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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months

Text

Leveraged buyouts are not like mortgages

I'm coming to DEFCON! On FRIDAY (Aug 9), I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On SATURDAY (Aug 10), I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

Here's an open secret: the confusing jargon of finance is not the product of some inherent complexity that requires a whole new vocabulary. Rather, finance-talk is all obfuscation, because if we called finance tactics by their plain-language names, it would be obvious that the sector exists to defraud the public and loot the real economy.

Take "leveraged buyout," a polite name for stealing a whole goddamned company:

Identify a company that owns valuable assets that are required for its continued operation, such as the real-estate occupied by its outlets, or even its lines of credit with suppliers;

Approach lenders (usually banks) and ask for money to buy the company, offering the company itself (which you don't own!) as collateral on the loan;

Offer some of those loaned funds to shareholders of the company and convince a key block of those shareholders (for example, executives with large stock grants, or speculators who've acquired large positions in the company, or people who've inherited shares from early investors but are disengaged from the operation of the firm) to demand that the company be sold to the looters;

Call a vote on selling the company at the promised price, counting on the fact that many investors will not participate in that vote (for example, the big index funds like Vanguard almost never vote on motions like this), which means that a minority of shareholders can force the sale;

Once you own the company, start to strip-mine its assets: sell its real-estate, start stiffing suppliers, fire masses of workers, all in the name of "repaying the debts" that you took on to buy the company.

This process has its own euphemistic jargon, for example, "rightsizing" for layoffs, or "introducing efficiencies" for stiffing suppliers or selling key assets and leasing them back. The looters – usually organized as private equity funds or hedge funds – will extract all the liquid capital – and give it to themselves as a "special dividend." Increasingly, there's also a "divi recap," which is a euphemism for borrowing even more money backed by the company's assets and then handing it to the private equity fund:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/17/divi-recaps/#graebers-ghost

If you're a Sopranos fan, this will all sound familiar, because when the (comparatively honest) mafia does this to a business, it's called a "bust-out":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bust_Out

The mafia destroys businesses on a onesy-twosey, retail scale; but private equity and hedge funds do their plunder wholesale.

It's how they killed Red Lobster:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/23/spineless/#invertebrates

And it's what they did to hospitals:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/28/5000-bats/#charnel-house

It's what happened to nursing homes, Armark, private prisons, funeral homes, pet groomers, nursing homes, Toys R Us, The Olive Garden and Pet Smart:

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

It's what happened to the housing co-ops of Cooper Village, Texas energy giant TXU, Old Country Buffet, Harrah's and Caesar's:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/14/billionaire-class-solidarity/#club-deals

And it's what's slated to happen to 2.9m Boomer-owned US businesses employing 32m people, whose owners are nearing retirement:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

Now, you can't demolish that much of the US productive economy without attracting some negative attention, so the looter spin-machine has perfected some talking points to hand-wave away the criticism that borrowing money using something you don't own as collateral in order to buy it and wreck it is obviously a dishonest (and potentially criminal) destructive practice.

The most common one is that borrowing money against an asset you don't own is just like getting a mortgage. This is such a badly flawed analogy that it is really a testament to the efficacy of the baffle-em-with-bullshit gambit to convince us all that we're too stupid to understand how finance works.

Sure: if I put an offer on your house, I will go to my credit union and ask the for a mortgage that uses your house as collateral. But the difference here is that you own your house, and the only way I can buy it – the only way I can actually get that mortgage – is if you agree to sell it to me.

Owner-occupied homes typically have uncomplicated ownership structures. Typically, they're owned by an individual or a couple. Sometimes they're the property of an estate that's divided up among multiple heirs, whose relationship is mediated by a will and a probate court. Title can be contested through a divorce, where disputes are settled by a divorce court. At the outer edge of complexity, you get things like polycules or lifelong roommates who've formed an LLC s they can own a house among several parties, but the LLC will have bylaws, and typically all those co-owners will be fully engaged in any sale process.

Leveraged buyouts don't target companies with simple ownership structures. They depend on firms whose equity is split among many parties, some of whom will be utterly disengaged from the firm's daily operations – say, the kids of an early employee who got a big stock grant but left before the company grew up. The looter needs to convince a few of these "owners" to force a vote on the acquisition, and then rely on the idea that many of the other shareholders will simply abstain from a vote. Asset managers are ubiquitous absentee owners who own large stakes in literally every major firm in the economy. The big funds – Vanguard, Blackrock, State Street – "buy the whole market" (a big share in every top-capitalized firm on a given stock exchange) and then seek to deliver returns equal to the overall performance of the market. If the market goes up by 5%, the index funds need to grow by 5%. If the market goes down by 5%, then so do those funds. The managers of those funds are trying to match the performance of the market, not improve on it (by voting on corporate governance decisions, say), or to beat it (by only buying stocks of companies they judge to be good bets):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/17/shareholder-socialism/#asset-manager-capitalism

Your family home is nothing like one of these companies. It doesn't have a bunch of minority shareholders who can force a vote, or a large block of disengaged "owners" who won't show up when that vote is called. There isn't a class of senior managers – Chief Kitchen Officer! – who have been granted large blocks of options that let them have a say in whether you will become homeless.

Now, there are homes that fit this description, and they're a fucking disaster. These are the "heirs property" homes, generally owned by the Black descendants of enslaved people who were given the proverbial 40 acres and a mule. Many prosperous majority Black settlements in the American South are composed of these kinds of lots.

Given the historical context – illiterate ex-slaves getting property as reparations or as reward for fighting with the Union Army – the titles for these lands are often muddy, with informal transfers from parents to kids sorted out with handshakes and not memorialized by hiring lawyers to update the deeds. This has created an irresistible opportunity for a certain kind of scammer, who will pull the deeds, hire genealogists to map the family trees of the original owners, and locate distant descendants with homeopathically small claims on the property. These descendants don't even know they own these claims, don't even know about these ancestors, and when they're offered a few thousand bucks for their claim, they naturally take it.

Now, armed with a claim on the property, the heirs property scammers force an auction of it, keeping the process under wraps until the last instant. If they're really lucky, they're the only bidder and they can buy the entire property for pennies on the dollar and then evict the family that has lived on it since Reconstruction. Sometimes, the family will get wind of the scam and show up to bid against the scammer, but the scammer has deep capital reserves and can easily win the auction, with the same result:

https://www.propublica.org/series/dispossessed

A similar outrage has been playing out for years in Hawai'i, where indigenous familial claims on ancestral lands have been diffused through descendants who don't even know they're co-owner of a place where their distant cousins have lived since pre-colonial times. These descendants are offered small sums to part with their stakes, which allows the speculator to force a sale and kick the indigenous Hawai'ians off their family lands so they can be turned into condos or hotels. Mark Zuckerberg used this "quiet title and partition" scam to dispossess hundreds of Hawai'ian families:

https://archive.is/g1YZ4

Heirs property and quiet title and partition are a much better analogy to a leveraged buyout than a mortgage is, because they're ways of stealing something valuable from people who depend on it and maintain it, and smashing it and selling it off.

Strip away all the jargon, and private equity is just another scam, albeit one with pretensions to respectability. Its practitioners are ripoff artists. You know the notorious "carried interest loophole" that politicians periodically discover and decry? "Carried interest" has nothing to do with the interest on a loan. The "carried interest" rule dates back to 16th century sea-captains, and it refers to the "interest" they had in the cargo they "carried":

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

Private equity managers are like sea captains in exactly the same way that leveraged buyouts are like mortgages: not at all.

And it's not like private equity is good to its investors: scams like "continuation funds" allow PE looters to steal all the money they made from strip mining valuable companies, so they show no profits on paper when it comes time to pay their investors:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/20/continuation-fraud/#buyout-groups

Those investors are just as bamboozled as we are, which is why they keep giving more money to PE funds. Today, the "dry powder" (uninvested money) that PE holds has reached an all-time record high of $2.62 trillion – money from pension funds and rich people and sovereign wealth funds, stockpiled in anticipation of buying and destroying even more profitable, productive, useful businesses:

https://www.institutionalinvestor.com/article/2di1vzgjcmzovkcea8f0g/portfolio/private-equitys-dry-powder-mountain-reaches-record-height

The practices of PE are crooked as hell, and it's only the fact that they use euphemisms and deceptive analogies to home mortgages that keeps them from being shut down. The more we strip away the bullshit, the faster we'll be able to kill this cancer, and the more of the real economy we'll be able to preserve.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/05/rugged-individuals/#misleading-by-analogy

#pluralistic #leveraged buyouts #lbos #divi recaps #mortgages #weaponized shelter #debt #finance #private equity #pe #mego #bust outs #plunder #looting

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petsdenonne · 2 years

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Accidental

(Part 2: Here)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT 18+, nudes, Fluff, Graphic sexual content, friends to lovers.

Word Count: 1,185

Summary: When you accidentally send something to Jason that you're not supposed to he doesn't react the way you were expecting.

Authors note: I read @dxckgrxsonx ‘s Dickpic!Jason x Reader series and it sent me absolutely feral 💕 I had to write something! Seriously, go read it, it’s amazing. Here, look, I even made it easy for you.

✨MASTERLISTS✨

---------------------------------------------------------

oh god.

oh god, no.

Surely you hadn't...no, surely not...

As your finger hovered over the screen of your phone you could see that you had in fact done what you hoped you hadn't.

You had accidentally sent a nude to Jason instead of the man you had meant to. Why did he have to message you then!? It had bumped your chat with him to the top of the list and in your pre-occupied haze you hadn't noticed the name and contact photo at the top of your screen before you sent the image.

Fingers moving quickly to unsend the photo before he saw- oh, no, please no.

The 'sent' under the photo had changed to 'seen'

Bile and panic rose up into your throat and you tried to swallow it down as you threw your phone onto the bed beside you. You had to see him tomorrow! Bruce had invited you to the stupid family BBQ that they hosted at the manor every summer, since your father had died Bruce had taken you under his wing causing you to be an honorary member of the Waynes. Maybe you could pretend you were sick, tell Bruce you had a cold or a stomach bug? no, he'd send Alfred over with meds and soup. Maybe you could fake your death and run off to Bosnia? No, he'd know. He was the Bat after all.

Maybe you could kidnap Jason and brainwash him, cause him to forget that he had seen it and then delete the image from the chat- ding.

Your phones text chime ripped your attention back over to it, wrapping yourself tightly in your duvet you reach over and gingerly bring the phone back towards you so that you can read the message. Whatever he was going to say you could deal with, you'd dealt with Karens during the Black Friday sales when you worked in retail and you were sure nothing could be worse than dealing with that. Preparing yourself mentally to deal with the embarrassment of having to apologise and grovel with him you throw the phone back down again in frustration, causing it to bounce off of the bed and onto the floor, the screen chipping, when you see that it was just a spam text.

-----

By the next morning Jason still hadn't acknowledged the photo in any sense, that was a good thing, right? You were both adults. Adults have needs.

Even so you wanted to avoid him as best as you could, planning to go out. Say hi to Bruce and Alfred, thank them for being invited again like every year, grab a plate of food, and then hide somewhere to eat it.

Walking into the manor, having unlocked the front door with your key, you headed through the halls until you reached the garden. A small radio playing the playlist of whoever had managed to jump onto it first. Saying your hellos and thanks you piled upon your plate with chicken and steak, as well as a few things from the table spread like a healthy portion of Alfreds homemade potato salad before retreating into the manor to find somewhere to eat it.

As you settled in the library, closing the door behind you to pace slowly in front of the bookcases as you ate, your eyes skimming the spines of the vast collection- ding.

oh for gods sake, you'd have to have your number removed from whatever spam list it had been put on, the amount of junk you were receiving was ridiculous.

oh.

Oh.

As you opened the text to block the number you see that it wasn't a spam text.

It was from Jason.

