#tory donors

[anyoneknowwhatbrexitmeans]

[angelholme]

So the Tory government gave out six fucktons of our money to people who scammed them, and decided not to investigate the people they gave it to.

And as a result The Tory Government have only managed to recoup about half a fuckton of our money. The rest is gone -- taken by fraud, scam artists and other such people.

It does kind of make sense -- if the Tory government had investigated the people that they were giving the money to then there are good odds that those investigations would have revealed that the people that six fucktons of our money were given to were friends of Ministers, friends of MPs, friends of MPs' families, friends of Minister's family's and Tory donors.

Which would not have been a good look for the Tory government, for Johnson, for Truss or for Sunak.

So if the Tory government doesn't investigate, they can -- at least -- maintain plausible deniability about where the money that they gave out to fraudsters, scam artists and so forth went.

Of course the Tory government still has to explain why they gave six fucktons of our money to people with checking who it was they were giving vast amounts of cash to. Because that does kind of call into question their ability to run the country.

One would think.

[well-whatever-next]

“Byline Times and The Citizens calculated that £1 billion in COVID contracts had been awarded to Conservative donors and £2 billion to Conservative associates, with these firms seeing their collective financial position improve by £325.5 million in their latest company accounts. Firms that were awarded COVID contracts have now gone on to donate at least £615,000 back to the Conservative Party, either directly or through their owners and directors.”

[the-busy-ghost]

Facebook's new (unusable) look is almost entirely adverts and suggested pages that I have no interest in, and I think this might be the straw that will break the camel's back:

No judgement to people who enjoy/write soaps (I don't know the context) but I feel like this image could be used to explain Britain in 2023

[economicsresearch]

page 187 - OH COME ON. A glass of champagne on the arm of this sofa? This is going to make me sick as hell, but I'm going to drink the bastard anyway.

Hey other guy? Are you out there? I would love to share. I won't get nearly as buzzed but we loves a party don't we? And a party for one just isn't it.

[strawbeb]

i feel obligated to let you all know that i’m now a die hard tory. april fools

[areyouwho-ithinkyouare]

look i have a lot of moral/ethical issues with glastonbury festival but i’m SOOOO happy that Little Simz is being given a spot on the pyramid stage like she deserves that space

[anyoneknowwhatbrexitmeans]

The motive behind the new Tory policy and Sunaks U turn becomes clearer.

[robotpussy]

NHS England banning puberty blockers for children, debates over whether it is racist that a white tory donor said a black woman (Diane Abbot) deserves to be shot, a woman who has a seat in the house of parliament and seeing her makes him "want to hate all black women" and when she wanted to speak... nobody let her and black girls and women who continously go missing then are suddenly found dead in the river thames months after the "incident"..... this country is a antiblack racist transphobic hellhole

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How to shatter the class solidarity of the ruling class

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me WEDNESDAY (Apr 11) at UCLA, then Chicago (Apr 17), Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

Audre Lorde counsels us that "The Master's Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master's House," while MLK said "the law cannot make a man love me, but it can restrain him from lynching me." Somewhere between replacing the system and using the system lies a pragmatic – if easily derailed – course.

Lorde is telling us that a rotten system can't be redeemed by using its own chosen reform mechanisms. King's telling us that unless we live, we can't fight – so anything within the system that makes it easier for your comrades to fight on can hasten the end of the system.

Take the problems of journalism. One old model of journalism funding involved wealthy newspaper families profiting handsomely by selling local appliance store owners the right to reach the townspeople who wanted to read sports-scores. These families expressed their patrician love of their town by peeling off some of those profits to pay reporters to sit through municipal council meetings or even travel overseas and get shot at.

In retrospect, this wasn't ever going to be a stable arrangement. It relied on both the inconstant generosity of newspaper barons and the absence of a superior way to show washing-machine ads to people who might want to buy washing machines. Neither of these were good long-term bets. Not only were newspaper barons easily distracted from their sense of patrician duty (especially when their own power was called into question), but there were lots of better ways to connect buyers and sellers lurking in potentia.

All of this was grossly exacerbated by tech monopolies. Tech barons aren't smarter or more evil than newspaper barons, but they have better tools, and so now they take 51 cents out of every ad dollar and 30 cents out of ever subscriber dollar and they refuse to deliver the news to users who explicitly requested it, unless the news company pays them a bribe to "boost" their posts:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

The news is important, and people sign up to make, digest, and discuss the news for many non-economic reasons, which means that the news continues to struggle along, despite all the economic impediments and the vulture capitalists and tech monopolists who fight one another for which one will get to take the biggest bite out of the press. We've got outstanding nonprofit news outlets like Propublica, journalist-owned outlets like 404 Media, and crowdfunded reporters like Molly White (and winner-take-all outlets like the New York Times).

