#driving intercontinental

[fieriframes]

[Cynicism is easy. An optimist is a braver cynic.]

[pursuitist]

2023 Lexus RZ 450e: Oui Oui!

The All-New RZ 450e Offers Striking Design     In the beautiful city of Aix-en-Provence in the Provence-Alpes-Côte d’Azur region of Southern France, Lexus, the luxury brand of the mighty Toyota Motor Corporation, assembled international media to unveil the all-new electric crossover Lexus RZ 450e. The RZ 450e is a landmark model for the brand, as it is the first Lexus to be designed from the…

[fierifiction]

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Okay, so we're gonna make the masa for the El Jefe Taco. We got the grilled corn. Just cut it off. though right effective technique. Add some water. Lime. All right, a little salt. But not too much. Just get this salsa, cut off one side, and add them to the next piece. (or add the taco and salsa together. It's up to you. You can even add anything you want for fun!) Melt everything together in a skillet and then add the tortilla, bell peppers, lettuce and onions. Cook on high for 4 hours, tossing if you have too much.

[judgementdaysunshine]

Sexy wrestlemania celebration

Pairing: Rhea Ripley x Fem reader

Description: After her big Wrestlemania match and retaining her women's championship you and Rhea celebrate the whole night

Gif credits to @domysterio

Pic credits to @romanthereigns

Adrenaline flowed through you as Motionless in white plays beside you before walking to the ring feeling on edge from the minute Rhea's match against Becky started you were on edge and you became a nervous wreck standing ringside as time went on. Finally after what felt like an eternity rhea won climbing in the ring and jumping in her arms watching the rest of the matches feeling over the moon when Jey and Sami won their matches with sami becoming Intercontinental champion against Gunther both of you mostly rhea feeling disappointed when all of the boys lose their matches invested in Seth and Cody's match against Roman and Rock since seth was one of your closest and longtime friends and you finally wanted the bloodline shut down feeling your heart drop when the bloodline won knowing how hard cody would have to fight for his match with roman tomorrow dealing with the press conference before celebrating rhea's win with the boys with a few drinks driving back to your home where she showers while you strip changing into revealing lingerie showing off your breasts and leaving you one second away from being naked sitting on the bed where she finds you a few minutes later. "It's your night baby do whatever you want" she smiles putting a blindfold over your eyes before stripping down tearing the lingerie off leaving you a whimpering mess as she eats you out running a vibrator over your clit suddenly seeing her with a strap on moaning at her thrusts that started off slow then went back and forth in pace meeting your hips against hers which only made the warm rubber band grow thin until it came crashing down crying in pleasure when she continued to thrust in you before she was rubbing herself against you in a scissoring position before you were holding onto the top of the bedframe as you rode on her face unable to catch your breath shaking head to toe as you ate her out "So proud of you Mami" despite your shakey state you kept the intimate moment going smiling at her moans and whimpers before you were laying on top of her jumping when she wipes you down groaning in pain "Thank you I love you my babygirl" you crawl in bed after using the bathroom kissing all over her face and lips before snuggling to her "I love you too mami".

[witch-and-her-witcher]

eluzriel | E | essentially pwp but there's some espionage and getting together

There are secrets Elain's lovers have been keeping from the rest of the Night Court, but some truths Elain simply didn't disclose that come to light during her first intercontinental spy mission to Rask - such as reaching a decision about maintaining casual relationships separately, or perhaps committing to something bigger.

When both Azriel and Lucien are sent after Elain to ensure her safety, everything comes out in the open.

ao3 | chapters 4-6/16

For @polyacotarweek. Thank you @popjunkie42 and @climbthemountain2020 for betaing!!! <3

preview under cut (nsfw)

The taste of everything sweet and good in the world is dripping on his tongue, down his chin, filling his senses like a drug. 

Lucien is lapping up Elain’s center, tongue broad and flat and careful to tease the edges of her folds in the way that drives her crazy, swirling and sucking at the bundle of nerves up top, before shooting down to spear into her fluttering heat — it’s a rhythm that has him palming himself through his trousers, smearing the precome beading at the tip of his cock against his undershorts shamelessly.

Let him get a wet spot.

Let him look like some untried youth.

He’d like to see anyone else weather any better when worshiping at the altar of Elain Archeron’s life-altering cunt.

Lucien moans into her when Elain drags her fingers down his scalp and then clenches his hair in her grasp, making mewling kitten noises as he winds her up and up and up. When she begins grinding against his face, using him as she draws closer to her peak, Lucien gives in to her every whim.

“F-fingers,” she gasps, pulling him up to her clit.

Sucking and laving at her clit like his life depends on it, Lucien doesn’t slow as he coats a finger in the mixture of her slick desire and his saliva. 

He isn’t careless as he works it inside of her, isn’t as rough as she may beg for, because he knows she stills needs to get on stage once they’re done and a moment of lust-addled want for pain-edged pleasure will leave her aching in the worst of ways for the rest of the evening.

Lucien doesn’t take whatever opportunity Elain offers him — he provides for her what no other can.

The deepest level of understanding of not only her carnal needs, but of her overall health, care and happiness.

No, for his mate, Lucien gives her what she needs. He drags the calloused length of his finger up and down her entrance several times, feeling her clench and gasp, and only crooking further into that spongey, delicious heat when his finger is good and soaked from her.

“Gods, y-yes, yes! Lu—”

Lucien gropes upwards to clamp down on her mouth. Elain doesn’t hear his hiss of pain when she bites down with fae sharp teeth on that hand just as her orgasm crashes into her and she’s spasming, ass lifting off of the table entirely and thighs clamping around Lucien.

He doesn’t stop his mouth, doesn’t stop his finger, until he’s worked her through the powerful waves of her climax, until she’s coming down and heaving with the effort as her legs quake.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Lucien moans between placing sloppy kisses to her thighs. He doesn’t care that his mouth will be sticky with glitter from it. 

He traces a path up her body, keeping one hand against her thigh, holding her pretty little outfit to the side of her dripping cunt. Keeping her entrance clear so Lucien won’t have to fumble to find it in a moment.

“That mouth of yours should be illegal,” Elain says between gulps of air, eyes glazed over. She grabs the front of his shirt and yanks him to her, kissing him and licking into his mouth to taste herself there.

When she lets him pull back, squirming her hips with clear intent, Lucien purrs, “Just for you, El.”

She bites her bottom lip salaciously as she smiles up at him, shivering at the nickname he uses his deepest register to say.

Mother above and demons below, he’s truly the luckiest male alive.

“C’mon,” she whines, pursing her lips into a seductive pout, “I need you to fill me up, Fox. Don’t leave me waiting.” 

Lucien wastes no time meeting her demands, satisfied she’s good and ready and won’t feel any discomfort later on from a hasty entrance. 

When he gets his cock out of his laces and sinks into her, it’s like ascending to another plane of existence. 

Lucien’s good eye rolls back in his head while the metal one flutters and clicks. “Fuck, you are so tight,” he praises once he’s buried inside of her. He leans back to watch where they’re joined. Watches as he pulls out, a guttural groan emitting from low in his throat when she sucks him right back into her warm clutch. “Made to take my cock, baby.”

Elain preens beneath him.

“My good girl. So pretty, so smart, so capable.” He huffs a laugh. “Capable of taking this big cock, right?”

He’s babbling, but he can’t leave her with less than filling her to the brim with all of his praise, all of his cock, all of his come that she needs. He has to see that pretty blush she gets when he overwhelms her with feelings, with support, until that brilliant mind is blissed out.

