#Work Permit Management System | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nerdygirlramblings · 5 months ago

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Hello! Ive been binging poly!141 and I keep coming back to your writing for my fix (because by now its basically an addiction😅)

I had this idea that the 141 are together with a civilian reader. And civilian reader works in retail, part time, and is mostly at home. Normally, they would be home by the time their boys came home, welcoming them with open arms, a hot plate of food, and time to rest and relax. But this time, the 141 get home early and realize where reader works: Walmart (or equivalent). Reader has been keeping this a secret cause they know its not cute like a coffee shop or cool. Its just their job. And now the most important men in their life know. Im thinking the 141 found out because they went grocery shopping and happened to come across reader or something similar to that.

I work at Walmart and it sucks🥲 thought that maybe something like this might help😅

Tysm, nonny! So happy to hear you like the writing. I hope this does your idea justice. (Walmart doesn't have stores in the UK, but they own ASDA.)

Also, thank you for my first request! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

pure fluff, bad accents (per usual)

Your boys find out you work part-time at ASDA on a random rainy Thursday in March.

You don't really need a job. All four of your lovers are officers with the British army. Prior to you, they all lived in base barracks. Prior to you, they lived fairly Spartan existences. Prior to you, most of their income sat in the bank, quietly accumulating.

They have plenty of money saved up that they love using to spoil you, when you let them. You know that if you asked, they'd give you everything, but you draw the line about asking them for an allowance like some tradwife. You want some pocket money of your own. Thus, the part-time job at the ASDA in town.

You're a people person, good at handling big personalities. You need to be to keep up with your boys. Between John's need for control, Simon's stoic dominance, Johnny's aggressive enthusiasm, and Kyle's blinding charisma, you aren't some shrinking violet. Within a week of your hire, your manager watches how you weather a nasty piece of work trying to demand concessions you aren't permitted to give and immediately puts you in customer service.

You're nearly unflappable in the face of frustrated pensioners and harried parents and entitled young professionals. Over and over, you're the one they call when a customer is going spare. Which is how your boys find out about your job.

They've been deployed for over two weeks, and you have no idea when they'll return. John had originally said they'd be gone for at least a month, so you aren't expecting them home any time soon. However, they'd come home much earlier than anyone thought, and they wanted to surprise you.

You're always so good about making the house feel like a home, with your bright smile and warm laughter, your home cooked food and soft touches in decor. You make them feel like people, not weapons, and they want to return the favor. This last deployment had been hard, and all four of your boys were missing your sweet voice and tender care. They wanted to show you that they loved and cared for you the way you always showed your love and care for them.

It was Johnny's suggestion to prep a meal for you as both a surprise and a thank you. After debrief, they pile into the car and decide to stop at ASDA for everything they need before heading home to surprise you. It's John who causes the code call.

You hear Susan's voice over the store-wide address system. "We could use a little Sunshine in the floral department." That's your cue. You finish with the pensioner at your till as Jacob, your manager, comes over to relieve you.

You take a deep breath and square your shoulders. In your experience, a Sunshine call in floral is a man angry the store doesn't have the fancy arrangements listed on the website. You wish the signage on the site would be more clear that the beautiful bouquets are online orders only. It would save you having to explain why the offers in store are so limited.

You hear him before you see him, smokey voice grumbling, "But if they show the bloody thing on the site as available, you should have it hear." You'd recognize the voice anywhere. He's not angry, not really, but Susan doesn't know that. Add in the sheer size of him, and Simon looming over his shoulder, it's no wonder she called for support.

You have never wanted to walk away from a situation as much as you want to right now, but before you can make an escape, Susan notices you over John's shoulder. Her little wave is enough for your men to notice, and they turn as one to see you coming towards them. Immediately their demeanor shifts. Simon's back sags as though his strings were cut, leaving him loose-limbed. John stands a little straighter, chin up as if to impress you. They've both broken out in smiles, though Simon's are only evidenced by the laugh lines you know to look for. It's only as you get close do they zero in on the badge on your shirt.

"I've got this, Susan," you say to your co-worker. "Jacob's on my till. Can you cover?"

Susan wrings her hands. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay and-"

"They're nothing I can't handle," you tell her, cutting off her worried rambles. There's a cheeky glint in your eye as you flick your gaze at your men. You clap your hands together and say, "Right, let's get this settled, then."

Susan takes one quick look between you and the now slightly less intimidating men and heads towards the front of the store.

Once she's out of earshot, John's face breaks into a frown. "What're you doing here, love?" He glances at your name on your chest again. "You work here?" He sounds almost hurt by the revelation. You can tell Simon wants to reach for you, and the only thing stopping him is you working.

You hear heavy footfalls behind you as Johnny's Scottish lilt reaches your ears. "Och, Cap! Ye said ye'd only be a moment. Gaz and I had a hell of a time getting the trolley on its lift ta find ye. How hard is it to buy bon..." His question dies on his lips as you turn around. "Bonnie?" He, too, sounds hurt to find you working here.

You can see Kyle over Johnny's shoulder, confusion written across his features. This is not how you wanted your boys to find out about your job, if you ever wanted them to actually find out. You thought maybe you'd surprise them with tickets to Hereford FC's opening game in a few months. And if they asked how you afforded them, you could handle this conversation then, but it's out of your hands now.

And as much as you don't want to have this conversation, especially not in the middle of the floral department, you can't stop the wide grin at seeing your boys again, home and whole.

"Hi, boys," you say, opening your arms. Disappointed he might be about finding you here, Johnny's no fool. He immediately steps into your embrace, and the others quickly follow suit. You're swallowed up by the smell and feel of them. The hug lasts one minute. Then two. Then they all slowly step back.

You can see the questions and cut them off before they get started. "I have another three hours before I'm off. We can talk at home, and I'll tell you anything you want to know."

John nods first. He recognizes your tone. You won't let them derail you for answers now, and they would be wasting their breath to try. "You heard the lady, lads. Let's get home."

They start to walk away when you tease, "Captain? Was there a reason you were arguing with Susan about the flowers?"

He halts his steps and turns to you, flush creeping up his neck. He brings his hand up to rub it as he says, "Er, I, we, wanted to get ya something nice, but they don't have the same ones as online."

You melt a little, watching the way your men shift nervously behind their captain. You smile softly and reach over, plucking a bouquet of rainbow poms from the rack. "These are what I usually get for myself when you're away."

John takes them gently from your hand and passes them to Gaz to put in the trolley. "We'll see you at home, love," he murmurs, leaning over briefly to kiss your cheek. Simon kisses the top of your head, fabric brushing your hair. Johnny pulls you in for another bruising hug and kisses your other cheek. Gaz puts his hands on your waist, drinking in the sight of you, before taking your hands in his and kissing your palms.

You watch them leave, wondering how you'll make it through the rest of your shift.

Three hours and fifteen minutes later, you cross the threshold of your shared home to the most delicious scents wafting from the kitchen. After slipping your shoes off next to the piles of boots at the door, you follow your nose back to the kitchen and the spread laid out on the large wood-topped island. There's a roast and mushy peas and mashed potatoes and stewed carrots and battered cod and crisps and spinach all surrounding the flowers you'd suggested, nestled in the vase you love most, the Caithness one Johnny'd bought you on your first trip with them to Scotland.

At the table, your men sit, plates made for everyone, waiting on you. They've changed since you saw them. Gone are any traces of fatigues and tactical gear. Instead they're all in casual civvies, truly home for the first time in nearly three weeks. Simon stands as you come in and pulls out your chair, smile on his scarred lips. "Come sit, doll," he tells you, not quite an order.

You look quickly around. "Let me change," you say, tugging at your uniform top. "I won't be but a minute." You back out of the room before they can stop you. You hurry to your bedroom, pulling your top off as you go. Once behind the door, you slip from your trousers into comfortable leggings and a large jumper, one of Kyle's you think.

By the time you make it back to the kitchen, your men are more than a little antsy. Simon's smile is a little strained, Johnny is fidgeting, Kyle keeps glancing between you and John, and John is staring at you. Your chair is still out. He waves a hand at it, and gently says, "Come sit, love." It's couched as request, but you know a command from your lover when you hear it.

You take your seat at the table. "Listen-" you start, but John cuts you off.

"Are we not providing for ya, love?" You see the hurt in his eyes, how much it bothers him to think he, they, aren't doing enough for you.

"Oh, John, dear, no!" you reply, putting your hand over his on the table. "It's not that at all."

"Then what?" Simon asks.

You look at them all, the expectant faces waiting to hear how they failed you. "I get restless sometimes. I love you, and I love our life. I'm happy to take care of the house and make sure you're all fed after a long day. But I wasn't built for sitting around doing nothing. I like people; being home on my own all day can get lonely. Especially when you're deployed. I also like having my own pocket money."

John opens his mouth, and you know what he's about to say, so you continue. "I know you'd give me any money I need or want, but I like having my money. Money I earned myself." You look around at them, willing them to understand. "It's only part time. Helps me keep a little busy and have a little extra to spoil you and me with."

Johnny is frowning, but you see Kyle, head cocked, looking at you as a puzzle. "I think I understand," he says softly. "You were making you way just fine before us, and you gave up everything for us."

At his words, the crease between John's brow deepens, and you're sure he's remembering the job you had, that you'd somewhat enjoyed, when you'd first met them. You'd been working at RAF Lakenheath, living in a cozy flat in Cambridge, near The Backs, when the 141 had been coming through the base after an op. An injury had put Kyle in the med center for a week, and while he could have been transported to Hereford once stable, Laswell had worked it out for the whole team to have some R&R near the base.

You'd quite literally run into John one day, rushing to your office, after which he suggested lunch as an apology. You quickly became close with all four, smitten with them from the start. In turn, they fell hard for you. They wooed you over the course of several weeks, stopping through Lakenheath on deployments to spend some time with you. Six months in and you were completely gone on all four of them, so when they'd asked you to move to Hereford, you did without ever looking back. But it meant giving up the life you'd led.

Somewhere along the way, your happiness overshadowed all you'd left behind. After a few weeks, being home alone while your men worked started to feel isolating. You liked being a little busy, and there weren't enough projects around the house to keep you busy enough. You'd always been independent, but you didn't want to be stuck in a job with long hours anymore. You wanted to be home for your men. So you'd found the job at ASDA.

Kyle reaches over to where you hand is still on John's. "I'm sorry we didn't ask how you were coping us being gone all day," he says. He looks you in the eye as he continues. "I understand wanting to do something, wanting to be a little busy, and if this makes you happy, then I'm all for it, doll." He gives you a small smile and squeezes your and John's hand.

