#Document Conversion Tools

[techsevi]

JPG To PDF कन्वर्जन के लिए 5 सबसे बेहतरीन टूल्स

आज पीडीएफ का उपयोग काफी बढ़ गया है। और इसका सबसे बड़ा कारण इस File Format की अनुकूलता है, जो आपके Data को पूरी तरह सुरक्षित रखती है। लेकिन जब आप सीधे तौर पर JPG File का उपयोग करते हैं, तो Pixels की क्षति के कारण Image धुंधली हो जाती है। और उसकी Quality खराब हो जाती है। लेकिन अगर आप चाहें, तो इस समस्या से बच सकते हैं। आपको सिर्फ एक अच्छे JPG to PDF Converter Tool की जरूरत पड़ेगी। JPG To PDF…

[vague-humanoid]

At the California Institute of the Arts, it all started with a videoconference between the registrar’s office and a nonprofit.

One of the nonprofit’s representatives had enabled an AI note-taking tool from Read AI. At the end of the meeting, it emailed a summary to all attendees, said Allan Chen, the institute’s chief technology officer. They could have a copy of the notes, if they wanted — they just needed to create their own account.

Next thing Chen knew, Read AI’s bot had popped up inabout a dozen of his meetings over a one-week span. It was in one-on-one check-ins. Project meetings. “Everything.”

The spread “was very aggressive,” recalled Chen, who also serves as vice president for institute technology. And it “took us by surprise.”

The scenariounderscores a growing challenge for colleges: Tech adoption and experimentation among students, faculty, and staff — especially as it pertains to AI — are outpacing institutions’ governance of these technologies and may even violate their data-privacy and security policies.

That has been the case with note-taking tools from companies including Read AI, Otter.ai, and Fireflies.ai.They can integrate with platforms like Zoom, Google Meet, and Microsoft Teamsto provide live transcriptions, meeting summaries, audio and video recordings, and other services.

Higher-ed interest in these products isn’t surprising.For those bogged down with virtual rendezvouses, a tool that can ingest long, winding conversations and spit outkey takeaways and action items is alluring. These services can also aid people with disabilities, including those who are deaf.

But the tools can quickly propagate unchecked across a university. They can auto-join any virtual meetings on a user’s calendar — even if that person is not in attendance. And that’s a concern, administrators say, if it means third-party productsthat an institution hasn’t reviewedmay be capturing and analyzing personal information, proprietary material, or confidential communications.

“What keeps me up at night is the ability for individual users to do things that are very powerful, but they don’t realize what they’re doing,” Chen said. “You may not realize you’re opening a can of worms.“

The Chronicle documented both individual and universitywide instances of this trend. At Tidewater Community College, in Virginia, Heather Brown, an instructional designer, unwittingly gave Otter.ai’s tool access to her calendar, and it joined a Faculty Senate meeting she didn’t end up attending. “One of our [associate vice presidents] reached out to inform me,” she wrote in a message. “I was mortified!”

[tryslat]

What Advantages Does Using the AI Text Converter Tool Offer?

In the ever-evolving world of digital content, converting artificial intelligence (AI)-generated text into human-readable information is essential. The AI Text Converter Tool offers a range of benefits that make it an invaluable resource for anyone dealing with AI content. Here’s why you should consider using this free tool:

1. Straightforward and Simple to Use

The AI Text Converter Tool is designed with user-friendliness in mind. Its intuitive interface allows users to quickly navigate the tool and perform conversions with minimal effort. Whether you’re a student, content creator, or professional, you’ll find that using this tool is as simple as pasting your text and clicking a button.

2. Quick and Dependable Performance

Speed and reliability are crucial when working with large volumes of text. Our AI Text Converter Tool delivers results swiftly without compromising on accuracy. You can depend on the tool to convert your AI-generated content into human-like text efficiently, ensuring that you meet your deadlines and maintain productivity.

3. Secure Browsing Experience

Security is a top priority for online tools, and the AI Text Converter Tool is no exception. The tool provides a secure browsing experience, protecting your data and ensuring that your content remains private. You can use the tool with confidence, knowing that your information is safe from unauthorized access.

4. Supports Multiple Languages

The versatility of the AI Text Converter Tool is one of its standout features. It supports a variety of languages, making it suitable for a global audience. Whether you’re working with content in English, Spanish, French, or another language, the tool can handle it, allowing you to convert text across different linguistic contexts.

5. Open to Countless Purposes

The AI Text Converter Tool is not limited to a specific use case. Its flexibility makes it suitable for a wide range of applications, from academic assignments and professional documents to blog posts and creative writing. No matter the nature of your content, the tool adapts to your needs and delivers high-quality results.

In summary, the AI Text Converter Tool offers a wealth of advantages, including ease of use, speed, reliability, security, language support, and versatility. By leveraging this free tool, you can efficiently transform AI-generated text into human-readable content that meets your specific requirements.

For more information and to start using the tool today, visit AI To Human Text.

[frog707]

Progress report

Context: I'm converting my buildscripts from Gradle's Groovy domain-specific language (DSL) to its Kotlin DSL.

Progress since 24 May has been glacial. So far, out of 32 projects to be converted, I've completed four of the easiest ones. This seems a paltry accomplishment. While much of my time has gone toward other computer tasks, vacation, and illness, I've also spent many hours poring over documentation and feeling my way by trial and error.

Frankly, I didn't expect conversion to prove so difficult. The examples in the documentation make everything look very simple, with clear correspondence between the features of the two DSLs. Apparently my scripts use obscure features of Gradle that don't translate easily. Perhaps there are key concepts I'm lacking. Or perhaps my tools aren't suited to the task at hand.

Despite the difficulties, I believe this is work for which I'm suited. If it were easy, anyone could do it.

Plus, along the way I'm gaining knowledge and skills that may aid me in future projects.

[falesten-iw]

Being someone who fights for their family in a world that barely acknowledges Gaza’s suffering? That’s its own special kind of hell. Every time a loved one is injured, whether it’s your partner, your child, or even yourself, the doctors rush in. But don’t expect any miracles. The tools they bring aren’t fresh from pristine, state-of-the-art hospitals. They’re the leftovers of a world that has abandoned Gaza. Surgical plates aren’t delivered by some heroic supply chain. They’re pulled from the bodies of the dead, handed down like cursed heirlooms. Metal meant to heal now carries the weight of death, and infection waits to take what little hope remains.

Doctors are left with impossible decisions: amputate, scavenge through the dead for a plate to salvage, or wait for one that may never come. And the price? These plates cost more than most families in Gaza could ever afford. As resources vanish, everything becomes more expensive. It’s a cruel game with no winners, and we’re all stuck in it.

This is the reality for 26 members of my family, all just trying to stay alive. Two orphaned children. A loved one paralyzed by shrapnel that tore through her body. Her survival hinges on removing infected plates that shouldn’t even exist in her story. Every hour that passes steals more of her future while the world stands still. And yes, you’ve probably seen the video of her injuries shared before. In case you missed it: Link.

This isn’t just about my family. This is Gaza. It’s about a world that watches genocide unfold and calls it politics. A world that stands silent as families like mine scrape by with nothing but scraps, while doctors stitch together lives using whatever’s left behind. But here’s the thing, we won’t let this be the end. Hope is still a choice we make every single day, even when the world seems to have forgotten how to care.

Please help my family in Gaza get a chance to survive. Click the link. Donate if you can and reblog to spread our story.

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

If, for some reason, you couldn't donate via GoFundMe, you can donate via PayPal instead.

Donate on GoFundMe: Link

Donate on Paypal: Link

Please keep the conversion rates in mind when donating through GoFundMe. Every 100 SEK is equivalent to 10 dollars, and 200 SEK equals 20 dollars and so on.

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@b0nkcreat

[uttarakhand-hub]

new latest jpg to pdf converter

JPG को तुरंत पीडीएफ में बदलने के लिए इन उपकरणों का उपयोग करें use these tools to convert jpg  जेपीजी को पीडीएफ प्रारूप में बदलने के पीछे अलग-अलग कारण हैं, खासकर जब आपको गुणवत्ता हानि के बिना एक साथ कई छवियां साझा करने की आवश्यकता होती है। इसके अलावा, यदि आप अपनी फाइलों को पीडीएफ जैसे कुछ गोपनीय प्रारूपों के साथ सुरक्षित रखना चाहते हैं। इससे कोई फर्क नहीं पड़ता कि छवियों को पीडीएफ में बदलने का…

[freelancerhabibur]

Converting JPG to PDF Made Easy: Your Ultimate Guide

[stellophiliac]

how to build a digital music collection and stuff

spotify sucks aaaass. so start downloading shit!!

file format glossary

.wav is highest quality and biggest

.mp3 is very small, but uses lossy compression which means it's lower quality

.flac is smaller than .wav, but uses lossless compression so it's high quality

.m4a is an audio file format that apple uses. that's all i really know

downloading the music

doubledouble.top is a life saver. you can download from a variety of services including but not limited to apple music, spotify, soundcloud, tidal, deezer, etc.

i'd recommend ripping your music from tidal or apple music since they're the best quality (i think apple music gives you lossless audio anyway. .m4a can be both lossy and lossless, but from the text on doubledouble i assume they're ripping HQ files off apple music)

i also love love love cobalt.tools for ripping audio/video from youtube (they support a lot of other platforms too!)

of course, many artists have their music on bandcamp — purchase or download directly from them if you can. bandcamp offers a variety of file formats for download

file conversion

if you're downloading from apple music with doubledouble, it spits out an .m4a file.

.m4a is ok for some people but if you prefer .flac, you may wanna convert it. ffmpeg is a CLI (terminal) tool to help with media conversion

if you're on linux or macOS, you can use parameter expansion to batch convert all files in a folder. put the files in one place first, then with your terminal, cd into the directory and run:

for i in *.m4a; do ffmpeg -i "$i" "${i%.*}.flac"; done

this converts from .m4a to .flac — change the file extensions if needed.

soulseek

another way to get music is through soulseek. soulseek is a peer-to-peer file sharing network which is mainly used for music. nicotine+ is a pretty intuitive (and open-source) client if you don't like the official one.

you can probably find a better tutorial on soulseek somewhere else. just wanted to make this option known

it's bad etiquette to download from people without sharing files of your own, so make sure you've got something shared. also try to avoid queuing up more than 1-2 albums from one person in a row

tagging & organizing your music

tagging: adding metadata to a music file (eg. song name, artist name, album) that music players can recognize and display

if you've ripped music from a streaming platform, chances are it's already tagged. i've gotten files with slightly incorrect tags from doubledouble though, so if you care about that then you might wanna look into it

i use musicbrainz picard for my tagging. they've got pretty extensive documentation, which will probably be more useful than me

basically, you can look up album data from an online database into the program, and then match each track with its file. the program will tag each file correctly for you (there's also options for renaming the file according to a certain structure if you're into that!)

there's also beets, which is a CLI tool for... a lot of music collection management stuff. i haven't really used it myself, but if you feel up to it then they've got extensive documentation too. for most people, though, it's not really a necessity

how you wanna organize your music is completely up to you. my preferred filestructure is:

artist > album > track # track

using a music player

the options for this are pretty expansive. commonly used players i see include VLC, foobar2000, clementine (or a fork of it called strawberry), and cmus (for the terminal)

you can also totally use iTunes or something. i don't know what audio players other systems come with

i personally use dopamine. it's a little bit slow, but it's got a nice UI and is themeable plus has last.fm support (!!!)

