#CUSTOMIZED LAX SHORTS

[howlingwolf23]

Update: they saw it (I posted a picture in the video chat) it was treated as a joke, and we moved on.

I had no opinion on government dress codes before 24 hours ago, but my mind has been changed by the sheer magnitude of raw fury that has been unleashed among the professional conservative class in response to the ruling that Sen. Fetterman is allowed to wear shorts and a hoodie on Capitol Hill. It has been driving them crazy. I have been negatively polarized into the belief that we should ban suits and jackets entirely

[lijojo]

genshin sugar daddies

premise: you have seven sugar daddies: one for every day of the week. a bit overwhelming, right? however, you somehow find ways to make time for each and every one of them, no matter how emotionally and physically demanding they are. it's just that, now they don't seem too keen on sharing, and you don't know what to do. (modern au)

tw: nsfw, dark content - minors dni

mondays are always harder in more ways than one. mondays are diluc's days, and that means that you're spending a good portion of your nights at angel's share.

on mondays, it's happy hour. which means that you're sitting at a booth in the corner looking pretty while diluc is tending to his customers. you're more than happy to sit back and relax while you wait for him to finish with work. when the drinks are on the house, you're willing to wait as long as it'll take.

periodically, when he's not busy, however, he'll walk over to you and engage in conversation. you act as a taste-tester for new drinks so he's always asking you if you like them. you two will talk about your day, any interesting events, and so on until diluc is pulled back into work again.

then you're back to fiddling your fingers and watching him work. over time, you've learned that he preferred that you not do anything while you were supposed to be with him. that instead, you fixated your gaze on him while he moved about. sometimes you'll catch him looking at you to see if your eyes are still on him.

even while he's dealing with a certain tone-deaf bard, there's something about the way he looks at you so intently that reminds you of a predator.

when angel's share closes, you're there to keep him company while he cleans up. when he's done, he'll sweep you away back to his manor.

you'll fall onto the sheets as he grinds against you. his shallow breaths brush against your throat. the look he gives you is nothing short of intense.

"everyone at the tavern was looking at you, you know," he mutters, running his fingers down your chest, sinking into your pants. he pulls them down effortlessly along with your panties. "didn't you feel it, darling? their filthy eyes on you. they want to ruin you. everyone wants to ruin you."

he throws your legs over his shoulders, his fingers crawling up your thighs. you jump when he suddenly inserts two fingers into your cunt, scissoring you. his free arm wraps around your leg to keep you locked against him. his eyes are glued onto you as he presses a kiss against your calf.

"but your eyes were on me all night, weren't they. couldn't take your eyes off me, could you. you're mine, dear. do you hear me? you're mine."

you don't overlook how tight his grip is. tight enough to make you wonder if he'll ever let you go. in the morning, he does, but you're scared for the day he wakes up and decides that it's for the last time.

tuesdays aren't as bad. when you’re sore from the night before, childe is there to take you out to meals, shopping, and sightseeing. he's not always available to spend time with you on tuesdays, because of his equally-demanding job and whatnot, but when he is free, he never wastes a second.

or a dollar.

childe smirks smugly from his sea. his posture is lax, one hand lazily tracing circles on the chair's arm while the other comes up to rest under his chin.

"how about you twirl for me, girlie? you look so beautiful."

you giggle, observing yourself in the mirror. "why thank you."

you bask in the way the soft satin kisses your skin. the way your newly-own earrings sparkle under the dressing room's light. just a couple years ago, you could've only dreamed of being dressed so prettily.

"do your side-bitches ever treat you as well as me?"

"childe!" you chide.

he laughs, getting up from his seat. but you both know better than to believe his little chuckle is genuine.

he approaches you, sliding his hands around your waist. tucking your head under his chin, he stares at you through the mirror's reflection.

you don't say anything, and childe doesn't either. it appears he's more than happy to enjoy just standing there. his gaze is glossed over, far away.

the two of you sway side to side for what seems like forever until he decides to say something.

"do they buy you pretty things like i do?"

of course they do, you think. although you spend one-on-one time with each and every one of them, they are all aware of each other. it's only right that they did. it was the first thing you said when you brought the idea up to them, that it wasn't going to be exclusive.

but when you see the way he looks at you, you can't really tell him the truth. not when his focus is redirected from his thoughts to you.

"the things you buy me are a special kind of pretty," you reply.

it seems like that answer is enough for him, because he doesn't say anything else. instead he hums quietly, letting the vibration ripple in the back of your head. he slides his hands down your hips and before you can say anything else, he whips his head around.

"i'll buy these sets." he motions over to the closest clothes rack to an attendant you hadn't noticed. "and that one. and the dress she's wearing. how many colors does this come in, by the way?"

the attendant doesn't hesitate. "five colors, sir. they come in bla—"

"great." he shuffles through his pocket to pull out a black card. "pack them up, we won't be here any longer," he retorts.

the attendant looks ecstatic, quickly shuffling out of the dressing rooms towards the cash register with newfound glee.

"childe," you whine. "i don't think these will fit in my closet."

his hands crawl lower, his finger hovering over your clit. "then they'll fit in mine. come over any time of the week when you want to wear one of my special pretty things."

your breath hitches as he rubs slow circles on your clit. he pushes the two of you back into the dressing room and closes the curtains.

"what are you doing, she'll be back any second—"

he kisses the corner of your jaw, pressing his lips close to your ear. "no worries. if there's one thing i'm sure about, it's that no one undresses you faster than i do."

wednesday is when usually everything calms down. kazuha will typically invite you to a new park, scenic route, or gallery. together, you'll write haikus, sonnets, and limericks together. some hours you'll just sit in silence, putting pen to paper. and when the sun goes down you'll exchange poetry.

out of the seven men, kazuha probably scares you the most. he was the first person you decided to do this whole ordeal with, after all. and since he's known you the longest, he also knows about your circumstances more than others. maybe that's why he's so focused on treating you as if you were a fragile cherry blossom petal. his touches feel like ghosts, running down your forearm as he presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek.

in exchange for his protection, his money, and his care, you give him honeyed words. you act as his muse for when he's hit a creative block. you're there to listen to him read out verses when the wind can't bear the strength to carry them. you listen to his grief about his best friend, his loneliness when he was forced to leave his home country. as someone many of the locals looked to for wisdom, he too carried the emotional burdens of being someone's rock. emotional burdens that he let onto you (whether purposefully or not, you're unsure). but you listen anyway, hearing him talk about days of poverty, where sometimes he had to worry about things to eat, or how to get proper healthcare.

you can't lie and say you're always stable enough to hear some of the things he has to say, but you try.

even if you sometimes feel like you can't take it, you just smile and squeeze his hand tighter like you're supposed to. sometimes your mind will go on autopilot, and sometimes you'll stand up on the grounds of needing to go to the bathroom. but at the end of the day, this is what you signed up for. this. making men happy so that you yourself won't have to worry about your endless debt.

you peer over your notebook to see kazuha immersed in his own writing. but instead of his usual peaceful expression, he looks somber. his hands won't leave the paper, his eyes glued onto the words that he's drawn onto the pages.

"what's got you so worked up?" you ask curiously. "is it something new?"

it's like your voice snaps him out of his trance. he blinks, looking up at you. there's a smile you know all too well on his lips. "yeah, i suppose you could call it that."

"could i look at it? i want to see what's got you so focused like that."

his lips press into a straight line. "hmmm, maybe later."

his words catch you off-guard. usually he's the one who's eager to share his work, regardless of the quality. "oh? is it something you want to keep secret?"

he doesn't many any hint of an answer. instead, he puts down his pen and stares at the ground in contemplation. he's picking and choosing what words to say.

"i could protect you," he says, shuffling his papers to the side. you turn to him, curious. his expression slowly hardens. "by myself, i mean. i could take care of you."

"kazu—"

"i have the means to make a living for the both of us. i could sell more of my poetry, i know they'll sell well—"

"where is this coming from?" you move closer to him, brushing his hair aside. "kazu, are you worried about something?"

there's something that's stopping him from saying anything. his fingers intertwine with yours, his thumb caressing the back of your hand.

he purses his lips, before turning away and sighing. "no, not really."

after that, he doesn't say anything else. the two of you bask in silence once again. even though you're used to the quiet, there's something deep down in you that feels nervous. like something in the atmosphere changed. there's a sudden resolved glint in his eye as he get backs to writing so diligently on a piece of paper he won't let you read.

after all these days spent talking about himself, somehow you're scared for the day he suddenly decides to stop.

on thursdays you're usually at tighnari's greenhouse, watching him take notes of other plants while you twiddle your thumbs. once in a while, he'll begin rambling about the plants—what kind of species they are, how rare, their medicinal properties, and the like.

you're more of a companion, than anything. someone who can make his days a little less lonelier. and you appreciate it. it's much more tranquil with him. you can enjoy his sharp quips, especially when cyno comes to visit.

his sex-drive is relatively normal, if not a little below average. just like wednesday, you also expect thursday to be a typical rest day.

except when spring comes.

when spring comes, your routine get a little wonky. for one week, at least. because that's when tighnari's heat hits him like a fucking monsoon.

you can already tell when it's coming when he begins to hover closer to you. whenever you take your hand out to do anything, even the slightest gesture, he's already taking it and dragging it towards his sensitive ears.

the moment you've made your plans set to 'take the week off' and help him out, he's already on you, face pressed into your neck as if it's his oasis.

as you can tell, he takes this week very seriously.

"i bet—shit—those other fucks don't get to hold you as long as i do," he lets out as he fucks into you like there's no tomorrow. his hands hold onto your waist like he owns it, pressing sloppy kisses down your spine. "looking so pretty for me. i wonder what they'd say if you got pregnant with my babies. you'd be so much more beautiful plump with my kids. is that what you want huh? to make them angry with my cum stuffed in your gorgeous pussy?"

some days you almost can't believe how uncharacteristically aggressive he is. he dicks you down like he's trying to imprint his shape into the core of your body so that none of the others can fit inside.

and when he cums, he'll take whatever unfortunate portions slip out and smear it all over your chest. especially where your heart is.

then the process starts all over again.

when it's over, he'll spoon you. as if he didn't almost fuck you to death. his touch is tender, like a ghost's hovering over your skin.

"why won't you leave them all for me?"

you shift a little to look at him and kiss him softy, sweetly, on the line of his jaw. "oh, nari, you know i can't."

his ears droop at your words. "you can't, or you won't."

his words make you freeze a bit.

you think back to last week, and the week before, and the one before that. you think about why you started selling your services in the first place, the endless debt you used to be in, and the progression of the relationship between all seven of your...contacts. even if you wanted to, you don't think you could back out if you tried. you've dug a hole for yourself. one deep enough to cause some sort of disruption if you ever decided to stop digging.

so you just hum. "you know how much i love routine."

as some sort of apology, you give him and open-mouthed kiss, one he's almost desperate to return. he moans, hands cupping your face to bring you closer to him.

you're well unaware how much your words have an impact him.

at the end of the week, all al-haitham wants to do is unwind. it's the only logical thing to do. no late-night drinks with the colleagues, no stressful trips to some tourist trap. on fridays, al-haitham comes home to a meal made with love.

when al-haitham's at work during the day, you're usually running your actual errands. it's when you have time to make those one-in-a-blue-moon visits to your actual home, although it's getting harder to call it that.

when it gets to the late-afternoon, you'll usually head to al-haitham's place to start cooking. if you didn't know how to cook before, you do now. every ingredient is handled with care, measured meticulously just as you knew he preferred.

and when he gets home, tired and stressed out, you're there to welcome him with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

during dinner, sometimes he'll talk to you about work or the latest research he'd gotten himself immersed with. in return, you tell him about some of your childhood memories. your likes, your dislikes, what used to be your hobbies. you do your best to keep your personal matters out of the conversation, no matter how many times he tries to pry into your private life.

sometimes dinners feel like a full on investigation, the way he keeps greeding for more information about you. he watches you eat with calculating eyes. you pretend to pay no mind to it.

in the beginning, kaveh used to join you for dinners. you always liked the guy, the way he bickered with al-haitham and riled him up. but now you've begun to see less of him, as if he never comes home on fridays at all.

after dinner, there are two different outcomes depending on his mood:

outcome one is that you'll spend the rest of the night curling up on his couch, the both of you immersed in your own books. al-haitham leans on your shoulder as he flips through the pages as if they're nothing. you can't help but feel ticklish whenever his hair brushes against your jaw.

somewhere in the middle, he'll move one hand to start fidgeting with the end of your shirt, sometimes crawling underneath to caress your sides.

outcome two is less quiet. the moment he gets home with that solemn face, you know it's coming. his voice is huskier, his responses shorter. it's usually a result of an impending deadline, colleagues being more peskier than usual.

the moment you two are done with dishes, he gingerly takes your hand and leads you up to the bedroom.

his kisses tastes like green tea and dinner. his hands run up and down your torso, trying to imprint the feel of your skin into every inch of your brain. you whimper when his thumbs press softly into your nipples, rolling them around as they harden.

your hands find purchase on his collar, tugging him impossibly close. he groans at the contact.

you let out a yelp when your back suddenly falls onto the bed. your hands are pressed onto the sheets, al-haitham's fingers encircling your wrists. his knee nudges your legs further apart, rubbing at your clit.

"don't look at the ceiling, dear, look at me," he breathes out, his hands leaving your nipples to gently guide your face towards. "that's it. good girl. just me. just look at me. only me."

he smiles.

"now, let me do god's work on your divine body."

saturdays with ayato can sometimes get hectic. some saturdays you're out getting bubble tea together and enjoying the city, and other saturdays you're hurrying to some publicitiy event hosted by the kamisato clan.

on those type of days, you can expect to wear gowns layered with shiny nylon tulle fabric. it's not as revealing as what you'd try on in dressing rooms with childe. in fact, it's a bit more modest.

today you're wearing a light-blue gown to match with ayato. you turn around to get a good look at the cute bow attached at your waist, your diamond encrusted earrings swaying along with you.

it's as if you've put on another costume. another front to wear for the night.

ayato enters the room just shortly after. in his hands is a diamond necklace to match with your stunning earrings. small smile falls upon his lips when he clasps it on.

"you're beautiful," he mumbles. you giggle when he kisses you square on the lips, licking away the tinted color.

"ayato," you press in-between kisses. you place a hand on his chest to gently push him away. "you're going to ruin my lipstick."

he pulls away with a cheeky smile, taking your wrists to wrap around his neck. "you can always put on some more later."

you pout but kiss him regardless. he tightens his hold on you in reaction, moaning into your mouth.

at these kinds of events, you're there as his plus-one. just so that other officials could stop introducing girls to him when he clearly wasn't interested in them. it'd be arguable to say that you might even be there to make the events a little less intolerable.

somewhere along the lines, you'd sleep with him in addition to being his arm candy at parties. sometimes even before: you two rushing to put on your formal attires and fix your hair minutes before the event started.

but beyond that, you started to get to know him better. he'd whisper into your ear about funny stories relating to the guests as you meet them. sometimes you'd run away in the middle of the party to binge out on the food and talk about your other interests. surprisingly, he doesn't talk about the politics behind his duties as the head of the kamisato family. not as much as you expected, at least.

instead he talks about his dreams for a family. how many kids, what their names would be, how he'd raise them. and as he talked, he'd give you this heavy gaze that you're not sure what to do with. as if he was expecting something from you.

you're beginning to believe that ayato has somehow confused contractual girlfriend with actual girlfriend.

when you had met ayaka months ago, ayato introduced you as his girlfriend. you didn't attempt to correct him—that's ayato's business. not your's. but when you're expecting ayato to come clean to his dearest sister, you're sorely mistaken.

instead, while he kisses your lips so hungrily, he subtly slips a diamond ring onto your finger.

sundays are usually kaeya's days off. although the cavalry captain's duties are seemingly never endless, he takes the day off to take a breather.

in other words, he sees you.

at first, it was just candlelit dinners. he'd walk in with a bouquet of roses, complimenting your dress and staring at you as if he was undressing you with his eyes. he'd take you to somewhere fancy, pull out the chair for you and sweet-talk you all through the night.

conversations were fun with him. you didn't have to think much at all, not about how to pay the bills, the six men in your life who seemingly began to want yours to only revolve around theirs, or being someone your not.

kaeya was probably the only one who you felt you could be comfortable with. he made you laugh, he'd tell all sorts of interesting stories, and he never made the silence feel awkward.

at least, that's how you used to be.

you see, usually after these candlelit dinners you'd both go back to his place, with him ripping off your clothes the moment the door closed. but as of recently, he's been asking to come over to your place instead more often. almost too often.

and that's not the only thing that's changed.

the sex used to be rough. heated. almost as if he was consumed by all of his pent-up sexual frustration and was only focused on getting off. he'd slurp your cunt like a man starved but he'd still rail you as if that's the only thing he cared about.

but as time passed, he's been getting more and more...sensual. the sex is much more slower. personal, almost.

vulnerable.

after dinner, he slowly slips off your clothing. one article after another, until your left in your underwear. he first kisses you on the mouth, then your neck, then your chest, then your stomach. slowly, he makes a trail of them down your body, as if no skin deserved to be left untouched.

although you made a rule that no one could leave your marks on you, it doesn't mean he doesn't try. as he kisses your lower lips, sometimes he'll attempt to leave marks close to your clit. if you're not careful, diluc will find it tomorrow.

his thrusts were always deep, but now that he's much more purposeful about it. it's rhythmic, as if he's trying to reach a new spot inside you. somewhere no one's touched.

the pillow-talks are much more longer as well. he holds you tighter now, wrapping his arms around your hips as he tangles his legs with yours.

instead of ranting on about the silly incidents he witnessed on the job earlier in the week, he talks about his feelings. towards you. towards diluc. towards himself. some nights you can handle it, some nights are too much.

but you can't say anything. not when he's holding onto you like you’re his lifeline. not when he helps you pay off your debt. and so you let his raspy voice whisper in your ear as he combs his fingers through your hair. you listen to him mumble sweet-nothings.

you're not sure if you like the adoring look he gives you as you drift off to sleep.