"Gaz is right," Simon rumbles. "We were so happy to have you here we didn't think about what you did all alone all day." He puts a heavy hand on your thigh, the warmth of him seeping through your thin leggings. "'m glad you have something to keep you from getting lonely."

"Sorry, hen," Johnny murmurs, just above a whisper. "We didnae think a' ye enough." You smile widely at him.

"Johnny, you think of me all the time. This isn't about neglect at all!" You try to catch his eye, but he's looking hard at the table in front of him. "You did nothing wrong, love," you tell him gently.

He looks at you, blue eyes bright. "Ye sure?" You've never seen him this nervous before, and you break a little.

"I'm sure love."

He smiles then, a little smile, but it brightens his face and shifts the mood in the room. You look at John who's been surprisingly quiet this whole time.

He's smiling, but it's a little sad. "I know ya said we didn't do anything wrong, but we feel like we did. We didn't notice you were bored, didn't ask if you were lonely." He flips his hand over under yours and threads your fingers with his. "Yer giving us a gift by not blaming us, and we'd be stupid not to take it, even though it feels like yer giving us an out. Thank you." He brings your hand to his lips and kisses it softly.

"Thank you. I was worried you'd be mad," you admit.

"Never could make us mad with something like this, hen," Johnny reassures you. "I'm sorry we had to spoil your day is all."

You turn back to look at the food on the island. "You didn't spoil my day. You made it. You're home early, and you made such a lovely spread. I think we should tuck in, yeah?"

Simon chuckles. "Point made, doll," he says, scooping a heaping helping of mash onto his fork. The rest take it as a sign to start eating too.

The room is silent save for the sounds of food savored until John pipes up, "Why'd ya come to florals, love? We might have missed ya altogether if not for that."

You giggle. "The sunshine call, John."

"Yeah?" He clearly doesn't understand.

"It's the shop call for a difficult customer. When I'm on shift, it's my job to handle those." You look at each of your lovers in turn. "Seems I've got a knack for dealing with muppets," you tell them with a smirk.

main masterlist

#nerdygirl answers #cod #poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #kyle garrick #johnny mactavish #john price #simon riley #nerdygirl says

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mckitterick · 20 days ago

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image sourced from a Cory Doctorow article on DMCA: X (recommended reading)

creating a digital backup (legally, it's called making an "archival copy") of software is explicitly allowed. but copying or alerting books, music, vehicle operating systems, movies, shows, and so on - even those you’ve legally purchased - gets complicated due to overlapping laws

under the doctrine of "fair use," we are permitted to make backup / archival copies under certain conditions:

copyright law allows you to make copies for personal use in case the original is lost, damaged, or destroyed; or to change formats to use on new devices; or to otherwise alter or repair the original for your own personal use

all this falls within fair use

however, making a copy of copyrighted work simply for your own ease of use could be construed as copyright infringement

furthermore, the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA) restricts this by prohibiting "circumvention of encryption" on devices like DVDs and Blu-rays

the DMCA criminalizes making and disseminating technology, devices, or services intended to circumvent measures that control access to copyrighted works (aka "digital rights management" locks or DRM), and in fact criminalizes the act of circumventing access controls, whether or not doing so infringes on the copyright of the work itself

so, unless the original work you buy is unlocked, corporations that hold the copyright of that work can prosecute you for making legal archives of the material you own

and if the thing you bought is lost or damaged, or if the file format is no longer usable? you're just out of luck

DMCA needs to go

#copyright #ownership #archival copies #DMCA #backups #copyright infringement #capitalism ruins everything #my edits

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mostlysignssomeportents · 9 months ago

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Google’s new phones can’t stop phoning home

On OCTOBER 23 at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

One of the most brazen lies of Big Tech is that people like commercial surveillance, a fact you can verify for yourself by simply observing how many people end up using products that spy on them. If they didn't like spying, they wouldn't opt into being spied on.

This lie has spread to the law enforcement and national security agencies, who treasure Big Tech's surveillance as an off-the-books trove of warrantless data that no court would ever permit them to gather on their own. Back in 2017, I found myself at SXSW, debating an FBI agent who was defending the Bureau's gigantic facial recognition database, which, he claimed, contained the faces of virtually every American:

https://www.theguardian.com/culture/2017/mar/11/sxsw-facial-recognition-biometrics-surveillance-panel

The agent insisted that the FBI had acquired all those faces through legitimate means, by accessing public sources of people's faces. In other words, we'd all opted in to FBI facial recognition surveillance. "Sure," I said, "to opt out, just don't have a face."

This pathology is endemic to neoliberal thinking, which insists that all our political matters can be reduced to economic ones, specifically, the kind of economic questions that can be mathematically modeled and empirically tested. It would be great if all our thorniest problems could be solved like mathematical equations.

Unfortunately, there are key elements of these systems that can't be reliably quantified and turned into mathematical operators, especially power. The fact that someone did something tells you nothing about whether they chose to do so – to understand whether someone was coerced or made a free choice, you have to consider the power relationships involved.

Conservatives hate this idea. They want to live in a neat world of "revealed preferences," where the fact that you're working in a job where you're regularly exposed to carcinogens, or that you've stayed with a spouse who beats the shit out of you, or that you're homeless, or that you're addicted to Oxy, is a matter of choice. Monopolies exist because we all love the monopolist's product best, not because they've got monopoly power. Jobs that pay starvation wages exist because people want to work full time for so little money that they need food-stamps just to survive. Intervening in any of these situations is "woke paternalism," where the government thinks it knows better than you and intervenes to take away your right to consume unsafe products, get maimed at work, or have your jaw broken by your husband.

Which is why neoliberals insist that politics should be reduced to economics, and that economics should be carried out as if power didn't exist:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/05/farrago/#jeffty-is-five

Nowhere is this stupid trick more visible than in the surveillance fight. For example, Google claims that it tracks your location because you asked it to, by using Google products that make use of your location without clicking an opt out button.

In reality, Google has the power to simply ignore your preferences about location tracking. In 2021, the Arizona Attorney General's privacy case against Google yielded a bunch of internal memos, including memos from Google's senior product manager for location services Jen Chai complaining that she had turned off location tracking in three places and was still being tracked:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/01/you-are-here/#goog

Multiple googlers complained about this: they'd gone through dozens of preference screens, hunting for "don't track my location" checkboxes, and still they found that they were being tracked. These were people who worked under Chai on the location services team. If the head of that team, and her subordinates, couldn't figure out how to opt out of location tracking, what chance did you have?

Despite all this, I've found myself continuing to use stock Google Pixel phones running stock Google Android. There were three reasons for this:

First and most importantly: security. While I worry about Google tracking me, I am as worried (or more) about foreign governments, random hackers, and dedicated attackers gaining access to my phone. Google's appetite for my personal data knows no bounds, but at least the company is serious about patching defects in the Pixel line.

Second: coercion. There are a lot of apps that I need to run – to pay for parking, say, or to access my credit union or control my rooftop solar – that either won't run on jailbroken Android phones or require constant tweaking to keep running.

Finally: time. I already have the equivalent of three full time jobs and struggle every day to complete my essential tasks, including managing complex health issues and being there for my family. The time I take out of my schedule to actively manage a de-Googled Android would come at the expense of either my professional or personal life.

And despite Google's enshittificatory impulses, the Pixels are reliably high-quality, robust phones that get the hell out of the way and let me do my job. The Pixels are Google's flagship electronic products, and the company acts like it.

Until now.

A new report from Cybernews reveals just how much data the next generation Pixel 9 phones collect and transmit to Google, without any user intervention, and in defiance of the owner's express preferences to the contrary:

https://cybernews.com/security/google-pixel-9-phone-beams-data-and-awaits-commands/

The Pixel 9 phones home every 15 minutes, even when it's not in use, sharing "location, email address, phone number, network status, and other telemetry." Additionally, every 40 minutes, the new Pixels transmit "firmware version, whether connected to WiFi or using mobile data, the SIM card Carrier, and the user’s email address." Even further, even if you've never opened Google Photos, the phone contacts Google Photos’ Face Grouping API at regular intervals. Another process periodically contacts Google's Voice Search servers, even if you never use Voice Search, transmitting "the number of times the device was restarted, the time elapsed since powering on, and a list of apps installed on the device, including the sideloaded ones."

All of this is without any consent. Or rather, without any consent beyond the "revealed preference" of just buying a phone from Google ("to opt out, don't have a face").

What's more, the Cybernews report probably undercounts the amount of passive surveillance the Pixel 9 undertakes. To monitor their testbench phone, Cybernews had to root it and install Magisk, a monitoring tool. In order to do that, they had to disable the AI features that Google touts as the centerpiece of Pixel 9. AI is, of course, notoriously data-hungry and privacy invasive, and all the above represents the data collection the Pixel 9 undertakes without any of its AI nonsense.

It just gets worse. The Pixel 9 also routinely connects to a "CloudDPC" server run by Google. Normally, this is a server that an enterprise customer would connect its employees' devices to, allowing the company to push updates to employees' phones without any action on their part. But Google has designed the Pixel 9 so that privately owned phones do the same thing with Google, allowing for zero-click, no-notification software changes on devices that you own.

This is the kind of measure that works well, but fails badly. It assumes that the risk of Pixel owners failing to download a patch outweighs the risk of a Google insider pushing out a malicious update. Why would Google do that? Well, perhaps a rogue employee wants to spy on his ex-girlfriend:

https://www.wired.com/2010/09/google-spy/

Or maybe a Google executive wins an internal power struggle and decrees that Google's products should be made shittier so you need to take more steps to solve your problems, which generates more chances to serve ads:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

Or maybe Google capitulates to an authoritarian government who orders them to install a malicious update to facilitate a campaign of oppressive spying and control:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dragonfly_(search_engine)

Indeed, merely by installing a feature that can be abused this way, Google encourages bad actors to abuse it. It's a lot harder for a government or an asshole executive to demand a malicious downgrade of a Google product if users have to accept that downgrade before it takes effect. By removing that choice, Google has greased the skids for malicious downgrades, from both internal and external sources.

Google will insist that these anti-features – both the spying and the permissionless updating – are essential, that it's literally impossible to imagine building a phone that doesn't do these things. This is one of Big Tech's stupidest gambits. It's the same ruse that Zuck deploys when he says that it's impossible to chat with a friend or plan a potluck dinner without letting Facebook spy on you. It's Tim Cook's insistence that there's no way to have a safe, easy to use, secure computing environment without giving Apple a veto over what software you can run and who can fix your device – and that this veto must come with a 30% rake from every dollar you spend on your phone.