But as Hamilton Nolan points out, "that pot of money…is only large enough to produce a small fraction of the journalism that was being produced in past generations":

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/what-will-replace-advertising-revenue

For Nolan, "public funding of journalism is the only way to fix this…If we accept that journalism is not just a business or a form of entertainment but a public good, then funding it with public money makes perfect sense":

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/public-funding-of-journalism-is-the

Having grown up in Canada – under the CBC – and then lived for a quarter of my life in the UK – under the BBC – I am very enthusiastic about Nolan's solution. There are obvious problems with publicly funded journalism, like the politicization of news coverage:

https://www.theguardian.com/media/2023/jan/24/panel-approving-richard-sharp-as-bbc-chair-included-tory-party-donor

And the transformation of the funding into a cheap political football:

https://www.cbc.ca/news/politics/poilievre-defund-cbc-change-law-1.6810434

But the worst version of those problems is still better than the best version of the private-equity-funded model of news production.

But Nolan notes the emergence of a new form of hedge fund news, one that is awfully promising, and also terribly fraught: Hunterbrook Media, an investigative news outlet owned by short-sellers who pay journalists to research and publish damning reports on companies they hold a short position on:

https://hntrbrk.com/

For those of you who are blissfully distant from the machinations of the financial markets, "short selling" is a wager that a company's stock price will go down. A gambler who takes a short position on a company's stock can make a lot of money if the company stumbles or fails altogether (but if the company does well, the short can suffer literally unlimited losses).

Shorts have historically paid analysts to dig into companies and uncover the sins hidden on their balance-sheets, but as Matt Levine points out, journalists work for a fraction of the price of analysts and are at least as good at uncovering dirt as MBAs are:

https://www.bloomberg.com/opinion/articles/2024-04-02/a-hedge-fund-that-s-also-a-newspaper

What's more, shorts who discover dirt on a company still need to convince journalists to publicize their findings and trigger the sell-off that makes their short position pay off. Shorts who own a muckraking journalistic operation can skip this step: they are the journalists.

There's a way in which this is sheer genius. Well-funded shorts who don't care about the news per se can still be motivated into funding freely available, high-quality investigative journalism about corporate malfeasance (notoriously, one of the least attractive forms of journalism for advertisers). They can pay journalists top dollar – even bid against each other for the most talented journalists – and supply them with all the tools they need to ply their trade. A short won't ever try the kind of bullshit the owners of Vice pulled, paying themselves millions while their journalists lose access to Lexisnexis or the PACER database:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/24/anti-posse/#when-you-absolutely-positively-dont-give-a-solitary-single-fuck

The shorts whose journalists are best equipped stand to make the most money. What's not to like?

Well, the issue here is whether the ruling class's sense of solidarity is stronger than its greed. The wealthy have historically oscillated between real solidarity (think of the ultrawealthy lobbying to support bipartisan votes for tax cuts and bailouts) and "war of all against all" (as when wealthy colonizers dragged their countries into WWI after the supply of countries to steal ran out).

After all, the reason companies engage in the scams that shorts reveal is that they are profitable. "Behind every great fortune is a great crime," and that's just great. You don't win the game when you get into heaven, you win it when you get into the Forbes Rich List.

Take monopolies: investors like the upside of backing an upstart company that gobbles up some staid industry's margins – Amazon vs publishing, say, or Uber vs taxis. But while there's a lot of upside in that move, there's also a lot of risk: most companies that set out to "disrupt" an industry sink, taking their investors' capital down with them.

Contrast that with monopolies: backing a company that merges with its rivals and buys every small company that might someday grow large is a sure thing. Shriven of "wasteful competition," a company can lower quality, raise prices, capture its regulators, screw its workers and suppliers and laugh all the way to Davos. A big enough company can ignore the complaints of those workers, customers and regulators. They're not just too big to fail. They're not just too big to jail. They're too big to care:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

Would-be monopolists are stuck in a high-stakes Prisoner's Dilemma. If they cooperate, they can screw over everyone else and get unimaginably rich. But if one party defects, they can raid the monopolist's margins, short its stock, and snitch to its regulators.

It's true that there's a clear incentive for hedge-fund managers to fund investigative journalism into other hedge-fund managers' portfolio companies. But it would be even more profitable for both of those hedgies to join forces and collude to screw the rest of us over. So long as they mistrust each other, we might see some benefit from that adversarial relationship. But the point of the 0.1% is that there aren't very many of them. The Aspen Institute can rent a hall that will hold an appreciable fraction of that crowd. They buy their private jets and bespoke suits and powdered rhino horn from the same exclusive sellers. Their kids go to the same elite schools. They know each other, and they have every opportunity to get drunk together at a charity ball or a society wedding and cook up a plan to join forces.

This is the problem at the core of "mechanism design" grounded in "rational self-interest." If you try to create a system where people do the right thing because they're selfish assholes, you normalize being a selfish asshole. Eventually, the selfish assholes form a cozy little League of Selfish Assholes and turn on the rest of us.

Appeals to morality don't work on unethical people, but appeals to immorality crowds out ethics. Take the ancient split between "free software" (software that is designed to maximize the freedom of the people who use it) and "open source software" (identical to free software, but promoted as a better way to make robust code through transparency and peer review).