[eroticadoration]

yan!serial killer who becomes OBSESSED with who was going to be his next victim.

₊ ✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ ౨ৎ ˚ ₊ ✩ ‧ ₊

he never thought of himself as an obsessive person until he saw you for the first time. your soft hair, pretty eyes, rosy cheeks. you were an angel, he believed; it was his first thought, when his eyes landed on you in the convenience store, standing there behind the counter, a tired look on your face, no doubt from a long, boring night of work.

when he'd come in, he'd been planning on finding his next kill. it'd been too long since he had - he'd been keeping a low profile, lest that pesky detective come sniffing about where they're not supposed to.

but, he grew bored, he longed for a thrill. he needed a plaything to keep him occupied. so, stepping out of his safe zone, he stalked the dark streets, people-watching. none caught his eye, a strange occurrence. none of them seemed fun, thrilling. they'd be easy kills.

he's tired of easy kills.

he pretended to check out the aisles, but his eyes lingered elsewhere. he watched the few people who were lingering about the store, looking around for god-knows-what before heading to the front. his eyes followed; that's when he saw you.

he was immediately taken aback - he never saw someone as beautiful and handsome as you, as... angelic, divine. he had to pinch himself and take a second look, believing he was seeing things. but, no, you were real, as real as the stars above.

he stalked about the aisles a little longer, eyes glued to you as you interacted with the other customers. when the rest cleared out, he grabbed a six pack of beer and sauntered up to the counter. he didn't even drink beer, it was just the nearest thing to him, and how weird would it be, him going about the aisles having not grabbed anything?

he planted the six pack upon the counter, then spoke up, "can i have a pack of Marlboro Black's?"

his breath was nearly knocked from his lungs the second your eyes met his. your eyes... he could get lost in them, he thought. you gave him a nod and a soft, kind smile, turning around and grabbing him a pack of Marlboro Black's, setting them on the counter.

"can i see an I.D?" you asked; your voice could lure sailors. he fished out his wallet and pulled out his I.D, handing it to you. you scanned it over with a short nod before passing it back over to him, scanning his pack of cigarettes and beer.

"that'll be $13.92, sir." he pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and slid it across the counter. "keep the change, mx..." his eyes found your nametag, "y/n."

y/n... it's such a beautiful name, he thought, he could say it for hours and never tire of it. you gave another kind smile. "thank you. have a good night, mister..." you trailed off; he spoke, "fenix."

"fenix." you repeated, as if testing it on your tongue. his name on your lips made fireworks explode throughout his limbs. he wanted to hear you say it over and over again. you smiled up at him once more. "have a good night, fenix."

a genuine smile graced his lips. "you, too, y/n." he grabbed his beer and cigarettes and turned away from the counter, heading for the glass doors, a plan formulating in his mind.

it was rather simple - he would watch you for a while, a week or so at most, before making his move. he'd learn your schedule, habits, routine, he'd learn everything about you before striking.

but, that week passed, and instead of killing you, he kept watching from afar. it was strange; he usually never gave it a week, he'd strike immediately. he didn't care for learning about his victims, he didn't see them as people, just prey. were you just prey? no, no no no...

no, you were special, he believed. he met you for a reason, it was no mere coincidence. you're not just another victim, not just another body to add to his long list of kills. no, you're more than that.

there's no other explanation for why he hasn't killed you yet.

so, he continued to watch you from afar, see you go about your day to day life. morning's were usually lax, you'd stay in bed with a cup of tea. in the afternoon, you either went grocery shopping or to the library. and in the evening, you were working at that podunk convenience store until two in the morning.

sometimes, he'd photograph you, take still shots of you in what he deemed your most authentic state. he couldn't help it, truly, you were just so pretty; you deserved to be immortalized.

he'd printed a couple of them out, too, pinned them to his corkboard so he could look at you.

but, after a month and a half, looking wasn't enough anymore. he needed to be closer to you, needed to be. so, one night after you went to work, he picked the lock to the door of your small studio, and crept his way inside.

your livingspace wasn't as nice as you. it was messy, cluttered with junk mail and a couple dishes, some clothes strewn about the floor. your bed was unmade, stuffed animals scattered atop the mattress, a couple left forgotten on the floor beside it. there were shelves cramped with books that look like they hadn't been touched in years, dusk caking the pages and covers.

all in all, it was the complete opposite from his darling angel. his angel, who always smelled of vanilla. his angel, who dressed in the nicest things, had the kindest voice, the prettiest eyes. he never thought you'd live in such disarray.

he wanted nothing more than to take you from here to a nicer place, where you wouldn't have to live paycheck to paycheck, working at that podunk convenience store, living in this grimy studio apartment.

he wanted to free you.

- — - — - — -

op is a tboy !!!

likes + reblogs appreciated !!!

[darkdemeter]

BY THEIR LEASH

⚤ Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! Female Reader Mafia stuff — mention of death — alcohol consumption (like a lot) — 18+ SMUT, MINORS DNI — Porn with plot? — lesbian sex — threesome — may be some grammar errors and such — slight bondage — little bit of muscle/stomach riding if you squint your eyes, turn your head that way... — I think that's it? ✎ 4.3k

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

  An expensive investment. A broad term to use for a werewolf broken in by the system at a young age. But it’s true. 

  Alexander Pierce, the finance manager and ringleader as a whole, did all he could to break you in, and to say he did is an understatement. He exceeded the limits you once believed you had and once you were ready, he put you out in the field to garner your reputation. 

You had no limits. Ruthless in your endeavour to complete whatever task was required of you, prepared to do whatever it took, your peers could only look at you with both fear and admiration. 

When all was said and done, you were given your collar, then sold through the underground hub for criminals: the black market. 

  That’s when you learnt in the span of the few minutes that the auction lasted for, that you were either a trophy to those of the higher class of crime, or a very wanted source of security and war. From black funding operators that had their hand in the military’s pit on the hunt for a war hound, to the gangster overlords who controlled territories in the differing states and countries, requiring some form of high end security, there was a very rapid increase in the price they were each willing to pay. 

  At a total of twenty-five million, your collar and services were sold to Mr. Tony Stark. From the sleek fit of a light grey, three piece suit and bright pink tie, Stark had a brighter outlook on the window of his underhand activities. He was the type that lounged back in the severity of his criminal dealings.

Unlike his fellow company who each wore darker palette suits of either navy blue or jet black. He stood out for sure as his auburn tinted glasses did little to hide the one question on his mind: Was his money well spent?

  Well, to say at the very least, you wouldn’t be here tonight if you weren’t worth every single cent he spent on you three years ago. 

  Thinking about the memory now, this is a different tone entirely. Dark and neon is how you remember the black market scene, stalls and cube stores with an assortment of supplies anyone in the business would need, whether that be for the amateurs - which were the usual target customers - or the smaller businesses which belonged to small cluster gangs. 

  The big time runners had designated storehouses to spare where they obtained their supplies, and ran other dealings and hand-offs in and out of private rooms in the clubs. 

  Here, the scene is warm, lavish and made for those who seek the comfort in living in marble halls and pristine white pillars, short cut grass and elaborate parties such as this one. 

“Shit, this party is awfully chipper for someone who died last week,” you huff, eyes scanning the crowd from the smooth, darkly polished bar, which you incidentally found very comfortable to lean back on when told for the hundredth time, “Just sit tight, just a little bit longer.” 

  You didn’t have the time nor patience to sit around getting older by the damn minute. Thankfully, Tony put his card behind the bar so that meant an endless river of drinks. Because you needed the alcohol. A lot. 

  Not a moment too late is your glass refilled with your refreshment. And not too soon after is it halfway downed.

  “Please, Y/N,” sighs Steve from your right side, arms folded over his chest, navy blue suit straining just a bit too tightly against his body, “have some respect for the Maximoff family. They lost their only male heir to a deal gone wrong. They need our support.”

Your shoulders rise with a particularly deep inhale before falling lax, you swirl the sliver of whiskey left in your glass and with a jerk of your wrist you finish it. Ice rattles in your glass as you shimmy it, indicating you need another refill and pronto. 

  “People live, people die. You cross someone and you get shot in the back. It happens.” 

  “He was gunned down in the streets with a fucking machine gun, Y/N. You consider that a mere shot in the back?”

  You shrug in response to Sam’s question with a pout of your bottom lip. “Pietro thought he was the shit. That’s what got him killed by Rumlow.” 

  Sam runs a hand over his face, now distressed by the lack of sincerity you show for the grieving family. “For fuck sake…”

  In the three years of your loyal work to the Stark family and those of his brotherhood - his allies - your colours shone through immensely to reveal a shining personality. Excluding the fact you’d become something of a playful rogue with the women. 

  You simply chalk it up to your animal magnetism. Something that leaves them wanting more whenever in the presence of your company.

  In fact, that was how Tony came to own unclaimed establishments and clubs in the boroughs, ones he wasn’t able to get his hands on before, but after he had you as a playable card in his hand, you provided club goers the relief of being harassed and drinks being spiked. Territorial take over schemes from rival gangs were second guessed when they saw you watching over the joint.

  The after hour visits for your libido were just the perks. But you left a lot of lustful and broken little hearts in the wake of your work. 

  For a werewolf, you were always assumed to be a means of security, and that much was true. Didn’t mean it excluded you from taking on other odd jobs for the families from time to time. Debt collection, assassinations, tailing and blackmail ops, the list is endless. 

  When Steve casts a hardened stare your way, you mockingly raise your hands up in surrender. 

  “Alright, I’ll offer my condolences to the heiress, but I ain’t weeping at her feet for her brother who got himself into that mess because he thought he was too big for his own shoes.”

  “Just behave yourself, alright? The last thing we need is the entirety of Europe at war with us.” You roll your eyes and salute the captain. “Yessir.”

  You bring the glass rim to your lips and draw a small gulpful of your renewed liquor, the fiery taste rolls over your tongue, you savour it to keep your sanity intact lest you go insane from the waiting. Where was the heiress? 

  “Well, well, I thought I wouldn’t see any of you again. Especially you.” Your head, as well as those of your group, direct their gaze to the new voice. The corners of your lips twitch up and you flash her a wolfish grin, chin tilting up slightly in your relaxed position against the bar. You looked like a cat happily laying in the sun. 

  “Miss Romanoff,” each of the men greeted with a nod of their heads. You, however, pat your thigh as an invitation for her to sit. “I had work to do the next morning.”

  “Mm, that’s what you tell the other girls, I’m sure.” You clap a hand to your chest with a wince. “You wound me, sweetheart. If I had the chance, I would have stayed.” 

  She hums but it’s obvious she doesn’t believe you by the rise in her brow. 

  Natasha Romamoff is a hard fish to catch. One of the more established families that control practically the entirety of Europe, alongside the Maximoff family, the two were partners and crafting an empire strong enough to stand on their own without any dire need for support. 

  Yes, her family had prior dealings with the brotherhood. The Starks, Wilsons, Barnes and Rogers and more, whether to collaborate on a bigger criminal project to the smaller portioned deals. Smuggled goods and weapons, blackmail intel deliverance, international bribery to keep the feds off your backs.

  But she never committed to joining forces. 

  You suppose it’s a good power move on her part. She doesn’t have to abide by any of the family creeds, in the end, you’re all loose ends that may potentially be severed if need be. She had the ball in her court and the mysterious Maximoff heiress. 

  Even your animal magnetism wasn’t enough to charm her into joining forces with Stark and his powerhouse of families, but they were surely enough to charm her into a wild one night stand. 

But as you told her. You had work to do. And now she appears to spurn you with her eyes and cruel words, but still entertains your flirtatious advances and indulges the empty space of your thigh.

  For a well respected mob boss such as herself, she definitely liked to play it risky; dressing included. 

  Last you saw her, she was dressed in a more professional manner. But here at this funeral party, whatever the fuck it was, she chose to wear a black, spaghetti strap cocktail dress that’s short enough to be skimming the mid of her thigh. The slit riding the dress up higher is just plain dangerous. 

  She’s facing you, back arched and arse resting on the cliff of your knee. Your clawed hand supports her at the small of her back. Her perfume is strong and complimenting, a sweet bouquet of lavender which rolls over the exposed tops of her breasts from her even more exposed neck. Her plump, red lips move in a way that’s hypnotic. “So I hear you’re going to be a bargaining chip for Wanda Maximoff.”

  “Where’d you hear that?” you scoff with a flick of your chin. 

  “I have spies who whisper to me,” she answers with a swift quirk of her brow. 

  Of course she overheard the news. She then chuckles softly, and all eyes watch her with a level of suspicion. “She won’t take any deal you offer her. She’s determined to steer clear of your little gang wars over in the states.”

  “Rumlow killed her brother and he has bases around our territories. Wouldn’t she appreciate the extra hands in catching the rat?” Bucky poses the question with a dark brow angled high and clenched jaw, the muscles in his cheeks flex harder when Natasha offers no affirmative response; a mark to hopefully land you in the door and good graces with the heiress. 

  “You really think she wants a guard dog?” 

  “Hey,” you growl with a wrinkle of your nose, fangs on the precipice of baring at her. How she used the term in a condescending manner made the fur beneath your skin bristle. Sam claps a hand to your shoulder, somehow able to sense the seething anger within you. 

  “We just want to help. Offer support for her loss and bring Rumlow down.”

  “No. You want a foothold in Europe. And I’m sorry but…” She looks you up and down, drinking in the sight of you and you know she can see you without your clothes on. “You’re not going to cut it, babe.”

  She turns her body to make her getaway but you don’t let her slip away just like that. She gasps and looks to you with a furrowed glare when your arm circles her waist and tugs her back until she’s flush against you, the men in your company watch with trepidation of your next course of action.

  “I will cut it because whether she wants to admit it or not, she needs us.”

  Natasha’s eyes, true to her fashion, darken with a challenge. “You’re wasting your time. She’ll get Rumlow herself.”

  “And if Rumlow plans to get her first?” For a moment you see the doubt cross her face. “That’s where she needs me.”

  “Tony Stark.” Each of the men turn to the voice behind them and their once cool and collected selves turn rigid, nervous under the power one woman can hold so absolute, her green eyes scan each of their faces before they land on you. 

  You finally look and meet her stare, still holding Natasha against you even as she tries to push away from you. 

  “Unhand her,” the woman commands with an accented tongue. 

  At first, you wanted nothing more than to play this out a little, see what makes this woman tick. But both Tony and Steve look at you, silent in their order, you sigh heavily and release Natasha. Once you do, she wastes no time in joining Wanda’s side with a bow of her head. 

  “I hear that you wished to have an audience with me.” 

  Wanda is the sole survivor of this ordeal. Her parents were assassinated two years ago and now her brother was killed. This is the stressed matter at hand, her empire could crumble to the ground, all that hard work put into the grave because she’s being so fucking stubborn with this deal.

  “I will not sign my family, nor any of my shares, to Stark Industries. Enough have I done to keep you out of the hands of law enforcement. I will handle Rumlow myself.”

  This isn’t how any of you hoped this would go. The grief has made her stronger than before. It wasn’t exactly you were waiting for the chance for her to have a weak spot and try your luck, but you all had thought she might even be at least a little desperate for extra help. 

  Natasha’s face says it all: I told you so. You can only roll your eyes and resume with what you’re doing. Refilling your empty glass with more liquor. You’ve yet to scratch the surface of being tipsy. 