The thing is, we know it's possible to separate these things, because they used to be separate. Facebook used to sell itself as the privacy-forward alternative to Myspace, where they would never spy on you (not coincidentally, this is also the best period in Facebook's history, from a user perspective):

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3247362

And we know it's possible to make a Pixel that doesn't do all this nonsense because Google makes other Pixel phones that don't do all this nonsense, like the Pixel 8 that's in my pocket as I type these words.

This doesn't stop Big Tech from gaslighting* us and insisting that demanding a Pixel that doesn't phone home four times an hour is like demanding water that isn't wet.

*pronounced "jass-lighting"

Even before I read this report, I was thinking about what I would do when I broke my current phone (I'm a klutz and I travel a lot, so my gadgets break pretty frequently). Google's latest OS updates have already crammed a bunch of AI bullshit into my Pixel 8 (and Google puts the "invoke AI bullshit" button in the spot where the "do something useful" button used to be, meaning I accidentally pull up the AI bullshit screen several times/day).

Assuming no catastrophic phone disasters, I've got a little while before my next phone, but I reckon when it's time to upgrade, I'll be switching to a phone from the @[email protected]. Calyx is an incredible, privacy-focused nonprofit whose founder, Nicholas Merrill, was the first person to successfully resist one of the Patriot Act's "sneek-and-peek" warrants, spending 11 years defending his users' privacy from secret – and, ultimately, unconstitutional – surveillance:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2013/03/depth-judge-illstons-remarkable-order-striking-down-nsl-statute

Merrill and Calyx have tapped into various obscure corners of US wireless spectrum licenses that require major carriers to give ultra-cheap access to nonprofits, allowing them to offer unlimited, surveillance-free, Net Neutrality respecting wireless data packages:

https://memex.craphound.com/2016/09/22/i-have-found-a-secret-tunnel-that-runs-underneath-the-phone-companies-and-emerges-in-paradise/

I've been a very happy Calyx user in years gone by, but ultimately, I slipped into the default of using stock Pixel handsets with Google's Fi service.

But even as I've grown increasingly uncomfortable with the direction of Google's Android and Pixel programs, I've grown increasingly impressed with Calyx's offerings. The company has graduated from selling mobile hotspots with unlimited data SIMs to selling jailbroken, de-Googled Pixel phones that have all the hardware reliability of a Pixel, coupled with an alternative app suite and your choice of a Calyx SIM and/or a Calyx hotspot:

https://calyxinstitute.org/

Every time I see what Calyx is up to, I think, dammit, it's really time to de-Google my phone. With the Pixel 9 descending to new depths of enshittification, that decision just got a lot easier. When my current phone croaks, I'll be talking to Calyx.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/08/water-thats-not-wet/#pixelated

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

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

#pluralistic #google #android #pixel #privacy #pixel 9 #locational privacy #back doors #checkhov's gun #cybernews #gaslighting

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vigilskeep · 21 days ago

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harker hello I'm wondering if you have thoughts about the circle fraternities if you haven't already shared and I've missed it (replaying origins as a circle mage and its soo interesting what ive read so far)

hi!!! love the fraternities. would love if there was content for them.

um uhhh some thoughts. i’m really fascinated by the concept of the lucrosians, who are a fraternity who think the circle should focus on making money.

so there’s this paradox of the circle where from the perspective of your average thedas peasant, these are superficially quite privileged people: they’re highly educated and dress expensively, they have beds and baths and books, they don’t work for their food and they travel in carriages. but that wealth stems directly from their oppression, as only the tranquil are capable of producing, and permitted to sell, the enchanted items on which the circle funds itself. the chantry does not provide the circle its funds, it merely genially permits the circle mage leadership to manage the money earned directly from the violence it does to their people. the circle having this money also does the chantry the further services of a) creating presentable & attractive circle mages to provide for the entertainment and assistance of royalty, b) keeping the mages fairly compliant by affording them petty comforts, which will both decrease the appeal of apostate life and appease any powerful family members, and c) further alienating mages from the public by having them appear a wealthy and distant other with no right to complain. all while actually costing the chantry nothing. in fact it seems unlikely that the chantry doesn’t receive a tithe from the profits

so, what does it mean to be a lucrosian in that context? world of thedas vol 2 has a retired templar knight-commander describe that “many mages—particularly lucrosians—are from good families, used to entertainments and the finer things in life...”* when quelling a younger templar’s complaints about circle mages indulging in a dinner with musicians and dancers. so are these lucrosians mages who appreciate the privileges the circle is afforded and seek to further the system, pushing the creation of more tranquil and more enchanted produce, caring nothing for their fellows? or are these mages who seek alternative methods for the circle to earn money, who wish for mages to be paid for services instead of offered out on the chantry’s whim, and for mages to be able to interface with clients/customers as the tranquil do? do they think greater wealth will gain them greater freedom and power as well as privilege? we don’t know! but wealth is just so interesting in this context. when wynne justifies her loyalty to the circle, she clings to the fairytale magnificence of the tower as she first saw it with a hungry orphan’s eyes. irving has his position as first enchanter not because of his passion for magic but because of his passion for administration. vivienne uses the appearance of wealth as the appearance of power to exert control, and you can overhear gossip about her “arrogance” for daring to present herself as a noble might. the college of magi in cumberland is a majestic palace, but one that was gifted to the chantry for the use of the mages, not to a mage or to a circle directly. is a mage even permitted to own money and property personally, or does everything belong to their circle? when the right of annulment is called, where does the money go?

*as an aside, super interesting that many mages are from good families. that does check out with amell and trevelyan. i suppose it’s because noble families are so publicly visible that it makes mage children difficult to hide, implying a greater proportion of poorer mages are able to exist under the radar? though it may also be that having some education already and the appearance of class gets you better treatment and a better shot once in the circle. i wonder if anyone ever tries to spin the number of noble mage children as the maker’s punishment for noble greed

sorry i got distracted by the lucrosians and this is already such a long response. some other thoughts: i think isolationist philosophy is so interesting i would kill for a significant character with genuine isolationist beliefs. it’s such a boring cop-out that vivienne doesn’t belong to any fraternity and it says more about inquisition’s grating “people caring too much about politics is the REAL problem” stance than it does about vivienne herself. adrian from the asunder novel who is a libertarian was right about everything except her crush on rhys and if she reads this i am free on thursday night and wonder if she would like to hang out on thursday night when i am free

#some ungodly long sentences in this one lads

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 2 months ago

Note

All the hoarder Alex stuff is making me want a lil ficlet, where reader takes him on a date and the restaurant keeps getting his order wrong

Really test his temper (and blood pressure medication)

Yeah of course! Gotta give some love to this Italian rat too. He deserves his flowers <3

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

"W-What is this place??? Where did we get the money to eat here??? Did you sell anything of mine to-?!"

"No. This is all coming out of my pocket, Alex. I promise." With a small sigh, you did your best to calm your date: the ratlike entity in a jumpsuit who was addicted to hoarding items, especially those from morgues.

You figured that he needed a long break from his "duty" as bridge guardian in the Uncanny Streets, so you asked the Taxi Driver to take you both somewhere nice for the evening. Not the Purge Event, of course, but rather a small fancy restaurant on Night Hill.

Of course, Alex didn't like to stray from his collection for long...although at the same time, being away from it brought him some clarity, realizing that he should be focusing on you and this relationship. His last one ended on an extremely rough note, and he didn't wanna mess things up with you.

Even so, he still had some "separation anxiety", which was understandable.

"A-Ah..forgive me, caro mio." He stuffed his paws into his pockets, foot tapping against the ground rhythmically. "I'm happy that you've been planning this out for me. Really, I am. I just...haven't been away from the bridge for a long time, and I worry. What if someone tries claiming my stuff? Or they move it without a permit???"

".....you wanna just order the food to go?"

"No, no, no..it's fine. I won't think about it anymore." He chuffed, ceasing all tapping motions as he puffed his chest out. "I...will be a MAN who appreciates the DATE that his lovely PARTNER set up!"

"Alright, and we'll see how that blood pressure medication holds up, too." You mentioned.

He looked at you scoffingly. If you could see his eyes, they'd probably be annoyed....but only a little bit. "Look, I know you're worried for my health, but I don't think it's necessary. Why, I already feel much better!!"

"That's because it's in your system right now, working overtime."

"....ah. Si, si...th-that makes sense. Now then..." Alex gulped, taking your hand into his paw--which was only somewhat sweaty compared to earlier. "Shall we go?"

You simply gave him a smile back and walked inside the restaurant together.

Hopefully, you lasted longer than 30 seconds in here.

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

"Unbelievable!! This is NOT the water I ordered! Waiter!!!!"

"Alex, have some patience. They're very short-staffed today-"

"Yeah? Well I have a short TEMPER! So hmph!!" Alex sulked back in his chair with displeasure. His tail flicked irritably as he looked around at all the other customers being catered to. "Seems like we're the only ones getting poor service...where's the manager?"

'God, I hoped and prayed that he wouldn't turn into THIS kind of customer...' You internally groaned, wondering how you could salvage this date.

Neither of you have even ordered food yet. All you had were drinks, his water and yours, and there was already a problem. He was already swift to criticize the service.

"Let's not do that right now. How about we look at the menu first?"

"...fine." Thankfully, he quieted down and gave the menu a thorough read, while you skimmed over yours and had a good idea about what you wanted to eat.

Alas, things only kept going downhill.

The one meal that looked appetizing to him wasn't currently available, and the food that he was willing to settle for ended up being something entirely different--something that he was allergic to.

He knew the moment the plate made contact with the table...and you had to make sure he didn't flip it as he cursed out the waiter for forgetting about his allergy.

Only for you to remind him that he didn't actually inform them about it whatsoever. Not even you knew what it was until right now.

Unfortunately, that's when the manager came by, overhearing his angry rambling, and threatened to kick you two out if he didn't sit down and shut up.

That alone finally made Alex listen, and you ended up switching plates with him so he didn't have a violent allergic reaction. He ate your meal rather grumpily the entire time, while you ate his, a silence falling between you both.

It was delicious, but it made you feel quite guilty considering he couldn't enjoy this food without it possibly killing him.

Then when the bill came around, there was an added fee tacked onto it due to Alex's apparent "general disturbance of the public", and once again....he was ready to chew out the waiter and argue with the manager, even though you were planning to pay in-full and didn't mind the tax.

He had his doubts that all of these inconveniences were coincidental, believing everyone in this restaurant was out to get him, take his "wares", and rob you blind.

During the taxi ride home, you wanted him to list at least three good things that happened.. He managed to get to 2.5, but that was better than nothing.

