#brokerage name

[robbiesblogdotcom]

10 Questions with Troy Dunn owner of HomeGym.com

We haven’t completed many interviews recently on Robbie’s Blog but we do have some more planned for later this year, Troy reached out to me recently about some of the recent posts he discovered from Robbie’s Blog and we connected to discuss his domain portfolio and his number one domain name “HomeGym.com” was given a large 7 Figure Valuation by one domain broker which you can read about in the…

[unitedestatesllc]

[gurugirl]

Best Valentine's Day | bfd!harry

Summary: It's Valentine's Day and Harry's got something special planned.

A/N: They're back! Happy 💘Valentine's💘 Day my loves!

Word Count: 4.2k

Warning: 18+ only, smut, fluffy, the briefest tiniest bit of angst

Best Friend's Dad!Harry masterlist

Harry remembers well, that day. The day he decided to go to your apartment and finally give in to the tension that had been between you two. He didn’t know why. He wasn’t sure if he would really go through with it. He thought maybe he’d see you in your own space with your big smiling eyes and he’d snap out of it. He hoped he’d snapped out of it. He hoped he’d stop thinking about you the way he was.

But no. That’s not true. He had to face the truth. He did want something to happen. He instigated. He fantasized and he made it a point to have a reason to come see you. And yes, he did want to make sure you were okay after breaking up with your boyfriend, but it was all born of selfish things. He wanted you. Even if it was just a dirty secret, there was something about testing the waters with you that he always looked forward to.

And once he got to know you as more than just his daughter’s friend he didn’t want it to end. Once he got to have you in bed and wake up lazy in the morning to you wanting more of him and how easy it was to not get caught. Then secret texts, long conversations, quick visits to see your face in the morning over a cup of coffee before he had to be at work… then he found he wanted even more. He didn’t just want to pop in and get his dick wet and leave. He wanted to talk to you and hold you and laugh. He liked the way you looked at him and the way you said his name and how you’d pout when he had to leave.

“What are you thinking about?” You reached across the table to poke at his cheek. He seemed pensive. And lately, that was the norm. You were both stressed. The divorce was stressful for you both.

Harry had to prove that he hadn’t spent all that much money on you. His ex was going after him for cheating and had accused him of spending his money on you when it should have gone to the household or their combined savings. But the truth was he really hadn’t spent that much money on you during the course of your relationship.

It was flowers and some jewelry and groceries and small things. Not rent and car payments like she was trying to prove. Which didn’t matter in the end. Harry’s attorney told him that he’d be paying her alimony which would cover her insurance and current lifestyle, and that would be more than enough. She’d be getting the house, her car, and all of her own retirement. Harry also agreed to give her half of their savings but he was keeping his brokerage which she never contributed to. She wasn’t getting everything she wanted but she sure was trying to make it hard.

“Thinking about how we met and how I went to see you at your apartment that day. Just reminiscing. Crazy how we got here. After everything. Fell in love with you so fast.”

You smiled, “It is crazy. Sometimes it doesn’t feel real.”

Harry took your hand and kissed your palm, “Still like a dream.”

You’d been having lots of conversations about the past and future lately. Perhaps it was because his divorce was nearly finalized. Or maybe it was all the talk of getting you pregnant. But there was also the discussion of moving out of your apartment.

The lease on your apartment was coming up. Harry wanted to move you both out of your little place and find something with more space. You would go wherever he went without question but you did warn him you were still jobless. Your contribution would be minimal but he only assured you that he was going to take care of you and he didn’t want your money.

Once a week for the past few weeks you both had been looking at potential new places. Apartments and houses alike. And Wednesday after he got off work you two were on your way to look at a new one.

“Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day,” you suddenly remembered as you spoke from the passenger side of Harry’s car as he drove you to look at a place that was having an open house.

“I know,” he reached across to put his hand on your thigh, “Did you forget?”

You laughed, “I totally did. I think with everything going on it just didn’t cross my mind. But I saw that sign outside of Scasi’s restaurant about their Valentine’s Day special just now.”

“So you’re saying you didn’t plan anything romantic for us?” Harry teased.

“I did not. What would you like Mr. Styles? A night out on the town? Some flowers? Cologne maybe?” You laughed when he squeezed at your thigh.

“Why not all of it?”

You looked toward his side profile and laid your palm over his hand, “I’ll give you all of that if you want.”

Harry glanced at you with his dimpled grin, “Baby, I know you would. But I’ve already got something planned for us. Think you’ll like it.”

You adjusted yourself in your seat and angled your body toward his, “Oh yeah? What have you got planned then?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

The three-bedroom house at the edge of town was adorable. But it wasn’t a rental. Which had you a little surprised. The backyard was plenty big for landscaping (which it was in desperate need of), the master bedroom faced the big ugly backyard but the ensuite bathroom was to die for. All upgraded finishes with a soaker tub and a steam shower.

The kitchen, however, was your favorite. The stove was one of those fancy chef’s stoves with the red knobs. The refrigerator was built into shelving and at first glance looked like a tall cabinet.

“Harry this is a lot. Three bedrooms?” He had your hand in his as you both walked around the space.

“It’s a lot for us right now. But what if we have a baby one day? And that backyard? Ugly as sin right now but I love to garden and I know we could make that something really special. For us. For a family here if we wanted.”

He leaned down to kiss you, his nose knocking against yours playfully making you laugh.

“Maybe you’re right,” you rubbed your palm over his chest.

“I know I’m right.”

.           .           .

You were excited for whatever it was Harry had planned. You didn’t know why he didn’t just tell you but he seemed to always enjoy giving you surprises. He liked making you wait and anticipate what was to come. Sometimes even in bed.

He told you to wear something pretty so you picked out a nice dress and did all the things to pamper yourself that made you feel pretty before he got home from work.

Of course the minute you heard the key in the doorknob you rushed to the door to open it and greet him with a big hug.

He kissed your cheek as you took his coffee travel mug from his hand, “Sure is nice to have you open the door for me like this every time I get home from work. Got me spoiled.”

“Pretty sure you’re the one that’s got me spoiled,” you responded.

It was nice having Harry with you. Knowing you weren’t sharing him with anyone anymore. You knew it was bad to feel smug about such a thing but you kind of did. He picked you. Even if the circumstances were less than ideal, you were the one he chose.

“So, can you at least tell me if we’re gonna eat as part of these mysterious Valentine’s Day plans you’ve made?”

Harry began to unbutton his shirt with a grin on his face, “Why? You hungry honey?”

The way he said it was full of something devilish. Something cheeky. You rolled your eyes at him and laughed, “I kind of am.”

A mischievous smirk rose up on his lips as he lowered his hands to his belt, “I’ve got something to fill your tummy with. Little appetizer…”

You balked at him, “You’re like a teenager!”

He slid his belt from the loops on his pants and pulled your back into his chest, “Mmm… More like a man in love who knows how to feed his hungry baby.”

You laughed loudly and pushed your head back against his shoulder, “How is it you’re always thinking about sex?”

He rocked you back and forth and tucked his face into your neck, “It’s because it’s you. You’re so good to me all the time. So pretty. So smart. S’your fault I’m this way.”

You sighed as he kissed the side of your neck and then let you go, “We don’t have time for any hanky panky anyway,” he spoke as he finished undressing. “Gotta shower up and then get ready myself so I smell just as good as you. We’ll leave here in like thirty minutes.”

