaze fell on the carpet. He sat at the opposite end of the couch. 

“So, little Matt was a hero?” He could hear the smile in her voice when she said this. Matt chuckled. 

“I did what anyone else would have.”

“How many adults were there, do you remember?”

“It was on a random corner in Hell’s Kitchen. Plenty of people were walking around.”

“So, you did what anyone else would have avoided.”

Matt blushed, looked away from the general direction he was looking in. It felt different to be called a hero when it was coming from her lips. 

“Sure,” he finally said. “We can go with that.”

“Do you…” her voice trailed off, unsure how to phrase her next question without sounding offensive. 

“You can ask me anything,” Matt assured her. “You know a lot about me that some of my closest friends don’t know. Nothing’s off the table.”

“Do you miss having sight? That’s probably a silly question. Do you remember the last thing you saw?”

“The sky,” Matt answered, a flash of blue appearing in his mind. “That was the last thing I saw. And I do miss having sight,” Matt took a deep breath. “But there are other ways to see.”

“Absolutely,” she agreed. “How do you see in other ways?”

What a loaded question, he thought. 

“Touch, for one. I can get a sense of something when I touch it. Smell—easy to distinguish what’s on my plate. I still know what a majority of things look like.”

“But not people,” she stated. 

“Not people,” Matt affirmed. “But there’s a way for me to paint a picture in my mind.”

“How? A person describes what they look like?”

“Descriptions help,” Matt answered, “but touching their face helps a hell of a lot more.” 

She was silent for a moment, understanding his answers and pondering them. She wondered what he would think of her if he could see. Matt felt as if she was wondering that very thought.

“Do you want to touch my face?” She asked in a hesitant voice. “Or I can describe to you what I look like.”

Matt felt his heart grow in his chest. How could he answer that question, without revealing his true feelings for her right then and there? It had been months of being her neighbor that he hoped and prayed he could cross that threshold with her. Hell, it was a miracle she was in his apartment at that moment. 

“Only if you’re comfortable,” Matt finally said, shifting in his seat. 

“I am,” she whispered, leaning forward. “Come here.”

Matt moved closer to her on his couch until his left knee was touching her right. When he sat close enough to her, she grabbed his hand and wrapped her fingers around his wrist to guide him. 

Starting with her hair, she gently brushed his fingers through it. It was soft. Every thread of her hair felt like water slipping gently through his fingers. Matt held his breath as his fingers grazed her neck. He had to close his eyes for this part. Matt gently placed his hand on the side of her neck, feeling how soft her skin felt on his fingertips. Like Braille, he ran his fingers ever so lightly on her skin, goosebumps following his touch. 

He moved his hand to the side of her face, cupping her cheek in the palm of his hand. He gently ran his thumb over her brow bone, smoothing it out. Then he traced his thumb under her eye in a sweeping motion. His gaze fell on her chin. He traced the pad of his thumb down the bridge of her nose, stopping at her cupid’s bow. She gently let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. Matt gently let out a breath too. He took his other hand and cupped the other side of her face in his palm, feeling her cheeks heat against him. Her heart was pounding in her chest, a steady boom boom, boom boom, he had come to memorize to help him fall asleep. He caressed her chin with his thumb and traced her jawline before slowly running his hand down the length of her neck, retreating to his thigh. 

“Beautiful,” Matt whispered. It was all he could say. 

“Matt…” she uttered his name, trailing off, losing her words. Her heart felt like a cement block in her chest. He swallowed hard, resisting the urge to touch her again. She reached for his hand and placed it on her face, desperate to feel how gently he held her again, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. 

She turns her head into his hand and kisses his palm. Matt moves his fingers to the back of her head and guides her lips to his, a kiss that should’ve happened a long time ago. Her lips molded to his, the taste of her bringing him back to life, filling that empty hole in his chest again. He hoped it had the same effect on her. Her hand moved to hold his face, a plan to not break the kiss. A plan that didn’t matter if it worked or not, because Matt wasn’t going to let go anytime soon. He wasn’t going to let go of her. 

When she eventually did pull back, he only wanted more. 

“Thank you,” she whispered breathlessly, “for letting me in.” 

Letting her into his apartment, or letting her into his heart—both answers were suitable. 

Eventually, she did go back to her apartment, for reasons they didn’t need to say out loud. But it would be a while until they brought up this night again. 

______________________________________________________________

TAGS: @mattmurdocksstarlight @yentroucnagol @danzer8705 @allllium @i-marvel-bitch @babygrlmurdock @writtenbyred @uncle-eggy @marvelcinematiquniverse @sweetbee0108

[lmaonade]

no hate but it's insane to me when starbucks employees talk like they know anything about coffee because they work at starbucks. you can be around coffee all day doing automated brewing stuff and know absolutely nothing about it. the title of "barista" is functionally meaningless. starbucks is button coffee

[reasoningdaily]

NEWBERN, Ala. — There’s a power struggle in Newbern, Alabama, and the rural town’s first Black mayor is at war with the previous administration who he says locked him out of Town Hall.

After years of racist harassment and intimidation, Patrick Braxton is fed up, and in a federal civil rights lawsuit he is accusing town officials of conspiring to deny his civil rights and his position because of his race.

“When I first became mayor, [a white woman told me] the town was not ready for a Black mayor,” Braxton recalls.

The town is 85% Black, and 29% of Black people here live below the poverty line. 

“What did she mean by the town wasn’t ready for a Black mayor? They, meaning white people?” Capital B asked.

“Yes. No change,” Braxton says.

Decades removed from a seemingly Jim Crow South, white people continue to thwart Black political progress by refusing to allow them to govern themselves or participate in the country’s democracy, several residents told Capital B. While litigation may take months or years to resolve, Braxton and community members are working to organize voter education, registration, and transportation ahead of the 2024 general election.

But the tension has been brewing for years. 

Two years ago, Braxton says he was the only volunteer firefighter in his department to respond to a tree fire near a Black person’s home in the town of 275 people. As Braxton, 57, actively worked to put out the fire, he says, one of his white colleagues tried to take the keys to his fire truck to keep him from using it.

In another incident, Braxton, who was off duty at the time, overheard an emergency dispatch call for a Black woman experiencing a heart attack. He drove to the fire station to retrieve the automated external defibrillator, or AED machine, but the locks were changed, so he couldn’t get into the facility. He raced back to his house, grabbed his personal machine, and drove over to the house, but he didn’t make it in time to save her. Braxton wasn’t able to gain access to the building or equipment until the Hale County Emergency Management Agency director intervened, the lawsuit said. 

“I have been on several house fires by myself,” Braxton says. “They hear the radio and wouldn’t come. I know they hear it because I called dispatch, and dispatch set the tone call three or four times for Newbern because we got a certain tone.”

Not only has he been locked out of the town hall and fought fires alone, but he’s been followed by a drone and unable to retrieve the town’s mail and financial accounts, he says. Rather than concede, Haywood “Woody” Stokes III, the former white mayor, along with his council members, reappointed themselves to their positions after ordering a special election that no one knew about. 

Braxton is suing them, the People’s Bank of Greensboro, and the postmaster at the U.S. Post Office. 

For at least 60 years, there’s never been an election in the town. Instead, the mantle has been treated as a “hand me down” by the small percentage of white residents, according to several residents Capital B interviewed. After being the only one to submit qualifying paperwork and statement of economic interests, Braxton became the mayor.

Stokes and his council — which consists of three white people (Gary Broussard, Jesse Leverett, Willie Tucker) and one Black person (Voncille Brown Thomas) — deny any wrongdoing in their response to the amended complaint filed on April 17. They also claim qualified immunity, which protects state and local officials from individual liability from civil lawsuits.

The attorneys for all parties, including the previous town council, the bank, and Lynn Thiebe, the postmaster at the post office, did not respond to requests for comment.

The town where voting never was

Over the past 50 years, Newbern has held a majority Black population. The town was incorporated in 1854 and became known as a farm town. The Great Depression and the mechanization of the cotton industry contributed to Newbern’s economic and population decline, according to the Encyclopedia of Alabama.

Today, across Newbern’s 1.2 square miles sits the town hall and volunteer fire department constructed by Auburn’s students, an aging library, U.S. Post Office, and Mercantile, the only store there, which Black people seldom frequent because of high prices and a lack of variety of products, Braxton says.

“They want to know why Black [people] don’t shop with them. You don’t have nothin’ the Black [people] want or need,” he says. “No gasoline. … They used to sell country-time bacon and cheese and souse meat. They stopped selling that because they say they didn’t like how it feel on their hands when they cuttin’ the meat.”

