#// Mr. President is ready to throw down

[romanarose]

Please Stay, Mr. Miller...

DBF!Joel Miller x fem!reader

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Previous part here: Valentines Day

Summary: Damn, mattress stores have good deals of presidents day- oh fuck

Warnings: PIV sex, unsafe cream pie, fighting. Mild man handling. some pushing/ smacking from reader but it's pretty soft on Joel's chest. Feeling (ew) big old age gap (2X age)

Immersivity: Reader is fem, dresses very feminine. Major age gap. Big girthy age gap. Joel can pick up reader and is taller than her.

AN/this is the most ridiculous concept lol but I thought it was funny to do Presidents’ Day after all these actual holidays lololololol anyway fuck all the us Presidents

*********

Of course. Of course you couldn’t fucking escape him.

Less than a week after the humiliating Valentine’s Day ordeal, you would find him at the same goddamn furniture store. Goddamn President’s Day mattress sales. You were trying to get out of the store, but Joel kept almost cornering you. You didn’t think he’d seen you yet, and you wanted to keep it that way.  Unfortunately, you had walked yourself into a corner, and you when you saw him wondering over you scrambled to hide under a bed display. It did not work.

“Hey.”

“AH!” You jump at the sound of his voice, bonking your head on the frame.

“Shit, you okay?”

You turn and see him knelt down on the floor, bent over with one hand braced on the bed. 

“I’m fine.” You mutter, but he doesn’t leave.

“Can we talk?”

The last thing you wanted to do. 

“No.”

Joel said your name sternly, and despite the tight squeeze under the bed, you cross your arms. 

“Fine.”

“You gonna make me do this down here?” He speaks in a fatherly tone like he was speaking to a petulant child. He definitely had a daughter. “Fine.” He huffed and puffed but laid down beside the bed. After a moment of silence, he spoke first when you refused to look at him. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“I’m fine!” You said, not finely.

His voice was slightly sharper. “Look, if you wanna be a fucking brat-”

You didn’t hear the rest, rolling out the other side of the display. Joel tried to catch you, reaching out but he was too big to fit. 

Unlucky for you, you really needed a mattress and this was the last day of the deal.

“ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS FOR DELIVERY?” They should advertise that along with the deal. WTF. 

“Sorry miss, I don’t make the rules.”

You sigh, then apologize to the worker. He does not make the rules. “Fine, fine… it’s still a deal… fine.”

A broad body was behind you. “We’ll take it home, thank you.”

Joel. “No, Joel-”

“I’ll pull my truck up. Behave.” 

He knew behave would get you, and you didn’t argue.

*

You watched Joel carry the mattress in your apartment, setting it down against a wall in your bedroom. 

He stares at your bed for the first time, pink frilly blankets and bed skirt, stuffies and soft pillows littering the bed. “You didn’t get your bed ready for a new mattress?” 

You huff, picking up your stuffed animals and placing them on the windowsill. Joel tries to help, but you rip your elephant out of his hands. “Don’t! You’ll get your man germs on her!”

Joel scoffs at that, crossing his arms. “You didn’t care about my man germs when I fucking you.”

You throw your pillows on the floor. They were not as precious as your stuffies and dolls. “Your gross, Joel. You’d probably fuck my teddy if you had the chance!” 

Joel catches your arm, holding it up and forcing you to look at him. “You’re throwing a fucking tantrum! Stop acting like a child!”

You immediately break down sobbing. Joel’s heart breaks to see you like that and drops your wrist. “Hey, hey sweetheart…” he’s tender now. “Hey, baby girl” He takes your chin in his hand, gently guiding it to look at him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He didn’t think so, he barely had any grip but he wanted to make sure. He never ever wanted to hurt you in a way you didn’t like.

“No.” You sob, standing there in a pink shirt and white skirt, looking so goddamn.

Joel is not immune to a crying girl. “Oh god, princess, c’mere” Joel scooped you up in his arms and you wrapped your legs around him as he sat on the bed. 

“C’mon, princess, why are you crying?”

You sniffle. “You don’t want me.”

“I- what? Baby who told you that?”

“You did!” You shove at his shirt. “You invited me over on a day for romance just for sex, wearing sweats, Joel. SWEATS! I was in a fancy dress looking like an IDIOT”

Frustrated, you try to push away, but Joel grabs your hands, turning you over until he’s pinning you on the bed. “Princess.” His voice was low and dark. “Your my friend’s kid, I am twice your age-”

Your lip quivers. “I know. I know I’m just a silly girl and there’s no reason you should want me for anything other than sex-”

Joel pressed kiss into your mouth, shutting you up. “You hush now, let me speak.” He waited until you nodded. “I ain’t mean it like that. I mean. I don’t know what you would want with a man my age.”

You look up from him where you are still pressed down on the bed, his eyes dark on yours and hardening cock pressed against your pelvis. “A lot, actually.”

His eyebrow raised at you. “Oh? Like?”

You nod. “I wanna… I wanna go one dates. Real dates. Because I like spending time with you. Not just when we fuck but I mean… when you come over to my dads and we all have fun together. I wanna play connect four with you… and I wanna rub your back when it hurts… I W- I wanna” tears pool in your eyes again. “I wanna sleep with you, actually sleep. Like over night… that's what I want with you…”

Searching your eyes, Joel blinked as he watched you. “You want that? What about your dad?”

“I don’t care. I just want you.”

With that, Joel kissed you. It was deep and hard and desperate for touch. You hadn’t even been apart a week but he felt the hole in his heart. You didn’t answer his texts or his calls, and he missed your tight little pussy but he missed talking to you more.

“Fuck me” You pant breathless, undoing the buttons of his jeans and yanking them down. “I’m fucking wet, just fuck me”

“Don’t wanna-”

“You won’t hurt me.” 

Entering you again was like coming home, sliding his shaft into your wetness had Joel’s eyes rolling back, groaning out your name. His shutters at the heat, your own breath gasping in. when he fucks you, you can feel it in your stomach, hell, you can feel it in your throat the wy your heart leaps up with every thrust. It’s dizzying, his presence; the stretch inside and your body making room for him was all consuming. 

“J-Joel” You whimper, shaky and gasping for breath already. 

“Give it to me, babygirl. Fuck’n give it to me…” He grunts, shirt still on as are most of your clothes, having only taken off your panties.

You cum as he fills you, continue to pump inside you through his own high, a load moan from his lip as his full weight collapses into you.

Instinctively, you wrap your arms and legs around him again.

“Please stay, Mr. Miller…”

********

Man is the next holiday Easter? Maybe we should ruin Easter 🐣 👀👀

@fandxmslxt69 @runa-falls @k-ra@ahookedheroespureheart @mikaelak @littlenosoul @stevenandmarcslove @pikapuff-316 @del-ightfulling @faretheeoscar @harriedandharassed @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @campingwiththecharmings @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @milly-louise @casa-boiardi @joeldjarin @mrs-oharaxx @pedge-page @readingiskeepingmegoing @survivingandenduring

[saelique]

not even titling dis cause I have no idea what I just wrote

strangers to friends with dazai osamu !! ft. atsushi !! reader works in a cafe <3 fem reader <33 NOT PROOFREAD cause m rlly lazy

that one weird guy you see on your way to your workplace when you’re driving your car was handsome up close. scarily and dangerously handsome.

damn. his short brown eyes and hair with a tall figure was enough to beg for his number. if you didn’t have self control, that is !

thankfully, your first impression of him was enough to keep you from asking his hand in marriage ! after all, who would want to get with a guy who jumps down a bridge in a attempt to commit suicide and does it everyday ?

“my name is dazai osamu, nice to meet you.”

oh god. even his voice is hot. really, you’re trying hard to focus at what he and his companion are saying and not to stare at his perfect face.

“so I see, uh- would you like to come in and inspect then ?” you managed to get the words out, smiling and opening the door to the cafe youre currently working in.

”of course ! thank you miss !” a young boy next to him bowed a bit. he was dressed weirdly as well. what’s his name again . . . ? atsushi nakajima, was it ? eh. it was fine, wasn’t like you’re gonna meet them again.

atsushi entered the cafe while dazai stood behind, clearly you didn’t know what he wanted to do so you opened the door a bit more. “mr. dazai ? would you like to come in ?”

“I was just thinking,” he leaned towards you, causing you to lean back, “would a beautiful lady like you commit double suicide with me-“ “dazai ! let’s just start the mission like the president said !” atsushi came back, quickly taking the arm of dazai. “sorry about that, he’s just . . .” “no, no, it’s okay. I understand.”

you didn’t.

they ended up leaving a bit later, dazai handing you a slip of paper with a contact on it. “you didn’t give me your answer, so ! call me if you would like to die together ~”

you accepted it with a awkward smile and a nod, clearly not knowing what to do. a part of you wanted to throw it away, but that one voice told you to keep it and call him. definitely not cause your love life is failing terribly like his suicide attempts !!!

you ended up following your impulsive thoughts.

you gulped when he answered your call. “hello ? who’s this ?” “uh- hello ? this is-“ “oh ! you’re that cafe lady ealier ! are you going to accept my proposal to die together ?” he sang, you heard the sounds of a tv and sheets rustling in the background as he shifted from his former laying position to a new, more comfortable one.

“I was just about to ask if you’re getting professional help.” shit. were you wrong though ? i mean- someone who attempts suicide can’t be mentally sane right ?

silence on the end of the call. you were just about to hang up from embarrassment before you heard him speak again. “nope ! are you gonna look one for me though ? professional help is really expensive and I can’t pay for luxuries like that.” “I literally work in a cafe. it’s minimum wage. you work as a detective. aren’t you supposed to receive much, much more ?” you scoffed, despite the conversation you were having, you had to admit that talking with him was . . . amusing, to say the least. fun, even.

“well, you can be my therapist. are you good at listening to people ? since you’re the one who suggested it after all ! okay ! let’s meet at your cafe ! I’ll arrive at six !” “wait I’m not-“ “see ya !” “. . . he hung up . . . “ you muttered to yourself in defeat.

oh well, his story can’t be that bad, right ?

he didn’t tell you anything in the end, only talking about his cases and about his fellow coworkers. it was entertaining though, you undoubtedly felt bad for atsushi and that guy he called kunikida.

“dazai ? it’s time for me to pack up and go, it’s like- nine now.” you got up from your chair, ready to escort him out. “really ? awh, I was having so much fun.” he whined, but got up from his chair all the same. “I’ll be back tomorrow ! see you belladonna !”

”see you.”

you waved, and closed the door to clean the cafe as you promised your boss. hmph. tomorrow huh ? you bit your lip to stop yourself from smiling but failed horribly.

“see you tomorrow, dazai.” you said to yourself, looking out the window to watch him head back to his apartment.

you should really stop falling for mentally unstable men.

[usaigi]

Modern Blue Lions headcanons

Dimitri

Has difficulties with fine motor skills following the car accident that killed his family and Glenn. Has to use accommodating tools like specific silverware and a laptop to take notes in class. Kids used to be jealous that he got use a laptop in class but he just wanted to be normal

Regular member of his school GSA but everyone assume he's just a straight ally because look at him. Look at his hair. He's straight. His classmates don't discover he's actually bi until a week before graduation when they see him kiss Felix

Also a regular member of the BIPOC solidarity club. Dimitri, Dorothea, Ashe and Constance are the token white allies.

(mental health spiraling) "haha puberty/hormones :) No need to discuss these new symptoms with anyone, it's just normal teenager things" (it is not normal teenage things)

Annette

banned from home ec after starting a fire while making a salad... She's was trying to make homemade croutons...

girl ADHD :)

she got a B on a chem test one and cried about it for 2 days straight

"Maybe if I get all A and get this many awards and get this many scholarships, my dad will love me :)" (girl.. :( )

Frenemies with Lysithea. They're buddies until it's time for exams. Then it's war. There can only be one valedictorian. (death note's "I'll take a potato chip and eat it" songs plays in the background)

Olivia Rodrigo stan

Sylvain

Hasn't said "okay i'm sorry that I looked at Mrs Riley and lightly grazed her left tit" but has said that exact same thing

friend with a car. "yeah we can all fit into my Audi; Annette and Ashe are tiny, just squeeze in and pretend you like each other. We can stick Felix in the trunk" "I'll kill you."

He's in Lacross AND theatre. Ice hockey AND Ice dancing and figure skating. He can do both, he's bisexual

Has to pick between a major sport game and his theatre show. His dad wants him to follow his dream and do the game but Sylvain is getting ready to tell him "no dad i'm giving up your dream." He backs out. He goes to the game.

"You got a perfect score on the college entrance exams?" "Why is it hard?" (he studied so much)

Ingrid

"Gay people are real??? They don't just exist in San Francisco and on Glee???" /gen confusion. Not in a homophobic way, she's just raised in a conservative environment and instead of going on the internet, she hangs out with her horses (Just wait till she finds out about trans people)

When her family was going through a particularly hard financial time, her friends started packing extra lunch. They all know she doesn't accept handouts but Ingrid will never say no to leftovers.

So chronically offline. Who's Billie Eilish? What's Succession? What is Rizz?? They're making another Spider-Man movie!?

Dedue

Vice-president of the BIPOC solidarity club. The school gives them club money and he uses it to make food for the members.

"..." "Go on" "Down with... gringo?" *Claude, Petra, Felix, Cyril, Hapi, Constance, Dimitri, Ashe and Dorothea all clap*

Football/Basketball/Hockey couches keep trying to recruit him. He just wants to garden.

(Tw racism and ref to violence to poc men) "I don't want to antagonist white people. As a large brown man, I'm already perceived as a threat." "That's ok! Your safety comes first. I got this," Dorothea says as she throws eggs at someone's car with a confederate flag.

Mercedes

"I'm joining the war on liberation theology on the side of liberation theology."

"Mercedes! Can you explain your tardiness?" "Forgive me, professor, I was at morning mass." (She was. But she's late because she stop to smoke a blunt.)

In her most angelic, big sister voice, "fuck TradCaths 😊"

Somehow still failing her religious studies class

(tw cults and implied anti semitic conspiracy) Raised in a religious cult where her step dad was the leader until she and her mom escaped. Because of this, did not know Jewish people were real. "I knew they were people in the bible but all I knew was [redact]" (Don't worry, she knows better now that she's not in a literal cult)

Felix

"I fucking hate my dad" "why? Is it cause he didn't accept you being queer/trans?" "No, he was cool with that. He's just fucking annoying."

"Ingrid, what the hell, I'm literally trans. You know this. We've been friends since we were in diapers." "Oh. I forgot." "YOU FORGOT!?"