don't let the github page fool you, you don't have to build from source. you can find the releases here

click the "assets" dropdown on the most recent release, and download whichever one is compatible with your OS

syncing

if you're fine with your files just being on one device (perhaps your computer, but perhaps also an USB drive or an mp3 player), you don't have to do this

you can sync with something like google drive, but i hate google more than i hate spotify

you can get a free nextcloud account from one of their providers with 2GB of free storage. you can use webDAV to access your files from an app on your phone or other device (documents by readdle has webDAV support, which is what i use)

disroot and blahaj.land are a couple providers i know that offer other services as well as nextcloud (so you get more with your account), but accounts are manually approved. do give them a look though!!

if you're tech-savvy and have an unused machine lying around, look into self-hosting your own nextcloud, or better yet, your own media server. i've heard that navidrome is a pretty good audio server. i unfortunately don't have experience with self-hosting at the moment so i have like zero advice to give here. yunohost seems to be a really easy way to manage a server

afterword

i don't know if any of this is helpful, but i just wanted to consolidate my personal advice in one place. fuck big tech. own your media, they could take it away from you at any moment

[iww-gnv]

New York lawmakers proposed three new bills last week that would make it difficult for wage theft violators to conduct business in the state. The legislation would bolster the power of state agencies to crack down on wage theft by stripping violators of their liquor licenses or business licenses, as well as issuing stop-work orders against them. The legislation was prompted by reports of rampant wage theft against New York workers, including two investigations published by Documented and ProPublica. The stories revealed that more than 127,000 New Yorkers have been victims of wage theft during a recent five-year period, but that the New York State Department of Labor was unable to recover $79 million in back wages owed to the workers. The stories were based on an analysis of two databases of wage theft violations obtained from the U.S. and New York Labor departments. The databases provided previously unreported details on how much money had been stolen from workers and also shed light on which businesses had committed wage theft. “We knew from our conversations with labor and from our constituent service caseload that wage theft is a chronic problem,” said Sen. Jessica Ramos, a Democrat who sponsored the legislation. “We did not have the data to understand the scale of the issue in New York state until the ProPublica and Documented series came out last year. Having this reporting as a tool set us up to put this package together and focused our attention on” the capacity of the Department of Labor. The legislation — dubbed the “wage theft deterrence package” by lawmakers — includes three bills, which are co-sponsored in the State Assembly by Assembly members Kenny Burgos, Harvey Epstein and Linda Rosenthal.

[aspenmissing]

ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱʏ/ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ-ɪꜱʜ ||

6776 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴛᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴄɪᴇꜱ, ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ (ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ

JAYCE

The Academy halls hummed with quiet energy, the rhythmic murmur of voices mingling with the distant hum of machinery and the occasional metallic clink of tools. Y/N moved purposefully through the corridors, her arms cradling an eclectic collection of blueprints, sketches, and notes. The crisp parchment edges tickled her fingers, and the faint scent of ink and graphite followed her like a familiar companion. As she passed by bustling classrooms and open workspaces, a few students glanced her way, their expressions a mix of awe and curiosity—Y/N Talis, wife of Jayce Talis, the formidable engineer and brilliant mind in her own right, always left an impression.

She turned the final corner leading to Jayce's lab, her heels clicking against the polished floors with a measured precision. Through the large glass window of the door, she spotted him instantly. Jayce’s broad shoulders were hunched slightly as he leaned over his workstation, gesturing animatedly with a spanner in hand. His deep, confident voice carried faintly through the barrier, underscored by his natural charisma. Opposite him stood a young woman, her bright eyes locked on him as though he were the sun, her posture leaning just enough to blur the line between attentive and overly familiar.

The girl’s hand rested lightly on Jayce’s arm, her laughter too airy, her smile too wide. Y/N’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. She recognised the type—the overeager assistant or ambitious student hoping for a little more than professional mentorship. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen someone vying for Jayce’s attention, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. But jealousy wasn’t in her nature, not when she trusted Jayce with everything she had. Instead, she found the situation mildly amusing, like watching a play unfold where the ending was already written.

Shifting the weight of the documents in her arms, Y/N stepped forward, nudging the door open with her hip. The quiet creak of the hinges was enough to break the conversation inside.

“Jayce,” she called, her voice smooth and warm, yet with an undeniable edge of authority that filled the space effortlessly.

Jayce’s head snapped up at the sound of her voice, his expression shifting from focused concentration to unabashed delight. “Y/N!” he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up like a man seeing the love of his life walk into the room—which, of course, she was. “Perfect timing. I was just talking about the diagrams you’re carrying.”

The young woman stiffened slightly, her hand withdrawing from Jayce’s arm as though burned. Her eyes flickered to Y/N, quickly assessing her presence. Y/N stepped into the lab fully, her movements confident and unhurried, and placed the stack of blueprints and notes onto the table nearest Jayce. She dusted off her hands and turned towards him, her lips curving into a soft, genuine smile.

“Got everything you asked for,” she said casually, though there was an unmistakable tenderness in her tone. Without hesitation, she leaned up on her toes and pressed a deliberate kiss to his lips, her hand brushing his jawline gently.

Jayce responded instantly, his free hand instinctively finding the small of her back. The kiss was brief but unmissable, a silent declaration to anyone watching that Y/N was his and he was hers. When they parted, Jayce’s eyes lingered on her face, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. “You’re a lifesaver, love,” he murmured, his tone dripping with affection.

Y/N’s gaze shifted to the girl, who now stood awkwardly by the workstation, her posture tense, her smile faltering. “And who’s this?” Y/N asked, her tone polite but laced with an unspoken firmness that immediately established her dominance in the room. “Do you need something?”

The girl blinked, visibly caught off guard. “Oh, um,” she stammered, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. “I was just... asking Mr Talis about some technical details for my project.”

Jayce nodded, his hand still resting on Y/N’s back as he explained. “She’s working on a research proposal,” he said, his tone easy but entirely professional. “Needed a bit of advice.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, her expression remaining kind but unwavering. “Well, you’ve come to the right person,” she said with a faint smile, her eyes locking with the girl’s. “Jayce is brilliant at this sort of thing. He loves helping others.”

Her words were friendly enough, but the subtle shift in her posture—standing closer to Jayce, her hand lightly brushing his arm—spoke volumes. She wasn’t just Jayce’s partner in work; she was his partner in life, and she had no intention of letting anyone forget that.

The girl’s smile grew increasingly strained. She quickly began gathering her notes, her movements rushed and clumsy. “Right... Well, thank you for your time, Mr Talis,” she said, her voice pitched slightly higher than before. “I’ll, um, follow up later if I have more questions.” She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her eyes darting between the couple, before practically fleeing the lab. The door clicked shut behind her, the sound echoing faintly in the now-quiet room.

Jayce let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he turned to Y/N. “You handled that like a pro,” he said, his tone filled with admiration.

Y/N shrugged, leaning into his side with a sly smile. “I trust you,” she said simply. “But if someone’s getting touchy, I’m not going to let them think they have a chance.”

He grinned, his hand moving to cup her cheek as he looked down at her. “Good. Because I’m yours and only yours.”

“Damn right you are,” Y/N teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She nudged him playfully before turning back to the stack of blueprints. Unrolling one of them, she scanned the intricate diagrams, her brows furrowing slightly. “Now, let’s get back to work. I don’t have time to fend off your fan club all day.”

Jayce laughed, the rich sound filling the lab. “Deal. But for the record, you’re the only admirer I care about.”

Y/N glanced up at him, her heart swelling at the sincerity in his voice. She reached out, brushing her fingers against his. “Good answer,” she murmured with a smirk before refocusing on the blueprint in her hands.

As they settled into their work, the earlier interruption faded into the background, replaced by the quiet, easy rhythm of their partnership. The hum of the lab surrounded them, but nothing could compare to the unspoken understanding and love that passed between them with every shared glance and touch. Together, they were unstoppable.

VIKTOR

The bustling streets of Piltover's marketplace were alive with chatter, laughter, and the vibrant colours of countless stalls. Merchants called out to passers-by, enticing them with promises of rare spices, glittering trinkets, and the finest textiles in the city. Children darted between legs, their laughter ringing out like bells, while the smell of freshly baked bread and roasted chestnuts wafted through the crisp afternoon air.

Y/N walked beside Viktor, her hand brushing his every so often as they strolled. Her humming was soft, barely audible over the noise of the market, but it was enough for Viktor to catch the tune. He smiled to himself, matching his steps with hers as best he could, his cane tapping lightly against the cobblestones with every measured step.

Viktor didn’t often venture into the crowded streets of Piltover. The chaotic energy of the marketplace wasn’t exactly his domain—he preferred the quiet order of his lab. But with Y/N beside him, her boundless curiosity and infectious excitement made the marketplace feel almost magical.

As they wandered further into the maze of stalls, Y/N’s attention flitted from one display to the next. A vendor showcasing intricately carved wooden figurines caught her eye, then another selling jars of honey so golden they seemed to glow in the sunlight. Without even realising it, she drifted a few steps ahead, her gaze fixed on a stall overflowing with brightly coloured fabrics.

Viktor paused, noticing her absence. He turned his head, searching the crowd until he caught a glimpse of her dark hair weaving through the throng. A fond smile tugged at his lips as he watched her. “Always in her own world,” he murmured, shaking his head affectionately before beginning his careful pursuit.

Y/N, meanwhile, had been drawn to a flower vendor’s stall. The display was stunning—a riot of colours spilling out from buckets and vases, the petals dewy and fragrant. She leaned in to inhale the scent of a bouquet of violets, their delicate purple hues catching the light. The scent was intoxicating, a sweet reminder of open fields and quiet meadows.

“You’ve got a good eye for beauty,” a voice interrupted her reverie. Y/N straightened and turned to find a tall, broad-shouldered man standing beside her, his grin as self-assured as his tone. He gestured toward the violets she’d been admiring. “But they’ve got nothing on you.”

Y/N blinked, caught slightly off guard, but her expression quickly shifted into one of polite friendliness. “Thank you,” she said, her tone light and neutral. “I was just admiring the flowers.”

The man stepped closer, clearly emboldened. “Maybe I could buy you a bouquet? What’s your favourite? Roses? Daffodils?”

Y/N shook her head gently, trying not to sound curt. “That’s kind of you, but I’m just browsing.”

The man didn’t take the hint. “Oh, come on. A pretty woman like you deserves to be spoiled.” His grin widened, his tone oozing smug confidence, as if he were certain she’d melt under his charm.

Before Y/N could respond, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “Am I interrupting something?”

She turned to see Viktor standing a few paces away, his golden eyes sharp despite the calm expression on his face. He leaned slightly on his cane, his posture steady and self-assured despite his evident limp.

The stranger frowned, his gaze flicking dismissively over Viktor’s figure, lingering on the brace on his leg and the cane in his hand. “No offence, mate,” the man said, his tone dripping with condescension, “but this doesn’t concern you. Why don’t you hobble off and leave the lady to someone who can actually keep up with her?”

Y/N’s polite smile vanished instantly, replaced by a glare that could have frozen the sun. Before she could speak, Viktor stepped closer, his cane clicking against the stones as he approached.

His eyes met hers for a brief moment, and in that glance, they shared an unspoken understanding—a silent agreement that this man wasn’t worth their time.

Viktor turned his attention back to the stranger, his expression calm but resolute. “I would suggest you leave my wife alone,” he said, his tone measured but carrying a quiet authority that demanded respect.

The stranger blinked, momentarily stunned. “Your wife?” he repeated, disbelief written all over his face.

Viktor didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a few coins, and handed them to the flower vendor. He carefully selected a bouquet of violets—the same ones Y/N had been admiring—and held them out to her, his smile softening.

“For you, moje krásná paní manželka,” he said, his voice warm and tinged with a playful emphasis on the words. (My pretty lady wife)

Y/N’s expression melted into one of pure affection. She took the flowers from him, her smile radiant as she leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, darling,” she murmured, her voice sweet enough to make the stranger’s ears burn.

