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mostlysignssomeportents · 20 days ago

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Who broke the internet?

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in PITTSBURGH on May 15 at WHITE WHALE BOOKS, and in PDX on Jun 20 at BARNES AND NOBLE with BUNNIE HUANG. More tour dates (London, Manchester) here.

"Who Broke the Internet?" is a new podcast from CBC Understood that I host and co-wrote – it's a four-part series that explains how the enshitternet came about, and, more importantly, what we can do about it. Episode one is out this week:

https://www.cbc.ca/listen/cbc-podcasts/1353-the-naked-emperor/episode/16144078-dont-be-evil

The thesis of the series – and indeed, of my life's work – is that the internet didn't turn to shit because of the "great forces of history," or "network effects," or "returns to scale." Rather, the Great Enshittening is the result of specific policy choices, made in living memory, by named individuals, who were warned at the time that this would happen, and they did it anyway. These wreckers are the largely forgotten authors of our misery, and they mingle with impunity in polite society, never fearing that someone might be sizing them up for a pitchfork.

"Who Broke the Internet?" aims to change that. But the series isn't just about holding these named people accountable for their enshittificatory deeds: it's about understanding the policies that created the enshittocene, so that we can dismantle them and build a new, good internet that is fit for purpose, namely, helping us overcome and survive environmental collapse, oligarchic control, fascism and genocide.

The crux of enshittification theory is this: tech bosses made their products and services so much worse in order to extract more rents from end-users and business customers. The reason they did this is because they could. Over 20+ years, our policymakers created an environment of impunity for enshittifying companies, sitting idly by (or even helping out) as tech companies bought or destroyed their competitors; captured their regulators; neutered tech workers' power; and expanded IP laws to ensure that technology could only ever be used to attack us, but never to defend us.

These four forces – competition, regulation, labor power and interoperability – once acted as constraints, because they punished enshittifying gambits. Make your product worse and users, workers and suppliers would defect to a competitor; or a regulator would fine you or even bring criminal charges; or your irreplaceable workers would down tools and refuse to obey your orders; or another technologist would come up with an alternative client, an ad-blocker, a scraper, or compatible spare parts, plugins or mods that would permanently sever your relationship with whomever you were tormenting.

As these constraints fell away, the environment became enshittogenic: rather than punishing enshittification, it rewarded it. Individual enshittifiers within companies triumphed in their factional struggles with corporate rivals, like the Google revenue czar who vanquished the Search czar, deliberately worsening search results so we'd have to repeatedly search to get the answers we seek, creating more opportunities to show us ads:

https://www.wheresyoured.at/the-men-who-killed-google/

An enshittogenic environment meant that individuals within companies who embraced plans to worsen things to juice profits were promoted, displacing workers and managers who felt an ethical or professional obligation to make good and useful things. Top tech bosses – the C-suite – went from being surrounded by "adult supervision" who checked their worst impulses with dire warnings about competition, government punishments, or worker revolt to being encysted in a casing of enthusiastic enshittifiers who competed to see who could come up with the most outrageously enshittificatory gambits.

"Who Broke the Internet?" covers the collapse of all of these constraints, but its main focus is on IP law – specifically, anticircumvention law, which bans technologists from reverse-engineering and modifying the technologies we own and use (AKA "interoperability" or "adversarial interoperability").

Interoperability is at the center of the enshittification story because interop is an unavoidable characteristic of anything built out of computers. Computers are, above all else, flexible. Formally speaking, our computers are "Turing-complete universal von Neumann machines," which is to say that every one of our computers is capable of running every valid program.

That flexibility is why we call computers a "general purpose" technology. The same computer that helps your optometrist analyze your retina can also control your car's anti-lock braking system, and it can also play Doom.

Enshittification runs on that flexibility. It's that flexibility that allows a digital products or service to offer different prices, search rankings, recommendations, and costs to every user, every time they interact with it:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

It's that flexibility that lets tech companies send over-the-air "updates" to your property that takes away functionality you paid for and valued, and then sell it back to you as an "upgrade" or worse, a monthly subscription:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure

But that flexibility cuts both ways. The fact that every computer can run every valid program means that every enshittificatory app and update, there's a disenshittificatory program you could install that would reverse the damage. For every program that tells your HP printer to reject third-party ink, forcing you to buy HP's own colored water at $10,000/gallon, there's another program that tells your HP printer to enthusiastically accept third-party ink that costs mere pennies:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

In other worse, show me a 10-foot enshittifying wall, and I'll show you an 11-foot disenshittifying ladder.

Interoperability has long been technology's most important disenshittifier. Interop harnesses the rapaciousness of tech bros and puts it in service to making things better. Someone who hacks Instagram to take out the ads and recommendations and just show you posts from people you follow need not be motivated by the desire to make your life better – they can be motivated by the desire to poach Instagram users and build a rival business, and still make life better for you:

https://www.digitaltrends.com/mobile/the-og-app-instagram-alternative-ad-free/

And if they succeed and then recapitulate the sins of Instagram's bosses, turning the screws on users with ads, suggestions and slop? That just invites more disenshittifying interoperators to do unto them as they did unto Zuck.

That's the way it used to work: the 10-foot piles of shit deployed by tech bosses conjured up 11-foot ladders. This is what disruption is, when it is at its best. There's nothing wrong with moving fast and breaking things – provided the things you're breaking belong to billionaire enshittifiers. Those things need to be broken.

Enter IP law. For the past 25+ years, IP law has been relentlessly expanded in ways that ensure that disruption is always for thee, never me. "IP" has come to mean, "Any law that lets a dominant company reach out and exert control over its critics, competitors and customers":

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

The most pernicious IP law is far and away "anticircumvention." Under anticircumvention, it is illegal to "break a digital lock" that controls access to a copyrighted work, including software (and digital locks are software, so any digital lock automatically gets this protection).

This is mind-bending, particularly because it's one of those things that's so unreasonable, so very, very stupid that it's easy to think you're misunderstanding it, because surely it can't be that stupid.

But oh, it is.

One of the best ways to grasp this point is to start with what you might do in a world without digital locks. Take your printer: if HP raises the price of ink, you might start to refill your cartridges or buy third-party cartridges. Obviously, this is not a copyright violation. Ink is not a copyrighted work. But once HP puts a digital lock on the printer that checks to see if you've done an end-run around the HP ink ripoff, then refilling your cartridge becomes illegal, because you have to break that digital lock to get your printer to use the ink you've chosen.

Or think about cars: taking your car to your mechanic does not violate anyone's copyright. If your car, you decide who fixes it. But all car makers use digital locks to prevent mechanics from reading out the diagnostic information they need to access to fix your car. If a mechanic wants to know why your check engine light has turned on, they have to buy a tool – spending 5-figure sums every year for every manufacturer – in order to decode that error. Now, it's your car, and error messages aren't copyrighted works, but bypassing the lock that prevents independent diagnosis is a crime, thanks to anticircumvention law.

Then there's app stores. You bought your console. You bought your phone. These devices are your property. If I want to sell you some software I've written so you can run it on your device, that's not a copyright violations. It is the literal opposite of a copyright violation: an author selling their copyrighted works to a customer who gets to enjoy those works using their own property. But the digital lock on your iPhone, Xbox, Playstation and Switch all prevent your device from running software unless it is delivered by the manufacturer's app store, which takes 30 cents out of every dollar you spend. Installing software without going through the manufacturer's app store requires that you break the device's digital lock, and that's a crime, which means that buying a copyrighted work from its author becomes a copyright violation!

This is what Jay Freeman calls "felony contempt of business model." We created laws – again, in living memory, thanks to known individuals – that had the foreseeable, explicit intent of making it illegal to disenshittify the products and services you rely on. We created this enshittogenic environment, and we got the enshittocene.

That's where "Who Broke the Internet?" comes in. We tell the story of Bruce Lehman, who was Bill Clinton's IP czar. Anticircumvention was really Lehman's brainchild, and he had a plan to make it the law of the land. When Al Gore was overseeing the demilitarization of the internet (the "Information Superhighway" proceedings), Lehman pitched this idea to him as the new rules of the road for the internet. To Gore's eternal credit, he flatly rejected Lehman's proposal as the batshit nonsense it plainly was.

So Lehman scuttled to Switzerland, where a UN agency, the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO) was crafting a pair of new treaties to create a global system of internet regulation. Lehman lobbied the national delegations to WIPO to put anticircumvention in their treaties, and he succeeded – partially. WIPO is a very bad agency, since the majority of delegations that are sent to Geneva by the world's nations come from poor countries in the global south, and they're made up of experts in things like water, agriculture and child health. The vast majority of national reps at WIPO are not experts in IP, and they are often easy prey for fast-talking lobbyists from US-based media, pharma and tech companies, as well as the US government reps who carry their water.

But even at WIPO, Lehman's proposal was viewed as far too extreme. In the end, the anticircumvention rules embedded in the WIPO treaties are much more reasonable than Lehman's demands. Under the WIPO treaty, signatories must pass laws that make copyright infringement extra illegal if you have to break a digital lock on the way. But if you break a lock and you don't infringe copyright (say, because you refilled a printer cartridge, took your car to an independent mechanic, or got some software without using an app store), then you're fine.

Lehman's next move was to convince Congress that they needed to pass a version of the anticircumvention rule that went far beyond the obligations in the WIPO treaties. In this, he was joined by powerful, deep-pocketed lobbyists from Big Content, and later, Big Tech. They successfully pressured Congress into passing Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act in 1998 – a law that protects digital locks, at the expense of copyright and the creative workers whom copyright is said to serve.

Lehman has repeatedly, publicly described this maneuver as "doing an end-run around Congress." Once America adopted this extreme anticircumvention rule, the US Trade Representative made it America's top priority to ram identical laws through the legislatures of all of America's trading partners, under the explicit or tacit threat of tariffs on any country that refused (the information minister of a Central American country once told me that the USTR threatened them, saying that if they didn't accept anticircumvention as a clause in the Central American Free Trade Agreement – CAFTA – they would lose their ability to export soybeans to America).

Canada took more than a decade to enact its own version of the anticircumvention rule, which was the source of public outrage by the USTR and US industry lobbyists. These neocolonialists found plenty of Parliamentary sellouts willing to introduce laws on their behalf, but every time this happened, the Canadian people reacted with a kind of mass outrage that had never been seen in response to highly technical proposals for internet regulation. For example, the Liberal MP Sam Bulte was challenged on her support of the rule by her Parkdale constituents at a public meeting, and had a screeching meltdown, screaming that she would not be "bullied by user-rights zealots and EFF members." Voters put "User-Rights Zealot" signs on their lawns and voted her out of office.

Anticircumvention remained a priority for the US, and they found new MPs to do their dirty work. Stephen Harper's Conservatives made multiple tries at this. After Jim Prentice utterly failed to get the rule through Parliament, the brief was picked up by Heritage Minister James Moore (who liked to call himself "the iPad Minister") and now-disgraced Industry minister Tony Clement. Clement and Moore tried to diffuse the opposition to the proposal by conducting a public consultation on it.

This backfired horribly. Over 6,000 Canadians wrote into the consultation with individual, detailed, personal critiques of anticircumvention, explaining how the rule would hurt them at work and at home. Only 53 submissions supported the rule. Moore threw away these 6,130 negative responses, justifying it by publicly calling them the "babyish" views of "radical extremists":

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

Named individuals created policies in living memory. They were warned about the foreseeable outcomes of those proposals. They passed them anyway – and then no one held them accountable.

Until now.

The point of remembering where these policies came from isn't (merely) to ensure that these people are forever remembered as the monsters they showed themselves to be. Rather, it is to recover the true history of enshittification, the choices we made that led to enshittification, so that we can reverse those policies, disenshittify our tech, and give rise to a new, good internet that's fit for the purpose of being the global digital nervous system for a species facing a polycrisis of climate catastrophe, oligarchy, fascism and genocide.