  “Miss Maximoff, we only wish to help you. All we ask in return is that you grant us some territory to work with for our trade deals as payment, for support lent to you to catch Rumlow.” Steve is calm in his approach to reason with her, but if anything, her raised hand indicates her refusal, unswayed by the honey of his words. Your tongue rolls the rounds of your mouth, each time measured by your impatience as you slowly circle around the dealings table, unable to find yourself comfortable against the stiffened wood of your seat. 

  “You do realise that you’re asking for more than your so-called ‘support’ is actually worth.” You blink several times, the blow of it a downright attack on their egos. 

  “No, I want something more.”

  “And I want alcohol to affect me so I can sleep well at night,” you mutter to the glassy rim against your bottom lip. Wanda’s eyes flicker to you, bearing down a sinister glare. “Excuse me?”

  “And we were just about to suggest that very thing!” Tony interjects with a grin, eager to utilise his card, his Ace Wolf as he liked to call you. He gestures to where you stand now at the table’s other end.

  She directs her eyes to look you up and down slowly, gaze polished with keen observation. She hums thoughtfully before she looks to Natasha. 

  “E atât de bună?”

  The red haired chuckles and sitting back in her chair, chest heaving with a breathy sigh, she nods. 

  “Exceptional de bun. Cu o limbă ca asta…”

  Bucky shifts in his seat, a hollow whistle on his lips over the exchange of heated words, and you flash a grin at both women. The words of foreign tongue, however, pass over the heads of the other men, their eyes looking to either you or Bucky only to be answered with a shrug, but knowing that look in your eyes, they can take a good guess as to what’s being discussed. 

  With another passing frame of time, both women pull away from their engrossed conversation. “I’ve been made aware that you intend to bargain your wolf to me,” she says, once again letting her sight fall on you. 

  “And if that is the case, and what I have been told…” She trails off momentarily, finding to correct herself in the midst of something you can smell very clearly on her - or rather between her legs. “Then I’ll accept.”

  Each man present in the room is given pause to revel in the stun before them. Wanda Maximoff, the heiress of Europe’s biggest family, accepts their deal. All at the price of you. 

“You’ll have your answer by tomorrow, Mr Stark,” Wanda says, standing from her chair, she beckons you to follow with a kink of her fingers. One by one and following in unison, their eyes turn to you as you shuffle back on your heel with shrug your shoulders and fanged grin.

  “Animal magnetism, boys.”

  Wanda’s heels bound a steady beat as she wanders over to the foot of her bed, making an elegant show of swaying her hips and drawing your attention to her form. From behind, Natasha slips the dark suit jacket from your shoulders. Tosing it aside, her hands play the form of an enchanting guide, ushering you forward while tracing the hidden curves of your muscles. 

  “As per courtesy, Miss Maximoff wants the first claim.” 

  You huff in reply, “And you?”

  Natasha hums softly and plucks your belt loose from your trousers. “I have you two, I won’t go unsatisfied tonight.”

  Tilting your head to view Wanda who stands idle, fingers playing with the lining of her dress above her breasts, you stalk towards her, her back arching under your touch with a breathless whimper, you trail the zip of her gown down slowly. Falling around her ankles as a fabricated halo, she turns suddenly and your lips collide together in hunger.

  She sinks down to the bed, laying back until her hair fans around her, spreading her legs apart. That feverish hunger boils within your blood, running it hold and thick, the fur beneath your skin bristled in your excitement as you take care to roll the sleeves of your skirt to your elbows. To your knees, you’re brought to the sight of her soaked underwear, the dark patch evidently giving away just how badly she required you between her quivering thighs. Natasha’s hands rake through the length of your hair and scratches at your scalp, earning a low purr of pleasure to rumble in your chest. 

You lean forward and all it takes is a single inhale and you’re let loose of your chain of control, claws shearing the fabric that dares to confine her awaiting cunt any longer. She gasps upon contact, your lips smothering her moistened, slick lips and she gives a deep-noted moan, arching her hips up, your hands wrap around her thighs to drag her to you more. 

 She tastes like the fine wines of heaven, a forbidden savour on the tongue that which you greedily lap, your eyes close as you succumb to the wolf’s hunger, tongue lapping heavily at her clit.

  She whines and cries, breath hot and light in her lungs as her nails rip into the sheets to no damaging avail.  Natasha hovers above, watching on in her own longing and desire. She dips a hand beneath the hem of her dress, aside she pushes her own soaked panties and delicately dances her fingers over the sensitive bulb with a keening breath you hear catch in her throat. 

  Natasha leans down low until the scape of her breasts brushes against your shoulder blade, lips a tantalising thing and moving sinfully to mouth, “I’m touching myself to you.”

  “Watching you please her is making me so wet, Wolf.”

  “Make us both cum.”

  You growl deeply and Wanda’s body visibly shudders in response to the wild vibrations that course through her abdomen, shaking her whole and off centre, her hips begin to jerk as she nears her climax. Both women mingle in their euphoria and your own core comes to life, sparked by the noises they make in unison, an orchestra of pleasure. Suckling and licking at her core, she cries out and the lips of her pussy shrink around absence and she sighs in bliss. In tandem, Natasha moans loudly from behind and you feel her body press against you as her hand works hard as fucking her fingers into her cunt, the sound of slick and skin melding together addicting.

  “You weren’t… kidding, Nat,” she says between laboured breaths. 

  Slowing your advances, you finally pull away with a sigh, her juices glistening on your lips. Wanda looks at you and her cheeks flush at the sight before Natasha’s other hand forces your attention to her. Her lips connect with yours and her tongue darts over the bottom of yours, tasting Wanda with a delicious sound that you swallow. 

  After she pulls from you, she then shares a look with Wanda and the two of them grin. “Shall we reward her?” 

  “I think she’s been a good girl.”

  Oh, how the wolf loves that. Praise for a job well done you can hardly suppress your proud smirk. Buu before you can do much else, Natasha pushes you and your knees are knocked out from beneath you, Wanda having rolled to the side only to follow Natasha’s lead as they both halfway straddle you, otherwise keeping you pinned to the mattress below. 

  Together they peel away your dress pants, giggling and muttering to one another in that alluring tongue, your mind in a haze to catch barely a sentence shared between them but you gained awareness of what they intended when they each stroked their tongues over your stimulated pearl. 

  “‘Sh–shit!” you hiss sharply and your hips buck, the two women giggling at the sight of you writhing. 

  They give no further warning as they duck down. Their mouths work together against your clit, suckling it to draw pathetic whines from that deep part inside you dare not let anyone see, their voices trespass the air with betraying praises that speak only of teases and their tongues lap at the slick of your pussy that clenches at the attention. Your hands grapple the sheets and tear hard, the damage unnoted and not cared for. 

  “Girls– fuck!” you groan at the rise in your core, oh so ready to reach that climactic end that you have been denied for the past several weeks. It’s not too long that your first release has you whining, the nois a higher pitched sound that does slowly in broken notes as you cum, the girls moaning and allowing their lips to graze one another as they lapped and sucked you. 

  Wanda is the first to make eye contact and move towards you, her leg swoops over to fully straddle your stomach, in her hands is your belt. She rips the centre of your shirt apart, buttons flying to discarded corners of the room to be mere pebbles of disregard.

  You see the way her eyes drink in the sight of your toned muscles, the pinky tip of her tongue darting over her wet lips. 

  She adores the way you tilt your head to the side, a curious whine on your lips. “I’ve always wanted something on a leash. May I?”

  You don’t particularly care for the way her question hits a mark submerged deeper into your heart, reaching for something you denied was there. Dignity. Usually people just took from you and you came to accept that. Expect it. 

  You nod up at her and she fixes the belt around the column of your neck, the leather cool against the blazing heat of your skin, but something inside you flutters. Quickly, you push it down. 

  Natasha moves into the same position behind Wanda, your larger size very much able to accommodate both of them, Natasha trails light kisses along Wanda’s shoulder as she fastens the belt and gives an experimental tug. A soft grunt hitches in your throat in retort and you flash her a grin, the sharpened points of your fangs perched against your bottom lip. 

  “The wolf never let me tame her, Miss Maximoff.”

  “Oh, she just needed some reassurance,” Wanda replies gently with a smile. For a moment, you wanted to believe her words were sincere. Your hands run along Wanda’s thighs until they reach her hips and with a roll forward, she grinds her pussy against your torso, feeling the defined muscles press and tense against her, bringing her to moan under her breath. Natasha drapes a hand over your own to roll and pinch Wanda’s swollen clit, her eyes finding yours.

  “Watch her,” she commands breathlessly and you do so, amber glows in fluorescent pulses as Wanda biomes slick with her arousal. The fine artistry of their bodies moving together as they roll and grind against you, you cannot help but reach a hand up, claw catching the thin silk of Wanda’s bra and severing the contraption into two, letting it fall and reveal her plump breasts; her nipples erect. 

  Wanda circles an arm behind her and behind Natasha’s head, her back arching to the pleasure she becomes lost in, and you purely enjoy the show above, admiring the glow of sweat collecting on their skin, groaning as their slick covers your stomach as they ride you. The hand working Wanda’s clit speeds up and then slows, teasing the heiress, she gives you a sly grin. 

  “Do that thing with the claws,” she says and Wanda’s eyes open, as if awakening from her bliss and becoming enlightened with wonderment. 

  “W-what thing?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  You sit by the bed, elbow propped up on the chair’s arm with a glass in your grasp, imagination lost in the reverie of last night’s events with a smirk carved into your mouth. Both women lay wrapped together, bodies nude and pressed up to each other as they continue to sleep. You surely tired them out. 

  Thankfully and mostly dressed when Tony came wandering in, the band of his fellow brothers staying just beyond the room’s threshold, though it still didn’t make to hide the snarl creeping up your throat as the sudden intrusion. You take a sip of your drink as Tony scans the room, gaze flickering between the two women and you who bares an illuminated glare at him.

  “What the hell happened last night?”

  “We got her affirmative answer on the deal,” you answer with a raise of your glass in cheers before downing the last of your drink.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Long overdue, finally knocking this one out before it gets retired to permanent draft status ughhhh... *proceeds to fall face first in tired raccoon*

on this issue's taglist, we've got: @alexawynters @alyciaddict @simpforlizzie @literaturedog @maladaptive-daydreamz @mathxa @blackbirdv98

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Canada shouldn’t retaliate with its US tariffs

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by Wil Wheaton.

Five years ago, Trump touted his "big, beautiful" replacement for NAFTA, the "free trade agreement" between the US, Mexico and Canada. Trump's NAFTA-2 was called the USMCA (US-Mexico-Canada Agreement) and it was pretty similar to NAFTA, to be honest.

That tells you a couple things: first, NAFTA was, broadly speaking a good thing for Trump and the ultra-wealthy donors who backed him (and got far richer as a result). That's why he kept it intact. NAFTA and USMCA are, at root, a way to make rich people richer by making poorer people poorer. Trump's base hated NAFTA because they (correctly) believed that it was being used to erode wages by chasing cheaper labor and more lax environmental controls in other countries. Neither NAFTA nor USMCA have any stipulations requiring exported goods to be manufactured by unionized workers, or in factories with robust environmental and workplace safety rules.

The point of NAFTA/USMCA is to goose profits by despoiling the environment, maiming workers, stealing their wages, paying them less, all while poisoning the Earth. Trump's "new" NAFTA was just the old NAFTA with some largely cosmetic changes so that Trump's base could be (temporarily) fooled into thinking Trump was righting the historic wrong of NAFTA.

However, there was one part of USMCA that marked a huge departure from NAFTA: the "IP" chapter. USCMA bound Canada and Mexico to implementing brutal new IP laws. For example, Mexico was forced to pass an anti-circumvention law that makes it a crime to tamper with "digital locks." This means that Mexican mechanics can't bypass the locks US car companies use to lock-out third party repair. Mexican farmers can't fix their own tractors. And, of course, Mexican software developers can't make alternative app stores for games consoles and mobile devices – they must sell their software through US Big Tech companies that take 30% of every sale:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/09/free-sample/#que-viva

Shamefully, Canada had already capitulated to most of these demands. Two Canadian Conservative Party politicians, Tony Clement and James Moore, had sold the country out in 2012, throwing away 6,138 negative responses to a consultation on a new DRM law (on the grounds that they were "babyish" views of "radical extremists"), siding instead with the 54 cranks and industry shills who supported their proposal:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/15/radical-extremists/#sex-pest

When Canadian politicians are pressed on why these anti-interoperability policies are good for Canada, they'll say that it's a condition of free trade, and the benefits of being able to export Canadian goods to the US without tariffs outweigh the costs of having to pay rents to American companies for consumables (like car parts or printer ink), repair, and software sales.

Sure, when Canadian software authors sell iPhone apps to Canadian customers, the payments take a round trip through Cupertino, California and return 30% short. But Canadian consumers get to buy iPhones without paying tariffs on them, and the oil, timber, and minerals we rip out of the ground can be sent to America without tariffs, either (oh, also, a few things that are still manufactured in Canada can do this, too).

Enter Trump, carrying a 25% tariff on all Canadian goods, which he has vowed to impose on his first day in office. Obviously, this demands a policy response. What should Canada do when Trump tears up his "big, beautiful" trade deal and whacks Canadian exporters? One obvious response is to impose a 25% retaliatory tariff on American exporters:

https://mishtalk.com/economics/canada-says-it-will-match-us-tariffs-if-trump-launches-trade-war/

After all, Canada and the US are one another's mutual largest trading partners. American businesses rely on selling things to Canadians, so a massive tariff on US goods will certainly make some of Trump's business-lobby backers feel pain, and maybe they'll talk some sense into him.

I think this would be a huge mistake. The most potent political lesson of the past four years is that politicians who preside over rising prices – regardless of their role in causing them – will swiftly feel the wrath of their voters. The public is furious about inflation, whether it comes from transient covid supply chain shocks, Russia's invasion of Ukraine, or cartels using "inflation" as cover for illegal, collusive price-gouging.

Canadians are very reliant on American imports of finished goods. That's another legacy of NAFTA: it crashed Canada's manufacturing sector. Canadian manufacturing companies treated the US as a "nearshore" source of non-union labor and weak environmental and safety rules, and shipped Canadian union jobs to American scabs. Canada's economy is supposedly now all about "services" but what we really export is stuff we tear out of the Earth.

Countries that are organized around resource extraction don't need fancy social safety nets or an educational system capable of producing a high-tech workforce. All you need to extract resources is a hole in the ground surrounded by guns, which explains a lot about shifts to the Canadian political climate since the Mulroney years.

Since Canada is now substantially reorganized as an open-pit mine for American manufacturers, cutting off American imports would drive the prices of everyday good sky-high, and would be political suicide.

But there's another way.

Because, of course, Canada – like any other country – has the capacity to make all kinds of things, including high-tech things. Sure, it's unlikely that Canada will launch another Research in Motion with a Blackberry smart-phone that will put the iPhone and Android in the shade. The mobile duopoly has the market sewn up, and can use predatory pricing, refusal to deal, and other anticompetitive tactics to strangle any competitor in its cradle.

But you know what Canada could make? A Canadian App Store. That's a store that Canadian software authors could use to sell Canadian apps to Canadian customers, charging, say, the standard payment processing fee of 5% rather than Apple's 30%. Canada could make app stores for the Android, Playstation and Xbox, too.

There's no reason that a Canadian app store would have to confine itself to Canadian software authors, either. Canadian app stores could offer 5% commissions on sales to US and global software authors, and provide jailbreaking kits that allows device owners all around the world to install the Canadian app stores where software authors don't get ripped off by American Big Tech companies.

Canadian companies like Honeybee already make "front-ends" for John Deere tractors – these are the components that turn a tractor into a plow, or a thresher, or another piece of heavy agricultural equipment. Honeybee struggles constantly to get its products to interface with Deere tractors, because Deere uses digital locks to block its products:

https://honeybee.ca/

Canada could produce jailbreaking kits for John Deere tractors, too – not just for Honeybee. Every ag-tech company in the world would benefit from commercially available, professionally supported John Deere jailbreaking kits. So would farmers, because these kits would restore farmers' Right to Repair their own tractors:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/08/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors/

Speaking of repair: Canadian companies could jailbreak every make and model of every US automobile, and make independent, constantly updated diagnostic tools that every mechanic in the world could buy for hundreds of dollars, rather than paying the five-figure ransom that car makers charge for their own underpowered, junk versions of these tools.

Jailbreaking cars doesn't stop with repair, either. Cars like the Tesla are basically giant rent-extraction machines. If you want to use all the "features" your Tesla ships with – like access to the full charge on your battery – you have to pay tens of thousands of dollars in subscription fees over the life of the car, and when you sell your car, all that "downloadable content" is clawed back. No one will pay extra to buy your used Tesla just because you spent thousands on manufacturer upgrades, because they're all downgraded when you sign over the pink slip.