Viktor offered the man one final glance—polite but firm. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have somewhere important to be.”

Without waiting for a response, he extended his free hand to Y/N, who slipped her fingers through his without hesitation. Together, they turned and walked away, leaving the flustered man standing speechless by the flower stall.

As they rejoined the flow of the marketplace, Y/N gave Viktor’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, her voice soft but touched with gratitude.

Viktor chuckled, a quiet sound that rumbled pleasantly in his chest. “Perhaps not,” he replied, his tone teasing. “But I couldn’t let him think he had a chance, could I?”

She laughed, the sound bright and warm as the sun overhead. “My hero,” she said, her smile playful but her eyes shining with sincerity.

Viktor glanced down at her, his golden eyes brimming with affection. “And you,” he said softly, “are worth every flower in Piltover.”

JAYVIK

The grand hall of the gala glittered with opulence, the lights bouncing off the crystalline chandeliers and polished marble floors. A soft murmur of chatter, laughter, and the occasional clink of glasses filled the space. Y/N stood off to the side with Viktor, her arm looped casually through his. The pair, along with Mel Medarda, were engaged in polite conversation about recent developments in Piltover politics, though the conversation flowed easily to lighter subjects, like the evening’s extravagant décor.

As Mel’s laughter tapered off, her dark eyes drifted past Y/N and Viktor, honing in on a familiar figure across the room. She smirked knowingly and tilted her glass towards the scene. “Your Jayce appears to be quite the centre of attention tonight.”

Y/N and Viktor turned their heads in unison, their gazes falling on Jayce. The tall inventor stood amidst a small group of men and women, all hanging onto his every word. His confidence was magnetic, and it was clear he was enjoying himself, though the crowd seemed just a bit too interested. Hands brushed his arm, fingers lingered on his shoulder, and laughter bubbled up too freely from his admirers.

Viktor hummed, his lips twitching in mild annoyance. “Like moths to a flame,” he remarked dryly, leaning more heavily on his cane.

Y/N sighed, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Honestly, they’re practically swarming him,” she muttered. She took a sip of her champagne, her grip on the glass tightening. “Do they not see the ring on his finger?”

“Do they care?” Viktor countered, raising a brow. He exchanged a glance with Y/N, both of them clearly on the same page. Jayce might be their husband, but that didn’t mean they were above feeling a twinge of jealousy at the scene before them.

Mel chuckled, an elegant, knowing sound that drew their attention back to her. “Now, now,” she teased, “don’t do anything rash. You’ll only make it more amusing for them.” Her sharp eyes gleamed with mischief as she took a slow sip from her glass. “Besides, we wouldn’t want to start a scene, would we?”

Viktor rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “Rash? Us? Never,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Y/N let out a quiet laugh but folded her arms across her chest, unable to entirely suppress the spark of annoyance. “Maybe I should go remind him that he’s the one who’s supposed to stay by our sides, not entertain every vulture that flutters by.”

“Oh, but you’re far more captivating when you let him sweat a little,” Mel pointed out with a sly grin. “He’s a smart man—he’ll realise soon enough.”

As if sensing their gazes, Jayce glanced over, his broad smile faltering slightly when he caught the looks Y/N and Viktor were sending his way. His admirers seemed not to notice, but Jayce’s shoulders straightened, and he offered them a sheepish smile.

Y/N smirked, raising her glass towards him in a silent toast. Viktor gave a subtle shake of his head, a small but unmistakable warning. Jayce quickly excused himself from the group, weaving through the crowd to join his partners.

When he finally reached them, Jayce rubbed the back of his neck, his usual confidence a little diminished. “I see you noticed my, uh… predicament.”

Y/N arched a brow. “Predicament? Looked like you were having the time of your life.”

“More like being circled by sharks,” Viktor quipped, though there was no real venom in his tone.

Jayce huffed out a laugh, sliding an arm around both of them. “You know there’s only two people I’d rather spend my time with.”

“Smart answer,” Y/N said, though her tone was laced with affection.

“Very,” Viktor agreed, leaning slightly into Jayce’s side. “But don’t let it happen again.”

Before Jayce could respond, Y/N’s sharp eyes flicked over his shoulder, catching sight of two of his earlier admirers hesitantly making their way towards them. They were still wearing the same overly polite smiles, clearly unwilling to relinquish his attention just yet. Y/N let out a quiet, guttural sound—not quite a growl, but close enough to make Viktor glance at her with an amused expression.

“Oh no,” Viktor murmured under his breath, his lips twitching with humour. “You’re doing the thing again.”

“Let me handle it,” Y/N whispered, her voice dangerously sweet as her eyes tracked the approaching pair. “I’m not in the mood for this nonsense.”

Jayce followed her gaze, his brows knitting together as he realised who was coming. He sighed, stepping slightly in front of his partners in an instinctive gesture of protection. “I’ll—”

“No,” Y/N interrupted firmly, her free hand lightly pressing against his chest. “They’ve had more than enough of your time.”

Mel, observing the exchange, covered her mouth to hide her grin. “I do enjoy seeing you three in action,” she remarked, swirling her champagne. “It’s always so… theatrical.”

Viktor straightened slightly, gripping his cane as if considering stepping in himself. “Let them come,” he said dryly, though his tone held an edge. “I’d like to see how bold they really are.”

As the pair drew closer, Y/N’s glare sharpened into something almost predatory. The intensity of her stare must have registered because they hesitated, exchanged a few murmured words, and quickly retreated back into the crowd.

Jayce let out a relieved laugh, shaking his head. “I didn’t realise I’d married such a formidable pair.”

Y/N smirked, lifting her glass in mock toast. “It’s not formidable—it’s called protecting what’s ours.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Jayce said, his voice full of warmth as he pulled them both closer.

Mel tilted her head, raising her glass to them. “Now, that is how you command a room without saying a word. Bravo.”

VANDER

Y/N was bustling about the dimly lit chaos of The Last Drop, weaving through the crowd with the practised ease of someone who’d worked the bar for years. The tavern was alive with noise: laughter, shouts, clinking glasses, and the occasional thud of a fist meeting a table in emphasis. The air smelled of spilled ale, sweat, and smoke, but Y/N didn’t mind. She thrived in this environment. She always carried herself with an air of calm grace, even amidst the most chaotic nights, her presence grounding to both the regulars and the staff.

Tonight was no different—at least, not at first. But as the hours ticked by, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. A quick glance confirmed it: a table in the corner, occupied by a group of men who’d been lingering far too long over their drinks, their gazes lingering far too long on her.

She ignored them as best she could, continuing to flit between tables, clearing mugs, taking orders, and flashing her polite smile at every lewd comment thrown her way. It wasn’t uncommon in a place like this, but it didn’t make it any less tiresome. She was used to handling herself, though. She always had been.

Eventually, the inevitable happened. She approached the corner table to clear the growing collection of empty mugs. One of the men, a scruffy fellow with a greasy grin, leaned back in his chair and extended his boot, blocking her path with an exaggerated smirk.

"Well, aren’t you a pretty thing," he slurred, his words thick with drink and arrogance. His eyes roamed over her in a way that made her skin crawl. "Didn’t know The Last Drop hired angels to serve the likes of us."

Y/N kept her expression neutral, though her polite smile remained firmly in place. She expertly sidestepped his boot, bending slightly to collect the mugs without missing a beat. “Just doing my job,” she replied smoothly, her tone calm and professional. “What can I get you?”

The man’s companions chuckled, their laughter carrying the kind of oily smugness that sent a flicker of annoyance through her. She didn’t let it show, focusing instead on scribbling down their order. But one of the men leaned forward, his smirk widening as his eyes caught the glint of her wedding ring.

"That ring of yours, love,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “Bet whoever put it there can’t protect you like we could. Someone like you needs a man who can actually handle himself.” He sat back, clearly pleased with his own bravado, as his companions snickered.

Y/N felt a flicker of irritation, but her smile didn’t falter. She was used to comments like this, and she knew how to brush them off without escalating the situation. Still, she opened her mouth to respond, ready to deliver a cutting yet professional retort—when the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

A familiar presence loomed behind her, and a long shadow fell across the table. The men’s chuckles faded as they slowly realised they were no longer the centre of attention. Vander had arrived.

“Is that right?” came his low, gravelly voice, calm but brimming with a quiet menace that sent a chill through the room.

Y/N didn’t even flinch. She glanced over her shoulder, her smile softening slightly at the sight of her husband. Vander stood tall, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his imposing figure radiating authority. His eyes, cold and calculating, were fixed on the men at the table.

The scruffy man who had spoken earlier shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his cocky grin faltering. "Just a bit of fun,” he muttered, his bravado evaporating under Vander’s piercing gaze.

“Funny,” Vander said, his tone deceptively calm as he leaned down slightly, resting a large, calloused hand on Y/N’s lower back. “Because it sounded like you were asking for a different kind of lesson.”

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and the men exchanged uneasy glances. Y/N, ever composed, placed the tray down on the table with practised ease, her polite smile still firmly in place.

“Well then,” she said cheerfully, her tone light and unconcerned, “your drinks will be out shortly.” Her calm demeanour only seemed to emphasise Vander’s silent warning, and she could feel his hand resting protectively against her back.

Vander straightened, his gaze never leaving the table as he addressed the men one final time. "You’d best remember where you are. And who runs it." His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. "You don’t touch what’s mine."

The men muttered hurried apologies, their confidence thoroughly shattered. They couldn’t look anywhere but their table as Y/N turned to continue her work, Vander following close behind her. When they reached the bar, she glanced up at him with a teasing smile, her expression amused.

“Subtle as ever, aren’t you?” she said softly, reaching for a fresh tray of mugs.

Vander huffed a quiet laugh, the tension easing from his shoulders as he leaned against the bar. His hand brushed hers, a quiet reassurance. “Didn’t like the way they looked at you.”

“I noticed.” She leaned up on her toes, Vander bending down a little, to press a quick kiss to his cheek, her smile warm. “But I’ve got it handled. Besides, I don’t think anyone’s going to try anything now.”

Vander smiled down at her, his hand resting briefly against her cheek before dropping to his side. “Damn right they won’t.”

Despite the earlier tension, the moment between them felt light, easy. Y/N returned to her work with a renewed sense of calm, while Vander lingered near the bar, his protective gaze ensuring no one else even thought about testing their luck.

SILCO

The dim light of Silco's office cast long shadows across the room, the flickering flames of the lamps accentuating his sharp features. He sat at his desk, fingers steepled, eyes narrowed in thought as he spoke with a man from one of the lesser factions in Zaun. Silco's voice was calm, calculated, but there was an edge to it—a clear warning not to waste his time. His presence alone commanded authority, but there was something more palpable in the air. The unspoken understanding that crossing him would be a mistake—one no one would make twice.

And then, there was you.

Leaning languidly against the edge of Silco's desk, you were a vision of confidence, of power masked behind the allure of your smile. Your body was angled just enough to hold the man’s attention, your eyes locked onto his, but always, always dancing over him as if to draw him in. Your lips curled into a sultry smile, soft and inviting, while your fingers traced the smooth surface of the desk, the subtle motion hypnotic, like the flick of a predator’s tail.

You knew exactly what you were doing. Your touch, the slow movements of your hands, they were designed to disarm, to draw attention away from Silco’s calculated threats and promises. The man—poor fool—couldn’t seem to focus on a single word Silco was saying. His eyes darted between you and the dangerous man across the desk, unable to stop himself from being pulled into your orbit. You could practically see his resolve crumbling, his thoughts scrambling as your presence enveloped him.