There's never been a more urgent moment to reconsider those enshittificatory policies – and there's never been a more auspicious moment, either. After all, Canada's anticircumvention law exists because it was supposed to guarantee tariff-free access to American markets. That promise has been shattered, permanently. It's time to get rid of that law, and make it legal for Canadian technologists to give the Canadian public the tools they need to escape from America's Big Tech bullies, who pick our pockets with junk-fees and lock-in, and who attack our social, legal and civil lives with social media walled gardens:

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

"Understood: Who Broke the Internet" is streaming now. We've got three more episodes to go – part two drops on Monday (and it's a banger). You can subscribe to it wherever you get your podcasts, and here's the RSS feed:

https://www.cbc.ca/podcasting/includes/nakedemperor.xml

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

https://pluralistic.net/2025/05/08/who-broke-the-internet/#bruce-lehman

#pluralistic #cbc #podcasts #enshittification #audio #mp3s #canada #cancon #bruce lehman #anticircumvention #dmca 1201 #understood

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yazzwrites6962 · 5 months ago

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Chaos and Cure ♡ Jinx (Arcane)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Arcane Jinx x GN!Handy!Reader ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Author's Note: UNEDITED! This could be interpreted as a platonic relationship, or the buildup to something romantic. It's up to you! I do not own any characters/images!

Genre: Fluff

Summary: You are a quiet, handy, hardworking Zaunite who is used to fixing up broken tech and gadgets. Your life changes completely when, one day, the infamous Jinx storms into your shop.

Word Count: 1137

Warnings: Mild mentions of exlopsives and destruction, mentions of trauma

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The first time you met her, it was quiet. Not in the literal sense, of course. Nothing about Jinx is quiet. You were in your workshop, huddled over a broken panel from some long-abandoned tech. Suddenly, the door slammed open like a gunshot.

You didn't flinch. Not because you were brave, but because you had grown used to Zaun's chaos crashing into your life uninvited. That's just how things were. However, the girl who stormed in wasn't just disorderly. She was the embodiment of madness.

Bright blue hair, wild eyes, and a grin that sat crookedly on her face. You recognize her instantly. She's Jinx. Her reputation is infamous, but nothing prepares you for how real she feels. How alive she truly is. Your mind goes silent for a moment.

"Hey gearhead, fix this!" She chirps, dropping something metal and smoking onto your worktable. The piece clatters, nearly knocking your tools to the ground.

"What is it?" You know better than to expect any sort of formal introduction, although the nickname surprises you. You also know that Jinx is mechanically brilliant. At least, from what you hear. You wonder why she can't fix the gadget herself.

"it's supposed to be a trigger mechanism." She crosses her arms, unamused by your hesitation. "It caught slightly on fire. Don't worry. It'll probably only explode if you're really bad at this."

You blink, picking up the damaged device with careful, gloved hands. The metal is warm and warped. There is a faint smell of smoke lingering in the air. You examine it thoroughly, turning it over and over in your hands.

"You overloaded it." You mutter, glancing up at her. She tilts her head, giving you an almost offended expression, like a curious crow staring at a shiny stone.

"Overloaded?!" She scoffed. "No, I improved it! Just... too much..." You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "Relax, gearhead. I'm a genius! I just need someone to keep up. That's where you come in."

"Give me an hour." You smile at her dramatics before turning back to the device. "It's not unsalvageable." She raises an eyebrow; a sharp and disapproving look on her face.

"An hour? Are you that slow? I heard you were supposed good at this." So, she had heard of you from somewhere. Her tone is a bit rude, but it doesn't seem to carry any real malice.

"Do you want it fixed, or do you want it fast?" You reply without missing a beat. Her laughter bounces off the walls of your dainty little shop.

"Alright, gearhead. An hour." She chuckles, headed for the door. "Don't blow up!" You don't dignify that with a response. You're already focused on disassembling the smoking pieces of the device.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Jinx returned an hour later, and then she never really left.

It started small. More gadgets needing repair and weapons she swore shouldn't be jamming. You wonder, at first, why someone like her would come to you. Surely, she could handle all these simple repairs herself. Yet, she keeps showing up, slamming the door like she owns the place and sprawling across your workshop like a cat who refuses to leave.

Her presence is overwhelming. She chatters while you work, her voice filling every quiet corner of your shop. Sometimes, she even sings. Once, she threw a wrench at you to see if you would have any reaction.

"You're so weird." She told you one day, hanging upside down from the pipe which ran across your ceiling. "You're not really scared of me. Most people are. They treat me like a ticking bomb that could go off at any second."

"I know." You mutter without looking up from your work. You feel so opposite to her. She's loud, vibrant, and always moving. You, on the other hand, are quiet. You own a little shop on the edge of Zaun, living out your days monotonously.

"Why?" She swings back and forth, like a pendulum, watching your gentle movements with her electric eyes. "Why are you not all freaked out about me?"

"I think..." You pause, considering how you want to word your thoughts. "I think you're smarter than most people give you credit for. You're a genius, Jinx. Just like you say. Sure, maybe you're a little reckless sometimes, but I've seen the things you bring me. The things you make. I doubt most people can dream up designs like yours."

She is silent. For the first time since you met the girl, there is a long stretch of silence between you two. You look up from your work, worried. You see something shift in her expression, like a crack in a mask you didn't know she was wearing. She looks vulnerable. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone.

"You like me." She smirks, pointing a finger at you as if she were accusing you of something. "You think I'm pretty and smart and you like me."

"I think you need to be more careful." You chuckle, returning to the gadget you were repairing. "Someday you may end up blowing yourself up, along with everything else."

"Maybe that's the point." She mutters under her breath, so softly that you almost don't hear it, but you do. You choose not to say anything for the meantime, turning back to your work as silence once again stretches between you.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Over time, you became her calm. You don't know when it happened, or why. Jinx storms in and out of your life like a hurricane. Yet, you are fond of those rare, quiet moments when you get to see glimpses of something softer. Something she doesn't show to anyone else.

One night, she sits on the floor of your workshop, surrounded by blueprints and half-finished creations. For once, you have nothing to do but keep her company. You watch her tinker with a clockwork bomb, trusting that she won't blow you both to pieces.

"You really think I'm smart?" She asks suddenly. You take a deep breath in, leaning back in your uncomfortable wooden chair.

"I do. Of course I do. I wouldn't lie about that. I wouldn't lie to you at all, Jinx." You say calmly. She doesn't respond right away. Instead, she picks at a smear of grease on her palm. Her expression is impossible to read.

"Everyone else thinks I'm just crazy." She whispers, looking up at you. There's no teasing in her eyes. No crooked grin. She doesn't feel like an insane criminal. Just a girl who doesn't know how to take a compliment. "You're weird."

"And you're a genius. Don't forget that." You smile. She says nothing else, but you can see the soft smile on her lips. The real smile. You wish you could stay that moment, where the chaos feels a little quieter.

#arcane x reader #arcane x you #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #jinx x you #reader x character #x reader #reader insert #gn reader #jinx fluff

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average-mako-enjoyer · 8 months ago

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I recently scrolled past this one post that talked about how a certain turian was oh so important to the SR-1 crew because he was working on Mako while Kaidan and Ashley were basically doing nothing. And while I have no interest in "correcting" the author of that post, I'm pretty sure we don't talk enough about how essential Kaidan and Ashley are to the SR-1 crew.

So Ashley is filling in for Corporal Jenkins, which means she has her own unit of soldiers to command, just like she did on Eden Prime.

What does that mean in practice? She does the training, she does the physical and psychological assessments, she does the team building exercises, she writes reports for her CO. If you've ever been the leader of a small team (in Ashley's case, about 7-10 people), you know it's a hell of a job because you have to be both a babysitter and a confidant to fully grown adults who tend to get into all kinds of trouble with each other.

She also maintains the squad's weapons in her off hours, which is wow? Great job, Ash. Now go get some rest.

Kaidan is the staff lieutenant and head of the marine detail, which makes him the third most important person on the ship after the captain and the XO.

What that means in practice is that he's constantly observing and evaluating the work of all the marine personnel aboard the Normandy, working with lower-ranking officers like Ashley to determine how correct and effective their actions with their units are, determining what kind of duties and positions are best suited for each marine on board (he's definitely responsible for Anderson's decision to add Ashley to the crew), and doing the same babysitting, training, and confidant duty for not just one squad, but for every member of the marine detail.

He's also a really good tech specialist, so I bet he does a lot of calibrations on the squad's weapons, armor, and omni-tools.

So yeah, big shoutout to the most useless members of Shepard's team, who are literally responsible for keeping this whole Sarenhunting Spectre shitshow running smoothly.

#mass effect #kaidan alenko #ashley williams

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andypantsx3 · 1 year ago

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READY OR KNOT | 1 | TODOROKI SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: Todoroki Shouto is so unsettlingly beautiful, you’re certain he has to be an omega. That is, until a chance encounter with a pushy alpha reveals you were incredibly mistaken—and the surprises don’t stop there. Shouto's suddenly mystifying behavior adds another layer of complexity to an already confusing inter-agency investigation. It would be so much easier to figure things out—and suppress your growing feelings—if only Shouto would stop being so strangely attentive to you... TAGS/WARNINGS: pro hero au, fem + afab reader, omegaverse, alpha shouto, beta reader, misunderstandings, courting behavior, slightly case fic-y, undertones of sexual violence (not between main pairing), aged-up characters, eventual smut, 18+ minors please dni! LENGTH: 4.6k, 1st of 7 chapters

Tetsutetsu’s apartment was exploding with people by the time you made it in from the cold.

Even from outside, you could hear the chatter of dozens of voices, the thumping bass of a distant party playlist. The front door was practically wedged shut by all the bodies blocking it, and you had to suck in a breath as you squeezed yourself through, slithering through what seemed to be every single employee of the Pink Riot agency—a plethora of bulky pro heroes stuffed in among lanky support techs and sleepy-eyed case analysts.

Inside, it stank of warm beer with a slightly sweeter, sharper liquor undertone. Your nose wrinkled. You could only imagine what the scent was like to your alpha and omega coworkers, grateful you had a beta’s dulled sense of smell, and no innate reaction to the physical proximity of other secondary genders. The space was already almost overwhelming as it was, the press of people nearly claustrophobic, although no one else looked like they minded much.

You shoved yourself through the crowd, squeezing through people, somewhat regretting how late you’d gotten here. You hoped there was still something good to drink.

In your defense, you’d gotten bogged down with a bombshell of a new case at the agency, something Mina had pulled you aside to talk about on your way out to the party. She’d meant for you to pick it up Monday, as you couldn’t take any action until a supervising hero had been assigned to you. But it was so unlike any other case you’d been handed in your years at Pink Riot that you’d immediately yanked your coat back off and holed yourself up at your desk, poring over the information in shock.

The case file told you that there was a rogue pro hero harassing and assaulting the omegas in Bunkyo ward—the very ward the Pink Riot agency operated in.

What was more, local authorities suspected someone from the agencies within Bunkyo itself, considering the attacks were exclusively confined to the ward and had so far never deviated. The police had been alerted to the fact that a hero might be involved when one of the omegas who had been attacked last night had escaped, shaken but untouched, and reported their aggressor attempting to strap quirk suppressors on them—tech that was almost exclusively a tool of the heroics trade.

And so all Bunkyo-based agencies had been asked to internally investigate their heroes, with mandatory out-of-agency supervising heroes to be assigned to the cases as well, to ensure everything was above board and no cover ups were being staged. And you, as Mina’s personal friend and therefore the case analyst she trusted most with a sensitive file like this, had been assigned the task.

And it was already almost too mind-boggling for you to bear.

You plowed your way towards the kitchen, eager to chase away the idea of any of your hero coworkers as the perpetrator. You liked and trusted all of the heroes Pink Riot had on call, and hoped so desperately that another agency was at fault here. You couldn’t imagine a single one of them being responsible for something like this. You couldn’t imagine the harasser themself attending this very party.

Once in the kitchen, you discovered that Tetsutetsu had invited more than just the Pink Riot agency itself—he had also apparently invited a plethora of heroes from his former UA days. Sero Hanta and Uraraka Ochako were propped up in the kitchen with Mina and Kirishima, smiling and chatting, while Iida Tenya stood next to them, looking, as usual, like he was on the verge of a hernia. Monoma Neita was skulking in a corner, along with a couple of lower-level heroes you recognized as Tetsu’s Class B friends.

Mina perked up immediately when she caught sight of you, hopping off the counter at Kirishima’s side, beckoning you closer with a hot pink nail.