Wasian. (tw sui joke) @ Dimitri and Sylvain "stop joking about killing yourself--you're appropriating my culture, assholes."

Secret Olivia Rodrigo fan. He only listens to her music on youtube + incognito mode. Only Annette knows. Annette manages to get them concert tickets were they run into Lysithea.

Ashe

Spider-Man stan on main. Somehow he convinces Dedue to be his Ned Leeds to his Peter Parker for Halloween

He knows Ingrid would like the MCU if she watched it, but she's scared of needing to watch 10000 movies

*slaps Ashe's back* You can pack so much anxiety in this guy

Started school in the middle of the year because he's a foster kid. Rumors started spread about him being a harden criminal because he went to juvie. He keeps tries to correct them and say he's never been but Caspar keeps fueling the rumors

"Caspar! Stop telling people I went to juvie! That never happened!" "...You... lied to me? :(" "You made it up!" "Oooh. Right."

[cherrycola27]

Star Spangled Seresin

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Political situations. Unrequited love, one night stand, military and political inaccuracies. Smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

Masterlist Next Part

...........................................

Prologue: A Debate to Remember

"Okay, Jake, I need you to remember that a vice presidential debate is just as important as a presidential debate." Ms. Wiseman, the Bradshaw-Seresin campaign manager, told him.

"I know, Wise-woman, I've got this. Don't worry." He tells her as he shoots her a thousand watt grin. "How many times have I told you to stop calling me that ridiculous nickname." She huffs.

Jake laughs before leaving the green room and finding his place. He was more than ready for this debate. He and Bradley were ahead in the poles with the election just around the corner. He rolled his shoulders back as he mentally prepared himself to wipe the floor with the competition.

A production assistant escorted him to his place. He squared his stance at the podium as the welcome music played, and the lights went up.

Jake was confident. He knew he had this in the bag. Nothing was going to throw him off his game.

Well, at least that's what he thought before she walked out. Jake's breath caught in his throat as she strolled onto the stage.

She was beautiful, with olive skin and chestnut colored hair. The black dress she was wearing was modest but fit her like a glove. Her legs were elongated by the black pumps that she wore, and when her eyes met Jake's, he swears his heart skipped a beat.

His mind went blank. How the hell was he supposed to be on his best game when the most beautiful woman in the world would be sitting ten feet in front of him.

He snapped back to reality as she grabbed the microphone and spoke.

"Good evening, everyone, and welcome to the final vice president debate of the 2024 election. On stage tonight, we have Mr. Gregory Evans, Mr. Thomas Howard, and Mr. Jacob Seresin. My name is Jaycee Marchetti, lead political reporter for the Washington Post, and I'll be your moderator for this deabte." She spoke strongly, but not forcefully. Her voice was smooth like silk and Jake knew instantly that he was fucked.

"Gentleman, the debate will run for approximately two hours, you will be given a maximum of two minutes and thirty seconds to answer each question. If you exceed the time limit, I will buzz you before cutting off your microphone." Jaycee explained the parameters. "Shall we begin?" She asked just before grabbing the first question.

............

"Hangman! You crushed it out there!" Bradley clapped him on the back as he came backstage.

"Thanks, man. I'm glad that's over. Listen, if we're all good here, I need a drink." Jake said, and he raked his hands over his face. God, he couldn't get the image of Jaycee out of his head.

After clearing it with his security team, Jake managed to slip away to a private bar. Well, it was more like a speakeasy if he was being honest. You had to know someone to get in, the security was top notch, which made it the perfect place for the D.C. elite to slip off for a drink.

He had just walked in when he spotted a familiar brunette sitting alone at the bar.

"Excuse ma'am, is this seat taken?" Jake asked as he gestured to the stool beside her. Jaycee looked up from her glass of wine and smiled. "For you, Mr. Seresin, never."

Jake sat down next to her and ordered himself a glass of scotch. "Your oral performance at the debate was amazing, Mr. Seresin. You were do well spoken." Jaycee complemented him. "Mr. Seresin is my father, please, call me Jake." He insisted. "And I'm amazed at how well I did. Considering how distracted I was during it." Jake continued.

"And why were you distracted—Jake?" Jaycee asks as she leans closer to him. "You try standing across from the most beautiful woman in D.C. and see how focused you are." Jake replied as he took a sip of his drink. "You flatter me, Jake." Jaycee said as she gave his chest a gentle push.

"It's not flattery if it's true." Jake replied before putting one foot on the bar of Jaycee's stool and sliding her closer to him until her knees were wedge between his legs.

"I'm celebrating my victory in the debate tonight, care to take a shot with me, Ms. Marchett?" Jake ask her. "I suppose one wouldn't hurt." She replies innocently. "Whiskey?" Jake asks. "My favorite." Jaycee replies.

Soon, the shot of whiskey turns into two, followed by a beer. All the while, Jake and Jaycee are flirting with each other. By the time the last call rolls around, one question hangs on the tip of Jake's tongue. He settles both of their tabs with the bartender before placing one of his large hands on her thighs and leaning in. "If you thought I gave a good oral performance at the debate, you should let me take you back to my place so I can really show off my skills." Jaycee grabs his hand before hauling him out to find a cab.

...................

The couple crashed through the door of Jake's apartment as soon as he'd unlocked it. Barely breaking apart long enough for him to do so.

The two were in a tangle of lips and limbs.

As soon as the door shut, Jake pressed Jaycee against it, wrapping her legs around his waist as he ground against her.

She shoved off his suit jacket and quickly undid his tie before working as the buttons of his dress shirt. Jake peeled her away from the door long enough to slip out of his shoes and carry her to his bedroom.

Once there, he stripped out of his shirt and under shirt before dropping to the floor to undo the straps of her shoes.

Jaycee took the opportunity to peel her dress over her head and fling it across the room. She was grateful she'd decided to wear a cute lace set under her dress tonight.

Once her shoes were out of the way, Jake grabbed her leg and began trailing kisses from her ankle to her inner thigh before switching sides. Jaycee leaned back on her hands and watched him as Jake took in the site before him.

She looked beautiful in his bed.

"Can I?" He asked as his fingers hooked around the waistband of her panties. Jaycee nodded. Jake pulled the black lace off her before bringing them to his nose and inhaling. "You smell amazing, I bet you taste even better." He groaned before licking a stripe up her slit.

Jaycee's hips jumped off the bed. Jake growled before hooking his arms under her thighs and pulling her flush against him.

He started out harsh and fast, eating her like she was the finest meal on earth. His tongue swiped circles and figure eights around her clit before fucking into her weeping hole. Jaycee laced her fingers in his sandy blonde locks and pulled him closer to her.

She ground her core against his face, and Jake moaned in appreciation as she tugged on his locks.

He slipped two of his thick fingers inside her dripping cunt and curled them to find her gspot. Once he zeroed in on it, he stroked it over and over again, enjoying the cries of his name that left her lips each time he did so.

"Fuck, Jake! That feels so good!" Jaycce cried out as she chased her high. It had been ages since a man had taken care of her like this.

"You're squeezing my fingers so good, darlin, I can tell you're close. Be a good girl and cum for me." Jake demanded as he sped up his fingers and tongue.

Jaycee cried out his name as he assaulted her bundle of nerves. Jake alternated between sucking on in and circling it. He gave it a particularly harsh suck, and Jaycee was screaming out his name. She came hard on his face, and Jake worked her through it, only stopping when she pulled him away from over stimulation.

Jake shimmied out of his pants and underwear before joining Jaycee on his bed.

She pulled him in for a bruising kiss before pushing him on his back. She stroked his hard length a few times. "Shit, baby, that feels so good. Hold on, let me get a condom." Jake said as he fumbled with his nightstand. He quickly took out the foil and handed it to her. Jaycee carefully opened it and rolled it down his length.

She straddled him before slowly sinking down him. She let out an appreciative moan over how full she was, taking a few moments to savor that burning stretch before slowly rising up and dropping back down on him.

Jaycee quickly picked up her pace, placing her hands on Jake's torso for leverage. Jake's hands grabbed a fistful of each of her ass cheeks and brought her closer to him as he rolled his hips into her.

He gave her ass harsh smack as she rode him. "Fuck baby, you ride better than half the cowgirls in Texas." Jake drawled out. Jaycee moaned back a reply as his stiffness hit a particularly deep spot that had her seeing stars.

"If you can help run a country, half as good as you fuck, I might be convinced to vote for you." Jaycee gasped. At the omission Jake stopped her. Jaycee whined.

He flipped them over so she was under him. He grasped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "You don't know who you're going to vote for yet?" He asks, clicking his tongue. Jaycee shakes her head.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to give you a good reason to vote for me then." He says before pistoning his hips into her.

Jaycee clings to his biceps, her nails digging in as Jake pushes her to a finish.

He drops his thumb to her clit and rapidly strokes it. The pleasure overwhelms her, and Jaycee's orgasm rips through her body. Jake follows behind her, spilling into the condom.

He collapses beside her and catches his breath before heading to the bathroom and returning with a warm washcloth to clean her up. He grabs a shirt from his drawer and hands it to her. She looks at him confused.

"I figured you'd want something to sleep in because there is no way in hell I'm kicking you out."

....................

Jaycee quietly unlocked her door and crept in. She definitely didn't want to wake her her roommate up. She was not ready for the five thousand questions she knew that she would ask.

"Good morning, skank." Y/N said as Jaycee stepped in the kitchen.

"Girl! What the fuck!?" She exclaimed while Y/N sat at their kitchen island and sipped her coffee.

"It's 7:30 on a Saturday morning. What are you doing up so early?" Jaycee asks her. "It's 7:30 on a Saturday morning. Why are you just now getting home?" She fires back.

"How do you know I just got home?" Jaycee counters.

"Your hair is in a bun, you're wearing last night's dress, you are carrying your shoes, and you smell like cedar scented soap." Y/N states. "So, you want to tell me where you were?"

"I, um— I went home with a guy last night." Jaycee confesses.

"Why didn't you tell me? I was worried sick about you. It takes ten seconds to send a text. I was afraid something had happened! I was about to call the police!" Y/N rants. Jaycee crosses the space to hug her friend.

"I'm fine, Wise-crack. I promise, I don't need you fussing over me like a mother hen." Jaycee assures her. "You know I worry about you. After what happened— I can't talk almost losing you again." she fights back tears.

"It's been five years. Everything is okay, babe, nothing bad is going to happen. Jaycee tells her best friend.

"I know. I just can't help it. But you promised me you're okay?" Y/N asks just to be sure.

"More than okay. Now, let me get a cup of coffee and tell you all about my night. Girl, this guy had mad tricks with his tongue." Both women laugh before Jaycee recounts her escapades.

.......................

Six months later, Jaycee is in the White House. Her best friend is the Chief of Staff, and the two of them had just prevented a major scandal. Some psycho ex-employee claimed she had an affair with President Bradshaw and was pregnant by him. Y/N, being the girlboss that she was, had the woman followed and promptly destroyed any ounce of credibility that she had.

Jaycee had worked to keep the news out of the Post and had several positive articles about the president ready to go.

She and Wise-woman were currently raiding the White House kitchen for snacks and wine. They were going to have a victory sleepover and needed provisions.

Jaycee was on edge as she walked through the halls of the White House. Her one night stand from months ago was now the vice president, and she'd never told Y/N, claiming she couldn't remember his name.

She'd even gone as far as to ghost Jake Seresin after their hookup. Jaycee was sure that he'd forgotten about her and had moved on to some other socialite.

The two of them had just left the kitchen with piles of junk food when she heard a familiar voice cry out. "Wise-woman, wait up!"

Jaycee froze. Y/N turned around, while Jaycee didn't dare move. Shit, this couldn't be happening, she thought.

"Jake, before we head out, let me introduce you to my best friend. She works for the Washington Post, you might remember her from the last VP debate." Y/N says warmly.

Jaycee turns around. Jake's face lights up when he sees her. The woman who has haunted his dreams for the past six months eas standing right in front of him.

"Hello, Mr. Vice President. Jaycee Marchetti. It's nice to officially meet you." Jaycee extends her hand for him to shake. "It's lovely to see you again, Ms. Marchetti." Jake draws out as his eyes rake over her body.

"Again?" Jaycee feigns as she cocks her head to the side. "Oh, you mean how we met at the debate. Which I guess we didn't officially meet then, did we? I just asked you some questions." Jaycee laughs. "Um, yeah." Jake replies.

"Well, like I said, it's nice to officially meet you—for the first time." Jaycee reiterates. Hurt flashes across Jake's face. So, this is how it was going to be.

"Well, I'll let you ladies get back to your fun. Have a nice night." Jake says deflated.

The two women continue down the hall as Jake heads for his room.

Jaycee had pretended they'd never met before and that he didn't know her in the most intimate way. That she hadn't cried out his name over and over from his bed that night so long ago.

If he had to guess, Wise-woman didn't know that the two of them had hooked up. Jake planned to keep it that way for now. However, he wasn't going to let Jaycee Marchetti slip through his fingers again.

Babes! It's here! I hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @daggerspare-standingby @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @hecate-steps-on-me @roosterscock @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @seresinsbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @xoxabs88xox @avengersfan25 @blackwidownat2814 @loveforaugust @mak-32 @cottagecori @amysteryspot @heyimmadisonn @princess76179 @bradshawseresinbabe @sunlightmurdock @lewmagoo @cassiemitchell @die-cunt @mj-l4 @shipinabluebottle @malindacath @violyn20 @imawkwardlysoc @books-for-summer @blackroseboulevard @recordblues @desert-fern @luckyladycreator2 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @sebsxphia @roosters-girl @diorrfairy @je-suis-prest-rachel @dakotakazansky @mizzzpink @a-linabean @amklibrary @gretagerwigsmuse @jstarr86 @actuallyazriel @krismdavis @bradshawsbaby

[folklorebae]

𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚 𝐀𝐔

Cast(s)/Genre: Actress!Reader & Actor!Suna/Fluff

A/n: Based on this request!

Viral. Everything about you and your boyfriend goes viral. You’re lucky that your manager loves you. If she doesn't, she’ll quit the day you announce your relationship to the public. Phone calls and emails, she receives every minute. You and your boyfriend probably are one of the busiest actors right now.

But fortunately, the two of you might finally cross paths at just the right moment to take GQ Couple Quiz together. You two’s managers have chosen a perfect day in New York City to shoot the video and by the GQ's team, you and your boyfriend are set to sit next to each other, but a little coffee table keeps you apart.