You leaned forward slightly, close enough to make him tense, your hand brushing lightly across the man’s shoulder. His breath caught, eyes widening as you spoke, your voice a soft, lilting purr that made his chest tighten. "You know," you murmured, the words laced with honeyed temptation, "working with us could benefit you more than you think. I can promise, we make it worth your while."

The man stammered, lost for words as your fingers trailed slowly down the front of his chest. Your touch was delicate but deliberate, each movement designed to toy with him, to make him feel as if he were the only person in the room. His pulse quickened as he tried to compose himself, but you leaned in just enough for your lips to hover close to his ear, the scent of your perfume clouding his mind.

Silco watched all of it, his gaze as cold as steel. His fingers tightened imperceptibly around the edge of his desk, the movement barely noticeable, but his jaw clenched with restraint. He knew exactly what you were doing. You were a black widow—using your beauty, your charm, your body as a weapon, a tool to distract, to ensnare, to get what you wanted. And he couldn't help but admire it, in all its lethal precision. You had always been a master of manipulation, drawing people into your web with ease, your every move calculated to make them underestimate the danger you posed.

It was thrilling, watching you weave your spell, but it was dangerous too. Because while he had seen many fall prey to your charms, seeing your hands on another man, your lips curling with that teasing smile—it stirred something in him that wasn’t just a sharp sense of control, but a possessiveness, an urge to protect what was his, and a frustration that he couldn’t fully contain. It was a feeling that didn’t make sense, one that was far from rational, but it was there nonetheless, simmering beneath the surface.

A flare of jealousy—sharp, immediate—flashed through him.

"Enough," Silco snapped, his voice cutting through the tension like a whip cracking through the air. The man jumped, startled, his eyes shifting between Silco and you, as if trying to gauge his next move. But Silco’s glare was as unforgiving as a blade, and the man was no fool. "Leave. Now."

The man blinked, the fear creeping into his eyes as he quickly gathered himself. His hands fumbled as he straightened his clothes, his voice shaking as he stammered a hasty apology. Silco's gaze, cold and commanding, made it clear there was no room for argument. The man didn’t hesitate; he fled, the door slamming behind him as though it were a final punctuation to his presence in Silco’s domain.

You turned slowly towards Silco, your lips curving into a teasing smile. You could feel the shift in the air, the subtle tension that thickened as you stood before him. Your brow arched, and you tilted your head, a faint, innocent look in your eyes that did little to mask the playfulness beneath. "What?" you asked, your voice lilting, soft as you returned his gaze. "I was just making sure he didn’t get distracted."

Silco’s expression remained unreadable for a moment, but his movements betrayed his inner thoughts. He stood abruptly, stepping around the desk with the calculated grace of a predator, his eyes never leaving yours. He moved with purpose, each step measured, predatory. His presence closed in around you like a tightening noose, and you knew there was no escape from the storm you had stirred.

"What was that, darling?" His voice was low, a growl wrapped in silk, the words heavy with dark intent. He stopped in front of you, his towering presence forcing you to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. "Don’t play coy with me."

You shrugged nonchalantly, not an ounce of fear in your posture, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes that made your pulse quicken. "Just helping you seal the deal. He seemed… distracted. I thought a little charm might keep him focused."

He moved suddenly, his hand darting out to grip your chin, not with violence, but with the firm authority that only he could wield. His fingers were like iron around you, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. You couldn’t look away, caught in the heat of his glare, the raw intensity of his gaze burning through you like a brand. "You think I need your… charm to make people listen to me?" His voice was dangerously soft, but the underlying threat was clear.

You smirked, undeterred, a glint of mischief in your eyes. "Of course not. But it doesn’t hurt to have a little insurance, does it?"

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, a slow, deliberate motion that made your breath catch. His other hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer, his body pressing into yours as his breath ghosted over your ear. "And what about me, Y/N?" he whispered, his voice dark, thick with a possessiveness you could feel radiating off him. "Watching you touch him, lean into him like that…" His hand moved to the small of your back, fingers splaying out as though claiming you in front of him, as if the very air around you belonged to him. "Do you enjoy testing my patience?"

Your smirk faltered, just slightly. His jealousy was palpable, raw, and it sent a shiver of excitement down your spine. You’d never seen him so openly possessive. "I didn’t mean anything by it," you murmured, your voice dropping into something more sincere, more vulnerable. "You know that."

His lips brushed against your ear, the feel of his breath sending a tremor through you. "I do," he said, his voice laced with dark satisfaction. "But I can’t stand the sight of another man’s hands near you—or yours on him." His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him, and the sharp edges of his anger twisted into something more primal. "I think you need a reminder of who you belong to."

Before you could respond, his lips claimed yours with a hunger that nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. His kiss was fierce, possessive, claiming, as if he wanted to mark you, to make you remember where you belonged. His hands moved over you, gripping your hips tightly, possessively, as though daring the universe itself to try and take you from him. You melted into the kiss, the heat between you both burning bright and consuming.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark, hooded with desire, but beneath that, there was something more��an unspoken command. His voice was a low rasp, filled with a raw edge. "You’re mine, Y/N," he whispered, each word dripping with possessiveness. "And don’t you forget it."

A sly smile crept across your face, despite the heavy weight of his words. You leaned into him, your hands sliding up his chest, fingers tracing the hard lines of his muscles, and your lips brushed against his ear. "How could I, with the way you remind me?"

His smirk returned, but it was sharper, more dangerous. "Good," he growled, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer as though there was no distance he was willing to allow. "Because next time, I won’t be so… patient."

As the air around you thickened with desire, you could feel the undeniable shift in power—you were his, and you always would be. The game had changed. And Silco, in all his quiet, commanding intensity, had reminded you just how much control he had over you, body and soul.

JINX/POWDER

The sun was sinking lower in the sky, casting long shadows over Zaun's rundown streets. The city had always been a place of stark contrasts—grimy and industrial, yet teeming with life, especially in the market district. Y/N sat on an old, weathered bench, legs crossed, her hands resting loosely in her lap as she hummed a soft melody, her gaze distant. The hustle and bustle around her seemed to fade as she focused on the simple pleasure of the moment.

A small cluster of Zaun’s children had gathered around her, forming a loose circle. They were entranced by her calm, collected presence. Her voice, a soft mix of wisdom and warmth, flowed effortlessly as she spoke to them.

“I don’t care if you make mistakes,” she said with a reassuring smile, her eyes flicking between the eager faces of the kids. “We all do. But that’s not what matters. What matters is what you do after. You can keep making the same mistake, or you can learn from it and move forward. What are you gonna do?”

The children’s eyes lit up, hanging on her every word, nodding along as if absorbing each bit of advice like a sponge. Y/N had become their unspoken anchor in this chaotic world, a person they could rely on for more than just survival tips. She gave them hope in a place that had little of it to spare, and they respected her deeply for it. Whether they sought advice on how to stay out of trouble or simply needed someone to listen, Y/N was always there.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden, unmistakable sound of someone shifting through the alleyways, their footsteps quick and light, a telltale sign of someone who wasn’t trying to be discreet. Y/N smiled softly to herself, knowing exactly who it was, even before she looked up.

The familiar rustling of Jinx's footsteps echoed through the air, and sure enough, the moment Y/N’s gaze lifted, she spotted her—her hair a chaotic mess of blue curls, eyes narrowed in a way that meant only one thing: mischief. Jinx’s gaze, however, was fixed firmly on the group of kids gathered around Y/N.

Y/N could practically hear the gears turning in Jinx's head. The older woman could see the sharp lines of irritation appearing across Jinx’s face, her lips curling into an almost predatory smirk. Her eyes—those wild, electric blue eyes—glowed with a certain intensity that made her presence undeniably formidable.

“They’re all over you, huh?” Jinx asked, her voice tinged with an edge of annoyance that only she could mask with that signature grin. “What’s the deal with that? They’re... like... swarming you, and I’m standing here, like, totally ignored.”

Y/N chuckled, her laugh light but full of affection. She turned to meet Jinx’s gaze, watching the younger woman as she crossed her arms over her chest, a sulking pout beginning to form.

“They just look up to me, Jinx,” Y/N said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m the one who’s been around longer. They’re kids; they need someone to look to. You know that.”

But before Y/N could say more, Jinx had already taken a step forward, her posture suddenly rigid with determination. Her eyes locked onto the children, who had begun to slowly back away, sensing her unsettling presence. Without a word, Jinx raised a hand, giving them a slow, deliberate glare. It was the kind of look that could freeze anyone in place, a mixture of warning and threat that sent a chill through the air.

The kids, wide-eyed and stiff with fear, began to scatter. One by one, they scurried away, no longer able to stand their ground against the unpredictable force of Jinx. Y/N shook her head with an exasperated but fond smile.

“Jinx,” she called, her voice light, “you really need to stop scaring them off like that.”

Jinx let out a huff, her arms still crossed, and her pout deepened, lips curving into a sulky frown. “They were getting too close to you,” she muttered, her voice quiet but dripping with possessiveness. “They were... I don’t like it when they crowd you like that.”

Y/N rose from the bench, her movements slow and deliberate as she walked over to Jinx. She stood in front of her for a moment, taking in the conflicted expression on Jinx’s face. She could see the underlying vulnerability beneath the tough exterior, and it made her heart soften.

With a gentle touch, Y/N placed her hands on Jinx’s shoulders, leaning down slightly to meet her gaze. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, her voice soft and affectionate, “you don’t have to worry about them. They don’t want to take me from you. They look up to me because I’ve been here longer. But you…” She paused, her thumb lightly brushing across Jinx’s cheek, “you’ll always be my little troublemaker. The one who keeps me on my toes.”

Jinx's gaze softened, but she still crossed her arms tighter, looking down at her feet. The faintest hint of insecurity flickered in her eyes, but it quickly vanished as she looked back up at Y/N.

“I don’t want them to take you away from me,” Jinx murmured, her voice smaller now, as if admitting something too fragile to say aloud.

Y/N’s heart melted at the vulnerability in her tone. She leaned down even further, resting her forehead against Jinx’s, her hands cupping the younger woman’s face. “You’ll never lose me, Jinx. Ever,” she said softly, her words a promise. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re stuck with me. Whether you like it or not.”

For a brief moment, Jinx seemed unsure, her gaze darting away as if she couldn’t quite believe it. But then she nodded, a tiny, satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “Alright,” she said, the confidence returning to her voice. “But if they try again... I’m scaring them all off, and you can’t stop me.”

Y/N’s laughter bubbled up again, and she wrapped her arms around Jinx in a quick, tender hug. “Deal,” she said, her voice light and teasing. “But you know, you don’t have to protect me from the kids. They’re just trying to learn from me.”

Jinx rolled her eyes, but her grin returned, as wild and carefree as ever. “I know, I know. But I don’t trust anyone near you,” she replied, her tone still playful.

Y/N kissed the top of Jinx’s head affectionately, pulling away with a wide grin. “And that’s exactly why I love you, you little mischief-maker.”

Jinx’s eyes sparkled with something that could only be described as pride, and her grin widened. The earlier jealousy had been replaced with a renewed sense of certainty. She was the one Y/N was always going to be there for, and that knowledge settled deep in her chest.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jinx said with a teasing roll of her eyes. “Just don’t forget it.”

Y/N chuckled again, her heart swelling with affection for the young woman standing beside her. She had no idea what Zaun would throw at them next, but with Jinx at her side, she knew they could handle whatever came their way.

Side by side, the two of them stood in the fading light, ready to face whatever chaos the streets of Zaun had in store for them.

[oceantornadoo]

ch13 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: allusions to torture. reader has some ptsd. SMUT.

also i did not edit this srry

masterlist | next

“Again.”