The bond is a song of invisible light between them, strumming contently with their efforts.

read more

[blowflyfag]

WWF RAW MAGAZINE: OCTOBER 1998

a commentary by Vince Russo

Ratz!!!

I love this rat race.

I love getting in my rat car every morning, driving to my rat office and seeing what rats want to challenge me today. I thrive on chewin’ people up, sittin them out, then givin’ ‘em a ride on the bottom of my shoe! Dog eat dog. That’s what this society is all about. You play–or you die. Can’t hang? Why then tuck your tail between your legs and get the !@#$ out!!! Hey, I didn’t make the rulz–i just live by ‘em. 

What is–simply is what is.  You can either cry in your Snapple–or drown in your Red Dog!!! Sure, one day I’ll “Get mine”, but until then–I’m just gonna enjoy the game!

And it is a game. It’s all about strategy. It’s all about burying your opponent before your opponent buries you. Let’s face it–it’s every man for himself!!! Friends? PLEAZZZZ. Aside from the television show featuring those chicks with perky breasts–THERE ARE NO FRIENDZ!!! Remember, it’s a rat race, a rat war and we’re all rat soldiers!!! It’s all about winning at any cost. Hell, you might as well throw family in there for that matter. How many Generation Xers are already counting the days until they receive that big inheritance from Mommy and Daddy. Sounds cold? Maybe even heartless? Well, guess what, Einstein–IT IS!!!

But then again–it is… what it is.

Is there really any question about where the relationship between HHH and Shawn MIchaels standz? What will happen when the Heartbreak Kid comes off the DL and re-enters the game? The rat race? Personally, I think the only question is–who, what, where, and when. Kidz, one of these “friendz” is screwin’ the other and that’s all there is to that tune!!! EGO–GET YOUR ICE COLD EGO HERE!!! That’s what it’s all about. Caring? Honesty? Doin’ the right thing? Hey, watch the Rosie O’Donnell Show, because we don’t play by them rulz here in the REAL world. 

[Where does the relationship between Triple H and Shawn (above) stand? Would a friend declare to the entire world that HBK “dropped the ball” at WrestleMania XIV as Hunter–here nailing X-Pac with the Pedigree–did?]

How can there even be any question? Remember the day after WrestleMania XIV, when HHH declared to the entire world that HBK had fumbled? Dropped the ball? What a guy–what a “FRIEND”. Then, of course, there was the X-Pac incident, and the match to determine who would challenge The Rock for the Intercontinental Title at SummerSlam. Yeah, it was a real tough decision for HHH to screw his buddy–his pal. IT WAS A NO BRAINIER!!! And what about Chyna? How difficult was it for her to make her decision? No, the question is–HOW LONG BEFORE SHE SCREWS THE OTHER GUY–yeah, i’m talkin’ about HHH!!!

[How long before Chyna “uses and abuses” HHH. According to Russo, it’s the name of the game! (Right) isn’t Shawn the champ who “Doesn’t lie down for anybody”? Don’t friends like Triple H fall into that category?]

And what about Shawn? Isn’t this the champ who “doesn’t lie down for anybody?” One would think that “Friends” would have to fall into that category. I’d certainly think so. Use… and abuse, baby–it’s the universal language. Face it, there’s no “heart” in the Heartbreak Kid, and when it comes to his ass… or Hunter’s… HBK’ll be the one sittin’... or… sittin’ pretty. And, hey, there’s nothing wrong with that. Between the ropes–there is no morality… nor should there be. Morality doesn’t pay the bills. Friendship doesn’t put dinner on the table. Nobody gives–you gotta take. And those with the most by the end of the game… WIN.

It’s just that simple. So, go read all the uplifting, spiritual books you want, and believe that there is good in people… if you want. Go to church, say your prayers and take your vitamins. Just remember, the last guy who preached that… stabbed all the other rats in the back between breaths.

Later.

[wrestlezaynia]

Synopsis: Sami and Kevin playfully wrestle for the Intercontinental Championship. The stipulation of the match? Whoever makes the other moan first is declared the winner. Who will come out on top?

Warning: Must be 18+ to read under cut.

Sami emerges from the bathroom wearing only the Intercontinental Championship. "So...what do you think?" He asks with a sly grin.

A glint emerges in Kevin's pale blue eyes at the titillating scene before him. A devilish smirk tugging at his lips as he grips Sami's hips, pulling him towards the bed. "Beau." He replies in a hushed whisper.

A gasp spills from Sami's lips as Kevin pulls him near, their eyes locked. "Thank you for your support Kev, it means the world to me." He whispers back, his soft doe eyes filled with adoration. "This is ours."

Kevin shakes his head in response, smiling lovingly as he gently tucks a strand of crimson behind Sami's ear. "No Sami, it's yours, you've earned this." He counters, admiring how good the title looks around his slender waist. "You better watch your back though, because I'm coming for it next." He warns, shoving Sami playfully on his back before pinning his wrists above his head. "One," he proceeds to count, pressing his lips to Sami's. "Two," he continues, kissing him again. "Three. And the neeeeeeew Intercontinental Champion, Kevin Owens!"

Sami giggles in between kisses, feeling himself falling even deeper in love with Kevin, if that was possible. "You're disqualified for kissing interference." Sami rebuttals as the giggling intensifies.

Sami has the most adorable laugh Kevin has ever heard as it fills the otherwise quiet room, echoing off of the paper thin walls. "How about a rematch?" Kevin asks, a noticeable gleam in his eye. "You versus me, one on one, anything goes and I do mean anything." He adds, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Sami smiles fondly at Kevin, the kind of smile reserved exclusively for your soulmate. "I've got a better idea." He responds, his honey eyes twinkling with mischief. "Whoever is able to make the other moan first is declared the winner." A devious grin spreading across his bearded face.

A self-satisfied smirk twists at Kevin's lips, feigning arrogance. When, in reality, he knows this is a fight he isn't going to win. Sami is and always has been his greatest weakness, his Achilles heel. "This is going to be the easiest championship I've ever won!" He quips smugly.

"We'll see about that." Sami counters with a smirk of his own, knowing exactly where to touch to drive Kevin wild. "On the count of three we start kissing." He instructs, eyes drifting to Kevin's lips. "One...two...mpfh." Sami whimpers as Kevin pulls him into a fiery kiss.

Patience has never been Kevin's strong suit, especially when it comes to Sami. The guy doesn't know when to shut up, so he decides to take matters into his own hands. Hands that are gently cradling Sami's face, kissing him soft and deep as a sigh of contentment escapes him.

The kiss catches Sami by surprise, but he gladly welcomes it, kissing Kevin back with fervor as he wraps his arms tightly around his waist.

When their lips are forced to part, they remain close, holding onto one another as they steady their breathing. They press their foreheads together and stare deeply into each other's eyes, contemplating their next move. "You know you're going to lose, right?" Kevin asks, a shit-eating grin spreading across his lips. "You can't resist me." He adds softly, whispering in Sami's ear. "Ce titre est aussi bon que le mien."

Feeling Kevin's hot breath ghosting against his ear sends shivers down Sami's spine as he continues to whisper sweet nothings to him in their native tongue. He doesn't have the fondest clue what he's saying (aside from a few keywords Kevin taught him), but hearing his soft, husky voice speaking to him in French is a major turn-on. "Kev." He murmurs breathlessly, the heat pooling between his legs.