“Hi!” You wave your hands to the camera, showing off your sweet smile. “I’m Y/N L/N.”

“I'm Rintarou Suna, better known as the boyfriend of this stunning woman.” You couldn’t help but chuckle and kick his leg with yours because of his foolish introduction.

“And this...”

“And this is the GQ Couple Quiz!” You two attempt to say it in unison but fail anyway.

“Okay, are you ready?” You ask the black-haired man next to you.

Suna playfully cracks his neck, showing you that he is more than ready. “I am.”

“Okay,” you pause, reading the question from the cue card you’ve been holding. “What is the last movie we watched together?”

“Easy, ‘Don’t Worry Darling’.”

“It was like two months ago.” You comment as you carelessly throw the card.

Suna nods, agreeing with you. “I know, we’ve been busy.”

“I know places we can hide, babe.” You wink, half-joking before continuing. “Next question is… Oh it’s the easy one.”

“Shoot.”

“Who is my celebrity crush?” You ask, smiling as the thought of him clouding in your head.

He shrugs, pointing himself. “Me.”

“You’re not wrong, but we know it’s not the right answer.”

He sighs, dramatically running his hands through his hair. “It’s Keiji Akaashi. Forever jealous of him.”

“Good.” you nod, throwing another cue card. “Next…” you pause, smiling at the question you just read. “What music video have I been in?”

“Oh, oh I know! It’s Ariana Grande’s song” Suna looks down, trying to remember the single’s title as he hums the song. “I’ll be switching… positions! Positions!’”

You happily nod, smiling at him. “Bonus, if you can tell me in which scene I appeared.”

“You were in that scene where…”

“Hm?” You raise your brows, signaling him to continue.

“Where Ariana was the president and you guys were doing meeting stuff.”

“Correct, Mr. Suna and now the last question.” You announce. “Outside of the set, where did we have our first kiss?”

Suna shakes his head, biting his lower lip to stop himself from smiling. “How could I forget it? It was on new year's eve in 2019.”

“But, at that time I thought we kissed as friends.” You explain, eyes looking at the camera. “I didn’t realize that I was in love with him.”

“It’s because you were dumb and I had to kiss you again at our show after-party.”

“And I finally kissed you back in a romantic way.” You add.

The director instructs the cameramen to stop recording before the two of you move on to the following session, where you will respond to Suna's questions. While your makeup artist is retouching your makeup, one of the crew approaches Suna to give him a quick briefing and the cue cards.

“Roll camera.” The director tells the cameramen before looking at the both of you. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Okay, Y/N L/N...” He pauses, dramatically taking a deep breath. “What did I wear on our first date?”

“Nothing.” You innocently answer his question, which causes the entire studio to break out in laughter.

“You embarrass me!” Suna speaks out, throwing the card at you.

“No, no.” You shake your head, chuckling. “We agreed to have dinner at his place, and when I arrived he only wore a towel. But then a few minutes later he was dressed in a sweatshirt and sweatpants from H&M.”

Suna's eyes instantly widened, and you hastily covered your mouth after sensing his change of expression. One of the most important rules every public figure should be aware of is: never mention a brand that you are not affiliated with.

“Please censor that. Anyways, next question for Ms. L/N.” He announces before reading the next question.

“What’s my love language?” He asks, then tosses the card to the floor.

“Physical touch.” You state. “You literally need to touch me whenever I’m around you”.

“But, not a fan of PDA.” He adds and you nod, agreeing with him. Getting attention from paparazzis or crazy fans are the least thing both of you want to happen. “Okay, next...”

“What would my job be if I weren’t in entertainment?” He asks, throwing the card away again.

“Volleyball player!” You excitedly shout, pointing at him. Suna’s lips curl up into a small smile. He raises himself slightly from his seat and gives you a high-five.

“She knows everything about me.” He mutters to himself but somehow loud enough for everyone in the studio to hear and makes your cheeks get warmer.

“Aren’t I the best?” You ask as you playfully flip your hair.

“You are, baby. But let’s see if you can answer this last question.” He tears his gaze away from you to the last card on his hands. “What is the meaning of my family name in different kanji? I’ll give you two points if you know the details.”

You tilt your head to the side, trying to recall the conversation you two had a few months ago. “It’s a fox? Like, Sand Fox?”

Suna shakes his head, pretending to feel disappointed. “Tibetan Sand Fox. But I’ll still give you two points.”

“Well, I think that’s it! We did great!” You exclaim, doing a high-five with your boyfriend.

A beautiful smile of the green-eyed man appears, completing his pretty face. He raises his hand, waving to the camera. “Thank you guys for watching!”

“Bye!” You mirror his gesture before blowing a kiss to the camera, sending all the love to the fans who will watch the video.

After the director tells the cameramen to stop the recording, he thanks the two of you. “Have a great day guys!” He waves a goodbye before both of you leave the studio and walk towards the dressing room.

“I’m hungry.” Suna yawns, scratching his back. “Do you–”

“Sorry, Mr. Suna. I need your girl for a photoshoot.” Your manager speaks, popping out of nowhere and standing in front of the two of you. You look up at Suna and quickly notice his expression, feeling irritated by how frantic your schedule is.

“I’ll be there for dinner.” You say quietly while moving your hand up and down on his back.

“Okay.” He curls his hand around the back of your neck and presses a soft peck on your lips.

Another a/n: Pls don’t cancel Suna and Y/N for making a mess by throwing the cards all over the place. They’ve already picked them all up before leaving lol

[ruthplaysthesims]

MY WORST SIM NIGHTMARE JUST HAPPENED!

So as I was getting ready to narrate the next part of Kaori's story, I came to the dreadful realization... My screenshots weren't saving! So all I was preparing was for nothing! Well, good thing I am a writer. I'm not gonna leave y'all hanging. Good news is I was able to find the last two shots I took before closing the game. So those two will be used as the cover of this chapter (or part or whatever you want to call it) With that being out of the way, I will go ahead and write the story out for you all.

Part Nine: Face to face

As the girls arrived at the charter, they couldn't help but feel uneasy about the amount of security that was there.

Amani: Whoa. This is a lot of people..

Siddhartha: I know. You'd think the president is coming over. Are the Itos REALLY that wealthy.

Kaori stays silent.

Amani: Oh look, there's agent Morales.

Kaori quickly throws on her shades.

Siddhartha: Amor, don't be ridiculous. I'm sure he'll barely say anything about it. You're fine.

Amani: Who's that chick beside him??

They all look at the brunette standing next to Carlos.

Siddhartha: That's agent Deaton. She's a DDA too.

Kaori : Oh cool.

They showed their badges and headed onward to where the jets were supposed to land. The girls were idly waiting. Kaori couldn't help but feel a twinge of anxiety. She knew Gatsby had sent Carlos to especially watch over her. But would she really be able to hold it in??

Kaori (Come on, Kaori. Pull yourself together!!!)

Morales : Agent Nishidake.

She looked up and saw Carlos looking at her.

Kaori : Agent Morales... A pleasure to meet you.

Carlos: Likewise...

*awkward silence*

Carlos: Gatsby would like to talk to you privately later. Be on the lookout for his phone call.

Kaori : I see.

**AN HOUR LATER**

After what felt like a forever wait, the first plane had landed and everyone began to adjust themselves.

When the doors to the plane opened, Nanami stepped out. She looked around and took a deep breath before descending the steps.

Nanami: Home at long last…

She looked around and smiled politely before Agent Morales walked up to her.

Morales: Welcome back, Ms. Ito. I hope your flight wasn't too much trouble.

Nanami: Hi. Is my brother here yet?

Morales: Your brother will be landing shortly.

Nanami: Can I wait here and see him? I haven’t seen him in forever.

Agent Grant walks up to her.

Grant: Ms. Ito, we are under strict rules to bring you home as soon as you land.

Nanami: But my brother -

Grant: I can assure you you'll see him once he gets home. Your ride is waiting for you. Agent Santiago and I will be riding home with you.

Nanami sighs, disappointed that she doesn't get to see Kiyoshi until he gets home. She reluctantly went into the car. Her luggage was put behind and the driver drove them to the Ito residence.

Kaori watched as she was led away to the car. Nanami looked more proper, was more polite and reserved. She had also grown to be just as beautiful as her mother. Kaori remembered just how much of a kleptomaniac she was when she was a kid. Looking at her now, she was sure she had grown past that phase.

A few minutes had passed and the other plane landed. Kaori could feel her heart racing. When the door opened, there he was… He looked even more handsome than she remembered. He had cut his hair, looked a lot more fit, taller… He walked down the steps of the plane and looked around before sighing..

Kiyoshi: Show off..

Kaori could not bring herself to move. She just stared as he made his way down the stairs. Agent Morales looked at her before nudging her.

Morales: Agent Nishidake.

Kaori looked over at Carlos.

Morales: Are you sure you can do this?

Kaori: I’m not a child. Yes, I can do this.

Agent Morales walked up to Kiyoshi.

Morales: Welcome back to Mt. Komorebi, Mr Ito..

Kiyoshi: Thank you.

Morales: I am Agent Morales. Agent Deaton and I will be escorting you back.

Kiyoshi nodded. He picked up a backpack and threw it over his shoulder. He walked toward the limo, though he noticed Kaori standing there, he couldn't recognize her because she was wearing shades. Kaori entered the Range Rover and at Carlos'signal, all dove to the Ito residence.

[jeniffercheck]

i dare you (you're gonna fall, but i'll catch you)

shivlina tumblr prompt: five times someone notices shivlina acting odd and one time they're honest about it

words: 5k

read here or on ao3

v.

Roman’s a good brother.

When Shiv tells him she’s getting a divorce, he expects it to be the end of the world. He expects the waterworks and the flamethrowers, blaring tornado sirens, and a news broadcast to alert the entire city, because that’s how much his sister loves to milk her fucking tragedy of a life, and he’s ready for it. Don’t get it twisted; he does the nice thing. He sends her a stupid e-card with a series of explosions over his favorite paparazzi shot of Tom eating a street-cart pretzel and offers to spread a rumor around the office that Tom caught chlamydia from the linebacker on his college football team, and even though Shiv vetoes the latter offer, Roman still considers spreading it anyway because that’s how good of a brother he is.

He’s so good in fact, that he knows his condolence strategy must have worked, because it’s been six days since the last time Shiv verbally assaulted him, and nearly nine since the last time she’d physically assaulted him. It must’ve been his handiwork, because there’s no conceivable way that his sister would be going through a divorce and not making it everyone else’s problem, right?

After the eighth day of calm, Roman can’t take it anymore. He corners Shiv in her office, the golden plaque reading President of Domestic Operations looking far too shiny for his liking. He grabs at it just to add a little smudge.

“Could you not?” Shiv asks, glaring in his direction. Her gaze immediately falls back on her cell phone, the brief annoyance gone almost as quickly as Roman had provoked it.

“Not even a fuck you?” Roman asks, dropping into one of the chairs in front of her desk. “I see where I stand these days.”

Except Shiv doesn’t even hear him. She laughs at her phone, that stupid smile on her face growing in a way that makes him want to throw up and ask to be let in on the joke all at once.

“What’s got you perkier than Kendall in a Kith apothecary?”

Shiv looks up, scowl returned, and he thinks it feels something like a hug, if that were something he and Shiv ever really did.

“Did you want something, or did you just come in here to fill my office up with your stink?” she asks, and Roman feels a sense of relief at the volatility.

“I wanted to know what you were looking at,” Roman says, tapping his fingers on the desk.

“You came all the way down here to ask what’s on my phone?”

“That is what I said, right?” Roman asks. “Who are you talking to?”

Shiv raises an eyebrow at the question.

“Uh—no one, Rome,” she says, albeit unconvincingly.

“Sure,” Roman says. “So, you’re just laughing at cat videos and not another one of the texts that just came through on your phone?”

Roman tries to peer over the desk, but Shiv covers up her phone up her phone quickly. She’s hiding something.

“Roman, I’m not—“ Shiv cuts herself off. “You know you’re the only one who knows, right?”

“Am I?”

“Well, are you?” she asks. “Or is Tabitha sending me dating show casting calls just for shits and giggles?”

“She’s been doing that?” Roman whines. Disappointing. He wanted to do that. “I’m just saying, you’ve been acting…” He waves his hands around, Shiv’s brows furrowing deeper.

“What is this, are you trying to invent a secret language that nobody else knows?” she asks, eyes flitting between her phone and Roman as it dings, again.

“Don’t you have a job to be doing?” he says.

“Don’t you?”

Okay. Touché.

“This is my job,” Roman says. “I’m the Chief Operational Officer. I’m chiefing your operations.”

“Uh-huh,” Shiv says. “In that case, domestic operations are going well. Public opinion polls are up by two points, and I have a meeting with Karolina later today to discuss next steps. Any other operational matters I can see to for you today, Mr. Roy?”

“Okay, okay,” Roman says, waving her off, though one name in her report stood out greatly. “You and Karolina have been spending a lot of time together.”

“You and Gerri spend a lot of time together.”

Roman leans back in the chair, “She’s my mentor.”

“I can’t have a mentor?” Shiv asks.

Roman eyes her. If she’s telling the truth, then that means Shiv isn’t anything to worry about.

“So, you want PR?” Roman asks. “Not CEO?”

“What I want, is a reality where you’re not riding my ass every ten minutes,” Shiv says. It’s a non-answer, Roman’s not a dumbass, but at least he’s closer to the truth. Shiv’s divorce doesn’t matter because she’s got her hat in the ring. And Karolina’s backing her.

“Fine, fine, I’m going,” Roman says, standing. He pauses at the door, knowing he needs to throw her off his line of questioning. “Are you ovulating?”

“What?” Shiv asks, and if looks could kill, Roman would certainly be six feet under.

“Just asking,” Roman says. “You’re, like, glowy.”

“Fuck off,” Shiv says.

Roman doesn’t have to be told twice. Gerri’s going to get a kick out of this.

iv.

Kendall’s not paranoid.

A little bit obsessive? Sure. Hungry for power? He can own up to that. Good at making enemies? Most definitely. But paranoid? Absolutely not. This, however; it just doesn’t make any sense.

“What are you saying, Shiv?” he asks. On a normal day, she’d be at his throat, telling him that all of his ideas are bad ones and that it’s all going to crash and burn. On a normal day.

“That…I think it’s a good idea?” Shiv says, turning her head at him slowly. “Did you want me to scream and cry and tell you I hate it?”

“I mean—no,” Kendall says. “I guess, I just, expected a little pushback. That’s all.”