Johnny sighs to his right, but Simon ignores it, too concerned with the man in the chair in front of him. “Say it again.” The man in the chair (Richard, 34, nephew of a Price uncle, twice-removed or some bullshit) spits out a glob of blood on the floor before clearing his throat. “The night the weapons were stolen I was at home with my wife. We watched a new episode of one of those trashy American shows, The Bachelor, that dropped that night. I was off-shift. Came in at 6am because of the Mrs. Price emergency.” Simon’s eyebrow twitches under his mask. Three days after getting his sister back and this is what sniffs out the rat? An American show Johnny loves to pirate? He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Johnny catches his eye and he can’t fault the man for the grin on his face. When Simon turns back to Richard, red in the face, he’s pretty sure the man’s figured it out. “The Bachelor drops Mondays.”

Richard sputters, twitching. “We were catchin’ up from the week before.” Simon shakes his head, glancing at the papers on the table to his left. “You had off every other night that week and only got to it by Sunday? Tellin’ me the wife keeps up with the drop schedule but waited six days?” He walks closer to Richard, gloved hands gripping the man’s jaw tightly. He presses his fingers into the bruise near his mouth, pressing hard until he breaks.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m in debt, man, 50,000 Euros. No one knows so when I lost to the guy at that shithole of a bar and he offered me a job, I couldn’t say no! He said it was just a few documents, wouldn’t hurt anyone…” Stupid, stupid, stupid. Before Simon can grab a tool from the wall, Johnny clears his throat. “Let me, sir. Gaz called. You’re needed at base.” That could only mean one thing. Simon nods, swallowing thickly as he leaves the room to the sound of screams. 

It’s a half hour drive back to the Castle, but it feels like eons. Simon changes his gloves and mask with the limo partition up, even swapping his sweatshirt out for your benefit. The smell of blood fades when the fabric is removed, bundled into a trash bag he leaves in the car. When Simon double checks his phone, his hands are shaking. Another oddity of the week, too miniscule to dwell on.

It’s been three days since he last saw you, cuddled up in Price’s arms like an injured stray. For all Simon has tried to protect you from, the insults of childhood and your shared shitty father, it worries him to think you got hurt despite his greatest efforts. There’s no doubt that you’re a strong woman, but he’s not sure what Shepherd did to you and no matter what, there’s only so much a person can take. The guilt that’s been following him since the marriage is heavy like a chain, weighing down his every motion. Did he marry you off too early? Was Price the wrong pick? Thoughts swirl like a snowstorm in his head, only stopping when the car pulls up to the Castle.

It’s the perfect home he would have picked for you, given the chance. Sophisticated wealth, nothing flashy or too pretentious. Gaz mentioned that you redecorated, and he can see parts of you in the artwork, in the new chairs meant for casual conversation instead of just functionality. You’ve turned the base into a home and the guilt creeps up again thinking of how you might have never returned to it.

“Mr. Riley.” The door guards nod at Simon as he walks through. He feels out of place in his hoodie, used to his lax uniform in Manchester. Price styles himself more as a businessman than Simon ever has. He hides the scars with gloves and a mask but he doesn’t delude himself into thinking of himself as a professional. He’s more like the head of a wolf pack, barking and snarling at anyone who gets too close. Nothing like Price and he’s glad for it. You deserve someone who can give you a semblance of a normal life, pretending like he’s going to work at an office instead of meeting illicit weapons dealers on the edge of town.

Gaz is waiting for him in the foyer, immaculate in a deep blue button-up. It’s the first time he’s seen the man shaved, a testament to the bonds that you forged with Price men that were tested in the past week. “Ghost.” Gaz nods, leading him through the Castle. “How is she?” Gaz walks slower than usual, seeming to need more time before bringing Simon upstairs. “She’s…recovering. Been talking with a trauma therapist the Captain trusts.” Simon nods. He can’t imagine what they put you through, why John ordered him to find a new set of clothes when they found you. Everything he learns is a strike against Phil, whenever Simon finds him. John promised him retribution.

“How is she physically? They hurt her?” Gaz stops in front of the stairs, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “She’s skittish. Can’t approach ‘er from behind, got t’ give ‘er plenty of warnin’. I only saw her last night when she came down for some food, ‘s the first time she’s been out of the room. The Captain’s given me a temporary title while he’s taking care of ‘er.” It’s not temporary. Simon can sense it, leadership senses setting off alarms. Loyalty, initiative, intelligence - Gaz has it all. A fine replacement if he’s ever seen one. Too bad Johnny hates him. 

Simon nods, ready to see his sister. Before he can step up the stairs, Gaz clears his throat. “If you can, sir, convince her to drink some water? Last night, all she could do was look at the glass.” Christ. What did they do to you?

When Simon climbs up the stairs, you’re lounging in the sitting room, swathed in clothes too big for you. The couch you’re on is out of place, tugged from its original spot so the back is now against the wall. Tactical. He ensures his steps are loud so you sit up with a smile instead of a shudder. “Si!” You grin and his heart stops at the fact you still have the ability to. They didn’t take everything. “Hey, love. Can I hug ya?” You nod, setting your book down with your arms reaching up. “I missed you.” You murmur as he hugs you. The angle is awkward as he towers over you but he doesn’t particularly care, sitting down next to you while keeping you in his arms.

“How ya doin’, kid?” He asks when you release him. Simon slips off his medical mask into his pocket. On closer look, you’re wearing John’s clothes, the name of some obscure London footie team emboldened on the chest. He can hear the man’s voice come from behind the closed bedroom door, likely on a phone call. “I’m okay. John got me a therapist and she’s really helping. She specializes in kidnapping victims and immediate solutions and…yeah. Isn’t that a bit weird, saying I’ve been kidnapped?” On second look, you don’t look your best. There’s circles on your eyes and faded bruises on your jaw, like someone grabbed it and forced it open. Instead of answering, Simon brushes the soft skin of your neck until he can find your pulse. You don’t jolt like he expected you to, instead curling into the feeling of his familiar touch. 

“I knew somethin’ was wrong ‘fore Gaz called. Had this dream of you screamin’ my name, askin’ for my help from somewhere far. When I woke, I just knew. Ready to tear the world apart f’ you, kiddo. You’re still my little sister to protect.” A tear escapes your eye. He brushes it away, then squeezes your cheek like a grandmother would before pulling back. “I’m still lookin’ f’r others who were involved. They’ll get what’s coming for ‘em.” You nod, catching his hand before he pulls back completely. “Thank you for that, Si, but also, I just- just need you here, you know? I think your presence here will do a lot more for me than being an avenging angel.” He gets it, he does, but he didn’t get to kill Shepherd. He was John’s but Phil is Simon’s and no matter what, he will be found. “Think there’s a way f’r us to split it?” It. His time. Your wants, his needs. 

You squeeze his hand and nod. “I think so.” You croak out. Simon can sense the need for levity, so he starts telling you about how Johnny almost got himself blown up a few weeks ago when dealing with a Chinese chemical supplier. Simon’s not usually the joker between you two but he channels the infectious energy of his husband, in pursuit of making you laugh. You finally giggle when he mimics the windblown look on Johnny’s face, even putting in the effort to mimic his mohawk with his hands. It’s goofy and reminiscent of your childhood, the ghost of Tommy making a rare appearance in the corner of the room. Your kidnapping has sent Simon off the edge and out of character, desperate to do anything to repair what has been broken.

The bedroom door creaks open and John’s heavy footsteps follow. “Hi, sweetheart.” John approaches the couch head on, kissing your forehead before nodding at Simon. “Simon.” He nods back, not feeling the need to put his mask back on. “John.” “What is this?” Your eyes flick between the two of them, brows furrowed. Simon looks at John, who shrugs. “What’re ya talkin about?” You frown at Simon’s words, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Since when is there a bromance? What did I miss?” John sighs, dragging a hand down his face. Simon reaches out to ruffle your hairdo, smiling when you screech and bat his hand away. “‘S called mutual respect, sweetheart. Not sure what a bromance is.” You mock John’s sigh, rolling your eyes. “You’ll be wearing friendship bracelets by the end of this year if you keep going on this trajectory.” The men lock eyes with twin glances of horror.

“On that note, you good if I pop in downstairs, sweetheart? Gaz needed help on something.” A look of understanding passes between you two, a look Simon has felt time and time again with his husband. It’s like a punch to the gut in the softest way possible. “All good, I’ll be here with Simon.” John nods, kissing your forehead before taking a few steps back towards the staircase. Before he can leave, Simon clears his throat. “John, you have any condos or safehouses in the area you aren’t usin’?” John’s eyes flicker with a different kind of understanding. “Enough space for two, I gather?” Simon nods, ignoring how you’re kicking his shin. “For a month or two, at least.” You kick him harder and he shoves your foot away in a playful push. “I’ll see what I can do.” John responds, nodding before heading down the stairs. 

“You’re stayin’?” When he turns to look at you, your lip is quivering. He sighs in faux exhaustion before tugging your legs on top of his. “‘Course I’m stayin’. Can’t let my baby sister fight alone.” You shyly wipe your eyes before meeting his own. “What about the business in Manchester?” He shrugs, acting like he didn’t spend hours on the phone with his best men last night. “It’s what I’ve got men for. Plus, you can show me ‘round.” Instead of squealing or jumping him, you give him a small smile. It feels older and mellow, something he hates. “Thanks, Si.” He squeezes your foot. He wants to bring up the water drinking, but you seem a little fragile right now. He’s got time now, something he won’t miscount. “‘S what I’m here for. Now tell me the rest ‘f y’r redecoratin’ plans. That entryway could use some work.” You grin and he’s reminded of the toothy five-year old, playing hide and seek in the Riley house of horrors. A survivor, through and through.

-

Every day passes faster than the last. You find out your therapist, Marie, is actually Dr. Marie Laswell, Kate’s wife. She promises you that despite their marriage, everything you share is confidential and stays between you. It’s hard work, recounting everything that happened in your daily meetings. John is there, kissing your forehead and cuddling you after nightmares, like the perfect gentleman. As the adrenaline drains and you find yourself living again, you crave more than that.

You want to go back to your last fight. You know it could be self-sabotage, but in the confines of the Castle, it’s like nothing can harm you. John only has guards you know working. Terrance stops by once or twice, telling you he got promoted. Simon visits whenever he can. Your reunion with Johnny is heartfelt and strong. Gaz feels like a son now, protective and firm about your security. All of these facts coalesce into a suit of armor, knowing that as long as you don’t leave the building, you are safe.

Marie tells you it’s not the healthiest mindset. You remind her progress is progress. She sighs in a way that reminds you of her wife.

The one-month anniversary of your kidnapping creeps up on you, haunting the corners of your mind. There’s an ache deep in your heart to return to normal, no matter what he said about finding a new one. You want so badly to change without looking over your shoulder. On rainy days, there’s a phantom ache in the side of your arm that Phil sunk a syringe into. He’s still in the wind, a fact that agitates Simon more and more. Small wins happen too. There are days you don’t need John at home, content with phone calls throughout the day and a long dinner at night. You’ve gone on two (2!) walks by yourself, passing through the park across from the Castle as guards trail behind you and at the corners of the park. You’ve progressed to Gatorade and flavored carbonated water but still jump at unknown touches. Except, of course, John’s.

Every night runs like clockwork. You shower, John standing outside the door like a protective hound. Then you slip on a robe and let him in, brushing your teeth and finishing your routine together. He leaves to ‘check something’ and always returns with a new non-water liquid he wants you to try, like a new Gatorade or flavor of tea. In the time he’s gone, you change. You’ve graduated from speed-changing to taking your time, rubbing lotion on your body before slipping on pajamas. When John comes back, you cuddle and talk, and then lights out.