Over the years, open source – an appeal to your own selfish need for better code – triumphed over free software, and its appeal to the ethics of a world of "software freedom." But it turns out that while the difference between "open" and "free" was once mere semantics, it's fully possible to decouple the two. Today, we have lots of "open source": you can see the code that Google, Microsoft, Apple and Facebook uses, and even contribute your labor to it for free. But you can't actually decide how the software you write works, because it all takes a loop through Google, Microsoft, Apple or Facebook's servers, and only those trillion-dollar tech monopolists have the software freedom to determine how those servers work:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/04/which-side-are-you-on/#tivoization-and-beyond

That's ruling class solidarity. The Big Tech firms have hidden a myriad of sins beneath their bafflegab and balance-sheets. These (as yet) undiscovered scams constitute a "bezzle," which JK Galbraith defined as "the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it."

The purpose of Hunterbrook is to discover and destroy bezzles, hastening the moment of realization that the wealth we all feel in a world of seemingly orderly technology is really an illusion. Hunterbrook certainly has its pick of bezzles to choose from, because we are living in a Golden Age of the Bezzle.

Which is why I titled my new novel The Bezzle. It's a tale of high-tech finance scams, starring my two-fisted forensic accountant Marty Hench, and in this volume, Hench is called upon to unwind a predatory prison-tech scam that victimizes the most vulnerable people in America – our army of prisoners – and their families:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

The scheme I fictionalize in The Bezzle is very real. Prison-tech monopolists like Securus and Viapath bribe prison officials to abolish calls, in-person visits, mail and parcels, then they supply prisoners with "free" tablets where they pay hugely inflated rates to receive mail, speak to their families, and access ebooks, distance education and other electronic media:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/02/captive-customers/#guillotine-watch

But a group of activists have cornered these high-tech predators, run them to ground and driven them to the brink of extinction, and they've done it using "the master's tools" – with appeals to regulators and the finance sector itself.

Writing for The Appeal, Dana Floberg and Morgan Duckett describe the campaign they waged with Worth Rises to bankrupt the prison-tech sector:

https://theappeal.org/securus-bankruptcy-prison-telecom-industry/

Here's the headline figure: Securus is $1.8 billion in debt, and it has eight months to find a financier or it will go bust. What's more, all the creditors it might reasonably approach have rejected its overtures, and its bonds have been downrated to junk status. It's a dead duck.

Even better is how this happened. Securus's debt problems started with its acquisition, a leveraged buyout by Platinum Equity, who borrowed heavily against the firm and then looted it with bogus "management fees" that meant that the debt continued to grow, despite Securus's $700m in annual revenue from America's prisoners. Platinum was just the last in a long line of PE companies that loaded up Securus with debt and merged it with its competitors, who were also mortgaged to make profits for other private equity funds.

For years, Securus and Platinum were able to service their debt and roll it over when it came due. But after Worth Rises got NYC to pass a law making jail calls free, creditors started to back away from Securus. It's one thing for Securus to charge $18 for a local call from a prison when it's splitting the money with the city jail system. But when that $18 needs to be paid by the city, they're going to demand much lower prices. To make things worse for Securus, prison reformers got similar laws passed in San Francisco and in Connecticut.

Securus tried to outrun its problems by gobbling up one of its major rivals, Icsolutions, but Worth Rises and its coalition convinced regulators at the FCC to block the merger. Securus abandoned the deal:

https://worthrises.org/blogpost/securusmerger

Then, Worth Rises targeted Platinum Equity, going after the pension funds and other investors whose capital Platinum used to keep Securus going. The massive negative press campaign led to eight-figure disinvestments:

https://www.latimes.com/business/story/2019-09-05/la-fi-tom-gores-securus-prison-phone-mass-incarceration

Now, Securus's debt became "distressed," trading at $0.47 on the dollar. A brief, covid-fueled reprieve gave Securus a temporary lifeline, as prisoners' families were barred from in-person visits and had to pay Securus's rates to talk to their incarcerated loved ones. But after lockdown, Securus's troubles picked up right where they left off.

They targeted Platinum's founder, Tom Gores, who papered over his bloody fortune by styling himself as a philanthropist and sports-team owner. After a campaign by Worth Rises and Color of Change, Gores was kicked off the Los Angeles County Museum of Art board. When Gores tried to flip Securus to a SPAC – the same scam Trump pulled with Truth Social – the negative publicity about Securus's unsound morals and financials killed the deal:

https://twitter.com/WorthRises/status/1578034977828384769

Meanwhile, more states and cities are making prisoners' communications free, further worsening Securus's finances:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/14/minnesota-nice/#shitty-technology-adoption-curve

Congress passed the Martha Wright-Reed Just and Reasonable Communications Act, giving the FCC the power to regulate the price of federal prisoners' communications. Securus's debt prices tumbled further:

https://www.govtrack.us/congress/bills/117/s1541

Securus's debts were coming due: it owes $1.3b in 2024, and hundreds of millions more in 2025. Platinum has promised a $400m cash infusion, but that didn't sway S&P Global, a bond-rating agency that re-rated Securus's bonds as "CCC" (compare with "AAA"). Moody's concurred. Now, Securus is stuck selling junk-bonds:

https://www.govtrack.us/congress/bills/117/s1541

The company's creditors have given Securus an eight-month runway to find a new lender before they force it into bankruptcy. The company's debt is trading at $0.08 on the dollar.