You'd consider it a successful date, since he didn't faint once, so that was a step in the right direction.

Still, you didn't think it would be so stressful for him, and you promised that the next one will be much, much better. You'll take him somewhere that didn't involve money and questionable customer service.

As long as he could stretch out his medication until then...

#i feel bad that he dies no matter what you do in-game (except attend the purge event)#he deserves meds..a loving and patient partner..and time away from his hoard #clanask #anonymous #ena x reader #ena dream bbq x reader #dream bbq x reader #hoarder alex x reader #hoarder alex

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stevieschrodinger · 1 year ago

Text

Part One Two Three Four

TW Human trafficking discussions of injury

The front door is locked.

Eddie is almost winded, hobbling all this way on his sore feet. There’s a neat little screen on the wall that, briefly, woke up and flickered an angry red when Eddie had tried the door handle. Like that wasn’t hugely unsettling.

He found he just didn’t have it in him to try it again. Where would he go, anyway? Just getting to the gate would take him hours, and he doesn’t have any fucking shoes; he’s still wearing the white nightdress and nothing else.

Eddie eyes the curve of the sweeping staircase. No. No way. He’d have to go up it backward and on his butt to even make it, one slow step at a time. Steve said he’d got Eddie a room ready but...no.

No.

There’s probably fifty fucking rooms up there anyway, what with the size of the place; Eddie wouldn’t stand a chance, and he definitely doesn’t feel right snooping around like that. The back of his neck prickles at just the thought of doing something like that.

He needs the bathroom though. Too much bread, too much dairy. The milkshake, the creamy pasta. Eddie’s not one hundred percent sure if he’s going to vomit or just straight up shit himself, but there’s something uncomfortable happening. The stabbing, trapped wind type feelings occasionally taking Eddie’s breath away, they’re so sharp.

Okay. Logically this place is so fancy, there has to be a downstairs bathroom; which there is, Eddie finds it on the second try, after fully ten minutes of slow, painful shuffling.

It turns out to be a horrendously explosive shit, which Eddie is kind of glad about because being sick is the worst, and he feels much better after a traumatic twenty minutes in one of the fanciest bathrooms he’s ever seen.

Eddie tries his best to hunt around the lounge, but the TV and sound system are so sleek and stylish, Eddie can’t see an obvious way to control either. He’s frightened to touch the books in case they’re like, collectors items, or something. He sighs wistfully at them anyway; he hasn't been allowed to read a book in years. Well behaved Omega most certainly don't read. They might start...having aspirations and thinking for themselves and stuff like that, so it was absolutely not permitted at the ranch.

His feet are throbbing, but he didn’t think to ask for painkillers. There’s nothing for him to do but sit on the couch and feel sorry for himself.

He tells himself this is better than the ranch. It’s better. He’s safe here. He’s going to see Wayne again. Hagan’s probably been arrested already; everyone else has been rescued too. Well at least, Eddie hopes so. All of that being a lie at this point...why would Steve go to so much effort to fabricate a lie like that?

It’s a slippery slope, that thought, so Eddie tries not to entertain it. He’s spoken to Hopper himself; seen his FBI card. It has to be true, surely? Everyone is okay, Eddie tells himself on repeat.

Everyone has been rescued.

Eddie just has to...endure. He can do that.

He’s been doing it for years.

The couch is too soft to sleep on. The beds in the dorm had mattresses so thin they might as well have been a folded over blanket, so Eddie has gotten used to the creaky noises and sleeping on something almost completely solid, no give at all in the wooden slats of the bed frames.

It’s quiet here. No movement, no breathing, no whispered conversations between Omega or the footsteps of guards on patrol. Nothing.

It’s been dark for a while when Eddie realizes he’s getting cold; the thermostat, or however this place works, must have turned over to it’s night time setting.

Eddie finds blankets in the big fancy Ottoman. The room feels...too big. Too big and empty. All that fancy glass reflecting the room and making it look twice as big. He feels defenseless, open. It’s not a nice feeling.

The silence is oppressive.

Eddie shifts the Ottoman, it takes a huge effort to push, the thing is heavy, but he manages to butt it right up into the corner of the ‘L’ shaped couch. Eddie lays one blanket out on the rug, snugged right up in the small space he’s made for himself between the Ottoman and the couch, Eddie nests in the protected little triangle of space. One blanket to lie on, the warmer one pulled over top of him. He does take one cushion off the couch, for his head.

He’s warmer, and feels safer, here. It still takes him hours to fall into an unsettled and fitful sleep.

Eddie didn’t reach any kind of deep sleep; he knows he didn’t. He knows because he’s blinking, alert and awake from the noises he can hear. The front door, keys being put down, footsteps.

Foot steps on the stairs.

And Eddie didn’t experience any of the confusion that comes with being woken from decent sleep. No. He’s awake, fully alert, and he knows exactly where he is and what’s happening.

He hears those same footsteps come back down the stairs, “Eddie?”

“Here,” Eddie forces himself up, bracing his arms on the couch, knees both clicking after being curled up tight for so long.

Steve looks like shit. He definitely hasn’t slept. But then, neither has Eddie, not really, and considering Eddie’s now eaten two meals and slept a night wearing a practically see through white nightdress, there’s no way he looks any better himself; he’s got to be grubby.

Steve also looks aghast, “Eddie, I’m so sorry. I got...distracted. That’s not an excuse for just...leaving. Did you sleep there the whole night?”

Eddie nods, there doesn’t really need to be an explanation.

“Shit. Shit, okay. Okay, lets...you hungry? I’m starving. I know we ordered you clothes, but I should have given you something better than-” Steve sighs, a sharp sound, before rubbing at his forehead for a second. “Right, breakfast first? Anything you want? Pretty sure I have the stuff for cheese omelettes? And I know I’ve got sausage and bacon.”

Eddie can’t help but wince at the thought of yesterdays fecal catastrophe. It must show, Steve frowning at him from under his floppy preppy hair, “all the rich food it, uhm, gave me a tummy ache? So...just some scrambled eggs would be really, really great.”

Steve looks at him for a long moment, probably rethinking yesterday, “yeah, yeah okay, scrambled eggs,” and he heads off into the kitchen, Eddie forcing himself to limp weakly along behind.

Steve does make a mean plate of scrambled eggs, and it really does hit the spot. Eddie dodges the coffee, having a glass of OJ instead. “Okay, so lets...lets figure what to priorities here. Shower, you can borrow some of my clothes, and I’ll check your feet, does that sound okay?”

“Yeah...but you, you look real tired Steve, I mean it can wait-”

“No, no it’s fine. I won’t be able to rest if I don’t know you’re okay, plus...you look kind of tired there yourself...which isn’t surprising considering I abandoned you and forced you to spend the night on the floor-”

“Steve.”

“I...sorry. Again. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve ripped pretty much everything Hagan owned right out from under him. Or at least I will have, by lunch time today.”

And yeah...to be fair. Eddie does feel better. It’s cold comfort, but Eddie can be small and spiteful and bitter with the best of them so...yeah. Imagining Hagan sat in a cell somewhere, knowing his empire is being dismantled brick by brick. Yeah. Why not? Eddie can enjoy that for a minute. “Yeah, that’s...really good to hear.”

“Good.” They smile at each other for a long few seconds. And then Eddie yawns. And Steve yawns. And it sets off a horrible cycle of them yawning at each other across the table.

“Okay, lets get you sorted out.”

Eddie braces himself for the limp to the stairs, which he manages, shuffling gamely along with Steve hovering. For the split second Eddie allows himself to stop concentrating and actually look up at Steve...he sees Steve watching his move very intently, but also guilty as fuck.

The stairs are another matter. Having all of his weight on one foot while he lifts the other is...horrible. Stepping up is even worse, so much so that Eddie flinches from it the first time and nearly falls off the first step.

Steve steadies him.

On the second wobble, along with a pained hiss, Eddie finds himself just being...scooped up. Just straight up lifted, and he flails for a second before what’s just happened catches up to him, and his flailing ends with his arms locked around Steve’s neck.

Eddie will forever deny the panicked ‘yip’ noise that had come out of him.

Steve heard it though, and Steve’s grinning from inches away as he, very effortlessly, carries Eddie up the stairs.

Which, first of all, what a bastard, and second of all Eddie will not think about how fucking hot it is that Steve can throw him around if he wants to.

Steve has laid out a bunch of towels ready, and a change of clothes; just sleep pants and a tee shirt, a pair of boxers, but it looks like absolute heaven to Eddie. So does the whole of the bathroom, if he’s being honest. Even though this is a guest room and guest bath– which blows Eddie’s mind all on it’s own, he’s pretty sure that with a bit of inventive interior design, a family of four could live comfortably in this space.

So yeah, Eddie is able to sit safe and sound on a ledge in the bath and hose himself down. It’s not a proper shower, but Eddie doesn’t want to stand for that really, especially not with how it would soak his scabs, so this is perfect for now.

He finally feels clean after, which is a huge improvement.

Once he’s dressed, resting on a thick and fluffy towel Steve had considerately left on the toilet seat, he waits. Steve had been for his own shower real quick, once Eddie was settled safely, and he comes back toting a first aid kit in a green bag with a white cross on the side.

Steve takes a towel to cushion his knees, again not seeming worried about kneeling in front of an Omega, which is a nice change of pace.

“Oh,” Eddie says, at the same second Steve freezes in place, “the thing I could smell…” Steve has showered, and he couldn’t have reapplied blockers. Steve’s scent is only vague in the house downstairs, just a nice background scent; Alpha and comfort and home and safe...but now it’s hitting Eddie full in the face. Eddie sways forward mindlessly, trying to get closer to the source, Steve reaching out to steady him by the shoulder.

Eddie almost feels like he’s blinking awake, and Steve is right there. Like, two inches away, licking his lips and looking at Eddie with eyes so blown they’re almost back, “yeah,” Steve swallows thickly, and then visibly jumps when his phone rings. He looks startled by the noise, “sorry. Sorry I should- yeah, what is it, Henderson?”

And Steve leaves the room. Eddie feels kind of foggy, but also all kind of wonderful. Steve’s scent is...it’s good. It’s real nice. It’s...probably perfect. Smells like home and safe and mate and all that good shit Eddie had secretly dreamed about in the darkness of the dorm room at the ranch, trying to keep himself sane.

Eddie can hear Steve talking, “yeah, multiple accounts. Yeah, I know, but there wasn’t enough in there so I cleared out...no, no, you think Eddie only cost a quarter mil?” Steve laughs, “yeah, it was quite a bit more, yeah.” Steve sighs, “shut up, Henderson. Oh my god, no I did not get a receipt.”