But Canadian companies could make jailbreaking kits for Teslas that unlock all the features in the car for a single low price – and again, they could sell these to every Tesla owner in the world.

Elon Musk doesn't invent anything, he just takes credit for other people's ideas, and that's as true of bad ideas as it is for good ones. Musk didn't invent the extractive Tesla rip-off: he stole it from inkjet printer companies like HP, who have used the fact that jailbreaking is illegal to turn printer ink into the most expensive fluid in the world, selling for more than $10,000/gallon.

Canadian companies could sell jailbreaking kits for inkjet printers that disconnect them from "subscription" services and disable the anti-features that check for and reject third party ink. People all over the world would buy these.

What's standing in the way of a Canadian industrial policy that focuses on raiding the sky-high margins of American monopolists with third-party add-ons, mods and jailbreaks?

Only the IP laws that Canada has agreed to in order to get tariff-free access to American markets. You know, the access that Trump has promised to end in less than a week's time?

Canada should tear up these laws – and not impose tariffs on American goods. That way, Canadians can still buy cheap American goods, and then they can save billions of dollars every year on the consumables, parts, software, and service for those goods.

This is hurting American big business where it hurts – in the ongoing rents it extracts from Canadians through IP laws like Bill C-11 (the law that bans jailbreaking). Canada could become a global high-tech export powerhouse, selling "complementary" goods that disenshittify all the worst practices of US tech monopolists, from car parts to insulin pumps.

It's the only kind of trade war that Canadian politicians can win against Americans: the kind where prices for Canadians don't go up because of tariffs; where the price of apps, repair, parts, and upgrades goes way down; and where a new, high-tech manufacturing sector pulls in vast sums from customers all over the world.

Canada can win this kind of war, even against a country as big and powerful as the USA. After all, we did it once before:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5CK3EDncjGI

Check out my Kickstarter to pre-order copies of my next novel, Picks and Shovels!

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

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/15/beauty-eh/#its-the-only-war-the-yankees-lost-except-for-vietnam-and-also-the-alamo-and-the-bay-of-ham

[77gigabytes]

Homesick {Sylus x Reader}

So... This one is a bit weird because it's technically x MC as well ( ‘◇’) because Y/N and MC are separate people. Anyway, just have a read lol. I hope you enjoy it either way ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

And my fault for not properly reading the World Underneath stories, but I just found out that the twins were experiments and tried to assassinate Sylus ≧◡≦

-Seven

|| Masterlist ||

Was there really any point anymore?

"You don't understand, Y/N."

You loved Sylus you really did.

"MC... She makes me feel human."

But apparently, that couldn't compare to MC.

When he told you that MC had been his lover in his past life, and every other life, you didn't believe him.

"Sylus, surely, you can come up with a better excuse than that?" Was your first response after just having bared your feelings to him.

In such a vulnerable moment, surely, he wouldn't be so cruel as to play with your feelings like this, right?

"I appreciate the creativity, I do," you cradle your temples in one hand, "But all you had to say was that you don't like me back."

You really don't know what compelled you to confess in the first place.

You had been so content just being with Sylus, Mephisto and the twins - your little family.

It didn't feel like that at first.

After all, you were taught never to trust anyone in the N109 zone, but they picked you up off the street half dead and patched you back up.

And from then on, you never left.

So why did you have to confess...Now of all times?

Maybe it was some sort of possessiveness.

The more MC got closer to Sylus, to Mephisto, the twins... the more you felt like a tiger whose territory was being encroached upon.

She had your hackles raised and everything, and eventually, she pushed you into a corner with no escape other than to get devoured.

She walked straight past you and got so close in such a short time.

What made her so different? Because she was his lover in a past life?

Maybe you didn't understand after all

"Must you love her in this life as well?" You mumbled the words, but of course, Sylus heard them

He looked at you like you grew another head, like the idea of anything else was unfathomable.

You simply clicked your tongue and walked away.

Pursing such futility is madness.

❖· ────── · ·

Now at Onychinus' base, you realise just how much you've made this place your home.

As you're walking around the base, you pick up your throw blanket with little crows from the sofa; then the custom controller the twins got you from the games room. You've tucked your spare windbreaker from the coatroom over your arm. And in your drawer, you spot a piece of card paper - Sylus' birthday card.

One that you never gave him… because MC did it first. After all, she was the one who found out Sylus' actual birthday.

Although… You were more than content to celebrate it every day of April with the twins, but…

Anyway, you run your hand over the texture of the paper and tuck it back into the drawer.

You can leave this one behind. Maybe it'll reach it's rightful owner someday.

But… now, you've also realised just how much she's made this her home as well.

A mess of Pile It Up blocks here; a can of cat food for the stray cats there.

You shake your head and do one final walk around the base.

You come to a stop in front of Sylus' room.

With a deep sigh, you quickly place your belongings on a nearby table and open the door.

Just one more time… you say to yourself

Your eyes flit around the dark room. All black and red decor except… Colourful stuffies and meow badges lining his shelves.

You clench your hands and let out a shaky breath. You rush to leave the room pulling the door closed with a soft click.

Just as you're gathering your things, you hear voices from the hallway.

Your hand immediately goes to the holster on your waist.

"I told you so! The bossman was with miss hunter! Mephisto was there too, we didn’t need to worry."

Your body goes lax. It's just the twins.

"Oh hey! Y/N's here, Kieran."

Kieran comes from behind Luke after having locked the door, and you muster up the best smile you can.

"Hey." It comes out weaker than you'd like. Almost a whisper.

You clear your throat. They've got the worst timing, you think

"What's all this, sis?" Luke rhymes.

Kieran lets out a soft chuckle, "Yeah, you movin' out or something?"

You smile a little, just to ward away the tears that are building up in your eyes, "Yeah, I can't have all my stuff lying around." You lift your arms and motion to all your things, "The big boss scolded me last time, remember? Something about not leaving a trace, right?" You pretend to think and act like you hadn’t learnt your lesson, "Or was it just to keep the base tidy? Oh well."

Luke brings a hand up to his face and pretends to look around the place, "Hmm? I don’t know what you're talking about. I don’t see anything here. It’s squeaky clean."

You laugh and take a few steps to nudge him with your shoulder and he grins.

"Anyway, I can't stay for long," You say, "I just came to fetch these."

Their shoulders droop a little, "Aww."

You place your things back onto the table and open your arms to the boys.

Kieran comes first, "We just got here and you’re leaving already?”

“Yeah,” You say and squeeze your arms around him tighter, “I’m gonna go home.” You release him and move to Luke.

“But you are home,” Luke’s voice is muffled in your shoulder.

“My real home, dummy.” You release him and turn to your things, “I’m gonna sleep in my own bed for once, without having to hear the both of you yelling at video games.” You tease.

“You can’t even stay for a round of Interstellar Warfare? We want the spaceship upgrades to beat Boss.”

You shake your head as you gather your things, “Not even for a round, Luke, I’m sorry.”

When you turn around, they’re quiet… brooding little chicks; your little brothers.

“Oh,” You sigh and free up one of your arms, “I know, I know,” You coo, “Being away from your family - your big sister - will be too much.” you tease as you reach under Luke’s mask to pinch at his cheek.

He turns away with a “Tch.”

“We saw each other yesterday, and the day before! Why are you two pouting like this, hmm?” You ask

Maybe they felt that something was wrong. That something was changing. Maybe their hearts knew that they weren’t going to see you again after today.

But you’ve already made up your mind.

“Ok, I have to go.” You pat Kieran’s cheek over the mask, “Stay safe.”

You turn back to Luke, “And you,” you point to him, “Don’t cause too much trouble.” you pat his cheek too.

They just give you an exasperated sigh, but you can almost see their smiles behind the mask, “Of course, little boss.” They say in unison.

“Oh yeah, tell the big boss that I took that M-38 from the armoury, actually, wait, maybe don’t. He might get mad.” You wink and stick your tongue out.

They make a zipping motion above their mouths and you smile.

You walk towards the front door and they follow behind you like lost puppies. You never would have thought that they ever attempted to assassinate Sylus. It makes you chuckle at how close they’ve gotten.

As you exit, you turn around to say “Make sure you feed Mephisto all those nuts and bolts that mess up his gears!”

They smirk from the front door.

“I love you both!” You plop your things into the back seat and stick your head out, “Good bye…” you give them a soft wave and their smirks drop.

You just duck into your car and drive away.

Being away from your family really may be too much.

❖· ────── · ·

After that day, you took every effort to change your name, your appearance…everything. Not a single trace of who you were before.

I guess that’s one thing that you’ve learnt from Sylus.

You used to help track people down with him, having learnt and even executed each and every one of his methods yourself. So, fortunately, making a counter to them was easy.

Now days, you were living a quiet life tucked away in the country side with a big plot of land, a few animals and a garden.

But still, your heart wasn’t there.

Even with your new lover, something was missing.

…

Today, you’ve gone to visit the markets by the beach with your lover.

You’ve wandered off to look at the stalls while he stayed in line to order some food.

You didn’t have to worry about leaving him by himself. For once you were glad that you don’t have to constantly look over your shoulder.

You’ve done well to take that target off your back.

In the midst of it all, you’ve somehow wandered all the way to the seaside.

With the waves lapping at the shore; the sun high in the sky and the gulls calling from above.

It was a rare sight back in the N109 zone; Something as beautiful and serene as this.

But you’re glad… As much as you miss it, you’re glad.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, salty air meeting your senses.

You hear footfalls behind you…your lover, you think.

Although a little heavier than usual… must be the sand.

“You’re a hard one to find, kitten.”

Chills.

All the way down your spine.

Your body whips around - all the years of training still very much engrained in your body.

“How…”

Your eyes are wide as Sylus stands in front of you.

Your breath hitches in your throat and your heart’s racing out of your ribs.

Nonchalantly, he swipes a finger across his lips, “Well, You happened to keep all your pin codes and passwords with some variety of 0418 or 1804 - My birthday.”

You swallow thickly. Is this what it’s like to be on the other end of Sylus’ wrath?

But he’s right, most of your passwords were some variety of his birthday. Some stubborn part of you not wanting to let go of your past and now it’s come back to bite you.

But you didn’t want to forget him. Never.

“And,” he continues, “You also sold that M-38…” He takes a step towards you, “The only one in the world.”

You curse in your head and take a step back to keep your distance. Careless.

“I’ll have to give it to you, it still took me longer than I would have like to find you.” He hand reaches for your wrist, “Why did you do it?”

Snapping back to reality at his touch, you push him away, “It doesn’t matter.” You shake your head, “Go back to Linkon or Onichynus - wherever you’re staying these days.”

“The twins miss you.”

You freeze at his words.

You’re so selfish.

“Mephisto won’t stop plucking out his feathers.”

Hurting your family like this.

“Stop.” You mumble.

To Sylus or to yourself, you don’t quite know.

From a distance, you hear your fake name being called by your lover.

It pulls you out of your daze and you turn to his voice to rid your mind of Sylus.

Sylus doesn’t miss the way your eyes soften when they reach the man across the beach.

“Who might that be, sweetie?”

You turn back to him with a cold hard glare, “Like. I . Said.” You enunciate every word, “It doesn’t matter.” You push at Sylus’ arm, “Go back.”

“No, no.” Sylus chuckles,” I would like to meet him. Is this the man you’re working for now?”

“Sylus.” You bite out a warning.

He meets your hard gaze but then smirks smugly and begins to walk towards your lover.

“Sylus!” You call out, trying and failing to catch his arm.

His strides are much bigger than yours.

“Sylus! Stop!” You just barely catch the back of his coat and tug at it.

“I insist. He must be a impressive man for you to have left Onichynus.”

You rush to get in front of him, “Sylus, stop! Please!” your voice breaks as you hold your hands out to block him. “Please, just stop.”

Sylus falters as he sees your eyes glisten with tears. He merely looks at you and you take the opportunity to speak.

“I cut myself off from you… and the twins. From Onichynus for a reason.” Your chest heaves as you speak, “It was the hardest decision I’ve ever made in my life - To leave my family - my heart -behind.” The wind bites at your wet cheeks but you continue, “So please. Please, just let me live peacefully.”

Sylus is wide-eyed at your confession and at your tear-streaked face. Almost as much as he was when you confessed your feelings to him.

Your lover calls your name once more and he’s jogging towards the two of you after seeing the altercation from a distance.

You take quick steps away from Sylus, leaving him frozen in his spot.

It takes all of your willpower not to look back at Sylus. You have to remind yourself that you’re looking ahead. To your future in front of you. You can’t go back no matter how much your heart yearns to.

Your lover meets you halfway and wraps an arm around your shoulders, “Are you okay, pumpkin?”

You nod despite the tears and wrap your arm around his waist, “Yeah… Yeah, I will be.”

“Who was that?” He asks taking a quick glance back at Sylus.

“I don’t know.”

"He seems to know you.”

“I don’t know him anymore.”

“Okay, okay.” He yields,” Let’s get you home, darling.”

So... How are we feeling? \ (•◡•) /

Let me know what you thought about it, I've never really written one where MC and reader and separate people, but I like the overall idea so I thought I may as well write it haha ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

-Seven

|| Masterlist ||

[cercess]

Beneath New Skies - Chapter III

Death's Door

𖤓 Tags: Depictions of violence, mentions of death, depictions of injury, depictions of blood, angst 𖤓 Rating: Explicit 𖤓 Word Count: 3.3k 𖤓 Notes: hey all! Sorry or the time it took to get this out, I really struggled writing some parts. I want to add a trigger warning for this chapter: it depicts scenes of the city being attacked, as well as descriptions of a wound on a character's arm. If these make you uncomfortable in any way, please skip this chapter. When I upload chapter four, I will include a summary so you don't miss any critical information moving forward. I'm hoping to get chapter four out either tonight or tomorrow, because I know this one took me a long time. This chapter isn't my favourite writing-wise, but it was important for events that will come later. Please excuse any clunky parts, as this is not the type of story I typically tell; I'm much more of a slice of life/romance author. Thank you all for your continued support, and I hope you enjoy the chapter! 𖤓 Previous Chapter / Next Chapter 𖤓 Read on AO3

The day started like any other, with you working the counter at the apothecary. Kyros, the restaurant owner, was browsing the wall of dried herbs, while your father helped Akmonides with some ailment in the back room. 

“What do you think they’re talking about in there?” Kyros asked as he smelled a vial of crushed ginger.

“Is gossiping about the gossip-monger really a good idea? He’ll find out eventually.”

Kyros laughed, as he added the ginger to his basket, “not unless you say anything.”

“That depends on how much coin he offers.” 

It was just a cough. You knew because your father had grabbed eucalyptus on his way back. In your business, the answers to people’s suspicions were often much more boring than what they’d imagined. One day, you planned on taking over your father’s position and treating patients yourself. But, seeing as the man was still as spry as ever, there was still time before that happened. Sometimes he’d test you pool by simply stating the ailment. It was then your job to figure out what ingredients needed to be used. After doing it your whole life, mixing the proper tonics and ointments came as naturally as breathing. Peppermint for colds, feverfew for fevers, valerian for insomnia, ginger for mild pain, and poppies for severe pain. Those were the common afflictions you saw, but every once in a while, there would be a curveball, and you’d have to consult your journal. 

“These are pretty,” Kyros held up a blue flower, “maybe I could use those as a garnish.

“Those are flaxseed flowers, and we use them as laxatives. Probably not something you want your customers eating.” You grin as you fiddle with the necklace Phainon had given you.

He would have found that funny. 

It had been a few days since he’d left for the ruins of Janusopolis, and you’d spent most of your time yearning for his return. It was almost sickening how much you longed for him; like a lovesick teenager who had to be glued to their partner’s side at all times. 

The door behind you opened, and out walked Akmonides and your father. The former held a vial of what you assumed to be a tonic for his cold. The other telltale sign of his affliction was his nose, which had been rubbed raw from wiping mucus away.

“Could you run to Demetria’s?” Your father asked, placing a hand on your shoulder as he slipped behind the counter. “We need oranges.” 

You nodded and hopped off your stool, taking the opportunity to emphatically stretch your arms and legs. He sometimes sent you on errands throughout the day, knowing that you appreciated a break from the mundanity. 

As overwhelming as Marmoreal Market could be, you could never shake your love for it. You had lived your whole life with the bustling stalls right at your doorstep. The sound of customers haggling echoed in the back of nearly all your childhood memories. 

The walk to Demetria’s was short, and when you arrived, the grocer was quick to welcome you with a hug. 

“Have you grown since I last saw you?” She asked. 

“Maybe,” you say brightly, knowing full well you stopped growing years ago. 