Kevin is forced to bite his bottom lip to stifle any noise from escaping, but Sami is making it so hard, in more ways than one. Temperatures rise when Kevin licks the shell of Sami's ear, smirking as he feels his body tremble beneath him followed by a muffled gasp. "I thought your laugh was the prettiest sound in the world. I was wrong, it's your moans.” Kevin remarks, taking the lobe gently into his mouth.

Sami wants to argue that it wasn't a moan, it was a gasp but the objection dies as soon as Kevin nibbles on his earlobe. He can feel himself coming undone, his body shaking with desire. He can't take this anymore, he's ready to submit. He's ready for Kevin to take him. "Make love to me, Kev." He breathes, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kevin inhales sharply at Sami's breathless plea, his heart beating fast as they make eye contact. "Looks like I won." He smugly boasts.

"No," Sami counters, reaching up to cup Kevin's cheek. "We both did."

A/N: I accidentally deleted the request bestie, but thanks for sending it in! If you have a request, feel free to send a prompt to my inbox. Thank you for reading, as always! 😊

@loki69zowens, @wrestlingdespairings, @domripley, @who-do-you-want-to-be, @sizzlingavenuestrawberry. Tags are broken, RIP. 💀

[onbearfeet]

WIP Wedneday? WIP Wednesday.

Road trip with the cast of Monster Mash. Imagine these dinguses playing yellow car.

--

Jack Russell had never been a fan of long car rides.

He didn’t mind driving, particularly. Being a werewolf often meant living somewhere new every month, and until the advent of cheap intercontinental air travel, that had mostly meant picking a continent and moving around on it as best he could. And for the last century or so, moving around in North America had meant automobiles. He’d driven everything from Model Ts to Rolls Royces, and none of it had been particularly difficult or uncomfortable.

No, it was being a passenger that he couldn’t stand.

Perhaps it was something about werewolf reflexes; he reacted to things slightly faster than ordinary humans, even in his own human form, so if he wasn’t careful, riding shotgun in a car meant he was constantly tapping an imaginary brake or gas pedal half a second before the driver did. Or perhaps it was lingering trauma from all the times he’d been shot or netted, trussed up, and thrown into the back of something with a snarling engine. Whatever it was, he didn’t enjoy being in a moving vehicle that he didn’t control. He sometimes wondered how Ted felt about it; after all, there probably weren’t any vehicles built for someone his size.

But Elsa Bloodstone owned the van, and Elsa did not give up her keys without a good reason, so Jack had gotten used to swallowing his pride and climbing into the passenger seat—or worse, the back after Bucky Barnes won the coin toss.

There was one positive to Elsa’s driving, though. Somehow, through whatever perverse alchemy made her the most remarkable woman in the world (at least in Jack’s thoroughly biased and entirely correct opinion), he could sleep while she was at the wheel. Something about the cedar-and-sage scent of her at close quarters put his hackles down, smoothed his bristling paranoia, and let him drift off to the thrum of the engine and the whisper of her breath.

And so he was mostly asleep, slipping in and out of a pleasant dream about running through high mountain forests with nothing chasing him for once, when he heard Elsa’s voice.

“Barnes.”

“Your majesty,” Bucky drawled from behind Jack, where he was presumably still strapped into a jump seat in the cargo area.

Jack felt the smile tugging at his lips. He hoped Elsa couldn’t see it.

Elsa huffed, and Jack could hear the eyeroll in her voice. “In my infinite mercy, I’ve decided to do you a favor.”

“Golly, gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she said flatly. “I’m saving you considerable embarrassment. Not counting your years with Hydra, how long would you say you’ve been, er—?”

“Myself? Conscious? Human?”

Jack couldn’t suppress the small flinch.

“Yes. That.”

“A few years, now. I guess you can count it from 2014, if you’re going from when I got out. But it took me a couple years to, y’know, have a personality again. Why?”

“Did you spend much time catching up on history?”

“I puked for two days straight after I googled JFK, so no.”

“Right, then. There are facts you’ll need to know if you don’t want to make a complete arse of yourself.”

“If this is about Marvin Gaye, I swear to Christ—”

“Your Wikipedia page,” Elsa interrupted, “says you were raised Irish American Catholic. Is that true?”

“Near ’nough.” A faint Irish lilt drifted through Bucky’s voice. “My dad was, anyway.”

“Then you probably heard a few sermons in your day about the evils of homosexuality.”

Bucky burst out laughing.

It was loud enough that Jack gave up even pretending to sleep, opened his eyes, and sat up from where he’d been slumped against the passenger window. He stretched as somewhere behind him, Ted rumbled a question that sounded like What the hell?

“Sorry, fellas,” Bucky chuckled. “Old man laughs at history lesson, you know how it is.” He snorted.

Jack stretched and used the motion as an excuse to look back at the cargo bay. Bucky was, indeed, still in his jump seat, wiping tears from his eyes and grinning.

“Priceless,” he muttered. “Just priceless. Elsa, is this gonna be one of those ‘some people are queer now and you gotta be okay with it’ talks?”

“If by ‘okay’ you mean ‘on your best manners or I’ll stab you’, then yes, that’s what this is.” Elsa took her eyes off the road just long enough to glare daggers at Bucky.

“Ha.” Bucky scrubbed at his face with his flesh hand. “Okay, let’s save you some time. Quick show of hands—who in this van has, at some point in their life, done queer shit?”

He pulled his hand away from his face and raised it above his head.

Jack grinned and put his own hand up.

Ted urfed and raised his.

Bucky looked at Elsa and raised his eyebrows.

Grudgingly, Elsa raised her hand.

“That’s what I thought,” Bucky said. His voice gentled. “Doll, I’m from Brooklyn. Down by the Navy yard, no less. There’s not much I ain’t seen. If I use the wrong words or something, please do correct me before the ghost of my mother rises from her grave and hauls me off by my ear, but you don’t have to worry I’ll see two fellas kissing and get the vapors.”

“Good,” Elsa replied, turning her attention back to the road. “Because our client is an old friend of mine, and I’ve got barbed bolts in my crossbow.”

[naturalrights-retard]

Globalists know that nothing drives public policy so much as the fear of impending death.  Nuclear weapons and intercontinental ballistic missiles may have scared the snot out of anyone living through the Cold War, but they were (and still are) the gifts that keep on giving for the military-industrial complex and national security surveillance State.  The more catastrophic the consequences of any perceived threat, the more likely that otherwise skeptical human beings will hand over their freedoms in exchange for the elusive promise of personal security.  Political systems specialize in exploiting this “Save Me!” impulse for maximum leverage.  “Looming apocalypse” is Big Government’s best salesman every year.

Ghost stories about “global warming” work the same way.  If voters can be convinced that their economic freedom is leading to humanity’s extinction, then they will accept costly regulations and “green energy”-induced inflation.  If they can be brainwashed into believing that hydrocarbon energy is evil, then they will actively protest for a future with intermittent yet expensive electric power.  If they can be deluded into thinking that only politicians and central bankers can save the planet, then they will embrace communism in order to fight “climate change.”  Given the fact that Earth’s climate is always naturally changing — whether humans are alive to notice or not — governments’ success in conditioning gullible people to fear every change in the weather has been remarkably effective in creating voluntary slaves.