Jasons dick was taking up your whole screen, all 7.5 inches of it. Pubes neatly trimmed back and cared for. You could see every vein and god it was good.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Jasons voice broke you from your thoughts as he stood in the doorway behind you, damn Bruce and his perfectly oiled silent door hinges. Stepping towards you with a dark look in his eyes and a smirk on his lips "Ya' know, you sent me that at the most inconvenient time. Right as I was about to break a guys collar bone, sweetheart. How was I supposed to do that when all I could see was you? so alone. so wet. so needy"

"J-Jay..."

"What? Baby girl. So shy now, I saw the pose you were in. That screamed confidence. Where's that gone, huh?" The smell of cigarette smoke and leather and gun powder filled your nose as he got so close your back pressed into the case behind you, towering over you as he softly placed his finger under your chin and tilted your head up to look at him. Pressing a soft kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, your jaw, before he whispered into your ear "I want you"

Potato salad smushed into the carpet as you dropped the plate whilst trying to place it on a nearby surface but missed, you didn’t care, you’d clean it up later. All you wanted to do was get your arms over Jason’s shoulders as soon as you could. Mouths clashed together as he lifted you up by your waist, your legs wrapping around him as he carried you. Soft moans being shared as your lips worked together, his hands moving down to cradle your arse in his palms, fingers digging into the soft flesh through your jeans.

Placing you down to rest on the arm of the nearby sofa, hands were everywhere. His on you. Yours on him. Just trying to undress as fast as you could, both desperate for the embrace of the other. As soon as you were stripped off to an acceptable standard he grabbed you by your hips, turned you around, and bent you over the arm.

-----

Your walls fluttered and clenched around his cock as the thick veins dragged against you. One hand clinging onto your waist tightly, the other on the sofa next to you to support himself as he pumped into you. "Fuck, Sweetheart...would have done this sooner if I had known you'd feel this good..." he growled, digging his nails into your side to anchor you close to him, he had waited so long to hold you, to feel you, and he wasn't planning on letting you go any time soon.

"H-Harder...M-more.." You whined out, burying your face into the leather of the seat. Trying to stay as quiet as possible to avoid others hearing, the last thing you needed was for someone to walk in and see you with him, arse in the air as he pounded into you from behind, his balls slapping against your puffy sensitive clit.

Reaching forwards Jason grabbed ahold of your hair, yanking your head backwards so your face was out in the open and free. Leaning forward to growl into your ear as he made your back painfully arch against his chest "No, Don't you dare muffle yourself, I want them to hear me make you sing"

#Jason todd x reader #Jason todd x you #Jason todd x reader Drabble #Jason todd x you Drabble #Jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #Jason todd #red hood #dc #jason todd smut #red hood smut

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louisupdates · 6 months

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By Marcelo Fernández Bitar [translated from Spanish]

In just over 24 hours, Louis Tomlinson passed through Buenos Aires and caused a commotion, with hundreds of fans crowding at the door of his hotel singing and shouting his name, and also occupying almost the entire block where there is a FM radio station where he went to give an interview.

The fanaticism generated with his solo career by the former singer of One Direction in Argentina is so great that in fact he will give a recital in the same stadium where he was in 2014 with the mega-boy band. It will be on May 18 in Vélez Sarsfield.

Louis Tomlinson already has two solo albums and is touring the world presenting the most recent, Faith in the Future. It came out in November 2022 and surprised with his most rocky sound, close to the Brit-pop of his beloved Oasis, and less pop. It was number one in England and three singles came out, Bigger Than Me, Out of My System and Silver Tongues.

Hurricane Louis

The visit was really fleeting with the purpose of promoting his show next month, the old-fashioned way, when the artists toured the countries to advertise albums or tours, something they currently do on Zoom or with posts on their official accounts.

Louis arrived on Friday night and spent Saturday fulfilling an intense schedule of activities, to leave early the next day.

First he went to the Vélez football field for a television interview which will be televised later by TN, and then he went to the radio station Los 40 Principales, where his fans filled the entire Gorriti street, between Ravignani and Arévalo, to witness an interview where eight listeners joined to ask him a question each.

He finally arrived at 4 p.m. at the Four Seasons hotel, where hundreds of other fans were screaming for him. There he gave a series of reports and chatted with Clarín in a room equipped as a small television set, with lights and a set with his name and the cover of the disc.

"Never, not for a second, did I think I would be going through some of the same experiences," he said, "that I was lucky enough to live in the band. I thought that was something unique. So being able to come here and feel the level of love and the incredible reaction on today's radio station, means a lot to me. When I imagined what my solo career would be like, I really didn't know what to expect.

Re-filling stadiums

At 32-years-old, Louis Tomlinson has the experience of having been part of one of the greatest pop phenomena of the last 20 years, with sales records and sold-out shows in stadiums around the world. And now he is repeating the fury alone, just as it happened just a little earlier with his ex-bandmate Harry Styles.

In Louis’ case, he first sold out the closed Movistar Arena stadium in 2022 and now he goes through a huge soccer field like Vélez.

Q: Did you think that being a soloist you had to start from below and sing in smaller places?

Louis: Yes, exactly. But it turns out that I can still play in big places, so it's great.

Q: Can we really talk about a mania of a "louistomlinson-mania"? Does it happen everywhere or is it special in Latin America?

Louis: I think that in terms of the level of similar intensity, and seeing what happened a moment ago on the radio station, that certainly doesn't happen to me everywhere. Let me put it this way: it's incredible to be so far from home and feel that level of love. I'm very excited to think about what the show will be like here.

Q: It's incredible that almost exactly ten years have passed since the last time you filled Vélez. How do you feel when you return to the same stadium?

Louis: I feel very lucky to be able to play in those places again on my own. I also feel very, very proud of myself and my fans. I feel like we have created something that is quite special and we did it together. With them as listeners, but also as facilitators. That really helped my confidence and made me feel good on stage. It's a lovely relationship and I'm very proud of it.

Q: This tour started almost a year ago, how did it evolve with respect to the first shows?

Louis: I definitely feel in a good place right now with the show. Anyway, in advance I was excited about this tour because this album was designed for the live show. So I was excited to see how the songs would work. And the energy is great. I am very excited to show Faith in the Future to Latin America.

Q: How did the idea of making a live cover of Arctic Monkeys come about?

Louis: Arctic Monkeys grew up about 20 minutes from where I live. It was something very close, very fresh in the mind and obviously huge. I was growing up and I'm also a big fan. I usually do the song 505 because it's very pretty.

Often, with the versions, I probably think more about what I would like to sing than about what I imagine that everyone else would like to hear, which may be misjudged, but I'm enjoying it.

Q: When you were a teenager you sang Oasis songs and now you have a rock band that sounds very Brit-pop, almost closing a circle.

Louis: Thank you. I am very, very fortunate to have the band I have, but they also perform sonically and visually, everything that is really important to me. They sound absolutely incredible. I don't think I would be able to do this without my band.

Q: Live you also perform songs from One Direction. Did you feel that kind of shadow at the beginning of your solo career and now you are more comfortable looking back?

Louis: I think a bit about both things. I think that at the beginning of my career I would have been a little more worried about putting too many One Direction songs in the repertoire. What I wanted most was to spread my wings and show who I was. But I think that as time went by, the nostalgic moments are really charming. So it's like a beautiful mixture of nostalgia and it's very nice to do it.

Ping-pong

Q: This is the third time you have visited our country. If you had to describe your Argentine fans in three words, which one would you choose?

Louis: Passionate. Loyal. Affectionate. That’s okay, isn't it?

Q: The soccer player Kun Agüero said that there is a lot of talk to you through Instagram or Twitter. Have you ever met him in person?

Louis: Actually, we have never seen each other in person. Over the years we've talked a little here and there, but I never found time. I have a kind of crazy hope that he can come to the show.

Q: If you had to choose one of your songs, either from Walls or Faith in the Future, that reflects how you feel right now in your life, what would it be?

Louis: I would say that the name of the album (Faith in the future) represents where I am right now, but I think that in the future I would like to always be optimistic.

Q: And if all the One Direction discography was deleted and a song had to be saved. Which one would you save?

Louis: It's interesting... I would probably say Story Of My Life. That seemed like a real milestone. I would say it's a little more serious. And I also think it's a bit of a crazy song.

Q: You are a big soccer fan, do you have any preference for an Argentine club?

Louis: I'm very afraid to say something wrong... I'd better say that I love you all. (laughs)

Photos

Links

#louis press #louis tomlinson #fitfwt24: buenos aires #6.4.2024 #clarin

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max--phillips · 6 months

Text

The File Room

This is the fic I wrote because I started a run of the mill office job a little over a week ago and couldn't help myself. Partly inspired by the fact I did, in fact, spend a good part of my day one day filing contracts away. Enjoy! (oh, also, tagging @miraclesabound as requested!)

Pairing: Max Phillips x afab!reader (otherwise gender neutral, no references to reader's chest)

Warnings: office shenanigans, Max sneaks up on reader and gets punched for it, reader gets eaten out from behind, piv, creampie, a little bit of spit plus something extra (but I'm not gonna ruin the surprise), Max and reader have an ambiguous relationship (ie not explicitly romantic but could be read as such)

Word count: 2k

You had a stack of reports that needed to be filed away. A big stack. And of course, because nothing can be easy, it’s not like they could be all put in the back of the drawer and be considered in order. No, they all had to be put in order in their respective accounts based on which reports they were and what dates they covered and on and on and on… Normally you wouldn’t mind doing this, because you were pretty good at staying on top of putting them away as you got them, a few at a time at most. But unfortunately, one of your coworkers from the sales department was recently… relieved of his position, and he left the big stack of reports behind. Completely unorganized to boot. You were going to be among the filing cabinets and bankers boxes for quite a while.

Honestly, while you were at it, a few of these accounts could stand to get reorganized… Lord knows some of your coworkers barely even tried to put these reports in the right spot… So off you went to the large room filled with shelves and filing cabinets, earbuds already in and playing your favorite music to work to.

A couple hours into your project, the door to the storage room opened. You didn’t hear it, so you were still entirely focused on your current task. You were putting away a stray report, bent over at the waist to get to the back of a filing cabinet drawer. This gave Max Phillips a spectacular view of your ass. And to make it all that much better, you just so happened to be wearing his favorite bottoms on you. He closed his eyes for a moment and brought his fist up against his mouth in a quiet celebration of this treat.

Max was the sales manager in the office, and despite being in a different department, you somehow managed to spend quite a bit of time together. You’d caught on like a wildfire when he started--after you’d managed to see through his extremely irritating caricature-of-a-business-major facade, that is, and made it clear you weren’t going to put up with his bullshit. That was when he asked you out for drinks after work one Friday, let you in on his little supernatural secret, and very thoroughly disproved your assumption that he was not particularly good, and certainly not very generous, in bed.

Max continued to watch you from the door as you worked for a few more moments, quietly locking the door because of course he was going to get a taste of you in here, how could he not? You dropped a small stack of files you had set aside, and cursed as they fluttered onto the floor. You got on your knees to gather them up again, another sight Max would never tire of, before getting back up and resuming your sorting.

Max finally decided to actually make his presence known. Clearly you were in the zone, your earbuds blocking out the rest of the world. He came up behind you, shamelessly taking your ass in both his hands.

You shrieked as you felt hands on your ass, scaring the hell out of you as you hadn’t heard anyone come into the room. You then whirled around, and, without thinking or registering who actually was doing this… punched the perpetrator directly in the face.

Max recoiled, bringing his hands to his face, as you realized what you’d just done. You gasped and covered your mouth with your hands, afraid for a moment you’d actually done damage or hurt him.

“Oh my god, Max, don’t do that! Are you okay?” you asked, reaching out a bit as you realized you’d definitely hurt yourself. You looked at the knuckles on your hand that had collided with his face, investigating for any visible injury as you clenched and unclenched your fist.