“You have to taste this disgusting thing Tetsu made,” she told you gleefully, gesturing at something vaguely gelatinous on the stove. You recoiled reflexively, even as Mina ladled a generous portion into a plastic cup for you, passing it over.

You did not like the weight of it in your hand—and the smell of it, even to your duller senses, was not exactly appetizing, more nail polish remover in profile than anything.

“Wow, this looks almost as lovely as the new case file. How generous of you,” you intoned, taking a small, investigative sip. The taste zipped down your spine all the way to your toes, so alcoholic you could almost taste an emergency room visit.

But it figured. Pro heroes in general were a hard bunch to get drunk, their metabolisms fast and their bodies honed to withstand limits a normal person could never. You imagined this was Tetsu’s own invention based on years of personal research.

Mina sloshed her own cup at you, bright-eyed as she normally was, but otherwise looking unruffled. “Tetsu and Eiji already have a bet going which of them can put back more of this, but my bet is on me,” she grinned. “They’re behind a cup already.”

You winced. “Such responsible agency heads I have.”

Mina practically cackled. “You love it.”

You couldn’t help the fond smile that pulled at your mouth, listening to her bright laughter. “I do.”

And it was true, after years at the Pink Riot agency you were spoiled for anywhere else.

Your caseload was broad and interesting, Mina and Kirishima the perfect amount of invested but trusting, always caring about the results you brought in for the safety they brought Bunkyo ward, but never micromanaging you or demanding the impossible. The agency was a little bit smaller than other agencies founded by members of their former class—a mid-sized, fairly-closely knit operation that prioritized action and minimized bureaucracy.

And it was a sort of family operation. Mina was an omega, small and bright and totally beautiful the way so many omegas were, the warmness of her personality like a magnet. And Kirishima was her bonded alpha—fairly friendly and easy-going for one, you thought—but strong, firm in his resolve, and deeply committed.

You liked them, liked their relationship, and liked how their traits translated to their management of their joint agency. You liked how the agency had basically sprung up around them, filled to the brim with good people. And so yeah, Mina was right. You did love it.

“Make sure you unwind,” Mina ordered you, flashing a pink nail in your face. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that it’s been like two hours since I saw you disappear with that case file.”

Your cheeks heated. “Did you know some agency heads like it when their employees do their jobs?”

Mina grinned wickedly, then made a sort of clucking noise. “Did you know that some agency heads are no funsies? I like when my employees do their jobs and still have time for a social life.”

A smile tugged at your mouth. Your social calendar had never been so full as when you started working at Pink Riot, their rosters absolutely packed with outgoing heroes. Someone or other was always throwing a party, organizing a celebratory dinner when an especially big case was closed, or dashing across the floor yelling “drinks on me!” after nailing a particularly notorious villain.

Between the agency and your own friends you thought you were kept rather busy. But the sudden, shifting look of undue interest on Mina’s face told you she thought otherwise.

“When was the last time you went on a date, hmm?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows. “I never catch you smelling like anyone. Looking for anyone here?”

“And who told you you could smell me?” you demanded.

Mina cackled. “It’s not like I can turn my nose off. Plus you smell nice and comforting. Very beta. I wouldn’t stop smelling you even if I could.”

Your ears went hot. Alphas and omegas were always so nosy and inquisitive, a byproduct of being able to smell way too much for your comfort, a fact you and your circle of beta friends never missed a chance to bemoan.

And this was not the first time you’d been told as much, most betas apparently smelling some level of chill and less intrusive than the insistent scents of alphas and omegas. You didn’t exactly understand how something could smell chill, but enough people had said it that you accepted it.

“Well then it’s good I’m not polluting that with other smells,” you said. “Now mind your business.”

Mina’s grin was sharp as she reached over to ladle more of Tetsu’s concoction into your cup, a small revenge. “Fine but keep your options open tonight! I know plenty of nice beta boys I can set you up with—there’s a couple of analysts from Ingenium’s crowd here tonight.”

You nodded, affecting sincerity, although you had absolutely no plan to follow through. You were going to find your agency friends, go ham on some apps, and then head back home just as soon as Mina and Kirishima ended the night the way they usually did—locked mouth to mouth after drinking a little too much, causing a scene.

You waved Mina away, poking your head back out the kitchen door and surveying the rest of the party. Over near the couch, you caught a flash of a couple of your fellow case analysts in conversation with Asui Tsuyu, a beta hero at your agency who you got on well with. Your people exactly.

However, no sooner had you started to push back into the crowd than something slammed into your shoulder, sending you stumbling back into the wall. Your drink splashed right up over your shoulder, cold and biting. You let out a strangled noise, turning your head on impulse and catching a mouthful of hair.

“Oh my god, I am sooo sorry,” a soft voice said. You realized you’d collided with an omega analyst from another Bunkyo agency—a girl you vaguely remembered from a joint case a few years ago. She was small, petite, and delicately pretty in the way of most omegas. And she had also managed to empty nearly the entirety of your cup onto you.

“Shit, shit—I got your shirt wet!” she said, yanking herself back from you. She looked a little glassy-eyed, but genuinely apologetic, and she wiped at your shoulder with her bare hand. Definitely a bit drunk.

“No—it’s fine,” you told her, attempting to duck her hand. “I also didn’t see you!”

The omega girl didn’t look reassured however. She frowned, pausing over you—then suddenly slithered right out of her cardigan, throwing it over your shoulders.

“We’ll hide it like that. Please take it,” she said, her delicate fingers flitting back and forth over your now-covered shoulder, like she still itched to fix something. The cardigan was soft and warm, and even you could tell it smelled good—a soft, powdery, classically omegan scent.

“It’s really fine—” you insisted, immediately shrugging the cardigan back off, though you appreciated the gesture. You glanced down at your shoulder, surveying the damp patch that was slowly soaking closer to your boob. “It’s clear—it will dry in a couple of minutes and no one will be any the wiser. It already stinks like alcohol in here anyway.”

The omega girl hesitated as you handed her sweater back to her. She leaned in to sniff you tentatively. “Are you sure? I really am so sorry. Your mate is going to be so mad, now you can’t really smell you over the vodka unless you get in close—”

You held up a hand, sending her a reassuring smile. “I don’t have a mate, so there’s no problem. I promise.”

You did not add that as a beta, your pool of potential mates was limited to other betas, and that no beta’s sense of smell was enough to get worked up over this. Alphas and omegas tended to forget that not everyone was as sensitive as they were.

She bit her lip, the gesture pretty, but looked somewhat mollified. “You’re sure?” she ventured one last time.

You nodded. “Totally sure. I appreciate the gesture though.”

She nodded, still looking hesitant, and you decided there was only one way to put an end to this.

“Nice to see you, though. Maybe I will catch you around later!” you said, waving her off firmly. You quickly abandoned your now empty cup on a nearby table and turned to head back into the living room. You spotted Tsuyu’s head of dark green hair through the crowd of shoulders, a homing beacon in the dim.

As you charted an unsteady path through the crush of people, you noted several more heroes and analysts from other agencies, including Kaminari Denki and a beaming Midoriya Izuku, crammed into a corner and chatting animatedly to—oh.

Your cheeks flushed. Pro hero Shouto was here.

The other hero stood tall and solemnly handsome across from Midoriya, just as maddeningly gorgeous as always. You, like every other person with working eyeballs, had long nursed a tiny bit of a celebrity crush on him, as he was literally the most beautiful person on earth—a fact evidenced by his now six-year running sweep of Tokyo Beat magazine’s cutest hero award.

In your time at Pink Riot, you’d worked a couple of joint cases with Shouto’s agency and met him a few times in passing. You’d always found him to be a little bit intense, but kind, thoughtful, straightforward, and diligent. He was every bit the reassuring hero the media made him out to be, and even more striking in person. He also always wore scent patches flush at the sides of his neck, concealing what his secondary gender was from prying noses, although you’d always sort of suspected he had to be an omega.

He was tall and solid and strong in the way of most pro heroes. But his features were so finely-wrought, so strangely graceful and elegant for a man, that you would have put significant amounts of money down on his omega status.

Not that it mattered. Betas really only dated betas, and alphas really only omegas, so Shouto’s status wasn’t much to you, regardless of what it was.

You slipped past, averting your eyes, wondering absently if an omega like Todoroki Shouto ever encountered harassment like the victims in your newest case file. Maybe his scent blockers were for this very purpose—hiding his omega status so he didn’t run the risk. You imagined with a face like his, he would be sure to garner migraine-inducing levels of undue interest.

This thought was suddenly arrested, however, when a hand pressed to your chest, shoving you back into the wall you were sidling past.

Your breath wooshed out of your lungs as a strangled “fwuuh” noise escaped you. Your gaze jerked up to find an alpha you somewhat recognized was holding you against the wall, grinning in an incredibly unsettling way.

Fuzzily, you matched his face to one of the techs from the support department, someone you occasionally saw at work functions but never worked directly with. Support interfaced mainly with the heroes, mending their tech, inventing new items, and—if Mina’s complaints were to be believed—running up quite the bill for the agency with their experimentation.

“Can I—help you?” you garbled out, staring the alpha down.

He leaned in, leery, slurring, “What’sa pretty li’l thing like you doin’ here, huh?”

He smelled strongly of Tetsutestu’s horrid concoction, like the alcohol was literally seeping from his pores. You frowned, shifting uncomfortably under his hand. It was large, and too-warm against your shoulder, and the desire to turn and bite it welled up in your mouth.

“Can you get off me?” you asked, grabbing the alpha by the wrist. A support tech though he was, his hold on you was firm, and your grip didn’t dislodge him. He clung to your sweater, his gaze glassy but intense.

He closed his eyes, nose twitching like he was-–ew—like he was scenting you. “Aww come on baby. A li’l omega like you? There’s no need to pr’tend you don’t want this.”

Your brows furrowed, confusion bubbling up inside you. A little omega like you? What the fuck was he talking about? Was he that blasted?

“You have three seconds before I bite you,” you said, certain that would be clear enough, even if he was too drunk to tell you were a beta.

But his hand didn’t move. Instead he laughed, hot and humid and smelling strongly of liquor, and he fumbled with something at his belt.

A hot wave of fear suddenly washed over you, a stab of panic lancing your heart. He wasn’t going to expose himself right here, was he? You pushed back against the wall, feeling entrapped, yanking at his wrist harder to get him off of you.

“I’m not an omega,” you said loudly. “And I’m not interested, now get—”

The alpha’s hand was gone. You blinked, suddenly finding his face missing too, your vision gone entirely gray and strangely…knitted?

“Do not touch her,” a deep voice intoned, and you realized you were staring at a broad back, clad in a handsome gray sweater. You tipped your head back, your gaze fixing on a suspiciously familiar mop of scarlet and white hair.

Shouto. Pro hero Shouto had put himself in between you and the asshole alpha.

A thrill raced down your spine.

“The fuck I won’t,” a snort issued over one of Shouto’s strong shoulders.

There was a small, silent moment where you watched Shouto’s head tilt just the tiniest bit. He didn’t say anything in return—but a sudden, creeping unease slithered over your senses, raising the hair on the back of your neck. An audible hush fell over the people nearest you, though you couldn’t see what exactly was happening, caged between Shouto’s back and the wall.

You could just make out Shouto’s scent patches, perfectly even against his neck like always, and wondered whether they would help—-if the alpha couldn’t smell Shouto was an omega, maybe he thought he would respect his boundaries more?

“Dude—” someone hissed, from somewhere near the alpha, just as Shouto spoke once more.

“You will leave,” he intoned in that deep tone again. His voice was soft, placid—but the feeling of unease grew within you, a strange itch under your skin. You had the sudden urge to flee, but one of Shouto’s hands closed over your wrist, as a cerulean eye caught yours over his shoulder. “You…please stay.”

You could do nothing but nod, your feet practically freezing in place, the desire to obey subsuming your entire brain. What the hell was happening?

As Shouto turned back to face the alpha again, that hunted feeling grew stronger, like there was something in the apartment that you should be very, very wary of. Your throat started to close up, and your breath came a little short.

The room was so suddenly silent that you could hear the nervous shift of the people beyond Shouto, and you caught the sound of the alpha suddenly stumbling back.

“You’re—are you fucking Ordering me?” The alpha asked, but you could hear that he was still backing away.

The question crawled right under your skin along with the unsettled feeling.