Part Six

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #ao3 writer #pre steddie #omega eddie munson because he's so pretty #omega eddie because hes so pretty #omega eddie munson #alpha steve harrington #my writing

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ardhasneoehs · 1 year ago

Text

Navigating the Complex World of Permits to Work: NeoEHS

Delve deep into the intricate world of permits to work with this all-encompassing resource detailing the 14 critical varieties. Integrate innovative NeoEHS software technologies to automate tracking, reporting, and enforcement tasks. Foster best practices and sustain a culture of proactive risk management. Become an expert! https://www.neoehs.com/blogs/types-of-permit-to-work

#health and safety software solutions #construction ehs software #permit to work management software #ehs management systems #hse software #software for health and safety

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savingcrxws · 2 years ago

Text

EYES ON FIRE | maybe someday

[ prev chap ] [ next chap ]

synopsis. you and carmen just keep bumping into each other.

word count. 4.3k (gah damn)

warnings. language, hardly proofread again i'm sorry its an addiction

authors note. thank u guys so much for the support in these previous chapters! it’s really amazing to me that u guys enjoyed it so much! i would recommend listening to maybe someday by the cure for this chapter!

“Yeah, Sugar. The appointment is booked for Thursday, the reps will probably be coming in at like…three o’clock,” you mutter, flipping through the manila folder absolutely stuffed with documents and sticky notes.

You pursue your lips at all you had to get done within this week alone–sign installation permit, permit to replace the hot water heater, permit to fix the ventilation systems, reapply for occupancy capacity signs because of the restaurants lack of other permits, and holy shit…

You completely forgot to schedule the follow-up appointment with the BACP consultant.

You groan, slamming the thick folder into your forehead, the papers thwacking against your skull. Natalie sounds startled on the other end of the phone, no doubt hearing the sound on her end of the call. She questions if you’re okay, and you only respond with a gentle hum before tossing the folder back down on the office table.

“Hey, Suge, do you think I can call you back later? I need to schedule a follow-up consultation with Raquel before another rep hops on my ass about the boiler replacement.”

“Of course, hun, call me back whenever you can,” Sugar starts and you can hear some papers flicking in her side of the call as well.

You had managed to convince her to work from home more often, worried that all the stress from the demolition inside would affect her pregnancy and her overall wellbeing. After some back and forth, she had begrudgingly agreed to spend two days working on the project from the comfort of her own couch.

And even though she complains still, you know she appreciates she has a little bit more time off of her feet.

“Don’t work yourself too hard, okay, Bug?”

You nod, even though you know she can’t see you. “Same for you, Bear.” Sugar hums once again before you both give your goodbyes and end the call.

You expel all of the air out of your chest in a large puff as you slide down the office chair.

After signing onto Team Bear, your new home-away-from-home had been this tiny office in the back of the restaurant. For the most part, no one came in and disrupted your work, which allowed you to have your head shoved into piles of paperwork, be stuck on phone calls, and be forced to reread legal jargon for hours on end with little interruption.

Well, as little interruption as there could be with the restaurant quite literally falling apart around you.

Thankfully, everyone was very respectful of your work in helping the developing business. You were practically putting every ounce of knowledge that you learned from both college and the real-world experience (including connections within the industry) to help push the restaurant closer to the deadline. All the while still dealing with your other commitments to other businesses that you had prior to signing on to this project.

Staying at The Bear for eight hours a day had its benefits, though.

For example, there was always something entertaining going on in the background. Like last Tuesday, when Fak had decided to send a sledgehammer directly into the only remaining wall of the office–sending bits and pieces of drywall onto your clothes.

Another benefit of being stuck in that office chair is that you had an excuse to ignore everyone around you. And by everyone, you really mean Carmen.

After the awkward office run-in last week, the two of you hardly spoke to each other. Sure, there was the ‘hellos’ and ‘goodbyes’ that you threw to each other and the words you exchanged when you caught him up on the status of licensing, but you two had yet to have an actual conversation.

It was clear that the both of you were still walking on eggshells around each other—and everyone could see it. But you had an inkling feeling that Carmen had been wanting to say something, judging by the short glances you sometimes catch him throwing in your direction.

Kinda similar to the one that he’s giving you right now.

You feel the heat of his stare on your face before you see it. He’d been staring at you for a couple moments now, long enough for you to no longer consider it an inquisitive glance.

You peek up from the folder and make solid eye contact with Carmen through the hole in the wall. The man flushes almost immediately, the red color sinking past his collar. You purse your lips and give a small nod of acknowledgment and he stutters in his spot.

And then he’s turning away.

Like he wasn’t the one just staring at you a moment ago.

You roll your eyes and turn back to your original position in the seat. Picking the folder up again, you flick to the papers listing the requirements for the next fire suppression test.

“Men,” you mutter, before picking up your phone and making a phone call.

Three days later, the office is completely demolished and your work revolving around The Bear has been moved to a family-owned coffee shop two blocks over.

In the short span of time, all of the walls in the store had been busted down and the restaurant had practically turned into a hazardous wasteland. And since construction was too far out of your pay grade, you decided to leave the heavy lifting up to everyone else.

“Alright, permit done!” You throw your hands up in the air, your theatrics catching the attention of a couple next to you. You could hardly care for the stares, though, you had been working on getting that permit for the past four days straight. Slamming your laptop shut, you pack up your bags and head off to the cash register to buy another coffee before you go.

While you wait for your drink, you decide to scroll aimlessly through your phone to kill some time.

“Oh shit,” you hear a voice utter behind you, and you barely have time to process the word before something ice cold is running down your back. “Fuck, I’m fucking sorry, I didn’t even see you—“

You gasp on reflex, taking a step forward and shivering. The person who spilled their drink on you is stuttering out apologies. The liquid seeps into the jacket you were wearing and you pull it off immediately.

“Yo, what the fuck, dude,” you curse, watching the large stain of coffee spread even farther across your jacket. “Watch where the hell you’re walking—”

In the middle of trying to give the perpetrator a piece of your mind, you failed to recognize the familiar sound of the voice that was spewing apology out of apology. But in a second, your eyes met a recognizable set of blue and you halted your words.

In front of you stands Carmen Berzatto. In his signature colored sweater and a half-spilled cup of coffee in his hand.

And he looks petrified.

It seems he didn’t realize just who was the unlucky victim to his americano attack either until you turned around. His mouth agape, he utters out a jumbled apology, glancing back at you, your stained jacket, and the cup in his hand like his brain was still trying to understand what just happened.

“Uh-uh, fuck, sorry, I swear this wasn’t on purpose,” he rambles, placing his cup on the counter behind you and grabbing some napkins right after. He steps back towards you and shoves his hand of napkins to you. “Here, shit, I’m so sorry.”

You sigh, taking the napkins from him, noting the slight tremor that persisted in his hands as you did so. Taking in a slow breath, you close your eyes and count to ten before responding. “It’s okay, Carmen. Don’t worry about it.”

And even though you tried to maintain your peace, you can hear the annoyance seeping out of your words. Carmen glances around the counter before looking back at you and your soaked jacket. You know he probably wants to apologize some more, but honestly, one more apology might land him with a punch to the gut.

Just as he opens his mouth, you raise your free hand, silencing him immediately. You shake your head in dismissal before taking the napkins offered to you and blotting the coffee out of the fabric of your jacket. Carmen simply stood in his place, watching you, seeing if he could do anything to redeem himself in this situation.

However, after they called your name for your drink order, you dumped the used napkins in the trash, took your drink and hightailed it out of the café without one more word to the man.

After the coffee shop incident, you swear that you started to see Carmen everywhere.

You needed a quiet place to plan outside of your house so you went to one of the local libraries. Guess who’s walking outside the building?

You need a late night snack and decide to hit up the corner store. Guess who’s in the refrigerated section?

Hell, you decide to stay late at The Bear for some last minute checkups? Guess who forgot to grab a few things before leaving that night?

You swear that before you hopped on The Bear train, you never even saw a glimpse of the man. Sure, you lived relatively near the restaurant, but Chicago is fucking huge, there’s no way you would run into one of the few people that you’re trying to avoid.

Absolutely not, apparently.

Finally finishing up the weekly budget report and estimate for the following weeks till open, you decide to take a step away from work for a second and give your brain some time to breath.

“Hey, Syd, if anyone needs me, I’m outside taking a smoke break, ‘kay,” you yell across the restaurant, receiving a thumbs up from her from the other side of the room. “Be back in 15!”

Reaching into your bag, you pull out a pack of cigs and a lighter before heading to the back entrance of the restaurant. You place the cigarette between your lips and head to the backdoor. Stepping out and around the alley to the designated smoke corner, you fiddle with the lighter switch, hearing the light sizzle but seeing no flames emerge.

You groan, flicking the lighter again and again and still no lig–

“Umm, uh, you need a light?”

You scream, your heart almost skipping a beat and falling out on the concrete below you. In your alarm, both your cigarette and the lighter drop on to the ground. "Shit," you mutter and throw a glance over at whoever had scared the living shit out of you and, surprise suprise . . .

There was Carmen, standing in the alley a few feet away from the door. One leg was kicked up to rest his foot against the wall behind him and a cigarette hung loosely between his fingers. His eyes trailed across you for a second, then he glanced at the cigarette on the ground before taking another draw from his own and staring out the wall in front of him.

If you had half of the energy, you would tell him off for scaring the shit out of you and book it out of the enclosed space.

Lucky for Carmen, however, you really needed that cigarette.

Reaching back into your bag once more, you pull out another cig and walk slowly over to the man. Your steps gain his attention once again and when your eyes met you gestured to the lighter hanging out of his cooking apron.

He grabs the lighter and hands it to you. As you reach out to grab it, your fingers brush against his knuckles. Some quick thought in the back of your head wishes that that physical interaction lasted a little longer, but you're quick to shoo that away into the deep recesses of your mind.

Lighting your cigarette, you hand the lighter back to him before taking a drag. Blowing the smoke out, you slid down the wall until you could lean back into a squat against it.

The two of you just stand there, in complete silence aside from the occasional cough from an improper pull. This quiet isn't nearly as awkward as the first run-in the two of you had. Maybe it's because of the nicotine or maybe it's because continuously running into Carmen over these past days had subconsciously made you a little more comfortable with his presence.

. . .

Nah, it definitely had to be the nicotine.

You glance up at Carmen, who continues to smoke even though his stick had turned into a bud a while ago. You make note of the new tattoos that run down his arms and hands, eyes stopping at the rose flower tattoo on his left hand.

You remember when he got that one done with you at the parlor for his eighteenth birthday.

