#on tech tuesday of all days??? rip

[gentle-hero-blog]

I have minimal homework today and even had a class cancelled so I was all excited to finish up an art project and post it but then of course my computer decides to crash and shut down because of a faulty update grr grrr anger sadness agony despair

[eriexplosion]

Yesterday everyone was posting their feelings on TBB. I'm glad I waited, because there's a lot swirling around. Cut for negativity again.

I was introduced to The Bad Batch in August 2022 and fell instantly in love. The characters, the story, the complex family dynamics, they all spoke to me. I wasn't even a Star Wars fan but I went through and devoured The Clone Wars, Rebels, The Mandalorian, all of it. I threw myself into this world and adored every second of it. I must have rewatched season one over five times before season two even came out.

When season two premiered I loved it. Every Tuesday night I stayed up until the episode drop and devoured it immediately. I looked ahead at the schedule and took days off work for the double episodes, for the big Crosshair episodes - he was my favorite early on and season two only made that grow. But season two also really brought Tech into my radar even more. I had always liked him, but here he was shining. The Crossing really solidified it, as an autistic person. I'd never heard someone describe the difference in processing so succinctly before, so clearly, and it spoke to me like very little had. Here was a character that was like me. Here was a character that I needed when I was an undiagnosed child, someone that would have made me feel like I had at least some way of describing my differences.

Then, well. He died. It was an affecting scene, but it felt out of nowhere, it felt unfinished. Tech didn't even get the climax of the episode. He just fell into the clouds, the Batch grieved for a few minutes, and then the plot steamrolled right along.

I didn't believe it, not after the mad scientist presented his goggles and claimed not to salvage anything else. It seemed like such an obvious fake out. The longer I sat with it the less satisfying it felt. It felt so brushed over, so pointless, all for a mission that they accomplished nothing on. Then came the social media circus. Again and again his fall was shoved in our faces on Twitter, demanding we stream it. TikToks were made that were so out of touch they felt like parodies, the wound ripped open again and again, and I thought surely there had to be a purpose to it.

So I waited for season 3 as interviews were done that seemed to almost intentionally avoid calling him dead. As tweets were made promising we'd be so fulfilled if we could only see who was onscreen in the mid-season! (A tweet that immediately garnered dozens of people hoping it referred to Tech, all without a single comment to try and quell the speculation.) It felt already like we were being toyed with, but I thought it had to be for a reason or a purpose. More weirdly vague discussions went up about his Sacrifice, his Fall, his Anything But Death, even as everyone insists that it was so meaningful, the way he died on a mission that accomplished nothing. Jokes were made around Valentines Day.

He Fell For You, get it?

The first official use of killed went up on the databank right after the trailer, on Hunter's page of all places. The first time the interviews used dead was the Friday before the premier. It all felt too late, theories had already grown for months by that point.

Season 3 finally came and I waited up for every episode drop just like I did for season 2, hoping for him to come back or at least for him to be properly grieved, since we had barely a couple of minutes in Plan 99 before it was swept away for the next plot point. Surely Tech's impact deserved an episode of focus, if he were really gone.

The previously on plays his last words twice. But then we skip months into the future. We don't see Crosshair find out the news - even though Tech died on a mission to retrieve him. We don't watch Omega grieve. She barely seems to notice she's missing a brother. We got a brief allusion in episode two. It took three episodes to even mention his name in passing. Five episodes in everyone got their chance to look sad about him, but only for a few seconds and only when his skills were relevant. Compared to the gorgeous callback to Mayday in the same episode, it felt shallow. He had to have been more important than this didn't he?

Episodes 6 & 7 felt like maybe there was a reason. We see a new masked assassin that gets extra focus, who got put through a series of Tech-adjacent situations, whose beef with Crosshair was just a little too personal, who survived longer than all the rest but stayed masked. Rex talks about losing brothers, but Hunter says nothing about the brother they lost. I hoped it all meant something, that this was the reason that he felt so much like he was thrown away, so that he could come back in.