[cr1mson5returns]

I fell down a sudden and spiky rabbit hole wondering where exactly in my home state of Kansas the fictional town of Smallville is supposed to be. I checked the DC Wiki for comic book information and got nothing. Kinda pissed me off, because I didn't want to have to randomly assign a plot of land to Smallville. But when I checked the Smallville Wiki (TV series Smallville, that is), I found out that the show gave it the zip code which corresponds to Chase, KS. Chase is in Rice County, which is a few hours west of Wichita on the highways, putting it pretty solidly in South Central Kansas.

And guys.....as a bitch who was born and raised in South Central Kansas, you have to know that we're some characters out here. I can't speak for Rice County, never lived there, but there's this hilarious smattering of accents scattered about the south central part of the state. Some people have that flat Midwestern/Wichita way of speaking, where you can almost pretend they're not Midwestern if they didn't unironically say "lemme just squeeze by ya" so much. But other people have that Rural Kansas drawl that isn't quite as Southern as you can hear the closer you get to the Ozarks, and despite that you'd still be able to pick them out in a crowded room because they sound a touch out of place amongst everybody else. They say "color" like "collar" and talk about "y'all down on Green Street" and they warsh their clothes while they're drawling some pictures. And that's just the way we talk, don't even get me started on the very rigidly Baptist morality and the tense feelings about whether we should even root for the Kansas City Chiefs since they're Missouri's team, anyway.

Armed with this knowledge and context, I present to all of you: Clark Kent who hauled hay in severe thunderstorm warnings as a teenager because fuck, it had to get done somehow and half the time the National Weather Service was just being cautious. Clark who learned to drive at age 12 on the farm and the county sheriff saw fit not to ticket him when he was 14 and took Pa's truck into town to pick up some last-minute ingredients for a birthday cake at the store. Clark who went to Wichita State for a journalism degree and thought Wichita was a big city and complained about the stupid ass layout of the streets between clearly historic districts and newer developments. Clark who got on a domestic flight at Eisenhower Intercontinental Airport and took off for Metropolis intent on getting out of Bumfuck Nowhere. Clark who comes back to Smallville when it's all too much because the city's great, and Lois and Jimmy and everyone else are just as great, but Kansas has the most beautiful full moon nights and not as much light pollution on the horizon, and he can fly through the Flint Hills and pretend he's a kid again and things aren't so noisy and weird and terrifying.

[fieriframes]

[FIERI: I wanna wring it out every ounce I wanna do the right thing, when the right thing counts, and I wanna feel the difference. To ease my doubts before you disappear. There is more of a subtlety, whereas Cajun food is definitely spicy.]

[milk-crater]

discerning

Pairing: Adam Cole/Kyle O’Reilly

MB, this ended up being a lot longer than I expected it to be ha ha. But maybe that's not a bad thing. Thanks for the prompt, I love writing about my favourite evil meow meow Adam Cole. *** “ADAAAAAM!” Roddy wasn’t able to hold in his excitement but Adam couldn’t blame the guy: minutes ago Roderick Strong had just won the Intercontinental Championship. Adam had watched Revolution from home, busted ankle elevated on pillows. Adam had been pleased if not surprised when Roddy won, but it had hurt having to watch it on the screen rather than in person. Just one more thing his broken ankle had denied him. Now instead of celebrating with his friends he had to settle for Roddy’s voice rattling out of his phone. “I did it, Adam! I go the belt!”

“I always knew you would, Roddy. You’re the man,” Adam said, forcing a smile because he knew Roddy would hear it in his voice otherwise.

“Yeah, and that’s not all! KYLE showed up!”

“Who?” Adam said flatly.

Roddy was stunned into silence.

“What do you mean ‘who’? Kyle Kyle,” he said.

Of course Adam knew which Kyle. They’d been practically married at one point, back when they were scrambling their way up in the indies. Kyle O’Reilly. His first real partner, his oldest friend.

When Roddy had offered Kyle a spot in the Undisputed Kingdom, Adam wasn’t surprised when O’Reilly turned it down.

Adam laughed. “Of course I know which Kyle, Roddy. I’m just joking with you.”

Kyle O’Reilly. A return to the ring after nearly two years on the shelf. Adam had been there with him post-surgery, after Kyle had learned that things hadn’t gone as well as expected. The doc had explained that Kyle’s return to the ring was a far point in the distance, perhaps a place that Kyle would never reach.

Once the doctor left Adam turned to Kyle.

“Listen, you got this.”

“I know,” Kyle said, looking at the ceiling.

“You’re the strongest person I know,” Adam said, leaning forward, body all 45 degrees angles, a pose he only took when he felt wound up and intent on something. “And I’ll be there for you every step of the way. I can take time off, drive you to appointments, help with physical therapy, do errands, anything you need—”

“No.”

Adam looked at Kyle, who was still staring at the ceiling.

“No?” Adam echoed. “Kyle, the doctor was right about this injury being serious. This isn’t the time for pride, okay? Let me hel—”

“It’s not about pride,” Kyle said. “It’s about…you. You’re just coming off your own injuries. If you take time away from wrestling for my sake, neither of us will be happy.”

Adam puffed up, indignant. “That’s not fair. If it were anyone else, Sure, maybe, but...not you, Kyle. I could never—”

Kyle snorted. “Never resent me? Never claim that I was holding you back? Use me as an excuse for falling short rather than owning up to your own mistakes?”

His words hit Adam like a superkick to the face.  

“I thought we were past all that,” Adam said, a weak defense but the only one he had. Kyle actually turned to look at him, moving only his eyes as his neck was still in a tight brace.

“I guess I’m just the forgive but not forget type,” he said, sounding weary. “Right now you’re all gung-ho about looking after me, about being there for me. But eventually you’ll regret making that choice, and you’ll drop me. And I’ll be worse off because by then I’ll have come to rely on you. Better to just cut that off right now.”

Adam blinked, staring at Kyle. His heart was telling him to beg for another chance, to show Kyle that he did have his back, that he would stick by him. But a crueler part of him whispered no. Why should he debase himself? Why should he get on his hands and knees for Kyle O’Reilly? The man clearly didn’t want his help.

“Fine,” Adam said. “You want to do this on your own, have at it.”

That had been the last time they’d talked.

“Do you ever talk to Kyle O’Reilly?” Max had asked him one night. It was shortly after Adam’s surgery. Max had come to stay as Adam was very much doped up on post-surgery meds and too weak to even leave the bed. Max had asked Adam about Kyle a week in, when Adam was starting to become more lucid. Max had carried him out to the couch so they could cuddle and watch that week’s Dynamite.

“Why do you ask?” Adam said, trying to keep his tone light.

“It’s just...I know this injury has hit you hard up here,” Max lightly brushed his temple, pushing his hair back. “So I thought maybe talking to a friend who’d gone through something similar, that it might help.”

Adam was quiet.

“It was a stupid idea, sorry,” Max muttered.

“No, no,” Adam murmured, burrowing in closer to Max. “It’s just…things are complicated between me and Kyle. I don’t think he’d want to hear from me.”

Max held him closer, kissed the crown of his head. “You never know, brochacho.”

Adam closed his eyes, breathed in Max’s scent. Adam’s apartment was clean thanks to Max. All week Max had been doing the cooking, following the directions from meal boxes that showed up on the doorstep. The guy had even emptied Adam’s bedpans when he couldn’t leave the bed.

But his ankle injury wasn’t that bad. He’d be able to move around in a day or so, even if it was just wheeling around on his knee scooter. What if he needed this level of help for weeks? Would Max still stick by him then?

“Max, would you still love me even if—”

“If you were a worm?” Max jumped in. “Yes. A hundred percent.”