Subconsciously, you rub at the matching rose on your thigh before sighing and focusing back on your cigarette. Young, dumb decisions, you think.

Above you, Carmen watches your focus retreat back and purses his lips. In all honesty, Carmen usually never finishes a whole cigarette, but he really needed an excuse to stay out here longer with you.

These past couple of days had been tormenting him just as much as it had been you, albeit for different reasons. Everytime Carmen ran into you, whether it be in that cafe or that random grocery store that one early morning, he was plagued with memories of everything that he had fucked up.

Not just the relationship that he had fucked, but the happiness that he had stolen from the both of you.

And he had so desperately been trying to apologize, but every time you saw his face, you would get that look on your own. That dread, the anxiousness, that annoyance. That anger.

Whenever he saw that expression on your face, he would get too choked up to say anything of significance. A simple 'hey" would be all that would leave his mouth. Either that or he would stutter like he was a fucking kid again and embarrass himself in front of you like he seems to be doing constantly lately.

Carmen sighs, taking a final hit from his cigarette before stomping it out on the ground. By all previous experience, Carmen would book it out of the area by now, but something in his gut was telling him to stay this time.

Glancing down at you once more, he sees that you have taken to scrolling through your phone to kill the time. He bites the corner of his lip and decides to sit against the wall like you.

Instinctively, you toss him a questioning glance but when he didn't make any move to speak or gesture towards you, you shook your head and went back to whatever video had popped up on your feed.

Fuck it, he thought.

"I'm sorry."

You halt in the middle of your smoke, nearly coughing on the fumes but managing to swallow it. You look over at Carmen inquisitively, wondering where the hell that apology came from. The dirty blonde was wringing his hands, mouth opening and shutting as if he was trying to get the words out.

"Sorry for the, uh," he mutters, casting a quick glance in your direction to assure himself that you were listening. "Sorry for the, for uh-You know I didn't-I don't know how-"

"Yo, Carmen," you interrupt the world vomit that he was spewing, tossing your cigarette down before snuffing out the light with your shoe. You center your focus back on the man next to you, who seemed to only have you in his attention. "Just say what you want to say. No bullshit."

Your blunt words seem to ground Carmen long enough for him to gather his thoughts. He nods his head rapidly in that way he does when he's clearly overwhelmed before he clears his throat. He takes in a large inhale and clears his throat, ready to speak again.

"I want to apologize. For everything. For how much of an jackoff I was back then, and for how much I am right now," Carmen stars, eyes staring solidly into yours to show just how serious he is. "I didn't deserve you, and you did nothing to deserve the way that we ended."

You feel something burn the back of your throat at the mention of the end of your relationship. The total radio silence from him for the days prior, and just when you had managed to gather the courage to ask the question of just what the hell are we doing, Carmy, you were cast aside like nothing.

He was right, you didn’t deserve that.

Pushing back the feelings bubbling up in your chest, you nod your head to signal that you were listening.

"I-I, it's no excuse, but I was really going through some serious shit. And I really felt that if I cut everyone out of my life, I could actually get a second to breathe you know," Carmen pauses and you open your mouth to speak, but he continues. "I-I just know you deserved-you deserve better. But seeing you in this restaurant day-in and day-out, working away to help my sister, my crew--help me? I just felt even more like a piece of shit."

He turns fully towards you now and you can see his eyes turning red from the emotion he was clearly holding behind his words. "You didn't deserve what I did, and you definitely don't deserve to be cleaning up my messes now."

"You deserved the world, and I'm sorry I couldn't give it to you."

His last words send a sharp pang into your chest. Here you two sat, sitting next to each other, the distance between you two seemed to be filled with words unsaid. You stare into his eyes a little longer, at a loss for what to say completely.

On one hand, you wanted to reject his apology, tell him to fuck off and leave him alone in this alleyway. He would deserve it after everything.

But he has that familiar kicked puppy-dog look in his eyes and he's chewed his lip red, and he's actually sorry.

You sigh, leaning your head back to rest against the wall behind you. Staring up at the sky, you trace the shapes of the clouds above as you collect your thoughts.

"Yeah," you start, nodding your head to yourself. Carmen tenses up at the ambiguity behind both your words and your tone. He would have to have his own head shoved up his ass if he didn't realize that you had every right to refuse his plea for forgiveness. Frankly, that's exactly what he was expecting you to do.

"Yeah, okay. I can forgive you, Berzatto."

Carmen's heart sinks into his guts, mouth slightly agape in pure shock. "You-you can?"

You give a small smile, turning your head to face the man. "Yeah, Carmen, I accept your apology."

The dirty blonde opens his mouth again but you put a hand up in the space between you, effectively shutting him up for a second.

"But," you trail, "I'm gonna forward you that dry cleaning bill from that cafe, asshat. I've been trying to get that shit out for days now."

Carmen flushes a bright red at the mention of the coffee shop run-in you two had, a broken chuckle leaving his mouth at the obvious teasing tone in your voice. You were joking with him, for the first time in years, you two had managed to glimpse at the level of comfortability that you once shared.

Carmen chuckles again, running a hand through his curls. "Yeah, well, can I raincheck that until after the restaurant starts making money? I'm kinda flat fucking broke right now."

You giggle at the honesty behind his words. "Yeah, I ran those calculations by the way. Have fun being flat broke for at least three months after The Bear opens."

"Shit," Carmen mutters, a grin still on his face.

"Yeah, shit." You nod in his direction before pushing yourself off your crouched position on the ground. "Anyway, I'm gonna head inside to get back on that shit. Fak's fucking electric guy keeps flaking on us."

Carmen's eyes follow your form as you stand, holding eye contact with you when you glance back down at him. "Yeah, yeah, I should probably meet up with Syd for the chaos menu anyway."

He hurriedly stands up, wiping his hands on his work pants. After he finishes, he looks at you once again, noting the small smile on your face. For a second, he swears his heart skips a beat.

"For the record, Carmy," you play with the nickname on your tongue, having not said it in quite some time. Carmen flushes before nodding for you to continue. The small on your face falls for a second as you look at him. "You pull that shit with me again, I'm sicking the dogs on your ass. Seriously."

Carmen clears his throat, straightening up at the more serious tone of your voice. Although you were not nearly as angry looking at him as before, he knew that you were serious. There were no more apologies after this, no more fuckups.

You look at him expectantly, waiting for some form of acknowledgment.

He nods. "Yes, chef."

After the conversation outside The Bear, you and Carmen seemed to flow together much easier than before. Granted there was the occasional stray glance casted in your direction from the man, but overall, the two of you were on much more agreeable terms.

The rest of the crew seemed to notice the absence of uncertain tension between the two of you. You explained to Tina, Richie, and Sugar that you two had simply talked it out and were no longer on "spiteful ex" terms.

Richie, being the annoying man that he is, insisted that something else must've happened--to which you responded with a firm shoulder check and yet another middle finger.

Overall, the two of you seemed to only talk about business stuff, which made it easier for conversations to flow. Less personal, more concrete talks.

"Alright, Carmy, we got that certificate of occupancy, right?" You question, running down the legal checklist once again. When you heard no response, you asked again, only to be ignored again. Finally looking up from your screen, you glance up at the man, trying to figure out what could have possibly distracted him this time.

He's glancing, moreso glaring, down at his phone, watching it ring but making no moves to pick it up. He's spaced out almost, like he's lost in his thoughts.

You clear your throat and decide to try his name again. "Carmen!"

He shoots up a little and looks at you, muttering an apology out as he clicks his phone off and slides it into his back pocket. "What were you asking?"

"Umm, I was trying to see if you got that certificate of occupancy from Cicero mailed in," you raise an eyebrow at him. "You know, the one we need to get that other big, shiny certificate that shows that we can legal conduct business in the state of Illinois? That certificate?"

"Uhh, yeah, yeah. Mailed it in the other day, yeah."

You squint at his weird responses before shaking your head and diving back into your work. "Well, on another note, I've been speaking with a liason down at the office and he said we can have our second fire suppression test in two weeks instead of the project four."

Carmen walks up to the foldable chair you were sitting in, peering over your shoulder to look at your screen. He rests his hand against the back of your chair unconsciously and you can feel the heat of his body radiating off of him. You clear your throat and lean forward a little to get some distance between the two of you.

"Who's that going to?" The man points to an email that you are in the middle of drafting. Your eyes follow and land on the email you were writing to one of your school buddies. "Oh that? I'm just messaging one of my old classmates from college about an idea I had about our issues with that retail food license thing."

Carmen humms, peeking down at you as you explained the process you were thinking of going through. Though your eyes were stuck on the screen, clicking through different documents as you continued your explanation, Carmen's eyes were glued to your face.

To him, this all felt like some weird dream that he was having. His former high school sweetheart, sitting in his restaurant, talking all kinds of smart talk that he could barely understand, practically pressed against him. Although he didn't move over to your chair with the intent to press against you, he definitely noticed the proximity that you two shared.

Life had been a whirlwind these past weeks, but he felt that when he was near you that a lot of those anxieties he often has screaming in his head quieted down a little. He tried to chalk it up to the confidence that he had in your skills, but even though you are incredibly talented in your work, he knew that it was something more than that.

Something that he had to swallow down.

"Carmy, you motherfucker, are you even listening to me?" You call out, turning more in your chair and fixing him with an annoyed glare. Carmen swallows before nodding his head. "Ye-yeah, you have a plan to get that retail food license and alcohol seller's license at once right?"

You hum, giving him a once over again before turning in your seat. "Exactly. I think that my buddy Stephen can help us with that fire suppression test, he knows a thing or two--"

Carmen's eyes trace down your eyes, nose, and lips, noting the signature bite marks you left on your bottom one. He runs a tongue across his own before carding a hand through his hair to collect himself.

He was so fucked.

taglist: @grippleback-galaxy @chatitajens @rooster-bradshaws @hrrysweetcherry @whoreforbucky @notsochillnerd @jackierose902109 @how2besalty @rosewine-5 @honeybug-victoria @beansap @sincerelyrab @xxconfettiitsaparade @softsy @imafatassmess @bibliophilewednesday @chanluuvr

if you would like to be added to/removed from the taglist, just tell me below! thank you so much for reading!

*if ur @ is striked thru, tumblrs being a pain and not letting tag, imma keep trying tho!!

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fanfic #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear x reader #the bear season 2 #jeremy allen white x reader #jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto x you #the bear fanfic

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letsquestjess · 5 months ago

Text

Paint My Love (Echo x F!Reader)

Summary: Echo loves to see you paint, but doesn't bank on the swell of emotions when you lovingly paint your love onto him.