Max started laughing, standing back upright and taking his hands away from his face. “I’m fine, holy shit, if that was anyone else though, they’d have a very broken nose,” he said, taking your now aching hand in his, and looking at you with what someone might call adoration. “Are you okay?”

You sighed in relief, then took out your earbuds so you could actually participate in a conversation with him. “I think so. Don’t fucking scare me like that again, though.” You firmly poked him in the chest, glaring at him.

Max chuckled a little. “Message received, don’t worry,” he said. “Sorry I scared you. I saw how good your ass looked just a second ago and couldn’t help myself.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks. Do you need something, or did you just come in here to grope me? I have a lot of reports to put away now that your shitty employee is gone,” you said, gesturing towards the still pretty substantial stack of reports. “And I think I’m going to reorganize some other accounts while I’m back here.”

“Actually…” Max started, taking a few steps forward, making you take a few steps back, towards a table between two sets of shelves that was just below hip height. He let go of your hand and turned you around, moving you to bend over. He once again put his hands on your ass, then dragged them to your hips, then the waistband of your bottoms, which he pulled down and out of the way along with your underwear, letting the fabric pool around your ankles. He got down on his knees, pulling your flesh apart where your ass met your thighs, exposing your cunt to him. “I think I’m gonna do a little more than grope you.”

You muffled a moan as he licked through your folds, then prodded at your hole with his tongue. “Max… I really need to get this done…” you said, but only half-heartedly. You’d definitely much rather be doing this than filing reports all day.

Max hummed, the tone questioning your statement as his tongue moved again, his mouth enveloping your clit and sucking gently. It was a teasing motion, and it made you groan in frustration. “You’ll have plenty of time, sweetheart,” he said, mischief thick in his tone.

He licked against your clit again, then switched to sucking on it, and back and forth for a while, driving you crazy. You were getting close, you just needed…

“Max, fuck, please,” you groaned, reaching behind you and grabbing his hair, pushing him further into you. He firmly sucked your clit into his mouth for a long moment, and groaned into your pussy, which did you in. You moaned as you finally tumbled over the edge, only barely muffling the tail end of the sound. Max worked you through it, lapping up your release feverishly, until you were pulling his hair the opposite direction, starting to edge on overstimulated.

He pulled away, his hands going from the back of your thighs to your hips again as he stood up. “Don’t tell me you’re done,” he said. You looked over your shoulder to see his downright devilish grin. His face was wet with your juices--a sight you were quite a fan of, honestly. “Because I’m not done.”

You smiled as you pushed your hips back, connecting with his. Max grunted as his cock, still confined behind his pants and boxers, made contact with your ass, grinding together briefly before he took half a step back to unbuckle his belt and shove his pants out of the way enough to fuck you. You both moaned as he swiped the tip of his cock through your slit, then began pushing into you at a pace you would describe as teasingly slow given how ready you were for him.

“Are you teasing me to keep me away from my job longer, Phillips?” you taunted, though you were unable to stop the groan leaving your throat as his cock rubbed up against something delicious inside you, just like it always does.

“As if you don’t love this,” he said, snapping his hips forward the rest of the way, ripping another sound from you. You could only imagine the grin on his face at this point, especially knowing there was no arguing with that.

Max began fucking you in earnest, setting a quick pace right away--no matter how much he’d like to, he couldn’t keep you both occupied all day. He grabbed your arm and pulled you back to stand up against him, wrapping his other arm around you to rub your already sensitive clit as he did. You moaned out again, clenching down around his cock as he gave you more stimulation, which made him groan in your ear. He could smell your blood rushing in your vessels just millimeters below the skin of your neck right by his lips, but he would save that for when you were over at his place, not in the file room at work. He compromised by merely nibbling on your skin, then sucking a very visible mark to the same spot.

You moaned at all of the sensations he was bombarding you with, once again getting close to a climax, his expert fingers and cock slamming into that sensitive spot giving you no other choice. You should care about the hickey he just gave you, probably, but in this moment, it just added to the intoxicating cocktail he was serving you.

“I can feel you, baby, c’mon, give it to me,” Max mumbled in your ear. “Cum on my cock, I got you.”

You could never say no to that. You gave in immediately to his encouragement, crying out his name as you went over the edge a second time, your walls rhythmically bearing down on Max’s cock as you did. He moaned your name in your ear, hips stuttering as he closely followed you to his own peak, filling you to the brim. He slowed down as you both came back down to earth, dragging his hand from your clit to your hip, just holding you close to him for a moment.

Just as you thought you were out of the woods, Max bent you forward on the table again. You gasped in surprise--what else could he possibly have in store for you? You both made a noise as he pulled out, and you hummed as you felt his cum start to leak down your thigh. You gasped again as you felt Max’s tongue lick up the same path, gathering his own cum in his mouth.

Every time you think you’ve found everything he does that you find irresistibly hot, Max manages to surprise you.

Max stood again, and turned you around to face him finally. He grabbed your face, making you gasp in surprise again. He dug his index finger and thumb into your jaw at the joint firmly, and grunted, clearly trying to get you to open your mouth.

You obeyed immediately, and whimpered as he spit his own cum into your mouth. You swallowed, and he groaned, finally leaning forward to kiss you. You grinned into it, and let it go on for a while before you gently pulled away to pull your bottoms back up from the floor. Max followed suit, tucking his shirt back in as he quickly fixed his clothes.

“So… wanna come over tonight?” he asked, leaning against one of the shelves as you picked up a new stack of reports to put away.

You hummed exaggeratedly in thought. “Oh, I don’t know, Max, every time I do it’s so disappointing,” you responded sarcastically.

“Well, I bet I can make you ‘disappointed’ twice as many times as I just did if you do,” he snarked back.

You laughed quietly. “Alright, now, don’t make any promises you can’t keep,” you warned.

“Have I ever broken a promise to you?” Max asked, a very confident smirk on his face.

You honestly thought about it for a second. “No, I suppose you haven’t,” you admitted. “But we both need to get back to work. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

Max grinned, that genuine grin that made you melt a little bit every time you saw it. He kissed you again, a deep, lingering thing that was full of affection. “I’ll see you tonight.”

#max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips fic #max phillips smut #x reader #my fic #tori says things #max says things #pedro pascal

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crownedinmarigolds · 3 months

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Special Sale - Friday/Early Saturday Only!

**These are sold out for now! I may re-open again when I have some time! Thank you all for letting me practice!** Hello~! So after some thought, I would like to move away from using Photoshop for my art due to Adobe's terrible business practices. Even if they change their tune, the fact of the matter is they're untrustworthy with their users' data and will probably try again. So I've purchased Clip Studio Paint, but am still working through it and trying to figure things out. I definitely can't fully transition over until I get it all together, so for a while I'm going to need some practice! I am doing a little request sale! For $9 I will do a little black and white sketch of your character to get the feel of the new program! I may add another tier or etc if I feel comfortable with slightly bigger and more complicated pieces. I do not have a good grasp of the program so I am not comfortable taking bigger projects on it just yet - if I did I'm not sure how good it will look. I will be taking payment exclusively through my KO-FI as it keeps good track of everything for me. BUT if you can only pay through another method, just let me know and I can work it out. At this time I am opening ten slots at a time! I may open more later! :D Related but also unrelated, my normal sketch commissions that I draw in Photoshop are also reopened! (I will let people know when I fully move over.) SO if you would like a little commission but don't want my messy new sketches, feel free to take a look. No pressure either way to anyone, this is just some practice for me! Thank you all so much!

This sale will at this time only take place June 28th (Friday), and some of early Saturday June 29th! I may do limits at a time and release blocks as I go depending on interest. I assure you I'm quick!

#commission sale #commissions open #crownedinmarigolds #commission information #quick sketch commissions #csp #photoshop #art practice commissions

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stayconnecteed · 8 months

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🪐˓⠀˚⠀memories⠀@⠀hwang hyunjin.

synopsis: you were in love, until you weren't anymore. or maybe you still were, but chose to learn not to be just to heal from all that meant falling in love with him.

SEE MORE.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀2.7k words. ⠀⠀general mlist.⠀⠀join taglist.

⠀⠀⸺⠀⠀plot ★ the point of view of hyunjin after your break up. i would say angst but at the end it kind of good. reader and hyunjin don't end up together tho.

⠀⠀⸺⠀⠀warnings ★ think of this as a beautiful relationship that turned slightly toxic, hyunjin was very very whipped for reader, the format is like a letter to you he never sent.

⠀⠀⸺⠀⠀author's note ★ tbh idk what is this. i don't even know how to categorize it, i felt kinda sad and started writing, and i thought on sharing it here. i wrote this listening to hannah bahng's cover of memories by conan gray, one of my favourite audios in the world.

excerpts from hwang hyunjin's diary over a year after the break up.

September 6th

Yesterday I walked by that coffee shop you liked to go to so much, at the end of the street where you used to work, the one with the navy couches and old photographs hanging on the wall. It's now closed. On the notice taped to the door it says that it is for sale, that they were very sorry but they decided to go out of business because they could no longer afford the expense, to call the phone number listed there if you were interested in buying it. And I did. Call, I mean. I had that urge to buy it, because it reminded me of you, because I knew you would like it. I listened for two rings and then hung up. The couches were purple. I saw it, even though the glass was full of dust, and I don't know anymore if they had been navy from the beginning or you had convinced me of it, but at that moment I saw them purple, and the magic was gone again. I guess it doesn't matter now. It had been a while since I had been here, maybe they had to change them. To see if they could attract more customers, as you always joked with the owner. That's why you liked the place, right? It was quiet. Peaceful. You could barely hear the music in the background or the murmur of the street, and as much as you adored their coffee, we both knew it was doomed to have an end. Like us, I suppose. You were always drawn to lost causes.

That's why I called you. I think you had blocked my contact, but it didn't hurt to try. I thought about everything we had shared. On my way to the apartment I live in now I bought those noodles you liked so much, and the ice cream we had every time there was something to celebrate. The TV was playing one of those movies from the 2000s that we watched over and over again on Friday nights, even though we had already seen them, just because I loved that look on your face you had when you did something you were apssionate about. It seemed like a hoax. For a moment it seemed as if I could touch you, as if by reaching across the fabric of the couch you were going to be there, on the other end, waiting for me to finish dinner so you could snuggle up next to me. I guess it was one of those days, wasn't it? Those when you stop pretending that everything is okay, even though nothing was wrong, and let sadness win you over.

I don't actually think I'm sad, though. Not really. Just… nostalgic. I miss what we had. I miss you. Not in the unhealthy way I did in the beginning, when we decided to split up and I instantly regretted it. It's more of a warm, bittersweet memory that creeps up on me from time to time. Your smile, so beautiful and bright, how soft your hair was when you rested your head on my lap and I couldn't stop caressing it, how your hand felt against mine as we entwined them, the hurried way your heart pounded under my lips as I kissed your skin, how I felt your chest vibrate as I fell asleep on top you in the middle of a conversation… Now that I think about it, I think I've forgotten your voice. The temptation to search for old audios is too strong, but I'm afraid to find out what I would really feel if I get to hear you.

I have seen pictures. I have too many, so looking for them was not a big problem. I keep them on that hard drive you gave me when you got tired of watching me stress out because I thought I had lost flash drives that had never left my desk. In it is my favorite folder, the one with all the captured moments that reflected that side of you that you didn't let anyone else see. The ones I took of you when you didn't realize it, with your hair disheveled on our bed, your bare back contrasting with the sheets, still asleep; or playing with Kkami in the park, running next to her, with your scarf tangling in the wind and your smile brighter than ever. Those for which you did pose, with amused expressions and seductive glances, with our friends and in the intimacy of our home, those you approved of after I showed them to you, acknowledging with an embarrassed blush that you did look pretty, and also those you couldn't even see, your mind betraying you by making you see so many flaws that you thought you were drowning in them, so many defects I was unable to see.