More one off mentions that only really come up when it's about how useful Tech would have been. More poking at the wound that still felt open and raw because we'd never gotten any closure. The closest we get is a single scene in episode eleven, so late in the season and so brief that I thought that couldn't possibly be it.

CX-2 comes back, and he talks like Tech. He's still not unmasked. I really need him to be something because otherwise what was it all for?

The most emotion comes in Juggernaut, from Phee. Its a highlight because it actually feels like it was about him, like he mattered as a person. It's episode twelve and we finally talk about him like a person. We never saw her get the news either.

Episodes thirteen and fourteen pass without any mentions at all. We're running out of time. Episode 15 hits and we get one raw one from Crosshair that Clone Force 99 died with Tech. It's the first time they directly say he's dead in so many words. It's the season finale. CX-2 is a nobody it turns out, and he dies faceless. Everyone gets a happy ending and after over a year of wondering if we'd ever get closure, it turns out Tech's just dead. But look how happy everyone else is!

Everyone gets to grow old. Except the autistic one of course. He's just dead and it hardly feels like it mattered at all. Did you know Wrecker and Hunter don't use his name once in season three? Omega and Echo mention him once each. Crosshair twice, only once with any emotion behind it. Phee tops the charts at three mentions, two by name and one by nickname. We see his goggles four times. I kept count.

There was never a bigger plan, this was just all he was worth. We spent two seasons on Crosshair's absence. We spent a whole episode dealing with it when Echo decided to go with Rex. Tech dies though and all his life amounted to was a handful of mentions when his skills would have been useful, some shots of his broken goggles, and endless cooing out of the text over how meaningful his sacrifice was. Too meaningful to take back, of course, even as Ventress is brought back from her own sacrifice.

I had really, really thought that this time autistic life would be worth more than autistic death. That a character that felt so carefully handled couldn't have just been thrown away for shock value, barely to even be mentioned again, his memory used to string us along to keep us watching. If you added up every mention and shot through season 3 it might actually clock in at less time than was spent on Mayday's send off.

I'm an adult. I'll survive, though the sting of seeing yet another character like me used as a stepping stone for everyone else's happy ending will take a while to fade. But I think about the child I used to be who needed a character like Tech. And I think about how it would have felt to actually get that only to watch him die a handful of episodes later as a side note to his family's story, barely even mentioned again. How badly it would have hurt, how deep it would have scarred.

I'm not that child anymore. But there are a lot of autistic kids out there that are the same as I used to be, and they're learning for the first time that people like us don't get happy endings. Instead they die so that everyone around them can rise up, and they might even get mentioned a few times. But don't worry. Everyone will tell you how meaningful and special it is and how delusional you were to ever hope for anything else.

The Bad Batch still means a lot to me. I think it always will. I love the characters. I love the family, and all the potential they had. But the sting of not belonging in this happy ending is there, and it's deep. It's been a long time since I trusted a show. It'll be a long time before I risk trusting another. And I hope that the autistic kids trying to learn how to close their hearts off behind new walls are doing okay.

[ncrosha]

@fightwing

emma had told him that it gets easier, that it all gets easier.

josh knows she's a liar, though. at least this one is meant to give hope that one day soon sleep will come easy. if any of this ever got easier then each new obituary wouldn't leave her shaken. it wouldn't galvanize her resolve, leave her diamond and cruel and ready to rip the world asunder.

it doesn't get easier. it just stops being so hard to justify.

as it is, what he does keeps him up at night. it's not always the helpful, productive sort of up. the kind that has him tending to needy of his new city whether they be man, mutant, or animal. sometimes the up is just that - up. his guilt is a low, droning whine that stops him from managing anything productive. he'll wake up in the morning and know damn well that this day is already done for. he's damned to the noisy sort of up that used to drive him to bars, to beds, to anything but the crushing loneliness of a night better spent with friends.