The same damn routine. Every. Night. You feel like a nun.

The anniversary passes without little fanfare. John takes the day off, unusual but part of the new normal. Gaz is left in charge again, a fact he’s getting more used to. When you wake in the morning, something else new happens.

Morning light warms your eyelids. John’s arm is a comfortable weight around your waist, his forearm hair rubbing the patch of your stomach exposed by your raised shirt. Something pulses low in your belly. When he turns to pull you closer into him, your stomach flutters. His face tucked into your neck, the weight of him searing as his body is half-slung over yours. It’s a welcome change from how you usually find yourself on top of him, like he’s pinning you to reality. A body scan reveals wetness between your thighs and a keenness between your lips.

When you cant your hips slightly, chasing that fluttering feeling, his cock twitches in his sweats where it’s against the outside of your thigh. You tilt them higher, fighting against the weight of him, and smile when his cock twitches again. “Go t’sleep.” He groans, rough and sleepy into your ear. Instead of listening, you push your thigh outwards to the heavy weight of him.

“Watch what y’r doin’, pet.” Pet is new. Unlocking a new nickname sends a thrill down your spine. You ignore the connotations behind it. “John…” You whisper, injecting an extra breath of air into your speech. He pulls his head up, hair mussed and eyes blurry. He’s beautiful.

He props himself up on his forearm, giving your own arm freedom to move. You do so, sliding it from his neck to his torso, snaking down to follow his happy trail. “What d’ya think y’r doin’?” You run your fingers through his trimmed body hair, only dipping slightly into the elastic of his boxers. “I want to feel you.” You blink at him with wide eyes. He pulls his core backwards, letting your hand drop on the mattress. “Y’r not ready.” You frown, scooting back into your pillows so you can properly meet his eyes. “I think I get to decide that, John.” He closes his eyes, sighing. “I was readin’ an article and-” You huff, pulling back further until you’re sitting on the opposite side of the bed. 

“This is the problem we have, John. You trust external sources more than me.” If he was a weaker man, he’d look whiplashed. Unfortunately, you got a husband prepared for anything, a man who can argue at the drop of a hat. “I’m jus’ sayin’, sweetheart, maybe we wait. I don’t want t’ hurt ya.” You scoff, pulling your knees to your chest. “Can you trust when I say you won’t hurt me? That I can handle myself and know my limits?” He’s silent for a second too long.

You launch yourself out of the bed, heading for the bathroom. He’s faster than you, weak from weeks of lethargy, beating you to the punch to stand in front of the door instead of tugging you back into him. “Stop.” You place a hand on his chest, intent to push him away, but all he does is cover it with his own. “Can you jus’ wait for a second?” That’s when you take a second look at your husband. How he’s panting like he’s out of breath, even if you know he goes for runs every day. His pupils are blown and feral, a predator in the wild. You stand for a bit, letting your palm track how his breaths go in and out of his chest.

“Deep breaths for me, baby.” How nostalgic it feels, the roles reversed as this time it’s you talking him off a ledge. His breathing calms after a minute, eyes going tame as he squeezes the life out of your hand. When he’s calmed, he speaks. “The last time you ran from me after an argument, you were taken from me.” Your heart breaks a little at the weakness he lets you see. Your hand slides up into his beard, brushing over the rough strands as you look in his eyes. “I wasn’t running, John. I just needed some space.” He shakes his head in disagreement. “Ya don’t know what it felt like, seein’ you step into tha’ car an’ gettin’ a call hours later that you were gone.” You nod, biting your lip.

“You’re right, John. I don’t know. And you don’t know how my brain works. You don’t know how harsh grips trigger me but yours never have.” Understanding brews in his eyes, cloudy like a cup of coffee. He pulls you in closer by the waist, lining you up until your pelvises meet. “I get it, sweetheart. I trust you.” You exhale a breath at his words.

“I didn’t take ya on tha’ trip months ago because I was meetin’ a new supplier an’ I didn’t trust him. You know firsthand now how dangerous my world is. I know you’ve lived this life, but London is more cutthroat than Manchester could ever be. ‘M not sorry f’r smotherin’ ya, because at least y’r safe. ‘S my number one concern in this world.” It’s terrible, how you don’t care that he’s admitted that he smothers you. How all you care about is how he knew what you were referencing, even if it was from months ago.

“How do I know you want me for me?” Another concern of yours from your fight before the kidnapping. He shrugs, giving you a wry smile. “Guess you’ll have to trust me.”

You drag him into the bathroom, jumping onto the counter and pulling him between your legs. You practically maul his face, kissing him with unrestrained want. His admission flipped a switch in you, a longing that’s been asleep for a while. It wakes up when he pulls you closer to his pelvis, your clothed cunt rubbing against the outline of his cock. You’re still wet from earlier, your folds sticking to airy fabric. 

“Didn’t want it like this.” He breathes behind your ear. John sucks a soft patch of skin there, licking at the sweat from your sleep before trailing down your neck. “Wanted t’ eat ya out f’r an hour ‘fore even pullin’ my cock out.” You run a hand down his rigid back muscles, pulling at the fabric until he lets you tug it off. John laves his tongue at your neck, alternating between sucking and nipping at your sensitive skin. His hands grip your hard, thumbs inching closer and closer to your core. You’re wearing shorts without underwear, a perfect combination that he soon discovers. “What else?” You moan, leaning your head back until it hits the mirror behind you. It’s perfect, knowing there’s nothing but a wall behind your back. It calms the worried part of your brain, letting you fully focus on the moment.

“Then I’d let ya suck my cock, get it nice an’ warm in tha’ mouth of yours. Let you rub y’r cunt against me.” You whine at the image, nails digging into his back as he continues making out with your neck. Finally, he tugs your sleep shirt off, trailing downwards to suck at your tits. He squeezes one while sucking the other, pulling hard enough to make it hurt. There’s no part of him you can reach, the angle of it awkward and wrong. The solution is to trail your free hand up your thigh, passing his hands to push the fabric of your shorts aside and thumb at your clit. “Wha’s this, hm?” He murmurs, switching to your other tit. “Wanna be ready f’ you, John.” The wetness seeping from your cunt makes it easy to slip a finger in, stretching yourself in preparation for your husband. He’s letting you set the rhythm in a way he usually doesn’t, and you love him for it, something you don’t think too hard about.

“Let me?” He asks and you nod immediately. He replaces your hand with his own, sliding two thick fingers into your hole. You clench immediately at the intrusion, more out of tension than fear. John stops, glancing up at you from where he’s leaning down. “Need me to stop?” You shake your head, moving your hips forward so his fingers slide in deeper. “It’s just been a while.” John is still stopped, searching your face for something. “I trust you, John. I need you to say it back or this won’t work.” His eyes don’t leave your face, nodding slowly. “I trust you with my life, baby. An’ I trust ya with yours. You gonna let me stretch you out?” Instead of answering, you start to grind slowly, fucking yourself on his fingers. His gaze drops down, watching your cunt squeeze him tight. 

“How’d I get so lucky, hm? Perfect wife, dropped right into my lap.” John makes you work for it, angling his thumb so your clit hits it with every grind. It’s the most work your body has done in months and you love it, love the burn in your muscles as you command them to work. “This is goin’ t’ be a lot shorter than I wanted it t’ be, pet. Can’t focus when y’r mewlin’ f’r my cock like this.” You whine at his words. John pulls his fingers out, a string of slick trailing after them. He rubs them against your chest, pointed nipples scraping against your own wetness. The friction makes you delirious and needy in his arms. “John, I need you.” He hums, that same hand pushing down his sweats to reveal his cock, thick and heavy in his hand. He gives it a pump and you watch him spread your slick around it, mixing with his precum to make it even smoother.

“Last chance, baby.” John lines his cock up with your cunt. He rubs it up and down, catching on your clit every other time. “Shut the fuck up and fuck me, John.” His name on your lips is punctuated with a gasp as he pushes into you. You let out a string of curses at the intrusion. No matter how many times John has given you his fingers, the blunt width of his cock is so much more. It’s been over a year since you’ve fucked someone, and it’s never been like this. It’s never been dark blue eyes filled with trust and care, flicking down every so often to watch his cock go in and out. It’s never been dangling over the precipice of an orgasm so fast, the speed of it hitting you like a lightning strike. He fucks you through it, his hand on the back of your neck, forcing you to look down at where you’re joined. You watch your tits and stomach bounce at his movements and you watch as he hungers for it.

John’s a talker. This you’ve known, but it’s never been like this. 

“Look at you, taking my cock so well. Fuckin’ made f’r it.”

“Y’r cunny’s so tight, baby. This all for me?”“So desperate for it, pet.”

“Such a good girl for daddy. C’mon, say it.”

It makes you clench and mewl and claw at his back. He tries to kiss you but all you can do is let your mouth fall open and pant against him. Your first orgasm left you weak-willed, eager to follow his instructions. You nod your assent to every word, sweat dripping into your eyes. The second orgasm builds slow in your core. It burns with every thrust, every brush of your clit that John’s thumb makes. You lean your head back so it hits the mirror, suddenly realizing that your actions echo each other in the mirror behind John.

Your mouth is open. Sweat makes your skin glisten. You settle your weight on your hands and arch your back, a glimpse of your tits visible in the glass. It means you look almost whorish but it doesn’t matter because it’s for your husband, whose muscled back ripples with every thrust. That’s the image that sends you over the edge, whining John’s name as you fall off the edge. 

“Where, baby?” John meets your eyes with a burning question. You look down at the creamy ring around his cock, the slight of it sending another hazy spark to your core. “Inside.” This time John’s the one cursing, dropping his forehead to your collarbone as he watches himself come inside his wife. Finally, with his soft cock still inside you, John slows to a stuttering stop.

“Oh fuck.” John looks up at your panicked words with a matching expression. “Somethin’ hurt?” Your mouth opens, then closes. “What? No. I just remembered I stopped taking my birth control because of what happened. I haven’t been on it in over a month. And Plan-B’s really mess up my cycle.” John laughs. Your husband laughs, with his forehead on your collarbone and his cock inside you, pushing his cum in further. “This is not funny, John!” He shakes his head before meeting your eyes. “I got a vasectomy.” You blink. “What do you mean, you got a vasectomy?” He drags a hand down his face. Instead of answering, John eases out of the tight hold of your cunt. He fishes for a washcloth somewhere near, running warm water over it before swiping at your inner thighs. “When we had tha’ conversation about Gaz. Didn’t want it to happen after tha’ an’ not be prepared.” You squint in confusion. “I timed it with your period.” You bark out a laugh of disbelief.

“You’re fucking crazy.” He looks up at you with worry etched into his face, like he’s done something wrong. All you do is smile and pull him in, kissing his nose like he’s adorable. “I hate you.” You say, laughing. “You love me.” He murmurs against your skin. You don’t refute it, shutting him up with a kiss.

-

Phil watches and waits.

Her husband keeps leaving her alone. Phil’s camera screens flicker, shots of her through windows and from the park. The brother is closing in but it doesn’t matter, not when he’s so close to completing his mission. He must watch and wait.

-

one. chapter. left.

i barely edited this so if you see any mistakes no you didn't

-

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[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

Left to right. First row.

1. The Faggots and Their Friends Between Revolutions by Larry Mitchell.

In a joyous and perverse intermingling of fable, myth, heterotopian vision, and pocket wisdom, The Faggots & Their Friends tell us stories of the 70s gay countercultures and offer us strategies and wisdom for our own time living Between Revolutions. These pages sketch a different shape to time and offer instructions for living within it. This story, like our own, plays out in liminal time. Not the time of revolution, and not after-the-revolution, the story occurs between revolutions. Being between revolutions: being enmeshed in slow entropy, in abandoned spaces, in lives forged without recourse to “winning” or “after.” The faggots feel this disintegration, and live best when empires are falling.