Harry put up with you trying to get him to tell you where he was taking you. You didn’t let up but Harry also didn’t give you any direct answers.

“Will there be dancing? Hot air balloons?”

He smiled as he continued looking at the road, “That sounds fun. We’ll see.”

You knew you weren’t going to break him down. When Harry set his mind to something he wasn’t going to budge.

So when he pulled into Club Stella and parked you finally knew what was in store for the night. Or at least you had a good idea. Club Stella was a posh place. It had a funky bar menu with a good selection of snacky bites, along with live bands or DJs, and a nice dance floor.

You had been there once before for a bachelorette party back when you and Fae were still close. It was one of those places where reservations were not super easy to get and it was paid entry.

You were led to a cozy little table not far from where the band was playing and handed special Valentine’s Day menus.

Harry scooted his chair close to yours and flipped the menu to look at the drinks, “Want to share a bottle of wine?”

You looked at the prices of the bottles and scoffed, “Harry every bottle is expensive.”

He laughed and drew his arm over the back of your chair, “Baby it’s Valentine’s Day. I’m gonna spoil you. Pick out what you want.”

When the waiter stopped at the table Harry pinched your arm the slightest when you started to say all you’d have was sparkling water.

“We’ll have a bottle of this,” he pointed at the menu and you rolled your eyes with a smile after the waiter left the table to get the wine.

The food menu was fun. You scanned the options just as the live band changed the song they were covering. The whole theme of the night was romance and the music was definitely part of that vibe.

When the server returned with the bottle of wine you were anticipating what you were going to order. But Harry pulled you to the dancefloor before you could mention what you wanted. You’d been ogling the lobster bites on the menu when he dragged you away He had his hands on your hips, holding you close and you laughed, “Harry I wanted to order! I’m hungry.”

He kissed your cheek, still moving you to the music, and then lowered his mouth to your ear, “Well I tried offering you an appetizer earlier but you turned it down.”

You slid your arms over his shoulders. Even though you were hungry, honestly having a dance with Harry to the song that was being played was certainly better.

He began to sing the lyrics as he swayed you gently, “I’d never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you,” his warm breath falling over your neck felt so sensual. There were others dancing as well so you didn’t feel as exposed. If only they knew the kind of relationship you and Harry had. What had led to that very moment.

When you felt his lips brush over the skin at your neck you sighed as your bodies moved slowly together until the song was over.

Harry looked down at you as the song switched and took your hands in his, “We’ll come back and dance after we eat. Just wanted to start our night off with holding you and dancing with you in front of everyone.”

You understood him. It was taking some time to get used to being public. To flaunt your love. But the more you two went out in public and did things like this, the more you wanted it. The easier it became. It was exciting.

Harry was a romantic at heart. You knew this because you’d been on the receiving end of his gestures. Sometimes he could be cheesy but you loved it nonetheless. Your favorite, though, was how playful he was with you.

You and Harry enjoyed the wine and food and the atmosphere of Club Stella. The later it got, the more people began to dance.

“Come on, let’s go dance,” Harry had his hand at the back of your neck and he squeezed as he spoke, “This is a good song.” Your food was mostly eaten, the wine was just about gone and you were getting warmer and warmer the longer you sat next to Harry and listened to his deep voice in your ear, his hand closest to you on your thigh or the back of your neck nearly the whole time. The man knew what he was doing.

“Okay. Let’s go,” you grinned at him.

You found a good spot on the floor and the song was a little more swingy than the first song you danced to but still sexy. The live band was really good.

Harry’s hands were dangerously close to your ass as pulled your hips against his and looked down at you, “Best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had.”

You smiled as you laid your palms over his chest and looked up at him, “Me too.”

One of his hands slid up your back to the nape of your neck as he ducked down to kiss you. And it was like just about every other time he kissed you; hot and needy. He was holding back because you two were in public but you were reminded of the time you had bathroom sex in that nice restaurant in Quebec.

You smoothed your hands along Harry’s shirt over his strong pecs and then fit a finger between the buttons to touch his skin as your mouth opened for him.

He moaned softly and then backed away from the kiss to grin down at you, “What did you do on your last Valentine’s Day?”

You thought back to the year prior, “I think… Oh yeah… Randy had to give me a raincheck. He was working. We never wound up doing anything because it was midweek.”

“Today is Thursday. I have to work tomorrow and I’m still doing something with you. Sounds like he was the biggest dud. Glad I talked you into getting rid of him.”

You laughed and moved your arms up and ran your fingers into the hair at the back of his head, “He was a big dud. But of course, no one can compare to you, can they?”

His smile widened as the hand near your bottom slowly dropped until his palm was pressing into your ass.

The next song slowed things down and he kept you pressed into his hips as you danced together.

Time seemed to slow down or speed up. Every time he kissed you and squeezed your bum you felt yourself melting a little more. But then he ran his lips up your neck and spoke into your ear, “I’m sorry honey. But I can’t keep my cock down,” and you felt him rut into you softly before he turned you to face away from him, your bottom pressed into his bulge.

You gasped with a smile as you turned your head and lifted an arm to hold onto the back of his neck as he swayed you to the beat softly, “Remember that time in Quebec?” You could hear the smile on his mouth as he spoke into your ear.

“I do. Was just thinking about that too. That was fun.”

“Mmm… Might need to find a spot to fuck you like that again.”

You laughed as Harry’s hand on your hip tightened and his other moved up your side to just under your breast. You could feel yourself beginning to grow wet in your panties as Harry’s dick plumped up and pressed into your bottom. You loved that he got so turned on by you.

Another sexy, slow song came on and Harry’s lips stayed on your neck, peppering wet kisses on your sensitive skin. No one else existed. It was just you and Harry.

“Fuck… Baby, I’m serious. I need to have you,” his deep voice whispered against your skin.

You turned in his arms and attempted to hide the hardon he was sporting under his pants, “Should we leave?”

Harry looked around the space, “Let’s go see if there’s a spot we can take care of this.”

You and Harry went back to the area near the stage and he pointed to where the bathrooms were and a short hallway as you grabbed your purse from the table.

“Harry? Harry Styles?” You heard a woman speak, from behind you.

Both you and Harry turned around to see a woman near his age looking between you with a slight frown.

Harry scratched the back of his neck, “Hi Roice.”

“Who is she?” The woman pointed at you and you looked up at Harry.

“Uh, well, this is my girlfriend, Y/n. I don’t know if you knew…”

The woman cut him off and looked at you as she stepped in closer, “You know he’s married right? With a daughter, about your age,” she ran her eyes down your frame and you felt very vulnerable under her scrutiny.

You opened your mouth to respond but Harry took your hand, “Roice, my wife and I are getting divorced. We’re done. This is my girlfriend.”

You zoned out slightly as Harry let go of your hand and put his arm over your shoulder to hold you close. The woman made a comment and gave you a look that you knew wasn’t complimentary of you before she walked off.

“You okay, Y/n?” Harry put his hands on your shoulders and ducked his face down to get in your line of sight.

Nodding you spoke, “Yeah. Just didn’t expect that.”

“Me neither. Let’s just get out of here, okay?”

The bill was already paid as you and Harry left Club Stella and got into his car.

He put his hand on your knee and drove in silence until he pulled into a small lot at a wooded park and turned off the engine.

You looked at him, puzzled, “What are we doing here?”