An Order. As in, an Alpha Order. From Shouto? Pretty, kind, patient, careful Shouto? Classic omega material Shouto?

Was…using an Order on an alpha, and it was working?

Your head spun with the mismatch between Shouto’s face and the latent command in his tone. It was almost too strange to be contemplated, and yet here it was playing out in front of you.

Shouto, for his part, didn’t bother answering the question. “I believe I asked you to leave,” he said firmly. His voice carried an inflection that sliced through the air like a knife.

“Sorry, Todoroki, he’s super fucking drunk—I’ll get him out of here,” another voice said, one you recognized as a different support tech.

It sounded like he didn’t need to expend the effort, however, as the alpha’s footsteps were already beating a hasty retreat. The other support tech’s footsteps followed, his pace clipped on the hardwood.

As soon as they were out of view, the suffocating feeling all but evaporated. You could almost feel the sigh of relief around the room, and the line of Shouto’s shoulders untensed.

He turned to you slowly, drawing in a deep breath. His normally blank expression had been exchanged for something troubled, his perfect eyebrows knitted in concern, his full mouth pursed up like he’d just let it drop from a snarl.

He blinked down at you for a second, those distinct heterochromatic eyes flicking over you, before you found yourself suddenly crowded back into the corner, your back bumping the wall. Shouto leaned down and gave a delicate sniff at your temple, as if checking your condition.

“Are you alright?” he asked. His voice was still strange, rough with something you couldn’t name.

He was warm where he lingered over you, his shoulders broad enough that they blocked the light and cast falling shadows into the meager space between you. He was near enough that the dip of his sweater collar rasped over your shoulder, sending a swarm of tingles over your skin. You drew in a careful breath, trying to figure out just what the right answer was, coming up with nothing.

Shouto frowned over your lack of a response. His nose pressed right into your hair, and he crowded even closer, like he was trying to find the source of your discomfort—even though he’d just chased that source right through the front door.

“Your scent is difficult to find,” he murmured, his chest expanding and contracting. “It is covered by many things…” He trailed off as he seemed to find it—and then something strange happened—even stranger than the scene with the support tech alpha.

Shouto froze in place, going so unearthly still he might have been transmuted into marble. You heard his breath catch and hold in his lungs, and his fingers came up to grasp your sleeve, clutching you tightly.

You opened your mouth to ask what was wrong when a shudder swept down him, from head to toe. His grip on your wrist tightened for a moment, and a groan bubbled up from somewhere low in his throat.

“Your scent—” he rasped, then cut himself off.

He huffed out a harsh breath instead, stirring your hair, before his face dropped into the cradle of your shoulder. He breathed in, slow, measured, his mouth just barely touching the skin of your throat. You could feel his long, pretty eyelashes flutter against your skin, and the sensation sent shivers down your spine.

Something under your skin shifted in response, then.

To your utter shock, you could feel yourself tilting your head to the side, baring your neck. A strange feeling of malleability settled over you, like your bones had jellified and your muscles had atrophied.

“Shouto—?” you garbled out, unable to articulate any question beyond what the fuck was happening? You knew it had something to do with the way Shouto was most definitely not an omega after all. The thought made your brain fuzz with static.

Pretty, gentle, elegant Todoroki Shouto was an alpha. Kind, placid, beautiful Todoroki Shouto was even some kind of…distressingly strong alpha.

It crossed all the wires in your brain to think of that face possessing that kind of strength. But there was clearly something there. And you were being so weird and embarrassing about it, but you couldn’t have moved, even if you wanted to.

It felt like a short eternity, the time Shouto stood over you like that, his face pressed into your throat, your own throat bared to him. Your heartbeat pounded in your chest, simultaneously hammering a zillion miles a minute, and yet feeling slow, syrupy.

Distantly, you registered the hum of voices in the background, Tetsutetsu trying to rekindle the happy atmosphere. But Shouto was so warm over you, breathing slow and shallow, a tall, strong anchor weighing you against the wall.

It could have been minutes or hours before he finally stepped away. He looked calmer, but a little dazed. You felt the same way, mystified by what had just occurred between you.

His gaze picked over you in some kind of assessment. “You’re well?” he asked carefully. His voice was pitched low.

“Yeah,” you managed, your throat weirdly dry. “Yeah. I—thank you, Shouto.”

Shouto inclined his head in a nod. “You, as well. I don’t usually…I try not to rise to anger. But when alphas try to use their power to—” he cut himself off. His throat bobbed with some emotion you couldn’t name.

“Your scent is….calming to me.”

You nodded. The beta chill thing again, like Mina had said.

“Your friendly neighborhood beta, at your service,” you saluted him, trying to ignore the strange, lingering shiver in your limbs.

A tiny smile quirked the corner of Shouto’s mouth, but his gaze remained fixed on you, almost inhumanly intense.

“That is not quite what I mean,” he said, but did not elaborate. There was something in his voice, in the way he was looking at you that you didn’t understand, but you didn’t know him well enough to try to dig into it.

Instead you just gave him another smile, your face heating as you noticed several people around you were still watching you.

You figured it was probably time to make an escape after that little scene you had just caused, for Shouto’s reputation as well as yours. You didn’t need people thinking Shouto had been scenting you for any reason other than your apparent beta chill pill scent, especially now that people at the party would know he was an alpha.

God, he was an alpha, even with a face like that.

You waved at him, garbling out another, “Well, thanks for the save! I, um, have to be going, but I’ll see you around!” before throwing yourself back through the crowd, your head spinning.

Mina had come out of the kitchen and tried to flag you down as you passed. You waved back at her like you’d misunderstood, quickly fighting your way back to Tetsu’s front door. You felt the weight of dozens of eyes on your back, and the prick of two heterochromatic ones, somehow more certain and weightier than the others. But you didn’t turn around, eager to get out of the crowd, still reeling from what had happened.

You didn’t know how you had been mistaken for an omega by that drunk alpha, and understood even less what had possessed Shouto to sniff you all over like that, embarrassed by how much you had liked it. It most probably had something to do with how inherently non-aggressive beta scents were supposed to be, maybe helping Shouto down from how keyed up he’d been about that other alpha.

But it had still been so embarrassing and strange, the way your head had tipped right back for him, the way your limbs had gone to jelly in his hold. You hoped he’d had a little to drink too or he’d probably realize how weird you were, reacting like that.

Finally, you spilled out of Tetsu’s and into the night, the evening air cool on your heated skin. The phantom touch of Shouto’s mouth still lingered on your throat, warm and disconcerting.

You beelined for home, your head swimming. You wondered just how long it would take you to forget how very strange this evening had been.

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #shouto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #character: todoroki shouto #andie's writing #tw: a/b/o

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not-terezi-pyrope · 7 days ago

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AI continues to be useful, annoying everyone

Okay, look - as much as I've been fairly on the side of "this is actually a pretty incredible technology that does have lots of actual practical uses if used correctly and with knowledge of its shortfalls" throughout the ongoing "AI era", I must admit - I don't use it as a tool too much myself.

I am all too aware of how small errors can slip in here and there, even in output that seems above the level, and, perhaps more importantly, I still have a bit of that personal pride in being able to do things myself! I like the feeling that I have learned a skill, done research on how to do a thing and then deployed that knowledge to get the result I want. It's the bread and butter of working in tech, after all.

But here's the thing, once you move beyond beginner level Python courses and well-documented windows applications. There will often be times when you will want to achieve a very particular thing, which involves working with a specialist application. This will usually be an application written for domain experts of this specialization, and so it will not be user-friendly, and it will certainly not be "outsider-friendly".

So you will download the application. Maybe it's on the command line, has some light scripting involved in a language you've never used, or just has a byzantine shorthand command structure. There is a reference document - thankfully the authors are not that insane - but there are very few examples, and none doing exactly what you want. In order to do the useful thing you want to do, they expect you to understand how the application/platform/scripting language works, to the extent that you can apply it in a novel context.

Which is all fine and well, and normally I would not recommend anybody use a tool at length unless they have taken the time to understand it to the degree at which they know what they are doing. Except I do not wish to use the tool at length, I wish to do one, singular operation, as part of a larger project, and then never touch it again. It is unfortunately not worth my time for me to sink a few hours into learning a technology that you will use once for twenty seconds and then never again.

So you spend time scouring the specialist forums, pulling up a few syntax examples you find randomly of their code and trying to string together the example commands in the docs. If you're lucky, and the syntax has enough in common with something you're familiar with, you should be able to bodge together something that works in 15-20 minutes.

But if you're not lucky, the next step would have been signing up to that forum, or making a post on that subreddit, creating a thread called "Hey, newbie here, needing help with..." and then waiting 24-48 hours to hear back from somebody probably some years-deep veteran looking down on you with scorn for not having put in the effort to learn their Thing, setting aside the fact that you have no reason to normally. It's annoying, disruptive, and takes time.

Now I can ask ChatGPT, and it will have ingested all those docs, all those forums, and it will give you a correct answer in 20 seconds about what you were doing wrong. Because friends, this is where a powerful attention model excels, because you are not asking it to manage a complex system, but to collate complex sources into a simple synthesis. The LLM has already trained in this inference, and it can reproduce it in the blink of an eye, and then deliver information about this inference in the form of a user dialog.

When people say that AI is the future of tutoring, this is what it means. Instead of waiting days to get a reply from a bored human expert, the machine knowledge blender has already got it ready to retrieve via a natural language query, with all the followup Q&A to expand your own knowledge you could desire. And the great thing about applying this to code or scripting syntax is that you can immediately verify whether the output is correct but running it and seeing if it performs as expected, so a lot of the danger is reduced (not that any modern mainstream attention model is likely to make a mistake on something as simple a single line command unless it's something barely documented online, that is).

It's incredibly useful, and it outdoes the capacity of any individual human researcher, as well as the latency of existing human experts. That's something you can't argue we've ever had better before, in any context, and it's something you can actively make use of today. And I will, because it's too good not to - despite my pride.

#not-terezi-speaks #ai #programming

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swordsandholly · 1 year ago

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Steel Magnolia

Part 1 - paused

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!plus size!reader

No use of y/n

Rating: Mature/MDNI

Word Count: 2.1k

Author’s Note: I just recently got back into fandom spaces and reading fanfic again and looooove the uptick in fat Y/N characters. Ofc as a big girl myself I wanted to try my hand at writing one too.

Hopefully I’ll post this on AO3 soon. Whenever I get my invite so I can make an acc.

“Oh! Darlin’, did ya see those boys next door?” Mrs. Duprey gasps as you swipe the last of her Bubble Bath OPI polish across her fingers.

“Next door?” You cock an eyebrow. “No one’s been next door since Adam and Eve.”

“I saw them on the way in!” She grins, the corners of her eyes wrinkling pleasantly. “Strappin’ young men - y’should talk t’ ‘em.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure I will sooner or later, ma’am.”

“You’ve been single too long.” The nosey old bat contributes. As much as you love her she truly cannot leave well enough alone.

“And I’m perfectly content as such.” You give her your warmest smile.

The trailer home across from you has remained empty for as long as you can remember. It’s well kept - sometimes you see random gardeners mowing or going in an out with tool bags - but no one lives there permanently. You’d think in a beach town it would at least belong to some snowbirds. A timeshare, maybe. It’s none of those things, though. Just a well-maintained, perfectly empty husk.

There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, probably.

Sure enough, as you walk Mrs. Duprey out of your little single wide trailer, you spot a black SUV parked out front of the neighboring double wide. One that is definitely *not* a repair man or worker’s vehicle. She coos at you to make sure to talk to them before waddling off to her own car. She really shouldn’t be driving at her age. You wonder briefly - futilly- if she’d sell you her car in exchange for rides.

You suppose she’s right - even if it is for the wrong reasons. You’re not particularly interested in flirting with the new neighbors. After all, don’t fuck where you eat is a saying for a reason, but it wouldn’t exactly be neighborly to not introduce yourself. Especially with all the people coming and going from your home for your nail tech services. The old Yankee’s catty-cornered from you still believe that you're a drug dealer. At least they only come down for a couple months of the year.

Despite your staunch decision not to flirt, you still find yourself adjusting your clothes. Maybe the sports bra as a top is a bit much…

Fuck it. If they live here now they’ll see you in worse.