It's the first time that the sight of you didn't make my heart tear apart. Each new file I opened was a memory that I could bring back to life, at least for a few minutes, moments that I treasured fondly, and that finally made me smile. Can you believe it? Me, who so many times left voice messages begging you to come back, who had to stay at home for weeks after breaking up because visualizing a life without you by my side made me want to die, the person who every time they saw something that reminded them of you would burst into tears, feeling the loss of your presence like the shadow of death, was finally enjoying those memories that included you.

You'll be happy to know that I'm starting to draw again too. I had thrown away all my art supplies when I moved, and I have all my paintings locked away, but the other day I stopped by the store I used to go to and bought a sketchbook. I didn't intend to do anything with it, I just wanted to run my hand over the pages again, just like I used to do before starting a new project. As soon as Felix found out, he bought me new watercolors and pencils. You know how he is, the first to cheer every time something good happens to you. He celebrates your victories as if they were his own. I guess that's what this is, isn't it? A victory. I've managed to win against the ghost of our past, and my reward is a nice charcoal sketch of a tulip. It's not my best work, but for the moment it works for me. Little by little, with training wheels.

November 24th

I would like to know how you are doing. Changbin hyung told me that you finally moved in, just like me. I guess every little corner of the apartment reminded you of me. I wouldn't have lasted long there either. You hardly talk to the rest of the guys, and it makes me wonder if you were really happy with me. When I met you you had your own group of friends, but you stopped talking to them to the point that all we knew were my friends, and each other. That was probably one of the reasons you encouraged me to break up. It wasn't healthy, was it? I find it pathetic that I realize it now, so many months later, although it was pathetic even then, with how desperately in love I was with you. I tend to get so lost in my feelings that I forget everything else. Sometimes, "everything else" is often more important than what's going on in my head, and in my heart, because in the end, thoughts are just thoughts. I wonder if Changbin hyung would tell me if you were having a hard time. You know that after what we went through together, I would come in an instant if you called me. Some things don't change. You can separate us, but you can't ignore what once existed. And I like to think you feel the same way.

I know you have a boyfriend. I've seen you around town, walking hand in hand, just like we used to do. I thought about waving, approaching you and introducing myself to the lucky man who can call you his, but cowardice gets the better of me. I don't want to make a fool of myself. You've always been sharp with words, and the last time we met was humiliating enough. I'm not talking about the last time we spoke, but when we met. That afternoon when Chan accompanied me to collect the boxes that were left in what had been our home, my name written in that chaotic handwriting you have, set aside in the entryway. We looked at each other in silence when you opened the door, and I never knew how I had the strength not to burst into tears. What I wanted most of all was to take refuge in your arms and for you to tell me that everything was going to be all right. Did you feel it? That pain? You always noticed it at first, it was almost unnatural the way my chest began to open with grief, as if my own heart was crying tears of blood.

You felt it too, I'm sure. That's why you looked away. That's why you didn't open your mouth except to wish me well. I remember thinking that it wasn't fair that it was going to end like this, that I didn't understand why it had to end at all. We were doing great. True, we argued, as all couples do, and not even that often, or that we were somewhat possessive of each other. But it was okay, wasn't it? It meant that I cared about you. That you loved me. That we would rather be with each other than with anyone else. But you looked away, and I shut my mouth, and I didn't have time to memorize you before I left. Even after calling you for days, when you finally picked up the phone and begged me to stop, even then I couldn't catch the exact tone of the words you had used to keep them in my memory forever. And now you're gone, and I'd like to think I don't care as much as I used to, but sometimes a person's absence is more present than the people you have sitting next to you. And it hurts more than the worst wound, because you crave something you can't have.

I guess we were destined to end up together and end up apart. It was impossible for us not to have fallen in love when you approached me in that library, with the book I was looking for in your hand, just as we were bound to untangle ourselves after a while, having to suffer through the process of accepting that everything we had built was falling apart. We both knew it, and came to accept it in the haze of those who have just found their soulmate, but only you were smart enough to see it coming and protect yourself, leaving me as the only victim. And worst of all, I know that had never been your intention, that you would never have hurt me on purpose. But I was doing it to you, and you decided to be selfish, pushing me away so you could move on. And after all I can't hate you, I can't even stop loving you, because you became so blended with my soul that removing you would be like taking away an essential part of what makes me being me.

That's my problem, isn't it? I live it all so intensely… It's exhausting. When someone loses the person they thought was going to be the one, they usually console themselves with the thought that they weren't the one. But I can't indulge myself, I don't deserve that consolation, because we were meant to be. Maybe not to last a lifetime, but for the little bit we got to share. I have had to say goodbye to you, to see you become a stranger, but the people we were when we were together are still alive, in some space of our memory, like a story written by both of us, one in which we each have our favorite chapters, and to which we know we can come back whenever we want, to remember each other. I know that at some point in my future I will be able to open that book and read any page and it will no longer hurt, that I will savor every word with a smile on my lips, the smile of someone who knows that while it lasted, I made the most of every single second. And I know that future is closer than far away.

January 15st

I have stopped counting the days since we broke up. I feel like I'm getting better, I know I am. Yesterday I went out with Seungmin and Jeongin for a walk, and I took my old camera with me, after so long. My hands no longer shake when I hold it. They started goofing around, and playing among the trees in the park with Kkami, and it didn't hurt me to say that was something you used to do. I told it as an offhand comment, as if I were telling them about what I had eaten the day before. Now you are just another memory in my mind, floating among the gray matter of moments in my life. You no longer hurt, you no longer harm.

On the way to the dance studio last week, the driver drove past that coffee shop. I don't know if you'll have time to go now that you're so busy with your new life, and anyway I guess coffee doesn't suit you as well as it used to, but someone bought it. And it's still a coffee shop. I went today morning, and I felt better than I have in a long time. The new owners have done an awesome job, and business is running smoothly. In the hour and a half I sat at one of the tables in the back, more customers came in than I've seen in all the years we've been together. The iced americano is delicious, and the atmosphere relaxes me enough to doodle in the margins of my lyrics notebook.

I feel attached to this place, somehow. You found us, and made us feel special. During the time we enjoyed your company, and your trust and love, we were fully happy. When you left us, we had a terrible time, letting our inner selves shut down, refusing affection or help. But now we are doing well. We've gotten over that rough patch, we try to look out for ourselves, we smile at life. And the couches are maroon. I asked the barista, who is one of the people who came up with the new design. I didn't want to find out what the original color had been, that will be something I'll never get to know, I want to give you the benefit of the doubt. It was fun when we would go and spend minutes arguing about the exact shade. But now they're maroon. And I like that color.

I was in love with you. I know you heard me say it that night I came home drunk, when I chose to pretend you were asleep and told you how you truly made me feel. I didn't fall in love with you, I ran to you knowing full well that I was going to love you with all my being, full of devotion and ready to end up devastated by you, but I guess it wasn't enough. Now that I have slowly learned to forget you I know that in all possible scenarios we would have ended up the same way. We were so obsessed with each other that we didn't realize we were consuming each other, but that's okay. Not everything is timeless, nothing lasts forever. The important thing is not to regret your memories, and I don't regret a single moment by your side.

#﹙ ★ ﹚ mars — writes.#stray kids angst #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #hyunjin #hyunjin angst #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin x reader

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unboxingproductreview · 11 months

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What Is Black Friday?

Black friday is a highly anticipated shopping event that occurs every year on the day after thanksgiving. It marks the beginning of the holiday shopping season and offers shoppers incredible deals and discounts on a wide variety of products. In this blog post, we will delve deeper into what black friday is all about, exploring its historical origins, the evolution of black friday shopping, and the impact of online shopping on this annual event.

#block friday sale #block friday #h&r block black friday deals #gnome angel free block friday #h&r block black friday #block friday deals #free block friday #appsumo #appsumo com #appsumo deals #sumoapp #app sumo deals

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workersolidarity · 6 months

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[ 📹 Al-Jazeera Arabic publishes new footage of desperate, starving Palestinian civilians in northern Gaza being shot and killed in cold blood by Zionist snipers who targeted the civilians as they attempted to retrieve food aid that was air dropped into Gaza a distance from where the group had been gathered, a direct violation of International humanitarian law and a crime against humanity.]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏠💥🚑 🚨

ISRAELI OCCUPATION FORCES CAUGHT OPENING GUNFIRE ON STARVING PALESTINIANS ON DAY 182 OF GENOCIDE

On the 182nd day of "Israel's" Special Genocide Operation in the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 5 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of no less than 54 civilians, mostly women and children, while another 82 others were wounded over the previous 24-hours.

According to Gaza's Ministry of Health, many victims remain trapped under the rubble of buildings they were sheltering in at the time of being bombed and shelled, who, although presumed dead, are unable to be reached due to the IOF actively blocking paramedic and civil defense crews from reaching the sites of Israeli attacks.

Meanwhile, in an unusual move, the McDonald's corporation will be buying the entirety of the Alonyal McDonald's franchise In "Israel", which includes a total of 225 stores, employing approximately 5'000 Israelis.

McDonald's CEO Chris Kempczinsky said the franchise has seen "meaningful business impact" as a result of boycotts and protests organized by the BDS movement against the Israeli franchise, along with other McDonald's chains, after the Israeli franchise announced it would be offering free meals to Zionist soldiers committing a genocide in the Gaza Strip, beginning after the events of October 7th.

McDonalds added that it “remains committed to the Israeli market and to ensuring a positive employee and customer experience in the market going forward."

Sales growth for the McDonald's division of the Middle East, India and China were down significantly, with sales growth for October-December at just 0.7%, well below the market expectations of 5.5%.

Similarly, sales for Starbucks, another U.S. company which has deep financial ties to "Israel," while the leadership of the company holds an openly Pro-"Israel" stance, has also seen significant harm to sales due to boycotts and protests, prompting CEO Laxman Narasimhan to state back in February that Starbucks had seen an "significant impact on traffic and sales."

Meanwhile, the Zionist entity's authorities released a total of 101 Palestinian prisoners from Gaza who were kidnapped and detained by the IOF during its war of genocide in Gaza, many of whom showed signs of torture, and included some prisoners who were taken during "Israel's" raid of the Nasser Medical Complex in Khan Yunis, in the southern Gaza Strip.

Meanwhile, occupation warplanes bombarded agricultural lands in the vicinity of the Salah al-Din Gate, along the Egypt-Palestine border in the city of Rafah, in the south of Gaza.

At the same time, the carnage of "Israel's" war of genocide in Gaza resumed on Friday, with renewed artillery shelling of the central and western Khan Yunis governate, while the IOF also resumed bombing on the southern Gazan city of Rafah.

Intense Zionist airstrikes targeted Sheikh Zayed City, in the north of the Gaza Strip, while the central governate of Gaza also saw renewed artillery shelling.

At midnight, Zionist fighter jets bombed several residential buildings in the Tal al-Hawa neighborhood, southwest of Gaza City, in the north of Gaza, while occupation forces directed an intense artillery bombardment on the southwestern and southeastern areas of Khan Yunis, in the southern Gaza Strip, as well as directing artillery fire on residential homes to the east of the Al-Maghazi Refugee Camp in the central Gaza Strip.

The resumed intense Zionist bombardments across the Gaza Strip led to dozens of deaths overnight, along with the wounding of scores of others, including women and children, many of whom remain buried under the rubble of their homes and shelters.

IOF jets also bombed several residential homes in the Batn al-Sameen neighborhood, located to the southwest of Khan Yunis, while also bombing the village of Abasan, to the east of Khan Yunis.

Elsewhere, Zionist forces withdrew troops from the eastern region of Tanzania, coinciding with the intense bombardment of the area.

Tragically, local paramedic and civil defense personnel recovered the bodies of of three martyred civilians from the town of Al-Qarara, to the north of Khan Yunis.