Harry adjusted his seat and moved it away from the steering wheel and pulled at your hand, “Come here, sweetheart. Sit in my lap.”

You climbed over the console after lifting your dress so you could spread your legs and settle over his thighs.

He put his hand on your hips, “I’m sorry that happened. Did that ruin your Valentine’s Day?”

You smiled as you shook your head, “No, of course not. It just shocked me is all.”

“Shocked me too. But you promise you’re okay?”

You pressed your hands on his shoulders and leaned yourself into his chest to kiss his mouth and began to unbutton his shirt buttons, “I’m fine, Harry.”

You could feel him swallow as his hands moved to push the fabric of your dress up before he brought his hands to the inside of your thighs. He moaned when his finger dragged over the fabric of your panties and he realized you were wet.

You laughed with a smile, “Still wet. Think you can get hard for me again, Harry?”

He laughed and licked into your mouth as he ran his thumb over the wet material at your crotch. It was funny because you both knew the answer to that question. Of course, he could get hard again.

And when you felt his cock plumping up under his pants you began to undo his belt and then his button in haste before pulling him out through the front slot of his boxer briefs, stroking his velvety cock as you kept your mouths moving together.

Harry pushed your panties to the side and lowered his seat for more space as you pushed yourself up and placed his tip at your slippery pussy. He held onto your hips to keep you steady as you placed your palms on the seat back and gently lowered over him.

“Fuck… you always hug my cock perfectly baby.”

You imagined that with his girth it would be hard not to hug his cock the way you did. He was so thick and long and he always stretched you apart when he was inside of you.

Slowly you glided up and down as you looked into his eyes, “God… It’s always so full. Makes me so wet just thinking about how big you are and how deep you get. I always need you, Harry.”

Harry moaned and pressed a hand to your low belly as you continued fucking yourself on him, “Yeah? Like how it feels when I fuck into your tummy? Stuff you full every night ‘cause you need it so bad don’t you, puppy?”

“Yes… God, I need you every day. More than anything I’ve ever needed. I love you so much.” You tilted your pelvis down and pressed your lips to his as you ground yourself over him and felt that pleasant ache when his thick crown nestled into your guts.

You could feel the fabric of his briefs over your clit as you rocked down over him. Harry’s soft moans against your lips sounded desperate and you knew that meant he was close already. You hadn’t had sex that morning like you do some days and you knew he must be aching to burst inside of you.

“Gonna give me your come?”

Harry’s mouth dropped open and he jabbed himself upward, his cock squelching through your wet pussy as he thrust into you, “Is that what you want?” Another thrust upward making you squeal quietly at the deep ache in your tummy, “Want my come, baby?”

“Yes… give it to me,” you moaned as you rolled your pelvis down again and felt how wet his underwear had gotten from your arousal.

“Need you to come with me, my love,” Harry’s words were panted as he gripped the meat of your ass and guided you up and down his cock.

You watched his face as you felt his length open you wide and glide in and out with the sound of wet gushes from your slippery pussy in the small space of the car.

Holding to the seat behind Harry’s head to keep yourself steady, you ran the fingers from your other hand over your clit as Harry kept you bouncing over him slowly.

Desperate moans and the slippery sounds of sex with the background of music on the radio were all you could hear as your legs began to shake.

The moment Harry could tell you were about to come, he began to fuck up into you harder, his hips thudding into you making your body bounce harder as you pressed your fingers and moved them over your swollen nub and cried out at his deep strokes.

“Oh my god! Fuck, Harry!”

He groaned when your pussy began to flutter around him and your cries turned to choked moans.

It was his favorite. Feeling your cunt walls squeeze and spasm around his throbbing, leaking cock. He gave you a few more harsh plunges until he pulled you down over him and grunted with his head thrown back into the seat, draining his cock inside of your guts.

Your head was spinning and your heart was pounding as you came down and heard him panting as he throbbed inside of you. You’d never get tired of watching him coming, of feeling the way his body shivered when he pumped into you.

He pulled you against his chest as he breathed hard and you could feel the way he was still twitching inside of you.

When you felt his lips at your neck and heavy breaths puffed against your skin you opened your eyes and turned to look at him with a smile.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Harry.”

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

VW wouldn't locate kidnapped child because his mother didn't pay for find-my-car subscription

The masked car-thieves who stole a Volkswagen SUV in Lake County, IL didn’t know that there was a two-year-old child in the back seat — but that’s no excuse. A violent car-theft has the potential to hurt or kill people, after all.

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/2023/02/28/kinderwagen/#worst-timeline

Likewise, the VW execs who decided to nonconsensually track the location of every driver and sell that data to shady brokers — but to deny car owners access to that data unless they paid for a “find my car” subscription — didn’t foresee that their cheap, bumbling subcontractors would refuse the local sheriff’s pleas to locate the car with the kidnapped toddler.

And yet, here we are. Like most (all?) major car makers, Volkswagen has filled its vehicles with surveillance gear, and has a hot side-hustle as a funnel for the data-brokerage industry.

After the masked man jumped out of a stolen BMW and leapt into the VW SUV to steal it, the child’s mother — who had been occupied bringing her other child inside her home — tried to save her two year old, who was still in the back seat. The thief “battered” her and drove off. She called 911.

The local sheriff called Volkswagen and begged them to track the car. VW refused, citing the fact that the mother had not paid for the $150 find-my-car subscription after the free trial period expired. Eventually, VW relented and called back with the location data — but not until after the stolen car had been found and the child had been retrieved.

Now that this idiotic story is in the news, VW is appropriately contrite. An anonymous company spokesman blamed the incident on “a serious breach” of company policy and threw their subcontractor under the (micro)bus, blaming it on them.

This is truly the worst of all worlds: Volkswagen is a company that has internal capacity to build innovative IT systems. Once upon a time, they had the in-house tech talent to build the “cheat device” behind Dieselgate, the means by which they turned millions of diesel vehicles into rolling gas-chambers, emitting lethal quantities of NOX.

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

But on the other hand, VW doesn’t have the internal capacity to operate Car-Net, it’s unimaginatively-named, $150/year location surveillance system. That gets subbed out to a contractor who can’t be relied on to locate a literal kidnapped child.

The IT adventures that car companies get up to give farce a bad name. Ferraris have “anti-tampering” kill-switches that immobilize cars if they suspect a third-party mechanic is working on them. When one of these tripped during a child-seat installation in an underground parking garage, the $500k car locked its transmission and refused to unlock it — and the car was so far underground that its cellular modem couldn’t receive the unlock code, permanently stranding it:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/10/15/expect-the-unexpected/#drm

BMW, meanwhile, is eagerly building out “innovations” like subscription steering-wheel heaters:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/02/big-river/#beemers

Big Car has loaded our rides up with so much surveillance gear that they were able to run scare ads opposing Massachusetts’s Right to Repair ballot initiative, warning Bay Staters that if third parties could access the data in their cars, it would lead to their literal murders:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

In short: the automotive sector has filled our cars with surveillance gear, but that data is only reliably available to commercial data-brokers and hackers who breach Big Cars’ massive data repositories. Big Car has the IT capacity to fill our cars with cheat devices — but not the capacity to operate an efficient surveillance system to use in real emergencies. Big Car says that giving you control over your car will result in your murder — but when a child’s life is on the line, they can’t give you access to your own car’s location.