You fix your lipstick and throw on your platform sandals. The ones that clip-clop as you walk. Maybe it will help announce your presence.

The screen door wraps quietly as you knock. You take two steps back on the front, wooden porch so as not to come off too aggressively. As the seconds tick by you debate on knocking again. Maybe they’re out. Or busy. They did just move in today, most likely. Maybe you should-

The door creaks slightly as it opens. A very, painfully handsome man pushes the screen door until it clicks in place. “Afternoon, lassie.”

You blink stupidly as he crosses his strong arms and leans on the doorframe. His eyes are a striking shade of blue - somehow both sharp and soft. His dark hair is shaped into a slightly grown-out, un-styled mohawk. It fits him oddly enough.

“I, uh,” you take a deep breath. Christ you need to get laid if just *looking* at a hot guy has you this off kilter. “I live across the way. Just wanted t’ say welcome t’ tha neighborhood.”

That lopsided smile on his face grows into a grin. You don’t miss the way his eyes catch on your chest. “Aye? Nice tae meet ye. Names John MacTavish. M’friends call me Johnny.”

He gives your hand an extra little squeeze after shaking it. That accent might as well have you on the floor. You continue to blink dumbly, watching the at the scar on his chin stretches as he speaks.

Christ almighty, you’re pathetic.

“Nice to meet’ya.” You give him a warm smile, tilting your head to the side slightly. “Ya’ll here for vacation? We don’t get many Europeans ‘round here.”

He chuckles. It’s low and rumbling and would probably feel wonderful with your ear pressed to his chest. “Little bit o’ business, little bit o’ pleasure. This an’ tha’.”

“Hello, there.” Another man pops up from behind Johnny suddenly. Fucking hell, he’s gorgeous too. Older, for sure, with a uniquely cut beard that would probably look rather silly on anyone less handsome. At it stands, he manages to make it appear dignified.

“Ah, jus’ about tae call fer ye, Cap. This is our neighbor.” Johnny gestures toward you.

“John Price.” The man steps forward to shake your hand. It’s firm and professional and thank god your grandad made you practice a good handshake as a kid or you’d be painfully embarrassed.

“Are all UK men named John or is this just some sorta cult?” You blurt, unable to stop yourself from snickering at them.

Older John chuckles at you fondly, his facial hair giving him a pleasant U-shaped smile. “Be easier to remember that way, wouldn’t it? No, we’re with two others. Kyle and Simon. They’re out at the moment.”

“Kyle and Simon.” You repeat, nodding. Johnny, John, Kyle, Simon. “Are y’all in town long?”

“Indefinitely.” Is all Price gives you. It’s a tone that even someone as dense as you can recognize as ‘don’t ask more.’

You clap your hands together and smile a little wider, ready to make your exit. “Well, I’m not here t’be a bother, just wanted t’ welcome ya and, uh, let y’know that I have a lot of people over throughout the day - I’m a nail tech. They shouldn’t bother ya but y’know.”

“Ye can come bother us anytime, bonnie.” The Scot hits you with that grin again and your face suddenly feels far too hot.

A loud, whining screech sounds off from down the road. You check your watch. Holy shit, three-thirty already. You begin to back off the porch. “Ah, nice t’ meet ya again! See ya ’round!”

As you jog down the little dirt road of the trailer park another black car passes you. It’s smaller, a sedan. You make very brief eye contact with a blonde wearing a surgical mask and another man with the sharpest golden eyes you’ve ever seen - even through the tint of the window.

*Kyle and Simon,* you think.

You make a mental note to greet them at some point and continue down the street. The school bus slowly stops at the entrance and you take up your spot in the small crowd of parents. IT’s a shabby old bus - chipping paint and break pads that sounds like they’re about ready to snap. It’s all they’re willing to send out to your little section of the city, though.

Shelby meanders over in your direction, her usual Camel Crush lit up in one hand and the other teasing her already well-lifted hair. “Afternoon. Saw there was some new folks across from ya.”

“Hm?” You keep your eyes on the bus. “Ah, yeah. Just vacationers, I think.”

“Lookers, though.” She chuckles.

“They’re from the UK.” You offer.

“No shit!” Shelby stamps out her cigarette as the bus doors open. “Accent and all?”

“Yep.” You grin.

Shelby tsks and fiddles with her hair again. “I best go over an’ make myself known, then.”

“There’s an older fella with a neat beard. Think you’d like ‘em.” You snicker.

She hums. “I’ll bring a pie.”

The children practically burst out of the bus doors, as always. Ready to be home and shuck off their backpacks to their respective adult. Shelby’s son almost knocks her over, offering a little “Good afternoon, ma’am!” to you before heading off with his mother.

You nod to him, shoving a hand in your pocket as you wait for yours. She’s always the last. Always caught up in a book or something and doesn’t realize it’s time to get off of the bus. Sure enough, the driver has to call back to her before the little girl comes dashing out. She jumps off of the bus steps, despite being told time and time again not to, and kicks a rock on her way toward you.

You bow low for her. “Welcome home, Lady Sophie.”

She giggles, dark curls bouncing as she skips over. “Ni-ni!”

You take her bag from her. The thing really does dwarf the poor six year old. Her hand slips into yours easily. Soft and round and somehow always so much warmer than yours.

“My nail color chipped!” She announces, holding up her ring finger on the opposite hand.

“Oh! Now we can’t have that. I’ll fix it tonight.” You smile, waving at old Mr.Chester as the two of you pass.

“Well now!” He calls. “How blessed am I to see two such lovely ladies!”

You both giggle, continuing on your way. He’s a good landlord - spotted you more than a few times when Sophie was a baby and you couldn’t work consistently. Honestly, as you look around, the little community that he’s managed to build in this shitty corner of the world should be praised. Housing just enough snowbirds to cover his property costs while keeping rent low for the full time locals. Maybe you could convince Natalie at the paper to run a little story on it or something.

As you pull up to your own home, the blonde man is outside leaning on the front of their double wide. Seeing him standing at full height makes your blood run cold. The man is built like a damn barn - tall and wide. Beyond solid. *Brick shithouse*. It’s a bit weird that he’s covered in clothing head to toe but whatever. Weirder things have happened before. The mask still covers his face, you wonder if he had taken it off before you came up or just flipped it up to smoke.

“Sophie, head on in. I’ll catch up.” You push her toward the door. She scampers in, the screen door slamming behind her as you march up to the brick shithouse of a man in front of you.

“Which are ya? Kyle or Simon?” You smile, holding out your hand to shake.

Dark eyes rake over you, stopping briefly on your hand, before moving back to meet yours. He stomps out the half smoked cigarette. “Simon.”

You let your hand drop. Bit rude, this one. “Nice t meetcha.”

The other man pops his head out of the trailer. Kyle, you assume. “Oh. Hello.”

“Hi.” You smile as warmly as you can, giving your name. “I’m assumin’ yer Kyle.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “I’m guessing you’re the neighbor Price mentioned.”

You nod, about to speak again but Simon shoves past you, marching his way up the steps. “Let’s go.” He grunts, pushing the other man back into the trailer despite his protests.

You wrinkle your nose at him. What an asshole.

“Who��s tha’?” Sophie asks over the back of the old, worn couch as you let the trailer door slam behind you.

“New neighbors.” You say simply, glancing out the window. “Don’t go over there without me, yeah?”

“Okay!” She agrees, sitting back on the couch and bouncing, beginning her usual post school chant. “Bluey! Bluey! Bluey!”

You drop her backpack down beside the small coffee table. “After yer homework.”

“Nooo!” She pouts.

“Then no Bluey.”

Sophie pouts harder but crawls down in front of the coffee table and pulls out her little work sheets. At least the school doesn’t over run them too terribly with homework toward the end of the year. You glance at the calendar. Wednesday, May 22nd. Damn, she really only has about a week left. Though, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t looking forward to this summer break with her. She’s old enough now that you can take her places like the arcade without having to wait on her so much. You’ll actually be able to play some of the two-player games.

Plus, this year, you actually have a little more pocket change to make it fun.

You turn to look out the window once more at the new neighbors. Their curtains remain closed, cars neatly parked out front. The door opens slowly, the hot Scot and rude blonde wander to the Sedan. Simon’s shoulders shake at something Johnny said - you think he’s laughing but its hard to tell with that mask. Johnny’s head turns, blue eyes meeting yours through the shitty glass windows of your trailer. You squeak and duck to sit next to Sophie, praying that he didn’t catch you staring.

#simon x reader #fanfiction #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #fanfic #call of duty #plus size reader #fat reader #ghost cod #cod x reader #cod mw2 #holly writes

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dandelionsresilience · 3 months ago

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Dandelion News - February 22-28

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles! (This month’s doodles will be a little delayed since I wasn’t able to work on them throughout the month)

1. City trees absorb much more carbon than expected

“[A new measurement technique shows that trees in LA absorb] up to 60% of daytime CO₂ emissions from fossil fuel combustion in spring and summer[….] Beyond offering shade and aesthetic value, these trees act as silent workhorses in the city’s climate resilience strategy[….]”

2. #AltGov: the secret network of federal workers resisting Doge from the inside

“Government employees fight the Trump administration’s chaos by organizing and publishing information on Bluesky[…. A group of government employees are] banding together to “expose harmful policies, defend public institutions and equip citizens with tools to push back against authoritarianism[….]””

3. An Ecuadorian hotspot shows how forests can claw back from destruction

“A December 2024 study described the recovery of ground birds and mammals like ocelots, and found their diversity and biomass in secondary forests was similar to those in old-growth forests after just 20 years. [… Some taxa recover] “earlier, some are later, but they all show a tendency to recover.””

4. Over 80 House Democrats demand Trump rescind gender-affirming care ban: 'We want trans kids to live'

“[89 House Democrats signed a letter stating,] "Trans young people, their parents and their doctors should be the ones making their health care decisions. No one should need to ask the President’s permission to access life-saving, evidence-based health care." "As Members of Congress, we stand united with trans young people and their families.”“

5. Boosting seafood production while protecting biodiversity

“A new study suggests that farming seafood from the ocean – known as mariculture – could be expanded to feed more people while reducing harm to marine biodiversity at the same time. […] “[… I]t’s not a foregone conclusion that the expansion of an industry is always going to have a proportionally negative impact on the environment[….]””

6. U.S. will spend up to $1 billion to combat bird flu, USDA secretary says

“The USDA will spend up to $500 million to provide free biosecurity audits to farms and $400 million to increase payment rates to farmers who need to kill their chickens due to bird flu[….] The USDA is exploring vaccines for chickens but is not yet authorizing their use[….]”

7. An Innovative Program Supporting the Protection of Irreplaceable Saline Lakes

“[… T]he program aims to provide comprehensive data on water availability and lake health, develop strategies to monitor and assess critical ecosystems, and identify knowledge gaps to guide future research and resource management.”

8. EU to unveil ‘Clean Industrial Deal’ to cut CO2, boost energy security

“The bold plan aims to revitalize and decarbonize heavy industry, reduce reliance on gas, and make energy cheaper, cleaner, and more secure. […] By July, the EU said it will “simplify state aid rules” to “accelerate the roll-out of clean energy, deploy industrial decarbonisation and ensure sufficient capacity of clean-tech manufacturing” on the continent.”

9. Oyster Restoration Investments Net Positive Returns for Economy and Environment

“Researchers expect the restored oyster reefs to produce $38 million in ecosystem benefits through 2048. “This network protects nearly 350 million oysters[….]” [NOAA provided] $14.9 million to expand the sanctuary network to 500 acres by 2026 […] through the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law.”

10. Nations back $200 billion-a-year plan to reverse nature losses

“More than 140 countries adopted a strategy to mobilize hundreds of billions of dollars a year to help reverse dramatic losses in biodiversity[….] A finance strategy adopted to applause and tears from delegates, underpins "our collective capacity to sustain life on this planet," said Susana Muhamad[….]”

February 15-21 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

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luvscribbles · 19 days ago

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Ikemen Villains and SmartPhones

ever wonder how the ikevil boys would use modern day phones ? :)

fan headcanons

𑁍ࠬܓ self insert (x reader), gender neutral, sfw

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

William — Casual user

William mainly uses his phone for communication purposes. He treats it as a convenient tool, not a lifeline. He doesn’t particularly hate technology, but he won’t go out of his way to use it either.