unfortunately, what he gets is a night spent with the upper echelons of gotham's society. and everyone in this room would probably delight in seeing his downfall. one less fool to fight with tabloid headlines over. heiresses and heirs, rich startup tech guys that've never had a original thought in their lives, and oh, his least favorite - the politicals.

the party is sparsely attended. elite, they call it, but they also have the gall to call this a party so he doesn't put much stock in their definition of words.

the first part by design, he thinks. proof that whoever is here is someone worth knowing. the second part is just... sad. the idea that a party is standing around, judging everybody around you just to make yourself feel a little more important.

he recognizes a handful of faces as senator's kids and spoiled heirs, knowing their parents politics aren't of any concern to them. not yet at least. not until it's time to dive head first into the family business and fuck it up for everyone else. half the night had been spent flirting with anything with two legs, sussing out which among them had unpresented x-genes and which had taken the cure. not a one who'd done an interview had actually taken the shot, but oh there are a number of scandals just waiting to happen.

then there's gotham's very own royalty, the wayne family. he's seen the younger brothers at a few functions, but rumor has it that the eldest among them has deigned to make an appearance.

the only opinion josh has managed to form on them is how much it blows that wealthy people with souls don't throw their weight around nearly as much as the ones without. sure, the patriarch does his fair share of philanthropy - but money doesn't go that far. not really. if it did then xavier's infinite coffers would've solved mutant discrimination once and for all.

that's the number one thing he's learned from his time with emma, that money used to make the world turn, but now it's the fear of losing it that does. that's what greases the wheels and palms, watching the line go up and up and up. learning this whole stupid game his parents would probably be proud he'd learned to play. just as ruthless and cutthroat as any other budding ceo or cfo or see you next tuesday in this room.

if the waynes were a little more into playing hardball, maybe this city wouldn't rely on costumed heroes to save the day... ah, well.

by now, he should be a lot drunker than he is. taking a seat at the bar and flagging the bar tender over to him, ignoring the dubious stare as he gives back a beatific smile.

"i know, i know. can't help the high tolerance," he grins, all charm. "nobody parties like harvard."

he's never been to harvard. never set foot on the campus. never graduated fucking highschool, but who cares?

but nobody's gonna check those creds. that'd invite him checking theirs, seeing that they were bought or exaggerated or - whatever. if there's one thing he's learned its that ivy league students throw the name around and that's all you gotta do to make it seem like you're one of them... besides, he's already got the medical know how.

he barely blinks as another body settles down next to him, absently tipping his drink too and fro and watching the little (real gold) flakes glitter in the light.

"hell of a party," he says idly once a respectable amount of silence had lapsed making sure to slur his words ever so slightly, lifting his pale blue eyes to meet the strangers. "you come to these things often?"

[aris-c0rner]

beautiful deception || preface.

𝐏 𝐑 𝐄 𝐅 𝐀 𝐂 𝐄 :

At a glance, the Tuesday that changed your life started out as nothing more than an ordinary early autumn morning. The leaves were painted gold while they held on dearly to the trees, the birds were beginning to cross overhead towards warmer climates, and there was only a faint chill in the breeze when it swept gently through the streets. Everything was calm, and everything was familiar. Even your walk along the outskirts of downtown Pyongston was the same as it always was; you passed by the same houses and complexes as you'd passed the morning before, the scenery a constant on your way to the local college.

The only thing that was different on that fateful Tuesday morning was the bullet that ripped through your shoulder in the middle of a run-down convenience store.

∞♛∞♛∞

𝐂 𝐇 𝐀 𝐑 𝐀 𝐂 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒 :

❍ Mark Lee: black hair (think regular era) mysterious, quirky, intelligent and quick witted; favorite color is blue, likes fall, and has the dorkiest laugh. mark lee is the jack of all trades, ace member, third in command, & backup mission head.