This Thu (Mar 2) I’ll be in Brussels for Antitrust, Regulation and the Political Economy, along with a who’s-who of European and US trustbusters. It’s livestreamed, and both in-person and virtual attendance are free. On Fri (Mar 3), I’ll be in Graz for the Elevate Festival.

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

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

 — 

Upsilon Andromedae (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/upsand/212946929/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[Image ID: A blue vintage VW beetle speeds down a highway; a crying baby is pressed against the back driver's-side window. In the sky overhead is the red glaring eye of HAL 9000 from 2001: A Space Odyssey, emblazoned with the VW logo. The eye is projecting a beam of red light that has enveloped the car.]

[morbidology]

Ken Allen was a Bornean orangutan living at the San Diego Zoo. He swiftly became the most famous animal in the history of the zoo due to the number of successful escapes from his enclosures he committed. Ken was born in the zoo in 1981. He was given the name “Ken” after Alex Brown & Company, a Wall Street brokerage, gave the zoo a hefty donation and requested that their “ugliest” orangutan be names after one of the firm’s equity traders.

Ken’s first escape happened in June of 1985 and then again in July of 1985 and again in August of 1985. The 250-pound orangutan escaped simply by climbing up his retaining wall. During these escapes, Ken would just wander around the zoo and look at all of the other animals just like any other patron of the zoo. However, on one occasion, Ken made his way to the enclosure of Otis, a fellow orangutan and former pen-mate of his who was “not known to be amiable.” Once there, Ken threw rocks at Otis before he was escorted back to his enclosure.

The zoo spent $40,000 to completely secure this Houdini’s enclosure. Ken Allen was euthanized at the age of 29 after developing cancer.

[whohasthecards]

Top Gun Coffee Shop plus other stuff AU Idea (Part 1)

Jake moves to California to start a new life and starts working as a barista in a coffee shop.

The shop owners are Iceman and Maverick, who runs it with their son, Rooster, who manages the books and a lot of the behind the scenes stuff. Phoenix is the general manager, and Bob is the other barista/event coordinator.

The coffee shop is a front for the real business of them participating in information brokerage, middle man, forgery, smuggling, and other underworld business.

There are a series of different interesting customers that come in, and the staff are surprised that Jake just rolls with it. They're confused on how stuff doesn't faze him, they think he might already be on to their business, but nope, he's way too focus on making coffee great and learning how to cook pastries.

(A very tall man with a slightly beat down suit and a small scratch on his cheek came in. He was shifting his weight between two feet, making sure that the bag he came in with was hidden behind his back.

"Hello there, welcome to the Top Flight Cafe, where we may not offer flights, but our coffee can send you to the moon, what can I get for ya?" Jake drawled barely giving the man a glance before scowling back at the POS system.

"They don't do flights, anymore? What happen to the shipments?" The man asked confused as he squinted at Jake.

"I dunno, sir, you gotta ask Mr. Bradshaw about that one, but I'm pretty sure we don't do supply shipments ourselves, a truck comes with the flour and all the imported coffee goods," Jake said, shrugging. "All I do is help carry them on my shoulder to the back and count 'em, that's all.

"You guys transport the flour on regular flour bags," the man's voice said incredulously, stressing the word flour too much for Jake's understanding.

"I mean, what else are we gonna use?" Jake asked, raising a brow. "If ya really wanna know, you can call Mr. Bradshaw, but aside from that what can I get for ya?"

"Hey Jake, I'll take this customer back in my office, he's my guy, did you take his order, yet?" Mav said bursting from the back of the bakery as he speed-walked towards the counter flashing an awkward smile between the two of them. "He's new, he didn't know to bring you directly to me," Mav said.

"Not yet, Mav," Jake said.

"Yeah, what do you want, our meeting may take a while," Mav said glancing at the other man.

"Uh huh," the man said, squinting suspiciously, "An espresso would be fine, Mav," the other man, said.

"And I'll have a double shot espresso and an everything bagel with strawberry cream cheese and bacon," Mav said cheerfully rounding the counter and clapping the other man on the shoulder. "Leave the goods on the employee's break room table, me and Sli will catch up, no need to ring him up," Mav said steering the taller man away.

It was comical to see how the much taller man let him.

"I don't want to catch up with you, I wanted Ice," the man name 'Sli' said with a sigh. Almost like he's pouting.

"Tough luck, we're a two in one deal," Mav said as they walked through the back area.

Jake shrugged and made the order. Mav always had chaotic orders.)

---

He's so focused on doing his job, that he manages to miss some telling signs that the coffee shop wasn't just a coffee shop.

("Hey Bradley," Jake says bursting into the managers office, darting forward to the supplies closet without a glance towards his general manager. "Do we have anymore markers? We ran out, and writing with a pen on cups is annoying." Jake said opening the closet widely and rummaging through it.

Bradley immediately muttered something in another language on the phone before hanging up, shutting several folders, and shoving papers down his suitcase and into some of the desk drawers.

"Yeah, buddy, I think they're behind the box of batteries--"

"Found them, thanks, man," Jake said barely even glancing his way as he waved before he went out.

Making Bradley's efforts useless, but better safe than sorry, right?

He really should start putting the supplies closet outside the office.)

---

Javy, Mickey, and Reuben visit Jake and they seem to be wary of the coffee shop. Jake shrugs them off because he's starting to really like the place and the job he's steadily getting good at.

("I don't burn the coffee all the time, anymore, man!" Jake said smiling widely as he handed Javy a cup.

"I'm so proud of you, buddy." Javy said in a deadpan as he sipped his coffee. "Do you know how to froth milk, now?"

"Yeah, Ice taught me during my first day," Jake said smiling brightly.

"Ice, huh?" Payback said muttering to himself.

"Yeah, they apparently have weird nicknames, his is Iceman," Jake said nonchalantly as he wiped down the counter.)

---

Eventually, shit hits the fan. The coffee shop is stormed during regular day hours on a weekday. After the lunch rush where everything has been quiet. Men armed to the teeth burst in, making people drop to the ground as they pointed guns at the few customers that were there.

Jake just continued to wipe down the counter as he calmly walked in front of the register.

"What can I get for you folks today?" Jake said in a bored manner. "If you wanna buy some manners, you gotta get them somewhere else, though, unless you wanna show me ya got some by putting away the guns? These ladies and gentlemen are customers just like ya'll they have the right to be here like you do."

"Jake," Bob hissed tugging the back of the other man's shirt harshly.

"SHUT THE HELL UP, Where the fuck is Iceman, Bobby?" The leader said pointing the gun at him.

"Mr. Kazansky ain't here today, and even if he was, you can't just ask for him easily like you can ask for coffee," Jake drawled.

"Jake, stop." Bob gritted out before facing the antagonists. "He's not going to give in with whatever you guys want, you know. However, if you put the guns down, we can talk about this," Bob said with steel in his voice as he removed his glasses and rested them to the side.

One of the men huffed out a laugh, "You have no leverage against us, Bobby-boy, we have you outnumbered today. All we got to do is to kill you one by one, he's always been fond of his staff. Especially normies like him," the man said nodding in Jake's direction. "He really knows nothing, huh? Unfortunate that his hick brain doesn't have a sense of self-preservation--"

"Rude, I am a delight," Jake drawled, resting his hands on the counter and leading forward. "Buttt that's more of my charmin' personality, you won't find it delightful if I take action. Only I can call Bobert names after all, ya know?"