To help unify the town, Braxton began hosting annual Halloween parties for the children, and game day for the senior citizens. But his efforts haven’t been enough to stop some people from moving for better jobs, industry, and quality of life. 

Residents say the white town leaders have done little to help the predominantly Black area thrive over the years. They question how the town has spent its finances, as Black residents continue to struggle. Under the American Rescue Plan Act, Newbern received $30,000, according to an estimated funding sheet by Alabama Democratic U.S. Rep. Terri Sewell, but residents say they can’t see where it has gone. 

At the First Baptist Church of Newbern, Braxton, three of his selected council members — Janice Quarles, 72, Barbara Patrick, 78, and James Ballard, 76 — and the Rev. James Williams, 77, could only remember two former mayors: Robert Walthall, who served as mayor for 44 years, and Paul Owens, who served on the council for 33 years and mayor for 11.

“At one point, we didn’t even know who the mayor was,” Ballard recalls.  “If you knew somebody and you was white, and your grandfather was in office when he died or got sick, he passed it on down to the grandson or son, and it’s been that way throughout the history of Newbern.”

Quarles agreed, adding: “It took me a while to know that Mr. Owens was the mayor. I just thought he was just a little man cleaning up on the side of the road, sometimes picking up paper. I didn’t know until I was told that ‘Well, he’s the mayor now.’” 

Braxton mentioned he heard of a Black man named Mr. Hicks who previously sought office years ago.

“This was before my time, but I heard Mr. Hicks had won the mayor seat and they took it from him the next day [or] the next night,” Braxton said. “It was another Black guy, had won years ago, and they took it from.”

“I hadn’t heard that one,” Ballard chimes in, sitting a few seats away from Braxton.

“How does someone take the seat from him, if he won?” Capital B asked.

“The same way they’re trying to do now with Mayor Braxton,” Quarles chuckled. “Maybe at that time — I know if it was Mr. Hicks — he really had nobody else to stand up with him.”

Despite the rumor, what they did know for sure: There was never an election, and Stokes had been in office since 2008.

The costs to challenging the white power structure

After years of disinvestment, Braxton’s frustrations mounted at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, when he says Stokes refused to commemorate state holidays or hang up American flags. When the COVID-19 pandemic hit, the majority-white council failed to provide supplies such as disinfectant, masks, and humidifiers to residents to mitigate the risks of contracting the virus.

Instead of waiting, Braxton made several trips to neighboring Greensboro, about 10 miles away, to get food and other items to distribute to Black and white residents. He also placed signs around town about vaccination. He later found his signs had been destroyed and put in “a burn pile,” he said.

After years of unmet needs of the community, Braxton decided to qualify for mayor. Only one Black person — Brown Thomas, who served with Stokes —has ever been named to the council. After Braxton told Stokes, the acting mayor, his intention to run, the conspiracy began, the lawsuit states. 

According to the lawsuit, Stokes gave Braxton the wrong information on how to qualify for mayor. Braxton then consulted with the Alabama Conference of Black Mayors, and the organization told him to file his statement of candidacy and statement of the economic interests with the circuit clerk of Hale County and online with the state, the lawsuit states. Vickie Moore, the organization’s executive director, said it also guided Braxton on how to prepare for his first meeting and other mayoral duties. 

Moore, an Alabama native and former mayor of Slocomb, said she has never heard of other cases across the state where elected officials who have never been elected are able to serve. This case with Braxton is “racism,” she said.

“The true value of a person can’t be judged by the color of their skin, and that’s what’s happening in this case here, and it’s the worst racism I’ve ever seen,” Moore said. “We have fought so hard for simple rights. It’s one of the most discouraging but encouraging things because it encourages us to continue to move forward … and continue to fight.”

Political and legal experts say what’s happening in Newbern is rare, but the tactics to suppress Black power aren’t, especially across the South. From tampering with ballot boxes to restricting reading material, “the South has been resistant to all types of changes” said Emmitt Riley III, associate professor of political science and Africana Studies at The University of the South.

“This is a clear case of white [people] attempting to seize and maintain political power in the face of someone who went through the appropriate steps to qualify and to run for office and by default wins because no one else qualified,” Riley added. “This raises a number of questions about democracy and a free and fair system of governance.”

Riley mentioned a different, but similar case in rural Greenwood, Mississippi. Sheriel Perkins, a longtime City Council member, became the first Black female mayor in 2006, serving for only two years. She ran again in 2013 and lost by 206 votes to incumbent Carolyn McAdams, who is white. Perkins contested the results, alleging voter fraud. White people allegedly paid other white people to live in the city in order to participate in the election and cast a legal vote, Riley said. In that case, the state Supreme Court dismissed the case and “found Perkins presented no evidence” that anyone voted illegally in a precinct, but rather it was the election materials that ended up in the wrong precincts.

“It was also on record that one white woman got on the witness stand and said, ‘I came back to vote because I was contacted to vote by X person.’ I think you see these tactics happening all across the South in local elections, in particular,” Riley said. “It becomes really difficult for people to really litigate these cases because in many cases it goes before the state courts, and state courts have not been really welcoming to overturning elections and ordering new elections.” 

Another example: Camilla, Georgia. 

In 2015, Rufus Davis was elected as the first Black male mayor of rural, predominantly Black Camilla. In 2017, the six-person City Council — half Black and half white — voted to deny him a set of keys to City Hall, which includes his office. Davis claimed the white city manager, Bennett Adams, had been keeping him from carrying out his mayoral duties. 

The next year, Davis, along with Black City Council member Venterra Pollard, boycotted the city’s meetings because of “discrimination within the city government,” he told a local news outlet. Some of the claims included the absence of Black officers in the police department, and the city’s segregated cemetery, where Black people cannot be buried next to white people. (The wire fence that divided the cemetery was taken down in 2018). In 2018, some citizens of the small town of about 5,000 people wanted to remove Davis from office and circulated a petition that garnered about 200 signatures. In 2019, he did not seek re-election for office.

“You’re not the mayor” 

After being the only person to qualify and submit proper paperwork for any municipal office, Braxton became mayor-elect and the first Black mayor in Newbern’s history on July 22, 2020.

Following the announcement, Braxton appointed members to join his council, consistent with the practice of previous leadership. He asked both white and Black people to serve, he said, but the white people told him they didn’t want to get involved.

The next month, Stokes and the former council members, Broussard, Leverett, Brown Thomas, and Tucker, called a secret meeting to adopt an ordinance to conduct a special election on Oct. 6 because they “allegedly forgot to qualify as candidates,” according to the lawsuit, which also alleges the meeting was not publicized. The defendants deny this claim, but admit to filing statements of candidacy to be elected at the special election, according to their response to an amended complaint filed on their behalf.

Because Stokes and his council were the only ones to qualify for the Oct. 6 election, they reappointed themselves as the town council. On Nov. 2, 2020, Braxton and his council members were sworn into office and filed an oath of office with the county probate judge’s office. Ten days later, the city attorney’s office executed an oath of office for Stokes and his council. 

After Braxton held his first town meeting in November, Stokes changed the locks to Town Hall to keep him and his council from accessing the building. For months, the two went back and forth on changing the locks until Braxton could no longer gain access. At some point, Braxton says he discovered all official town records had been removed or destroyed, except for a few boxes containing meeting minutes and other documents.

Braxton also was prevented from accessing the town’s financial records with the People’s Bank of Greensboro and the city clerk, and obtaining mail from the town’s post office. At every turn, he was met with a familiar answer: “You’re not the mayor.” Separately, he’s had drones following him to his home and mother’s home and had a white guy almost run him off the road, he says. 

Braxton asserts he’s experienced these levels of harassment and intimidation to keep him from being the mayor, he said. 

“Not having the Lord on your side, you woulda’ gave up,” he told Capital B.

‘Ready to fire away’ 

In the midst of the obstacles, Braxton kept pushing. He partnered with LaQuenna Lewis, founder of Love Is What Love Does, a Selma-based nonprofit focused on enriching the lives of disadvantaged people in Dallas, Perry, and Hale counties through such means as food distribution, youth programming, and help with utility bills. While meeting with Braxton, Lewis learned more about his case and became an investigator with her friend Leslie Sebastian, a former advocacy attorney based in California. 

The three began reviewing thousands of documents from the few boxes Braxton found in Town Hall, reaching out to several lawyers and state lawmakers such as Sen. Bobby Singleton and organizations such as the Southern Poverty Law Center. No one wanted to help.