2. Be Gay, Do Crime by The Mary Nardini Gang.

Among the discordant chorus of anons who penned the defining texts of the queer anarchist network Bash Back!, none was more fervent in its glorification of criminal desire, decadent hedonism, and social undoing than the Milwaulkee-based Mary Nardini Gang. Their fiery “Towards the Queerest Insurrection” still circulates as an integral manifesto of riotous queerness, while the “Criminal Intimacy” and “Whore Theory” have made their more subterranean way into innumerable conversations and correspondences.

Ten years later, the secretive group supplements these collected writings with a subtle retrospective. Carefully unlocking the hidden layers of their theses on insurrection, they face up to what they got wrong, concede that the world ended somewhere between the Greek insurrection of 2008 and now, and insist upon the vital task of ushering new worlds into being as we live amid the decomposition and cataclysmic death throes of the old one. To their theses on insurrection, they prepend a new arcana tooled for opening onto the queerest of outsides.

Dedicated to their friends among the dead, this pocket edition is a necromantic mirror, an encrypted message to old loves, and an invitation to those finding these words for the first time.

3. The Criminal Child by Jean Genet.

“As for me, I have chosen: I will be on the side of crime. And I will help the children, not to win back access to your houses, your factories, your schools, your laws, and sacraments, but to destroy them.”

So reads this new clandestine translation of a previously censored and unavailable text by Jean Genet. “The Criminal Child” is a critical engagement with the French youth prisons, a reflection on Genet’s formative years within them, a document of hostility towards society and its benevolent reformers, and – as argued by the anonymous afterword – an initiatory magical system.

5. Witchcraft and the Gay Counterculture by Arthur Evans.

This radical faerie classic, first published in 1978 by Fag Rag Press, uncovers the hidden mythic link between homosexuality and paganism in an elegy for the world of sex and magic vanquished by Christian civilization. From Joan of Arc to the Cathars and the underground worshippers of Diana, the author shows how every upwelling of gender transgression and sexual freedom was targeted by the authorities for total and often violent repression or appropriation. The concluding manifesto calls for pagan reconnection with the living world, the creation of armed anarchist cells, and the destruction of industrial civilization.

Left to right. Row 2.

1. What is Gender Nihilism? A Reader.

A collection gathering readings for discussions on an end to gender: not the proliferation or liberation of gender, but its catastrophic cancellation. The reader brings together writings as old as 1883 and as recent as 2015, juxtaposing nihilist, radical feminist, queer, trans, anticolonial, communizing and insurrectionary approaches with other unclassifiable textual/existential disruptions. Many of the readings are out of print or have only appeared online or in zine form, and include: Adrienne Rich, Monique Wittig, Michel Foucault, Judith Butler, A.R. Stone, Paul B. Preciado, the entities known as Radicalesbians, Gender Mutiny, Baedan, Ehn Nothing, Laboria Cuboniks and, as always, Anonymous. Also includes “My Preferred Gender Pronoun is Negation,” “Gender Nihilism” by Aidan Rowe, and the gender nihilism anti-manifesto that inspired the collection.

2. Baedan 1 – journal of queer nihilism.

3. Baedan 2 – a queer journal of heresy.

If the first issue of Baedan was a knife thrust wildly in the dark, the second is an effort to examine our enemies in a new light; enemies who bear scars yet endure. In a sense, this issue follows through our initial attack and pushes beyond our own horrors at the consequences of words. We write at a time when everything which seemed slightly possible two years ago has borne its rotten fruit; when queer recuperation has become more powerful and accepted than ever, while the fetish for technology has reached an unprecedented frenzy; when so many efforts at subversion languish under the tyranny of cybernetic identity and aesthetics (even our own etymologies have become identities!); when friends turn away out of fear of the unknown, turn toward all the comforts and certainties of the past (identity politics, traditionalism, religious morality, activism, et al). The old enemies rear their heads and the terrain is as bleak as ever. And yet we take seriously that adage: “There’s no need to fear or hope, but only to look for new weapons.”

4. Baedan 3 – journal of queer time travel.

Bædan: journal of queer time travel marks a further attempt to pose and to flesh out a queer critique of civilization. Queer not only in the sense of coming from those outside and disruptive of the Family, but also in the sense of a critique weirder than its more orthodox cousins. We imagine the Bædan project as an effort to pose the critique of civilization otherwise, to begin from another place. In this issue (and beyond…) we have conjured a strange bestiary of thinking, trying to unearth and trace the tradition of anti-civilization thought in the literature of queerness and in queerness as immanent critique.

*I couldn't find this one online*

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: 15 Essential Business Skills Everyone Should Master

Articulate, confident communication

Crafting effective, compelling pitches

Operating and communicating through a solution-oriented framework

Research of all types (Google, market research, studies, polls, interpersonal conversations, etc.)

Learning how to streamline, edit, and organize information in a clear and logical way

Accumulating high-level working knowledge/proficiency in all tools and programs directly related to your type of work/industry

Budgeting and financial optimization (investment, tax benefits, etc.)

Reading and interpreting legal contracts/documents

Setting rates, boundaries, and learning when/how to delegate

Good posture, direct eye contact, and a firm handshake

Building streamlined systems for onboarding, different repeat project scopes/workflows, and KPI measuring

The art of following up, listening to (potential) clients' needs, asking thoughtful questions, and benefit-oriented salesmanship

Consistently reading, learning, and studying current events/cultural platforms/industry and field-related knowledge

How to spot customer/client/business partner red flags

Self-management, task/project prioritization, and optimization of your personal energy clock + levels

[cultkinkcoven]

“It’s just the way that you record your conversations makes it seem like Lucifer is talking to you directly and that’s not possible.”

I’m gonna ask you all something that might sound really wild.

Have you ever tried it? Like no, seriously.

Have you ever actually just written everything down? No filler, just pure communication. Ask. Answer.

Actually. I’m serious. Have you done it? How many times have you attempted it, how consistently?

Have you ever entered into the ritual space, into a meditation, into a trance, into an operation, with the intention of recording whatever you receive, regardless of if it makes sense? Have you ever just listened?- not just with your ears, but with your everything?

Do you trust your God?

Can you truly submit to them without needing to have control?

Do you trust yourself? Have you learned how to?

Are you comfortable with the possibility of getting it wrong? Of failing and having to try again? Of having to be consistent and keep practicing until it is right?

Are you comfortable with the prospect that sometimes, there really is nothing? Sometimes, you are unsuccessful, and you have to take that failure and try again tomorrow.

Are you comfortable with the prospect that it takes devotion?

Don’t get me wrong, you should be using tools. I use tools: tarot, dice, sticks, pendulums, etc. Results that are replicable across multiple mediums are stronger than those that aren’t. Messages that I am unsure of can be verified with tools and tests. People who aren’t able to or uncomfortable channeling or sensing using their bodies are just as capable of doing great work with tools.

But have you ever genuinely just tried to strengthen that muscle? Your own ability to perceive and locate. Your ability to identify your God’s voice and differentiate it from your own?

How often have you practiced that?

My writings sound direct? Thats the goal. To filter through all of the other noise and get down to the most important point, the symbol, the message, the reason why I came in the first place. When I experience these conversations or events they are abstract, messy. When I write them down and read them out in plain text, it becomes clear. Individual insights reveal an entire message, an entire concise conversation- and that is what is valuable for me to document. When it tracks, it tracks, and there is infinite value in recognizing when it tracks.

I enter into a space of trust. I ask him. I record what I receive. Not necessarily the image, the sensation, the synchronization, the result of the dice roll, but the idea. The message, the core. What is he trying to tell me? What is he revealing now that I previously did not know? What can I learn from this response?

Later I get to interpret. I get to realize “that shit made absolutely no sense” or “holy shit this makes a lot more sense now” or even, “nope, that was me not him, I got distracted, I influenced too much, I need to try that again.”

If you think these things are impossible, maybe just try it. Maybe it won’t be for you, maybe that’s not the kind of craft you’re personally meant to partake in, maybe you have other talents. But I always think it’s so interesting when people claim this act is impossible. 1 because, offline, in very established cults and organizations- this is very common knowledge- everyone kind of understands how this works- but 2, because it usually comes from people who would never really be in the position to experience it even if it was real.

At some point in my practice I stopped caring about proving magic. It’s one of those 101 things, proof is great, don’t get me wrong. But impact, that’s the gold. Can I prove in any real way that Lucifer said anything to me? No- not really. But I do feel my mind shift and I do have that “holy shit- wait” moment, and I do learn something, I do leave that ritual different than I entered. And my questions are answered. And I return because I trust he will answer me again. That’s faith.

So yes, my communication does seem direct. I challenge you, even just as an experiment, to record your next communicative session in a very plain and direct way. What did you want to know? What do you think they said? Take as long as it takes. Sometimes you won’t get an answer for a whole hour. Sometimes it’ll feel like there’s so much you can’t write fast enough. Sometimes you fail and need to try again later. That’s the beauty of the game.

Try it.

[kolutshanpress]

as per a request in my local renegade server: here is my process (such as it is) for the stenciled covers i've done for my binds. obviously, huge thanks to everyone in the renegade discord for teaching me most of what i know about bookbinding. this tutorial only exists thanks to the resources they've made available and the conversations i've had there.

material list

vinyl cutter (i have a silhouette portrait 3) + mat + blade

stencil vinyl (i have this one, but have had some adherence troubles with it. unclear whether this is just The Nature Of Stencil Vinyl or whether there's a better brand out there. adhesive vinyl can also be a viable option, although i haven't personally experimented with it yet.)

transfer tape (i have this stuff. it's fine.)

weeding tools (i have this hook and a very fine tip pair of tweezers. i highly recommend getting a hook, especially if you—like me—are haunted by the specter of carpal tunnel. get an off-brand one or get one on sale, though. i only have the silhouette brand one because it was on clearance.)

acrylic medium (i have this one because it was on sale at the time i was buying acrylic medium. when i replace it, i will be replacing it with a matte one. the gloss definitely has a noticeable sheen that i don't love.)

acrylic paint (literally any paint will do. i've been mostly using the decoart extreme sheen because it's $4 at michaels. you may be noticing a theme here.)

stiff stenciling brushes (the ones i have are similar to these but cost even less. again, there's a theme here.)

an iron and some parchment paper (jury is still out on whether using heat to "set" the pattern is necessary, but i do feel like it melts the paint a bit into the bookcloth and lessens the extent to which the pattern sits above the bookcloth.)

your trusty bone folder

instructions and a truly hideous number of words under the cut.

step 0.5: discern what will make a good stencil and what will make you hate yourself, your life, and the art of bookbinding

there are a LOT of different ways to put titling on a book. you could do a paper cover with a printed design or paste paper labels onto bookcloth or foil your title onto your cover with heat activated foil. the best method depends on what kind of design you have in mind, what tools you have available to you, and what materials you're working with (for example, i've had very bad luck getting acrylic paint to adhere to Allure bookcloth, but Allure does foil like a dream).

as far as stencils are concerned, you can kind of sort cover designs into three categories:

BEST for stencils: big, bold shapes on larger format books (think letter folio or letter/legal quarto)

OKAY for stencils, but you might hate yourself: intricate detail at a large enough form factor for it to be cut well by your vinyl cutter

BAD for stencils, you will die and it will hurt the entire time you are dying: lots of intricate detail and lots of fine lines

below are examples of category 1, 2, and 3 (all designed for letter folio). to be clear, category 3 can technically be possible, depending on the design. but only undertake it with the awareness that you will die, and it will hurt the entire time you are dying.