"Pfft-- what's blondie here gonna do--"

Bob couldn't believe his eyes, he was accustomed to violence. Raised in it by this point, but he never expected it from Jake of all people. And he never expected it to be so smooth, fast, and efficient. By the end of it, all of the armed men were incapacitated on the ground, the leader on his knees as Jake looked down at him and pinched his cheeks together with one hand, staring impassively.

"Considering I'm the one standing here while all your friends are done for," Jake started, voice even and smooth. "It seems like this hick has more self-preservation than you, do," Jake said smiling before delivering a sharp hit to the temple making the man pass out on the ground.

Jake put his hands on his hips and looked upward as if praying to God for strength before pulling out his phone. He looked back at Bob and gestured for him to give him a moment, as he brought the phone to his hear.

"Hey Coyote," Jake said chuckling weakly as he pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a deep sigh. "Seems like I'm back in the game, although, it may have seemed that I never left in the first place," Jake said huffing out a low laugh and shaking his head in disbelief. "I need clean-up crew, now."

---

part 2

[pluckyredhead]

☕️ Underrated historical figures

I will give you three New York ladies:

Emily Roebling: Emily was married to Washington Roebling, who was the son of John Roebling, who designed the Brooklyn Bridge. When John died of tetanus very early in the construction process, Washington became the chief engineer, but he eventually collapsed due to "caisson sickness" (aka decompression sickness/the bends, which wasn't understood at the time and which many bridge workers fell prey to while they were constructing the underwater supports for the bridge). Emily was the only person he spoke to for like...the next decade, and she took over unofficially as chief engineer, acting as the go-between with his workers and wrangling politicians, engineers, workers, and basically everyone else involved in the bridge to keep the process moving. She was the first person to cross it on opening day, and then went on to get a law degree and champion women's rights.

Victoria Woodhull: The first woman to run for president (in 1972). One of the first women to open a brokerage firm on Wall Street, with her sister Tennessee Clafin. One of the first women to start a newspaper in the US, also with Tennessee. Her biography is absolutely zany, beginning with her parents making her pretend to be a spirit medium as a child and climaxing with her exposing the scandalous affair of superstar minister Henry Ward Beecher in her paper and getting arrested for obscenity for it. She was certainly not a perfect or even particularly consistent person, but she was a suffragist and an abolitionist and her life story is wildly entertaining. There should 100% be a movie about her.

Texas Guinan: The first female Western star in the early silent era, Texas made a few dozen movies playing a cowgirl before moving to New York and becoming the hostess for a series of speakeasies during Prohibition. She was famous for greeting guests with "Hello, suckers!" and generally for being witty and irreverent. She was raided and arrested but never convicted, and when she died a month before the end of Prohibition, twelve thousand people attended her funeral. Supposedly, Gene Roddenberry named Whoopi Goldberg's character on Star Trek after her.

[auckie]

One of my fav asks someone else got was when they were doing like uh. Some sort of anon roast thing, about other bloggers? And someone sent ‘can you believe auckie is a fucking realtor? I can’t imagine holding a conversation with that guy irl’. Bc buddy that was. So fucking true. A thing like me was never meant to be wear a sports jacket and shake hands and show a man and woman ten years my senior with a kid half my age a home. Which is fine bc all my clients were scumbag Latino investors who wore like giant minion hoodies and Rick and Morty joggers. And had like jaw droppingly gorgeous but cruel wives. And 12 wicked children all named like Bílí. And yes I was absolutely slamming southern comfort and doing adderall during that dark period. But it’s funny bc I can also mask and be really charismatic and charming but only for like four hours at a time as a beautiful woman. And also also I LOVE contract law and taxes. So I wasn’t good at it per se but I didn’t hate it all. I do think most realtors are bad people (im also way too much of a bleeding heart for the environment to do that kinda shit. Not to mention uh caring about unhoused people and racism/homophobia/transphobia the industry lol oh Gd and land sovereignty and fucking monopolies. ALL successful BROKERAGES ARE MONOPOLIES) and I much prefer my current job despite not making nearly as much and having a fixed schedule. But im glad I learned what I did and met the evil freaks I did. It was good for me. I guess. There’s some nice realtor ladies out there. I’m sure the men exist too but I’ve yet to meet one lmao. They all HATE women good lord. And minorities.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮

Hiii!

Okay 51 new sentences for 📚:

---

See, when Ravi dropped out of college, his parents had been scared for him. Convinced he was throwing his life away to become a city employee. Like it was a dirty word. His father, one of the owners in a large property management company, had felt the need to take matters into his own hands. I won’t stop you from following what your heart says is right, Ravi, he’d said. But I also will not leave you without a safety net. He’d always thought his safety net was exorbitantly rich parents, but apparently not. Apparently, he needed properties. To begin building his own generational wealth. His father, therefore, put the ownership of two apartment complexes in Ravi’s name. One in Montebello and one in La Cienega Heights. 

The latter building was smaller. Only six units, one of which Ravi lived in. It was close to work. Easy to manage. And yes, a good asset to his name. The Montebello property - much larger - and the one across the street his father was pushing him to buy? A way bigger chore. One that Ravi was finding difficult to manage. 

“No,” Ravi shook his head. “No, I wasn’t just going to sell it.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Anil said, doing an excellent impression of sincere curiosity. 

“I was going to talk to you,” Ravi promised his father. “About taking it back or selling it. Investing the money properly. Letting the funds accrue.”

His father looked crestfallen.

“You did this behind your father’s back?” His mother asked. 

“No, no.” Ravi said again. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Well you talked to Shin.” Anil dropped another colossal bomb. 

“You talked to an agent at a rival brokerage to your brother’s?” His mother gasped, like Anil accused Ravi of stabbing him.

“I talked to my friend, who is familiar with the area and prices.” Ravi clarified. “It was one lunch.”

And how word of that got to Anil, Ravi did not know. 

“You don’t sell a gift, Ravi,” his father chastized. 

“It’s not…” Ravi sighed. “Look, I’m keeping the La Cienaga place. Montebello is too much for me, right now.”

“Too much for you to manage? Free real estate?” His father retorted.

“Pops, between all the shifts I’m working, and the drive out that way more than once a week, it’s been a lot,” Ravi tried to appeal to him. “I need down time. Time to decompress. I don’t do well if I-”

Anil scoffed. “So this is an autism thing, then.”

---

30 for 🦮:

---

“Are you sure?” Bobby asks.

“Yeah,” Buck nods. “Trainer says it’s my choice.”

Bobby smiles giddily. “Well, good. I love dogs.”

Buck grins. He misses Bobby. He visits sometimes, but it’s different from being here everyday. It’s different when it feels like he’s visiting out of some strange guilt.

“Also, I made everyone wait up there so they don’t overwhelm her,” Bobby says. Buck looks up. Sure enough, Hen, Chim, Eddie, and someone Buck has never seen before are standing at the rails of the mezzanine, looking down. “But we can bring coffee and lunch and everything down here so you don’t have to use the stairs.”

Buck gives the team a small wave before answering Bobby. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Buck says. “I can do stairs. It’s good to get practice in.”

He doesn’t want any more accommodation than he already has by bringing a dog in with him. He’s fine. He’s capable. 

“Okay,” Bobby nods. “Well, then up we go.”