At the same time, Israeli occupation warplanes bombed various parts of the central Gaza Strip, including the areas of Al-Nuseirat, Al-Maghazi, Al-Zawayda, and Deir al-Balah, resulting in the martyrdom of at least 15 Palestinian civilians, and also wounding a number of others.

Zionist occupation air forces also bombed a gathering of civilians near the Abu Holi Junction, northwest of Al-Qarara, resulting in the deaths of at least three civilians and wounding a multitude of others.

Back in northern Gaza, in yet another horrific tragedy, occupation warplanes bombed civilian structures in the Beit Hanoun area, with a second strike targeting paramedic crews as they attempted to transport the dead and wounded to a nearby hospital.

As a result of "Israel's" Special Genocide Operation in the Gaza Strip, the death toll among the Palestinian population has risen in excess of 33'091 civilians killed, over 25'000 of those martyred being among women and children according to the United States Pentagon, while another 75'750 others have been wounded since the start of the latest round of Zionist aggression, beginning on October 7th, 2023.

#source1

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#source4

#source5

#videosource

@WorkerSolidarityNews

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 months

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To Have Loved and Lost Part Nine

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Pairing: George Russell x Reader

Rating: M

Notes: It's been EIGHTY FOUR YEARS I am so sorry. Maybe two more chapters on this one.

Warnings: ANGSTY But also fluffy :D ; there's a time shift, it doesn't completely align with the show's timeline. Bear with me. Also this is not a story with a traditional happy ending!

Summary: In the last year, you had been made incredibly aware of the ways in which you were not Bertha Russell.

“It’s coming along well.”

“As well as it can, I suppose,” You conceded. Mrs. Russell’s lips pursed with a smile as she plied,

“Even you must admit that there has been great progress.”

You grimaced, tipping your head to the side a touch. “Not as much as there should’ve been at this rate.” It had been a long, difficult winter. There had been so many delays as a result of high winds and heavy snow.

“There’s only so much that you can do to control the weather.”

“As much as I can do, yes. Something tells me that you wouldn’t have allowed a blizzard to come between you and your home.”

“Perhaps, but you and I are not the same.”

She said it with such flippancy that it made you laugh and shake your head. But as she climbed out of the carriage ahead of you, you had to fight away a latent wave of bitterness.

In the last year, you had been made incredibly aware of the ways in which you were not Bertha Russell.

George truly had done well, choosing a fellow strategist. In your quiet moments, you couldn’t help but wonder, had things been different—had you joined him in New York when you were meant to—might you have been in the public eye, as she was? Might you have pushed yourself into the social scene with the same vigor? When you were young, you may have had the ambition. You’d been ready enough to forsake your family for what had once believed to be a great love. Maybe you could have made the strides…No.

For George, you would have made the strides.

“Do you intend to admire Mr. White’s handiwork from the safety of your carriage?”

Bertha’s taunt broke you from your regretful reverie, and you took hold of the footman’s hand, allowing him to let you help him down. You strode to Bertha’s side, matching her pace as you neared the bright façade of the house.

“I wonder where your head is sometimes,” Bertha commented.

“I’ve a number of matters that I’m engaged with at present. My mind wanders.”

“I’m fully aware. I’ve seen you drift off into fairyland in the midst of countless dinners.”

“I’m always listening,” You insisted, leading the way into the house.

“That I believe.”

You hummed softly, looking around the foyer. It was large, though not nearly as large as the Russell’s. It couldn’t be, given the city lot that Franklin had bought. But, you were more than pleased with what had been accomplished. Your two-floor compact mansion had all of the trimmings expected of the great families of New York, and was only a block from the Russell’s.

“Have you much left to do?” Bertha asked.

You shook your head a little, leading the way toward the sitting room.

“The ballroom is left to be completed and the bedrooms are to be painted and papered, but that is the most of it, I believe.”

“What’s stopped the work?...Budgeting concerns?”

You cast her a sidelong glance, fully aware of the barbed, couched curiosity in her question.

“No. The materials for the floor were backordered and it’s been too humid to paint.”

“I see.”

“I hope that you do. My cousin may not be as wealthy as your husband, but he’s hardly pinching pennies.”

“I’m well aware. George says that the sales have far exceeded what your cousin promised.”

“Franklin doesn’t like to make promises that he can’t keep. Nor do I.”

“Speaking of promises, are you still expecting to come to Newport for this next week?”

You gave Bertha a grimacing smile, bracing for her disappointment.

“Franklin and Eleanor will join you for Friday, but I’m sorry to say I will not be able to join you until Monday.”

“You’ll miss half the fun. May I ask why?”

“I’ve been neglecting my sorting of Franklin’s work at the office—”

“He has assistants for that, doesn’t he?”

“He does, but the new girl hasn’t been trained up properly yet and the receipts have gone to hell.” It flew out of your mouth before you could stop it, and you lifted a gloved hand to cover your mouth as your face went hot. But Bertha ignored the profanity, waving off your comment as she demanded: “What else?”

“Mr. White is having materials delivered that I will need to sign off on.”

“On the weekend?”

“On Saturday, yes. I want eyes on them the moment that they arrive, so that I may correct any disparities right away. I don’t want the work delayed any further.”

“I understand.”

“But I will join as soon as I’m able.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“As am I. And Eleanor is incredibly excited.”

“Is she?”

“She’s heard a fair amount about Newport from Gladys, of course. She’s felt terribly left out.”

“She is young.”

“I know,” You nodded, looking around the sitting room. “But…It wears on you more, I think. When you are young.”

“I can hardly remember that feeling. Can you?”

“...All too well.”

“Will you be able to join us at all?”

George took up his glass of wine, taking a deep pull as he mulled over his answer. He’d known for a few days that he would have to disappoint his wife. He had no doubt of her annoyance in this regard. She’d planned on entertaining on Saturday evening, and while she could shoulder it with Larry, it was far more advantageous if they were both there.

“I should be able to get away for a couple of days,” He admitted, “But I’d arrive on the Monday.”

Bertha hummed in thought, but George could sense the soft, disappointed note in his wife’s voice.

“I would join sooner if I could,” He added, lips tipped in an apologetic smile.

She shook her head: “I understand. Perhaps you could escort Mr. Hughes’ sad cousin when you do travel.”

Sad cousin. It struck a chord in him that he had nearly forgotten. They had made such great strides that the last year had been so terribly cordial between the two of them. If he was pressed for the truth of their relationship—or some form of the truth of it, as it was now—he would go so far as to say that they were friends. George was almost certain that she and Bertha were in good standing with one another; they joined one another frequently for events, teas, balls, dinners.

Perhaps that was why the use of sad caught him so off-guard, and seemed to hit him in the vicinity of below the belt.

His hesitation went unnoticed as Bertha beckoned a servant closer to top off her glass of wine.

“Her house is coming along,” She added.

“Oh?”

“Mm. There’s been a back up on building materials, but she’s managing. Mr. Hughes and Eleanor will arrive in Newport on the Friday, and they’ll attend at least the tea, though I’m certain Eleanor will have to remain behind on Saturday evening, poor thing.”

“Perhaps she’ll be able to visit with Gladys. I know that they enjoy their time together.”

“They do. I daresay Eleanor has had a good effect on her.”

“Really.” His brow wrinkled, intrigued. “What makes you say that?”

“I think having Eleanor around and remembering the way it was before has made her grateful for the freedom she’s afforded.” Bertha leaned back a touch as the servants stepped in to clear the plates. “I’ve heard far less belly-aching about the events that we’ve allowed her to attend lately.”

George nodded a touch, considering. It was true—Gladys had seemed to be in fine fettle for the last few months, and it was in no doubt in part due to the time that she spent with Eleanor.

“I do want to hold a dinner on Monday when you’ve arrived, and with the cousin as well. Can I count on you to extend the invitation?” Bertha asked. “I’m certain she’ll be more likely to accept if you show her the attention. She receives it so rarely.”

George’s hands twisted in his napkin before he lifted it from his lap, setting it on the table as he gave Bertha a small, reassuring smile.

“I’d be happy to.”

The rented Hughes home that they had procured had a dark, foreboding façade, but George knew well enough that the inside was light and airy. He had been there for a few drop-ins, meetings, and dinners as needed for the last year. He’d seen her run a tight ship.

Despite his promise, George had lagged in presenting her with the invitation that he had promised Bertha he would impart. He wished that he could excuse that his week had gotten away from him, and it had, some—but he had felt some block, some resistance to running the invitation over. By all rules and conventions, it was wholly unnecessary. It made far more sense for Bertha to send the invitation directly. But, there he was, knocking on the Hughes’ door, and smiling blithely as the butler opened the door.

“I’m here to speak with the mistress of the house.”

“I’m afraid the mistress of the house is not seeing anyone this evening, sir.”

“I see…Thank you.”

George walked down the front steps calmly and slowly, turning his cane in his hand. He would have to send it by mail, as soon as he was able. He was set to climb back into his carriage, and then a breeze pushed across his face. It brought a familiar scent with it—one that drew him back to his youth, when his beard was merely peach fuzz coating his work-blushed cheeks. He glanced back toward the side passageway, likely the servants’ entrance, then turned back to his coachman.

“Return to the house,” He ordered. “I’ll make my own way back.”

The coachman tipped his hat to George before urging the carriage on. George glanced around the street to ensure no one was watching before he dipped into the side passageway, descending the stairs. He peered in through the window into the kitchen, eyes narrowed a touch. He took a cursory glance toward the alley before he raised his cane, rapping it twice on the window.

You jumped about a sound at the knock, your head twitching toward the window. You drew in a stunned, nervous breath as you hurriedly rounded the table, drying your hands on your apron before pulling the door open.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve an invitation to give you.”

“You couldn’t have left it upstairs?” You peered around the doorway before you reached out, grasping his arm and pulling him inside. You cast one more look about for nosy neighbors before shutting the door. You turned to find George wandering more deeply into the kitchen, his hat in hand as he peered around.

“Well?” You tacked on. George didn’t turn to meet your eye or answer you. He just walked over to the stove, lowering his head to take a whiff at the bubbling pot there.

“It’s a little hot for stew, isn’t it?” He asked, glancing back at you.

“…Perhaps,” You agreed, “But it was the only thing I wanted.”

George’s lips pulled with a small smile as he turned his head, lowering it to take another sniff. You ought to extract the invitation and go. If anyone found you with George, you’d catch hell for it. Worse—Franklin and Ellie would catch hell for it. But—

“…Have you eaten yet?”

It was odd to see George in a state that you now considered so terribly dressed down. He’d hung his hat, coat, and suit jacket by the door, and rolled his sleeves up. The windows by the kitchen and down the hall had been opened, allowing a warm breeze to push through the room.

“Your butler told me you weren’t seeing anyone.”

“I’m not.” You glanced up at George to find him giving you a smug little smile. “This doesn’t count. You just—Barged in.”

“I may’ve been uninvited, but you offered me dinner.”

“I suppose that’ll teach me.”

It probably wouldn’t. George smiled nonetheless, dipping his spoon into the bowl and drawing out the red broth, along with bits of bean, celery, and chicken.

“Did you give your chef conjure the recipe of this based on your old notes?”

“No. I made it myself. I sent almost everyone else up to Newport with Eleanor and Franklin.”

George’s brows rose in surprise as he lowered the spoon again.

“All?” He repeated, eyes darting toward the stairs.

“Robinson wouldn’t go. He insisted on staying, on the off-chance something happened, or I needed help.”

“And the chef left you nothing?”

“He offered, but…” You shook your head, eyes lowering to your food. “It’s strange. There were so many things I swore I’d never do again once I left Stevensville. But now that I have the choice of not doing them, I…Miss them.”

“Including the washing up?”

“Not that. Never that.”

“Leave it for them.”

“I can’t do that,” You groaned, laughing. “I told the chef I would go to Del Monico’s.”

“Robinson is a witness to the opposite.”

“He’ll cover for me.”

“Why send them with the others?”