When you placed the oranges in your basket, she took a long pause, before adding a bundle of grapes. “That doesn’t quite seem heavy enough, here. A treat from me.” 

“Thank you,” arguing with the old woman was futile. She was too kind for her own good. 

Before returning to the apothecary, you made a detour to find an old friend. She was usually easy to find, as she spent her days running along the streets. 

“Serena,” you called down a row of plant-adorned homes. It wasn’t long before she poked her head out from behind a pot. You waved, beckoning her closer. 

She scanned the street before running over to you with a smile on her face.

Gaining the girl’s trust had taken considerable effort. The first time you met her, she robbed you blind. After returning home from The Grove, you were unfamiliar with certain changes, namely the orphaned children that used the market as their hunting ground. When you told your father, he merely laughed; apparently everyone had fallen prey to her antics. At the time, you were angry, and spent two days searching for the thief. After clamouring over the rooftops, you eventually found her hideout on a balcony overlooking the market. Your anger immediately subsided when you saw her huddled in the corner, surrounded by empty boxes and various stolen mementos. A sudden appreciation for your stable childhood had blossomed since then, especially as more desperate children arrived from Castrum Kremnos.

Serena was from Icatus, and had no means of supporting herself. She insisted her parents would return, but the disillusionment of maturity told you otherwise. Since then, you made an effort to leave her food whenever you could. When you and your father had leftovers, you’d set them outside the shop for her, and in the morning there would be a flower on your windowsill. 

“Were you looking for me?” She asked, trying to get a better look at the gift you held behind your back. 

You laughed, and showed her the bundle of fresh grapes. “I thought you could use a treat on a hot day like this.” 

The little girl’s eyes widened with excitement, and she snatched the fruit from your grasp. She looked at the gift like it was a rare gem, “this is all for me?”

“Of course, I-”

An earth-shattering scream cut through the gentle moment like a knife. Instinctively, you pulled Serena behind you, her hand tightly grasping yours. “What was that?”

“Stay close, and don’t run ahead,” you instructed in a harsh whisper. 

Keeping your back against the wall, you carefully shuffled to the end of the building to peer down the main street. The lone scream had multiplied into an overwhelming rumble of panic. Ahead, people were fleeing a towering figure clad in blue and white. You’d learned of the Titankin through Phainon, but had never laid eyes on one. It’s marbled skin was exactly as he had described, and the golden dagger it brandished was far from an inviting image. 

“What’s happening?” Serena tugged at your arm. 

Primal fear overtook you when the Titankin turned its head in your direction, it’s stiff, inhuman movements only adding to your terror. Had it seen you? Was it coming your way?

“We need to run,” you pulled the girl further down the street, away from your possible assailant. 

“To where?” She asked shakily as she struggled to match your pace. 

You slowed down slightly, needing a moment to think. What you needed was to get to your father. For all you knew, he was alone in the shop. He was not a trained fighter; neither of you were. A feeling of hopelessness began to gnaw at your confidence as you realized the dire nature of the situation. 

“We need to get to my father,” your attempt to keep your voice steady failed. Getting to your father meant returning to one of the main roads on opposite ends of the street. The southern road was blocked by Titankin, and the other route would still be a gamble, especially with Serena in tow. Still, you refused to abandon the child. 

“We can get there from the roof!” Serena pointed to a set of stairs leading up to a nearby balcony. 

A low groan sounded from around the corner you had previously checked, and it became abundantly clear that you had to make a choice; risk finding more Titankin on the main road, or follow Serena’s plan. While you had about a hundred logistical questions about Serena’s route, you decided that a petty thief probably knew all the cutie’s secret passages better than you. 

“Up the stairs then, and don’t look back.” 

She nodded, and led you up the nearby building. From above, you could see the extent of the chaos. It turned out following Serena’s idea was for the best, as a particularly burly Titankin stood guard on the northern road. 

“What are those things?” The little girl was trembling, so you knelt down to meet her eye. 

“Those are Nikador’s Titankin. They are very dangerous, and want to hurt us. If one gets close, you run. Do you understand?” You hated how grave your voice sounded, knowing it would only make her more afraid. But fear no longer mattered; survival was your only priority. “Can you still get us to my father?”

To your surprise, she didn’t cry. Instead, Serena furrowed her brow and led you across a nearby canopy. You rushed after her, eager for your feet to once again stand on a solid building. 

“We can climb down here,” she gestured to the ledge below. 

You realized that she was pointing at the protrusion under your bedroom window. The route you had taken must have been how Serena left flowers for you. 

The girl scrambled down the side of the building, using the uneven stone as foot grips. Given you were larger than a child, the drop was a nonissue. You thanked yourself for leaving your window open, and slid inside your bedroom after Serena. 

“Let’s find my father,” you instructed as your anxiety became almost unbearable. You had no idea what you would find, and prayed that the worst case scenario had not yet occurred. 

The two of you crept down the stairs to the shop, the sound of your racing heartbeat thundering in your ears. Everything was painfully normal; the herbs neatly arranged, the phials on the alchemy bench perfectly in order. The only thing out of place was your father, who was nowhere to be found in the main area. 

Serena trailed you, her eyes widening as she took in the shop. If it were any other time, you might have felt a bit of pride at her reaction. Alas, posturing was hardly appropriate during an attack. 

“I need you to stay ducked behind the counter, I’m going to check the exam room.” 

She nodded and did as she was told, curling into a ball. You took a breath, and opened the door. Inside, your father sat at the desk, hunched over a book. 

“Father! What are you doing?” You asked, equal parts relieved and dumbfounded.

“I didn’t think it would take you so long to get back, I-“

“Do you not realize what’s happening? The city is under attack by Titankin.” 

He adjusted his glasses, “if this is some kind of joke, I do not find it funny.” 

Exasperation threatened to overtake you, but the urgency of the moment far outweighed your irritation. “No, it’s not a joke. We need to run now.” 

Your father rose from his chair, and followed you out into the shop where Serena remained under the counter. “You’ve found a child.” 

“Father, this is Serena. I was visiting her when the attack started. She got us here safely.” 

“Then I owe you my thanks.” He smiled warmly at the girl.

“Where do we go now?” 

Before your could respond, your father jumped in, “I suspect they've started evacuating the market. We need to get out while the guards still have a foothold. Otherwise, we’re trapped waiting for the Titankin to find us.” 

You were relieved to have the pressure of responsibility lifted from your shoulders. It was something your father always bore well, and you trusted his intelligence wholeheartedly. 

“Stay in between us,” he guided Serena to stand in the middle of himself and you. Then, your father addressed you, “did you notice where the Titan were gathering? 

“There's one on both the south and north road. We almost had a run in with the southern one.” You shuddered at the thought of that encounter going any other way. “It was farther up, though, so if we make a run for it then we may reach the guards quicker.”

“Good idea,” he nodded, “it’s also closer to the gates. Follow me.” 

The two of you trailed your father as he exited the shop. “Leave the door open. We don’t want to make any more noise than necessary.” 

He crept forward, checking around the corner as you had earlier. The angle of the building made it difficult to see the rest of the street, but you noticed him straining to see past the restaurant. 

“Now,” your father instructed, grabbing Serena’s hand. They took off down the street with you floating close behind.  

As you ran, you found yourself clutching your necklace, your grip so firm that it left star-shaped indents in your palm. If Phainon were here, you’d all be safe. If you can hear me, please come home. I need you. 

The sudden realization of your own mortality was frightening. You thought of everything you had left unsaid, to your father, and to Phainon. He’d never know just how proud of him you were; how lucky you felt to call him yours. All of the little things you were too afraid to say would die along with you.

Your thoughts were soon interrupted by your companions coming to a stop. By the time you slowed down, the cause for their interruption was clear. A Titankin, larger than the other two, blocked your way with its massive sword. 

Serena trembled behind your father, her shaky hand clenched around his pant leg. 

As for the man himself, he slowly raised a hand, “we mean you no harm! Just let us pass.” 

The Titankin’s growl seemed to encapsulate the area in cool air, freezing everyone in their place. At its feet were discarded weapons; a warning for any who wished to challenge its mighty authority. 

Your eye was drawn to a spear that laid a few feet away, its blade shining in the midday sun. It called to you like a weapon of legend, beckoning you to be the hero your father and Serena needed. 

If I die today, I will make him proud. 

You lunged for the spear, albeit not as gracefully as you would have hoped. Still, when you regained your footing, the spear sat in your hands, sharp blade pointed towards the looming Titankin. 

It shifted its attention to you, sword prepared to strike. 

“What are you-“

“Run!” You interrupted your father as the monster lifted its sword high in the air. 

You shut your eyes, bracing for the impact against your defensively positioned spear. The weight that bore down on you was unbearable. Upon impact, you were sent stumbling backwards, but your spear remained raised. 

The Titankin grunted, and shifted more of his weight to the sword. You could hear the wood of the spear splintering under the force, and you focused on moving out of the way of the opposing blade. 

Behind the beast, your father shouted your name. His desperate tone almost brought tears to your eyes. You wanted to tell him you loved him, but the Titankin had successfully broken through your spear, causing you to lose your balance. 

The weapon’s two halves stared up at you sadly, and you almost felt the need to apologize for reducing the beautifully crafted weapon into such a sorry-state. However, there was no time for that, as the Titankin had raised its sword once again. 

You scrambled backwards, holding your arms in front of your face. The pain that exploded through your left forearm as the blade cut through your skin was unbearable. A pained cry escaped you as your vision blurred. Had you been hit elsewhere? You dropped to the ground, cradling your injury close to your chest. 

“Don’t touch them!” Your father cried, before a loud thump echoed through the streets. You wanted to go to him, to see if he was alright, but your legs wouldn’t work. 

Instead, you squeezed your eyes shut and waited for the end to come. I love you father. I’m sorry I failed to protect you. I hope I made you proud Phainon. I’m sorry I never told you-

An awful sound, like nails on a chalkboard, overwhelmed your senses, but the impact never came. You blinked open your eyes to see a blade sticking out of the Titankin’s chest. It stumbled as that sound filled the air once again, and collapsed into a pile of dust. 

For a moment, the debris shrouded your saviour in mystery, but when they ran forward and took you in their arms, you knew your prayers had somehow been answered.

“What are you doing? Your arm, it’s…” Phainon’s voice trailed off as he observed the gash in your skin. You wanted to wrap your arms around his shoulders and never let go, but decided upon remembering your bleeding injury and his white coat. 

“Phainon?” His name fell pathetically from your lips as tears clouded your vision. Your whole body numbed, until the pain in your arm was nothing but a dull ache. 

“I’m here,” he cupped your face in his hands, “I should have gotten here sooner, I’m-“

“Ahem,” an unfamiliar voice chimed in, interrupting your tender moment. 

Behind Phainon stood a beautiful woman with golden eyes. She held some sort of stick in her hand, its shiny material covered in the same dust-like material the Titankin had been reduced to. Her short skirt and accessories were unlike anything you’d ever seen in Okhema.

“Are you going to introduce your friend?” She grinned down at you and Phainon, slugging her weapon over her shoulder. 

“Leave them alone, Stelle.” An equally exotically dressed man called as he helped your father to his feet. You noticed he had a small scar under his right eye, although it did nothing to detract from his handsome features.

“You’re no fun,” the woman huffed, nudging his shoulder.

You turned your attention back to Phainon, who was watching the duo with as much confusion as you. “Who are they?” 

Before Phainon can speak, the grey woman responded: “we’re visitors from beyond the sky, come to rescue you in your hour of need.” 

Once again, the man tried to real-in his companion. “You can’t tell everyone that,” he hissed, which was met with the woman—Stelle—rolling her eyes. 

“Is she being serious?” You asked Phainon, as he and your father hoisted you off the ground. 

“Yes… Kind of,” Phainon answered once your feet were securely on the ground. “They really are from beyond the sky. And they helped me get to you.” 

You and your father exchanged confused looks as he examined your arm. “It’s nothing major, but we need to get this stitched up.” His hand lingered on yours. 

“The path ahead is cleared, find the guards, and get yourselves to safety.” Phainon orders, having adopted his “hero” persona.

“What about you?” 

A mere touch momentarily shatters his mask. “I’ll come back to you, I promise. We need to clear out the rest of the city and get to Nikador.”

“Nikador is here?” Your father suddenly seemed uneasy. 

The man from beyond the sky ushered Serena to the exit, “leave the Titan to us, sir. Get your children to safety.” 

“You’re facing Nikador? Now?” Your voice wavered with emotion. 

“The Chrysos Heirs will defend the city from this threat,” Phainon’s words were rehearsed, his mask slipping back into place. 

“They’re right,” your father placed a calming hand on your back. “We need to get to safety. Let the Chrysos Heirs do the fighting.” 

Phainon patted your hand reassuringly, “we’ll be okay. I promise.” 

There was much more you wanted to say, but the pain in your arm had returned. Your head was starting to feel fuzzy, and from the trail you left behind while walking, it was clear you were losing too much blood. 

“Good luck,” you told Phainon as your father led you from the market. As you left, the city’s mortician passed, but said nothing. 

Death had come to Okhema, and all you could do was pray that Phainon remained on its good side. 

[meangirls-imagines]

Coachella Diaries

Description: Reader works for WWE and gets hurt during Wrestlemania, causing her to go on a months long break. She goes to Coachella Weekend 2 to support her girl.

WARNINGS: fluffy as shit, slightly suggestive at the end, reneechella (bc that's a warning itself)

Y/N stepped (as best as she could) off the plane and sighed at the California sun hitting her body. 

Her body was exhausted. Wrestlemania was the 6th and 7th, she performed both nights and unfortunately had torn a couple of ligaments in her foot. She worked through the pain and helped make Wrestlemania record breaking. She had gotten surgery on the 16th, which meant she unfortunately missed the first weekend of her girlfriend playing Coachella.

Reneè was also understandably upset, not at Y/N, but at the fact that her girlfriend had to get surgery and she couldn't be there. Luckily for Reneè, Y/N had her fellow superstars keep the blonde updated. The doctor had cleared Y/N for travel on the 18th and she landed in LAX on the morning of the 19th. 

Towa had been the one to help Y/N plan this out, picking her up from the airport. The musician smiled as Y/N hobbled towards her with her bag. "There's my favorite cripple! How's the foot?" Y/N smiled and hugged the girl. "It's definitely injured. I'll be out for a minute but honestly, I'm not mad, I need a break."

Towa laughed. "Ain't that the truth? If I have to hear Reneè freak out about every bump you take, I might've gone crazy." Y/N blushed. Reneè was always very protective of Y/N, not that her profession helped with that. The blonde loved and hated watching Y/N do her thing. Yes, Y/N looked hot but if Y/N had to take another spear from Roman Reigns or a stomp to the chest from Finn Balor, Reneè was going to commit murder. 

This new era of WWE meant the return of inter-gender wrestling, with Y/N leading the charge. She had become the inaugural WWE World Heavyweight Champion, holding it for 316 days. She had been a part of the two biggest main events of Wrestlemania history, which is where she tore the ligaments in her foot. Never the less, she persisted and opened the next night of Mania, unfortunately she lost her title but the ovation she got when she got backstage was worth it. 

She was thrilled to help Cody finish his story but also was happy that she could get a break. She saw the doctor who gave her the diagnosis and what doctor to see and she was on her way.

She had messaged Towa the night she found out and set the surprise up. 

As the two ventured out of the airport, they caught up with each other, Towa informing Y/N of her love life and what not. The two reached the SUV and began the drive from the airport to the AirBnB they were renting for the festival. During the two hour car ride, Y/N had told Towa about some backstage drama happening as the Brit ate it up.

After 2 and a half hours, they finally made it to the house. Adam had been standing outside, waiting for them as they pulled up. The man helped Y/N out of the car and gave her a hug. "There's my favorite former champ! Congrats on the run. It was a rollercoaster." Y/N smiled and hugged the man back. "Thanks Adam! It was definitely a rollercoaster! A fun one though! So, where is my girl?"

Adam laughed. "She's out in the back with everyone else, they're pregaming before we go. Are you sure you can handle going out?" Y/N nodded. "I slept on the plane ride here. Perks of using the company jet." Adam nodded as Towa met up with them, handing Y/N her bag. The trio headed inside. 

Adam and Towa headed to the back to distract everyone while Y/N slipped into the room Reneè was staying in. She took in a deep breath, breathing in the scent of Reneè. God, she missed it so much. She changed quickly, putting on the custom "Reneèchella made me gay" shirt and some shorts before getting the message from Towa to make her appearance. 

She grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed out to the backyard. The group all did a "cheers" before taking the shots provided for them. Y/N decided to speak up. "Do I get a shot too?" 