Securus's major competitor is Viapath (prison tech is a duopoly). Viapath is also debt-burdened and desperate, thanks to a parallel campaign by Worth Rises, and has tried all of Securus's tricks, and failed:

https://pestakeholder.org/news/american-securities-fails-to-sell-prison-telecom-company-viapath/

Viapath's debts are due next year, and if Securus tanks, no one in their right mind will give Viapath a dime. They're the walking dead.

Worth Rise's brilliant guerrilla warfare against prison-tech and its private equity backers are a master class in using the master's tools to dismantle the master's house. The finance sector isn't a friend of justice or working people, but sometimes it can be used tactically against financialization itself. To paraphrase MLK, "finance can't make a corporation love you, but it can stop a corporation from destroying you."

Yes, the ruling class finds solidarity at the most unexpected moments, and yes, it's easy for appeals to greed to institutionalize greediness. But whether it's funding unbezzling journalism through short selling, or freeing prisons by brandishing their cooked balance-sheets in the faces of bond-rating agencies, there's a lot of good we can do on the way to dismantling the system.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/08/money-talks/#bullshit-walks

Image: KMJ (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Boerse_01_KMJ.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

[prettyrenjunn]

you belong with me

huang renjun x f!reader

themes- smau! friends to lovers, fluff, crack, angst (hardly any) ‼️ maybe some mature themes & inappropriate jokes (COMPLETE)

summary- renjun has had a crush on you since as long as he can remember, the problem? he can’t seem to get rid of these feels and there’s no way he’s going to confess and possibly ruin the years of friendship you share.

playlist - you belong with me, late night talking, i like me better, pretty boy, those eyes, look after you

character profiles

chapters

1. blind date

2. dilf

3. strictly friends

4. side quest

5. huangrenjunology

6. mrs huang

7. she’s in on it

8. scheming

9. that should be me

10. jo & laurie

11. who wanna kiss?

12. tori vega

13. frederick yn huang

14. love triangle

15. orgasm donor

16. insane

17. 8-way

18. messed up

19. ghosting

20. make up or make out

[gemini-sensei]

This morning I am thinking about goth!omega!Reader who doesn't care for alphas, she just wants her own lil family. (I started writing this post this morning and it got too long for me to finish it before now, so here it it) (unedited) (@sensei-venus)

She's never been too interested in finding a mate, unlike other omegas. She's always done her own thing, often thought to be quite lonely. People think she's stand-offish but really she's just shy. That being said, she's good at what she does - her career putting her in a good place to start having pups.

So she gets herself into a clinic for single omegas or beta couples looking to have pups. At first, she was just going to go the clinical route but changed her mind when she head live donation was more successful. After doing her own research and seeing studies about knots being more effective in the process, she agreed to live donation.

What the clinic failed to tell her was that it wasn't going to be anonymous.

Reader found herself cooped up in a mating hotel waiting for n alpha to show up. It was nerve wracking for her as she hadn't had many good interactions with alphas in the past. Most didn't like her style, preferred more colorful and cutesy omegas, or they didn't like her "attitude", believing she was being g rude to them when reallynshe just didn't know what to say.

She thought about backing out, doing it clinically, but she'd already paid for the donation. It was a hefty lumpsum of a deposit, the rest she'd have to pay after it took...

To make herself feel better she touched up her makeup in the bathroom, which was where she was when the oor to the room opened. With it, the smell of an alpha wafted into the space and she grew nervous. However, undertones of their musky rut followed and made her soon-to-be heat riddled pussy gush with slick.

"Omega?" a gruff voice called out. It was feminine.

She peeked out of the bathroom and looked to the door to find a pretty, tall blonde. She had a rough and tough look to her, commanding dominance just with her stance, a posture they said "I demand to not be underestimated."

It made Reader have to squeeze her legs together as she hid in the doorframe.

"You're my donor?" she asked meekly from the door.

The alpha walked in completely and shut the door behind her. "Yeah. I'm Tory."

Reader became flustered and it was obvious that the alpha's presence was bringing her heat to the forefront. She'd never had this happen before, never felt so effected by an alpha, nor had so much slick soak into her panties at one time. She introduced herself and stepped out of the bathroom, letting the alpha see her.

She was only in a thin silk robe, though it did little to hide her curves. If anything, it accentuated them, which she thought was clever of the staff to do; give her something that showed off her legs and barely held in her tits so that she could attract the alpha they provided her. Even so, she tried to cover up a little more.

Tory's eyes darkened with lust and she pumped out her scent. "Oh, omega, don't do that. I wanna see the pretty body I'm about to breed."

She came closer to Reader, who was about to start shaking because she was so turned on by the alpha. Tory put a hand on her cheek only to run it down her neck and push under the flimsy robe, pushing it off her shoulder.

"I can smell your heat, omega," she grunted, taking a deep breath and letting it a satisfied sogh. "Smells so good, I could eat you up. But thats not why I'm here, is it?"

Reader shook her head. "No..."

"No," she repeated with a brash, wolfish grin. Her eyes dropped to Reader's chest and she exposed more of her body, becoming amused as she discovered Reader's gothic lingerie. "Oh, look at you, all dressed up for me. Well, I guess not really, more for the occasion."