Word count: 2.1K

Warning: 18+ / MDNI! Smut. Unprotected PiV.

-- -- -- -- --

With a gliding swipe of the paintbrush, blush tones outstripped and tempered the fiery red beneath. Fleecy clouds met with silky sky, the canvas filling with the delightful distant landscape as your rendition unfolded in mellow curves and serene shades.

Your involvement in the clone network rarely permitted you time to indulge in a hobby. Planet hopping, eluding blaster bolts, and cracking codes occupied every waking moment, hauling captive and injured clones from the depths of Imperial prisons and extracting vital information from enemy systems. The task you undertook voluntarily, a decision you neither regretted nor deplored, but in the process, you abandoned much of your life.

In moments such as these, you gladly seized whatever buffers and downtime you were offered without complaint about the shortness of the respite or the chance of being called to another critical situation. Everything Rex and his network did ensured a better galaxy, a denial of victory and power to the Empire, and the opportunity to see the sun rise over the freedom of every despairing world.

You hoped the sunrise of that prospective dawn promised to prove as beautiful and inspiring as the one you painted, tracking the migration of sky vapours with your brush and the silvery streak contrasting the subdued corals and cardinals. A lilac hue crowned the horizon, and you contemplated which tints to mix to get the matching shade.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you painting,” Echo commented as he descended the ramp, distracted by the array of pleasing colours and shapes crafted by your skillful hand.

“It’s been a while since I had the chance,” you replied. “Does Rex know to expect some more brothers?”

“He does. Also told him we’re going to stay for a couple of days to check the transmissions. I’ve set up a sweep of Imperial systems, but it could take a while, so we have some time.”

Scomp link coasting down your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, he considered your artwork with a contented grin. “You always manage to see the good in everything.”

“Bad things do not deserve a thought wasted on them,” you replied with a decided shrug. “I reserve that space for the things that make me happy.”

“And that stubborn streak.”

In answer to his jest, you dabbed his nose with the tip of your paintbrush and swallowed a chuckle at the responding arched eyebrow, dropping the brush into the jar of pigmented water.

“I’m not used to having free time,” you said, mopping up the sapphire blob with the frayed towel over your shoulder. “What will we do?”

“Wait for the scans and ensure we’re ready to move as soon as we get the results, but the rest, I suppose we… relax.” His face scrunched as though he sniffed something foul. That sounded wrong. In their line of work, relaxation never presented itself. Not even in times of quiet.

The rumination creased his features, and you eased your fingertips up to his cheekbones to encourage him to loosen up. “At any rate, I’m going to need more canvases. I didn’t realise I had my supplies until I checked the cupboard last night. Must have left them there when I painted those posters for Rex.”

Echo nosed into your touch. Faith in the good and your confidence in a better tomorrow shone in those images, declaring to the galaxy that they were defended and inspiring them to rise. “You could always use me,” he said, more tease in his tone and temptation in the amber flecks in his eyes than he intended. “As a canvas, I mean. If you needed. I… um… wouldn’t be opposed to you… trying that out…”

Covering his face in embarrassment with a gloved hand and his posture slumping, he retreated. Since you formed your attachment almost a year ago, his attempts at flirting grew worse in his mind, fumbled words attempting to sound exciting and falling flat. Yet each time, you found him more endearing and increasingly sweet.

“The paints I use are safe for skin if you wanted to be my canvas,” you told him, removing the rectangular painting from the easel and setting it beside the ship steps to dry.

He wound up to graciously refuse, to insist he did not wish to disturb your quiet peace or steal away your artistic resources, but everything you touched with your talents, you planted a shred of your soul into, and he pondered how he might look with your creations decorating him. “Actually, I’d like that.”

“In that case,” you said, your bright smile making every facet glow, “I’ll go set up the cockpit and I can paint you while we wait for those scans.”

Spare rolls of fabric draped the co-pilot seat, and a tiered palette kept the array of matte and metallic colours neat while you organised your utensils. Pillars of sunlight provided a muted bloom, and settling Echo into the covered seat, you counted the various brushes and tested the bristles were smooth enough not to irritate his skin.

“You’ll have to remove your shirt if you want me to paint on you,” you told him, offering an opening for him to retract his offer if he decided not to continue. He pulled an arm and his scomp link through the sleeves of his blacks and set the article of clothing over the navigation console chair.

“Am I sat right?” he asked, wriggling and twisting in the seat. “I can move if you need me to, or-”

You dumped your jacket onto the inactive panel behind you and covered his lap with an old tatty blanket. “Just relax.”

Soaking the first brush into a silky maroon tint, you knelt and softly began your patterns. You let your heart guide your hand, winding around the embedded ports in his stomach and chuckling at the slight laugh he returned when the strands tickled his sternum.

The colour choices flowed with your instincts, motifs and designs floating in your mind as you washed the brushes in between each pigment. You tuned into the steady swell and drop of Echo’s chest, meeting every breath tenderly pushing at the paintbrush.

Enraptured in your concentration and the blossoms of your creativity, Echo remained unmoving, peeping as you expressed your love on his torso. You never ceased to amaze him in your artistry and your innovation, head tilted at a tender angle and teeth snagging your bottom lip as you chewed in studious contemplation. Your innate ingenuity permeated other parts of your life and on more than one occasion, hauled you from the fire and came to your aid, preventing you from ending up in an Imperial prison or worse.

Stars, he wished he could express how you made him feel, how your radiance warmed him and your surety emboldened him to believe the galaxy would see better days. He hoped you realised how wonderful you were, that you never once needed to doubt yourself, because if he had to place bets on anyone, it would always be you.

Inch by inch, brilliant designs of strength and light coated his skin, the rising and easing of his chest pulling the strings of his life into glorious being. For the first time in far too long, he felt himself, vibrant like he once was before the explosion that ripped him apart and remade him a machine. Your art brought together both parts of him into acceptance and new perspectives.

“How incredible you are,” he breathed in a besotted exhale, swallowing the bloated tears of elation.

His palm nestled your cheek and his thumb flicked over your lips. You set the brush aside and went to cup his face, stopping short at the stain on your palms.

“Considering how much paint I have on my chest, do you think I’d mind a little more?” Echo coaxed you onto his lap, mindful of the drying designs as he let you wiggle yourself comfortable. “Thank you.”

“What for?” you asked, planting a kiss to the tip of his nose and trailing your lips towards his neck.

“Reminding me who I am.”

Your kisses ceased, and you fixed on the reminiscent glimmer in his gaze. “You don’t need me to remind you who you are.”

“Sometimes I forget. It’s like I was someone completely different before… before everything that happened, but that same trooper is still in there.” His scomp link rested on the small of your back and his thumb massaged circles on your hip.

“Still the same foolhardy ARC trooper to me,” you assured him, fingers delighting in the contours of his face before idling on his jaw. “Only now with added stubble.” You scratched playfully at the scruff on his chin. “What was it Rex told me once? You used to shave so meticulously you could use your cheeks as mirrors?”

A spirited chuckle rumbled in the depths of Echo’s chest and your designs fluttered with the movement. “That is a wild exaggeration.”

“Wild exaggeration, huh?”

Echo clocked the mischief in your tone and the arched eyebrow as you pursued the strain in his pants. At the wriggle in your feigned repositioning and the grind of your hips, he momentarily closed his eyes and grunted under his breath. Maker have mercy for the way you liked to tease him.

“I know you’re doing that on purpose,” Echo pointed out.

“Am not.”

“I believe that is what we would definitely call a wild exaggeration.”

You gasped dramatically and splayed your fingers on his chest. As he laughed at your antics, he wrenched your hips down onto him again. “Anyone would think you liked that,” you cooed, your own arousal dripping and desperate for attention.

“Perhaps I do,” he responded, dipping his thumb into the waistband of your pants. His touches graced your core, tiny flicks and presses of his fingertips edging you towards delight.

Hungry for him the more your flirts danced, you hopped off him to remove your clothing and straddled him before the fabric even hit the cockpit floor. Soft kisses became starved as you rocked on him, the intensity between your legs unbearable.

“It’s been too long since we’ve had some time to ourselves,” Echo panted.

“Need you,” you keened, intent on not permitting your nails to sink into his shoulder in your haste to feel more of him.

“No patience?”

You shook your head and stopped grinding your hips long enough for him to reach into his underwear and withdraw his cock, give it a few pumps, and line himself with your entrance.

“Take your time, love,” Echo soothed, sensing the impatience in the little creases between your brows as you gradually sank onto him. “We don’t need to rush.”

While you knew you had no reason to hurry, the ache within you burned boundless and fluorescent. You lowered yourself the last centimetre, and a satisfied breath escaped your chest at the fill.

In an unhurried, endless rhythm, your thighs tensed in the rolling flow and you brought yourself down again on his length, assisted by his encouraging lift as he met you halfway. As your bodies moved as one, your breaths intermingled, kisses exchanged instead of words between the rise and drop of your love.

“Echo,” you whined, the knot inside you unravelling and pulling deliciously as he buried himself in your heat and rolled your nipple between a finger and thumb, the thought of approaching your activity without haste abandoned. You both needed each other. Patience be damned to the depths.

Your whimpers met with a low grunt. Neither of you were going to last much longer, you craved that closeness, that blessed bond. Building the friction between your sweat-coated skin, you crested the gratifying wave together, nails biting into flesh and your climaxes hitting their groan-filled peaks.

Echo clutched you as the final throes circuited and fizzled, nuzzling at your neck. He peered down between your bodies where paint smeared his torso and residue smudges dusted yours.

“Maybe we should wash this off,” you suggested in a calming breath as his release began to leak out between your legs. “Share a shower and save some water. Who knows how long we will be waiting for the scans to complete?”

“Hopefully long enough for us to do this again,” Echo chuckled, boosting you into his arms, still comfortably inside you. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up and I’ll make some breakfast.”

“You spoil me,” you murmured, snuggling into the rocking motion as he moved you to the rear of the ship.

“Oh, that’s just for starters.” He balanced you in one arm and nudged the button for the fresher with his scomp link, the door whooshing open. “I’m going to spoil you as much as I can and then some.”

If you would like to be added to the NSFW taglist, feel free to send me a message (18+ only).

@cw80831 @stardusthuntress @spicy-clones

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fountainpenguin · 11 months ago

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Actually, Grian getting sent warning letters by management for not doing his permit office work - which he has spent the entire season complaining he hates to the point that he set up a convoluted system so no one bothers him - and then getting demoted because he simply chose not to take action when he was sent warning letters is very in character for the permit manager. Well well well, if it isn't the consequences of his own lack of action...