❍ Song Y/N: welcome to your story! for fic purposes, you are a med student in the fictional town of pyongston, south korea, completing a degree to work in the big shot hospitals. you are considered as a goody two-shoes student, never seen without a book; you’re a quick thinker, with a very logical mind and high intelligence. your fatal flaw is your curiosity and inquisitive nature, which puts you in some pretty dangerous situations. you’ve not got many friends, you prefer to stick to yourself (this also for the purpose of plot, as having many friends would raise suspicion lol.) your strengths will be revealed later.

∞♛∞♛∞

𝐓 𝐇 𝐄  1 2 7  𝐆 𝐀 𝐍 𝐆 :

❍Lee Taeyong: gang leader, main planning coordinator, main fighter ❍ Moon Taeil: tech, hacking and engineering, general support ❍ Dong Sicheng (WinWin): gunslinger, training head, combat fighter ❍ Nakamoto Yuta: combat fighter, communications lead, security detail ❍ Johnny Seo: missions leader, skilled weaponry, planning team head ❍ Lee Haechan: explosives & mechanics, auto, getaway driver ❍ Jung Jaehyun: media coverage, smoothtalking, negotiations master ❍ Kim Doyoung: covert operations, stealth missions transport, scouter — the rest of the characters will be introduced later. ∞♛∞♛∞

𝐈 𝐍 𝐅 𝐎 :

❏Setting: fictional town of Pyongston, South Korea ❏Time: around present day, but i left out ages and all that because it’s been years since i started this and i just cannot keep up with them all. ❏Genre: fanfiction; found family, lots of action, angst, fluffy romance, slow burn ish, obviously this is a gang au, features all of nct (ot21, nct 2018); heaps of plot but i balanced it out with lots of cuteness so don't be intimidated ❏Pairing: y/n × mark lee; no love triangles bc love triangles suck booty!! ❏Other notes: all events in this book are a production of my imagination, so I apologize if there are any coincidental similarities to real life. please contact me if you believe this book to be copying other works. also, if you've come across a fic extremely similar to this on wattpad, then don't worry bc i wrote that one as well. i just switched it over to tumblr because of the target audience (also reader inserts are way more fun).

༄ read at your own discretion- there won't be any smut in this book, but there is some potentially mature stuff because nct is hot; also contains cussing, gang-related crime, violence, and minor bloodshed, as well as some graphic content that is flagged with markers throughout the fic. please don't interact if you aren't comfy with the material within! xoxo, ari™

[mostlysignssomeportents]

This day in history

Tomorrow (May 22), I’m keynoting Public Knowledge’s Emerging Tech conference in DC.

On Tuesday (May 23), I’ll be in TORONTO for a book launch for Red Team Blues that’s part of WEPFest, a benefit for the West End Phoenix, onstage with Dave Bidini (The Rheostatics), Ron Diebert (Citizen Lab) and the whistleblower Dr Nancy Olivieri.

#15yrsago Cisco internal memo: Chinese censorship and surveillance are “opportunities” https://www.wired.com/2008/05/leaked-cisco-do/

#15yrsago EFF forces Lockheed to withdraw trademark claim on B-24 bomber https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2008/05/b-24-liberated

#15yrsago Open Source Embroidery and the “gendered gift economy” https://web.archive.org/web/20080525221524/http://speakdiapsalmata.blogspot.com/2008/05/open-source-embroidery-interview-with.html

#15yrsago RIP, Robert Asprin https://web.archive.org/web/20080723110304/http://www.mythadventures.net/

#15yrsago Structures of Participation in Digital Culture — free download scholarly essay https://web.archive.org/web/20080517105428/https://www.ssrc.org/blogs/books/2007/12/31/structures-of-participation-in-digital-culture/

#10yrsago Privacy, public health and the moral hazard of surveillance https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2013/may/21/privacy-public-health-surveillance