When the white residents learned Lewis was helping Braxton, she, too, began receiving threats early last year. She received handwritten notes in the mail with swastikas and derogatory names such as the n-word and b-word. One of theletters had a drawing of her and Braxton being lynched. 

Another letter said they had been watching her at the food distribution site and hoped she and Braxton died. They also made reference to her children, she said. Lewis provided photos of the letters, but Capital B will not publish them. In October, Lewis and her children found their house burned to the ground. The cause was undetermined, but she thinks it may have been connected.

Lewis, Sebastian, and Braxton continued to look for attorneys that would take the case. Braxton filed a complaint in Alabama’s circuit court last November, but his attorney at the time stopped answering his calls. In January, they found a new attorney, Richard Rouco, who filed an amended complaint in federal court.

“He went through a total of five attorneys prior to me meeting them last year, and they pretty much took his money. We ran into some big law firms who were supposed to help and they kind of misled him,” Lewis says. 

Right now, the lawsuit is in the early stages, Rouco says, and the two central issues of the case center on whether the previous council with Stokes were elected as they claim and if they gave proper notice.

Braxton and his team say they are committed to still doing the work in light of the lawsuit. Despite the obstacles, Braxton is running for mayor again in 2025. Through AlabamaLove.org, the group is raising money to provide voter education and registration, and address food security and youth programming. Additionally, they all hope they can finally bring their vision of a new Newbern to life.

For Braxton, it’s bringing grocery and convenience stores to the town. Quarles wants an educational and recreational center for children. Williams, the First Baptist Church minister, wants to build partnerships to secure grants in hopes of getting internet and more stores.

“I believe we done put a spark to the rocket, and it’s going [to get ready] to fire away,” Williams says at his church. “This rocket ready to fire away, and it’s been hovering too long.”

Correction: In Newbern, Alabama, 29% of the Black population lives below the poverty line. An earlier version of this story misstated the percentage

[sizzlingsandwichperfection-blog]

Hello coffee company! Coffee related question here. I’m fairly new to both making and drinking coffee and I was a little unclear about whether you sell grounds or if they are whole beans. Also, how do you personally (addressing the unpaid intern) make coffee? Should I invest in a coffee maker? I got myself a French press bc it was the cheapest thing in the store but I’m wondering if that was a bad choice.

Hi. The short answer is that, like a lot of things, coffee is as complicated as you want to make it, and we are here to support both people who want it to be complicated and people who just want to drink coffee.

We sell both ground and whole bean coffee, in both light and medium-dark roasts.

If you are new to coffee, I recommend getting our Octavia roast, which is named after a butterfly that lives in Sierra Leone. It will taste most like the coffee that you are probably accustomed to from Starbucks or whatever, except it will be so much better you will be astonished. (I am literally not getting paid to say this, as I am an unpaid intern.) 

If you like lighter roasts (Starbucks' "light" roasts are not actually light; they are still burnt like all of their roasts, because they are trying to get a consistent flavor profile from a wide variety of beans), our Calypso roast is magnificent, with tasting notes of baked apple and dark chocolate.

As for how to make your coffee: If you're happy with French press, great! That's a great way to make coffee! I often make coffee this way.

Also, if you have like $20 to spend to automate the process, I think drip coffeemakers are also great! In general I find them to be quite underrated, and they really are a wonder of technology, as explained in this technology connections video.

Fancy people tend to grind their own coffee because they want it to be ground to just the right degree for their particular method of brewing coffee. That's fine. We want to support these fancy people in their endeavors.

But we also want to support people who do not own or care to own grinders. Our job as we see it is to provide coffee that is TRULY ethically sourced, that ACTUALLY seeks to support communities working to reverse deforestation, that tastes BETTER THAN ANY OTHER COFFEE, and then to donate all the profit to support stronger healthcare systems in impoverished communities.

So we are here to make great coffee that you can feel great about; we are not here to judge you for how you drink coffee.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Up All Night 1

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, narcissim, probably name calling and nasty words, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (older!reader)

Note: I wasn't serious about this but now I were. Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You rub your cheek as you check the time in the corner of the screen. You should’ve been gone an hour ago, you should have your bottle of shiraz and your episode of housewives to keep you company. You don’t know why you expected that, nothing ever goes to schedule, not with your boss.

You sigh at his empty office. You haven’t seen him for two days. He has an automatic reply that he’s ‘working remotely’. You know Mr. Drysdale well enough. He doesn’t work outside the office, he barely does anything at the office.

You go back to the PDF, your red notes in the margin of the manuscript. Big meeting tomorrow. Hopefully your boss got that message. You can only imagine what would happen if a publishing house missed their introductory conference with a major writer. That could mean thousands, if not millions, in losses. Somehow, you suspect you won’t have to imagine.

You finish the chapter and press your finger to your phone. It lights up but you don’t have anything more than the several reminders you set for yourself and automated notifications from apps you never use. Drysdale…

His last name rolls from your throat without meaning too. Something about him just irks you to the bone. Maybe it’s envy, or at very least, resent. You’ve worked all these years in the publishing business to become an assistant, all while he was born into his editor’s chair.

Another bubble pops up. You’re not the social media type. You never got much into it. Your generation came a bit too early for that, but you’ve found with men like Drysdale, narcissists really, it is a great tool.

You tap the notification and it opens the story. There he is, taking a shot with a pair of statuesque twins. Not the best look for an editor, on that night, of all nights. 

You clamp your lips shut and flare your nostrils. Right. You close your laptop as you see Eugene making his sweep. Once security pops up, you know you’ve got to go. You pack up your things and say hello to the man in the blue uniform on your way out. He knows you by name too.

You shift your glasses on your nose, the little rubber pieces starting to squeeze your bridge. You come out the front of the building and make your way to the only car left in the lot. You throw your bag in the back and drop into the front seat.

No wine for you. You’ll have to stream the episode when it comes out on Prime. You set a new alarm for the morning, early enough for you to make sure Mr. Drysdale meets his obligations.

📗

As expected, you don’t have a single call from Drysdale. You’ve left several messages since your alarm blared and broke through your four hours of sleep. You see his last activity on Insta from three in the morning and you want to throttle your own phone. This isn’t good.

You have only enough time to get yourself ready. Your morning routine of a perfectly portioned breakfast and precisely brewed dark roast is nixed. You get in your car with coffee in a travel mug. You have only one thing on your mind.

As you draw up the long drive to the ultra-modern facade, the revulsion courses from your stomach into your throat. There’s something about his style that makes your eyes roll. So obnoxious and absurd. He’s exactly a caricature of a silver-spooned brat.

You park behind the beamer and take a draw from your insulated mug. Ugh, you need caffeine, you need strength and patience. You put it back in the cupholder and force yourself out of the peace of the front seat.

You stride up the white stone walkway and hit the doorbell. Once. Twice. Five times before you admit you will not receive an answer. You bring up the emergency file in your phone and key in the door code. Drysdale would shit if he knew his mother sent you it but she is a lot smarter than him. It makes you wonder how the apple rolled so far away after falling.

You let yourself in. It’s quiet but for the catch and skip of a forgotten record. You go into the front room. Open bottles of liquor forgotten on the glass table, a broken glass on the floor, and the record player crackling through the speaker.

You pull the needle off and pause to look out through the transparent wall that gives a clear view of the entire room. You know Drysdale to be shameless but really?

You put your phone away and approach the stares. The large gap between each gives a sense of vertigo to your ascent. You get to the top and head down the hall, glancing down over the entryway as you do.

You carry on and open a door; closet. The next, a bathroom, the other, a bedroom but not used. And finally, you find the door you’re looking for. On the other side, Mr. Drysdale sleeps with his ass naked in the room, upside down on the bed with his head hanging off the foot. The same woman from his Instagram are entwined with him as they sleep the right side up. Ugh, you don’t want to picture it.

You go into the en suite bathroom and take the sleek black plastic cup from beside the sink. You fill it with cold water and unhook the amber satin robe from the door as you pass. You march to the bed and dump the water onto Ransom’s head, watching it splash down his back.

He yipes and whips his head up with an unattractive snort, “what the fuck–”

“Robert Laing is due at nine. It’s ten to eight.” You drop the robe over him carelessly and spin on your heel, “let’s go., Mr. Drysdale.”