Buck walks towards the fire station stairs as if he isn’t at all daunted. Not just to be climbing them, but to be climbing them with a dog. He’s definitely nervous. And he’s definitely going to feel a little wiped afterwards. Bobby walks ahead of him, and then Buck focuses on climbing each step the way he’s worked on in physical therapy. Foot first, then prosthetic.

[cj-emhoff]

full name — CJ Emhoff

faceclaim — Leo Woodall

gender & pronouns — Male, He/Him

sexuality — Bisexual

age & birthday —  27 & August 10th, 1997

Zodiac — Leo ☼ , Cancer ☾, Aquarius ↑

occupation — Surf Instructor for Neptune Surf & Co.

hometown — Asbury Park, NJ

living — Asbury Bay

~Biographical Stuff~

CJ "Christopher John" was born in Asbury Park — a home birth as it was, Nina Emhoff always wanting a water birth - having seen Pamela Anderson at the time had had two by then, just once she wanted that experience. Scott Emhoff though; absent. Another world market crash, gain, brokerage deal, late nights with the clients in NYC, who really knew.

That alllmost setting the tone for life ahead - Nina, founder and CEO of New Emerald Health & Life. With wellness retreats spanning the East Coast, breaking into the South American market currently where Nina lives with her new life partner in Mexico City. Scott - Finance bro. Through and through (Watch Industry? He is Eric) on his third wife, spends the majority of his time in the office and his loft in New York City when he's not entertaining clients.

CJ has two younger sisters — one just graduated college, one in high school currently. (May make one a WC so will keep the background vague) He's pretty close to both.

CJ was a star athlete, nabbing a soccer scholarship (though he definitely didn't need it) to UConn. Rushed & joined Alpha Sigma Phi Frat, all was looking good.

During winter break his Sophomore year back in Asbury, CJ was out partying with old friends and stupidly got behind the wheel. Driving the windy coastal road from Long Branch there was an accident. Both drivers were intoxicated and only one survived. CJ walked away with his life and a broken leg, broken collar bone and ribs.

a fairly big legal battle ensued, but as it goes, CJ comes from money. The accident with the potential to garner more attention, was kept at bay to his parents contacts. A judge in the family finagaling a light sentence— (keeping the victim and family vague for potential WC) CJ walking away with six months house arrest and probation, and 300 hours of community service.

Dropping out of UConn, CJ was housebound.

Rehab, court requirements, time passed slowly then really quick. Life happened, moved on. Not without plenty guilt, and a mini stint in a facility when painkillers were too good.

CJ moved out to the pool house that became his future and current residence to this day.

Eventually, his parents divorced, he got a new stepmom who lives in the main house permanently with his youngest sister.

Once the knee was rehabbed he picked up a job at Neptunes Surf & Co. to teach tourists and the milf's of Asbury's children how to surf. While his knee never will be 100%, he's gotten very comfortable in his current situation. He loves surfing, the ocean, his pool house. ~Random Stuff~

He has an accent, a "Jersey accent" not super thick but noticeable to outsiders.

Discovered he's outdoorsy-lite. When he couldn't surf he was introduced to camping - not a man of the woods per say lol but he enjoys acting like it.

hugely into older women - a bit of a milf slut.

has his therapist on speed dial ever since the accident, and does still abuse prescription pain relievers from time to time. (a lot of the time)

May have a budding tattoo addiction - anything to not think right? ~Possible Connections~

childhood/high school friends/enemies - born and raised, dynamics of all kinds welcome.

UConn/Greek life connections - never know

Rehab stint folks - always fun, CJ went once, didn't take it very seriously at all.

family of the man that died in the car accident - just. yes. please.

exes/hookups/messes - always love that kind of mess pls

and really anything else we can conjure up, truly down for most anything. On dash chem is my favorite and just love winging it too! I’ll fill this all out more as time goes on for sure!

[robbiesblogdotcom]

Unlocking the Potential of Premium Domain Names: How Domain Name Brokers Can Help

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[directdogman]

Hello sir doggo, a friend of mine made a lil dumpster for Randy and I was wondering if this makes him feel at home or if this is giving him ptsd flashbacks everytime I shove him in there.

Follow up question does each Randy plush have memory’s of his life before being kidnapped and dropped off at peoples houses or have you gifted around 2,000 babies to the hands of people who play dating sims religiously…

sir doggo

just for the record, i had to piss into a bottle less than a month ago, so I am definitely NOT distinguished enough to be considered any sort of 'sir'. Seriously, take a survey of politicians, wall street brokerage firm CEOS, distinguished local gentlemen, etc... I guarantee you this: statistically? virtually NONE of them'll have pissed into a bottle recently. I actually had a good friend directly tell me that i'd lost my humanity one of the previous times i had to do this, so I'm certain I don't qualify as a 'sir' and haven't for a while now.

I was wondering if this makes him feel at home or if this is giving him ptsd flashbacks everytime I shove him in there.

maybe you should put yourself in randy's shoes. imagine you've just been randomly adopted by an inter-dimensional turtle or something, transported to serve as its pet, in a vast and alien dimension beyond your comprehension. Then, the turtle uses its god-like power of matter manipulation to form a cardboard replica of your previous WORST living arrangements for you to live in. Like, your bedroom is missing decorations, the walls are bare as if you haven't ever lived in it, but the drywall still also has that hole you punched in it when you were 16 and your parents wouldn't let you go see Will Smith's Shark Tale (2004). Then, as you're lying in your awful cardboard bed, the turtle posts on Turtblr: "̵A̷C̸T̸U̵A̴L̷L̴Y̴ ̶A̸M̴ ̷I̵ ̶B̷U̷M̷M̷I̷N̸G̷ ̴O̷U̵T̶ ̸M̸Y̵ ̸S̴P̷E̵C̵I̴M̷E̴N̸?̵ ̶I̸N̷ ̶H̶I̶N̴D̷S̶I̸G̶H̵T̶,̷ ̵T̷H̸I̵S̷ ̶D̸W̶E̵L̸L̷I̷N̸G̷ ̵I̸S̷ ̸P̷R̸E̷T̶T̴Y̷ ̴D̶R̷A̵B̶.̷"̴

it's a lil like hell, I s'pose, but the turtle is in control. that's the fate you've given Randy.

does each Randy plush have memory’s of his life before being kidnapped and dropped off at peoples houses

I like to believe it's like being in a nightmare where you're so disorientated that you don't necessarily remember any specifics from your life, but you have the same thought process that your intact mind (memories and all) would have if you weren't too petrified to remember your own name. Then again, that's just my answer. If you wanted, you could just imagine that your Randy plush is just dimly grinning inside and slightly amused at all times, like he's a kitten that's full of milk and about to fall asleep, or alternatively, like he's strung out on pretty strong painkillers. Whatever makes you happiest!

[unitedestatesllc]

[the-hinky-panda]

something isn't right babe, I keep catching little words but the meaning is thin

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Four months later finds you and Chibs back in Ireland. You’re picking up three horses which means more tack boxes which means more guns. It worked well enough the first trip, so a second trip was quickly put into motion to return a few months later. He called you a few times to work out the travel dates. You met for drinks to discuss where you were with clients for the horses this trip. Chibs was grateful that a few of those business meetings quickly took a turn to an impromptu dinner where conversation turned to less business focused topics. It makes the second trip to Ireland that more enjoyable. 