Shiv shrugs, a loose hand around her coffee mug. She’d sat next to Kendall in the conference room instead of across from him, unnerving coming from a woman who can oftentimes barely look in his direction.

“I read the notes you sent last night, and they make sense,” Shiv says. “No need to reinvent the wheel, here. Your plan is better.”

Which sounds exactly like something someone else would be telling her to say, and that can only mean one of two things. Shiv’s playing the game, or Dad’s putting her up to it.

“Is that a Karolina line?” Kendall asks, watching every minuscule movement of Shiv’s face. First she pauses—caught off guard, then her eyes narrow. She’s not looking at him anymore.

“I—a what?”

That’s it. “They’re feeding you lines, aren’t they?” Kendall says, standing up. “Unbelievable, this is—just, great, Shiv. Really, it’s great.”

Shiv rolls her eyes, coffee mug forgotten.

“Yeah, Kendall, I’m fucking wiretapped and the feds are bursting in here any minute to nab you for cruises. This is all actually just a ruse and you’ve been trained your whole life to take the fall for this one moment, you caught us,” she says.

“I’m serious, Shiv—if this is a setup—”

“I’m not lying, Ken, Jesus,” Shiv says. “I read the plan and I thought about it. That’s what you fucking wanted me to do, right? Can you accept that before I fuckin’ change my mind?”

It still doesn’t feel right. Shiv’s never given into one of Kendall’s ideas this easily and willingly in her life. He’s sure Karolina had something to do with it, and by extension their dad, but he also wants to believe Shiv, which he won’t, but he can pretend to at the very least.

“Fine,” Kendall says. “Okay, great, um—thank you, Shiv.”

“Sure,” Shiv says. “And, by the way—Karolina’s not, feeding me lines, or whatever you think. God, you and Roman, you’re like, fucking irrational.”

“Yeah, no, of course not,” Kendall says. “The mind games, they’re—you know.”

“Yeah, sure,” Shiv says.

He leaves the meeting feeling entirely and unequivocally unsatisfied. Roman wouldn’t be his first source of confidante on a bad day, but he has no one else to trust, and he’s the only other person who could possibly want Shiv in the CEO seat any less than Kendall.

“Hey, Roman—“ he says, entering Roman’s office. “Is Shiv, like, I mean—is there something…off?”

Roman stands up, looking out the windows of his office before turning back to Kendall and crossing his arms.

“You didn’t hear it from me,” Roman says lowly, “but I heard she’s ovulating.”

Kendall looks up, Roman’s dead serious.

“You mean—her and Tom?”

“Like jackrabbits,” Roman says.

“Gross, dude.”

Roman throws his hands up in the air.

“You asked.”

 

iii.

Karolina doesn’t get distracted. Gerri knows that much.

She knows a lot, in fact, such as Karolina’s educational background: a summa cum laude BA in Public Relations and an ivy league MS in Strategic Communication. Karolina’s career path: Assistant at a crisis management firm, Account Manager for a think tank, and then a Manager at Waystar—merged into Waystar Royco shortly after. Karolina’s consistent weekend plans: drop off her dry cleaning early on Saturday morning, pick up breakfast from her favorite cafe on the way back, work into the evening, pick up dry cleaning and groceries on Sunday, watch trash reality TV until she falls asleep, meet Gerri early in the office on Monday morning to drink coffee and sync (Karolina’s missed the last two Mondays). And Gerri knows all about Karolina’s dating history: the broody painter in college, the personal accountant in her twenties, the short-lived engagement to the non-profit president in her thirties. The absence that’s followed.

Yeah. Gerri knows a lot—and she certainly knows that Karolina doesn’t get distracted. So, it’s a mystery to her why she’s now received two press reports, riddled with mistakes. She would chalk it up to delegation—maybe Karolina’s giving some baby-faced assistants a chance, or she’s been fed conflicting information along the chain of command—but these are high-level, directly from Karolina, and directly her mistakes to make. Karolina’s lucky it’s Gerri who’s receiving them first, because they’re a liability, is what they are, and anyone else in the office wouldn’t be as tactful about it as Gerri’s choosing to be.

She calls Karolina in for a meeting over lunch. Low pressure, familiar territory, but even then, Karolina is quieter than usual. She’s not quite pensive as much as she is splitting, her mind obviously going in multiple directions at once. She's having trouble keeping up with Gerri’s conversation, only vaguely remembering details that Gerri has already told her and not quite adding anything substantial to the conversation unless provoked, her eyes occasionally dropping to her turned-over phone on the chair arm beside her.

Gerri decides to bite the bullet.

“Is everything alright?” she asks, stopping herself in the middle of a sordid tale about Frank and Karl’s latest excursion in Shareholder-Land. “You seem preoccupied lately.”

Karolina’s reaction is verification enough, the surprise and sudden discomfort apparent all over her body, but physical tells mean nothing to Gerri when it comes to Karolina. Her tell, is that Karolina has told her nothing, when by now, Gerri should know everything.

“I mean, yeah,” Karolina says, sitting up straighter. “There’s a lot going on. You know how it is.”

“I know how it is, sure,” Gerri says, unconvinced. She pulls out the press releases, red ink splattered all over the pages, “Wanna tell me about these, though?”

“Oh,” Karolina says, grabbing the pages from Gerri. “Your notes?”

Gerri nods, and Karolina looks down at the pages, brows instantly furrowing in concentration. Gerri watches the head tilts and the squinted eyes, the mouthing of words as Karolina silently reads lines back to herself, the constant switching between pages to fully grasp the inconsistencies and the contradictions. Her back is stiffer when she’s finished, and she stares at the pages.

“Um, good—” Karolina says, moving to clean up her belongings. “Thanks, Gerri. I’ll fix these up and get them back to you.”

“Karolina,” Gerri says, and Karolina pauses, albeit a little unwillingly, staring back at Gerri expectantly. “I’m going to ask again, is everything alright?”

Karolina crosses her arms, a feigned innocence on her face. “Yes, Ger—everything’s fine. These are just stupid mistakes, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not scolding you,” Gerri says, because they’re in the office, and these are serious mistakes, and while Karolina is her subordinate, she’s also her friend. “I’m just checking in. This isn’t like you.”

Gerri watches the internal battle as it happens, Karolina running through every scenario and calculating the results of each possible course of action. It’s always a roll of the dice with Karolina, but Gerri at least knows that if she doesn’t get the answer out of Karolina today, she will get it out of her eventually.

“I guess I have been preoccupied,” Karolina admits. “But, you know…things are good.”

“Things are good?” Gerri confirms, and Karolina smiles slightly as she nods.

“Things are really good,” Karolina says. Gerri has no reason to not believe her, and also knows it’s not the time to press further.

“Okay,” Gerri concedes. “Then, make sure the next versions of those releases aren’t going to make us liable for libel in seven different nations, alright?”

“Message received,” Karolina says.

Gerri nods, partially satiated with the outcome of the meeting, and she’s about to send Karolina off when Shiv pokes her head through the door. Gerri feels dense for not seeing it before. The extra meetings. Shiv’s recent agreeable attitude toward Gerri. The way Karolina bites her lip if only to stop her smile from growing, and the laser focus of her eyes. Shiv’s mischievous smirk. Of course. Karolina’s fucking lovesick.

“Hey, sorry if I’m interrupting,” Shiv says. “Can I steal Karolina?”

“Seeing as neither of us owns her, I don’t see why not,” Gerri says, and Karolina clears her throat, nervous.

“Great,” Shiv says, then to Karolina, “I’ll be in my office.”

Karolina nods, as Shiv exits, picking up the rest of her things.

“Karolina?” Gerri calls out, stopping her at the door.

“Yeah?”

“Remember,” Gerri warns. “Liability.”

The instant flush of Karolina’s face is the only confirmation she needs.

ii.

The event is nice, but Willa’s not much into the family business.

She finds it monotonous to stand around and listen to a bunch of legacy businessmen discuss stocks and market trends and, God forbid, politics, like they’re all the second coming of Jordan Belfort himself. She hates the way they all look down on Connor as if he isn’t the only Roy heir who doesn’t need Daddy’s company, and she really hates the way they all look down on her as if she’s some mail-order bride who couldn’t understand the first thing about the economy, but she does really enjoy the people-watching, and those cucumber finger sandwiches that rich people love, and the expensive dresses she gets to buy that are most definitely integral to stimulating the fucking economy. And she especially loves eavesdropping, even more so when it’s Connor’s brothers discussing what’s up with Shiv, going on and on about Shiv and Karolina and their two-woman coup as if the real answer isn’t glaringly obvious.

“I’m telling you, dude,” Kendall says, pointing his glass towards Roman, “she’s scheming.”

“Come on, Shiv?” Connor chimes in. “She’s done just fine on her own all these years. What does she need from pops?”

“What do any of us need from him, Con?” Roman jeers. “She’s obviously changed her mind. She wants the big seat.”

“What, and Karolina’s helping her?” Connor asks. “She’s a wonderful woman, really, but what does our People Magazine liaison have over who’s going to be the next Chief Executive?”

“She’s Head of Communications, Connor,” Kendall says. “It’s, like, her whole job to communicate. If she’s on Shiv’s side, she could already be swaying public opinion and in the internal memos. We’re fucked.”

Willa doesn’t like to step in often, but this is a bit much. “Wouldn’t you be able to, like, see if she were doing that?”

All three men pause, eyes now on her. Roman seems to be considering her point, but Connor jumps to Kendall’s defense.

“I’ve read about this. Psychological Operations are very difficult to recognize, even when you know they’re occurring. The Romans used flaming pigs to scare off Egyptian war elephants that would eventually trample their own troops.” He claps his hands together. “That’s it. You need to figure out Shiv’s flaming pig.”

“My what?”

The next few moments are very important to Willa’s observations. First, Shiv shows up alone. Not with Tom, not with the old guard, alone. Then, after confusing and awkward greetings between Roman trying to make pig jokes, Kendall stammering his way through an apology, and Connor desperately trying to explain Ancient Roman Flaming Pigs, Shiv immediately asks if any of them have seen Karolina. Shiv’s meeting her. Willa has to hide a knowing smile behind her champagne, her amusement only exacerbated by the panicked look in both Kendall and Roman’s eyes. Then, the best thing possible occurs.

Gerri and Karolina walk up to the group.

At first, Willa thinks her theory is toast. They all greet one another with the kind of cordial professionalism anyone would expect, and Shiv’s reaction to Karolina isn’t anything out of the ordinary. That is until Roman pulls the group into a conversation about how Logan really isn’t going to like the menu and wants, “to know who’s going to break the news to the kitchen staff that they have just over an hour to source a cod from Massachusetts itself or face getting a review that will surely destroy their yearly earnings for at least three more event seasons,” and Shiv, under the impression that nobody is paying attention, takes the opportunity to whisper something in Karolina’s ear.

Willa watches as Shiv’s hand meets the small of Karolina’s back while they catch up, and Willa immediately tugs on Connor, nodding slightly in their direction. He’s confused at first, and Willa, not wanting to cause a scene, first tries pulling a face, and upon an unsuccessful charade, spells it out for Connor quietly in his ear.

“That’s?” he whispers back, and Willa nods, downing a sip of champagne in excitement.

“Wow,” Connor says out loud, and Willa winces as the entire group looks at him.

“What is it?” Kendall asks, and Connor flounders with a series of sounds that could possibly count as English, Willa immediately jumping in over him.

“It’s just, so sad…that Logan might have to eat…salmon,” Willa says, internally cringing at the save, but grateful that none of them think highly enough of her to see it as anything out of the ordinary.

“It’s devastating,” Gerri deadpans. “Come on, boys. Let’s go save the day.”

Gerri stalks off, herding Roman and Kendall like two little ducklings who have no choice but to follow the leader, and it leaves Willa and Connor with Shiv and Karolina.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Karolina says to Shiv. “Do you want anything?”

“Uh, I’ll meet you at the bar,” Shiv says, and her eyebrows raise, a silent communication between the two women that Willa isn’t supposed to be privy to. She lets Shiv and Connor catch up, not missing the way Shiv’s eyes flicker in the direction of the bar area every thirty seconds or so, and after the fourth time Willa tugs on Connor’s jacket discreetly, it taking everything in her not to fucking spit out her champagne at the way he decides to close the conversation.

“You know, Shiv, it’s perfectly natural to experience a broader emotional undertaking as you continue to age,” Connor says. “I mean, sometimes I look at Tom Brady…and I wonder.”

Shiv, rightfully confused, looks to Willa for clarity, and Willa can only offer a sympathetic smile as they lock eyes.

“Great, Connor,” Shiv says. “Thank you, for…sharing.”

“Of course, honey,” Connor says. “Enjoy the party.”

Shiv walks away, and Willa has half a mind to tail her just for the entertainment of it all, but she figures Shiv is owed some privacy, not that she and Karolina are doing an exceptional job at hiding whatever it is that they have going on.

“Was that too obvious?” Connor asks, worry lines on his face. Willa can’t help it as she looks in Shiv’s direction one more time, spotting her and Karolina by the bar, clearly enraptured with one another.

“No, Con,” she says. “That was perfect.”

 

i.

Karolina notices two things as she walks into her apartment. Shiv Roy looks exceptionally beautiful under the soft light of dawn, and Karolina’s feet fucking hurt. She sighs in relief as she sits down on her couch, undoing the heel straps that had been cutting into her ankles all night. Shiv follows suit, looking tired, flushed, and still slightly giggly from a terrible story Karolina had told her about a college bet and a game of darts, and Karolina leans back into the couch, unable to take her eyes off of Shiv.

“It’s late,” Karolina says, though the words don’t really go anywhere. They hang, with no meaning behind them.

“So?” Shiv asks, because she knows they’re empty too. Karolina, always searching for reasons.

“The late nights—I’ve been slacking off at work,” Karolina says. “People are starting to notice.”

People, meaning Gerri, but she’s the worst person of all to have on your ass. Shiv frowns slightly, her gaze concerned.

“If helping me is too much…” Shiv says, trailing off. Her hand rests in the empty space between them, extended, but not making contact. “I’ll be fine, Karolina. It’s not my first rodeo.”

“No, I know,” Karolina says, her hand itching to meet Shiv’s in the middle. “I don’t mind it. I just need to stay focused on my own work as well.”

And it’s hard, when Shiv is in her apartment. When Shiv is in her office. When Shiv is Shiv. And Karolina is Karolina.

“Okay,” Shiv says, her head nodding in support. “Care to explain why this is important for me to know on a Saturday night, though?”

“Maybe it’s a sort of preamble?” Karolina says.

“To?”