[thatsdemko]

Woodward avenue - p. o’ward

masterlist

pairing: pato o’ward x fem!reader

warnings: talks of Detroit(but I’m from here) + minor anxious thoughts + implications of the future

a/n: I was the target audience for this fic 😅 so enjoy my self indulged fic! xx

the automotive business wouldn’t be what it was without Detroit. pato knows that, it’s why he’s wandered the streets of downtown Detroit, to pay his respect to those workers who created the business they have today. without Detroit, there couldn’t have been an Indy car, nascar, or even formula one. the automative business bloomed here, and now Indy car will race it’s straights and turns once again.

he’s not one to wander too far from the track, but the graffiti on the buildings and the smell of chili brewing grew his curiosity. he wandered the streets, and now began to wish he didn’t go alone. it wasn’t a scary city, he’s seen far worse, he’s now lost looking up at the Woodward street sign.

not a helpful soul roams the streets, just the drunk homeless man who mutters words to himself that are completely useless with directions. he’s lost hope, as he knows he’s got to be at the track in thirty minutes.

“let me guess, you wandered too far down Woodward?” your voice startled him. he turns around to see you standing there, an annoyed look on your face. you didn’t hate that indy car was back in Detroit, but you did hate the obnoxious sounds of the engines that interrupted your morning and afternoon.

“something like that.” he shoves his phone into his back pocket following you down the street. you weren’t too inviting to him, but he needed a way back to his motorhome, and he was sure by now people were beginning to be suspicious of his whereabouts.

“you a fan?” you point to the mclaren shirt, an automotive company you were well familiar with seeing. the cars were too expensive to be outsourced from Detroit, but your fathers dedication and passion to the fancy cars, helped you single him out on the street.

“a driver actually. and I need to be on the grid in thirty minutes.” he checks his watch nervously hoping you’re not leading him to a sketchy parking lot or a white van, but he somehow knew he could trust you. maybe it was the fans and the news casts that made him believe all Detroit native were good people, but he could certainly say he was weary about you.

“oh, a driver? my dad would be so jealous right now, he loves Indy 500– or whatever is filling up these streets.” you gesture to Woodward, closed down until the Grand Prix was done. it pissed more than half a dozen people, but you got a good view from your apartment of the circuit.

“Indy cars, actually, but you get the gist.” he heaves out a chuckle under his breath.

you take the chance to glance over at the man you were helping. your morning walk to get coffee was interrupted by a strangers confusion in his eyes, you were instantly drawn to help him.

two pieces of the mop of brown hair fall just above his eyes, the ones that lured you in. you look back over to the street when his eyes flicker to meet yours. you smell the burnt rubber, tires burning against the shitty pavement of Detroit.

“so first time here?” you ask, out of the corner of your eyes you see him nod, “yeah, actually. I was just trying to take in the city and got a little too lost.” he replies, rubbing the nape of his neck with his fingers.

he takes a look at you now, lips formed in a soft smile as the cool breeze lifts your hair off your back. you love this city, and he can tell by the wave you give to the local drivers who stop.

“who’s this? a new boyfriend?” an elder man pulls to the side of the street pointing out pato. the man knows your kindness runs too far, but seeing the McLaren shirt he knows why you’ve helped him in the first place.

“he drives, and he’s not my boyfriend.”

“I’m pato.” the man waves from behind you to the driver in the car, your dads best friend who nods, smile widening on his face.

“indeed you are my friend. good luck out there!”

you watch his car drive away, before you turn to man beside you, “pato? I like that name.” you gesture for him to continue to follow and he does, allowing you to take the lead like the last time.

“it’s short for patricio, but I don’t know your name, you know?” he looks over at you, brown eyes glimmering in the sun that begins to increase in temperature as you continue to walk.

“y/n.” you stop pointing to the barriers that begin to line the sidewalks, “and I’m afraid this is where we part ways. if you follow the path you’ll find the entrance. good luck today and tomorrow.” you point to the barriers that line the sidewalks and the stands that you see in the distance.

“what would you say to me inviting you and your dad tomorrow? you said he’s a big fan, I’d love to have him in my garage.” his offer excites you, but you know what your father would say. offering a strange man a walk throughout the city, and then an invite to the McLaren garage? he’d think you’d gotten drop kicked on the sidewalk.

“I don’t know, he’ll question why you aren’t my boyfriend—“

“then tell him I am. what’s he got to know?” he smirks watching you open and close your mouth a couple of times.

“he knows you’re pato o’ward and if I was dating pato o’ward and didn’t tell him I’d be the worst daughter ever.”

“then you’re not dating pato o’ward. you’re dating just pato. the guy you met on Woodward.”

—

“dad, this is pato. I met him on Woodward yesterday—“

your dad scoff cuts you off, and he happily shakes the drivers hand, “pato o’ward, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m impressed with your work.” he beams with excitement, a thrill that runs through the drivers body knowing he’s made somebody proud today despite his finish.

“thank you, sir. your daughter helped me out a lot yesterday.” he flashes you a wink, one that your dad doesn’t catch because he’s too busy taking in all the mechanics, cars, and other sights in the garage. you couldn’t believe pato did this for you, matter of fact, for your dad. the man who got you into racing in the first place.

“you know, you come here again I can show you around all the auto factories? y/n can show you downtown Detroit— you know what you didn’t see.”

you laugh at your dads excitement reminding him pato has better things to do. he’s got a busy schedule, and racing came first. you spent a couple of hours last night doing your research on the Indy car driver, he wasn’t interested in much else beside racing.

“dad, he wouldn’t want to come back here I’m sure—“

“there you go again, assuming you know me.” pato tsks you shaking his head, that same smirk that drove you insane all last night forms on his lips, “sir, when can I come back? I’d love to join you and y/n.”

“I like you, pato. have you ever thought about dating anyone? my y/n is perfect for you.” you watch your dad pull pato aside, arm wrapped around his shoulders as he talks highly of you.

you just roll your eyes in embarrassment watching pato look over his shoulders and send you a wink. the universe works in mysterious ways, and you can’t believe it led you to pato o’ward on Woodward, the man you can now call your boyfriend.

[pronoun-fucker]

“I’m looking at a picture of my naked body, leaning against a hotel balcony in Thailand. My denim bikini has been replaced with exposed, pale pink nipples – and a smooth, hairless crotch. I zoom in on the image, attempting to gauge what, if anything, could reveal the truth behind it. There’s the slight pixilation around part of my waist, but that could be easily fixed with amateur Photoshopping. And that’s all.

Although the image isn’t exactly what I see staring back at me in the mirror in real life, it’s not a million miles away either. And hauntingly, it would take just two clicks of a button for someone to attach it to an email, post it on Twitter or mass distribute it to all of my contacts. Or upload it onto a porn site, leaving me spending the rest of my life fearful that every new person I meet has seen me naked. Except they wouldn’t have. Not really. Because this image, despite looking realistic, is a fake. And all it took to create was an easily discovered automated bot, a standard holiday snap and £5.

This image is a deepfake – and part of a rapidly growing market. Basically, AI technology (which is getting more accessible by the day) can take any image and morph it into something else. Remember the alternative ‘Queen’s Christmas message’ broadcast on Channel 4, that saw ‘Her Majesty’ perform a stunning TikTok dance? A deepfake. Those eerily realistic videos of ‘Tom Cruise’ that went viral last February? Deepfakes. That ‘gender swap’ app we all downloaded for a week during lockdown? You’ve guessed it: a low-fi form of deepfaking.

Yet, despite their prevalence, the term ‘deepfake’ (and its murky underworld) is still relatively unknown. Only 39% of Cosmopolitan readers said they knew the word ‘deepfake’ during our research (it’s derived from a combination of ‘deep learning’ – the type of AI programming used – and ‘fake’). Explained crudely, the tech behind deepfakes, Generative Adversarial Networks (GANs), is a two-part model: there’s a generator (which creates the content after studying similar images, audio, or videos) and the discriminator (which checks if the new content passes as legit). Think of it as a teenager forging a fake ID and trying to get it by a bouncer; if rejected, the harder the teen works on the forgery. GANs have been praised for making incredible developments in film, healthcare and technology (driverless cars rely on it) – but sadly, in reality it’s more likely to be used for bad than good.

Research conducted in 2018 by fraud detection company Sensity AI found that over 90% of all deepfakes online are non-consensual pornographic clips targeting women – and predicted that the number would double every six months. Fast forward four years and that prophecy has come true and then some. There are over 57 million hits for ‘deepfake porn’ on Google alone [at the time of writing]. Search interest has increased 31% in the past year and shows no signs of slowing. Does this mean we’ve lost control already? And, if so, what can be done to stop it?

WHO’S THE TARGET?