“Franklin and Eleanor are in Newport, less of a household to care for. And it’s hard to get some alone time in a household full of people.”

George nodded a touch, eyes wandering your face. You turned your head after a moment, unable to bear the force of his focus.

“I take it your family is waiting for you at home?”

“…No,” George said. “They’re similarly occupied in Newport.”

“Ah, that’s right. It’s a popular destination these days.”

“Indeed.”

“And surely cooler than it is in the city now.”

“Almost certainly.”

“Your son mentioned your intention of buying a home there.”

“Yes. I expect Bertha will return with news and a price tag.”

You smiled a little bit.

“If that’s the trend, I’m certain Franklin will want one for himself as well. I cannot imagine how Ellie’s head must be spinning.”

You glanced back, doing a double-take at the sound of creaking on the stairs. You sprang up from your chair, waving George up hurriedly and toward the back doorway, his hat, coat, and suit jacket in hand. You shushed him softly before rushing back to the table, taking up George’s bowl, spoon, and wine glass and hurrying to the empty wash bin. You lowered them in quickly, then turned toward the door, smoothing your expression and raising your brows as Robinson rounded into the room.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, miss.”

“Not at all, Robinson. Is there something I can help you with?”

“No—No. Simply…”

You arched a brow at Robinson twisting, nervous expression.

“Yes?” You pressed.

“I thought I heard someone else’s voice, ma’am.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, your cheeks heating as you fought to keep a calm countenance, fingers tightening slightly on the edge of the wash bin.

“Perhaps it was merely sound that came in from outside. This house does carry noise so oddly.”

Robinson’s lips twitched nervously before he gave a nod.

“Of course, ma’am. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

“Not a disturbance at all. Thank you for coming to look in on me. I do appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

He gave the kitchen one more cursory look before walking back up the stairs. You glanced after him, hearing the stair creaking again. You hurried over to the door, pushing it closed before you turned back. You found George peering curiously around the corner, and your stomach lurched at the sight. It was so similar to once he’d given you so many times, so long ago.

“Is it clear?” He murmured.

“I believe so, yes.”

You glanced up through the door again, even as George stepped out from his hiding place again.

“Your food in the bin—It’s empty,” You insisted, taking in his disappointed moue. George walked over to the bin and reached in, only retrieving his wine glass.

“Are you so worried about someone finding us together?”

“It would be unwise,” You pointed out, walking back to the table to retrieve your wine. “And it’s not for the sake of my reputation.”

“Mine?”

“I suppose, in some respect—but you would recover well enough in society. It’s mostly for the sake of this household.”

“I was under the impression that you bore very little love for Franklin.”

“Franklin and I have…An understanding. And I worry more for Eleanor. She has yet to make her debut, and I won’t have her make it in a house with a cloud of scandal over it.”

“…You care deeply for her.”

“I do.”

“You act as though she was your own daughter.”

It wasn’t an accusation by any means, but it still made your gut twist with discomfort. You lowered your gaze to your hands, picking absently at your neatly manicured nails. There were a few flecks beneath them—bits of spice from when you’d cooked, mess where there hadn’t been for a long time.

“…She’s the only chance I’ll have at arranging something of this sort,” You reminded him.” I want it to be perfect.”

George smiled a touch, lowering his eyes to his wine.

“Bertha was quite insistent on the importance of Gladys’ coming out.”

“They are very important. It lays the foundation for their season. A rocky path could either mean a dangerous ascent or a speedy descent. I don’t want that for her.”

You heard George hum thoughtfully before the light thud of his glass being set down.

“On that note—or rather, an analogous one,” His footsteps grew closer. “I’ve an invitation for you.”

“An invitation?” Your brow furrowed. “Have I missed something?”

“Not at all. Bertha asked me to deliver it personally, and to accompany you on our mutual trip to Newport on Monday.”

Your brows rose again at the sight of the invitation, and you reached out, plucking the envelope from your fingers.

“Unorthodox,” You muttered.

“My wife isn’t known for walking the straight and narrow.”

His wife. The reminder had ceased to sting in the way that it had when you first arrived in New York, but it always lodged a lump in your throat.

“I’ve noticed,” You chuckled softly, forcing past the discomfort.

“I will pick you up on Monday. Will three be alright?”

“Yes. Thank you for taking the pains to come and deliver this,” You added, drawing the invitation out of the envelope and scanning Bertha’s familiar handwriting.

“Of course. Thank you for dinner.”

You huffed humourlessly, humming as you heard him make for the door.

“It’s better,” He commented. You frowned, looking up.

“Pardon?”

“The stew,” George nodded to the washbin. “It’s better than I remember.” He tipped his hat to you before setting it fully on his head. Your smile widened as he melted from your sight, the sound of the door closing behind him, and his footsteps fading.

Tag list: @foxilayde ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @amneris21 ;

@nominalnebula ; @missredherring

#George Russell x Reader #George Russell x You #George Russell/Reader #George Russell/You #George Russell fic #George Russell imagine #George Russell the Gilded Age #To Have Loved and Lost

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mariacallous · 6 months

Text

X has locked and suspended the accounts of journalists and researchers who shared the alleged identity of a neo-Nazi cartoonist known as Stonetoss after the cartoonist appealed to site owner Elon Musk.

The incident, critics say, highlights once again how Musk has not only welcomed extremists onto his platform but has repeatedly boosted their conspiracies, engaged with their accounts, and seems to have protected them from scrutiny.

A lengthy X thread posted by the antifascist research group Anonymous Comrades Collective last week claimed that Stonetoss is a man named Hans Kristian Graebener from Spring, Texas. Stonetoss cartoons, which feature simple and colorful imagery coupled with racist, homophobic, and antisemitic language, have become hugely popular among right-wing communities since they were first published at least seven years ago.

In its telling, the antifascist research group linked the Stonetoss cartoonist to another anonymous racist cartoonist known as Red Panels by comparing their voices from appearances on extremist podcasts. The researchers say they found an email address linked to Graebener that was used to register the Red Panels accounts on the far-right social media platform Gab. Then, the group says, it was able to match up comments made by Stonetoss with events in Graebener’s life. In one case, Graebener took a trip to Japan in 2019 with a Houston IT company he then worked for; at the same time, Stonetoss posted a picture on X of a “welcome to Japan” sign with the comment, “Finally made it to the ethnostate fellas.” The research group has been doing this kind of work for years and has been credited with unmasking numerous other extremists, including those involved with a neo-Nazi homeschool network.

Graebener has not disputed anything the researchers uncovered. He did not respond to requests for comment from WIRED to his personal email address nor to the email address on the Stonetoss website, and he did not pick up calls from phone numbers associated with his name.

The Anonymous Comrade Collective thread got a lot of attention on X, racking up at least 13.5 million views. On Thursday, the Stonetoss account appealed to X users who have “a direct line” to Musk, X’s owner, to help to get the thread deleted. Musk has, in the past, shared an altered version of a Stonetoss cartoon about the collapse of society. “If Elon's idea of a ‘free speech’ website is one where people can be intimidated into silence, the outcome will be a site where the Stasi will drive out all dissent,” Stonetoss wrote. The account also tagged Musk and offered to share a list of people to target.

In a subsequent post, Stonetoss said this appeal was not about him but about other “artists.”

“This is about others I know personally,” Stonetoss wrote. “There is a whole ecosystem of artists out there who cannot (or have stopped) making art because of people on twitter organized to punish them IRL for doing so.” The cartoonist also added that sales of his plush toy were “going gangbusters” since his alleged identity was revealed.

Hours later, the account associated with the Anonymous Comrades Collective that posted the thread was deleted, and the account was suspended. On Friday, dozens of users, including a number of researchers and journalists, began discussing the incident and posting some of the details of the research, including Graebener’s name.

X locked down many of these accounts and ordered them to delete the offending tweet to get full access to their accounts back. Among those targeted were Jared Holt, a senior research analyst at the Institute for Strategic Dialogue, who covers right-wing extremism; Hannah Gais, a senior research analyst at Southern Poverty Law Center; and Steven Monacelli, an investigative journalist for the Texas Observer. (WIRED has also published Monacelli’s work.)

X also imposed a ban on sharing the link to the Anonymous Comrades Collective blog detailing its research. WIRED verified this on Monday morning by attempting to post the link, only to be met with a pop-up message that read: ‘We can't complete this request because this link has been identified by X or our partners as being potentially harmful.”

Even with the crackdown from X, people kept sharing details of the Stonetoss investigation.

“We all just started posting his name; it was like a Streisand effect,” Alejandra Caraballo, a clinical instructor at the Harvard Law School Cyberlaw Clinic, tells WIRED. “They're just trying to censor his name, and then everyone started getting their accounts locked.”

Caraballo, who shared screenshots of the messages she received from X with WIRED, managed to circumvent the initial ban by appealing it and claiming, ironically, that she was the victim of mass reporting from antifa who were attempting to silence her right-wing viewpoint.

While that appeal was successful, Caraballo was quickly locked out of her account again when she changed her username to “Hans Kristian Graebener is stonetoss.” That resulted in a 12-hour suspension, and when her account was reinstated she was soon punished for earlier posts that shared screenshots of information about Graebener. Caraballo’s account has now been suspended for seven days. Shortly after this article was originally published, Caraballo’s account was restored by X, without an explanation.

An X representative says that the company, following a review of the actions taken against the accounts of Anonymous Comrades Collective, Holt, Gais, Monacelli, and Caraballo, stood by its decision.

“The posts that were removed were all actioned correctly,” says Joe Benarroch, head of business operations at X, adding that the posts violated the company’s “posting private information policy” for “outing the identity of an anonymous user.”

While X does have a policy around sharing private information, the company’s terms of service on March 20 did not mention a policy related to outing the identity of an anonymous user, and Benarroch did not respond to a request for clarification. On March 21, after WIRED published this story, X updated its privacy policy to specifically prohibit posting the ”the identity of an anonymous user, such as their name or media depicting them.”

“According to X’s terms of service, posting someone's name does not constitute doxing, but, many accounts, including my own, have been made to delete posts that merely mention the name of the racist and antisemitic cartoonist Stonetoss,” Monacelli told WIRED before the change. “I've never seen enforcement like this before.”

This policy change could possibly be in response to a post last month from Musk when he wrote, “Any doxxing, which includes revealing real names, will result in account suspension.” Still, in an interview with Don Lemon released on Monday, Musk said that moderation of hate speech is akin to “censorship.”

There are now hundreds of posts on the platform which name Stonetoss as Graebener. There are also numerous accounts on the platform that changed their profile name to “Hans Kristian Graebener is stonetoss”—and they haven’t all been suspended.

“This is completely arbitrary and under Twitter's own community standards it says that a name is never considered private information,” Caraballo tells WIRED. “There's an immense double standard here of the neo-Nazi comic guy being protected” by X. But then, she says, “The people that do this to anyone on the left are not only followed by [Musk] but are boosted by him. It's completely inconsistent.” To her, it seems that whoever Musk favors gets protected, and anyone else is banned. “This is also a pretext for them to be able to go after anyone that they dislike,” Caraballo says.”

Caraballo and others have pointed to accounts like Libs of TikTok and far-right troll Andy Ngo, both of which have shared private information about trans people but have not had their accounts suspended. Musk has also engaged with posts that doxed individuals on X, with seemingly no recourse for those accounts.

For anyone who has tracked Musk’s actions since taking control of X in October 2022, this incident is no surprise. Musk has systematically removed the guardrails the company had put in place to prevent hate speech on the platform and has welcomed back racists, antisemites, and transphobic posters who had been previously banned.

In recent months, Musk has repeatedly endorsed racist conspiracies like the great replacement theory and has engaged with numerous accounts spreading disinformation and hate speech. Just this weekend, Musk interacted with Martin Sellner, the founder of a white ethnonationalist group in Austria who previously communicated with and accepted a donation from the man who shot and killed 51 people at two mosques in Christchurch, New Zealand, in 2019.