Everyone turned towards the new voice but no one turned quicker than Reneè. The blonde stood shocked at the sight of her girlfriend, boot and all, standing in front of her. "Holy fuck! Reneè ran to where Y/N was standing and hugged the girl tightly. Y/N laughed and kissed the blonde's head. "Hey superstar. I've missed you." Everyone was aww-ing at the scene, some clapping. 

Reneè pulled away from the hug and pressed her lips to Y/N's, kissing her for the first time in weeks. The group cheered as the two kissed, causing Reneè to slip them off. After a minute, the two pulled away and Reneè began to scratch the back of Y/N's neck. "You're really here!" Y/N smiled and kissed her nose. "I am. Now I think it's time to have some fun." Reneè smiled and pulled Y/N over to her friends. 

The group was watching Chappell Roan absolutely kill it when fans began to notice the couple being all cute.

@y/nisthechamp: GUYS! I'M AT COACHELLA WATCHING THE QUEEN CHAPPELL ROAN AND RENEÈ AND Y/N ARE LITERALLY 10 FEET AWAY FROM ME AND THEY ARE SO CUTE!! Y/N IS HUGGING RENEÈ FROM BEHIND AND THEY ARE SINGING AND DANCING!!

@/reneerappslut23: guys. i just saw a video of reneè and y/n all cozy at coachella and my heart 🥺

@y/nfan123: just saw a video of reneè grinding on y/n while they were watching t-pain. don't know who i wanna be more...

@/reneefan253: guys. reneè cannot keep her hands off y/n. she's always rubbing her back or the back of her head or her shoulder. WHEN WILL IT BE MY TURN?!

The group made their way back to the house, all breaking off to their respective rooms, sleepily exchanging good nights. Reneè and Y/N made their way to Reneè's room. The two flopped on the bed, Reneè snuggling into Y/N's side. "I'm so glad you're here. I can't wait for you to see me perform." Y/N kissed the blonde's forehead. "Me too baby."

The next day was a lot of the same, more musicians sets, more drinking, etc. Sunday came a lot faster than Y/N expected and she found herself sitting in Reneè's trailer with her, the girl getting ready for her set. Reneè was looking on her phone as her hairstylist finished up her look. Y/N decided to take a stealthy picture and post it on her insta with the caption "coachella ready", tagging Reneè. 

Comments started flooding in immediately. One that stood out to Y/N was from her not older sister Liv Morgan.

@/yaonlylivvonce: We are so excited to see her!! Drinks after?

Y/N smiled and responded to the girl. Adam poked his head in and informed Reneè she had five minutes. The blonde thanked him, took a deep breath and pulled Y/N with her to the wings of the stage. To Y/N and Reneè's surprise, Alyah was waiting for them. Reneè squealed, wrapping Alyah in a tight hug. Y/N smiled at the pair and took a picture of them hugging. Alyah pulled away and hugged Y/N too, scolding her about her injury and how she should've been more careful. 

Reneè saved Y/N by pulling her away from Alyah, wrapping her arms around Y/N's waist and burying her face in her neck. Y/N rubbed the blonde's back. "You're gonna do amazing out there Reneè. Please remember to drink water though. Don't need you passing out on stage." Reneè chuckled as she heard her intro being played. 

"Well, I guess that's me." Reneè pulled her head out of Y/N's neck, leaning up for a kiss. "I love you." Y/N smiled and pecked Reneè's lips. "I love you more. Now go kill it." And with a playful smack on the butt, Reneè went out on stage.

"Tasted the blood in my mouth, and left you there to bleed out.."

Y/N being there must have flipped a switch in Reneè because the girl was putting on a SHOW. Y/N had to keep herself from drooling watching her girlfriend do what she loved. Y/N's fav part do far had to be the Willow ass shake. For scientific reasons, of course. Y/N saw Towa getting her in-ears put in and grabbing her guitar. "Go kill it out there, Birdie." Towa winked playfully at Y/N and went out on her cue from the blonde. 

The two were soon joined by Coco Jones as they performed "Tummy Hurts". Y/N smiled at hoe happy her girl looked. Watching Reneè perform was Y/N's favorite thing to do. She loved how confident Reneè was on stage and how carefree she looked. 

After a beautiful rendition of "Snow Angel", Reneè gave her thanks to the crowd and jogged off stage. One of the crew guys poured a little bit of water on the back of Renee's neck, to cool her off, as the girl walked straight into Y/N's open arms, almost collapsing in the embrace.

"Fuck Reneè, I'm so fucking proud of you, superstar." Reneè blushed and hid her face in Y/N's neck. "I couldn't have done it without you here." Y/N laughed and kissed the blonde's temple. "You did it last weekend." Reneè pulled away from Y/N's neck and smiled at her. "Yeah, but it wasn't as fun." Y/N rolled her eyes and kissed Reneè, unaware of Towa taking a picture of them. 

Everyone praised Reneè and her performance before they walked back to the area where her trailer was. Alyah spoke up. "So, what's the plan now?" Reneè smirked and looked at Y/N. "Well, Y/N and I are going to go back to the house to...catch up and we'll meet you guys later?" Towa and Alyah shared a knowing look before nodding and going to watch another set. 

Y/N looked at Reneè confused. "Catch up?" The blonde nodded. "Mhhm. I'm planning on reclaiming my favorite seat..." Y/N caught on and blushed, allowing the blonde to pull her to the car waiting for them.

Yeah, Towa and Alyah would be fine on their own for a while...

[the-s1lly-corner]

hmm can we get a drabble with a teen reader and the main cast? specifically in ep 4 where they're doing fast food jobs, and the reader has a work history in retail (think craft store) (making a resume rn and im Stressed)

Gangle, Jax, Pomni x teen!reader during episode 4 (platonic)

UWUWUWUUWUa! good luck on the resume anon!! manifesting that all goes well! notes: reader is gn, platonic post, reader has worked in retail but not fast food, short post, jax isnt as mean here since it kinda just. looked like he was ready to leave that episode LMAO, written on mobile cws: none

GANGLE

Shes... slightly more lenient and lax with you than she is with the others.. don't get me wrong she's still going to be on your ass to keep working but that's because she's REALLY leaning into the manager role... but...

If you get overwhelmed the mask slips just a little- pun not intended- especially if it's later in the day

It's not.. exactly her job... but if you need a hand she'll lend one until it's time for your break

JAX

He just. Wants to get out of there so he's not... all that chatty during the shift... though, that's a nice shift to his usual antics- not that he targets anything heavy on you. You guys have more sibling like banter

As long as gangle is out of ear shot- because he does NOT want to get sent back and watch that damn tape again- he's going to be complaining about the work to you.. until he kind of... admits exhausted defeat

He's not even interested in causing any trouble with you- no throwing sauce packets.. no messing up orders.. none of that

POMNI

You make small talk between orders at the counter when there aren't any customers- it's kind of the only chance you guys get to talk without gangle getting onto you both over "slacking"

You're kind of left awkwardly standing when pomni darts off mid conversation to go talk to gummigoo- only to just... stand there...

You're not a *new* member, you were there before pomni so you know how to handle some of the odder NPCs but.. there are some that leave you looking to Pomni quietly for help... who is just as lost as you...

[out-there-tmblr]

Young zaundads wip (40)

***

Vander spends the day thinking about it, but he doesn't have any idea how topsiders came up with surnames. He's never needed one. He's mostly joking when he leans over in the mess hall that night and asks, "Silco, what about Zaun?"

Silco frowns in confusion, leaning into Vander like he must have misheard over the drunken chatter around them. "Did you say Zaun?"

Vander nods. He could raise his voice but he'd rather lean in close to Silco, foreheads brushing as they talk. "As a surname."

"It's as good as any," Silco allows, turning as Felicia returns with drinks for everyone else and juice for Silco. (The whiskey is too expensive to drink every night, and he still hates ale.)

The conversation turns to everyone's plans for tomorrow, since it's the last day of the month. Connol wants to go to riverside, to eat fresh squid and watch the lights of Piltover. Benzo has plans with Widgit, A girl who mines on level two. Felicia shrugs and says she's planning to go to Babette's.

"Babette's?" Connol squawks, like they haven't all been tempted there once or twice.

"I want a new dress. A couple of the girls are taking orders, sewing it between customers," Felicia says. "I'm going to get measured. Find out how much it will cost."

There's a speculative gleam in Silco's eyes. In another world, Vander might suggest buying something – a new shirt, a fancy jacket – but all the money they have is promised to someone.

"I might go over the bridge," Vander says, since Silco's planning to go to the council record office anyway. "Look around Piltover. See what I think."

The last day of the month is known for being lax at the bridge. The enforcers know they have coins in their pockets, so miners are allowed into the city to spend their money. They prefer the miners to stay at the shops by the docks, out of the city proper so that's where Vander says he's going when they stop and ask him where he's going and what he's buying. They laugh at the handful of bronze he's carrying but they don't rough him up or send him back to the undercity.

A few minutes later, Silco walks across the bridge dressed in a fine jacket and vest, with a shirt and tie. He has a leather satchel over one arm, a suggestion from Babette. The enforcers nod at him but don't ask any questions.

Vander waits for him and they walk together to the town square. Silco doesn't want Vander to be seen by the council staff but he's also carrying nearly all of their coin. It made sense for them to both come.

Silco keeps his head up and leads them through the main streets, stepping neatly around other topsiders. He's right that the people up here eye Vander's mining jacket and give him space. One mother pulls her child to the other side of her as Vander walks by.

They stop at a tall building of pale sandstone, stretching up into the midday sunshine. "Stay here," Silco tells him and then steps inside with the satchel.

He's back after a few short minutes. "It has to all be in gold coin for them to accept payment," Silco says, nervousness showing in the tightness around his eyes, the sharp edge of his frown.

More than half of their funds are in bronze. "So what do we do?"

"Follow me," Silco says and starts walking. They walk down wide tree-lined streets, hot sunlight broken by patches of dappled shade. The sky is so blue up here, reaching out around them. It's so much brighter than riverside, without the smog rolling across from the Piltover side of the river.

Silco stops at a wide, dark building. At the top of a wide flight of steps, there are enforcers standing outside the doorway.

"What is this?" Vander asks, resisting the urge to size up the enforcers. He doesn't want their attention.

"A bank," Silco says but the word doesn't mean anything to Vander. "Apparently, they will exchange our coins for gold here."

"For a fee?" They don't have much more than the land fees with them. It will take hours if they have to go back to the mines for more funds. More importantly, it might leave them short later this month.

Silco shrugs. "We'll find out."

Silco plasters a smile on his face as he turns, but his knuckles are tight on the strap of his satchel. It's a form of bravery, stepping into the unknown and hoping, but it's not going to help if Vander's standing out, glaring up at the door.

Vander crosses the road and walks up a few buildings. He can still see the doorway and the enforcers, standing bored with their weapons at their sides. If he turns around, he can watch their reflection in the shopfront glass. It has Renalds written on the glass in shiny gold letters but there's nothing on display in the window.

A Piltie enters, another two come out but they ignore the enforcers and the enforcers ignore them. Vander passes the time counting the number of Pilties going in, waiting to see how long it takes one of them to come back out again. He doesn't recognise any of them coming out but most of them kind of look the same: big dresses with frills, jackets with bright edging, lots of pale colours that would show soot and dirt too easily.

Finally, a familiar face steps out. Solco might be dressed like one of them, deep blue jacket and pale tan pants, dark hair pulled back at the nape of his neck with light blue ribbon, but he doesn't walk like them, mindlessly sure of where they're going. Silco steps out and scans the street, taking a moment before he steps down, quick sideways glances to watch the enforcers as he goes.

Vander turns and waves to catch Silco's attention. Gets to see the recognition and relief on Silco's face.

"All good?" Vander asks.

Silco nods and starts leading them back to the council office. "It was like a topsider version of cash box day. People handing over coins or lining up to withdraw them."

"Huh. Do you think they live on credit too?" Vander asks and Silco shrugs.

They walk past shopfronts filled with clothes and boots, bags and metal trinkets. There's a shop just for hats and another that sells nothing but tiny glass ornaments, animals with little coloured ears and noses, hooves and horns. Vander recognises a horse, a quid and a wild tuna, but the rest are things he's never personally seen.

"We can look on the way back," Silco says when Vander's steps start to slow.

Vander shakes his head and keeps walking. What's he going to do with tiny glass things? He'd only break them or lose them, and they probably cost more than a week's pay.

Silco takes longer in the council office. There aren't any enforcers guarding the entrance so Vander walks around the building, finding a small alley to hide from the bright sunshine. It's narrow and dark, with large metal garbage bins stacked at the far end. There are no topsiders here, no daintily concerned looks aimed at Vander; it feels like the first time he's been able to breathe since they crossed the river.

Vander sits down on the concrete, brick against his back. If he turns his head he can watch the trees on the other side of the street, the narrow, dark green leaves and the small pink flowers moving in the breeze. As he watches, a small bird lands on a branch. It's tiny, a third of the size of a seagull, a little brown and red thing that's hard to spot when it stops moving. It jumps along the branch and then stops, tilting its head.

Vander wonders what that's like: living somewhere with trees and flowers. Growing up with singing birds instead of the occasional rat. He watches the little bird and watches Pilties walk past it, not even looking up.

***

[matchbet-allofthetime]

pointdexter where hes just gotten back from the gym and he's all sweaty ouf

hes just so... yk, hes TASTY. i can imagine him being so freaky and kinky. but what if he just... found out through his s/o that he's into how filthy it is?

(totally not thinking about sweat-slick fucking and maybe pit sniffing. anyway your boot riding post has me kicking my feet and giggling like a school girl hehe i hope this isn't too horny 💞)

You are the REALEST motherfucker on this app, I swear to christ. I'm so, SO glad you liked that post. I was a lil worried somebody might pipebomb my mailbox for it, given the current state of fandom.

Dex is SO goddamn handsome, and I'm so sick of pretending he's not 😮‍💨

He's feral, unhinged, and creepy, but it's that /good weird/ kind of creepy, y'know?

But sweaty Dex? Sleeveless shirt that's just loose enough to tease? Dark basketball shorts where you can see the outline of a lil too much? Hair sticking to his forehead, arms and throat slick and wet, rivulets following the lines of his frame? AWOUGH

God, he's just SO delicious! I imagine he'd be a little slower, more lax and lazy, wanting to shower. But he's so much easier to rile up, too. It's when he's sweetest, and it's also when he is most likely to get caught up in you for hours and hours without slowing down.

I try to keep /some/ of my freak shit away from this poor blog (as I have been horrifically inactive, largely, aside from rare reblogs) but you have awoken me.

This blog needs my freak shit— gotta keep rent low, make sure people don't get any misconceptions— and I think pit stuff is right up Dex's alley. That man is a certified freak.

He's the type of man to learn how to leather work with quality shit so he can make custom floggers, collars, harnesses, cuffs, etc.

He's the type of man to have a MASSIVE collection of toys and other assorted items solely for his lover. (Still, he's often most inclined to just putting a hand around your throat while fucking you.)

Sniffing? Sold. Licking? Be his guest, he likes spit play, so this is nothing.

I love the idea that he doesn't realize he's into it until his lover goes a little nuts after he comes home. He's not getting the /why/ until his lover noses their way across where he smells most potent. It's /him/, thick and heavy and home.

He's confused, but he's being given the attention he loves, so his cock swells as he gets a taste of something new about himself.

He definitely loves skin sliding against skin when it's sweaty, too. He likes it messy.

Dizzy in the head, so thank you, anon 🩷

[sweatandwoe]

it's chicken.

zhongli with a cute waitress that keeps letting him have meals for free cause they get to making googly eyes at him for so long they forget to ask for money

you're too good to me @chickenparm

Warnings: Zhongli x GN!Reader, Fluff, Crushes (it's just very cute), a bit of awkward!Zhongli and awkward!reader, and Chef Mao being a bro

-

"How big is his tab?"

You blink, setting down the dishes you were bringing in. It only takes a moment to follow Mao's gaze and find who he was searching for.

Zhongli.

The handsome man from the funeral parlor, who always seemed to be short on mora.

He's facing away, strolling down the street away from Wanmin restaurant, his hair moving slightly in the wind. Both wrists are crossed over his lower back, hanging just above his hips. You look away when he glances back, almost like he knew someone was watching him. The golden eyes were far too pretty.

Slowly you glance at Mao - he's got an odd spark in his eyes and his lips are twitching. Though he's leaning casually against the counter, close to the serving window. The oven is off and now he's going lax and sated with the day coming to a close.

Your fingers twitch, moving to the sink. "It's zero."

"Zero?" There's a tone, near glee when he speaks. Though Mao is shaking his head when you sneak a glance at him, fingers drumming against the stone counter. He gives a low whistle after a moment. "You've got it that bad, huh?"