Shyly, Reader didn't answer. She just helped by untying the belt of her robe and shrugging it off, letting it pool at her feet. Suddenly, for the first time in her life, she's hoping to impress an alpha with her body. And from the look in Tory's eyes, she succeeded.

Tory pounces, grabbing Reader by the waist and pulling her into a deep, heavy kiss. Tongue pushing past her lips and exploring her mouth, happily letting Reader's black lipstick smudge onto her lips. At the same time, she leads the omega to the bed and lays her on the bed, refusing to break the make out.

Reader fell into the full swing of her heat and pulled out of the kiss to beg for the alpha. She was clawing at Tory's clothes, trying to get them off of her because she needs it off. She had to.

So Tory abided to the omega's wishes and starts stripping. She got down into her boxer briefs and Reader was salvating at the bugde protruding from them. Tory hooked her thumbs into the waistband and shoved them off, freeing her cock and letting Reader have a nice look at it, as well as her fat knot.

"Alpha, please I need your cock," Reader begged, slick gushing out of her cunt. Her panties are sticky and wet, showing off the outline of her perfect pussy as she spreads her legs to the alpha. "Please, alpha, I need you."

"I know omega," Tory grunted, fishing her cock in one hand and squeezing her knot with the other. "But do you think you're ready for me?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm ready!" Reader whined, pulling her panties off. A string of slick clung to the fabric, stringing out until it snapped and hit her thigh. She was utterly soaked. "I'm ready, see. Ready for alpha to breed me."

Tory groaned as she watched Reader present herself, pre cum leaking from her tip and dripping onto the sheets between Reader's legs. "Fuck, you're so fucking wet! Such a good omega for me! Goddamn."

She climbed onto the bed over Reader and starts sliding her cock through her folds, prepping herself quickly and messily. Under her, Reader was moaning and panting with need, absolutely needy and foggy in the head. She spread her legs as far as she could, giving Tory the room to occupy her space. Then her cockhead caught on her clit and rubbed over it making the omega whine loudly.

"Alphaaa!"

Tory pulled her hips back, lined up her cock to Reader's cunt, and thrust forward. In one motion, she bottomed out in the omega and had her shaking under her. Her fat thighs jiggles, her chest quakes, tits bouncing. She cried out in pleasure, feeling the thick cock stretch her out and the wide knot at her entrance. She shuddered and threw her arms around Tory, wanting her close. Tory abided again, but not before grabbed Reader behind the knees and pushing her legs into the mattress. She seemed to sink impossibly deeper at this simple change and Reader's eyes rolled up.

"You're such a pretty omega," Tory told her as she started humping into her, grinning down at her. Reader's lipstick was smudges and tears were brimming her eyes, collecting her mascara. "So fucking pretty."

Then she pulled her hips back properly and fucked into her harder, making the omega cry out again. Her tears fells and streaked her makeup down her cheeks, staining the white sheets under her. The impact also made Reader's tits bounce and fall out of her bra, leading Tory to breaking it so they fell out completely. Once that happened, she grabbed one and squeezed it hard.

"You want these full of milk, don't you, omega? For the pups I'm gonna give you?" Tory grunted, her thrusts getting a little harder. She grinned widely as she listened to the omega under her, moaning so pretty for her. "Yeah, you like that, don't you? How I'm here just to breed your perfect little cunt. It just gets tighter the more I talk about it."

It was true. Reader's velvet walls clenched around Tory's cock with every word, especially concerning breeding and pups. She wanted it so badly, so desperately, and her body was craving it. Her pussy needed to be full of cock, cum, and a fat knot to ensure she was well bred. The mere thought made her eyes roll up, mouth open only to moan and whine for it.

"Yeah, that's right," Tory smirked, tweaking her nipple and making her moan louder. "Don't worry, omega. I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna give you all the pups you want."

Reader nodded happily, trying to keep her wits white her but it was hard. Her mind was so hazy, all her thoughts revolved around getting a fat creampie and getting pregnant. It was all she wanted. Tory's cock dragged along all the best spots only for her to hit her sweet spot. They shook the bed, beat it into the wall, and made a mess of the sheets as they panted, moaned and cried out for each other.

"Take my knot," was the last thing Reader heard before bliss.

Tory shoved her knot into Reader and lodged it into her tight cunt, resulting in the best orgasm she ever had. It shook her whole body and made her see stars, head running blank as it tore through her. She screamed with please as she milked Tory's cock with desperate need. Not long after her Tory came, filling the omega with thick ropes of cum. Her balls drew up, making sure to give her the hefty load. With each throb her cock gave, Reader moaned.

Her hand came to rest on her belly as she started to come down from her high, panting hard as she imagined her fluffy, soft belly would soon round out. Tory was filling her up so well, making her feel so full, and not a drop of it was leaking out of her thanks to the knot plugging her up so well. She began to bloat with all the cum the alpha had stored up for her, making her moan softly.

When she finally started to taper off, Tory dropped her body onto Reader. Her soft, chubby body was warm and so nice to lay on. She rested her head on her fat tits, closing her eyes. After a few moments of heavy panting, Reader started playing with her hair.