Adam blinked his eyes open. “A worm?”

“Yeah. It’s this meme going around online. ‘Would you still love me even if I was a worm?’ And I’ve thought about it and I totally would. So you don’t have to worry about it, Adam.”

Adam had not been worried about turning into a worm, but he felt reassured nonetheless. That reassurance gave way to a wave of shame. He should have insisted to Kyle that he’d be there for him.     

“I wish I was more like you, Max.”

Max was quiet, but a second later he was shaking slightly, laughing.

“What?” Adam tried to turn around but Max just held him tighter, keeping him from seeing Max’s face.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just...no one’s ever said that to me.”

Adam realized that Max wasn’t laughing.

“I guess this is just something I gotta do on my own.”

Adam nearly threw his remote at the screen. Instead he just paused it, taking the time to let his anger simmer. Kyle was there on his TV, his stupid Snoopy hat on backwards, looking haunted and gutted. His big eyes looked so sad. Seeing Kyle like that made Adam feel like his heart was being pierced with broken glass.

But the guy had done this to himself! He’d turned down Adam’s offer of help and friendship all those years ago! If he’d had to struggle alone, that had been his own damn fault!

“I just don’t get it,” Roddy said on the phone with Adam later that night. “Why wouldn’t he want to join us?”

“Kyle’s always had a stubborn streak, you know that,” Adam said easily, not letting his own frustration show.

“Well, I’m still glad he’s back,” Roddy said brightly. “After everything he went through? It’s a real miracle.”

“Yeah, sure,” Adam said. “But miracle boy can’t just do what he wants.”

Roddy paused. “Adam?”

“I want you and the others to make an example of him,” Adam said. “Show him it was a mistake to go it alone.”

Roddy audibly gulped.

“Adam, you sure about this? This isn’t some random guy. This is Kyle. He might still come around—”

“He won’t,” Adam said. He had that pained grimace on his face that he wore when acknowledging a painful truth. “You know that. So I want you to show him that he made a mistake.”

Silence on the line. Adam could picture Roddy licking his lips, a nervous tick of his.

“Adam, please don’t ask me to do this.”

“Ask you to do what, Roddy? Ask you to choose me over Kyle?” Adam pressed. “Because I made my choice already, remember? I choose you over him.” There was just enough inflection on ‘him’ to make it clear that Adam wasn’t talking about Kyle.  

Roddy inhaled sharply.

“Right. You got it, Adam.” Now his voice sounded hard, resolute.

And so the Undisputed Kingdom had swarmed Kyle post-match. Roddy went from being buddy-buddy to sarcastic and mean. Adam was actually happy watching the show from home for once, content that even if he wasn’t there, his message was being conveyed through Roddy’s slaps and words:

“You made the wrong decision, Kyle! You made! The wrong! Decision!”

When Dynasty came around Adam was actually there in person this time. Tonight would not be Kyle O’Reilly’s crowning moment: it would be his. He’d show the world that his ankle was more or less healed, and the crowds would cheer as he walked down the ramp. The match went as Adam expected, with Roddy dishing lots of physical punishment to Kyle and eventually emerging the victor.

The Kingdom rolled Adam out onto the ramp as Kyle stumbled his way up it. Adam purposefully kept his eyeline upward, not looking towards his old friend. He stood, raising his arms, drinking in the roar of the crowd. He did not look at Kyle.

Don’t act surprised, he thought as he passed him. This is what you wanted.

[ourolite]

𝓒ONCEPT.ㅤ some professional boyfriend headcanons featuring xīn’yuè and a few others he figured imperative to receive attention in his overview. lil' commanding, he is. can you already imagine, or are you invested to see for yourself? if you're staying, may we interest you in a fragrance sample or two, free of charge? ℘RECAUTION.ㅤ switch fem reader, daddy kink, toys, condescending praise, slight bantering, implied exhibitionism.

༺ ceo!boyfriend who is the Chief Executive Officer of an intercontinental brand with the hall and trademark “Anzhong”; a subsidiary worldwide fashion industry with product lines that also include accessories, handbags, footwear, cosmetics, clothing, adult toys, and other minor trinkets such as writing utensils or home decor. The industry was also founded in 1928 in Lhasa, Tibet by Chagmo Kyi. You may also infer that the headquarters is located there as well, which is where the CEO in question dabbles a majority of his life besides with you or his two daughters, Maju and Blumei. There are over hundreds of active boutiques worldwide, at least 15,000 active employees, and their headquarters, which Xīn’yuè works at, is located in Lhasa, Tibet. The revenue of this company is at least 9.35 billion, making Xīn’yuè one of the richest CEOS any business has to offer. Similar to most compassionate businessmen, they soften up when it’s safe to, as it’s not considerably so in a workplace. Have to stay firm towards your subordinates, after all.

༺ ceo!boyfriend who is a spoiler as much as he doesn’t want to admit. Considering that he’s rather emotionally constipated, he utilizes his affection through quality time, affirming words, and gift showers. There are times where you receive the secretary treatment despite being the girlfriend, but he’s communicative enough to apologize for such. While the apology would always seem half-hearted and awkward, he redeems himself with a list of things since he knows the apology wasn’t the best; he truly cares for you but is only capable of showing it appropriately when he deems necessary. Relationships aren’t his forte, after all. Not only he has to worry about his career that takes up too much of his time, but his girls that also take up the little time he possesses when he’s on break. You get him to unwind often which he secretly appreciates, but outwardly he playfully reprimands or mocks you for catering to him like he’s some sort of child. You ignore him however, proceeding to give him head massages as the two of you binge your favorite show as the girls sleep. He feels safe with you. Always. But you’ll have to squint to conclude such.

༺ ceo!oc who canonically has two boyfriends. Yes, two. The phenomenon has yet to process ‘til this day, for he not only received the term and accurate accusation “bicurious” from his workout partner, Zolene Irene, but growing up in a judgmental household closes your mind in a negative manner (shout out to his strongly traditional parents that projected their opinions onto him, especially his homophobic father). Both are also spiritual entities, by the way, and as a human, it’s… overwhelming. One is a curt, cupidity maneki-neko with the name Indigo who happens to also be his financial advisor and natural migraine inducer. His other lover is a sasabonsam, a vampiric tree dweller who has yet to conclude the consequence of skipping out of work constantly just to do what he desires. Oh, I forgot to mention that they’re two Taureans. Taureans. The most obstinate Earth sign, let alone one of the three most in general. In summary, order is the last thing that household needs.

༺ ceo!boyfriend whose sex drive is on the low side of the spectrum, so you’re usually the one either engaging in sexual activities first or engaging in them by yourself; graysexuality is no joke. Generally however, he understands that you have needs, so he doesn’t mind pleasuring you when he feels comfortable despite him not feeling anything in return but genuine entertainment. Though, on another note, when you voice your outwardly desires, he not only gives you a captious expression that corresponds with his sardonic reassurance, but claims that some of the things you want from him are completely unethical. Naturally, you didn’t like this response, let alone his inability to take a moment to put himself in your shoes, so you left the idea alone. Naturally again, he felt a subtle sense of regret a while after that discussion, so he planned on how exactly he should make it up to you without giving into your desires…

ℌ Side note, for the most part, it didn’t work. He gave in.