Karolina sucks in a nervous breath. “Have you noticed people—acting funny?”

Shiv looks away momentarily, lightly shrugging.

“Maybe,” she says, but then her eyes return to Karolina’s, narrowing. “Why, is something going on?”

“I mean, is there, Shiv?” Karolina asks. “It’s three in the morning and you’re in my apartment. For the third time this week.”

Shiv, to her credit, just looks deeply confused.

“If you want me to leave, I can,” she says, and it’s that moment that Karolina finally grabs her hand. They both look down as she does.

“No,” she says. “No, I—I don’t want you to leave, Shiv. That’s the thing. I’d really like it if you stayed, but—”

“But?” Shiv’s eyes are still on their hands, making no move to separate.

“But,” Karolina says, steadying herself. “Are we—I mean, what are we doing, Shiv?”

“We’re sitting on your couch,” Shiv says, and Karolina moves closer.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

Shiv pauses, searching Karolina’s eyes for something to latch onto. “What do you want to be doing?” Shiv asks.

Karolina considers all of the options before her. She could choose a distant friendship, or a professional mentorship. She could choose nothing, and effectively ice Shiv out, or, she could choose honesty. Choose the thing that snuck up on her. The thing she should’ve known all along.

“I want to kiss you,” Karolina admits, and she holds her breath as she waits for Shiv’s response.

“Then kiss me.”

 

vi.

“It’s disgusting,” Roman says, leaning against the wall. His eyes are scanning the room of the party, just a little New Year get-together for Royco & family, Gerri beside him, sipping a martini.

“What is?” Gerri asks.

“How nice she makes Shiv,” Roman says. Gerri follows his eyes, landing on the couple across the room, Shiv and Karolina attached at the hip. Karolina laughs animatedly at something someone in the group has said, and Shiv watches her with an adoring expression, her hand rubbing along the top of Karolina’s back before it settles around Karolina’s waist.

“They’re happy,” Gerri says, like it explains anything at all. Roman thinks it doesn’t make it any less gross.

“They sent me and Tabs an anniversary bouquet,” Roman says. “Shiv doesn’t even send me a card on my birthday.”

“Shouldn’t that be a good thing?” Gerri asks, and Roman immediately shakes his head.

“Karolina’s making her a softy,” Roman says, eyeing Gerri as she laughs.

“Karolina, making Shiv a softy?” Gerri says. “Shiv’s making Karolina a softy.”

“What?” Roman says. “Shiv doesn’t have a soft bone in her body. She’s quite literally physically incapable of being soft, yet somehow Karolina has done it.”

“And Karolina wouldn’t know soft if it hit her like a stone,” Gerri says. “She used to eat interns for lunch, and now she lets them hide in her office when they cry.”

Roman looks at Gerri, her own softness still up for question, and she pulls a face.

“What?”

“Are we bitter?” Roman asks.

Gerri sips her martini thoughtfully. “I’m not bitter. I’m happy for them.”

“Right,” Roman says. “And Dad’s signing over the entire company to me tomorrow.”

Gerri rolls her eyes. It hurts him that she has such little faith in his aptitude.

“In any case,” Gerri sighs, “it’s just a honeymoon phase. It’ll pass.”

“It’s been eight months,” Roman says, head still turned in Gerri’s direction. She shrugs and then stands up straighter.

“Don’t look now,” she says, and Roman does look, Shiv and Karolina headed right in their direction.

“Speak of the devil,” Roman says as the pair arrives in front of them.

“Good things?” Shiv asks, and Roman smiles.

“You know me, sis. I just love waxing about your achievements.”

“I bet,” Shiv says, smiling in return, and then her aim switches to Gerri. “Speaking of achievements, Gerri, I owe a favor to someone begging for an introduction. Can I have five minutes?”

Gerri quirks an eyebrow at Karolina, and Karolina nods as if to say, humor her, and while Roman wishes Karolina would just say it out loud, Gerri gives in easily enough. “Lead the way.” Jesus Christ. Gerri’s a fucking softy too.

Shiv squeezes Karolina’s arm before she goes off with Gerri, and Roman has to hold back a gag as they speak with their eyes, Karolina’s gaze not leaving Shiv as she takes Gerri’s place against the wall. This should be fun.

“Where’s Tabitha?” Karolina asks.

“Showing face at her family’s event,” Roman says. “They’re a bunch of centrists who parade around as progressives. Think the ATN clan is beneath her.”

Karolina nods, apparently all out of small talk apart from that one question, and Roman wishes he had any excuse to leave the spot he’s been glued to. The air is much too awkward for his liking, so he attempts to fill the silence.

“Thanks for the flowers,” he says.

“It was Shiv’s idea,” Karolina says, and Roman doesn’t think he’s ever turned his head to look at someone else so quickly before.

What?

“Okay,” he says, unable to stop a laugh from escaping him, “what have you done with the real Shiv? Is she locked in your basement somewhere? Did you replace her with some Brooklynite who fits your lesbian agenda?”

Karolina scoffs, though if he were looking closely, he’d swear she seems vaguely amused. “It was just a gesture, Roman.”

He shakes his head. Shiv doesn’t do gestures unless they’re violent and skin-breaking.

“You’re ruining her.”

“I’m ruining her,” Karolina laughs. “She was right. We should’ve sent a free session of sex therapy.”

Roman’s glass pauses at his lips. If Karolina wants to get dirty, well, Roman would love to test out how much of a softy she is.

“If anyone needs sex therapy, it’s Shiv,” Roman says. “Did she tell you her body count? It’s in the hundreds. Truly tainted, I mean, I’m surprised you’re even with her. Unless, you know—is that something people your age are still interested in?”

Karolina, interestingly, doesn’t seem phased. Maybe a little surprised, but unflinching in a way that Roman hadn’t expected. Maybe this will be fun.

“Do you ever think of anything other than your sister having sex?”

“It’s a little hard not to when you’re constantly shoving it in our faces,” Roman says. “I mean, seriously, I’m worried I’m going to get conjunctivitis from all of the secondhand eyefucking.”

“So, to be clear, you’re admitting that you purposefully watch us eyefuck long enough to receive an infection?”

“I’m saying you’re gross,” Roman huffs. “And you’re making my sister gloopy. Pulpous and squishy like a marshmallow.”

“Okay, Roman,” Karolina laughs to herself, and he can’t stand the sound of her perceived victory.

“Can you two even kiss when you get married?” he asks. “There are going to be children around, you know. Ideally, they shouldn’t find out about lesbian porn until at least middle school.”

He expects a comeback quickly, her wit proven to be able to keep up with his own, and he almost thinks he’s finally won when she speaks up.

“You think she’d marry me?” Karolina asks, voice quiet, the sharpness gone.

Roman sighs, swirling his drink around in his glass.

“I mean, you’re no grand prize, but—whatever. She’s, like, happier with you, I guess,” Roman says. “And I’ve never seen her willingly eyefuck someone for this long in a room full of strangers, so. Maybe you’re the real deal. Who knows.”

He avoids Karolina’s gaze and attempts to wash away his momentary lapse of sincerity with what’s left in his glass, silently praying for Gerri to return to put him out of his misery for once and for all. He seems to be in luck, though, because Karolina’s phone dings, and when Roman sneaks a look, it’s Dad’s name on the ID, a call she can’t ignore.

“Is there anyone in this family who doesn’t have you completely whipped?” Roman asks.

Karolina looks at him.

“I mean, you can keep dreaming, Roman,” Karolina says. “I know you like to do that.”

She smiles, and then walks off, leaving Roman alone on the wall.

Fine. Maybe it’s not Karolina who’s soft.

[inthememetime]

🤺with Vlad

Sorry for the delay! A fight between Clad and someone who doesn't know he regularly gets in fights with superheroes. Star's morning shift has gone Very Sideways. That's ok- the betting pool is about to make her rich.

-

Everyone knew Amity Park's mayor had the kind of self-control shared by honey badgers and angry geese worldwide. He fought with words- in person, online, or via letter- and pranks.

Argument with the US President on Chirper? Pretty normal.

Prank war with Phantom? A bi-annual event nowadays.

Hissed arguments with GIW agents? Average, and the betting pool on when he'd snap was getting pretty big.

But he didn't physically fight very often. There was that one time when Phantom overshadowed the Fenton kid, but even that was with a gun, not hand-to-hand.

If Jack Fenton ever got tired of him, he could snap the billionaire like a twig. The bets on why Maddie Fenton hadn't broken his spine yet were getting more traction than the ones about when he finally became a serial killer, if he was a mad scientist like the Fentons, and if he was actually Phantom's dad- another of Wes' theories, but a benign enough one.

That was what made The Incident so shocking. Amity Park didn't get much human crime- after all, the victims stood a pretty good chance of coming back to haunt their attackers. Every great once in a while, like that cold November morning, they'd get people they fondly called visitors, less fondly tourists, and rudely called interlopers.

The men from out of town were Interlopers.

It had started quite normally; the mayor had visited the usual 24-hour diner Saturday morning, famous for coffee with a little something extra (whiskey or ectoplasm, depending on the guest), and set out a plan with one of his many assistants.

From her position behind the counter, Star could make out it was about the annual Christmas parade, but couldn't catch the details. That was fine. If she were lucky, she would be able to catch a few minutes on her homework while they ate.

It was fine until the visitors walked in. "Hi, welcome to the Spooky Spoon Cafe! If you'll find a seat, I'll bring you menus. How many today?"

Standard question, she thought. People frequently used the Spooky Spoon for birthdays or other events. The visitors- no, the tourists- disagreed. "Three, can't you count?" One snapped with an ugly sneer, and his friends laughed.

"Right, no additional guests," she confirmed, customer service smile tight like armor on her face. She sat down the menus. "When you're ready to order, just let me know. I'm Star, I'll be your waitress today."

"So your parents gave you a stripper name, huh," one asked with a leer. "You live up to it?"

She took a step back, quickly. "Sir, I'm a minor."

"So?"

Forget tourists, these were interlopers. "Right. Well, I serve food and drinks, and that's it. Let me know when you're ready to order, please."

She stopped by the mayor's table to refill the coffee- and add a shot of hazelnut creamer to his assistant's, and ectoplasm for him. "Is everything quite alright? If you want to head out early or call in someone else to watch the counter with you, I'm sure Henry won't mind," Mr. Masters offered.

What he meant, she knew, was that he'd throw enough money around to make sure Henry didn't mind. She didn't hate the mayor, like a lot of their classmates. He was an excellent tipper- usually, she'd come away with a cool $100 tip on a $20 order, as long as she kept the coffee and ectoplasm coming and didn't bug him.

He also reminded her a lot of her grandmother's snappy Dalmatian French Poodle mix- nippy, but wouldn't really hurt you. Very high-strung- not that she'd say that in front of him.

"Thanks, Mr. Masters, but Henry and Paul both came down with Covid, so it's just me until Lea gets off work at 4. I think I've got it," she added, braver than she felt.

"Right. Well, we'll try not to bother you."

She was about to reply when one of the men whistled. "Hey lady, we're ready."

Ugh. What creeps. "Great, what can I get you?"

The food orders were pretty sensible, at least, but then they got to the drinks. "3 Irish coffees, hold the coffee," one joked.

"I'm sorry, we can't serve alcohol today, as only minors are working. We've got a lot of types of creamer, though, or ecto-"

"The hell is it on your menu, then?"

She flushed. It was 8:30 in the morning, why did they want shots anyway? "We usually have an adult over 21 in store, but not today, so-"

"Not even the cook's an adult?"

The cook was an adult, but only 18- not legal to serve it yet. "We don't have anyone who can serve you alcohol today," she explained again. "We do have an Irish Coffee creamer that tastes like the real thing, though, if-"

"Thought this place served shots."

"We're not a bar," she said, losing patience but keeping calm besides, "so we don't have a bartender on staff. We can add shots to drinks up to a limit, usually, but not today."

The asshole turned red and opened his mouth to continue, when asshole number two interrupted. "Hey, what's this about turkey or veggie bacon? Why don't you have real bacon? All the pork's like that."

"It's religious reasons on the part of the owners, so we're not able to offer pork. But the turkey bacon tastes just like-"

Asshole 3 stood up. "I think you have an attitude problem."

Another chair slid out, this time at her back. "Hmm. Three grown men crying because they can't have pork or alcohol at 9 a.m., harassing a teenage girl, and trying to intimidate her into- what? Killing a pig for you? Finding a bartender? And she's got the attitude problem?"

Oh. Oh no. The mayor was vicious in an argument, and she knew without a doubt this would dissolve into a screaming match- probably just when the brunch crowd rolled in.

Asshole one didn't let it get that far, and only years living around ghost attacks let her dodge the smack going her way. It still hit- she heard the sharp sound- but not on her.

Oh shit, was that Wes filming outside? What was he- a sharp crunch sounded before a shout of pain, and asshole one's face was bleeding profusely. "Get out," the mayor said simply. Calm- but years of hearing arguments between him, Danny, Phantom, and others told her it wouldn't stay that way for long.

"Fuck you, you old-"

"I'm calling the cops," she managed to squeak, and one of them rounded on her, only to be bodily picked up and slammed, hard, on the carpeted floor.

The mayor didn't look winded. In fact, he almost looked happy, maybe excited. "Go ahead, Star. Call the police," he said calmly as the third guy started smacking his friend's face to wake him. "And maybe an ambulance if they don't grow some common sense."

Well, she was gone. "What happened?" Ray asked when she ran to the kitchen, and her locker.

"It's a 3-on-1 fight. Interlopers against the mayor, I'm calling the cops."

"Holy shi-" he ducked under the counter as a motorcycle helmet went flying over it. "Dude, I think the old man's winning," he said, impressed.

"Hi, I'm at the Spooky Spoon, and 3 guys just attacked the mayor, can you- yes, I know he's a dick, but still- oh, that guy definitely needs an ambulance now. That's a lot of blood. Huh? Oh, I'm Star, I'm a waitress here."

She popped her head up again to find asshole 1 covered in blood and unconscious under the table. Number 2 was on his knees clutching his throat, and 3 was- throwing a really bad haymaker.

Just. Objectively bad. Phantom when he just started bad.

The mayor didn't even move, just let it miss, and she hissed and winced when the final man was lifted a few inches from the force of the punch into his diaphragm. That was going to hurt for a while.

"Oh, Star, wonderful. How far away from us are the police?"

Number 1 lurched to his feet, but the old man idly tossed him back down like a child would a ragdoll. "Hush, you had your chance."

She swallowed. "They say about 15 minutes."

He scowled. "The response rate is supposed to be a maximum of 10. Andrea, do you- Andrea?"