Tory grinned. "I'm not done with you, omega... soon as I catch my breath, I'm fucking you on my knot... I'm gonna make sure this is worth every penny you paid..."

"On your knot...?" Reader mumbled.

"Mhm," Tory hummed, then groaned as she felt Reader's pussy clench at the idea. "Fuck, you're hot..."

They were about to have the best heat and rut cycles of their lives, and they could hardly wait.

[mywingsareonwheels]

The rise in extremely highly funded transphobic discourse and attacks in the last few years started very shortly after victories for same-sex marriage and abortion rights in various countries. I don't think it's even remotely a stretch to see it as a response to those victories.

I remember the absolute joy of a lot of trans women I was following on Twitter in 2019 when abortion was decriminalised in Northern Ireland. It was beautiful to see and utterly unsurprising.

I remember how much het and ace trans people have supported same-sex marriage, like, forever. <3

Transphobia is designed to split and break both the LGBTQIA+ rights movement *and* the women's rights movement, in order to weaken both. It's divide and conquer. One of the biggest fundraisers for both the anti-trans movement in the UK (who is also a significant donor to the Tory party...) is a mostly-former fiction writer who claims to be doing this for women but whose intense degree of internalised misogyny leaks between every line of everything she says and has written. That's not a coincidence.

Transphobia is intrinsically entwined with misogyny (and at minimum certain kinds of misandry), homophobia, biphobia, and acephobia. It's also pretty much always accompanied by racism, antisemitism, ageism, and ableism (internalised or lateral in some cases; still there). That's not a coincidence either.

The message? Well, don't be a transphobe, obviously. Don't give any money to that fucking mostly-ex-writer. But also beware of anything else that tries to create or increase divisions between us.

[cheesus-doodles]

Kazutora moving in with reader?

Kazutora is beaten up after a particularly bad fight with his dad, he runs off somewhere alone, reader finds him, he spills his guts about his home life, and reader just decides he's moving in with her. Kazutora, while surprised, isn't complaining. Maybe uses not being used to a safe and stable home environment to get as much TLC from the reader as possible.

And yan!platonic!toman's reaction to finding out? Sure they see reader all the time and she makes lunch boxes for them, but Kazutora never has to say goodbye at the end of the day? Gets breakfast, lunch, dinner and dessert from her? Unlimited cuddles and alone time? Sleeping in the same bed? Being the first thing he sees every morning? It's like they're a married couple!

Kazutora's planning their future wedding while Mikey's throwing the fit to end all fits.

dkjfnsfsdjnfkljsnfjlskdn i love this ahhhhh took my breath away when i saw it come in :') softness...been a hot minute since i got this but i hope yall like it! been pretty sick these two weeks, apologies for the silence (psa: this is not edited, will edit when I wake tmr zzzz)

‎‎

A Relief from the Rain

Yandere Platonic Toman

Masterlist

‎‎

Two days.

Two days was all it took for the group's goodwill towards Kazutora to completely collapse despite there being little change to their regular program.

“No! I refuse! I forbid it!”

You simply sighed, combing your fingers through the blond locks of one pouting Tokyo Manji Gang President who you were attempting to calm down, the image of him stomping his foot like a toddler a far cry from the well-feared delinquent that he was. "Come on, Mikey, don't be like that." Even to an outside eye, it was clear that you were well-used to the antiques of your dear friends, with the way you had the fussy boy bundled in your arms and the soothing repetitive movements of your hands through his hair, yet this situation was getting out of hand for you.

As if on cue, your appeals only fell on deaf ears, with Mikey no less upset about the sudden new arrangement that had befallen your home than when the day had started. "No!"

Whimpering, the clutch that Kazutora had on the fabric of your shirt only grew tighter as he buried his face into your back, the feeling of dampness touching your skin once more as the blue and backs that littered his skin had just begun to fade almost seem to glow under your kitchen lights. "I don't want to go home," he whined. "I want to stay here." One look at your face made it clear you thought the same.

There was no doubt that the Toman founders had known what Kazutora was going through at home. Being delinquents themselves with an extensive history of fighting, they certainly could tell when a bruise was from the impact of a hand rather than that of an accidental run-in with the wall; and that would be if they hadn't had the...pleasure of running head first into their friend's sperm donor.

The boys understood. Really. None of them came from what society would deem conventional families, and even if they didn't live through the hell that was domestic abuse, they could sympathize.

A clack as Baji all but gritted his teeth in a bid to keep his trap shut, Draken's arms shaking with the force of his grip on his shirt in an attempt to not just rip the injured Kazutora off of you and hurl him through a window. They understood, but when it came to you and your very limited and carefully allocated time, any sympathy they had went straight out the window.

But no matter their aggravation, you didn't seem keen on giving in; not after the state that you had found your friend in, and definitely not after you had found out what he (and to an extent, the rest of your Toman friends) had been hiding from you.

‎

‎

“Tory? Is that you?”