The perspiration bubbling in the subtle arch of your back was prompted by the sudorific vibrations that emanated from the personalized bullet vibrator that was buzzing against your clit. Your tumescent bud pulsated effervescently as your hips scoured against the trembling surface, forcing moans to elude from your tepid, lazily parted lips. The vibrations were mellow and arrhythmic, hence your relatively desperate mannerisms, as you failed to reach the orgasm that was nearing, evading, nearing, and evading. With unreliable assistance, that is, seeing as the tip of the device was stagnant and pressed against your soppy clit, vibrating louder due to its inundation. If only the vibrations were just a little stronger, but even you understood that this behavior was well deserved, for you believed that guilt-tripping him for not utilizing your idea sooner was the best route.

“Can I finish now? Please? Jebel? Bài tuō?” You implored sycophantically, your blissed-out gaze imbued with lechery as your dampened lashes fluttered upwards at the one who was torturing you on the frigid surface. Obstinacy is nothing but a drug with no ideal remedy; this was evinced with the way the asshole you were star-fucking merely hummed dismissively in response, lightening the pressure from your clit just to watch the vulva quiver. The lack of the response immediately influenced your obsequious actions to falter with a miffed pout and a hip gyration; if you possessed the ability to trade places with this individual within seconds he would’ve been cumming and hyperventilating right about now.

“Sweetheart, don’t leave me like this.. Don’t you feel sorry for me? Hm? Mmmh-maybe even horny for me for once? Hm, daddy?”

The left curve of the well-adored and cross-country CEO’s lip quirked up for a moment in acknowledgment, but also derisive, once you mockingly quiered him. Everything was a muddle, a concupiscent muddle. There was no recollection of the prior events; all you remember is what’s happening now and later. What now consists of a yukata-wearing billionaire looming over the desk of his office, the glass surface besplattered with crumpled papers, prurient excretions, and excessive handprints. Then later that said inspirational figure will leave you knee-buckled and exhausted over the desk as he roughly persuaded you on why disobedience was never an option to begin with. An intense idea to state, but you’ve been through much worse, believe yourself.

“I figured it was prudent to continue stalling,” Xīn’yuè clarified vaguely in a collected tone; the eloquence parroted the tone of him relaying messages to one of his many, many subordinates despite you being nude from the waist down, tainting the glass below your ass. He predicted your protests, hence the immediate impulse to slide the bullet vibrator back inside of you, earning a sharp, shaky whimper that was immediately muted by him. He already wasn’t fond of the idea of making you cum in such a vulnerable setting; it was a miracle that neither of you were caught by a frantic employee with effervescent news. “Not only for ‘efficiency’s sake’, but to assure that any potential slip-ups—notably from you—remain a simple mystery.”

Your plush thighs trembled harshly in response, plus the clicks of the vibrator that indicated that the volume was being turned up was just as inebriating as his sardonic statements. You still couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that this was custom made for you, but you could definitely wrap your legs around his waist for ultra stability. Merino white rings enveloped around the midnight-hued toy as he fucked you with it in a gradual pace, not to mention that the name “Anzhong” was embedded within it in bullion only to be sealed with sticky cum created by you. Even the mere thought of that brought you closer, which was also determined with the way your drenched walls embraced the toy with fervor and the sibilated mantras of pleads that escaped your throat.

After acknowledging that you're close, and also annoyingly and worriedly loud, he slipped the object back out, earning not only exasperated insults disguised as guileless complaints, but an abundance of clenches that yearned for the nostalgic repletion. With a miffed, critical look, he took the cum-coated object before tapping your lips with it in order to interrupt your objections, taking the moment to keep you temporarily silenced by pushing it inside of your mouth, his fingers holding onto the ends so it doesn’t slide down your throat and asphyxiate you. His free, clammy hand however, was now placed on your exposed hip, grasping onto the flesh softly before the veins of the exterior emerged from the epidermis. Xīn’yuè’s bored look now embodied some remnants of puckishness once your silence managed to be the only thing that excited him tonight, which was concluded by the twitching awakening of his semi-hard dick.

“Now, be a good, sweet puppy and clean it up. Intractability, by definition, is something I don’t get along with often, so behave accordingly and quit whining.”

⑅ neso productions. all rights fucking reserved, do not plagiarize.

[saint-augustines-pears]

Saw the post that mentioned samhain and wanted to toss in some info (if you ever wanted more info about it, because I don't do discourse on tumblr) from a recent info thing I put together recently, because this misconception with the samhain debate drives me nuts

Samhain was a harvest festival that marked the start of the dark half of the year. Along with its springtime counterpart Beltane (which marked the growing season/light half of the year), it was announced based on the weather and was facilitated by and only by the Druids, a blood-identity pagan religion of upper class priests.

Samhain would be announced whenever the weather got cold enough. It was sometimes in early October or late September. It was sometimes in early November.

October 31st was never a thing for Samhain because the date always varied, and because the Druids, being Celts and existing before the Roman occupation of their lands, didn't use the Roman calendar nor did they use our modern Julian calendar.

You'll also hear how the Celts had a celebration on the last day of October unrelated to Samhain. This is true; on the last day of almost every month they had a minor celebration. Again, keep in mind too that the date was particular to the way their own culture counted months, not how Rome did it back then nor how we do it now.

it's true that the idea of "baptizing" traditions and holidays isn't unheard of when people and cultures convert from one religion to another. What's good to note is that this is not a forced thing, the baptizing of traditions; it's a practice that embraces older traditions and doesn't eradicate them. Conquerers would just eradicate them.

Technically, it is possible that the original date of All Saints got its chosen date, May 13th, via baptism of Lemuralia, a Roman holiday where spooky stuff happened regarding spirits and the dead. Christians instead chose to celebrate the joy of the Saints in heaven, because Jesus defeated death and the gates of hell won't prevail, etc, then the pope made stuff official calendar-wise.

However, when it comes to the Samhain debate, it's a myth that the Church picked that date to overtake it.  Pope Gregory III switched up the date of All Saints in the 700s to commemorate a new oratory (special chapel) at the Old St. Peter's Basilica that was built to honor the saints and martyrs.

At a time when there were pagan religions and holidays all over the place, to try and outdo one harvest festival of one religious cult in the far north of the known world thousands upon thousands of miles away from Rome and Constantinople simply wasn't a reason to change an established date of a major, international, intercontinental religious celebration. 

Most of these myths, along with a romanticizing of pagan religions much like modern-day's romanticizing of Norse religions and wiccan stuff, arose in England and Western Europe during the 1600 - 1700s by anti-Catholics and misinformed historians/the wealthy.

Anon I just want you to know that I am your biggest fan

Also, how did I not know it was called baptizing traditions/holidays??? That’s so awesome and I love it???

Thank you so much, this is so well put together and honestly kind of better than my post lmao

[zvaigzdelasas]

To Uphold Socialism We Must Eliminate Poverty - Deng Xiaoping, 1987

In the past we stayed in a rut, engaging in construction behind closed doors, and many years of hard work did not produce the desired results. It is true that our economy was gradually expanding and that we succeeded in developing certain things, such as the atomic bomb, the hydrogen bomb and even intercontinental ballistic missiles. But on the whole, the economy grew slowly or remained at a standstill for long periods, and our people were still living in poverty. During the “cultural revolution” the Gang of Four raised the absurd slogan, “Better to be poor under socialism and communism than to be rich under capitalism.” It may sound reasonable to reject the goal of becoming rich under capitalism. But how can we advocate being poor under socialism and communism? It was that kind of thinking that brought China to a standstill. That situation forced us to re-examine the question.