step 1: design a thing to put on your cover

i'm not going to go too in depth on this because cover design is a HUGE can of worms. a few pointers, though:

i never start designing my cover until my text block is done. this allows me to design my cover at "full size" based on the measured size of my text block and cover boards.

i fully lay out my cover in a separate program before exporting a transparent PNG to silhouette studio (or whichever proprietary software you have to use to communicate with your particular vinyl cutter). i use affinity designer. some free options would be inkscape (if you want to work with vectors) or gimp.

i design my cover on a document with dimensions of (HEIGHT of boards + 20 mm) x (WIDTH of boards or spine + 20 mm) and 10 mm margins. the area within the margins represents the actual dimensions of the thing i'm designing, while the area outside of the margins creates a mask that prevents me from getting paint on things i don't want paint on (like the covers, if i'm creating a spine stencil).

i always outline my document with a 3 or 4pt black line. this creates the outer edge of my stencil and provides my vinyl cutter with a cut line. if you're working with a smaller vinyl cutter (like the cricut joy) there are ways to jigsaw designs together from smaller pieces of vinyl, but i'm not the person to ask about that. i specifically bought a portrait so that i didn't have to worry about that.

here's an example of one of my affinity files from a recent cover. i've exaggerated my outline to make it clearer. you can also see that i use affinity to experiment with color combinations. before i export, i turn all my elements black and make any backgrounds transparent, meaning that the PNG i import into silhouette studio looks like the one on the right.

step 2: cut and weed your stencil

again, not going to go terribly in depth here. there is a veritable army of youtubers out there with tutorials about how to use [insert propriety vinyl cutter software here]. but, again, a few pointers:

with my particular vinyl cutter and stencil vinyl, i usually cut my stencils with the material set to "washi," depth at 1, force at 13, and speed at 4. google, experiment, see what works. also, you want to put your stencil vinyl on the mat with the blue vinyl facing UP, and you don't want to mirror your design. with stencils, what you see is what you get.

i cut my vinyl a bit bigger than necessary because i'd rather waste a bit of vinyl than have to worry about a stencil falling off the edge of my vinyl because i misaligned it on the mat.

unlike HTV, you will be weeding out all the black parts of your original image. be prepared to hate the letters "e" and "a" forever, because you will have to somehow keep the little eye of them in place while you pry out the rest of it.

step 3: apply your stencil to your case

alright, now let's get into the meat of it. i always stencil after my case is finished but before i case in my book. this means that if i totally fuck it up, i can trash the case instead of the entire book.

additionally, i completely stencil my spine first (as in lay down stencil, paint, remove stencil) and then stencil my covers. i've found that it's easier when you don't have stencils overlapping and sticking to each other.

OPTIONAL STEP: mark guides onto your cover to help you position your stencil. whether or not i do this step depends on the design. a lot of the time, i just eyeball it. but for some designs, precision is key. for those projects, i use my ruler to mark out guides in white chalk for where i need certain elements of the stencil to fall. (i used guide marks for the "penguin clothbound" copies of the The Weight Collected that i've been using as an example in this post—the black rectangular boarder would've made uneven placement REALLY obvious.)

use transfer tape to remove your vinyl from its slick backing. what i've found is that you really, really don't want your transfer tape to be too sticky. you want it just barely sticky enough to pick up the stencil if you rub it down with a bone folder or your fingernail. i have a piece of transfer tape that i stuck to my jeans a bunch of times and then proceeded to use for 8 books in a row. it is, frankly, still a little bit too sticky. i have rolled it up so that i can use it for the next 8 books, at which point it will presumably be the right level of stickiness.

position your stencil. when you're happy with it, rub it firmly down with your bone folder. then do it again. then use your fingernail to score down over the titling text. then pray. in my experience, stencils prefer to stick to transfer tape rather than bookcloth. ymmv.

start at one corner of your stencil. carefully begin peeling back the transfer tape. i've found that essentially folding back the transfer tape (like, the corner that's been freed from the stencil being folded back away from the stencil) helps the tape to release. go slowly, rubbing down with the bone fold as necessary.

after you've finally manage to pry the tape off, go back and smooth down the stencil and firmly rub it down to get it to adhere to the bookcloth as thoroughly as possible with as few ripples or air bubbles as possible.

step 4: paint time!

here is a secret that the renegade discord taught me that i am now passing on to all of you: before you put any paint on your stencil, put down a layer of clear acrylic medium. the medium will finish the job of pasting down the stencil to your cover, and any leaks that happen in the process will be clear medium instead of colored paint (and will therefore be basically unnoticeable). ergo:

stipple a thin coat of acrylic medium over your stencil. you want to use an up-and-down daubing motion, not a brushing motion. brushing will get paint under your stencil. let dry.

after your medium is dry, stipple a few thin coats of your colored acrylic paint onto your stencil. let dry between coats. (i usually find that two coats is enough.) again, try to keep your coats thin. you don't want a thick layer of paint because that will create a raised surface above your bookcloth.

let your paint fully dry. i usually leave it overnight, but if i'm feeling especially impatient, i still make sure to at least give it a good three or four hours.

peel up your stencil. your weeding tools will once again come into play here to pry up little bits and pieces of stencil (like the stupid eyes of the "a"s and "e"s that were so annoying during the initial weeding stage).

step 5: optional setting stage

again, jury is still out on whether or not this is necessary, and the effects are pretty subtle. but i do it every time anyway. some tips:

use an iron on very low heat (i keep mine at the low end of the synthetic setting) and with steam turned OFF

keep a piece of parchment paper (NOT waxed paper. you want the slick paper that you put under cookies to keep them from sticking to the pan.) between the iron and your cover.

press the iron down, don't rub it like you're ironing a shirt. it's possible to smear your paint doing that (ask me how i know).

i usually lay the iron down on a section for 10-15 seconds at a time, then lift it and move it to another section.

start with less of everything (less heat, less time) and build up. always better to be conservative with this.

i usually continue until the paint is warm to the touch, then move onto another section. after it's cooled, i evaluate if i feel like it's melted into the cloth enough. if not, i repeat the process.

step 6: BOOK

congrats, you have put a design on a book cover. the world is your oyster. go forth and make books. become ungovernable.

[astraystayyh]

We recently learned in our media class about the four indicators that reveal a country's use of propaganda to justify its actions/build a national and international consensus over its stance. This is exactly what Israel is doing now. Please read this to learn more about the Israeli propaganda (with sources) :

i. Establishing a distinct "us" versus "them"/"the others" divide: The Israeli media has been actively engaged in crafting a narrative that portrays Palestinians as sub-humans and animals, that deserve to be killed, butchered, and deprived of essential resources such as water, electricity and fuel. This dehumanizing narrative serves to rationalize the grave atrocities committed against Palestinians, reducing them to mere statistics, rather than acknowledging them as fellow human beings who have the right to be protected as well.

A recent example of this dehumanization (that encompasses children as well) is Israel's Prime Minister's words in a now-deleted tweet, on Oct 16, stating: "This is a struggle between the children of light and the children of darkness, between humanity and the law of the jungle."

This is also a common practice in Western media as a whole. In the context of conflict, the choice of words plays a significant role: Israelis are often described as "killed," and Palestinians are referred to as having "died" (example of BBC). The distinction can be seen as a way to omit Israeli responsibility, portraying the deaths of nearly 10,000 Palestinians as a result of circumstances beyond its control, rather than the outcome of deliberate and targeted actions.

ii. Use of emotion instead of logic: a stark example would be the whole international outrage that was first sparked due to the false claim that Hamas had beheaded 40 babies. This fake news was confidently shared by U.S. President Joe Biden, who later admitted that he had never actually seen any pictures of such events, neither did anyone in the IDF because there was never any instance of 40 beheaded babies (source) (also trust me if Israel did have any pictures of killed children they would not hesitate to share it)

CNN journalist who first shared this fake news has later apologized for being "misled." (which isn't the case that was a conscious choice of the news agency but that's another conversation)

Israel knew what it was doing by sharing this particular false information, they knew that the simple imagery of such a horrifying notion, even without concrete proof, would be a strategic tool to garner international support through emotional manipulation.

They are still trying to use emotion when it comes to children particularly to sway the public opinion : Israeli government spokesman has shared images of "fallen teeth of burnt children." This post has been debunked by dentists, pointing out many contradictions in the pics that conclude that these are props and not the teeth of actual children found in rubbles. (source)

(Meanwhile, there are factual documented videos and pictures of dead Palestinian kids and babies, decapitated, injured beyond belief, tangible proof of the war crimes Israel commits and yet the public outrage isn't the same, because Israel has already established that Palestinians are lesser people)

iii. Attempting to Influence Both Elites and Ordinary Citizens: In addition to their efforts to secure international support from world leaders, Israel has employed a multifaceted approach by spreading advertisements that regular civilians view. These ads serve to rationalize their actions, and they are strategically placed ahead of unrelated programming, including children's shows or games.

This tactic aims to integrate their ideology into various aspects of our lives, in order to promote their agenda and inundate us with recurrent pro-Israel messages. This strategy capitalizes on the psychological principle that the mind tends to retain information it encounters most frequently. (a more detailed video explanation)

iv. media manipulation tactics : For example, the night before Israel bombed the Baptist hospital in Gaza killing more than 1000 people, BBC published an article with the headline "Does Hamas build tunnels under schools and hospitals?" giving way to a "justification" for the heinous, war crime act that is bombing a hospital, under the guise of targeting Hamas hidden bases.

The use of the Israel-Gaza war as a headline for the news leads us to believe that this is a war with two equal (or slightly disproportionate) parties who are both able to defend themselves. Whereas this is a genocide led by Israel (a powerful military with international backing by the world's most powerful nations- U.S, U.K, France, Germany.. to cite a few) and CIVILIANS. Because those are the people that Israel is targeting, by bombing hospitals, schools, mosques, churches, refugee camps.

It is a genocide, an ethnical cleansing, an attempt to eradicate entire families, then to relocate the survivors out of Gaza, making it impossible for them to reclaim their land, and resulting in a total takeover of Palestine by Israel.

Another manipulation example (because there are so many) is the first and most prominent question that many Western journalists ask their guests: "Do you condemn the attacks of Hamas on Oct 7?"

This question completely disregards the root of this entire conflict, which is the 75-year ongoing colonization of Palestine. By omitting all the previous crimes against Palestinians that led to the attack (the killings, the wrongful imprisonments, the torture, the stealing of land…) these 'journalists' actively manipulate the public opinion, portraying the Hamas attack as unprovoked, when you cannot possibly expect a colonization to have 0 resistance.

And an honorable mention to the zionists who are trying to morph the anti-Israel stance into an anti-Jew one. This isn't about religion, I've said this once and I will say it again, Jews around the world are condemning the actions of their government. Just recently, Jews were arrested in NYC for standing against Israel. (source)

This is a humanitarian cause. We're humans, this is the one denominator factor that unites all. We read about previous genocides in history. We wondered how people could support the killings of innocent people, men and women, and children and babies. It is happening right now again, and media propaganda plays a significant role in shaping public perceptions.

I couldn't include everything here but please, I urge you to use your critical thinking. Don't believe everything the media tells you, and this is coming from a graduated journalist. We learn about propaganda and how to counter it, which also means we learn about how to manufacture it.

So don't be gullible, boycott the companies who support Israel (mainly HP, Siemens, AXA, Puma, Israeli fruits and vegetables, Sodastream, Ahava, Sabra. check BDS for more information) and urge your governments to support the ceasefire. We have a voice and we should use it, even if we're uncomfortable, even if we're scared. Do it. By staying silent you become complicit in genocide.