Your voice cut through the cacophony of rain pattering down the narrow side alley. It had been a miserable Thursday afternoon two days ago, gloomy clouds hanging low from the sky. The unusually heavy droplets of water hitting a jumble of metal, brick and concrete surfaces alike on their way back down to earth that had previously drowned out the grating voices in his head now only served to carry your words along the otherwise soulless alley. Combined with the splash of small puddles that had pooled up amidst the flat cement floor as your light footsteps grew closer, the usually comforting, rhythmic sounds only served to churn up his gut further.

“Tory?” Kazutora didn’t respond. There was no hiding his signature gold and black hair, even if it was flattened by the dampness, and it was only clearer and clearer that it was him as you continued to approach. But the boy instead found himself wishing against hope that you would simply leave him alone, turn around and return to whatever it was you had been doing; a first since he had come to know you. 

The shadow of your umbrella shade fell over him. A pause, you seemingly thinking what to say. The world stilled. "Are you alright? Cold?"

A sniffle, a whimper. It was all he could reply with as he shifted to wrap his arms tighten around himself, face pressed firmly into his knees, darkening bruises and bleeding scratches hidden away below the fabric of his drenched clothes, his two black eyes throbbing. The concern in your tone was warm, homely yet heart-wrenching at the same time: the last thing he wanted was for you to see him in a state like this. But he knew you well - and you were one of those just too stubborn to leave without an answer. 

As far as you had been concerned, Kazutora's home life didn't exist. 

Not that it didn't of course, the boy still unfortunately needing somewhere to return to lay his head once the night grew too old should it not be his turn for cuddles at yours. No matter what awaited him behind the dreaded front door to his house, when it came to you, there was nothing for you to know between the moment your friend disappeared off the streets and when he appears once more the next morning, either in the kitchen already making a ruckus or cuddled up as close as he could against you in your bed, fast asleep. 

And Kazutora had been happy for it to stay this way. Lying to you one too many times on where all the bruising on his arms came from and why he had another black eye wasn’t easy to stomach sure, but your pity was something he didn’t mind receiving in heaps. No, this crybaby was happy to thrive off of your generous kindness and your endless affection for your friends. What he didn’t want, however, was to sully those innocent doe eyes with even the mere idea that the world could be so horrid, to dim the spark in your eyes that gave him a reason to face the worst of what life could throw at him. 

But alas, the hand of destiny had a different idea from him, and now here he was, stuck in a situation Kazutora didn't want you to be in. He had always powered through alone, suffering for the light that came the next day with your return to his life. What were you going to think? What could he say?

‎‎

At least you didn’t seem to mind the waiting or the damp. A huff, followed a soft thud accompanied by a splash of water; the telltale audible cues of you sitting down next to him. The rain failed to continue to pelt his wrapped form, most likely shielded by the canopy of your umbrella that you so generously shared with you silent unmoving friend; the soft, calming hum that fell from your lips like it always did was barely audible over nature’s cacophony if Kazutora strained his ears. Content with simply being present and by his side, you didn’t press him for answers, didn’t force him to hurry. Letting him take his time to open up to you.

The storm had started to die down by the time the delinquent finally moved - the first signs of life and response from the unusually silent boy you had received since your arrival in the overlooked alleyway. "Are you going to be mad at me?" The sudden words that punctuated quiet whirl of air-conditioning compressor of units overhead seemed to take even you by surprise.

You blinked. "Mad?" You echoed. "Why would I be mad at you, Tory?"

He hesitated for a moment, before almost shyly lifting his head just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his face. You gasped. Usually unblinking sandy brown eyes were purple-black and swollen shut, with a splatter of sickly yellowish green bruises littering his forehead, as if dealt out in retaliation for protecting his face. What happened? Did he get jumped by a rival gang?

Swallowing hard, it took everything you had to erase the visible anxiety from your expression - it was clear that your friend was in a pretty bad shape. But he never did like you having to worry about him: Kazutora had always been the big, bad delinquent that protected you after all. You took a few deep breaths, waiting till your tone was calm and even before you spoke once more. "Do you need to go to the hospital, Tory?"

It wasn't the right time to ask what happened, not yet, but it was clear that those injuries at least needed a minimum amount of treatment. A pause, and then Kazutora shook his head. You nodded, standing. Brushing did little to clear the dirt from your damp skirt, but you hardly noticed, a bright smile lighting up your face as you offered a hand to your friend. "Then you're coming with me. Come on, let's get you to mine."

‎‎‎

“And so Kazutora’s staying with me for the time being,” you finished. 

Though strange it might be for you to initiate and call your Toman friends to your house as oppose to them turning up uninvited, the five delinquents had been more than happy to answer. What they walked into, however, quickly wiped any trace of cheer from their faces - finding a beaten and bruised Kazutora huddled up with a cup of hot chocolate in your living room told them everything that they already needed to know.

Mikey's eyes went unnervingly empty, his lips dangerously pressed and downturned. "He went another round with you?"

Your eyes slid expectantly down to Kazutora, who only returned a single nod. "Another?" You questioned. There was no doubt that everyone was always on the same page as you - and your friends had already known about this.

"Mikey's dealt with him before," Draken clarified.

To say you had been displeased with what you had learnt would be the understatement of the century. Your normal friendly, calm - human - expression cracked, and the temperature seemed to drop along with your smile. "He hit you before?"