#10yrsago Perils of smart cities https://web.archive.org/web/20130607204221/https://www.bostonglobe.com/ideas/2013/05/18/the-too-smart-city/q87J17qCLwrN90amZ5CoLI/story.html

#10yrsago Chronology of the Canadian Conservative government’s war on science https://scienceblogs.com/confessions/2013/05/20/the-canadian-war-on-science-a-long-unexaggerated-devastating-chronological-indictment

#5yrsago Two sitting Senators were among the people whose identities were stolen in FCC comments from anti-Net Neutrality bots https://www.vice.com/en/article/8xeqqz/two-senators-say-their-identities-were-stolen-during-net-neutrality-repeal

#5yrsago The military sysadmins in charge of Trump’s cellphones can’t get him to give up wildly insecure practices https://www.politico.com/story/2018/05/21/trump-phone-security-risk-hackers-601903

#5yrsago Amazon has been quietly selling its facial recognition system to US police forces, marketing it for bodycam use https://web.archive.org/web/20180522231513/https://www.aclu.org/blog/privacy-technology/surveillance-technologies/amazon-teams-law-enforcement-deploy-dangerous-new?redirect=blog/amazon-teams-law-enforcement-deploy-dangerous-new-facial-recognition-technology

#5yrsago Mur Lafferty wrote a science fiction story about the DMCA to help EFF’s fair use for vidders campaign https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2018/05/eff-presents-mur-laffertys-science-fiction-story-about-our-fair-use-petition

#5yrsago The paperback of Walkaway is out today, along with reissues of all my adult novels in matching covers! https://memex.craphound.com/2018/05/22/the-paperback-of-walkaway-is-out-today-along-with-reissues-of-all-my-adult-novels-in-matching-covers/

#5yrsago The emerging split in modern trustbusting: Alexander Hamilton’s Fully Automated Luxury Communism vs Thomas Jefferson’s Redecentralization https://memex.craphound.com/2018/05/22/the-emerging-split-in-modern-trustbusting-alexander-hamiltons-fully-automated-luxury-communism-vs-thomas-jeffersons-redecentralization/

#5yrsago 84K: A grim meathook future novel of exterminism, with a theory of change and a glimmer of hope in its centre https://memex.craphound.com/2018/05/22/84k-a-grim-meathook-future-novel-of-exterminism-with-a-theory-of-change-and-a-glimmer-of-hope-in-its-centre/

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in DC, Toronto, Hay, Oxford, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

[ausetkmt]

On the eve of Georgia’s Senate runoff, Raphael Warnock, a Democrat, warned his supporters about being overconfident. Herschel Walker urged Republicans to flood the polls on Tuesday.

ATLANTA — In the final day before Georgia’s Senate runoff, Senator Raphael Warnock pleaded with supporters to tune out pundits predicting his victory and instead vote “like it’s an emergency” in a bitterly contested race that is closing out the midterm election cycle.

His Republican challenger, Herschel Walker, the former football star recruited into the race by former President Donald J. Trump, made a circuit of north Georgia counties he won easily a month ago, urging Republicans who have avoided early voting to hit the polls Tuesday. “Got to get out the vote,” he said.

The two men are vying in an election with major symbolic as well as practical ramifications. A Warnock victory would deliver Democrats a 51st vote in the Senate, where the party has for the past two years relied on Vice President Kamala Harris to break 50-50 ties. If Mr. Walker wins, Republicans would maintain joint control of Senate committees and two centrist Democratic senators, Joe Manchin III of West Virginia and Kyrsten Sinema of Arizona, would maintain effective veto power over all legislation in the chamber.

But the broader political stakes are just as significant. Democrats believe a victory would deliver proof they have transformed Georgia into an indisputable battleground, heralding a new era of Sun Belt politics and reshaping their strategies for winning the White House. A Walker victory, after his deeply troubled campaign and the G.O.P.’s clean sweep in statewide races this year, would reassert Republican dominance in the state.