You turn on the sink, frowning. "Mao-"

"I'm not judging!" He raises both hands, moving over to sling a washcloth over his shoulder. "But he comes in once a week and never pays, you'd think he'd get the hint."

You frown. It's quite known that Zhongli had been paying for most things with money given by that Fatui leader, or putting it on his tab. He could've paid for it with that other man's money, but he always looked a little off-set when he could only give that. A little out of place, uncomfortable.

So you had simply stopped asking. Not really hoping for anything in return, you just got the benefit of being able to see and talk to him once a week. He was always kind, thoughtful and would go on for ages about all sorts of history when you asked him. And the small loss of one meal a week in your wages was well worth his company in your mind.

When Mao nudges you, you give a shrug and then hand him a bowl to dry. "I don't think he feels that way about me, and I... I just want to be his friend, if nothing else."

There's a quiet that settles between you both as you settle into the rhythm. He doesn't ask about it again that night or the next few days, but there's a spark in his eyes and a slight smirk curling on his lips. Pestering him about it brought nothing, only for him to drop the ball.

"I want you to come in late tomorrow."

You peer at him, as he locks up the restaurant and he's faced away from you. "Late?"

He turns, wiping his hands over his thighs and tucking the key away. "Yeah, I want you here for the dinner rush, I'll pay you the same don't worry about it. Xiangling wants to help with waitressing tomorrow, and you know I can't deny her anything."

That was a lie. Not the denial part, he always spoiled his only child, but Xiangling wanting to help wait tables instead of cooking was a lie. She'd always help out at the restaurant, but her father had always trained her to be more on the culinary side of things.

Still, you don't argue in case maybe he did want some father-daughter time. Xiangling wasn't always in Liyue anymore and she had come home two weeks ago. And besides you were getting paid for it.

Your skin just wouldn't stop prickling with anxiety that he had something planned.

The reason became clear when you show up on the day, only to find Xiangling wearing an apron, already helping customers at the main table and counter while Mao is busy serving up food. It's not too busy, surprisingly. But what is a surprise is a small table you can set up in the back alley, looking over the river.

And at who was sitting at it.

You glance at Mao, who peers at you through the serving window with a wide grin. His eyes crinkle when you begin to sputter.

"I am not going-"

"Oh, yes you are. Your duties tonight are to go have fun. You've earned it." He shoos you when you try to move to the kitchen, to the point of closing the door and calling for Xiangling. "Customer for the back table!"

And she appears with her father's smirk on her face and spear in hand - and you can't really say no now. Marched over to the table, where you can see him. He's staring off into the river, both hands on the table, eyes slightly wide. There was a glaze lily between both hands and he looked far more tense than you had ever seen him.

When you approach, he stands so quickly that his legs hit the table and he's using his geo vision to stabilize it before everything on top wobbles into the river."I'm sorry-"

"It's okay-"

You both pause, staring at one another. Xiangling makes a sound that is quickly silenced, but you're sure it was almost a giggle. She's rushing off to deal with the other customers.

And then you're both left alone.

Zhongli still has both hands on the table, leaning over slightly from where he was standing. After a moment, he takes the glaze lily in hand and gives it a fond look, before turning his gaze on you. "I brought this for you."

"You didn't have to." The words slip from your mouth, but you're moving to accept the gift. Your cheeks are warm, and your palms are sweaty against the stem. "It's beautiful."

His lips part, but he glances away and closes his mouth. Whatever he wanted to say, it makes his cheeks go slightly pink. He moves to untuck your chair, and you sit. Once he joins you, you both settle into the most awkward silence you've encountered on any date before.

Date? Was this even a date?

The silence stretches on, and you're almost certain Mao had told Xiangling to not take your drink orders until you were talking. You slowly set the glaze lily in your lap, not wanting to damage the soft flower. Then you glance at him, not looking at you, his fingers drumming slightly against the table. The pink on his cheeks was still there. He almost seemed anxious but that was because he probably wanted to leave. You don't dare to think of what Mao had said to the poor man.

"Zhongli," he glances up at his name and you pause. His eyes were the shame shade of Mora coins, including the slight shine to them. "I don't know what Mao said to you but, you don't have to be here if you don't want to be."

His fingers settle, and then his shoulders sag a bit. "I'm not here because Chef Mao forced my hand."

You blink, and your own cheeks get a little warm. "Oh."

"He was the one to suggest it," he does admit, folding his fingers together. "I realize, while I had been studying history I had forgotten an important aspect to take in."

"What would that be?"

"Culture." He shifts, and his cheeks go a little darker. "Courting, specifically on how to start to engage in it."

Oh.

Oh.

Your body relaxes, a smile twitching on your lips. "You wanted to ask me out?"

"Yes. But I had no clue how to, I've never courted someone before." He admits with ease. His smile is small, and the crow's feet growing under his eyes stand out a little more from it. "Not many have been interested in seeing me romantically. I'm not used to it." One hand reaches across the table. "But I am interested in you."

Your fingers settle across his own, watching as he lets out a small breath at the touch. "That's good to know. Because I am interested." You pause. "In you, I mean."

"I understand." But the same way you find his awkwardness in this endearing, he seems to feel the same way with you. It's easy then to fall into your familiar rhythm, though he asks more questions about you now, leaning in to catch your every word and asking questions. He makes you snort once and he smiles widely at the noise.

Mao watches you both from the back window, before glancing at his daughter. "How long has it been since you sat them?"

She smiles, eyes twinkling. "An hour."

His face splits into a wide grin. "Knew it. You can go ask them for their drinks now." He smiles to himself watching his daughter skip outside, to get the order. Once she's gone, he lets out a breath, eyeing them out the window.

They had better make her the flower girl when they got married. Of course, Mao would be the best man, because he'd have to guide Zhongli through it. But he wouldn't mind.

Seeing his two lonely friends smiling tenderly at one another, eyes full of joy, is far worth the cost of two meals and some of his time.

[darkmaga-returns]

President-elect Donald Trump's incoming "border czar" Tom Homan has claimed that the outgoing administration of President Joe Biden "has blood on their hands" for the murder of Laken Riley, a 22-year-old nursing student, by an illegal immigrant in Georgia

In March, a Venezuelan national and undocumented migrant identified as Jose Antonio Ibarra brutally beat Riley to death. At that time, Riley was jogging on the University of Georgia campus when Ibarra dragged her into the bushes and murdered her.

According to the records from Customs and Border Protection, Ibarra was first arrested near the southern border on Sept. 8, 2022, for illegally entering the country. However, he was immediately released due to insufficient detention space and took refuge in New York City.

From here, Ibarra was even able to find employment as an Uber driver. But then, he was also apprehended in the state for endangering a child while riding a gas-powered moped without a helmet in 2023 but was released again, only to flee to Georgia and murder Riley.

The Department of Homeland Security ended the "Remain in Mexico" policy, officially known as the "Migrant Protection Protocols," in August 2022. The policy required undocumented migrants to await court hearings outside the United States. In short, this lax approach had something to do with the release of Ibarra into the United States.

Then, the trail for Ibarra resumed in the city of Athens on Nov. 18, and Homan, who formerly served as the acting director of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) for five months during the first Trump administration, lambasted the outgoing Biden administration and its approach to immigration enforcement.

"If Trump was president, and he did get in the United States, and he got arrested in New York for a crime before he committed this murder, he would never have been released to the streets," Homan explained. "He would've been turned over to ICE."

Additionally. Homan argued that stricter enforcement and cooperation between ICE and local authorities could have prevented Riley's death. Therefore, he concluded: "So this administration has blood on their hands."

[holyfruitsnax]

For Old Time's sake

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Foul language, Violence, Fallout show stuff, Never proof read, Sexual Themes, 18+ darlin', SMUT especially if I'm making more of this (I so want to)

I sat watching the dusty hustle and bustle of Philly, the place I'd come to find odd comfort in a new land of terror and waste. It wasn't much better, between the drugs and violence, but I'd come to learn that even the tiniest bit better up here meant everything. "Holy Shit. I swear if I had a nickel for every time one of you ol'sardine-fucking dipshits waltzed into my store I-" My eyes glanced up hearing Ma June pipe up to a customer, her glazed blue eyes falling to mine. She cleared her throat "I just thought the lot of Y'all was dead!" She slapped the counter with a wrinkled hand and a laugh. "Um- Ma'am there's this woman I'm looking for...A raider?" The clear sound of the thin woman's voice carried over to my leaned position. Blue and Yellow suit making my fists clench and unclench by my sides as she kept talking. "Goes by the name Moldaver?" Her words made June freeze, shooing Barv away while I pushed off the wall. "You know her then?" Large brown eyes shifted towards me as my footsteps sounded against old chipped floorboards.

"Everyone knows that name up here....Believe me when I say, go home. Whatever you're looking for out of that woman...Forget it" My lips pulled thin at the girls shocked expression. "She broke into my vault! She- She took my dad I have to-" Her eyes widened more hearing June curse the vaults as I stepped closer "Forget it." I bit, turning on my heel. Just as the girl went to thank me for whatever reason, a dog barking caught everyone's attention, god- a real dog? I didn't even think regular one's still existed. "You again?" An older gentleman with glasses peered at the girl just out front of June's shop. They spoke a little longer, the man listing things about her vault. I was just as confused as her when his eyes shifted to mine like he was trying to read who's face could be behind the fabric that covered my lower face and the back of my head. Unless he already knew...Insecure hands dug at the vault suit collar hid under the coat I wore making sure it's colors remained hidden. "Play nice kid." June whispered to me while walking out to the pair. "You Wilzig?" She placed a hand on her hip looking at the old man.

"Wilzig..." A low gravel voice rang through the dusty air, a dark silhouette forming in front of me. "You wouldn't happen to be a doctor would ya?" The shadow crept closer until he emerged from the dust. "Cause I happen to be looking for one." His tone lax as his yellowed teeth set together. "You know your kind ain't welcome here." Ma June growled pulling out her gun making me slowly reach for my own. The man- ghoul's appearance left me in a daze. Sure, in the short time I'd been up here I witness and heard all sorts of odd things, I knew ghouls existed I'd just never seen one in person before. The man lacked a nose, his skin scorched and scared yet his eyes held the same as mine. Though his seemed to lack compassion as he stated his next line. "Well, Maybe not...But Ima make myself welcome." He skimmed over the the group narrowing his eyes. The next events happened so quick, I was glad I hadn't been the ghoul's first target or else I'd have been left dead where I once stood. Luckily the girl from the vault stumbled into me out of fear when the ghoul blasted off the scientists foot, knocking us both over.

Shots rang throughout Philly, the dust making it difficult to tell where until a cloud of red flashed into the air. How could this one man be capable of so much in such short time? "Hey! Stay down!" I yelled towards the girl trying to sneak her back into the store with me. I found myself launched back into the building instead, my eyes followed a metal suited man who had rescued the naive vault dweller. Now left in a vast hole in the wall the two of us stood watching the ghoul move closer to Wilzig. "Now, I acknowledge that I am unfamiliar with your circumstances...As a vault dweller we-" The girl gulped stepping forward. "Not this shit." I mumbled following suit, the ghouls stark eyes trained on us as she spoke. Quickly I tugged the pistol from her side and fired a round at him, voiced flickering off into silence as Vaultie stared at me bewildered. "Well-" The ghoul chuckled plucking the vial from his body "Now that is a tiny drop, in a very large bucket of drugs." He tossed the vial aside and cocked his gun. Fuck. The next thing I knew the very large, and maybe very stupid metal man chose to fight the ghoul instead, leaving June to pull everyone back inside.

"BARV!" June shouted "NEED A FOOT!" she looped her arm around Wilzig with me to help him sit. "Was that a knight?." Brown eyes beamed at me making me roll my own and shrug, damn this girl. "Oh god that's-" Vaultie gaped at his shredded ankle, I did as well in silence as the metal foot chomped up his calf with a crunch. I squeezed my eyes shut ignoring their voices, trying to find a place without his screaming until he piped up. "They can take me!" His weak voice making me raise a brow "Take you? I-" At the mention of Moldaver the girl had already seemed to sign us up for whatever fucked up path these people were on. "She'll do good with you. You could teach her!" June spoke up nudging me, Vaultie's expression like a child begging their parent for a puppy as she stared at me. "I- Ah Alright FINE." I grunted helping Wilzig back up, June and Barv helping us escape out the back entrance. "Just stop fuckin' starin' at me with those." I gestured in a circle around Vaultie's large expectant eyes. "Okie Dokie!" She smiled walking off ahead of Wilzig and myself.

"M'sorry about your dog." I mumbled watching my feet sink a little into the sandy terrain. "Yes- I. She was a good dog. Thank you." Wilzig nodded, eyes searching me like they had before. "What vault are you from?" His voice stayed low, gaze shifting to the girl ahead of us. "I'm not- I don't." I shook my head making the man give a pained chuckle. "From my experience normal surface dwellers don't apologize, they just don't. In fact a normal surface dweller wouldn't have helped her, they'd have taken me as bounty for themselves....but that is just my two cents." His hands gestured ahead and then to my frame. We walked in uncomfortable silence, well I did, he seemed fine aside form the whole metal foot thing. "How do you know all that...stuff? About her Vault?" I let my arm loop around the older man again when he seemed to struggle, a hand popping up to his mouth in a yawn, followed by a gulp. "Everyone has their secrets Miss Y/LN...Just try and do good with what you know." He wheezed out, body folding over making me hoist him back up. "How d'you-" His hand grasped metal, sliding himself down to the ground "Here will be fine...I'm not going to make it." His voice weaker than before. "Come on! We can do this! I don't know you, or how you know all these weird detailed things...but we are getting across this wasteland! Together!" The Vaultie's smile widened to her eyes in triumph at her own speech, yet she'd been met with raised brows and a cough. "No you don't understand...I've taken a Cyanide pill....Most humane product Vault-Tec made..." He shook his head in content. "What?" My own voice matching Vaultie's. "People are going to come after you two, you'll need to move quickly.....You can change the world Miss MacLean. All you need is my head..." He held out a sawing tool making you swallow thickly, realizing what he was insinuating. MacLean? My mind spun and the next thing I knew he was mumbling something about Banana flavored, then he was dead.

"FUCK!" I shouted into the vast radioactive desert I'd found myself in. "My name...How did he know my name?" The MacLean girl turned to me wide eyed. "How'm I supposed to know that?...Old bastard-" I grunted kicking his leg "What did I say out the eyes damn it!" My tone softening at MacLean's small frown. "Sorry...I- I didn't mean that...really." I let out a puff of air watching MacLean drop to her knees. "It's okay, It's nice actually. I've recently learned that most people up here DO mean it when they say hurtful things....And then usually they try to kill me!" She threw her hands up in defeat. "I just thought I found my way in! You know? Like I really might find my dad. Now I'm never going to find him." MacLean whimpered making me sigh and move closer. "Y/N...My name is Y/N." My mouth pulled to one side as she stared up at me. "Lucy, Lucy MacLean." Her frown lightened just a tad while I pulled the saw up into my grasp. "Let me ask you something Lucy...You ever cut off a man's head before?" I watched Lucy's shoulders go stiff, head shaking. "Yeah, me neither." I grunted, pulling on the saws staring cord making Lucy jump at the loud rattling noise.

A few hours passed with Lucy and I found ourselves, well to put it plainly. FUCKED. "What do you mean you don't have it?" I seethed watching Lucy pat the ground around her. "Well, you see. There was a- a deer!" She cried waving her arms. "A deer?" I mumbled raising a brow. "YES! I wanted to feed it, so I grabbed some grass, I leaned in! Oh so cute! The next thing I know some giant pink thing steals the head!" She let her pats turn into punches of frustration. "Pink thing? You mean to tell me?-" My voice halted in the back of my throat at the sound of spurs and dog pants, before I could register Lucy's shocked expression the sound of a gun leaver pulling back into cocked position sounded beside my ear. Footsteps thudded around me leaving me face to face with the ghoul from before, his gun pointed directly in my face. His eyes met my own and just like the scientist before he seemed to be trying to pick me apart, except we were the same. All he had to work with were eyes, the rest of my face remained covered. His head tilted to one side, brows knitting in slight recognition. That soon went away as he shoved me to the side and aimed his gun at Lucy "Where is it?" He growled, gun moving between the two of us. "I-I lost it!" Lucy's voice wavered, eyes shifting from me to the ghoul. His fingers moved to adjust the cowboy hat atop his head, a dark chuckle sounding from his throat "Gulper got it huh?".