Another pause, and then another quiet nod from Kazutora.

You stood almost robotically, your hand shooting to wrap around the closest weapon to you: the television remote controller clutched in your fingers gleaming menacingly. "Right, Tory, we're going to get your things."

‎‎

‎‎

But that was two days ago. Two days since you had picked up Kazutora from the streets like he was a stray, two days since they had witnessed the downright frightening side of you that the Toman founders would pray never to see again (they didn't even know a remote could used to hurt that way). Two days that they had to endure without even a fraction of the attention that each boy usually got from you, having to watch someone else take that comfort away from them. It didn't matter that Kazutora was one of them - no, now he was the enemy.

Thursday nights were supposed to have been your assigned "alone time", which meant that none of your Toman friends were supposed to be staying over. Yet long after the sun had set and the night was threatening to grow old, after you had already spent the whole day fussing over that wretched mob of duo-colored hair, the rest had to watch, enviously, jealously, as Kazutora followed you upstairs while the rest of them had to leave your home.

And today was already Saturday.

"I'm gonna change your bandage, okay Tory?"

Mitsuya tsked at the whimper you got in response, though the lilac-haired boy was quick to turn his face away when you looked up in confusion. Kazutora was milking your soft heart for everything it's worth, and the other five Toman boys could see through him like paper.

Baji was more direct, hand shooting out to grab onto the sleeve of your shirt, tugging the fabric as pathetically as he could. "I'm hungry," the boy complained, and as if on cue, his stomach grumbled. Planned of course, given he skipped dinner earlier just to get to your house on an empty stomach; knowing that only Kazutora got all three meals home-cooked by you and no one else was a travesty in itself. "Starving."

It was usually enough to get your attention, enough for you to drop everything, yet you were undeterred, opting to give Baji's hair a tussle before returning to your original task. "Give me a minute, okay, Baji? I'll get dinner once I'm done here."

A glance back at Kazutora would reveal his blown eyes, the daydream (or vision, if anyone cared to ask the boy) of a white hall and you dressed in white glittering in those sandy brown eyes for all to see: Kazutora was sure your wedding to him was all but written in stone now. After all, he already got to cuddle with you every night (for one night), to wake up to your peaceful face first thing in the morning, plus food? Look how well you were already treating him, he wanted to crow to the others. It was like you and him were already married.

And the others knew. They knew what he was thinking, and it only wrenched up their annoyance even further. Why couldn't you see through what Kazutora was doing?

‎‎‎

One smirk sent Mikey's way was enough to light the fire.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” Mikey roared, launching himself at Kazutora, only to be caught mid-air by Draken to stop him crashing face-first into you, who had been quick to step between the two boys, your eyebrows pinched together.

"Mikey!"

“But but-” The blond boy pouted, thrusting one finger at Kazutora, who was now cowering behind your delicate form. “He pulled a face at me!”

"He's already hurt!" You insisted, shuffling Kazutora behind you protectively.

It was as if Mikey hadn't heard you at all, his thoughts still clinging on to the sole point that the whole fuss had started. "No! I refuse!"

You looked perplexed, taken aback by the insistence. "No?"

"I forbid it! I want to move in too!"

You blinked, your head instinctively tilting as you looked at the fuming Toman President. "You want to move in? Like into my house?"

"It's not fair that only Kazutora gets to stay here!"

"But you have your own home, Mikey." You placated, but the delinquent was persistent, crossing his arms and stomping again.

"He can take my room, I want to stay here with you!"

"And since Mikey brought it up," Draken continued, cheeky smile now plastered across his face as he set the other back onto the ground. "I'll like to move in too."

"Bastard!" Baji cursed. "I'm moving in too!"

Mitsuya and Pah nodded along, though it was clear that Pah still wasn't quite sure what was going on.

You glanced around at them. "You can't all move in!" You exclaimed, scratching the back of your neck in confusion. "I don't have the room for all of you."

But the stubbornness and persistence that you had once admired of your friends came back to haunt you like a curse, Mikey huffing as he plopped down on your living room floor, sprawling with all four limbs. "I'm not leaving, I don't care. You can't make me."

Baji followed suit in agreement, taking up more space with his spread eagle pose.

"Should I tie myself to the sofa?" Pah wondered out loud, Mitsuya breaking into a laugh at his question.

Not being able to help yourself, your confusion gave way to a giggle as you chuckled at your friends' antics. Ah, you finally got it; you should known better honestly. All this time, their jealousy and envy had been written all across their faces.

"All right, all right, I got your point."

Mikey shot up. "I can move in?"

"No, but-" You held up one finger, interrupting what you knew was another protest starting. "If you boys help to clear out the guest room, Kazutora can stay there instead."

Said boy's vocal disagreement was smothered by the cheers of 'Out!', and you paused to allow them to finish before you continued. "As I was saying, Tory will continue to stay with me until he is recovered and has somewhere to go, but we'll return to our usual schedule." Offering one hand to Mikey, you tousled Kazutora's hair in apology as he clung to you, insisting that he needed cuddles to recover. "Deal?"

The echo of the clap resounded throughout the house.