And for Mr. Trump, who three weeks ago began his third presidential campaign, Tuesday’s contest represents his last chance to claim victory in a battleground for one of his closest political acolytes.

More than $380 million has been spent on the race, the most of any election this year, according to OpenSecrets, a group that tracks money in politics. The runoff was prompted when neither candidate received 50 percent of the vote in last month’s general election.

The number of early votes cast has topped 1.89 million, about half the turnout on Nov. 8. Both campaigns believe that group skews heavily Democratic. Republicans involved and allied with Mr. Walker acknowledged that tilt left the candidate needing to win about 60 percent of the in-person vote Tuesday to catch up. He won 56 percent of the Election Day vote in November, according to data from the Georgia secretary of state’s office.

“There is still a path for Herschel Walker to win this race — he still could win,” Mr. Warnock told reporters after speaking to supporters at Georgia Tech on Monday. “We had a massive lead during the general. And so we know that there are differences in how people show up when they vote in this state. And so if there’s anything I’m worried about is that people will think that we don’t need their voice. We do.”

In some ways, Mr. Walker was running a final-day get-out-the-vote campaign ripped from a generation past, when the vast majority of votes were still cast in person on Election Day. Mr. Warnock — who also won a runoff election two years ago — had adjusted to modern voting patterns and Georgia’s voting rules, which allowed for a week of early voting.

At Mr. Warnock’s recent events, it was difficult for him to find supporters who are waiting until Tuesday to vote. When asked who had voted early, nearly every hand went up at stops at colleges and Black churches the last two days.

“I’ve been preaching long enough to know that I am preaching to the choir,” Mr. Warnock, the pastor at Ebenezer Baptist Church, said on Sunday at a Black church in Athens.

On Monday, when a food delivery app driver dropped off sandwiches for the Warnock campaign at its event at Georgia Tech, a pair of energetic volunteers pressed him about whether he had voted already. (He hadn’t, and said he wasn’t sure he would on Tuesday.)

“This final push is all about building enthusiasm and momentum into Election Day,” Senator Jon Ossoff of Georgia, a close Warnock ally who has appeared at many of his campaign stops, said during an interview Monday. “We want to mobilize as much energy as possible to get out the vote to reach folks who might not otherwise hear from campaigns.”

In November, Mr. Warnock finished 37,700 votes ahead of Mr. Walker out of nearly four million cast. Mr. Warnock consolidated Democratic voters, while Mr. Walker struggled to rally his party behind him.

At Mr. Walker’s final rally on Monday, at a gun range in Kennesaw, a conservative exurb about 45 minutes from Atlanta, former Gov. Nikki Haley of South Carolina spoke to a crowd of about 100 supporters. She encouraged them to turn out to vote and get others to the polls.

“There is no red wave. There’s either turnout or not,” she said, adding that she asked Mr. Walker to fill up his campaign bus with voters to take them to polling places.

“We can show America that we’re about to right the ship.”

In the runoff, Black voters, a slice of the electorate that has overwhelmingly rejected Mr. Walker’s bid, make up about 32 percent of early voters, a figure six percentage points higher than in the November election.

“I come from a family where we’ve all done early voting,” said Jordan Artis, a 21-year-old international affairs student at Georgia Tech who said she waited 80 minutes to vote last week and came to see Mr. Warnock on Monday. Her close friends, Ms. Artis said, have already voted too.

While his advisers and allies quietly lowered expectations, Mr. Walker on Monday said he was feeling “pretty good” as he shook hands and took photos with voters at a popular diner in Flowery Branch, an Atlanta exurb in a county where he took 71 percent of the Nov. 8 vote.

He later delivered unusually short remarks — free of his signature long tangents — to about 75 supporters at a vineyard in Gilmer County, another Republican stronghold.

“Tomorrow is a big day,” he said, asking the group who had voted. Two-thirds of the crowd raised their hands. “This is what we’ve got to do — we’ve got to vote.”