Like a true socializer, if there’s something that needs to be discussed, he would rather do it in person! But when that’s not possible, he will make do with what he has.

He prefers calls over text, even if the conversation only lasts a few seconds. William purposely sends ambiguous messages to confuse you into calling him. He has perfect grammar and punctuation, and he rarely uses emojis, so it’s hard to interpret the meaning of his text.

He thinks abbreviations are odd. When you sent “LMAO” for the first time, he was highly confused, even after you explained what it meant.

You also had to explain that the skull emoji is mainly used in contexts like “dying of laughter”— not actual death.

Victor — Enthusiastic user

Victor went out and bought a phone just to see what the fuss was about, and unsurprisingly, he grew fond of the little device.

Absolutely loves FaceTime. Seeing your face on such a small screen makes him giddy with amusement. It’s similar to how an elderly person would interact with technology. He gets wayyy too close to the screen, examining all the details in your background. He also projects his voice as if you’re somewhere far away in a distant land. It’s honestly so adorable.

Victor is a fast learner. Once you explain the basics, he will use all kinds of emojis, GIFS, stickers, etc. And he creates several different group chats with members of the crown.

Despite all this, Victor is good at limiting his screen time. Once he sets his phone down, he doesn’t use it until hours later. He’s a busy guy!

(One more thing— he is fascinated with the “Is it Cake?” trend)

Harrison — Minimal user

Harry isn’t opposed to trying new things. He buys a phone just to keep himself in the loop of current trends and tech-advances, but after a few days of messing around with it, he’s bored.

Phones aren’t really his thing. He gave it a shot, didn’t like it, and now he’s stuck with this expensive chunk of metal in his pocket. Harry forgets he even has a phone most of the time.

Victor has his number added to 10+ group chats, so he often mutes notifications. When you text him, it may take hours to get a response. He’s not ignoring you! His phone is just on silent.

Definitely abuses the “Do Not Disturb” function. If you’re in an emergency situation, do not call this man. Your chances of getting an answer are incredibly slim. He’s likely to leave his phone in a separate room somewhere, so he won’t see your call until later.

For Harry, there’s only one positive thing about having a phone: Audiobooks. However, it must be narrated by the author!

He doesn’t care for E-books unless it’s impossible to get his hands on the physical copy.

Liam — Obsessive user

Liam was the first crown member to purchase a phone. As soon as he heard about a new device that can do almost anything, there was no stopping him.

Social media platforms like TikTok and Instagram are his favorite. Within a week, he’s already on the rise to becoming an influencer. Consistent posts like selfies and latte art do well on Instagram. As for TikTok, he records mini vlogs related to theatre life. The fans love it.

With your permission, he would love to create relationship content as well. For example, videos of your night time routine as a couple would easily go viral. Matching pajamas? Hell yeah. Matching face mask for skin care? Double hell yeah + sponsorship.

Unlike Harrison, Liam’s response time is super quick. He hardly ever misses a call, especially when it’s you. In fact, he has a special ringtone for your number specifically. Anything related to you is customized in the cutest way. Your contact name is followed by a series of heart emojis!

Elbert — Passive user

Elbert uses his phone to communicate with you. That’s it. No social media, no games, no music— nothing. Mobile apps aren’t appealing to him. Interesting, yes, but not enough to hold his attention for hours. Much like the other items in his bedroom, it goes untouched for quite some time. He’d rather give his attention to you.

Given how little he uses his phone, it remains in pristine condition, almost like it came straight from the box. He doesn’t have a screen protector or phone case. It’s literally just a bare naked phone with the same pre-programmed lock screen photo.

Elbert has to take extra precautions to ensure his number doesn’t get leaked. There are photos of him all over the internet, usually posted by fan blogs or gossip articles. Aside from Alfons (and maybe Victor), you’re his only other contact.

Whenever he has to separate from you, he’ll carry his phone to keep in touch. Knowing he can speak with you at any given time eases his worries. He’ll ask you to turn on your location in case of emergencies.

Elbert is a slow typer. You’ll see the speech bubble pop up for several minutes before he finally sends “Okay…” (Yes, he uses the three dots on purpose). It’s better to call.

Sadly, he is prone to falling for online scams that over exaggerate the beauty of a product.

Alfons — Expert user

Alfons decided to buy a phone because— why not? Hearing everyone rave about the device was enough to pique his interest. He was impressed with how much one could do with just a swipe of their finger. The possibilities were endless. How could he not like such an invention?

There’s a lot of questionable content on his phone. Apps you’ve never heard of, anonymous forums, obscure photos, etc. He doesn’t hide it either. You’re more than welcome to check his phone. There isn’t a secret code or required Face ID, but search at your own risk…

Alfons is labeled as an “expert user” because he knows how to use a phone pretty well. This isn’t to say he’s super tech-savvy, but he’s aware of all the specific functions and features. The crown members, mainly Elbert, ask him to help with simple things like connecting to the WiFi. (it’s like when your parents ask you to fix the computer and all you needed to do was push the power button)

Roger — Occasional user

Of course, Roger was intrigued by the invention of smartphones. As an avid researcher, he felt compelled to test its full capabilities. Google and AI captured his attention the most. Programs that claim to have all the answers tend to give him a good laugh. He loves to fool the system into giving an incorrect answer!

Once he’s done experimenting, his phone usage drops dramatically, much like a kid who abandons their new toy after a week. As new smartphones are released, he doesn’t bother upgrading. The additional camera lens isn’t worth anything to him. They’re all the same as far as he’s concerned.

Roger doesn’t pay much attention to his phone unless someone is trying to contact him, but don’t even bother sending him a text; he will call you instead. Any conversation that might take longer than five minutes is an automatic phone call. He doesn’t see the point in talking over text. It takes longer than necessary. Even if you send a simple “Hey wyd”, he’s calling immediately.

Anytime he notices you spending too much time on your phone, he reminds you of the health consequences, like short attention span and poor eyesight. Usually, he’s teasing, but if you’re showing signs of addiction, he gets concerned.

Jude — Business only user

Initially, Jude refused to get a smartphone. He noticed how people mindlessly walked down the streets, completely absorbed in their phones and unaware of their surroundings. The change in atmosphere made him extra cautious. Even as his business partners began to integrate technology in their companies, he wasn’t quick to follow suit. After lots of research, he decided to buy a phone and a laptop for trading purposes only.

With new advances in technology, cybercrime is steadily on the rise. Jude doesn’t partake in it, but he makes sure he’s not a victim of it by keeping his personal data safe. He has anti-virus software, VPNS, lengthy passwords, triple authentication— any protection system you can think of. It may seem a bit overboard, but considering his reputation, it’s very necessary.

Texting Jude can be difficult. If it’s not important, he’s likely to leave you on read for several hours. Sometimes it’s on purpose, other times he simply doesn’t have time to respond. Similar to Roger, he would rather call than exchange messages.

FaceTime is pointless. Jude always has bad connection.

Also, news travels fast over the internet, so printed newspaper articles start to decline, which annoys him.

Ellis — Normal user

Ellis is a simple guy. If smartphones make people happy, that’s a green flag in his book. It's a magical device that grants wishes. How could he complain? Now he can talk to you while he’s away at work! Well— at least he tries to.

Ellis attempted to FaceTime you during missions, but it didn’t work out so well. One minute you were chatting like usual, then suddenly the camera was flying in twenty different directions because he was in the middle of a fight.

In the end, he resorted to sending text messages throughout the day, just reminding you that he misses you. That’s all he can manage before Jude scolds him for being too “lovey-dovey” during work hours.

You’re not the only person he communicates with. He has over 50 contacts, possibly more, all because he offers his number to any civilian who might need help. Nearly half the town can contact him.

Due to his popularity, notifications are constantly appearing on his phone. He has to turn it on silent when you’re together, which doesn’t bother him. Devoting all his attention to you is never a difficult task, and he wants your attention in return. Ellis will get jealous if you constantly use your phone around him, so keep that in mind.

His wallpaper is a photo of you and him. He also bought matching phone charms :D

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

check out my last post if you haven’t already: Ikemen Villains as Romance Tropes

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spacedace · 2 years ago

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Here have some snippets of the AU that’s taken over my brain (featuring Elle unintentionally dunking on both of Bruce’s identities, Clark realizing he passed his taste in partners on to his son, a bit of pre/unaware that they are dating Super Serious Chaos, and some blink-and-you-miss-it background Enemies to Lovers Dick/Dan)

---

“Sorry, who’s Bruce Wayne?”

The room when quiet. All heads turned to look at Elle at the end of the table. Bruce didn’t visibly react, but Clark could make out the subtle indication of disbelief that his old friend was feeling - that they all were feeling at the interpreter’s question. Elle, suddenly aware she had the full room’s attention, had the look of someone who realized they’d said something wrong, but didn’t know what.

“You’re kidding.” John said, “You know Bruce Wayne. Everyone knows Bruce Wayne.”

Elle blinked. “I don’t.” She glanced from face to face, “Is he like a big deal? Does he work here or something? I haven’t been around that long so I might have missed him.”

It took every bit of self control Clark had not to laugh. His voice still came out a bit strangled from the effort as he offered, “No he doesn’t work here.” If Bruce was the type to do so in uniform, he’d be kicking Clark under the table.

“You live in Gotham. You have to know Bruce Wayne.” Barry said, voice going a bit high with growing bewilderment. “Mega ba-jillionair. CEO of Wayne Tech? Richest man in Gotham - in the world? Has like a hundred kids?”

Their interpreter’s nose scrunched. “So he’s like…in one of those fundamentalist cults obsessed with having a bunch of kids or something?”

Bruce actually twitched at that. The sound of utter disgust in Elle’s voice at the concept, the complete and total lack of any kind of recognition she had for the single most famous non-crime or crime-fighting related person in the city that she lived in, she truly had no idea who they were talking about. Clark had to get a recording of the room’s security feed, Lois would love this. Oh, wait no, Bruce’s kids. Maybe if he was fast enough he could text Dick to get there ASAP so he could see it all in person before it was over.

“No! Nothing like that! He adopted them - well most of them.” Barry tried to explain, looking utterly lost as he turned from Elle to the rest of them and back again. “You’re messing with us right? This is like a joke?”

Elle shook her head, looking just as lost as Barry did. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“Do you know Dick Grayson?”

“I know of an officer Grayson who is a dick. Total tool. He’s been making my brother’s Dan’s life miserable for like a year now. Pretty sure not who you’re talking about though.”

“Jason Todd.”

“The library goon?”

“Tim Drake.”

“Sounds like a Dark Wing Duck character.”

“Cassandra Cain.”

“Isn’t that the author that started out writing incest Harry Potter fanfic?”

“Duke Thomas?”

“What’s he a Duke of?”

Barry snapped his fingers, pointing emphatically at Elle with a look of victory on his masked face as he shouted, “Damian Wayne!”

Damian, who had at that moment just walked into the meeting room with Jon at his heels paused in his place just behind Elle. He did pretty well at hiding his surprise at Barry seemingly shouting his civilian name and pointing at him upon walking in. Though the tense line of his shoulders suggested that if Barry was actually revealing his secret identity without warning or permission, there would be blood.

Stella Nightingale, unaware of the almost-kinda identity reveal going on around her, tilted her head in confusion at the speedster. “I’m assuming he’s related to that Bruce Wayne guy?”

“They’re all related to Bruce Wayne.” John said with open amusement now. The Green Lantern had given up on the research entirely, watching the entire debacle with a growing smirk he kept casting towards Bruce. “That man’s face is plastered absolutely everywhere in the news. How do you not know who he is?��

“If Lois Lane hasn’t written about him he can’t be that important.” Elle said with a casual certainty of one speaking a core tenant of their beliefs. Clark’s opinion of the young woman - already quite high considering her ferocious loyalty and fondness to Jon - rose sharply.

“You’re read the Daily Planet?” Clark asked, warmth curling in his chest at the mention of his wife and her work.

“I read articles by Lois Lane.” Elle said promptly, “I tried reading some articles that Kent guy she partners with sometimes wrote on his own but I couldn’t get past his writing style. Dude sounds like he’s from outer space with his word choice sometimes.”