Five years ago, in late 2017, something insidious was brewing in the darker depths of popular chatrooms. Reddit users began violating celebrities on a mass scale, by using deepfake software to blend run-of-the-mill red-carpet images or social media posts into pornography. Users would share their methods for making the sexual material, they’d take requests (justifying abusing public figures as being ‘better than wanking off to their real leaked nudes’) and would signpost one another to new uploads. This novel stream of porn delighted that particular corner of the internet, as it marvelled at just how realistic the videos were (thanks to there being a plethora of media of their chosen celebrity available for the software to study).

That was until internet bosses, from Reddit to Twitter to Pornhub, came together and banned deepfakes in February 2018, vowing to quickly remove any that might sneak through the net and make it onto their sites – largely because (valid) concerns had been raised that politically motivated deepfake videos were also doing the rounds. Clips of politicians apparently urging violence, or ‘saying’ things that could harm their prospects, had been red flagged. Despite deepfake porn outnumbering videos of political figures by the millions, clamping down on that aspect of the tech was merely a happy by-product.

But it wasn’t enough; threads were renamed, creators migrated to different parts of the internet and influencers were increasingly targeted alongside A-listers. Quickly, the number of followers these women needed to be deemed ‘fair game’ dropped, too.

Fast forward to today, and a leading site specifically created to house deepfake celebrity porn sees over 13 million hits every month (that’s more than double the population of Scotland). It has performative rules displayed claiming to not allow requests for ‘normal’ people to be deepfaked, but the chatrooms are still full of guidance on how to DIY the tech yourself and people taking custom requests. Disturbingly, the most commonly deepfaked celebrities are ones who all found fame at a young age which begs another stomach-twisting question here: when talking about deepfakes, are we also talking about the creation of child pornography?

It was through chatrooms like this, that I discovered the £5 bot that created the scarily realistic nude of myself. You can send a photograph of anyone, ideally in a bikini or underwear, and it’ll ‘nudify’ it in minutes. The freebie version of the bot is not all that realistic. Nipples appear on arms, lines wobble. But the paid for version is often uncomfortably accurate. The bot has been so well trained to strip down the female body that when I sent across a photo of my boyfriend (with his consent), it superimposed an unnervingly realistic vulva.

But how easy is it to go a step further? And how blurred are the ethics when it comes to ‘celebrities vs normal people’ (both of which are a violation)? In a bid to find out, I went undercover online, posing as a man looking to “have a girl from work deepfaked into some porn”. In no time at all I meet BuggedBunny*, a custom deepfake porn creator who advertises his services on various chatroom threads – and who explicitly tells me he prefers making videos using ‘real’ women.

When I ask for proof of his skills, he sends me a photo of a woman in her mid-twenties. She has chocolate-brown hair, shy eyes and in the image, is clearly doing bridesmaid duties. BuggedBunny then tells me he edited this picture into two pornographic videos.

He emails me a link to the videos via Dropbox: in one The Bridesmaid is seemingly (albeit with glitches) being gang-banged, in another ‘she’ is performing oral sex. Although you can tell the videos are falsified, it’s startling to see what can be created from just one easily obtained image. When BuggedBunny requests I send images of the girl I want him to deepfake – I respond with clothed photos of myself and he immediately replies: “Damn, I’d facial her haha!” (ick) and asks for a one-off payment of $45. In exchange, he promises to make as many photos and videos as I like. He even asks what porn I’d prefer. When I reply, “Can we get her being done from behind?” he says, “I’ve got tonnes of videos we can use for that, I got you man.”

I think about The Bridesmaid, wondering if she has any idea that somebody wanted to see her edited into pornographic scenes. Is it better to be ignorant? Was it done to humiliate her, for blackmailing purposes, or for plain sexual gratification? And what about the adult performers in the original video, have they got any idea their work is being misappropriated in this way?

It appears these men (some of whom may just be teenagers: when I queried BuggedBunny about the app he wanted me to transfer money via, he said, “It’s legit! My dad uses it all the time”) – those creating and requesting deepfake porn – live in an online world where their actions have no real-world consequences. But they do. How can we get them to see that?

REAL-LIFE FAKE PORN

One quiet winter afternoon, while her son was at nursery, 36-year-old Helen Mort, a poet and writer from South Yorkshire, was surprised when the doorbell rang. It was the middle of a lockdown; she wasn’t expecting visitors or parcels. When Helen opened the door, there stood a male acquaintance – looking worried. “I thought someone had died,” she explains. But what came next was news she could never have anticipated. He asked to come in.

“I was on a porn website earlier and I saw… pictures of you on there,” the man said solemnly, as they sat down. “And it looks as though they’ve been online for years. Your name is listed, too.”

Initially, she was confused; the words ‘revenge porn’ (when naked pictures or videos are shared without consent) sprang to mind. But Helen had never taken a naked photo before, let alone sent one to another person who’d be callous enough to leak it. So, surely, there was no possible way it could be her?

“That was the day I learned what a ‘deepfake’ is,” Helen tells me. One of her misappropriated images had been taken while she was pregnant. In another, somebody had even added her tattoo to the body her face had been grafted onto.

Despite the images being fake, that didn’t lessen the profound impact their existence had on Helen’s life. “Your initial response is of shame and fear. I didn't want to leave the house. I remember walking down the street, not able to meet anyone’s eyes, convinced everyone had seen it. You feel very, very exposed. The anger hadn't kicked in yet.”

Nobody was ever caught. Helen was left to wrestle with the aftereffects alone. “I retreated into myself for months. I’m still on a higher dose of antidepressants than I was before it all happened.” After reporting what had happened to the police, who were initially supportive, Helen’s case was dropped. The anonymous person who created the deepfake porn had never messaged her directly, removing any possible grounds for harassment or intention to cause distress.

Eventually she found power in writing a poem detailing her experience and starting a petition calling for reformed laws around image-based abuse; it’s incredibly difficult to prosecute someone for deepfaking on a sexual assault basis (even though that’s what it is: a digital sexual assault). You’re more likely to see success with a claim for defamation or infringement of privacy, or image rights.

Unlike Helen, in one rare case 32-year-old Dina Mouhandes from Brighton was able to unearth the man who uploaded doctored images of her onto a porn site back in 2015. “Some were obviously fake, showing me with gigantic breasts and a stuck-on head, others could’ve been mistaken as real. Either way, it was humiliating,” she reflects. “And horrible, you wonder why someone would do something like that to you? Even if they’re not real photos, or realistic, it’s about making somebody feel uncomfortable. It’s invasive.”

Dina, like Helen, was alerted to what had happened by a friend who’d been watching porn. Initially, she says she laughed, as some images were so poorly edited. “But then I thought ‘What if somebody sees them and thinks I’ve agreed to having them made?’ My name was included on the site too.” Dina then looked at the profile of the person who’d uploaded them and realised an ex-colleague had been targeted too. “I figured out it was a guy we’d both worked with, I really didn’t want to believe it was him.”

In Dina’s case, the police took things seriously at first and visited the perpetrator in person, but later their communication dropped off – she has no idea if he was ever prosecuted, but is doubtful. The images were, at least, taken down. “Apparently he broke down and asked for help with his mental health,” Dina says. “I felt guilty about it, but knew I had to report what had happened. I still fear he could do it again and now that deepfake technology is so much more accessible, I worry it could happen to anyone.”

And that’s the crux of it. It could happen to any of us – and we likely wouldn’t even know about it, unless, like Dina and Helen, somebody stumbled across it and spoke out. Or, like 25-year-old Northern Irish politician Cara Hunter, who earlier this year was targeted in a similarly degrading sexual way. A pornographic video, in which an actor with similar hair, but whose face wasn’t shown, was distributed thousands of times – alongside real photos of Cara in a bikini – via WhatsApp. It all played out during the run-up to an election, so although Cara isn’t sure who started spreading the video and telling people it was her in it, it was presumably politically motivated.

“It’s tactics like this, and deepfake porn, that could scare the best and brightest women from coming into the field,” she says, adding that telling her dad what had happened was one of the worst moments of her life. “I was even stopped in the street by men and asked for oral sex and received comments like ‘naughty girl’ on Instagram – then you click the profiles of the people who’ve posted, and they’ve got families, kids. It’s objectification and trying to humiliate you out of your position by using sexuality as a weapon. A reputation can be ruined instantly.”

Cara adds that the worst thing is ‘everyone has a phone’ and yet laws dictate that while a person can’t harm you in public, they can legally ‘try to ruin your life online’. “A lie can get halfway around the world before the truth has even got its shoes on.”