"PLEASE!" Lucy shouted as soon as the ghoul reeled her out of the radiated river again. I sat quietly to the side, restrained by a lasso he'd throw around my form quickly. It's comical really. "Alright...Alright...Let's give you a break then." His voice teasing as he hoisted Lucy off the contraption he'd used to toss her into the water over and over. "Sir I need the head to find my dad." she let the ghoul drop her to the ground next to me. "So I've fuckin' heard...the last eight times you've said it." The ghoul hissed, eyes skimming over my form making me go taut. "C'mere darlin'....I don't bite." He grinned grabbing the end of the rope he'd tied me up with, pulling me closer with easy tugs. "You can't-" I felt myself thud against the ghouls chest, seeing the scars on his face closer now as he gave me a unamused look. "You Shouldn't do this!" I tried to fight against him to no avail. "If you're a good girl. N'you listen t'me real good." His deep set eyes tracking back to the water then to me. "This'll all be done much faster, alright?" He laughed at his own words as he hung me up like he had Lucy, all that was left to do is brace for impact.

I coughed and sputtered as the ghoul raised and dropped me in and out of the water over, and over. Barely being given enough time to catch a breath, the fabric around my head began to unravel. "Look at'cha all wet and squirmin' beggin' for mercy!" The ghoul clasped his hands around his makeshift reel. "Fuck you." I grunted out, knees buckling under the extra weight of my wet clothes, and something else. A heat rose to my face at the ghouls suggestive words. "Remember what I said about being. A good. Girl. for me?" Pauses placed between his words in time with his boots that stepped around the dock ready to release me again. I felt the wet fabric finally fall from my face and into the murky water below, leaving me staring at my own reflection. The ghoul readied his hands, and beside my better judgement I looked back at him over my shoulder. "Go to Hell!" I scoffed, watching his eyes blow wide, mouth going slack as hands tried to stop the reel before I was plunged back into cold waters. "There's...There's no- It's not possible." The ghoul began to reel me in with a fast pace making Lucy glance between him and where I thrashed just beneath the waters surface. The rope went tight and my muffled scream could be heard by them both. "Shit-a Help me!" He hollered at Lucy letting her free as he found something to pull me out with, gulper in tow. Lucy gripped my shoulders trying to heave me out of the beasts mouth. She'd grabbed the ghoul's bag smashing the gulper in the face with it while he slid under my body, hips sitting just below mine. One gloved hand gripped my hip, the other squeezed itself around my inner thigh as his feet dug against the wooden dock. "Let her go damnit!" He gritted his stained teeth pulling my body flush against his. Instead of death, my mind raced with thoughts of before. Before Gulpers, before ghouls, before this shit hole I found myself in. A man. It's odd they felt so similar, or maybe I just haven't been this close to a man in some time. I swear he feels familiar.

"Hey, darlin' you still with me?" The ghoul snapped his fingers in front of my face pulling me out of my daze. The gulper was gone, Lucy sat at the waters edge in near tears next to the dog. "You...tried to kill...me." I huffed watching his face closely. Despite how he's been before, his face remained shocked, in fact he looked at me as if he'd seen a ghost. "Sorry, 'bout that." His voice came out in a low whisper as he pulled me to my feet. "Oh! Goodness I'm so sorry darlin' why I wasn't payin' attention to where I was goin'-" Cooper apologized reaching his hands out for my own, relaxing when he herd a giggle bubble from my throat. "It's quite alright Mr. Howard- I was actually looking for you." I smiled letting his large hands envelope mine in a gentle grasp, as if he were afraid to break me. "Mmmm, And uh, To what do I owe the pleasure of knocking over a sweet doll such as yourself." He grinned to one side keeping hold of me, my face warming at the contact. "Y/N, my name is Y/N Y/L/N...I'm the new hair and makeup lady, sometimes costumes as well but y'know." I shrugged small under Cooper's gaze, god I've never even met the man and all I want him to do is eat me alive. "I see, well, if you can make this mug look as good as yours then I think we'll be just fine." He teased, releasing one hand, the other stayed in his. "Oh please, 'mug'...You wouldn't know ugly if it slapped you in the face." I covered a laugh with my free hand. Meeting his whiskey gaze again I felt myself swallow thickly at his stunned expression, day one and I'd already over stepped. "I- I'm sorry what I-" Cooper's thumb brushed across my knuckles making me inhale lightly. "Listen I-" Cooper glanced over his shoulder hearing his name called. "I don't mean to leave high and dry sweetheart, but duty calls...I uh, I'll see you around." He flicked his sheriffs badge for good measure, giving me a wink before turning on his heels. "Sorry?" I frowned removing my hands from the ghouls, his eyes following my fingers, his own twitching in front of him watching wishfully.

"What did you say your name was darlin'?" The ghoul's brow furrowed. "I didn't." The dog next to Lucy whining when I patted her shoulder. "C'mon Lucy." I tugged the vault dweller to her feet, moving to walk away, stopping to look at the crushed leather bag on the ground. The ghoul's eyes followed my gaze, freezing when he spotted his belonging smashed. I tried to hurry Lucy along as the ghoul's eyes shifted back to normal, broken glass clinking against the ground as he shouted after us. "Where the fuck you think y'all's goin'?" he drawled swishing a lasso in the air snatching Lucy from my side. Oh Shit. "Y/N!" Lucy shouted making the ghoul stop tying her tighter so he could raise his eyes to mine, a glint catching behind them again. "I really do hate to do this." He huffed "But you are bein' so damn difficult baby." He swung a rope my direction, pulling me tight against his tattered clothes again. His voice sounded so familiar. Low moans sounded against Cooper's trailer walls, paired with soft sucking sounds. "Thaaaat's it baby, just like that." His voice came out hushed and airy, hands tangled behind my head as it bobbed up and down. "Ah- best, best I've ever had. Oh Y/N..." My gaze moved up to look at Cooper through thick lashes, his plump bottom lip tugged tight between pearly white teeth as he hummed praise down to me.

"Don't call me that." I pushed my shoulder against the ghoul's bringing him out of some daydream, watching his adam's apple bob quickly, licking dry lips. "Get goin'." He turned me around, shoving Lucy and I ahead of him. The desert heat doesn't feel so bad when you've been dunked in an irradiated river, however watching the ghoul sip water had Lucy and I staring with open mouths. "Suppose Y'all want some?" He grunted watching us nod feverishly, instead of sharing like I'd hoped he opted to tilt his head back letting the last bits of water from his canteen drop from his mouth down his chin and neck, even turning it over the ground letting anything else left go to waste. I watched droplets roll over his scorched lips and chin, a few dipping past the collar of his old duster coat. His eyes bore into mine making me avert my gaze as his tongue darted out to catch the droplets I'd been watching. I'd been caught. "Thinkin; about lickin' em off yourself hmm baby?" He gestured for us to keep walking making Lucy's already disgusted frown worsen with a groan. "Stop calling me that." I hissed out letting my feet carry myself ahead once more. "Why? I've been callin' you that for years? Hmm, Oh nowww we're feelin' sassy, havin' ourselves a little brat fit." The ghoul grumbled below his breath kicking a few stones out of the way. "Oh, so now we're talking shit behind backs huh, What did you say?" I huffed over my shoulder making Lucy's brows raise at my boldness towards our abductor. "Nuthin'." His tone mimicked a scolded child as his gaze stayed against the sand. "Whatever."

The ghoul crouched next to a small container of water. "Water, water everywhere. Not a drop to drink." He chuckled as Dogmeat lapped at a nearby puddle. "If you're gonna survive up here, you'll have to drink." He motioned towards the container then to myself and Lucy. Lucy's pip boy going crazy as she leaned down to drink from it, hands eagerly dipping into the dirty water. I stood to the side, head turned in defiance as the ghoul gestured towards the container again. "I said drink." He commanded through bared teeth, seething even more when I only cast him a glance. "Fuckin' brat." He snarled, canteen dipping into the water, bubbling a few time until it was full. "You're gonna learn to listen to me sweetheart, you'll learn or I'll make you." The ghoul's voice came out in a grunt as he gripped my jaw with his gloves, the old leather rough around the seams. "Open." He tapped a finger to my lips holding his canteen ready to pour. I shook my head in defiance again making the ghoul's eyes go dark. A leather clad finger pushed its way between my lips, a surprised noise escaping me, much to the ghoul's joy. His lips parted taking a few gulps from his canteen while his thumb sat against my lower teeth, pointer finger painfully pressed against the roof of my mouth. That's when it happened. The ghoul leaned in holding me still as he released the water held in his mouth into my own making me gargle in protest. "Swallow." His voice rang again making me shudder in his grip. The fire re-igniting within his eyes as I finally caved, swallowing the water. "Good." He poured more water into his own mouth, this time leaning down so his rough lips gently ghosted against mine before spitting into my mouth again. "Good girl." he hummed pleased, fingers moving from my mouth so his hand could pat my jaw shut. "Now...s'getting dark, let's get y'all someplace safe enough to build a fire. Wouldn't wanna lose you smoothies to the cold." His hand tugged my wet coat for emphasis, and with that we headed along. Eyes still boring into the back of my frame as we went. Here we fucking go.

My first bit of Cooper Howard ishh babyyyy. I hope you liked it! And you can bet your SWEET ASS I'm writing more. I love him so much.

[gorbo-longstocking]

Seriously How can ur employers logistically think that's fair on just one person to get the whole place sorted out by such a tight deadline??

okay so ~technically~ its up to me and about two other people to organize the whole store on friday, which sounds a lot better, right? but the way the shifts are set up, and who the coworkers in question are, basically means it falls on me. tomorrow, from 6 am-1pm, the asst manager is working by himself. so he cant organize the back of the store, or any aisles, away from the register because hes the only person running the store. and his main duty is running the register. (according to company policy he is expected to also stock and organize the front WHILE doing this, its hard) i come in at 2 pm where i work as the “manager on duty” basically organizing the back of the store between helping customers while someone else runs the register up front. but hes like… 70 and slow as shit (said with love and realism in my heart)

today, no organizing got done before i got here because it was the truck day and from open to when i came in at 1 pm, everyone was putting up the truck. if i were to forgo mine and my coworkers break (not gonna do, its never that serious, typing this on my break rn) i MIGHT be able to get done what the dm wants done. i get paid 12.91 an hour for this btw. i’m hoping if i just… get a majority of the store, or at the very least half, she will realize i tried and not go nuclear. but im not gonna hold my breath. if it was just me getting written up, i wouldn’t particularly care, but the fact it’s everyone is insane to me. and makes me kind of responsible for everyone. just… ugh.

some more context is that the store is a DISASTER lowkey. like… it takes an hour to organize the toy aisle alone. just like… dude. i hate it here so much.

if you want more tea about my job its under the cut because this shit is crazy and i have GOT to complain about this

i use ‘we’ very lax in this story, i wasnt here until 1 pm that day.

but yo, the district manager sucks at her job. most glaring example is the fact that a few weeks ago, we received a fresh truck (all of our refrigerated & frozen food) that was TRIPLE the size of the regular one. we are super understaffed, so rather than have three people working, two putting up the truck and one running the register, we had only two people here. one putting up the truck and the other running back and forth between the register and the truck. according to company policy we have three hours to put up the fresh truck before all items must be damaged out and thrown away. the asst manager called the dm to ask her to close the store until they finished the truck and she said they could close it for THIRTY MINUTES 😭

to make a long story short nearly 6k worth of food was thrown away. thats nearly an entire days worth of revenue in our small town. tis crazy in here.

also ive been super pissed off because they have me working 40 hours a week as a part time employee. and when i told the dm thats not cool, she said she was hiring two new people AND THEN DIDNT. eye twitch. theyre in the process of hiring this one guy, but she just wont fucking hire him. i need to quit chat, i need to so bad.

im not tagging this one anything because while i doubt this account can be tracked back to me irl. who fucking knows with my luck the dm reads dnbts 😭 girl if u can hear me HIRE MORE PEOPLE!!!!!!!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Ron Deibert’s “Chasing Shadows”

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

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/04/citizen-lab/#nso-group

Since 2001, Ron Deibert has led Citizen Lab, the world's foremost "counterintelligence group for civil society," where they defend human rights activists, journalists and dissidents from the digital weapons deployed by the world's worst autocrats and thugs:

https://citizenlab.ca/

Citizen Lab's work is nothing short of breathtaking. For decades, this tiny, barely resourced group at a Canadian university has gone toe to toe with the world's most powerful cyber arms dealers – and won.

Today, Simon and Schuster publishes Chasing Shadows, Deibert's pulse-pounding, sphinter-tightening true memoir of his battles with the highly secretive industry whose billionaire owners provide mercenary spyware that's used by torturers, murderers and criminals to terrorize their victims:

https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Chasing-Shadows/Ronald-J-Deibert/9781668014042

Mercenary spyware companies are based all over the world, but the global leader in providing these tools is Israel, where the signals intelligence Unit 8200 serves as a breeding ground for startup founders who grow wealthy serving dictators around the world, thanks in part to Israel's lax export standards for cyberweapons.

Most notorious of these companies is the NSO Group, whose Pegasus malware has been deployed by corrupt, narco-affiliated Mexican politicians, murderous Saudi royals, and dictators in Central Asia, Latinamerica, and all around the world.

The NSO Group's founders told their customers that they were invisible, as ethereal as shadows, so their products could be deployed without fear of detection or consequence. At the same time, NSO ran a disinformation campaign for the broader public, insisting that they have the highest ethical standards and closely monitor their products' use to ensure that it is only deployed against terrorists and serious criminals. This latter strategy is backstopped by harassment and intimidation of journalists who investigate this narrative – I have personally been threatened by lawyers retained by the NSO Group.

Diebert and Citizen Lab disprove both of NSO's narratives. Their technical staff developed incredibly clever, subtle methods to detect malware infections all around the world and identify who had been targeted by NSO's products (they were greatly aided in this by farcical blunders in NSO's products).

In so doing, Citizen Lab not only showed that customers for mercenary spyware will someday be discovered – they also thoroughly disproved the company's narrative about its squeaky-clean image and high morals.

Much of Deibert's book is a true-life technothriller recounting the technology, the politics, and the human cost of a largely unregulated industry whose protectors are among the most powerful people in the world.

This book contains many never-revealed revelations from Deibert's distinguished career, like notes from a meeting where Stephen Harper's top spooks and Privy Council officials threatened and intimidated Deibert over Citizen Lab's reports on Saudi Prince Mohammed Bin Salman's use of spyware on Canadian residents.

Deibert also reveals some juicy bits of less consequence, like the fact that it was he who tipped off the BBC's Rory Cellan-Jones that Research In Motion was helping Middle Eastern autocracies and India's far right government spy on dissidents' Blackberry devices, just minutes before RIM co-founder Mike Lazardis was to sit for a televised interview with Cellan-Jones for the BBC's Click. When Cellan-Jones asked Lazaridis about the matter, Lazaridis at first denied it, then demanded that the camera be turned off before halting the interview:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q6iGe7vuGeQ

But the majority of Deibert's book is a string of horrifying stories of dissidents, activists, journalists, opposition politicians and the people around them having their lives peeled open by companies like NSO Group and their competitors. They run the gamut from multiple, successive presidents of Catalonia to the US-based children of activists agitating for limits to sugary drinks in Mexico.

On the way, Deibert is hounded by all kinds of dirty-tricksters, like the bumbling ex-Mossad spook that Black Cube – whom Harvey Weinstein hired to harass his victims – hired to discredit the organization:

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/01/28/world/black-cube-nso-citizen-lab-intelligence.html

He's also chased by troll armies working on behalf of South American despots, the corrupt Modi government of India, and middle eastern autocrats in the UAE, Saudi Arabia and elsewhere. While most of these trolls are anonymous jerks, a few high-profile serial online harassers-for-hire are singled out by name, their deeds publicly connected for the first time.

Deibert shows the human impact of mercenary spyware: the connection between these companies' products and intimidation, arbitrary detention, punitive rape, torture, and murder – for example, he painstaking lays out the role that the NSO Group's products played in the murder and dismemberment of the US-based journalist Jamal Khashoggi.

This is a dirty business, but it's also a lucrative one. Citizen Lab goes eyeball-to-eyeball and toe-to-toe with farcically wealthy, well-resourced attackers, who've waxed fat by abetting corruption and sadistic greed.

But this isn't mere rage-bait. Deibert's story is an inspiration, both in how it shows how principled, decent, hardworking people can make a difference – Citizen Lab researchers repeatedly discover and burn the vulnerabilities exploited by mercenary spyware, a process Deibert likens to disarming them – but also in the bravery and resilience of the subjects who trust Citizen Lab to analyze their devices, risking everything to come forward and tell their stories.

Citizen Lab is enmeshed in a global, digital community of human rights defenders – a community that wouldn't exist without the internet. Deibert's life's work is to create an internet that is fit for human thriving – and to wrestle control of technology away from the monsters who project their greed and sadism around the world through our devices.