After they deleted their posts, most of those restricted for sharing Graebener’s name have had their accounts unlocked. However, the Anonymous Comrade Collective account that shared the details about Graebener is also suspended, and a representative tells WIRED they are unsure when or if it will come back.

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zvaigzdelasas · 1 year

Text

Exxon Mobil said in December 2022 that it had closed the sale of its operations in Chad and Cameroon to London-listed Savannah Energy in a $407m deal, but the Chadian government contested the agreement, saying the final terms were different from what had been presented to it.[...]

The government warned then that it may ask courts to block Savannah’s purchase of Exxon’s assets in the country and take further steps to protect its interests. Exxon’s assets included a 40 percent stake in Chad’s Doba oil project, which comprises seven producing oilfields with a combined output of 28,000 barrels per day (bpd). It also included Exxon’s interest in the more than 1,000km (621-mile) Chad-Cameroon pipeline from the landlocked nation to the Atlantic Gulf of Guinea coast through which its crude is exported.[...]

on Friday, Savannah said it plans to pursue all its legal rights to contest Chad’s move a day earlier to nationalise its upstream assets in the African country.[...] “The Conventions are subject to the jurisdiction of an ICC tribunal, seated in Paris and the Company intends to pursue all of its legal rights.” Chad, which has the 10th largest reserves in Africa, exports 90 percent of its oil.

24 Mar 23

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horseshoegirl · 2 years

Text

Damn Those Dog Tags - Part 4: Long Cool Woman In a Black Dress

AN: I won my battle with writer's block! (Thank you, @tinytotontheoversizedpony!)

It's a little self-fulling to use this song as a fic title, but hey, it fits the vibe.

I think you're going to like this one 👀💛

______________________________________________________________

❗️18+, strong language, alcohol mentions, sexual themes, godmother reader/original female character, Original child character.

#4.7K Words

Part 3 | Masterlist | Part 5

Fridays seemed to be the worst day of the week. That was your current mood as you smoothed down the corners of your dress and straightened your leather jacket, making your way up the steps of the Child Protective Services building.

They told you they wanted to meet to review some information, whatever the hell that meant. With the paperwork, or there was a stipulation in Ridley’s Will or worse, someone wanted to take her away from you. The nerves in the pit of your stomach were on fire with the idea something was wrong.

And you received the request on one of the few days you could actually pick Sadie up from school. The minute you hung up your phone and pressed the edge of it to your forehead, you thumped lightly against your skin, thinking it would will away the uneasiness settling in your stomach.

“Ah, pity, I was hoping Bradley was picking Sadie up today.”

‘Oh, please tell me you didn’t, Bradley, ’ you thought upon hearing that voice. Forcing a smile, which you were sure looked more like a grimace, you turned to face what you believed to be the Regina George of all elementary school moms.

“Hello, Courtney.”

Courtney Slack, the one mom in the school who made it her business to know everyone’s business. A blonde bombshell always dressed to the nines, who always had a comment, a thing or a statement to say about everyone and everything thing. The leader of the PTA association and the mom of the girl who bullied Sadie on her first day of school.

You’d be having words with Bradley the next time you saw him.

“Still single, I see?” she snarked. “Shame Sadie doesn’t have a strong father figure to look up to.”

Oh, you’d already be thrashing her into the pavement if you were a violent person. You were about to make a remark about Sadie’s numerous Uncles who literally risked their lives to make sure someone like her could live out her days being a bitch, before someone came up beside you.

“Still sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, Courtney?” Alyssa suddenly pipped up next to you. Alyssa, a single mother of a boy named Will around Sadie’s age, was one of the first people to introduce herself when Sadie first arrived at the school. Sadie instantly took a liking to Will, and you liked Alyssa the second you met her.

She was uncaring of what people thought of her, pulling up in punky Doc Martins and patched-up jean jackets to student-teacher conferences and school events. She saved you from what you both liked to call Courtney’s group, the “Vanderpump Vulture Moms,” on your first school bake sale, Bob and Nat helping you stay up late one night to frost the hell out of a few dozen cupcakes.

“Can’t I take an interest in who my children go to school with?”

“Well, it looks like you need to go collect your spawn,” She coughed, “I mean, child from the playground. I believe he’s interested in shoving a stone up a kid’s nose.”

Failing miserably to hold in your snickers at the look on Courtney’s face, you watched as she turned frantically to find her son before calling his name and running off in hysterics. Alyssa gave in first, barely hanging on to her resolve and toppling over in laughter. You couldn’t help but join her, lulling your nerves for a moment with being able to laugh.

After a few seconds, she touched your shoulder, “I heard your phone call. I’m sure it’s nothing, maybe a follow-up to ensure everything is okay.”

You shook your head, looking at the kids exiting the recess doors.

“I just got her. It could be anything from a check-in to a notice of whatever they want to do with her. Rarely do they care about the kids.”

You spied Sadie’s lime green backpack amongst the crowd. Will was not far behind as they searched for the pair of you. They liked to race each other out the door to see who could get to you first. When she did reach you, she almost always knocked you flat onto the pavement, hugging you. You eagerly returned her hug but frowned when she kept burying her head into your stomach when you went to pull back.

“What’s wrong, Bug?”

“We have a surprise project due on Monday,” Will sighed next to you. Sadie pulled back, nodding at him, clearly upset at the thought she might have to do homework over a weekend.

“We’re going to miss our last hike, Aunt Liz,” She pouted.

This weekend was your last chance for a hike until the Spring. While Miramar didn’t really see snow, the weather had started turning slightly cooler. Soon enough, the bugs wouldn’t be out for Sadie to find. With the unexpected visit to CPS, she would no doubt have to miss it.

“And my hockey game,” Will echoed, dropping his head with a frown.

Alyssa ruffled Will’s hair, smiling down at Sadie. “Why don’t you come over tomorrow after school? You can set up at the dining table and do your project with pizza.”

You gave Alyssa a grateful look, mouthing ‘Thank you’ as Sadie and Will excitedly started planning how they would tackle their assignment so they could do their respective activities.

Alyssa shrugged, waving her hand. “Go figure out what they want, and don’t worry about her. We’ll ensure that assignment gets done for your hike and Will’s Hockey Game.”

So, while Sadie worked over at Will and Alyssa’s to finish her project, you tried to calm your nerves as you waited at the reception desk to check in for the appointment.

They made you wait for what you thought was hours, but it couldn’t have been more than 15 minutes. You did everything from bouncing your leg to circling your thumbs to scrolling aimlessly on your phone until they finally called your name.

You were ushered into a stuffy office room, papers hazardously placed in manila file folders strung across the room. An older woman, Mrs. Kirkland, from her nameplate, had several precariously stacked on top of one another on her desk. She reminded you of your old high school librarian, peering at you over the top rim of her glasses when you coughed under your breath to get her attention.

“Ms. Beck,” she gestured to the fold-out chair in front of her. You quickly removed your jacket, hooking it on the back of the chair before sitting down.

She smiled at you before glancing at her laptop, asking, “How’s Sadie doing?”

“Better. She’s adjusting well to her new school and seems to love science.”

“That’s wonderful,” She didn’t bother looking up as she spoke, typing something away at her computer. You watched her type, suddenly meeting her eyes as she peered up at you, looking up and down your body before inquiring, “And yourself?”

“It’s been hard without my sister, but my friends have supported me.”

“Hmm,” she replied. “No man in your life?”

Ugh, why did every older woman you meet like to comment on the fact that you were still single?

“Just the two of us, I’m afraid,” you smiled politely. “What is it you wanted to speak about?”

“Right,” she said, reaching down into her file cabinet to pull out a small folder. “A request was made to look into Sadie’s file.”

The ball forming in your throat for the past twenty-four hours dropped into your stomach. “What does that mean?”

“Well, our review process covers everything from the legitimacy of her birth mother’s Will to the handover of her guardianship. We have no complaints against you as her guardian, and we have on record you cared for Sadie greatly while you lived with your sister.”

You swallowed hard. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“So, this is just to ensure everything is in order and nothing was missed. Generally, the process takes a few weeks, but upon looking at this, I suspect our auditors won’t find anything out of place.”

“Why would someone request this? Is it something internal you guys do?”

Ms. Kirkland shuffled a few papers in her hand, reading what was on the page before replying, “I’m afraid this was external. Your sister was very thorough with her paperwork, so we did not need to do an internal review.”

Everything about this was odd. You had no family left. What was the point of making sure her paperwork was in order? Ridley always wanted Sadie with you and nobody at the time, and after her death, wanted to challenge it.

“I’m assuming you cannot tell me who requested you look into her file?”

“I’m afraid I cannot say who, only that the request came in two weeks ago.”

Ridley’s townhouse sold two weeks ago, you thought. This was screaming more was going on than just a simple review.

“As we have no more concerns, you are free to go. We just needed to inform you of the request.”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you dug your nails into your legs instead, reaching to grab your bag off the floor. “And you couldn’t have explained this over a phone call?”

“I’m afraid it’s our policy to do these things in person to avoid miscommunication.”

You sighed, standing up and grabbing your jacket from the back of your chair. “Can you let me know when this is resolved?”

“Of course.”

You resisted the urge to slam the door as you exited the office and the building. While you knew deep down they wouldn’t find anything wrong with the paperwork or Ridley’s Will, you were still worried about who exactly put in the request.

Even with the anxiety racing through your veins as you raced back down the front steps to your car, eager to escape the miserable place, you couldn’t help but grumble out, “Policy, my ass.”

_______

Seeing you at the Hard Deck outside of work, unless you were with one of the Daggers, was unusual. But your nerves were on fire, you were dying for a drink, and you desperately wanted to confide in Penny.

It wasn’t as busy as it should have been for a Friday after four, but the music playing from the Jukebox did wonders for the atmosphere. You spied Jake and Coyote at the back by the dartboard in their service khakis as soon as you walked in, Coyote attempting to throw a few darts while Jake was off to the side chatting with a brunette in just too tight of a light blue dress.

You couldn’t fault her for the blush staining her cheeks as she peered up at him. Jake used his looks to his advantage to get what he wanted. Arms flexed, cocky smirk, getting up and close into her personal space. She was buying it, given how close she angled herself toward him.

Women really did fall into the palm of his hand, you thought.

She embodied everything you figured you weren’t. The type to have it all figured out, not juggling school events, sports games, and pick-up times. She didn’t have long nights closing at the bar or trying to find someone to watch Sadie every week. Not that you would trade it for anything in the world.

She was the type you’d imagine someone like Jake would finally end up with. Even if he was chatting her up to be the next name on his bedpost, you struggled to force out the idea that they looked good standing next to each other. Hot people went out with hot people, right?

You didn’t know whether you wanted to roll your eyes or pay attention to the ache in your chest.

Penny smiled as you sat down but frowned upon seeing your face.

“Can I get a glass of Whiskey, Penny? Neat, please.”

She eyed you concerned, reaching down to grab a bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass. “You're not one to pop by for a drink?”

“Somebody requested Sadie’s file to be looked into at CPS.” You threaded your fingers through your hair, locking them behind your head as you rest your elbows on the bar.

Penny widened her eyes, placing the glass down in front of you. “Please tell me she’s staying with you?”

You looked up and nodded. “I’m fine. They needed to notify me it happened.”

“Can they tell you who?”

“Nope,” you replied curtly before reaching for the glass and bringing it to your lips. The liquid burned, and you resisted the urge to cough.

“I bet it's the school. Or one of the parents at the school.”

Courtney’s face briefly popped into your head at Penny’s words, but you quickly shot it down. While she might be horrible, she wasn’t capable or invested in causing trouble. You shrugged.

“Or Sadie’s bio Dad?”