Is it any wonder, then, that 83% of Cosmopolitan readers have said deepfake porn worries them, with 42% adding that they’re now rethinking what they post on social media? But this can’t be the solution - that, once again, women are finding themselves reworking their lives, in the hopes of stopping men from committing crimes.

Yet, we can’t just close our eyes and hope it all goes away either. The deepfake porn genie is well and truly out of the bottle (it’s also a symptom of a wider problem: Europol experts estimate that by 2026, 90% of all media we consume may be synthetically generated). Nearly one in every 20 Cosmopolitan readers said they, or someone they know, has been edited into a false sexual scenario. But what is the answer? It's hard for sites to monitor deepfakes – and even when images are promptly removed, there’s still every chance they’ve been screen grabbed and shared elsewhere.

When asked, Reddit told Cosmopolitan: "We have clear policies that prohibit sharing intimate or explicit media of a person created or posted without their permission. We will continue to remove content that violates our policies and take action against the users and communities that engage in this behaviour."

Speaking to leading deepfake expert, Henry Adjer, about how we can protect ourselves – and what needs to change – is eye-opening. “I’ve rarely seen male celebrities targeted and if they are, it’s usually by the gay community. I’d estimate tens of millions of women are deepfake porn victims at this stage.” He adds that sex, trust and technology are only set to become further intertwined, referencing the fact that virtual reality brothels now exist. “The best we can do is try to drive this type of behaviour into more obscure corners of the internet, to stop people – especially children and teenagers – from stumbling across it.”

Currently, UK law says that making deepfake porn isn’t an offence (although in Scotland distributing it may be seen as illegal, depending on intention), but companies are told to remove such material (if there’s an individual victim) when flagged, otherwise they may face a punishment from Ofcom. But the internet is a big place, and it’s virtually impossible to police. This year, the Online Safety Bill is being worked on by the Law Commission, who want deepfake porn recognised as a crime – but there’s a long way to go with a) getting that law legislated and b) ensuring it’s enforced.

Until then, we need a combination of investment and effort from tech companies to prevent and identify deepfakes, alongside those (hopefully future) tougher laws. But even that won’t wave a magic wand and fix everything. Despite spending hours online every day, as a society we still tend to think of ‘online’ and ‘offline’ as two separate worlds – but they aren’t. ‘Online’ our morals can run fast and loose, as crimes often go by unchecked, and while the ‘real world’ may have laws in place that, to some degree, do protect us, we still need a radical overhaul when it comes to how society views the female body.

Deepfake porn is a bitter nail in the coffin of equality and having control over your own image; even if you’ve never taken a nude in your life (which, by the way, you should be free to do without fear of it being leaked or hacked) you can still be targeted and have sexuality used against you. Isn’t it time we focus on truly Photoshopping out that narrative as a whole?”

Link | Archived Link

[writingwhimsey]

Married to The Enemy- Shingen Ch. 31

Chapter 31

I woke up the next morning to the sound of my alarm on my phone. I let out a groan as I turned it off. I don’t think I had gotten much sleep at all. But now that I had a new day, that meant I could see my love soon.

I climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom. I splashed some water on my face to help wake up before heading into the kitchen. I dug through the cabinets, happy to find some coffee. I brewed the coffee and poured myself a cup. Just the smell was already starting to perk me up a bit.

“Oooh, coffee, how I have missed you.” I spoke to my cup before taking a drink, feeling that first sip in my soul. “When we get back to the Sengoku, I’m going to have to talk to Sasuke and see if we can find a way to get the importing process of coffee started earlier.”

I drank my coffee, finishing off the entire pot before finishing getting ready. I didn’t have the choice but to get back into my kimono. I grabbed the purse Sasuke and his professor had prepared for me and pulled out the prepaid bank card. There was a number on the back to call and check the balance.

I called the number and went through the automated prompts. My eyes were practically bulging out of my head when I heard the number. That was WAY too much. There was NO WAY I was spending all of that. I made the plan to just buy a few basic pieces for myself and Shingen. Who knew how long we would be here? Depending on how things went, perhaps I would find a small office job like I once had before. That way I wouldn’t have to rely on this money.

“Alright, time to go shopping.” I told myself once I had finished getting ready. I headed out on the town, hitting a few clothing stores and just buying myself the basics. Simple pieces that could be used to make multiple outfits so long as you mixed and matched. Also with it being summer I did pick up a couple of sundresses. I went ahead and picked up a few things for Shingen as well. Though I didn’t know how long we would have in the modern day…I had to admit I was looking forward to when he got out of the hospital and getting to dress him up in various modern styles.

Once I had finished my shopping I returned to the apartment to put away the clothes and change. I decided to put on one of the sundresses. It was a simple and cute dress with spaghetti straps and came down to just above my knee. White flowers patterned the dress and the skirt was so flowy and breezy.

I couldn’t help but to smile as I thought about Shingen seeing me in modern clothes for the first time. Since we’d arrived he’d only seen the doctors and nurses, so he hadn’t really seen the full array of clothing that was worn now. 

I grabbed my phone and looked up the nearest breakfast places and what they had to offer. “Hmm…donuts should be a good first sweet treat breakfast for Shingen to try.” I muttered to myself.

I left the apartment and headed to the restaurant and ordered the donuts to go. By the time I had finished, it was finally visiting hours at the hospital once again. I couldn’t wait to see Shingen again. I hope he was able to sleep well last night. I thought as I walked the sidewalks to the hospital. I was so happy Sasuke and his professor had been able to set me up in an apartment so close. I’ll have to do something really nice for them.

Once at the hospital, I made my way to the floor Shingen was on and to his room. The door was slightly ajar so I pushed it open further to peak my head in. Shingen was sitting up in his bed looking a bit groggy as a nurse was checking his vitals and making sure his IV was all set.

Shingen’s sleepy eyes turned to me as I came in and a smile spread across his face, making my heart melt. “There’s my angel.” He said.

The nurse looked up. “Ah, you must be Mrs. Takahashi.” She greeted me.

Takahashi…oh right Shingen’s alias here! I thought to myself. I smiled. “Yes, I am the lucky woman.” I replied.

The nurse smiled. “You must be very special. Even in his sleep after I gave him some medicine he wouldn’t stop talking about you.” She said. “I’ll leave you two alone for a bit. You’ll be having more tests done today.”

The nurse then left and I was making my way over to Shingen’s bedside. “How are you feeling?” I asked him.

“Better now that you’re here.” He answered, his arms reaching for me and pulling me into the bed with him before I even had a chance to sit down in the chair.

I giggled. “Careful or you’ll make me squish our breakfast treats.” I said, holding up the box of donuts, though I was happy to be in his arms.

“I thought you were my treat.” Shingen replied, kissing my forehead. “Especially when you’re looking so cute.”

I felt my cheeks heating up, but I couldn’t deny that I was happy right where I was…or how much I enjoyed Shingen’s flirting. “Well this is a bonus then, I guess.” 

“So, what is it?” Shingen asked.

I smiled as I flipped open the box. “They’re called donuts. A deep-fried sweet dough covered in other various and delectable sweets.”

Shingen’s eyes widened as he looked at the donuts…I honestly thought I might see some sparkles in those gray eyes. “They all look so good…”

I had picked up a variety of donuts so that Shingen would have some options to try. “You really can’t go wrong with any of these. However THIS is my personal favorite.” I said, reaching into the box and pulling out a chocolate eclair donut. “This icing on top is chocolate…my absolute favorite sweet and the inside has a delicious sweet filling.”

“I don’t want to take it if it’s your favorite.” Shingen replied.

“That is why I got two of every flavor in this box.” I informed him with a proud smile.

Shingen grinned. “My goddess is brilliant and beautiful.” 

I held the donut to his lips. “Come on now, try it. I know you’re gonna love it.”

Shingen parted his lips and then bit into the donut. His face…he was like a little kid who had just been introduced to sweets for the first time. “That is delicious.” He said after swallowing the bite before going in for another. He was then reaching into the box and grabbing out the other eclair donut for me and holding it to my lips.

I smiled before taking a bite. I must have had stars in my eyes too…it had been SOOO LONG since I’d had a donut. I forgot just how much I loved them. “Mmm…” I hummed as I closed my eyes, smiling in contentment.

“Should I be jealous of this donut?” Shingen asked, a teasing smile on his face.

My eyes popped open and instantly my cheeks reddened. “No…it’s just been so long since I’ve had a donut.”

Shingen smiled and hugged me closer. “It is a rather tasty treat.”