Our first conclusion was that we had to uphold socialism and that to do that we had, above all, to eliminate poverty and backwardness, greatly expand the productive forces and demonstrate the superiority of socialism over capitalism. To this end, we had to shift the focus of our work to the drive for modernization and make that our goal for the next few decades. At the same time, experience has taught us that we must no longer keep the country closed to the outside world and that we must bring the initiative of our people into full play. Hence our policies of opening up and reform.[...] China lags behind in science and technology. We have quite a few problems to solve, especially the problem of our huge population, which already stands at 1.05 billion. This makes it very difficult for us to raise the people’s income and to eliminate poverty and backwardness in a short time. In everything we do we must proceed from reality, seeing to it that our targets are realistic and that enough time is allowed to fulfil them. [...] On the whole, our goals are not too ambitious. We give ourselves 20 years — that is, from 1981 to the end of the century — to quadruple our GNP and achieve comparative prosperity, with an annual per capita GNP of US$800 to $1,000. Then we shall take that figure as a new starting point and try to quadruple it again, so as to reach a per capita GNP of $4,000 in another 50 years. What does this mean? It means that by the middle of the next century we hope to reach the level of the moderately developed countries. If we can achieve this goal, first, we shall have accomplished a tremendous task; second, we shall have made a real contribution to mankind; and third, we shall have demonstrated more convincingly the superiority of the socialist system. As our principle of distribution is a socialist one, our per capita GNP of $4,000 will be different from the equivalent amount in the capitalist countries. For one thing, China has a huge population. If we assume that by the mid-21st century our population will have reached 1.5 billion and that we shall have a per capita GNP of $4,000, then our total annual GNP will be $6 trillion, and that will place China in the front ranks of nations. When we reach that goal, we shall not only have blazed a new path for the peoples of the Third World, who represent three quarters of the world’s population, but also — and this is even more important — we shall have demonstrated to mankind that socialism is the only path and that it is superior to capitalism. So, to build socialism it is necessary to develop the productive forces. Poverty is not socialism. To uphold socialism, a socialism that is to be superior to capitalism, it is imperative first and foremost to eliminate poverty. True, we are building socialism, but that doesn’t mean that what we have achieved so far is up to the socialist standard. Not until the middle of the next century, when we have reached the level of the moderately developed countries, shall we be able to say that we have really built socialism and to declare convincingly that it is superior to capitalism. We are advancing towards that goal. In the course of building socialism and trying to modernize we have encountered some interference from the “Left”. Since the Third Plenary Session of the Eleventh Central Committee of our Party, we have been concentrating on combating “Left” mistakes, because those are the ones we have made in the past. But there has also been interference from the Right. By that we mean the call for wholesale Westernization, which would lead not to socialism but to capitalism. We have already coped with the recent widespread ideological trend in favour of bourgeois liberalization and made some changes of personnel.

[mariacallous]

This summer, a Vancouver car mechanic named Max got a perplexing ping on his phone: Betty White was in Ukraine and needed his help. This was surprising because she had died on a Canadian highway back in January.

When Max last saw Betty White, his nickname for his Tesla Model Y Performance, they were both in rough shape after getting sideswiped on the highway. Max’s rotator cuff was torn in several places. The small SUV had bounced off multiple concrete barriers at high speed and was bashed in on all four corners, its wheels ripped to pieces. Coolant appeared to be leaking into the battery chamber. From his own work on EVs in the garage, Max knew that Betty was done for. “No auto shop would put a repair person at risk with that kind of damage,” says Max, whose last name isn’t being used out of doxing concerns. A damaged EV battery can become dangerous due to the risk of shocks, fire, and toxic fumes. His insurer agreed, and Betty was written off and sent to a salvage yard.

Months after he had last seen the car, Max’s Tesla app was now telling him that Betty needed a software update. It showed the car with an extra 200 kilometers on the odometer, fully charged, and parked in Uman, a town in Ukraine’s Cherkasy Oblast, midway between Kyiv and the front line with Russia’s invasion force. Minutes after that first ping, the app showed the car in service mode, suggesting Betty was undergoing repairs. “I thought it must be a mistake,” Max says.

There was no mistake. WIRED tracked Betty down to a Ukrainian auto auction website, looking good as new, maybe even better, with newly tinted windows and rearview mirrors wrapped in black. Betty 2.0 was being sold by “Mikhailo,” who wrote that the car had suffered “a small blow” in Canada and been repaired with original Tesla parts. The price, $55,000, was roughly the same as a new Model Y Performance costs in the US.

Betty White’s intercontinental resurrection was impressive but not unusual. For a long time, cars written off in North America have found their way to Eastern European repair shops willing to take on damage that US and Canadian mechanics won’t touch. In 2021, the most recent data available, Ukraine was a top-three destination for used US passenger vehicles sent overseas, close behind Nigeria and the United Arab Emirates. And Ukraine’s wreck importers and repairers are particularly known for their ingenuity. Some have made fixing EVs written off across the Atlantic into a specialty, helping to drive a surge in the number of electric vehicles on the country’s roads, even as the war with Russia rages.

Though few automakers sell new EVs in Ukraine, the share of newly registered vehicles that are fully electric, 9 percent, is about the same as in the US and nearly double that of neighboring Poland and the Czech Republic. Most of Ukraine’s refurbished EVs come from North America, and many arrive with major damage.

There’s a ready supply of crashed North American EVs in part because electrics are becoming more common, and also because in recent years, relatively new EVs with low mileage have been written off at a higher rate than their gas-powered equivalents, according to data from insurers. US and Canadian repair shops and insurers see them as more dangerous and difficult to fix. Scrapyards find it hard to make money from their parts and instead ship them abroad.

Ivan Malakhovsky is not afraid to work on cases like Betty White. His five-year-old repair business in Dnipro, in eastern Ukraine, fixes about 100 Teslas a month, roughly a fifth of them from overseas, and employs a staff that varies between six to 10 people. He’s currently away from home, serving with the Armed Forces of Ukraine, but he manages his workers, and sometimes makes software-mediated repairs, remotely. “We have problems in our lives and can fix them, whether a battery or a full-scale invasion,” says Malakhovsky. “Electric cars, electric car batteries—it’s no problem.”

An electric vehicle battery is made up of thousands of individual cells, which store and release energy. Sometimes, Malakhovsky says, he and his coworkers will break up large EV batteries damaged beyond repair and repurpose the cells to power electric scooters or even drones for the war effort. He says the vast majority of Teslas on Ukrainian roads were once involved in wrecks in North America.

The war has even boosted Ukraine’s EV resurrection business at times, by driving up gas prices and making electrics more attractive to drivers. Ukraine has a public charging network of some 11,000 chargers, according to Volodymyr Ivanov, the head of communications at Nissan Motor Ukraine—that’s more than the state of New York, and double the number in neighboring Poland. Since 2018, Ukraine’s government has removed most taxes and customs duties on used EV imports. In the US, electric vehicles tend to be expensive, and the average EV driver is still a high-income male homeowner. North American wrecks, Ukraine’s EV incentives, and its relatively low electricity prices have created a different picture. “There is a joke here that all poor people are driving electric cars, and all the rich people are driving petrol cars,” says Malakhovsky. “Tesla is a common-people, popular car because it’s very cheap in maintenance.”