You must feel it too because the afternoon of your horse brokerage, you call him while still at the horse stable. The farm owner invited you to the weekly community gathering that is hosted on the property. And now you are extending the invitation to him. He knows what those gatherings are like, the local whiskey, live music, bonfire. They’re nothing like the loud nightclubs in Belfast or the rowdy times the MC tend to have. He wants to make sure you know what to expect from the farm owner’s invite. 

“It’s not gonna be a wild time, luv,” he tells you. 

“Yeah, I’m not really looking for a wild time.” You pause. “Would you like to join us anyway?” 

He bites back a smile at your hesitation, the woman who charges headlong through life. “I’d love to.” 

You text him the address and he arrives just as the first stars appear in the night sky. The barn is lit up, a makeshift bar set up in the tack room. He sees a couple familiar faces, those who are in the know about the gun smuggling but no one acknowledges each other. The farm owner introduces himself, Sean O’Malley, shakes his hand, and points him in the direction of the fire pit. That’s where you sit, a wool blanket draped around your shoulders as you talk animatedly with a couple other riders. 

You’re beautiful, absolutely stunning. The flickering firelight dances across your face and hands, giving you an ethereal appearance. The two girls are listening in rapt attention to some story you’re telling about one of your competitions. You’re smiling, animated…happy. And it’s amazing to see. 

He knows from your conversations you’ve been partying less and less. Your drug use is down to a periodic joint and nothing else. The drinking, that’s been a bit harder for you to get under control but you’re trying. He can see there’s something you’re going to war with, something that you can’t quite get over. He sees it come across your expression like a cloud, darkening that wildfire inside of you from time to time. That is why he’s so pleased to see you as happy as you are at this moment. 

The story ends and the girls are called back to the barn by some hopeful local youths and you’re left alone by the fire. You start to stand up to follow them but you catch him moving towards you. Without fail, as soon as your eyes land on him, a wide smile breaks across your face. You always looks so fucking happy to see him and he has no idea why. 

“Evening, luv,” he greets as he takes the seat next to you on the wooden bench and gives you a brief kiss on the cheek. 

“Hi, Filip,” you respond, your fingers gently brushing against the scar on his cheek. 

He likes hearing his name fall from your lips. He likes feeling your hands on his skin. The way your fingers slip between his and fiddle with his rings. The feel of your skin under his thumb as he traces the tattoo of snaffle bits that circle your wrist like a bracelet. He likes you very, very much. So much in fact, he’s beginning to wonder if there’s something more to these feelings. He still thinks about that kiss from your last trip here, the desire and sheer want of it. There were a few other minor flirtations, hand holding and brief kisses on the cheek, but nothing had the heat of that first kiss. 

You glance over your shoulder, making sure you’re alone, and laugh softly. “We’re getting pretty good at this little covert operation, aren’t we?” 

“So far it’s working well.” He catches your eye, makes sure you’re looking at him, open to hearing what he’s not explicitly saying. “You’re a good partner.” 

You process it for a moment, most likely catching on to his double meaning, and then scoff, giving a small shake of your head. “I don’t think anyone has made the mistake of calling me that before.” 

“Well, that wild reputation of yours is starting to change a bit, now isn’t it?” 

“Sort of,” you hold up your glass. “This is my fourth one.” 

“Some habits are harder to quit than others.” He sighs, taking a moment to gather his thoughts and phrasing. He wants to know what this demon is that is driving you to drink. But you’re a business woman, you won’t give anything unless you get something. He needs to give you a piece of his history in order to get a piece of yours. “I’ve seen the bottom of many a whiskey bottle. Especially after I was exiled from here. Left a wife, a little girl, most of my heart. Life didn’t seem worth being conscious for anymore.” 

“Let me guess, the MC saved you.” 

��No,” he shakes his head. “I saved myself. Woke up one morning tired of being so fucking numb. Couldn’t go back, couldn’t change anything, just move forward. So, I did.” 

You’re staring down into the remnants of your drink, your thumb running along the edge of the glass. “So what if you don’t have anything to move forward towards?” 

Once again, he sees that darkness cloud your face and shutter your eyes. “But you do, luv. You’re making money hand over fist right now. You’re going to purchase that farm, start your business. You’re going to-” 

“I have MS, Filip.” 

He thinks he misheard you. He plays it over again in his mind, keeps replaying it until it settles like a piece of barbed wire in his skin. “MS?” 

“Yeah. I was sleeping all the time for no apparent reason. I had some tingling in my fingers, difficulty holding reins. They found a couple lesions on my spine, small enough to cause the symptoms. Started me on some experimental treatments. That was eight years ago and no new lesions have shown up. I have another scan next week though.” 

Words completely fail him at the moment. He wanted an answer, and he fucking got one. Certainly not one that he wanted to hear, but it snaps everything into perspective. An acute painful perspective. He slips his hand into yours, his thumb running over that familiar tattoo on your wrist. 

“I like you,” you say quietly. “I like you a lot, Filip. I figured you should know what damaged goods you’re handling. It’s only fair.” 

Damaged goods. As if he’s not sitting there with two large facial scars and many more scattered across his body, his dark hair quickly growing more gray each day. He finishes his whiskey and sets the glass on the ground. “If anyone claims they’re not damaged, they’re just trying to sell something.” 

You emit a small laugh. “True.” 

He stares at your entwined hands, your slender fingers in between his. He’s never known anyone with MS but he knows the outcome of the disease. There’ll come a day when your grip won’t have much strength. Where there’ll be a tremor in your fingers. Time can’t be wasted, not when he knows it’s going to run out faster than normal. When he leans towards you with the intention of kissing you, you lean back slightly. He gives you a curious look, you’ve never moved away from him before. 

“I don’t want your pity.” You state it simply, matter of fact. 

A slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Who’s to say you’re not showing this old Scot pity, huh? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly in pristine condition either, luv.” 

That seems to soften you a bit, dropping some of the protective walls you’ve grown used to throwing up with this particular confession. You bring a hand up to the side of his face, the pad of your thumb following the scar on his cheek. That shadow is still there behind your eyes, the weight of your condition now easily recognized. But there’s a soft smile curving your lips and he stares at that until you close the space between you and press those lips to his. 

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Even if you're paying for the product, you're still the product

There’s something oddly comforting about the idea that “if you’re not paying for the product, you’re the product,” namely, the corollary: “If you can afford to pay for a product, you won’t be the product.” But it’s bullshit. Companies don’t make you the product because you don’t pay — they make you the product because you can’t stop them.

The theory behind “if you’re not paying for the product…” is that old economist’s saw: “incentives matter.” Companies that monetize attention are incentivized to manipulate and spy on you, while companies that you pay just want to make you happy.

This is a theory of corporate behavior grounded in economics, not power, a creature of theory and doctrine that never bothers to check in with the real world to see how that theory and doctrine map to actual events. Reality is a lot uglier.