You frowned. Ridley always admitted getting involved with Tyler was a terrible idea, save for gifting her Sadie. He was, for all pretense, a dick. You had yet to meet someone who was his equal. From the stories you heard about how he was before they became a permanent team, not even Jake could top this guy’s attitude on a bad day. Tyler was pure malice.

He wanted nothing to do with Sadie the moment Ridley found out. She had ensured you were listed as Sadie’s guardian the moment she was born, Tyler and his family written out of any responsibility or entitlements. You wouldn’t be surprised to learn if they tried to buy her off to save Tyler’s chances of making a career in Football, not that he really had any.

“He wanted nothing to do with her when Ridley was pregnant, and I doubt Cathy and Dean want to be caring grandparents this late in the game.”

They were some of the worst people in the world. You could gratefully count the number of times you had to deal with them on one hand. Sadie would never have to, not if you had your way.

“Either way, I don’t think he’d get anywhere near Sadie if he wanted to.”

Penny smiled fondly. “Bradley would be first in line to throw a punch.”

You shook your head. “Don’t forget about Nat.”

“I think Pete might try to get one in too.”

You giggled with Penny at the thought. Mav would go to bat for Sadie in a heartbeat.

“Lizzie!”

You turned around on your bar stool to see Coyote waving you over, the leggy brunette gone, and Jake taking Javy’s place throwing darts.

“Be careful with those two,” Penny said with a smirk, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Resisting the urge to frown, you simply picked up your drink while standing up, throwing over your shoulder, “You know I can take care of myself.”

________

“Yo, there’s Lizzie,” Coyote said, tapping Jake’s arm while watching you enter the Hard Deck and walk towards an empty stool. Jake turned his head in the middle of his conversation at the mention of your name, catching the side of your face as you greeted Penny.

The two of you had finished the dishes discussing your shared taste in music that night. You credited Ridley as the one who got you into 80s music - telling him the Jean Jacket had been hers, sharing how the three of you got lost coming home from a hike while she was visiting with Sadie, stumbling into that thrift store hoping for directions. He could recall you laughing when you told him she freaked out so hard in the store the owner practically gave it to her for free.

While he’d never get the chance to, he wished he could thank Ridley for finding that Jacket. You didn’t judge him for his call-sign story as he suspected you would. Instead, you listened. You emphasized. You gave him credit for trying. And as everyone went to leave, you didn’t protest hugging him goodbye like everyone else.

Deep down, a part of him was grateful you gave him a clean state.

When the woman he had been talking to realized his attention had been drawn elsewhere, she scoffed and quickly returned to her friends after he didn't continue the conversation. He didn’t seem to care, wandering over to where Javy had resumed his stance.

“What’s she doing here on her day off?” Coyote placed the darts into Jake’s hand, not removing his eyes from you.

“She doesn’t normally come here on a day off?” Jake asked, starting to line up a shot.

“Not unless she’s with one of us. Maybe she has a date.”

Coyote took a swig of his beer, missing the way Jake dropped his hand and spun his head, eyes tracking the bar to see if anyone was joining you. But you were bowing your head, on the verge of pulling out your hair, staring at the top of the bar before replying to whatever Penny asked.

“What did you guys talk about that night?”

Jake turned back to Coyote, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head while he raised his hand again. “Nothing I haven’t told you before.”

Jake let the dart go, watching as it landed just above the center mark. “She thanked me for the flowers, for helping Sadie, and then we did the dishes.”

“Just like that?” Javy questioned. “So you didn’t pull any of your insensitive shit around her?”

“I wasn’t going to make her call me out twice. Not since you left me to deal with Phoneix and Rooster chewing out my ass.” He threw another dart, this one striking just above the last one.

Coyote ignored the dig, watching him throw two more before asking, “So the flowers were..”

“An apology, nothing more.”

Javy eyed Jake skeptically, “And why do you suddenly care about saying sorry to someone you hardly know?”

“Hey, I happen to like Sadie and Liz. And if the Daggers are spending Saturday nights over there, I’d like to improve my chances of being invited back.”

Javy went to collect the darts from the board before turning around to stand in front of Jake, proceeding to square him up.

“Be careful with her, Jake,” he said, placing the darts into his hand. “I’m not like the others, but you cannot fuck with Lizzie. She might put on a big show, but she’s more fragile than she looks. And Sadie’s a part of the equation too.”

Jake regarded him briefly, thinking about the note Sadie gave him that he tucked into his wallet, before finally answering, “She told me she wasn’t interested in that.”

“Interested in a tumble in the sheets or being your friend?”

“Shut up. I just want to be there for her and Sadie.”

“Oh, so you wouldn’t mind if I called her over here to join us then?”

“Javy!” Jake reached for Coyote’s arm, failing to stop him from lifting his hand.

“Lizzie!”

Jake grimaced as Coyote waved at you, quickly reaching up to throw another dart, this time half in frustration. It landed next to the metal circle encasing the center dot.

You called out to greet them, and Jake couldn’t help but take note of how your dress lightly swayed as you maneuvered yourself between pulled-out chairs to get to them, leather jacket zipper straps swinging as you walked, and a pair of brown aviators dangling from where you had hooked them between your breasts.

He caught a glimpse of Penny’s glaring stare from behind you, and his conversation with her the week before meeting you played in his head.

“She’s off limits, Hangman.” She had said as she thumped his beer bottle onto the bar. “You don’t go anywhere near this one, and I don’t care how many people you’ve helped throw out of this bar. I’ll never welcome you back, so help me. Not her.”

The second it appeared you would look back up, he turned to throw another dart, this time Coyote holding up his hand to block his view. You watched Jake land the dart directly in the middle, slightly impressed.

“So, this is your party trick?” you announced with a grin.

Coyote wolf-whistled as he approached you, holding out his hand to spin you in a circle, your dress swirling as you laughed. “You clean up nice, Lizzie. You meeting some special?”

Jake’s hand wobbled as he threw another dart, this time hitting the outer rim.

“What? Oh no, I had a meeting with CPS.”

Jake’s ears picked up at the statement, dropping his hand heavily to face you. “Is she okay? Are they threatening to take her away from you?”

You shook your head, warmth spreading in your chest at his concern. “It was harmless. They just wanted to pass along some information.”

Jake turned to Coyote as you suddenly stepped towards the dartboard, seemingly interested in his score and leaving no room to continue the conversation. Coyote looked at you with concern before glancing back at Jake, shaking his head.

“You know how to throw?” Jake asked, not taking his eyes off Javy and tilting his head toward Penny. Javy nodded, quickly approaching the bar to see if Penny knew anything.

“Oh, believe me, sharp objects and I do not mix,” you remarked, looking at his score before passing him as he went to collect the darts. You lent against the nearby pillar, pressing your glass to your chest.

“You can’t be that bad,” he glanced over his shoulder, pulling the last dart from the board.

“You’ve clearly never seen me on a good day. I’m a natural klutz,” you said, sipping your drink. Jake moved away from the board only to stop in front of you, holding out the darts in his hand.

“Prove it.”

You looked down, apprehensive of grabbing them. You accidentally drew blood the last time you threw a dart in Penny’s bar. You still felt horrible thinking about it, managing to skim an Admiral’s forehead. To this day, you swore you’d never touch the things again.

But then you took in Jake’s face, amused and assured, as if you were just being modest about being a bad shot. He clearly wasn’t going to let it go, shoving his hand out again to emphasize he was dead serious.

“I warned you,” you offered, placing your glass next to his bottle on a side table, shedding your jacket and glasses before grabbing a dart from his hand.

You attempted to line yourself up with the center of the dartboard. At first, you stood sideways, cocking your arm back several times in an attempt to let the dart go. The angle felt too awkward, and your hand started to cramp from how long you took. Then you completely turned to face it, fiddling with your grip while trying to fix your eyes between either the dart or the board.

You managed to fake out three throws before deciding to give up.

Sighing, you dropped your hand, “Jake, I’m going to hurt someone if I throw this damn thing.”

Jake tried to hold in his laughter, watching you struggle while leaning against the same pillar. He pushed himself off, uncrossing his arms before gently reaching for your wrist.

You looked at him, unsure, taking a step back, “What are you doing?”

Jake shook his head, reaching out again for your wrist. “Just trust me.”

You let Jake bring your hand up. His whole hand, warm and rough, engulfed yours as he positioned it where he wanted. You sucked in a breath through your teeth when you felt his fingers, barely grasping at your hip bone, pull you closer to him.

“Loosen your hand,” he squeezed, forcing you to attempt to calm the tension in your wrist. It was hard when you could only concentrate on the feeling of his chest lightly bumping your back. With each touch, you could feel yourself resisting the urge to lurch forward with a shiver racing up your spine.

“Relax your shoulders.” He spoke, before tapping the heel of your boot with the top of his, making you take a step forward a bit. You gulped when you heard him say, “Widen your legs.”

You breathed in through your mouth, forcing the exhale to drag your shoulders down. It was a few seconds before he murmured, “Close your eyes.”

“Jake,” you warned.

“There’s nobody around. I won’t let you hurt someone.”

You sighed, closing your eyes and dropping your head slightly. Jake moved your hand again, softly squeezing once more. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you felt the heat of his breath travelling towards the left side of your jaw.

“Throw it,’ he rasped into your ear.

Jake loosened his hold on your wrist, feeling his calloused fingers trailing down your arm before lifting them off. The second his hand left your skin, you flicked your wrist forward as if his touch burned you. You refused to open your eyes, scared you might have hit someone or something old and well past its years on the wall.

“Look.”

You sharply breathed through your nose before opening your eyes to glance at the board.

The dart had managed to hit the center. You couldn’t help but smile.

“How’s that?” he squeezed your hip. “Not as bad as you thought.”

“No blood is a first,” you said, proud of yourself.

Turning around to thank him, the words died on your lips as you felt his breath warm your face. Jake had yet to let you go, his hand still clutching your waist and his nose a few inches from grazing yours.

The decision you made, standing in your front yard last Saturday while face to face with Jake, about never putting yourself in a position where he could break your heart, was far from your mind. You took in everything about him. His sandy hair, his jawline, his eyes which then met yours.

Jake’s stare brought you back to standing with him in your kitchen, washing dishes, and seeing his soft smile for the first time. Facing off in your backyard to guess music, him twirling one of Sadie’s pencils in his hand while helping her with homework, handing her the yellow tulip in your hallway.

Jake could no longer hear the chants of Penny and the rest of the Daggers saying to leave you alone in his head. They were being replaced with the pump of his heart, a feeling he only experienced while pulling Gs. And then your eyes, wide and bright, drew him in.

They were kind and soft. The type to have experienced laughter and the type of smiles that would make someone’s face hurt. You were looking at him like he was more than the metal wings pinned to his shirt. More than the good-looking pilot from Texas. More than just Hangman.

His eyes dropped to your lips, feeling your warm breath on his and noticing the subtle scent of the Whiskey you had slipped prior. Could he still taste it, he thought, if he just tilted his head a little further down?

And then the barbell rang.

Three times.

Jake immediately stepped back, head turning towards the bar with the healthy fear Penny had rung the bell for getting too close to you. But she and Coyote were standing off with some unlucky guy whose face had turned beat red at the bar. He had no cell phone, so either he disrespected the Navy or a lady and was not pleased about buying a round.

He squeezed your waist, winking at you with a grin, before letting go to join Coyote at the bar. You bit your lip, watching him pat the man on his shoulder before hooking his arm under his, easily carrying him off to the side door with Javy.

“You okay, Liz?” Penny called out, your eyes snapping to her as she raised an eyebrow.

Despite not knowing what the frick just happened, you called back, “Yeah, I think so,” while gripping the corner of the pillar with one hand.

If she asked you why your legs were wobbling, you'd blame the whiskey.

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@dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby @phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447

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Please let me know if I missed you or if you want to be added!

Might be a little bit before Part 5, as I suddenly got swarmed with work stuff before my work conference at the end of March, but I will try my best!

Wickett ;)

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