I smiled as I nestled into his embrace. “While we’re here I’ll have to bring you all kinds of sweet treats to try. We have waffles and pancakes…those are also breakfast foods. Then there’s ice cream, slushies, cookies, all kinds of cakes, and a HUGE array of candy.”

“And when we go back we don’t say a word to Yuki.” Shingen replied.

I giggled and nodded. “Agreed. We’d never hear the end of it.”

We continued to enjoy the donuts together. “How did you sleep last night, my love?” Shingen asked me as we continued to cuddle up even after finishing the donuts. 

“Okay…once I got to sleep.” I replied. “I missed you.” There was no point in trying to lie or hide it.

Shingen couldn’t hide his smile. “I’m glad to know the feeling is mutual.”

“I set my alarm early so I could get up in time to get here as soon as visiting hours started.” I confessed.

“You’re so cute.” Shingen told me.

I felt my cheeks redden. “I just wanted to see you as soon as possible.”

“That makes me happy to hear.” He said. “I’m also happy to see this…new kimono you are wearing.” His fingers were trailing over my bare arms and exposed legs.

I felt myself warming under his touch. “It’s called a sundress.” I replied. “And I had hoped you would like it.”

“Very much.” Shingen replied. “Is this…normal attire for this time?”

I nodded. “Very much so. Especially for the hot summers.”

“I like it.” Shingen replied, his hands still roaming over me.

“You know, being like this is going to be when the doctor or a nurse walks in.” I told him. “We should behave ourselves.”

“I am behaving.” Shingen replied. “If I weren’t my hands would have already wandered under this… dress.”

I laughed and shook my head. I reached for his hands, bidding them to stay still. “You are here to get better.” I reminded him. “I don’t want them kicking you out before they cure you.”

Shingen chuckled. “Alright, I’ll behave myself.” He said, settling his hands in more appropriate places. “But once I am cured and out of here, I don’t have to, right?”

“You’re shameless…but it’s one of the many things I love about you.”

“That wasn’t a no.”

I giggled again. “As long as the doctor releases you and says you have made a complete recovery, then no, you won’t have to.”

“Well, now I have even more motivation to listen to what the doctor says.”

It was then as if on cue, there was a knock on the door and the doctor was coming in. “Good morning, Mr. Takahashi….Mrs. Takahashi, I see you arrived as soon as visiting hours started.”

I felt my cheeks flushing. “Yes…”

The doctor gave us a smile. “It’s good to see Mr. Takahashi has such a loving and supportive wife. Patients always do better when they have a strong support.” He said.

“My angel is truly my greatest blessing.” Shingen said, causing me to turn redder.

“Well, today we will be running some more tests on you. I want to get a chest X-ray, a CT scan, and an MRI.” The doctor said. He then rattled off a few more tests that he would be conducting as well. “Mrs. Takahashi, if there are any errands you need to run, you might want to do that while we are conducting these tests.”

“I…I can’t just wait here?” I asked.

“You can, but it is going to be an all day thing.” The doctor said. “We have your contact information should we need to get a hold of you. Though we should be finished by dinner time.”

“I’ll be alright, Ava.” Shingen assured me. 

“I’ll be sending someone in to start the tests in about fifteen minutes.” The doctor said.

Shingen and I nodded as the doctor walked out the door. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” I asked.

Shingen smiled. “Isn’t this the best place for me to be?” He asked.

“Okay, that’s fair.” I replied.

“Is there something you need to do?” Shingen asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. My Oba-san…I need to see her.”

“Then you should go.” Shingen told me. “I will be fine here.”

I nodded. “Alright, but I am staying here till they come get you for the tests.”

Shingen chuckled as he hugged me tighter. “I can accept that.” He said, pecking me lightly on the lips. “You were close with your grandmother?”

I nodded. “For a time after my father left, my mother and I lived with her.” I explained. “She can be a bit…eccentric, but she is a lovely woman.”

“What makes you say eccentric?” He asked.

I pursed my lips in thought. “It can be a bit hard to explain. But…for example when my mom disappeared, she said she knew she was okay and that she’d found some place she was happy.”

“How did she know this?” Shingen asked.

I shrugged. “Not sure. She claimed she could just feel it that my mom was fine.”

“And you didn’t agree?” Shingen asked.

“No.” I answered. “But I’ve come to realize that maybe it was just her way of coping with the loss of her daughter, especially in such an odd way.”

“I can understand that.” Shingen replied.

It was a few minutes later, a couple of orderlies were coming into take Shingen for his tests. We shared another hug and kiss before I was climbing out of the bed and they were wheeling him out the door. Hopefully soon we would find out what was going on with Shingen…and hopefully I would be able to have a good talk with my grandmother.

Taglist: @limonzu @zulablaise @oda-princess @kisara-16 @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @lucyw260 @selenacosmic

[thehattyguy]

This weekend I decided to participate in another game jam!

I went in with a sort of ambitious idea and it sort of worked: a sidescroller automation and tower defense game

Unfortunately with the little time I had to make the game I was left with only a taste of what brewed in my brain and I had quite a few ideas of how it could end up being a full game

It kinda threw me in another game dilemma... if I should pursue this idea or stick with previous one

Currently I'm leaning towards the experimentation side of things since my stuff here is only my side projects so I'm not that worried about throwing darts until something hits

I'll let those thoughts brew until next weekend and I will probably also participate on the GMTK jam in 2 weekends so there's that

And in case anyone wants to try out my jam game it's here below, till next post!

[rom-e-o]

More modern Ebenezer/Constance!

These two are so delightfully awkward. <3

“Here you are, Mr. Scrooge,” she said politely. “One flat white. Oh, and here.”

She also handed him a small box, which she said was filled with pastries. It felt heavy and quite dense, requiring him to splay his fingers beneath the weight of the box to hold it.

“You work in an office, right?” Constance asked. “Please accept this. I hope you and the others enjoy them. Consider it a ‘thank you’ for your kind words.”

Without even looking inside to see what she was giving him, he could tell by the sweet, cinnamon-speckled aroma that the contents of the box likely came from the café’s bakery. “Oh, I couldn’t …”

“You must!” she insisted, her kind smile never faltering. “I’m sure there are some people in your office who skipped breakfast. It’s better to eat a pastry than nothing at all, I think.”

Seeing that he wasn’t going to deter the woman, and because he knew his coworkers would likely appreciate the baked goods in lieu of their coffee machine being broken, he surrendered with a thankful smile. “Well, that is exceptionally kind of you. I see the stereotype of American generosity is alive and well.”

It was her turn to stammer, and he watched in intrigue as she tucked a spiral of red hair behind one of her ears.

“Well, it was inspired by your kindness, sir,” Constance said. She bowed to him, her strawberry-blonde curls dropping over her shoulders as she did so. “Thank you again for being so sweet to me.”

With his hands now full, the woman followed Ebenezer to the door to hold it for him and make sure he got out safely. As he began his walk back down the sidewalk and toward his practice’s building, he glanced back over his shoulder and saw Constance standing in the doorway and waving to him.

The chilly, concrete streets of London’s financial district were a backdrop that only served to make everything about her form stand out more. From her coppery hair to her red corseted top to her, and even down to the glow of her tanned skin and smattering of freckles, everything about her radiated warmth. The juxtaposition was stark, like seeing a star glittering against a night sky.

He walked back to his office in a daze, barely noticing when he was thanked by the building’s other inhabitants for putting the pastries in one of the large communal kitchens.

When he made it back to his desk, coffee still in hand, Bob cast him a curious look from his station as he passed.

“You’re back!” he enthused. “Ah, looks like your trip was a success. The coffee smells good.”

“Hm?” Scrooge said, then broke out of his daydream with a laugh. “Oh! Yes, quite. It’s lovely.”

“Lovely?” the man asked, a brow lofting in amusement at the peculiar choice in adjective to describe a beverage. “Well, that’s quite a positive review!”

“Yes,” he parroted again. “It was certainly worth the trip out. Thank you for the recommendation.”

Taking a sip, the quality of the coffee was … quite good. It was a nicely brewed medium roast coffee with the proper amount of milk added. There was a touch of sweetness as well, which was far from unwelcome for a man who preferred to take his black tea with at least one lump of the granulated stuff. It was certainly better quality than what he would have gotten from the automated machine down in the lobby, and that was what mattered most, he supposed. Plus, he’d supported a local business, an initiative that had become much more near and dear to his heart in the past year.

Yet, as he sank into his seat and took another warm sip, he found it harder to descend back into the rhythm of work. Even as calls came in or meetings called him away, his caffeine-fueled brain kept drifting back to the brick coffee house a few blocks away.