Apple has blanketed the planet with billboards and print and online ads extolling its privacy-forward system design (e.g. “Privacy. That’s Iphone.”). There’s something to this: in 2020, the company made it very easy to opt out of third-party Ios surveillance, and 96% of its users opted out:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2021/05/96-of-us-users-opt-out-of-app-tracking-in-ios-14-5-analytics-find/

That decision cost Facebook $10 billion in a single year, and the losses keep coming. Facebook launched a campaign that accused Apple of privacywashing an anticompetitive maneuver, claiming that Apple didn’t care about its users’ privacy, they just wanted to eliminate competition for Apple’s own ad brokerage:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/12/facebooks-laughable-campaign-against-apple-really-against-users-and-small

Facebook’s campaign poses itself as the true champion of its users, accusing Apple of shamming. It’s laughable. Facebook manifestly despises its users and proves that fact every day in a thousand ways, large and small. Facebook’s true objection to Apple’s privacy tools is that they reduced Facebook’s earnings by $10b. Obviously.

But that doesn’t mean that Facebook is wrong about Apple’s cynicism. Apple exercises enormous control over its users. It’s a direct control. Apple blocks you from installing software of your choosing or from using third-party repair services of your choosing. They pour millions into engineering to make this technically challenging, and lead a coalition of large corporations that kill right to repair legislation whenever it is mooted:

https://doctorow.medium.com/apples-cement-overshoes-329856288d13

Some of Facebook’s critics accuse it of exercising similar control, but via a far more insidious method: they say that Facebook’s voracious surveillance of its users, combined with machine learning, allows Facebook to control its users’ minds, stripping them of their free will and turning them into algorithm-addled zombies who do whatever Facebook directs them to do.

This is an extraordinary claim, given that every previous claim of mind-control turned out to be bullshit, from Mesmer to MK Ultra. The best evidence for these mind-control claims comes from Facebook’s own marketing materials, where the company assures advertisers that they should spend their money on FB’s platform because of its mind-control features.

When FB critics repeat these claims, they’re engaged in “criti-hype,” Lee Vinsel’s useful coinage describing criticism that serves to bolster the target’s own propaganda. If FB are evil geniuses, well, at least they’re still geniuses.

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

Some Facebookers doubtless believe their own hype, but that doesn’t mean we have to join them in self-delusion. We can criticize Facebook for seeking control over its users, and for using that control to do things that serve its own interests at the expense of its users’ interests.

https://onezero.medium.com/how-to-destroy-surveillance-capitalism-8135e6744d59

That’s the true sin of Big Tech: using deception and coercion to control users. Companies that gain this control can be reliably expected to use it in whichever ways they can get away with. They are paperclip-maximizing artificial life-forms bent on devouring the human race, not ethical actors.

Apple’s commitment to privacy is best understood as instrumental. Apple thinks that protecting your privacy will attract your business, and they’re right. I would like to have privacy! But while Apple can increase its revenues by telling you they’ll protect your privacy, they can increase them even more by lying about it.

That’s just what they do. Earlier this month, a small security research firm called Mysk released a video revealing that when you tick the box on your Iphone that promises “disable the sharing of Device Analytics altogether,” your Iphone continues to spy on you, and sends the data it collects to Apple:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8JxvH80Rrcw

The data Iphones gather is extraordinarily fine-grained: “what you tapped on, which apps you search for, what ads you saw, and how long you looked at a given app and how you found it.”

https://gizmodo.com/apple-iphone-analytics-tracking-even-when-off-app-store-1849757558

It doesn’t stop there: “The app sent details about you and your device as well, including ID numbers, what kind of phone you’re using, your screen resolution, your keyboard languages, how you’re connected to the internet — notably, the kind of information commonly used for device fingerprinting.”

The researchers had to jailbreak an Iphone in order to find this lie. Apple has gone to extraordinary lengths to make jailbreaking illegal. Apple claims that allowing users to disable the locks on their phones will make them vulnerable to bad actors who will install deceptive, coercive software.

That is true, but it’s also true that these locks make it impossible to determine whether Apple’s software is deceptive and coercive. The walled fortress that keeps you safe from third parties is also a walled prison that leaves you at the mercy of the warlord who owns the fortress.

Once a company attains a certain scale, it becomes too big to jail, and then it monetizes you however it can. If you think the future of technology is battle is between Google’s approach and Apple’s, think again. The real fight is between the freedom to decide how technology works for you, and corporate control over technology.

https://locusmag.com/2021/01/cory-doctorow-neofeudalism-and-the-digital-manor/

Apple and Google are like the pigs and the men at the end of Animal Farm: supposed bitter enemies who turn out to be indistinguishable from one another. Google also has “privacy” switches in its preference panels that do nothing:

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

Indeed, there are so many places in Google’s location privacy settings where you can tick a box that claims to turn off location spying. None of them work. A senior product manager at Google complained to her colleagues that she had turned off three different settings and was still being tracked:

https://twitter.com/jason_kint/status/1398359580275523590

Apple is now the subject of a California class action suit over its deceptive practices, which violate the California Invasion of Privacy Act.

https://www.bloomberglaw.com/public/desktop/document/LibmanvAppleIncDocketNo522cv07069NDCalNov102022CourtDocket

As Gizmodo’s Thomas Germain notes, Apple has a good — if self-serving — reason to spy on its users. It has launched its own ad network, and is selling advertisers the ability to target its customers based on their activities:

https://gizmodo.com/apple-iphone-privacy-analytics-class-action-suit-1849774313

Companies will only protect your privacy to the extent that it is more profitable than not doing so. They can increase those profits by advertising privacy promises to potential customers. They can increase them more by secretly breaking those promises, And they can increase them even more by using privacy claims to block their rivals’ spying, so they’re the sole supplier of your nonconsensually collected personal information.

That’s what’s happening with Google’s endless proposals to “increase privacy” in Chrome that block third parties from spying on users, while letting Google continue to invade our privacy:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/03/googles-floc-terrible-idea

If we want our privacy, we need both transparency (so third parties can investigate companies’ claims to protect privacy) and regulation (so cheating companies will face consequences when they’re caught by those third parties).

That’s why it’s so exciting that the FTC has announced its intention to treat privacy invasions as antitrust violations:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/12/regulatory-uncapture/#conscious-uncoupling

For so long as corporations can use technology and law to hide their misdeeds and power to avoid consequences for those misdeeds, “voting with your wallet” is as useless as opting out of Ios tracking.

We had advertising-supported media for generations — centuries — without mass surveillance. The problem with advertising isn’t incentives — it’s impunity.

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

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

[Image ID: An Apple 'Privacy. That's iPhone.' ad. The three rear-facing camera lenses have been replaced by the staring, red eye of HAL9000 from 2001: A Space Odyssey.]

[tosahobi-if]

Hey! Since i saw Mount Hua, is this a full murim story, with the great sects and families? Are we going to have the Phoenix and Dragons system?

it's full murim, yes! "murim" is more of a guideline than a set system, so the "pheonix and dragon system" is just a popular trope in the genre. the strict ranking isn't included in this story, sorry!

the most powerful rising disciples of each sect are known as "dragons", a title bestowed by merit while sword saints are considered to be the top of the top – those who have mastered all there is to have mastered. there's been a veryyy small number of people who have been officially given that title throughout history. (should give you an idea of how insanely talented iseul is to already have people calling her that at such a young age lol)

there's nine great sects (shaolin, wudang, huashan, hwangbo, kunlun, qingcheng, kongtong, emei, zhongnan), and a tenth, gaibang, which focuses more on information brokerage than it does martial arts. and then there's five great families (tang, zhuge, namgung, murong, and hebei-peng). if you're wondering if you have to memorize all of these names, the answer is yes, and i'll be showing up on your doorstep to quiz each and every one of you /j