His assistant was gone. "Hm. She won't last long," he muttered ominously. "Regardless- you might want to call Henry and tell him. I'll pay for the damages, of course."

"Um. Right."

Wait- she had $50 on him being a secret badass. Ooh new school year, new outfits here she comes! Or better yet- a car!

[nityarawal]

11/15/2023

Oops I Shot My Wife

Morning Songs

Oops I Shot My Wife

Judge Ferguson

Admits

On Behalf Of All

The 20 Something 

Counties 

That Took Bribes

Oops I Shot 

My Wife

How Many Did

You Kill

As A Rotating

Judge

Oops I Shot My

Wife

We Know

Oops You Shouldn't

Have

But Thankyou For

Telling Us

Oops I Shot My Wife

I Know

Who Pushed Ivana

Down The Stairs

Was It Your Husband

Jarrod

Whose Intelligence

Name

To Clear

Trumpleberry

Or My Bu

Ivanka Asks

Why Should A Daughter

Be Put Before

Gag Orders

Dykes Want Her Head

But Moms

Want Her More

We're Not Hatin' On

Any Presidents Children

We're Not Grooming

Baes For Brits

Loved The Taylor Swift

160 IQ

Articles

Of Course

Celebrating Co-Writing

Songs

With Paul McCartney

Tea

Evermore

Eternal Peace

Yeah We All Want

The Transcendence

Light

Wispy

Eternal Love

Divine

Trinity

Glowing From Your 

Hearts

Mind Virus

Infected

But

3 Months To Live

Cleanse

It's "Hunger Games"

We All Got New

Physiologist

Covid

Penetrated

"Whose The Boss?"

#MeToo

Alyssa Milano Begs

Pretty Humble Moms

Stop Apartheid

Whose Side Are Y' On

The Jewish Attys Ask

Jap Kids

From Opulent Bathrooms

Whose Side Are You On

The Jewish Attys Ask

Whose Side Are You On

Is It Dad's

He Stole A Lot

Whose Side Are You On

Mystical Daughters

We So Rarely 

Hear You

Whose Side Are You 

On

Not Moms

Not Dad's

Kids

#4BillionMothersStrong 

Holding Strong

No Need To

Divide

And Conquer

Humanity

Is Not A Lab Rat

Gray

To Play With

To Throw Out

With The Bath Water

Humanity Is Not

A Lab Rat

And She's Scared

Humanity Is Not A 

Lab Rat

We're Not Ready

For Mars

Not All Of Us

Practicing Medicine

Peaceful Wariors

And That's OK

We Love You Anyways

Please Don't Let Them

Bomb Planet Earth

We Love You Anyways

Cognizantly

With Elon Swings

Of Consciousness

Some Might Never 

Understand

That's OK

I Love You Anyways

You're Perfect

Buddhas

Humanity 

Practicing Creatively

Sustaining Responsibly

Means Alot To Me

Please Don't Let Them

Bomb

Mother Earth

Her Trees

And Wonders

Please Don't Let Them

Bomb

California

We'll Talk To The Gay

Dad's

And Ask The Attorneys

Politely

One Last Time

To Release Our Children

And Dear Parents

From This Global

Apartheid

We Love You Anyways

But No Oil Must Be

Spent

Until You Can Have

Tea

With All The Parties

Bloodletting

Heaven Scent

Virtual Peace

Nothing Less

Rahu Goddesses

I Ate Up Any

#FreeBritney Tabloids

Hopeful

Walking In Circles

Stopped 

To Borrow Near 

Sighted Glasses

From Mrs Jackson -

Jones

Watch "Orange Is The New

Black,"

Observe 

Edging 

Conversations 

Laughing

Singing "Chicago"

Celebratin'

40+ Something Actresses

Knowing We All Had Hearts

Of Gold

To Be Heard Someday

Grateful Elon's

Brave Enough

To Tell His Story

Advertise Solid

Rocket-eering 

Grazia

Prego

Merci

Pilots

#Nitya4Eternity

Blessings

On All Air

Travel

Ganeshes

Intergalactically

Lakshmi

Mommies

Xo

Peace,

Nitya Nella Davigo Azam Moezzi Huntley Rawal 

[jmdbjk]

Happy Birthday, Jimin!!

Ok, Jimin, your “bro” upstaged your actual birthday wishes. You know what Jungkook’s special little birthday performance reminded me of? When Marilyn Monroe sang happy birthday to President Kennedy... I realize that was eons ago, I certainly wasn’t alive then. It’s one of those iconic American moments. Go look it up if you are not aware. What she did was one for the history books because 1) She looked like she was ready to throw down in that sparkly sheer dress; 2) She sang it in that (pardon my language) “take me to bed and fuck me hard” voice; 3) (rumor was) She was actually fucking said birthday boy President of the United States ... and singing happy birthday to him...in a public venue....with a bunch of people watching. 

Also remember, “bro” is their inside birthday joke so Jungkook was obligated to say it. So get off my dick and Jimin’s dick because the only one who is allowed there is Mr. Scene Stealer.

Jungkook looks like he’s in a bedroom? Or is it a hotel room? Is he in Busan? If so, I wonder how he (they) got out of Seoul without the schedule mongers knowing? Maybe they drove. Who knows. 

Anyway. I hope Jimin has a great day. 

[aroundtheworldwithphillyfogg]

December 8th: in which Verne is bored and compares indigenous to animals twice

The train pursued its course, that evening, without interruption, passing Fort Saunders, crossing Cheyne Pass, and reaching Evans Pass. The road here attained the highest elevation of the journey, eight thousand and ninety-two feet above the level of the sea. The travellers had now only to descend to the Atlantic by limitless plains, levelled by nature. A branch of the “grand trunk” led off southward to Denver, the capital of Colorado. The country round about is rich in gold and silver, and more than fifty thousand inhabitants are already settled there.

Thirteen hundred and eighty-two miles had been passed over from San Francisco, in three days and three nights; four days and nights more would probably bring them to New York. Phileas Fogg was not as yet behind-hand.

During the night Camp Walbach was passed on the left; Lodge Pole Creek ran parallel with the road, marking the boundary between the territories of Wyoming and Colorado. They entered Nebraska at eleven, passed near Sedgwick, and touched at Julesburg, on the southern branch of the Platte River.

It was here that the Union Pacific Railroad was inaugurated on the 23rd of October, 1867, by the chief engineer, General Dodge. Two powerful locomotives, carrying nine cars of invited guests, amongst whom was Thomas C. Durant, vice-president of the road, stopped at this point; cheers were given, the Sioux and Pawnees performed an imitation Indian battle, fireworks were let off, and the first number of the Railway Pioneer was printed by a press brought on the train. Thus was celebrated the inauguration of this great railroad, a mighty instrument of progress and civilisation, thrown across the desert, and destined to link together cities and towns which do not yet exist. The whistle of the locomotive, more powerful than Amphion’s lyre, was about to bid them rise from American soil.

Fort McPherson was left behind at eight in the morning, and three hundred and fifty-seven miles had yet to be traversed before reaching Omaha. The road followed the capricious windings of the southern branch of the Platte River, on its left bank. At nine the train stopped at the important town of North Platte, built between the two arms of the river, which rejoin each other around it and form a single artery, a large tributary, whose waters empty into the Missouri a little above Omaha.

The one hundred and first meridian was passed.

Mr. Fogg and his partners had resumed their game; no one—not even the dummy—complained of the length of the trip. Fix had begun by winning several guineas, which he seemed likely to lose; but he showed himself a not less eager whist-player than Mr. Fogg. During the morning, chance distinctly favoured that gentleman. Trumps and honours were showered upon his hands.

Once, having resolved on a bold stroke, he was on the point of playing a spade, when a voice behind him said, “I should play a diamond.”

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix raised their heads, and beheld Colonel Proctor.

Stamp Proctor and Phileas Fogg recognised each other at once.

“Ah! it’s you, is it, Englishman?” cried the colonel; “it’s you who are going to play a spade!”

“And who plays it,” replied Phileas Fogg coolly, throwing down the ten of spades.

“Well, it pleases me to have it diamonds,” replied Colonel Proctor, in an insolent tone.

He made a movement as if to seize the card which had just been played, adding, “You don’t understand anything about whist.”

“Perhaps I do, as well as another,” said Phileas Fogg, rising.

“You have only to try, son of John Bull,” replied the colonel.

Aouda turned pale, and her blood ran cold. She seized Mr. Fogg’s arm and gently pulled him back. Passepartout was ready to pounce upon the American, who was staring insolently at his opponent. But Fix got up, and, going to Colonel Proctor said, “You forget that it is I with whom you have to deal, sir; for it was I whom you not only insulted, but struck!”

“Mr. Fix,” said Mr. Fogg, “pardon me, but this affair is mine, and mine only. The colonel has again insulted me, by insisting that I should not play a spade, and he shall give me satisfaction for it.”

“When and where you will,” replied the American, “and with whatever weapon you choose.”

Aouda in vain attempted to retain Mr. Fogg; as vainly did the detective endeavour to make the quarrel his. Passepartout wished to throw the colonel out of the window, but a sign from his master checked him. Phileas Fogg left the car, and the American followed him upon the platform. “Sir,” said Mr. Fogg to his adversary, “I am in a great hurry to get back to Europe, and any delay whatever will be greatly to my disadvantage.”

“Well, what’s that to me?” replied Colonel Proctor.

“Sir,” said Mr. Fogg, very politely, “after our meeting at San Francisco, I determined to return to America and find you as soon as I had completed the business which called me to England.”

“Really!”

“Will you appoint a meeting for six months hence?”

“Why not ten years hence?”

“I say six months,” returned Phileas Fogg; “and I shall be at the place of meeting promptly.”

“All this is an evasion,” cried Stamp Proctor. “Now or never!”

“Very good. You are going to New York?”

“No.”

“To Chicago?”

“No.”

“To Omaha?”

“What difference is it to you? Do you know Plum Creek?”

“No,” replied Mr. Fogg.

“It’s the next station. The train will be there in an hour, and will stop there ten minutes. In ten minutes several revolver-shots could be exchanged.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Fogg. “I will stop at Plum Creek.”

“And I guess you’ll stay there too,” added the American insolently.

“Who knows?” replied Mr. Fogg, returning to the car as coolly as usual. He began to reassure Aouda, telling her that blusterers were never to be feared, and begged Fix to be his second at the approaching duel, a request which the detective could not refuse. Mr. Fogg resumed the interrupted game with perfect calmness.

At eleven o’clock the locomotive’s whistle announced that they were approaching Plum Creek station. Mr. Fogg rose, and, followed by Fix, went out upon the platform. Passepartout accompanied him, carrying a pair of revolvers. Aouda remained in the car, as pale as death.

The door of the next car opened, and Colonel Proctor appeared on the platform, attended by a Yankee of his own stamp as his second. But just as the combatants were about to step from the train, the conductor hurried up, and shouted, “You can’t get off, gentlemen!”

“Why not?” asked the colonel.

“We are twenty minutes late, and we shall not stop.”

“But I am going to fight a duel with this gentleman.”

“I am sorry,” said the conductor; “but we shall be off at once. There’s the bell ringing now.”

The train started.

“I’m really very sorry, gentlemen,” said the conductor. “Under any other circumstances I should have been happy to oblige you. But, after all, as you have not had time to fight here, why not fight as we go along?”

“That wouldn’t be convenient, perhaps, for this gentleman,” said the colonel, in a jeering tone.

“It would be perfectly so,” replied Phileas Fogg.

“Well, we are really in America,” thought Passepartout, “and the conductor is a gentleman of the first order!”

So muttering, he followed his master.

The two combatants, their seconds, and the conductor passed through the cars to the rear of the train. The last car was only occupied by a dozen passengers, whom the conductor politely asked if they would not be so kind as to leave it vacant for a few moments, as two gentlemen had an affair of honour to settle. The passengers granted the request with alacrity, and straightway disappeared on the platform.

The car, which was some fifty feet long, was very convenient for their purpose. The adversaries might march on each other in the aisle, and fire at their ease. Never was duel more easily arranged. Mr. Fogg and Colonel Proctor, each provided with two six-barrelled revolvers, entered the car. The seconds, remaining outside, shut them in. They were to begin firing at the first whistle of the locomotive. After an interval of two minutes, what remained of the two gentlemen would be taken from the car.

Nothing could be more simple. Indeed, it was all so simple that Fix and Passepartout felt their hearts beating as if they would crack. They were listening for the whistle agreed upon, when suddenly savage cries resounded in the air, accompanied by reports which certainly did not issue from the car where the duellists were. The reports continued in front and the whole length of the train. Cries of terror proceeded from the interior of the cars.

Colonel Proctor and Mr. Fogg, revolvers in hand, hastily quitted their prison, and rushed forward where the noise was most clamorous. They then perceived that the train was attacked by a band of Sioux.

This was not the first attempt of these daring Indians, for more than once they had waylaid trains on the road. A hundred of them had, according to their habit, jumped upon the steps without stopping the train, with the ease of a clown mounting a horse at full gallop.

The Sioux were armed with guns, from which came the reports, to which the passengers, who were almost all armed, responded by revolver-shots.

The Indians had first mounted the engine, and half stunned the engineer and stoker with blows from their muskets. A Sioux chief, wishing to stop the train, but not knowing how to work the regulator, had opened wide instead of closing the steam-valve, and the locomotive was plunging forward with terrific velocity.

The Sioux had at the same time invaded the cars, skipping like enraged monkeys over the roofs, thrusting open the doors, and fighting hand to hand with the passengers. Penetrating the baggage-car, they pillaged it, throwing the trunks out of the train. The cries and shots were constant. The travellers defended themselves bravely; some of the cars were barricaded, and sustained a siege, like moving forts, carried along at a speed of a hundred miles an hour.

Aouda behaved courageously from the first. She defended herself like a true heroine with a revolver, which she shot through the broken windows whenever a savage made his appearance. Twenty Sioux had fallen mortally wounded to the ground, and the wheels crushed those who fell upon the rails as if they had been worms. Several passengers, shot or stunned, lay on the seats.

It was necessary to put an end to the struggle, which had lasted for ten minutes, and which would result in the triumph of the Sioux if the train was not stopped. Fort Kearney station, where there was a garrison, was only two miles distant; but, that once passed, the Sioux would be masters of the train between Fort Kearney and the station beyond.

The conductor was fighting beside Mr. Fogg, when he was shot and fell. At the same moment he cried, “Unless the train is stopped in five minutes, we are lost!”