The thoughts posed such an effective distraction that he never stopped to think why that could be.

For the next few weeks, Ebenezer found himself visiting New Grounds Coffee Co. every day on his morning walk into the office.

The first experience had been so pleasant after all that he felt obliged to support the business. Also, there was the small matter of thanking Constance for her kindness.

That next morning, he walked into the coffeehouse not knowing what to expect. Would she even be working? He hadn’t paid it much thought, but when he saw her smile and wave at him from behind the counter, the suddenly found himself with a spring in his step.

“Good morning, Mr. Scrooge!” she greeted positively, her voice as chipper as ever. He nodded in mutual greeting, unable to resist returning a matching smile.

He saw some of the other customers and workers wince at her loud American cadence, but he hardly minded. She was happy to see him, after all.

“I’m quite impressed,” Ebenezer said as he stepped up to the counter, his gloved hands coming together to rest at his waist, “You remembered my name.”

She nodded; a gesture more confident than boastful.

“Well, I don’t often forget a face. Especially one of someone who was such a hero to me.”

Her sweet words inspired a rush of awe, but his brow furrowed in concern. “Now, surely what I did was nothing heroic. That man from yesterday was being shrill, and someone would have put him in his place eventually.”

A noncommittal hum answered his speculation. He noticed she didn’t look convinced, and suddenly felt self-conscious about not simply accepting the kind comment she’d given him. However, before he could reply, she added, “Well, you were the one who actually stopped him, so you were my hero for the rest of the day.”

For the first time in many years, a woman had made him blush. Although he was only 50 years of age, it had been a while since another person had complimented him well enough to make him go red in the face. Whether it was her sincerity, her cheerfulness, or her bright smile … he wasn’t sure, but the effect on his heart spoke for itself loudly against his ribcage.

“I-I’m happy to see you, Miss Constance,” he clumsily segued, hoping to distract from his embarrassment and carry on their conversation. “I wanted to thank you for yesterday.”

She cocked her head. “Thank me?”

“My coworkers did appreciate the pastries. I heard a lot of positive feedback, so hopefully you’ll have some more clients coming your way soon.”

“Oh, wonderful! I’m so glad to hear that!” she enthused. He heard the heels of her tall shoes click as she bounced behind the counter. Goodness, the woman was more excitable than some puppies he’d met.

It was ... cute.

[azzydoesstuff]

behold, my massive fucking moonshine factory (in minecraft for legal reasons)

so basically, i've been goofing around with the create mod the last few weeks and i installed quite a few addons to add way more content. one of these addons, "destroy", adds chemistry and stuff. but that's not important, all that matters is that it adds ILLEGAL LIQOUR BREWING

knowing me, i'd of course spend almost a week or two building a 100% fully automatic moonshine brewery and distillery.

the only thing that isn't completely automated is the heat from the blaze burners of the steam engine that powers this behemoth, which have been fed with creative blaze cakes so i don't have to build a blaze fuel farm too (i'll do it at some point)

here's some screenshots

and here's a top-down view, with and without legend

Steam Engine (absolute beast, provides power to the entire factory)

Emergency Waterwheels (in case the steam engine overstresses, i can disconnect it from the main mechanism and start it up using these, no need to restart it up manually)

Ingredient Sorter, Left Wing

Ingredient Sorter, Right Wing

Aging Barrels, Left Wing

Aging Barrels, Right Wing

Water Pumps (collect water for the moonshine)

Distillation Bubble Cap Mechanisms (three of them for maximum liquor potence)

Final Fluid Tank (stores fully-distilled moonshine before it is bottled)

Automatic Cobblestone Generator

Cobblestone Crushers (two sets of crushing wheels per belt, one crushing cycle turns cobble into gravel, the second turns gravel into sand)

Bulk Blaster (create mod's equivalent of a super-smelter. smelts all of the sand into glass)

Mechanical Crafters (craft glass into glass bottles)

Bottling Station (spouts sploosh moonshine into the freshly crafted bottles)

Final Storage Vault (where the bottled moonshine finally ends up. has a storage space so massive it'll basically never stop growing)

Automatic Wheat Farm (wheat is one of two ingredients for moonshine, uses a gantry carriage contraption to sweep the mature crops and then deposits them into the vault sorting system)

Seed Composters (uses the leftover seeds from the wheat farm to make bone meal for the mushroom farm)

Semi-Automatic Mushroom Farm (relies on the wheat farm for bone meal, but besides that, is fully automatic. repeatedly plants a mushroom, bone meals it into a giant shroom, then cuts it down with a mechanical saw to get more shrooms in return)

Mushroom Crusher (grinds mushrooms into bricks of yeast, the other ingredient in moonshine, then flings it into the yeast vault)

Wheat Vault (stores wheat until it's time for another brewing cycle)

Yeast Vault (stores yeast until it's time for another brewing cycle)

Wheat Farm Sorting System (wheat is deposited into the wheat vault, seeds are flung into the mushroom farm's composters, and any other items that might've ended up there by mistake are incinerated)

Distilled Water Disposal Pipe (transports any leftover water from the moonshine distillation into the steam engine, thus getting rid of it)

Catwalk Elevator (thought it'd be cool to have a lift bring you up to some catwalks above the whole factory, so i made it)

[dovahkiin796]

This Damn Room Finally Explained.

I'm so glad we FINALLY got an explanation for this iconic bedroom in Fnaf 4. It's fake. Everything in this room is fake. It along with the hallways, the Plushtrap hallway, bathroom, kitchen, and living room is just one big test chamber built by William Afton to test his hallucinogenic gas on children he had kidnapped so he can measure their fear levels.

Hard to believe some people actually called this years ago. Well, not the fear gas, but this room being used for an experiment.

To address Afton measuring the children's fear. It can be assumed that he knew of the existence of Agony. Agony is used as a blanket term for all negative emotions and fear would be the easiest for kids to express.

It does makes sense William would eventually come across Agony as Remnant is only made when someone dies. Afton knows he can't go on a killing spree in the hopes he can collect some Remnant. That would draw too much attention even if he does get away with the murders. Afton is not dumb, he's an intelligent man who started a business with his partner and best friend Henry. He even ran his own business, "Afton Robotics". What got William killed was his own arrogance. Believing hiding in the suit he wore to kill the missing kids would protect him.

Now onto the hallucinogenic gas. It was a surprising reveal that this whole-time gas was being pumped into the bedroom. Causing whoever was inside to hallucinate the Nightmare Animatronics. Who turned out to be mannequins with Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, and Foxy costumes on them.

There have been debates if the Nightmares were real, given they have the word nightmare in their names. But in the world of Fnaf. It's entirely possible for William Afton to make actual physical Nightmare Animatronics.

With the reveal of the hallucinogenic gas. These tanks make so much sense now. In UCN they're oxygen tanks, but in the real world they're tanks that hold Afton's fear gas. The main character Rory from Dittophobia comes across them after escaping the bedroom.

There are a few people who don't like this reveal of the gas as it makes William Afton come off as a Mad Scientist. Something the games never hinted at. Which is true and the thing is... he isn't. He's a Mad Engineer from my point of view. But Afton does have to study Remnant and Agony in a scientific manner if he wants to understand how it works and then make himself immortal. Do you want to see Afton brew up some potions, cackle like a witch, and stand around a cauldron, chanting? Cause I sure don't. He needs science to study this supernatural element he discovered to achieve his goal.

Like The Mimic, the fear gas is a welcome addition. It is MILES better than the Illusion Discs and people REALLY don't like them.

I should address Rory since I mentioned him. He's the main character of Dittophobia and he's one of the kids Afton kidnapped for his experiments. NO, we don't play as Rory in Fnaf 4. It's kind of confirmed we're Micheal Afton in the fourth game and I don't think Willaim was experimenting on his own kid.

Anyway. Rory is the last surviving kid of the experiments, and he has been doing this for TEN YEARS! This is because the experiments are automated and at this point William would've already been dead and trapped in the safe room in the Fnaf 1 location. So, no one can stop the experiments. What's mind blowing but something we already knew was the Fanf 4 bedroom connecting to Circus Baby's. But the Funtime Animatronics still being there. Confirming Sister Location is AFTER Five Nights at Freddy's 1 and not before. Like everyone thought it was. Mainly because of Micheal being fired due to his bad odor making people believe he was corpse when working at the Fnaf 1 location.

Dittophobia finally gave us the answer we needed to put to rest a theory that has been in the fandom for years. Great job to whoever wrote Dittophobia.