That’s a relatively recent development, says Hans Eric Melin, head of Circular Energy Storage, a UK-based consultancy that tracks the international flows of used EVs and batteries. He began watching the Ukraine market in particular a few years ago, after he noticed more ads for Nissan Leafs on auction sites listed in Ukrainian than in English. At the time, the Leaf, a pioneer among EVs, was essentially the only one that had been around long enough to develop a healthy used market. Over time, Ukraine’s electric fleet grew to encompass the full range of EVs sold around the world, including Teslas, as more cars hit the roads and aged or got into crashes.

Melin had suspected Ukraine’s EV boom would end with the war. “I was completely wrong,” he says. By this summer, Ukraine’s EV fleet had doubled since July 2021, to 64,312, according to data compiled by the Automotive Market Research Institute, a Ukrainian research and advocacy group.

Roman Tyschenko, a 25-year-old IT worker who lives in Kyiv, decided last September that he was sick of his Jeep’s $400-a-month gas bill. Friends had purchased used, damaged electric cars on an online auction website called Copart, a US-based public auto reseller with 200 locations around the world. He logged on and spent $24,000 on a gray 2021 Tesla Model Y that had taken a solid blow to its passenger side in Dallas, Texas. Its bumper was almost fully detached; its hood was tented; some of its airbags had deployed.

That Texan Model Y was likely declared totaled by an insurer. From there, it probably moved to a salvage auction in the US, where licensed exporters, salvage shops, and repairers tried to figure out how much value they could squeeze out of the wreck. The winner, or perhaps the insurer itself, listed the car on Copart, which made it available to anyone around the world who wanted a smashed-up Tesla and was willing to pay for shipping.

If Tyschenko hadn’t brought the Texan Tesla to Ukraine himself, it had a good chance of being shipped there anyway by someone who professionally flips cars to countries like Ukraine. These exporters look for wrecks potentially worth more than their scrap value, but little enough that an expensive US repair and resale wouldn’t make sense. Some ship vehicles directly to Ukrainian repairers and pay for the fix, while others import damaged cars and relist them for sale to Ukrainian buyers who can figure it out for themselves.

It takes a damaged North American car between one and five months to reach a nearby port. Before the war, wrecked cars headed to Ukraine’s Port of Odessa on the Black Sea. Since Russia invaded in 2022, they come through Klaipėda in Lithuania on the Baltic Sea, or Koper in Slovenia on the Adriatic, and are brought to Ukraine by truck. A shop like Malakhovsky’s can fix a Tesla in somewhere between one week and one year, depending on the damage.

Tyschenko arranged for his Model Y to be shipped to a local repair shop in Kyiv, where it arrived in February 2023, five months after he hit the Buy button online. The technician sent him videos of the EV’s ongoing revamp every few weeks, and Tyschenko stopped by to visit a handful of times. By May, he had paid the technician some $25,000 for his work and was driving the Model Y around Kyiv.

Two months later, the battery died and Tyschenko spent another $4,000 to replace it—a demonstration of the risks of electric vehicle rescues. Still, he’s happy with how things worked out, and now pays just $10 to $100 a month to refuel his car, depending on whether he charges at home or at public stations.

Finding parts to repair Teslas and other EVs can be a challenge. On Facebook and Telegram, groups like “Renault Zoe Club Ukraine” host thousands of EV owners who barter with each other for spare parts. Oleksandr Perepelitsa, a 25-year-old electric vehicle repairer in Kyiv, says that when he first began his work three years ago, he and his business partners would buy two wrecked Teslas from overseas to create a single working vehicle to sell to local Ukranians. “Even that was profitable for us,” he says. Now, business connections can send Tesla parts from the US or Europe, or repairers buy cheaper Chinese reproductions.

The success of Ukraine’s EV resurrection industry is the flip side of the failure of insurers and manufacturers in North America to figure out what to do when a shiny new EV becomes roadkill.

US insurers are more willing to write off vehicles of all kinds that in the past may have been fixed. New vehicle repairs have gotten more expensive, in part due to vehicles getting more complex and computerized, as well as a shortage of vehicle technicians. In the past decade, the damaged cars up for auction “are better and less damaged,” Copart CEO Jeff Liaw told investors on an earnings call this year.

Industry-wide data is hard to come by, but numerous sources suggest that EVs are more likely to be written off than gas-powered cars, and can be declared unfixable after even minor crashes. A Reuters analysis this year found that a “large portion” of damaged EVs sold for scrap were low-mileage, nearly-new vehicles. While one in 10 new cars sold in the US and Canada this year are forecasted to be electric, the infrastructure and expertise needed to assess and fix damaged EVs can be patchy. “In an ideal world, electric vehicles are as easy to repair as internal combustion engine vehicles,” says Mark Fry, research manager at Thatcham Research, which crunches auto market data for insurers and other clients. It recently found British EVs get written off at disproportionately high rates.

The main reason EV repairs are so tricky comes down to a lack of agreement on how to handle EV batteries after a crash. Worldwide, there is no industry standard for measuring battery health. Vehicle manufacturers sometimes refuse to sanction battery repairs because of liability concerns. “If you repair the battery, what's it going to be like after another two, three years and another 50,000 miles?” Fry says. It’s easier to let nearly new vehicles be declared dead than to find out.

The North American scrap industry is also somewhat leery of EVs, says Megan Slattery, a researcher at UC Davis who studies what happens to damaged EV batteries. Scrap businesses generally make money by taking cars apart to extract the most valuable widgets to resell. But dismantling a battery takes dedicated workers, equipment, and—most important of all—space, due to the fire risks of storing lithium-ion cells. Many mom-and-pop dismantlers don’t have any of that.

Plus, EVs tend to have simpler drivetrains, with more plastic and large, prefabricated body components that can’t be easily pulled apart. In some electric vehicles, the battery is built directly into the car’s structure, making it especially difficult to dismantle or repair. All of that means that exporters looking to sell to eager buyers abroad have less competition when bidding on totaled cars.

In the US, there’s increasing pressure to keep broken EVs from heading overseas. Regulators are concerned about safety, hoping to better track broken batteries through shipping channels as fears rise of fires sparked by used EVs, including on cargo ships. Another is to avoid dumping e-waste on countries without the means to recycle or repurpose, and instead keep the valuable minerals inside batteries local. Battery recycling startups have received vast amounts of private and public investment—both in Western Europe and the US, with funds from the Inflation Reduction Act—with a promise to help shore up raw material supply chains. But so far, they have received only a trickle of used batteries.

Policies that wind up choking off the export of EV wrecks would in some ways be a shame, Slattery says. More stringent European Union export rules for used cars and EV batteries in particular are one reason why the supply of Teslas to Eastern Europe is so dependent on North American wrecks. Without them, the electric revolution would be much less advanced in places like Ukraine, where US and Canadian write-offs have helped support the emergence of charger networks, trained repair specialists, and a wide familiarity and acceptance that electric propulsion is not just green but also practical.

In North America, there's a widespread belief that “people don't want electric vehicles and that it's just laws and regulations that push us to buy them,” says Melin, the used EV analyst. “There are other markets that want to have electrics.” It’s a testament to a system that is working, Melin adds, that used EVs end up in places like Ukraine, where new models are difficult to come by.

For Max in Vancouver, Betty White’s reappearance overseas did cause some headaches. The car was still logged into his Google, Netflix, and Spotify accounts, potentially allowing the new owners to access his personal data. When he asked Tesla support, he was advised to change his passwords, Max says. (Tesla did not respond to WIRED’s questions.)

But looking back on the crash, and now driving a new Model Y—named Black Betty—Max says his old car’s resurrection is the best possible outcome. “I’m happy to see that Betty White has lived to see another day,” he says.