Bruce, looking far too pleased, gave a quiet and not terribly convincing cough as Clark tried to will his soul back into his body.

It was going to be a long day.

—

“You are at least aware of who Gotham’s vigilantes are, yes?” Damian asked with a raised brow behind his mask.

Elle shrugged, giving him a sly smile. “The relevant ones.”

Clark tried to hide his short laugh with a feigned cough. Elle at least was distracted enough with Jon and Damian’s attention to notice but Bruce was giving him a look over the tablet he was trying - and undoubtedly failing - to review files on.

Jon grinned eagerly from his spot beside Elle as he asked, “Aren’t they all relevant to you? You live in Gotham.”

“I live in Crime Alley.” Elle corrected, bumping his shoulder with hers. “We have different standards of relevancy there.”

“So what are the relevant ones then?” Clark asked, pointedly ignoring Bruce’s burning stare. They’d get back to the research. Eventually. Finding out if the Gothamite who had been spending all her free time with Phoenix and Flamebird for the past year and a half was as oblivious to her city’s heroes as she was its celebrities was too entertaining a notion to pass up.

“Phoenix, obviously.” She grinned cheekily at Damian across the table, ticking names off her fingers as she continued. “Red Hood. Spoiler. Uh…Orphan?” She trailed off, forehead scrunching in concentrated thought.

“That’s can’t be all the ones you know.” Jon gaped, eyes sparkling with amusement as he glanced over to were Bruce was seated, not five feet away before turning back to watch Elle try to rack her brain for any more Gotham vigilantes. Clark could see the moment that the words are taken as a challenge as Elle sat up and looked more determined.

“No, shut up, I know more. Uh…there’s the one, um Red Sparrow? It’s another bird one with red name, I’m pretty sure. And the one with the blue - fuck I should know his name. Nightjar? Wasn’t Nightingale I would have remembered that…shit, dude threw up on our couch once I should remember his name -“

“Nightwing threw up on your couch?”

“Nightwing! That’s the bitch! He got poisoned or something and Dan drug him to our place to patch him up since Doc Thompkins’ clinic was closed.”

Clark shared a look with Bruce and Damian. Dick had failed to mention that little event. Clark could see Bruce reaching for his wrist computer, undoubtedly typing out a message his eldest about what he’d just heard - possibly another to Alfred if he was feeling like pulling out the big guns.

At the other end of the table Elle ticked Nightwing off with a nod, even as Jon squawked that it shouldn’t count since he’d given her the name, “Then there’s…uh…oh! Harley Quinn!”

“Harley Quinn does not count.”

“She beat up a guy trying to mug me last week and got me a hot chocolate afterwards, she totally counts!”

“Someone tried to mug you?”

“Crime Alley, Nix, if someone doesn’t try to mug me while I’m out I get worried that I missed Hood calling in a Street Clear for something big.”

“We’re going to circle back on that later.” Jon said, sharing a pointed glance with Damian. It looked like young Miss Nightingale was going to be getting escorted to and from the Watchtower from now on.

Ah, Clark mused, falling head over heels for someone with no understanding of the concept of self-preservation and a stubborn determination to run straight into the heart of danger without a second thought. It brought back such fond memories. Of both Lois and Bruce. And Diana. And - Hmm. Kara might have been right. Clark might have a type.

Watching the three at the other end of the table and taking them in, Clark realized he might have passed his taste in partners on to his son. Well, at least he’ll be able to give Jon some advise on how to handle the heart attacks Damian and Elle will inevitably give him.

“Harley Quinn doesn’t count. You got any more?”

Elle rolled her eyes, muttering about Harley totally counts, before leaning back in her chair. “I think I’m out. I know there’s more but,” She gave a shrug, “I’m tapped out. Those are all the ones I can think of.”

It was, surprisingly, Bruce that spoke up at that declaration, a slant of amusement to his lips as he asked, “No one else comes to mind?”

Elle waved him off, attention turning to the mountain of alien script they needed her to translate for them. It was the reason she was even there rather than in her office trying to translate whatever incredibly dangerous magic tomb JL Dark had dropped off without accidentally summoning a demon or ending hte world in the process. J’onn was right, they really should give her a raise.“That’s all I got.” She said with a sigh, “Like I said, I know the relevant ones.”

“Hn.”

Twenty minutes of shared looks of amusement and suppressed laughter later Elle’s head shot up, a look of wide eyed embarrassment on her face. “Oh my god.”

“There it is.”

“About time Nightingale, I was starting to be concerned about your mental faculties.”

“Shut up, this so embarrassing!”

“Don’t sweat it kid, we all have our moments.”

“I can’t believe I forgot Signal.”

“What.”

---

Context of this snippet if anyone is interested:

This is actually the same AU as the Steph & Jason sibling bonding Anger Management snippet from a bit ago (I’m calling it my Ghosts in Gotham AU in scrivener so I guess that’s what I’ll call it here lol). This time focused on Elle and her misadventures as a Totally Normal Civilian (TM) working for the Justice League with her two besties Jon & Damian (none of them realize yet that they’ve been dating for months).

No idea when this is supposed to take place in terms of timeline with the other snippet, but kinda vibing the idea that while Steph & Jason are having a heart to heart on a rooftop over their shared background and Jason’s future as a dad, Elle is up in the Watchtower telling Bruce Wayne to his face that she has no idea who he is and forgetting Batman is a Gotham vigilante while he’s sitting at the same table as her.

Anyway, this AU has taken over my life. Expect more nonsense to come lol

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dani phantom #danielle phantom #super serious chaos #superseriouschaos #jon kent #jon el kent #Damian Wayne #clark kent #justice league #bruce wayne #barry allen #john stewart #ghosts in gotham au #batfam #elle doesn't pay any attention to the famous people in gotham unless they're trying to kill her or save her #and she might not even pay attention then #and yes this is more of my headcanon that the Justice League is the world's biggest polycule #no i will never let that headcanon go i love it too much #there's a version of this world where Elle never figures out that Bruce Wayne is supposed to be kind of a big deal #years in the future she Dami & Jon are married & she has a new friend she's made over for lunch #and they see some of the family photos and are like #is that fucking Bruce Wayne at your wedding?#Elle - oblivious: oh you know my father-in-law?#Bruce gets unmasked before Elle knows about everyone's identities & he's freaking out while she's just #full lex luthor moment: I have no idea who this is #Bruce: you know who I am now #Elle - does not know who he is but doesn't want to admit to it guessing: Clark Kent?

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 months ago

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“The Fagin figure leading Elon Musk’s merry band of pubescent sovereignty pickpockets”

This week only, Barnes and Noble is offering 25% off pre-orders of my forthcoming novel Picks and Shovels. ENDS TODAY!.

While we truly live in an age of ascendant monsters who have hijacked our country, our economy, and our imaginations, there is one consolation: the small cohort of brilliant, driven writers who have these monsters' number, and will share it with us. Writers like Maureen Tkacik:

https://prospect.org/topics/maureen-tkacik/

Journalists like Wired's Vittoria Elliott, Leah Feiger, and Tim Marchman are absolutely crushing it when it comes to Musk's DOGE coup:

https://www.wired.com/author/vittoria-elliott/

And Nathan Tankus is doing incredible work all on his own, just blasting out scoop after scoop:

https://www.crisesnotes.com/

But for me, it was Tkacik – as usual – in the pages of The American Prospect who pulled it all together in a way that finally made it make sense, transforming the blitzkreig Muskian chaos into a recognizable playbook. While most of the coverage of Musk's wrecking crew has focused on the broccoli-haired Gen Z brownshirts who are wilding through the server rooms at giant, critical government agencies, Tkacik homes in on their boss, Tom Krause, whom she memorably dubs "the Fagin figure leading Elon Musk’s merry band of pubescent sovereignty pickpockets" (I told you she was a great writer!):

https://prospect.org/power/2025-02-06-private-equity-hatchet-man-leading-lost-boys-of-doge/

Krause is a private equity looter. He's the guy who basically invented the playbook for PE takeovers of large tech companies, from Broadcom to Citrix to VMWare, converting their businesses from selling things to renting them out, loading them up with junk fees, slashing quality, jacking up prices over and over, and firing everyone who was good at their jobs. He is a master enshittifier, an enshittification ninja.

Krause has an unerring instinct for making people miserable while making money. He oversaw the merger of Citrix and VMWare, creating a ghastly company called The Cloud Software Group, which sold remote working tools. Despite this, of his first official acts was to order all of his employees to stop working remotely. But then, after forcing his workers to drag their butts into work, move back across the country, etc, he reversed himself because he figured out he could sell off all of the company's office space for a tidy profit.

Krause canceled employee benefits, like thank you days for managers who pulled a lot of unpaid overtime, or bonuses for workers who upgraded their credentials. He also ended the company's practice of handing out swag as small gifts to workers, and then stiffed the company that made the swag, wontpaying a $437,574.97 invoice for all the tchotchkes the company had ordered. That's not the only supplier Krause stiffed: FinLync, a fintech company with a three-year contract with Krause's company, also had to sue to get paid.

Krause's isn't a canny operator who roots out waste: he's a guy who tears out all the wiring and then grudgingly restores the minimum needed to keep the machine running (no wonder Musk loves him, this is the Twitter playbook). As Tkacik reports, Krause fucked up the customer service and reliability systems that served Citrix's extremely large, corporate customers – the giant businesses that cut huge monthly checks to Citrix, whose CIOs received daily sales calls from his competitors.

Workers who serviced these customers, like disabled Air Force veteran David Morgan, who worked with big public agencies, were fired on one hour's notice, just before their stock options vested. The giant public agency customers he'd serviced later called him to complain that the only people they could get on the phone were subcontractors in Indian call centers who lacked the knowledge and authority to resolve their problems.

Last month, Citrix fired all of its customer support engineers. Citrix's military customers are being illegally routed to offshore customer support teams who are prohibited from working with the US military.

Citrix/VMWare isn't an exception. The carnage at these companies is indistinguishable from the wreck Krause made of Broadcom. In all these cases, Krause was parachuted in by private equity bosses, and he destroyed something useful to extract a giant, one-time profit, leaving behind a husk that no longer provides value to its customers or its employees.

This is the DOGE playbook. It's all about plunder: take something that was patiently, carefully built up over generations and burn it to the ground, warming yourself in the pyre, leaving nothing behind but ash. This is what private equity plunderers have been doing to the world's "advanced" economies since the Reagan years. They did it to airlines, family restaurants, funeral homes, dog groomers, toy stores, pharma, palliative care, dialysis, hospital beds, groceries, cars, and the internet.

Trump's a plunderer. He was elected by the plunderer class – like the crypto bros who want to run wild, transforming workers' carefully shepherded retirement savings into useless shitcoins, while the crypto bros run off with their perfectly cromulent "fiat" money. Musk is the apotheosis of this mindset, a guy who claims credit for other peoples' productive and useful businesses, replacing real engineering with financial engineering. Musk and Krause, they're like two peas in a pod.

That's why – according to anonymous DOGE employees cited by Tckacik – DOGE managers are hired for their capacity for cruelty: "The criteria for DOGE is how many you have fired, how much you enjoy firing people, and how little you care about the impact on peoples well being…No wonder Tom Krause was tapped for this. He’s their dream employee!"

The fact that Krause isn't well known outside of plunderer circles is absolutely a feature for him, not a bug. Scammers like Krause want to be admitted to polite society. This is why the Sacklers – the opioid crime family that kicked off the Oxy pandemic that's murdered more than 800,000 Americans so far – were so aggressive about keeping their association with their family business, Purdue Pharma, a secret. The Sacklers only wanted to be associated with the art galleries and museums they put their names over, and their lawyers threatened journalists for writing about their lives as billionaire drug pushers (I got one of those threats).