“It shall be stopped,” said Phileas Fogg, preparing to rush from the car.

“Stay, monsieur,” cried Passepartout; “I will go.”

Mr. Fogg had not time to stop the brave fellow, who, opening a door unperceived by the Indians, succeeded in slipping under the car; and while the struggle continued and the balls whizzed across each other over his head, he made use of his old acrobatic experience, and with amazing agility worked his way under the cars, holding on to the chains, aiding himself by the brakes and edges of the sashes, creeping from one car to another with marvellous skill, and thus gaining the forward end of the train.

There, suspended by one hand between the baggage-car and the tender, with the other he loosened the safety chains; but, owing to the traction, he would never have succeeded in unscrewing the yoking-bar, had not a violent concussion jolted this bar out. The train, now detached from the engine, remained a little behind, whilst the locomotive rushed forward with increased speed.

Carried on by the force already acquired, the train still moved for several minutes; but the brakes were worked and at last they stopped, less than a hundred feet from Kearney station.

The soldiers of the fort, attracted by the shots, hurried up; the Sioux had not expected them, and decamped in a body before the train entirely stopped.

But when the passengers counted each other on the station platform several were found missing; among others the courageous Frenchman, whose devotion had just saved them.

Three passengers including Passepartout had disappeared. Had they been killed in the struggle? Were they taken prisoners by the Sioux? It was impossible to tell.

There were many wounded, but none mortally. Colonel Proctor was one of the most seriously hurt; he had fought bravely, and a ball had entered his groin. He was carried into the station with the other wounded passengers, to receive such attention as could be of avail.

Aouda was safe; and Phileas Fogg, who had been in the thickest of the fight, had not received a scratch. Fix was slightly wounded in the arm. But Passepartout was not to be found, and tears coursed down Aouda’s cheeks.

All the passengers had got out of the train, the wheels of which were stained with blood. From the tyres and spokes hung ragged pieces of flesh. As far as the eye could reach on the white plain behind, red trails were visible. The last Sioux were disappearing in the south, along the banks of Republican River.

Mr. Fogg, with folded arms, remained motionless. He had a serious decision to make. Aouda, standing near him, looked at him without speaking, and he understood her look. If his servant was a prisoner, ought he not to risk everything to rescue him from the Indians? “I will find him, living or dead,” said he quietly to Aouda.

“Ah, Mr.—Mr. Fogg!” cried she, clasping his hands and covering them with tears.

“Living,” added Mr. Fogg, “if we do not lose a moment.”

Phileas Fogg, by this resolution, inevitably sacrificed himself; he pronounced his own doom. The delay of a single day would make him lose the steamer at New York, and his bet would be certainly lost. But as he thought, “It is my duty,” he did not hesitate.

The commanding officer of Fort Kearney was there. A hundred of his soldiers had placed themselves in a position to defend the station, should the Sioux attack it.

“Sir,” said Mr. Fogg to the captain, “three passengers have disappeared.”

“Dead?” asked the captain.

“Dead or prisoners; that is the uncertainty which must be solved. Do you propose to pursue the Sioux?”

“That’s a serious thing to do, sir,” returned the captain. “These Indians may retreat beyond the Arkansas, and I cannot leave the fort unprotected.”

“The lives of three men are in question, sir,” said Phileas Fogg.

“Doubtless; but can I risk the lives of fifty men to save three?”

“I don’t know whether you can, sir; but you ought to do so.”

“Nobody here,” returned the other, “has a right to teach me my duty.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Fogg, coldly. “I will go alone.”

“You, sir!” cried Fix, coming up; “you go alone in pursuit of the Indians?”

“Would you have me leave this poor fellow to perish—him to whom every one present owes his life? I shall go.”

“No, sir, you shall not go alone,” cried the captain, touched in spite of himself. “No! you are a brave man. Thirty volunteers!” he added, turning to the soldiers.

The whole company started forward at once. The captain had only to pick his men. Thirty were chosen, and an old sergeant placed at their head.

“Thanks, captain,” said Mr. Fogg.

“Will you let me go with you?” asked Fix.

“Do as you please, sir. But if you wish to do me a favour, you will remain with Aouda. In case anything should happen to me—”

A sudden pallor overspread the detective’s face. Separate himself from the man whom he had so persistently followed step by step! Leave him to wander about in this desert! Fix gazed attentively at Mr. Fogg, and, despite his suspicions and of the struggle which was going on within him, he lowered his eyes before that calm and frank look.

“I will stay,” said he.

A few moments after, Mr. Fogg pressed the young woman’s hand, and, having confided to her his precious carpet-bag, went off with the sergeant and his little squad. But, before going, he had said to the soldiers, “My friends, I will divide five thousand dollars among you, if we save the prisoners.”

It was then a little past noon.

Aouda retired to a waiting-room, and there she waited alone, thinking of the simple and noble generosity, the tranquil courage of Phileas Fogg. He had sacrificed his fortune, and was now risking his life, all without hesitation, from duty, in silence.

Fix did not have the same thoughts, and could scarcely conceal his agitation. He walked feverishly up and down the platform, but soon resumed his outward composure. He now saw the folly of which he had been guilty in letting Fogg go alone. What! This man, whom he had just followed around the world, was permitted now to separate himself from him! He began to accuse and abuse himself, and, as if he were director of police, administered to himself a sound lecture for his greenness.

“I have been an idiot!” he thought, “and this man will see it. He has gone, and won’t come back! But how is it that I, Fix, who have in my pocket a warrant for his arrest, have been so fascinated by him? Decidedly, I am nothing but an ass!”

So reasoned the detective, while the hours crept by all too slowly. He did not know what to do. Sometimes he was tempted to tell Aouda all; but he could not doubt how the young woman would receive his confidences. What course should he take? He thought of pursuing Fogg across the vast white plains; it did not seem impossible that he might overtake him. Footsteps were easily printed on the snow! But soon, under a new sheet, every imprint would be effaced.

Fix became discouraged. He felt a sort of insurmountable longing to abandon the game altogether. He could now leave Fort Kearney station, and pursue his journey homeward in peace.

Towards two o’clock in the afternoon, while it was snowing hard, long whistles were heard approaching from the east. A great shadow, preceded by a wild light, slowly advanced, appearing still larger through the mist, which gave it a fantastic aspect. No train was expected from the east, neither had there been time for the succour asked for by telegraph to arrive; the train from Omaha to San Francisco was not due till the next day. The mystery was soon explained.

The locomotive, which was slowly approaching with deafening whistles, was that which, having been detached from the train, had continued its route with such terrific rapidity, carrying off the unconscious engineer and stoker. It had run several miles, when, the fire becoming low for want of fuel, the steam had slackened; and it had finally stopped an hour after, some twenty miles beyond Fort Kearney. Neither the engineer nor the stoker was dead, and, after remaining for some time in their swoon, had come to themselves. The train had then stopped. The engineer, when he found himself in the desert, and the locomotive without cars, understood what had happened. He could not imagine how the locomotive had become separated from the train; but he did not doubt that the train left behind was in distress.

He did not hesitate what to do. It would be prudent to continue on to Omaha, for it would be dangerous to return to the train, which the Indians might still be engaged in pillaging. Nevertheless, he began to rebuild the fire in the furnace; the pressure again mounted, and the locomotive returned, running backwards to Fort Kearney. This it was which was whistling in the mist.

The travellers were glad to see the locomotive resume its place at the head of the train. They could now continue the journey so terribly interrupted.

Aouda, on seeing the locomotive come up, hurried out of the station, and asked the conductor, “Are you going to start?”

“At once, madam.”

“But the prisoners, our unfortunate fellow-travellers—”

“I cannot interrupt the trip,” replied the conductor. “We are already three hours behind time.”

“And when will another train pass here from San Francisco?”

“To-morrow evening, madam.”

“To-morrow evening! But then it will be too late! We must wait—”

“It is impossible,” responded the conductor. “If you wish to go, please get in.”

“I will not go,” said Aouda.

Fix had heard this conversation. A little while before, when there was no prospect of proceeding on the journey, he had made up his mind to leave Fort Kearney; but now that the train was there, ready to start, and he had only to take his seat in the car, an irresistible influence held him back. The station platform burned his feet, and he could not stir. The conflict in his mind again began; anger and failure stifled him. He wished to struggle on to the end.

Meanwhile the passengers and some of the wounded, among them Colonel Proctor, whose injuries were serious, had taken their places in the train. The buzzing of the over-heated boiler was heard, and the steam was escaping from the valves. The engineer whistled, the train started, and soon disappeared, mingling its white smoke with the eddies of the densely falling snow.

The detective had remained behind.

Several hours passed. The weather was dismal, and it was very cold. Fix sat motionless on a bench in the station; he might have been thought asleep. Aouda, despite the storm, kept coming out of the waiting-room, going to the end of the platform, and peering through the tempest of snow, as if to pierce the mist which narrowed the horizon around her, and to hear, if possible, some welcome sound. She heard and saw nothing. Then she would return, chilled through, to issue out again after the lapse of a few moments, but always in vain.

Evening came, and the little band had not returned. Where could they be? Had they found the Indians, and were they having a conflict with them, or were they still wandering amid the mist? The commander of the fort was anxious, though he tried to conceal his apprehensions. As night approached, the snow fell less plentifully, but it became intensely cold. Absolute silence rested on the plains. Neither flight of bird nor passing of beast troubled the perfect calm.

[marie-dufresne]

Pest Problems

🧨 Main Verse Page 🧨

Pest Problems: While ShinRa’s advancements begin to bring convenience and comfort, there are some side effects.

The scream that awoke Josef Heidegger that morning could have sent him to his grave. Initially it was the sound itself, but when his lumbering hand hit the other side of the bed, he found his young bride to be missing and his heart left his chest, sinking down into his stomach like a lead weight.

He wasted no time in retrieving the shotgun from the closet, bursting through the bedroom door, the wood splintering against its hinges at the force and it hung limply in the hall. His thundering footsteps thudded through the penthouse, weapon at the ready, prepared to kill anyone who would bring harm to the little woman that had been foisted upon him, the little cherub of a minx that owned his heart.

He would not lose her so soon. He would not let anyone take her from him.

It took a moment for the red to fade from his eyes, his shoulders still locked as he stared ahead into the kitchen where she stood in her lingerie, a ceramic mixing bowl and whisk clutched to her chest, tears streaming down her face.

“Getttttt ittttttttt!” she screamed at his cat, Tank, whose gaze Josef followed to a Midgar-sized centipede, nearly as big as the thirty-two pound cat itself, crawling across the kitchen floor. From her perch, Gatling watched with interest as the horrid female creature screamed, sensing her terror and enjoying every moment.

“For fuck’s sake!” Heidegger cried out, finally setting the gun down and marching over to the bug where he lifted it into his meaty hands, tearing it in two and throwing it into the fireplace where it writhed and twitched before its many legs came to rest. A simple turn of a dial incinerated it and Gatling jumped down from her tree and slinked away. The show was over.

Marie had not moved from where she stood on the counter, her hands white and trembling as she hugged the bowl. Heidegger reached up, gaining her attention and coaxed her down, into his arms, setting the bowl down, and he allowed her to cry.

“It’s alright,” he assured her, stroking her hair, “just a side effect of Artie’s tinkering, that’s all.”

“A-a-a side effect?”

Josef shrugged, using a big, calloused thumb to wipe her tears from her cheeks, “Mako does some wild things sometimes.”

She shuddered, laying back against his chest. If cat—no—dog sized insects were a side effect of the President’s discoveries, how much longer could she remain in Midgar? She believed in him. She believed in her husband, but she could not simply learn to live with common house pests at that scale.

“We need to move,” she muttered, to which he laughed, bowing his head to lay a bearded kiss atop her mess of morning curls. He wasn’t sure what the future looked like either, but he’d talk to Artie about that bug. Surely they would work out the kinks and it wouldn’t be commonplace.

“We need less lazy cats,” he corrected, “and breakfast.”

She smiled, taking a deep breath and trying to relax her tense muscles, looking back at the bowl. “I was making waffles.”

With a little squeeze to her bottom, he set her down. “Then hop to it, Mrs. Heidegger.”

[x-mencomics]

The Uncanny X-Men #136 - Child of Light and Darkness!

Empress Lilandra of the Shi’ar Empire meets with her Grand Council to discuss the danger of Dark Phoenix to the universe, saying that Phoenix must be destroyed. Lilandra explains that the Phoenix is more of a threat than Galactus.

Back on Earth, at the White House, the President learns from Dr. Corbeau about Phoenix heading back to Earth. The President calls the Avengers for help. Jarvis answers the phone and says the Avengers will be ready to intercept the Phoenix when she arrives.

At Xavier’s mansion, Beast is working on a device that when placed on Jean’s head should prevent her from using her powers. Storm notices how much pain Cyclops is feeling about Jean and she tries to comfort him. Wolverine, Colossus, and Nightcrawler are training in the Danger Room.

Meanwhile, Jean aka Dark Phoenix flies to her childhood home to see her family.

Her dad, mom, and sister greet her and they’re happy to see her. But Dark Phoenix can’t help but read their minds and she learns that they are actually scared her. Her sister, Sarah, is scared that her two children may be mutants like Jean, and this angers Dark Phoenix. She turns a house plant into crystal saying that she will do the same to her family. Her father asks what she is and what she wants from them. Dark Phoenix threatens Mr. Grey, and then notices a sudden fog appearing outside. She flies outside, expecting the X-Men.

And she’s right. Nightcrawler teleports onto Dark Phoenix’s back and places the power-neutralizing device on her head. She is weakened, but still fighting. She throws Nightcrawler off her back, knocks Storm out of the air and tries throwing Beast - and then Wolverine tackles her, saying that everyone else is holding back as if Dark Phoenix is Jean. Wolverine extends his claws and prepares to kill Dark Phoenix. She tells him to do it while the human part of her is still in control. He hesitates. And BOOM. Dark Phoenix launches Wolverine away from her and into the air, and she removes the device from her head.

Cyclops shows up. Dark Phoenix wants to fight, but he says he wants to talk and she refuses. Cyclops tells Dark Phoenix to kill him then. She says he isn’t worth killing, and he says that she can’t kill him because she is still Jean Grey inside. She seems like two people battling for control over her body, and she’s starting to calm down a bit when Xavier appears and “mind-blasts” Dark Phoenix. She’s down, but only for a second. She launches Cyclops away from her and ZAM, she knocks Xavier backwards and shatters his wheelchair to pieces. 