They are still making him work 24/7 (24 minutes a week, 7 weeks a year) and I love it.

Also, Big Boss feeding everyone golden apples while Grian slinks back and mumbles was 10/10.

Cub, who has just fired Grian and taken his job: Grian and I share a similar sentiment, which is that we both think that the permits shouldn't exist, which is why we're both perfect for this job.

Love that for them.

Cub has been boss for 2 minutes and Grian has already had to hold him back from mass destruction twice.

Grian: What if we put a big billboard up that tells people "Pop-Up Shop Purge" and a certain date? Cub: Hm. That's very reasonable. I was just gonna blow stuff up.

Skizz is so ready to relocate pop-up shops to jail and I'm here for it.

EDIT: I'm in tears, Grian leaves the meeting, we get his out of character remark that he's so relieved and this is a weight off his shoulders, and then he goes back into character and tells the audience that from his perspective, he gets to keep his job and do the same thing he's always done and he's ecstatic.

Sir, you are pulling 0 strings and still getting your way. How.

#Grian #cubfan135 #Hermitcraft #hermitblr #Hermitcraft Season 10 #permit office #Hermitcraft spoilers #Riddle watches Hermits #mcyt

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sambhavami · 2 months ago

Note

Hello! 💕

I wanna say, your mahabharata posts are amazing and very informative!

If you don't mind, can you tell me about how krishna in mb is different from how he is generally perceived by people? (Yk like in a fanon vs canon way)

or any interesting points or facts you noted about him!

No pressure tho!

Thank you<3

Hi Anon, thank you soo much! <3

Okay, this is an expansive question. Researchers have dedicated their entire lives to this! xD

But I will try to note the points I remember off the top of my head, that I have read in one book or the other. :) If you want more, do let me know, I'll do some research and get back to you! <3

Please note, however, again, these are the most dramatic stuff I have read in multiple places, I agree with most of it, but not all, please feel free to check with me on that if you'd like any clarification on any part <3

Krishna’s peacock feather is not usually tucked in upright like it is shown in usual depictions. It is rather braided into his hair. This is a common practice with the gopa kids, who are not permitted to own any metal (hence, no real jewellery). They also make other jewellery out of flowers and anklets out of Kadamba seeds etc.

Flute is a common instrument of the gopas, along with siren-type calling instruments and large drums. Krishna and Balarama were equally good flautists. Once they left Vrindavana, Balarama actually keeps up with the flute, while Krishna more or less gives it up.

Human-Krishna is mostly given preference over God-Krishna in most parts of Mahabharata, making the God-parts kinda awkward in terms of flow and placement.

Krishna is classified by Western researchers as a ‘solar hero’ who, as a group, are usually half- or fully- divine and are characterized by a life-altering threat near the time of their birth and are beloved by many women over their lifetime.

Now, on to Krishna’s childhood. Here, I am mostly quoting what Dr. N P Bhaduri quotes and infers from Harivamsha, Bala-charita, and Gaha-sattasai etc:

The aahira/gopa communities in Mathura’s herding regions were considered ‘slaves’ of Mathura-city. They were tasked with livestock management and agriculture and were usually punished if there was any lapse (hence, the seemingly disproportionate reactions from the gopis when Krishna stole butter; they’d have to pay for it, often through physical punishments because they weren’t permitted to own any currency).

They were usually not permitted to enter or leave the vraja area unless given special leave from the government.

During the Gupta era too (and we are extrapolating this to the MB times), these communities were mandated to wear an identifying ‘uniform’ which consisted of clothes only in the colours yellow/blue (remember Krishna and Balarama/Radha’s defaults…there’s a reason it worked out like that).

This is the reason why Krishna is anxious enough to k*ll Kamsa’s washerman to get ‘other’ clothes, because no one would take him seriously while he wore ‘gopa-coloured-clothing’, and find flowers to put on his wrist and as garlands...to blend in with the city's young, nalayak men essentially. After this we see that for a long time Krishna actually stops wearing yellow clothes even though that’s his favourite colour, preferring white/beige tones. He only resumes wearing yellow some time around his marriage to Rukmini, when he literally no longer cares what people think about him (i.e. he is powerful enough to afford that luxury).

So, half of the reason why Krishna is so revolutionary and frankly anti-veda in his personal philosophy is that he lived through the worst discrimination that his Yadava society had to offer. Also, this forms the reason why he loses faith in the democracy-oligarchy system and chooses to back a ‘benevolent-dictator’ in the form of Yudhishthira instead.

Kubja runs a lady-of-the-night-adjacent thing, is pretty close to Kamsa, and Krishna uses her (with consent) as a rebound to get over [not really, but kind of] Radha before pursuing more political issues. To do this he takes Uddhava with his (no one would believe Udhhava would go to a lady-of-the-night place, and therefore no one would suspect Krishna of that either). Udhhava has one of the worst nights of his life when Krishna disappears with Kubja, and the rest of the women focus their full attention on the sada-single poor Udhhava.

The houses they lived in were also considered government property. Apparently, there’s one scene in some Sanskrit drama which is similar to that movie RRR (note, I have not watched it): where the one officer-type hero is whipping the rebel-type hero…only in this play that scene plays out with Vasudeva and Nanda. Later, when Nanda is trying to say goodbye to his stillborn daughter (not Yogamaya in this version), and Vasudeva is saying sorry for the whipping incident and trying to convince him to take Krishna home instead we have this dialogue from Nanda: “I do not even own the utensils in my so-called house, and you ask this big a favour of me!”

Some versions hint that ‘marriage’ was also not allowed/recognized by the government within this community, so people mostly didn’t bother with mono -gamous/-androus ‘loyalty’ (seems to have become a positive continuation for Krishna with his many wives, and a negative continuation with Balarama who marries Revati and then says no thanks). However, many couples like Nanda-Yashoda still stayed together out of their personal levels of love.

Every full-moon night, the villagers gathered to drink madhhvi, sidhhi and kadambari variants of liquor, and dance away the night around a bonfire (the sanitised version of this becomes the rasa-leela). This used to be called a hallisaka (from where comes the hindi word ‘halla’). Krishna and Balarama, and their parents, girlfriends etc. are all part of these merrymaking sessions.

Krishna, while chased by many women, still chooses to stay somewhat unattached, being goofy, and dancing in the women’s line just to entertain older men who have lost their partners. There are hints of a ‘special woman’, although Radha is never mentioned by name (imagine being a character so strong that you haunt the narrative created before you were introduced).

Balarama in this version is the first and not the seventh child, and he is born almost 7-8 years before Krishna. Rohini had been pregnant when she had fled to Gokula.

Kaliya naga is a man, just a guy from one of the Naga tribes, who Krishna k*lls in a wrestling match, very much on land. After this incident, Krishna and Balarama actually obtain special permission to travel all around the Mathura kingdom, and ensure no one else is defying Yadava authority like Kaliya, and they return home only after several months, right before the Govardhana incident.

After the Govardhana thing, the villagers corner him and pretty much make him confess that he is Vasudeva's kid (despite Krishna begging them not to, since he hadn't yet tied up all the strings to his liking), unfortunately within the earshot of some soldiers of Kamsa who immediately go and report, leading to Kamsa sending Akroora to arrest the boys, one day after the sharad-poornima hallisaka (one night after rasa-leela basically).

Vasudeva and Devaki are not imprisoned but merely under house-arrest, and Kamsa even invites Vasudeva to the first and last parliamentary sabha that he bothers to call.

When he is networking to kill Kamsa, Krishna somehow arranges for Kamsa’s daughter Sutanu to be married to Akroora. This, imo, was a necessary and yet terrible move since Akroora is known to like young (and I mean, really young) girls. We see this in his obsession with Satyabhama later as well. This Sutanu-Ugraseni lady is practically sacrificed at the altar of this coup.

Jarasandha, with whose help Kamsa (who arguably has his own tragic backstory) is able to ascend to the throne, becomes horrified with Kamsa’s baby-k*lling ways and withdraws his army from Mathura at the last moment to give Krishna a wide berth and an easy access to him.

Krishna and Balarama have to run around South India for many years after k*lling Kamsa and before Dwarika is rendered habitable because they do not wish to confront Jarasandha in battle (since most of the parliament of Mathura was against the war and would not cooperate with the brothers, making this a s*icide mission).

During this time, Balarama develops an alcohol problem, which to our knowledge he is not able to shake off for the rest of his life. Somewhere in the Gomantaka hill range, he also meets a local woman, described as the personification of the wine Kadambari (maybe the lady who got him hooked on the stuff for good, not that I am letting him off the hook for not seeking proper help). She gifted him a pair of diamond-stud earrings, one piece of which he lost in a drunken stupor, post which he was never able to find the lady, who seemingly ran away. As a mark of remembrance Balarama wears only that one earring, in his right ear for the rest of his life.

One of the rare times that Krishna loses patience and makes arguably a wrong decision is when he murders Shatadhanva over the syamantaka mess before interrogating him.

This incident leads to a falling out b/w Krishna and Balarama, a rift that never really heals after that since Balarama pretty much moves back to Vrindavana and refuses to talk to Krishna unless scolding him for something. He does visit on and off during festivals and family functions.

Paundraka Vaasudeva had a genuine claim to the title of Vaasudeva, and was willing to work with Krishna for a roughly passing-the-baton kind of ceremony but Krishna gets tired of waiting and k*lls him just to make things easier on himself.

Krishna burnt down the city of Kashi, with all citizens and temples, just to send a message, after getting Jarasandha k*lled.

Krishna is a shishya of Ghora-Angirasa, but that’s more important in a Jain-side story, but he does repeat some philosophical points attributed to that guy.

When Arjuna was around Krishna would literally lose all sense of propriety and personal space. From being overtly touchy-feely, to making Arjuna sit on his lap in public and making off-colour jokes in front of friends and family…we see a glimpse of what Krishna’s true personality is when he lets his guard down. Now, as to Krishna-Arjuna romantic pairing, I personally believe it, but Dr. Bhaduri doesn’t, so please don’t quote him on it.

The touchy-feely thing however, is partially also due to the fact that such kinds of physical contact were normal among the aahir-gopa community, so half the time Krishna genuinely doesn’t realize that he’s doing something that could be interpreted in some other way and Arjuna’s usually off blushing.

Krishna did not curse Samba, he merely pointed out early signs of HIV, which Samba took as a curse and ran with it.

Gandhari never cursed Krishna after Kurukshetra. She tried to. She started with, “Your friends and family will kill one another.” And Krishna just went, “Yeah, I know, they’re embarrassing.” And they moved on.

#hindu mythology #krishna #mahabharat #original writing #asks

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