There's plenty of good reasons to be anonymous – if you're a whistleblower, say. But if you ever encounter a corporate executive who insists on anonymity, that's a wild danger sign. Take Pixsy, the scam "copyleft trolls" whose business depends on baiting people into making small errors when using images licensed under very early versions of the Creative Common licenses, and then threatening to sue them unless they pay hundreds or thousands of dollars:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/24/a-bug-in-early-creative-commons-licenses-has-enabled-a-new-breed-of-superpredator/

Kain Jones, the CEO of Pixsy, tried to threaten me under the EU's GDPR for revealing the names of the scammer on his payroll who sent me a legal threat, and the executive who ran the scam for his business (I say he tried to threaten me because I helped lobby for the GDPR and I know for a fact that this isn't a GDPR violation):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/13/an-open-letter-to-pixsy-ceo-kain-jones-who-keeps-sending-me-legal-threats/

These people understand that they are in the business of ripping people off, causing them grave and wholly unjust financial injury. They value their secrecy because they are in the business of making strangers righteously furious, and they understand that one of these strangers might just show up in their lives someday to confront them about their transgressions.

This is why Unitedhealthcare freaked out so hard about Luigi Mangione's assassination of CEO Brian Thompson – that's not how the game is supposed to be played. The people who sit in on executive row, destroying your lives, are supposed to be wholly insulated from the consequences of their actions. You're not supposed to know who they are, you're not supposed to be able to find them – of course.

But even more importantly, you're not supposed to be angry at them. They pose as mere software agents in an immortal colony organism called a Limited Liability Corporation, bound by the iron law of shareholder supremacy to destroy your life while getting very, very rich. It's not supposed to be personal. That's why Unitedhealthcare is threatening to sue a doctor who was yanked out of surgery on a cancer patient to be berated by a UHC rep for ordering a hospital stay for her patient:

https://gizmodo.com/unitedhealthcare-is-mad-about-in-luigi-we-trust-comments-under-a-doctors-viral-post-2000560543

UHC is angry that this surgeon, Austin's Dr Elisabeth Potter, went Tiktok-viral with her true story of how how chaotic and depraved and uncaring UHC is. UHC execs fear that Mangione made it personal, that he obliterated the accountability sink of the corporation and put the blame squarely where it belongs – on the (mostly) men at the top who make this call.

This is a point Adam Conover made in his latest Factually podcast, where he interviewed Propublica's T Christian Miller and Patrick Rucker:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_5tDXRw8kg

Miller and Rucker published a blockbuster investigative report into Cigna's Evocore, a secret company that offers claims-denials as a service to America's biggest health insurers:

https://www.propublica.org/article/evicore-health-insurance-denials-cigna-unitedhealthcare-aetna-prior-authorizations

If you're the CEO of a health insurance company and you don't like how much you're paying out for MRIs or cancer treatment, you tell Evocore (which processes all your claim authorizations) and they turn a virtual dial that starts to reduce the number of MRIs your customers are allowed to have. This dial increases the likelihood that a claim or pre-authorization will be denied, which, in turn, makes doctors less willing to order them (even if they're medically necessary) and makes patients more likely to pay for them out of pocket.

Towards the end of the conversation, Miller and Rucker talk about how the rank-and-file people at an insurer don't get involved with the industry to murder people in order to enrich their shareholders. They genuinely want to help people. But executive row is different: those very wealthy people do believe their job is to kill people to save money, and get richer. Those people are personally to blame for the systemic problem. They are the ones who design and operate the system.

That's why naming the people who are personally responsible for these immoral, vicious acts is so important. That's why it's important that Wired and Propublica are unmasking the "pubescent sovereignty pickpockets" who are raiding the federal government under Krause's leadership:

https://projects.propublica.org/elon-musk-doge-tracker/

These people are committing grave crimes against the nation and its people. They should be known for this. It should follow them for the rest of their lives. It should be the lead in their obituaries. People who are introduced to them at parties should have a flash of recognition, hastily end the handshake, then turn on their heels and race to the bathroom to scrub their hands. For the rest of their lives.

Naming these people isn't enough to stop the plunder, but it helps. Yesterday, Marko Elez, the 25 year old avowed "eugenicist" who wanted to "normalize Indian hate" and could not be "[paid] to marry outside of my ethnicity," was shown the door. He's off the job. For the rest of his life, he will be the broccoli-haired brownshirt who got fired for his asinine, racist shitposting:

https://www.npr.org/2025/02/06/nx-s1-5289337/elon-musk-doge-treasury

After Krause's identity as the chief wrecker at DOGE was revealed, the brilliant Anna Merlan (author of Republic of Lies, the best book on conspiratorialism), wrote that "Now the whole country gets the experience of what it’s like when private equity buys the place you work":

https://bsky.app/profile/annamerlan.bsky.social/post/3lhepjkudcs2t

That's exactly it. We are witnessing a private equity-style plunder of the entire US government – of the USA itself. No one is better poised to write about this than Tkacik, because no one has private equity's number like Tkacik does:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

Ironically, all this came down just as Trump announced that he was going to finally get rid of private equity's scammiest trick, the "carried interest" loophole that lets PE bosses (and, to a lesser extent, hedge fund managers) avoid billions in personal taxes:

https://archive.is/yKhvD

"Carried interest" has nothing to do with the interest rate – it's a law that was designed for 16th century sea captains who had an "interest" in the cargo they "carried":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/29/writers-must-be-paid/#carried-interest

Trump campaigned on killing this loophole in 2017, but Congress stopped him, after a lobbying blitz by the looter industry. It's possible that he genuinely wants to get rid of the carried interest loophole – he's nothing if not idiosyncratic, as the residents of Greenland can attest:

https://prospect.org/world/2025-02-07-letter-between-friendly-nations/

Even if he succeeds, looters and the "investor class" will get a huge giveaway under Trump, in the form of more tax giveaways and the dismantling of labor and environmental regulation. But it's far more likely that he won't succeed. Rather – as Yves Smith writes for Naked Capitalism – he'll do what he did with the Canada and Mexico tariffs: make a tiny, unimportant change and then lie and say he had done something revolutionary:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2025/02/is-trump-serious-about-trying-to-close-the-private-equity-carried-interest-loophole.html

This has been a shitty month, and it's not gonna get better for a while. On my dark days, I worry that it won't get better during my lifetime. But at least we have people like Tkacik to chronicle it, explain it, put it in context. She's amazing, a whirlwind. The same day that her report on Krause dropped, the Prospect published another must-read piece by her, digging deep into Alex Jones's convoluted bankruptcy gambit:

https://prospect.org/justice/2025-02-06-crisis-actors-alex-jones-bankruptcy/

It lays bare the wild world of elite bankruptcy court, another critical conduit for protecting the immoral rich from their victims. The fact that Tkacik can explain both Krause and the elite bankruptcy system on the same day is beyond impressive.

We've got a lot of work ahead of ourselves. The people in charge of this system – whose names you must learn and never forget – aren't going to go easily. But at least we know who they are. We know what they're doing. We know how the scam works. It's not a flurry of incomprehensible actions – it's a playbook that killed Red Lobster, Toys R Us, and Sears. We don't have to follow that playbook.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/07/broccoli-hair-brownshirts/#shameless

#pluralistic #Maureen Tkacik #the american prospect #corporate sociopaths #pixsy #luigi mangione #propublica #doge #coup #elon musk #guillotine watch #adam conover #private equity #citrix #tom krause #looters #marko elez

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pome-seed · 1 month ago

Text

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 9

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: As you try to figure out a plan and try to understand the machine used to control the Winter Soldier, you're hit with the fear of disappearing. Longing to be known, you share a kind moment with the Soldier.

Warnings: Captivity, angst, mention of torture and death, longing, helplessness, mention of Siberia, and more angst. Sad Bucky.

Authors Note: Please enjoy, comment and be kind! I love the comments and interaction. ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Song Rec: Sailor Song by Gigi Perez

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

The cold glint of steel.

A faded red star.

Painfully blue eyes.

Calloused fingers that twitched when you pulled too far away.

Cold skin marred with scars.

A gentle frown, pressed together softly by blushed lips.

You wanted to burn every small detail of the Soldier into your brain. You wanted to remember it, remember him. You feared you didn’t have long. You tried to draw out your research as you worked on the indefinite cure to his degeneration, but your captors grew impatient.

You didn’t want to go.

You didn’t want to disappear.

“My favorite color is red.” You blurted, your gaze following the line of wires across the back of the Soldier’s chair.

He shifted, turning his head slightly to signal he was listening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, biting on the soft inside of your cheek. “I like red.”

What you were doing was dangerous. You knew that. But you couldn’t stop.

“I like a lot of things.” You huffed, trying not to shake under the sudden burst of anxiety you felt. You moved behind the Soldier, eyeing the power box behind his chair.

In the days when you were sent to clean up the Soldier- cleaning his suit, his wounds, basic care- you tried your best to investigate the machine he sat on.

From what you’d seen, it was some sort of electroshock therapy on steroids. The technology was foreign to you, but its intention was clear. It was built to restrain and torment. It was designed to suppress memories and induce a state of pliancy.

It was the perfect tool for mental conditioning.

There were several monitors that you had become familiar with, each reflecting the Soldier’s vitals and scans. Beneath the monitors were several switches and dials, meant to control the flow of electricity.

“I like a lot of things,” you repeated. Between the fear you felt for your charge and the doom you felt hanging over your future, you felt the need to be known. “I hate a lot of things too. I can be really opinionated.” Your voice trailed on, fighting against the shake in your body.

The Soldier watched you inspect the mechanics and tangle of wires, listening silently as you trailed on anxiously. He knew as well as you did that there was little hope in what you were doing. You knew this. You knew there was no point in him believing that you could help him. Why would he? He’d spent decades helpless under their torture.

You tried to feel confident in yourself, but ultimately your only hope of making a difference was breaking the high tech machine. The only solid plan you had was giving the soldier a window to escape. A window to regain some sense of understanding of his own mind.

But even then, they still had those trigger words. The ones used so easily that day when your throat had been the victim of the Winter Soldier.

“I used to journal a lot, back home. I always had so much to say and- and nowhere to put it all.” Usually, spilling details about your life to a man after a long bout of silence would be embarrassing, but not with him. Not here. Not now.

Not when he knew why you were doing it.

“I like music- I really like music. My friends and I were hoping to go to a music festival in the summer, before all of this.” You went on, holding yourself up on the mechanical device in front of you. “I had good friends.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nodded.

The Soldier looked over his shoulder at you, dark hair framing his tormented expression. He didn’t stop you. He didn’t want you to. He wanted to listen. He wanted to hear about what a life could be like outside of all this pain and death. He wanted to know who you were before this.

“What else?” He offered, the low timber of his voice soft and gentle.

You blinked back ill timed tears. “There’s- There’s so much.” You whispered. “I had so much life- before.”

“I know,” his throat bobbed, his lips tugged into a frown.

And he did. He knew someone like you must have lived a good life. A life of laughter and tears, of good and bad in all the right ways. He knew you must have been happy.

A part of him wished he could reach into himself and find that. He knew he must have been something once. He must have laughed. He must have been happy.

He must have been someone once.

But it was too far, too dark and too easy to slip through his fingers. He could try and try, but he couldn’t touch the warmth he must have once felt, years ago.

“I always wanted to travel. I never did though, stupid, right?” You huffed, sinking into your chair at your desk. “Did you? Do you know?”

His gaze shifted to the space between you, his head slowly nodding. “Yeah.”

“Where have you been?”

“Siberia, Russia.”

“Yeah?” You tilted your head at him. “I bet it's nice there. Watching the sun peak over the snow caps. I bet the air tastes sharp there.” You whispered wistfully.

He didn’t agree. His shoulders sank as he stared at you pick at your nails. “I didn’t see much of the sun.” He whispered, a cold shiver trailing down his back.

“Oh.”

You couldn’t help the bitter, dry sob that clawed its way up your throat. Of course he didn’t see it. They would never let him experience something so innocent.

Your eyes met, and for a moment you both were silent.

The two of you shared a fragile second of understanding. All you wanted was to be known. To be remembered. You didn’t want to disappear. You didn’t want to fade into the unknown, with nothing left of you.

And he, who was already gone, already lost to the world, wanted to be known. He wanted to be something. Someone. He wanted to have something for himself, something to hold and cradle and call his own. He wanted to be alive.

But you both knew it was fruitless.

It was impossible.

So together you sat, sharing a second of understanding.

A/N: I'm sorry for sooo much angst :D But I hope you enjoy. This is the tipping point. Let me know if you wanna be apart of the tag list!

@rafesgurl @pleasecallmeunhinged @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @frog-fans-unite @lonelyghosts-stuff @cherryandsugar @a-world-with-pure-imagination @unicornqueen05

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