It’s Xavier vs Dark Phoenix. A telepathic battle on all the infinite planes of existence ensues, and suddenly... Phoenix stops. She starts to fall but Cyclops catches her. She’s Jean again. Xavier sensed that Jean was helping him battle Dark Phoenix and that is how he was able to win. Cyclops thinks about proposing to Jean and she can read his mind and she says yes. Angel and Jean’s family arrive, but suddenly a bright light flashes and the X-Men are gone!

[newstfionline]

Friday, January 26, 2024

San Francisco Tried to Build a $1.7 Million Toilet. It’s Still Not Done. (NYT) You could say San Francisco’s charming Noe Valley neighborhood has it all. But what Noe Valley still needs is a toilet. Fifteen months after city officials were ready to throw a party in the Noe Valley Town Square to celebrate funding for a tiny bathroom with a toilet and sink, nothing but mulch remains in its place. The toilet project broke down the minute taxpayers realized the city was planning an event to celebrate $1.7 million in state funds that local politicians had secured for the lone 150-square-foot structure. That’s enough to purchase a single-family home in San Francisco—with multiple bathrooms. Even more confounding was the explanation that the tiny bathroom would take two to three years to install because of the city’s labyrinthine permitting and building process. City leaders quickly canceled their potty party, and Gov. Gavin Newsom of California took back the funds. For many residents, the episode has illustrated why San Francisco so often gets bogged down by inefficiency. If an army of more than 30,000 city employees with a $14 billion annual budget cannot build a simple bathroom in a reasonable way, what hope is there that San Francisco can solve its housing shortage and fentanyl crisis?

Once tranquil Costa Rica eyes Salvadoran-inspired response to crime surge (Reuters) Once tranquil Costa Rica is now wrestling with a surge in violence so striking that its government is borrowing a page from nearby El Salvador, which took draconian steps to tackle its own crime problems. In an effort to cut a homicide rate that has soared 40% in the last year alone, Costa Rican President Rodrigo Chaves has introduced tough new legislation to combat crime, dubbing El Salvador a “reference” point. Chaves’ ideas include increasing jail sentences for minors to the adult maximum of 50 years, allowing extraditions, and extending use of preventive detention, making it easier to hold suspects with limited evidence. Costa Rica is one of a growing number of Latin American countries seeking to tackle the expansion of drug cartel activity by emulating Salvadoran President Nayib Bukele’s sweeping crackdown.

A Nationwide Shutdown Tests Milei’s Tough Medicine for Argentina (NYT) It has been six weeks since President Javier Milei took office in Argentina, and since then, gas prices have doubled, inflation has soared and the value of the national currency has plummeted. Such turmoil, he had warned, should be expected. Fixing decades of economic problems would first require more pain, he said. Yet on Wednesday, many Argentines took to the streets to show they have already had enough. Argentina’s largest labor unions called for a nationwide strike—including workers in transportation, construction, health care, food services, energy and banking—to protest Mr. Milei’s planned overhauls, arguing they would weaken protections for workers and the poor. Banks and many shops closed, doctors postponed surgeries, waste collection stopped and airlines canceled hundreds of flights, while thousands of people filled the streets in overwhelmingly peaceful demonstrations. Despite the economic chaos, Mr. Milei’s approval rating has stayed high, or even risen along with prices. Recent surveys show 58 percent of Argentines support him, two percentage points higher than his share of the November presidential vote.

Japan is rich, but many of its children are poor (AP) The women work hard, sleeping only a few hours a night, as they juggle the demands of caring for their children and doing housework—all while suffering from poverty. The award-winning independent documentary film “The Ones Left Behind,” released last year, tells the story of such single mothers in Japan, weaving together interviews with the women and experts, and showing the other side of a culture whose ideal is for women to get married and become stay-at-home housewives and mothers. “This is a topic that no one wants to really touch. In Japan, it’s very taboo,” Australian filmmaker Rionne McAvoy said Tuesday. “I think it’s a very apt title because I feel that single mothers and their children have really been left behind in society.” One woman in the film says she works from 8:30 a.m. until 7:30 p.m., while earning less than 200,000 yen ($1,350) a month. That’s sparse for a nation where the cost of living is relatively high, with monthly rent in cities easily taking up a third or half of that, for a tiny room.

Israeli hostage families push for new deal (Washington Post) Frustration is turning to fury for Israel’s hostage families. After three agonizing months of waiting for their children, parents and spouses to be freed, the hyper-organized community is growing more desperate, and more militant. On Monday, a group of hostage advocates stormed two committee meetings of the Knesset, Israel’s parliament, refusing to budge as they yelled at lawmakers, “You will not sit here while they die there.” Over the weekend, a hunger striker joined a protest encampment in front of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s private home in the coastal city of Caesarea. Another round-the-clock vigil—dubbed the “Time Has Run Out” encampment—occupies an intersection near his official residence in Jerusalem. Protesters poured a red liquid, symbolizing blood, onto the busy street Monday night. Some 132 hostages remain in captivity, although the Israeli prime minister’s office says 28 are believed to have died—either of their injuries or at the hands of Hamas. In December, three hostages were mistakenly killed by Israeli troops in Gaza as they tried to escape while waving white flags and shouting in Hebrew. Hamas has claimed, without evidence, that dozens of hostages have been killed in Israeli strikes.

U.N. Shelter in Besieged Khan Younis Is Struck, and at Least 9 Die (NYT) Israeli forces pushed deeper into southern Gaza’s largest city on Wednesday, surrounding two major hospitals where thousands of people were seeking safety as a strike on a United Nations shelter killed at least nine people, according to U.N. officials and local health officials. The Israeli military said it had “currently ruled out” that its aerial or artillery fire had been responsible for the strike on the shelter in Khan Younis, where the U.N. was housing about 800 people. In addition to the nine dead, 75 other people were injured, according to Thomas White, who helps oversee U.N. aid operations in Gaza. U.N. officials did not directly blame Israel, but said the shelter, in a vocational training center, had been hit by two tank rounds. Israel is the only combatant in Gaza with tanks. Philippe Lazzarini, the head of the U.N. Palestinian aid agency, said that the shelter was “clearly marked” as a U.N. facility and that its coordinates had been shared with the Israeli authorities. “Once again a blatant disregard of basic rules of war,” Mr. Lazzarini wrote on social media.

Stripped, Beaten or Vanished: Israel’s Treatment of Gaza Detainees Raises Alarm (NYT) Cold, almost naked and surrounded by Israeli soldiers with M16 assault rifles, Ayman Lubbad knelt among dozens of Palestinian men and boys who had just been forced from their homes in northern Gaza. It was early December and photographs and videos taken at the time showed him and other detainees in the street, wearing only underwear and lined up in rows, surrounded by Israeli forces. In one video, a soldier yelled at them over a megaphone: “We’re occupying all of Gaza. Is that what you wanted? You want Hamas with you? Don’t tell me you’re not Hamas.” Palestinian detainees from Gaza have been stripped, beaten, interrogated and held incommunicado over the past three months, according to accounts by nearly a dozen of the detainees or their relatives interviewed by The New York Times. Organizations representing Palestinian prisoners and detainees gave similar accounts in a report, accusing Israel of both indiscriminate detention of civilians and demeaning treatment of detainees. The United Nations human rights office said last week that Israel’s treatment of Gazan detainees might amount to torture. It estimated that thousands had been detained and held in “horrific” conditions before being released, sometimes with no clothes on, only diapers.

Egypt lashes out at “extremist Israeli leaders” after Netanyahu says IDF must seize Gaza-Egypt buffer zone (CBS News) In December, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu indicated that his country would need to take over a 100-yard buffer zone across Gaza’s 9-mile border with Egypt to fully end the IDF’s campaign in Gaza. Israel has long accused Egypt of allowing smugglers to operate through tunnels perforating its border with Gaza, claiming that weapons have made their way to Hamas through the corridor. Netanyahu said in late December, “It is clear that any other arrangement would not ensure the demilitarization that we seek.” “Egypt is capable of defending its interests and sovereignty over its land and borders and will not leave it in the hands of a group of extremist Israeli leaders who seek to drag the region into a state of conflict and instability,” said Diaa Rashwan, the Head of Egypt’s State Information Service. “The true essence of Israel’s claims,” he added, “is to justify its continuation of collective punishment, killing, and starvation of more than 2 million Palestinians inside the Gaza Strip, which it has practiced for 17 years.”

How a Ragtag Militia in Yemen Became a Nimble U.S. Foe (NYT) As the Biden administration approaches its third week of airstrikes against Houthi targets in Yemen, the Pentagon is trying to thread an impossibly tiny needle: making a dent in the Houthis’ ability to hit commercial and Navy vessels without dragging the United States into a prolonged war. It is a difficult task, made more so because the Houthis have perfected the tactics of irregular warfare, American military officials say. The group does not have many big weapons depots for American fighter jets to bomb—Houthi fighters are constantly on the move with missiles they launch from pickup trucks on remote beaches before hustling away. The first barrage of American-led airstrikes nearly two weeks ago hit nearly 30 locations in Yemen, destroying around 90 percent of the targets struck, Pentagon officials said. But even with that high success rate, the Houthis retained around 75 percent of their ability to fire missiles and drones at ships transiting the Red Sea.

Exercise increases brain volume and may slow memory decline (Washington Post) Exercising for 25 minutes a week, or less than four minutes a day, could help to bulk up our brains and improve our ability to think as we grow older. A new study, which involved scanning the brains of more than 10,000 healthy men and women from ages 18 to 97, found that those who walked, swam, cycled or otherwise worked out moderately for 25 minutes a week had bigger brains than those who didn’t, whatever their ages. Bigger brains typically mean healthier brains. The differences were most pronounced in parts of the brain involved with thinking and memory, which often shrink as we age, contributing to risks for cognitive decline and dementia.

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This Week’s Horrible-Scopes

It’s time for this week’s Horrible-Scopes! So for those of you that know your Astrological Signs, cool! If not, just pick one, roll a D12, or just make it up as you go along. It really doesn’t matter.

This week we’re hitting SHUFFLE on our music collection and see what comes up for you.

Aries 

Jerry Reed’s “The Legend of the Bandit” from the movie “Smokey and the Bandit” popped up for you, and not a bad start! You might not like country music generally speaking, but that’s a song you can love. Make it a two-fer this week; watch the movie and let your dog on the sofa with you. And if you don’t have a cocker spaniel, a cockatiel will do. 

Taurus 

U2’s “I Threw a Brick Through a Window” came up this time. We’re not really familiar with that track either, which is kinda on-brand since there’s a lot of you we don’t know… and that’s OK. This week be OK with not sharing everything.

Gemini  

You get the first instrumental piece of the group; Tommy Smith & Brian Kellock’s song, “You Must Believe In Spring”. It’s piano and sax jazz, but not, like… Lounge Room Jazz? It’s cool and calm to listen to. This week when you put on some background music to occupy your head, just listen to it for a change. It’s calming. 

Cancer Moon-Child 

DAMNIT, Cancer! The song you got is called “Boll Weevil”. That’s not the annoying part. The name of the group who recorded it is, and this is the legit full name… “The Presidents of the United States of America”. A name so pretentious it barely fits on the spine of a CD jewel case. This week stop being so.. You know… like Leo!

Leo 

OH! We know how you are, Leo! Always the center of attention and ready to be a drama queen. So, ready for your song and group? You get… A PODCAST?! No, seriously! You got the Buck Benny Podcast replaying the old Jack Benny shows - this one was from 1954. How ironically fitting. Bet you’ll be the only one to get this too.

Virgo 

You get a serious throw-back to the 50’s! “My Little Girl” from TT Grace; a Rock-n-Roll Doo Wop greaser song released in 2017. This week, get some engineer boots, leather jacket, and grow out your sideburns to your jawline… unless you look better in mary janes, a poodle skirt, and cat’s eye sunglasses.

Libra 

You get Rachmaninoff’s “Piano Concerto Number 2 in C Minor”. Here’s what someone wrote about it when it was first performed:

“If there were a music conservatory in Hell, if one of its talented students were instructed to write a programme symphony on "The Seven Plagues of Egypt", and if he were to compose a symphony like Mr Rachmaninoff's, then he would have fulfilled his task brilliantly and delighted the inmates of Hell.”

That was not a compliment. This week ignore the haters; we remember Rachmaninoff’s name, but not that critic’s.

Scorpio 

Back-to-Back instrumental tracks huh? Ok. You get… the karaoke track for Blood, Sweat and Tears’ song, “Spinning Wheel”. The song is older than you by a wide margin, so… roll down the windows in the car, crank up the stereo and belt out the words… assuming you even know them.

Sagittarius 

You got… It LOOKS like some kind of weird MIDI file. The hell even is this? “D_E1M1-dot-MUS”? All we can read in the file’s info is the name ”Bobby Prince” and the year 1993. Screw this. If you think we’re gunna find an old Pentium machine with a SoundBlaster16 in it to see what this is, you’re nuts. We’ll throw it on a floppy disk to you. You figure it out.

Capricorn 

For you, we found a listening that’s more annoying than the one Cancer got. Which song it is isn’t important. It’s from the soundtrack to the musical named… and I SWEAR to you this is real: “Natasha, Pierre and The Great Comet of 1812”. The plot involves characters attending an opera… in the middle of what’s been described as an electropop opera. This week just… stop being so full of yourself.

Aquarius 

Look, we are NOT picking on you this time. You got… (*Sigh*) the 80’s hit… “Canon in D” by Johann Pachelbel. In this case that would be the Sixteen Eighties. Yes, it’s got a bad rap, but it’s the basis for so many other hit songs. This week checkout Rob Paravonian’s treatise on this song on YouTube.

Pisces  

Nope. You get NUTHIN’! Last week’s Triceratops encounter killed you. You’re still dead. Perma-Dead. Necromancers with a Nat-20 and Wish Spells can’t bring you back. Come back next week.

And THOSE are your Horrible-Scopes for this week! Remember if you liked what you got, we’re obviously not working hard enough at these. BUT! If you want a better or nastier one for your own sign or someone else’s, all you need to do to bribe me is just Let Me Know! These will be posted online at the end of each week via Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook and Discord.

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H O R R O R prompts. Accepting!  @multavia​ : “Well don’t you look lovely, all covered in blood.” From Diego

Valentine could only scoff at Diego’s remark. It was true that he had been badly injured but to think Diego would make such a marking remark. 

“You say that as if you feel like you’ve won, but you’re really underestimating me, Diego.”

Valentine knew very well that soon enough he wouldn’t be covered in blood any longer, as long as he could find a suitable place to pull out D4C then he’d be in a better condition in no time.