Mr. Walker’s supporters on Monday brushed off worries that poor weather — rain is in the Tuesday forecast for the Atlanta area and North Georgia — or low energy would diminish Election Day turnout.

“I’m feeling very encouraged. I think he’s got this,” said Judy Shinall, 77, a Walker supporter from Ackworth. Ms. Shinall acknowledged the party has fallen short at clutch time, most recently two years ago when Mr. Warnock won a runoff for a special election. “Republicans sometimes, you know, won’t get out there. And this is crucial. Tomorrow is it,” she said.

Mr. Walker was wrapping up a campaign that appears to have failed to consolidate the disparate wings of his party. He ran hard toward the party’s Trump-aligned base, repelling moderate elements of the coalition that propelled Gov. Brian Kemp, a Republican, to victory.

Mr. Walker was pummeled by damaging headlines throughout the campaign, including accusations from women he has dated and been married to that he was physically abusive. Two other former girlfriends said he urged them to have abortions, although he ran as an abortion opponent. (Mr. Walker denied the claims.) He also faced questions about his residency, after living in Texas for decades before moving back to Georgia when he began this campaign.

Mr. Kemp kept some distance from Mr. Walker during the general election. But in the runoff, he turned over his political operation to help, recorded a television ad and appeared at one campaign event alongside Mr. Walker.

Other Republicans never got onboard. In recent days, Lt. Gov. Geoff Duncan of Georgia, who did not seek re-election this year after repeatedly condemning Mr. Trump’s efforts to overturn the results of Georgia’s 2020 presidential election, has done a media tour explaining why he stood in an early-voting line for an hour but then declined to vote for Mr. Walker.

“I think Herschel Walker will probably go down as one of the worst Republican candidates in our party’s history,” Mr. Duncan told CBS News in an interview broadcast Tuesday.

The runoff is taking place under new voting rules written by Georgia’s Republican state legislators and signed into law by Mr. Kemp. After the victories by Mr. Warnock and Mr. Ossoff in January 2021, Georgia law now forbids new voter registration between the general election and the runoff.

Republicans also cut in half the period of time between the two contests, limited the early-voting period and made voting by mail more difficult, among other restrictions on mail voting and drop boxes.

Some Republican voters expressed confusion about the runoff rules.

David Mathews, 74, a retired manager at a petroleum company who was having breakfast with his fiancé and a friend at the Flowery Branch diner, where Mr. Walker began his Monday campaign swing, said he did not realize that his polling location had been open for early voting, which ended on Friday.

“They didn’t have the signs out,” he said, before digging into biscuits and gravy with bacon. Mr. Mathews said he planned to cast his ballot Tuesday for Mr. Walker.

Mr. Warnock’s campaign and his allies spent millions pushing supporters back to the polls. “One more time, Georgia,” screamed his ads on billboards and cellphones that urged supporters to vote early for him. By the campaign’s final hours, he acknowledged that his supporters might be worn out.

“I know you might be tired,” he said at a Black church on Sunday night in Athens. “I get tired, too.”

[fahrni]

Saturday Morning Coffee

Wow! Kolby let me sleep in this morning, 9AM! Late start to the day for me. Felt great. I decided I’d get all fancy this morning so I’m having a mocha. ☕️

Enjoy the linkage.

IGN

Lance Reddick, the actor known for roles in The Wire, John Wick, and Horizon Zero Dawn, has died at age 60.

Folks may know him best from John Wick but he was amazing in Fringe and The Wire. He played the hard nosed boss man in both of those series and he was good at it. RIP. 😔

WordPress

We’re excited to announce that Automattic, the parent company of WordPress.com, has acquired the popular WordPress plugin ActivityPub.

I love this and I hope more companies and individuals with publishing platforms follow suit.

If you’re interested Micro.blog already supports ActivityPub and is an excellent choice for your publishing platform. It’s well managed so you get a great community all for $5US per month. Yes, I use it to publish this blog.

The Sun Gazette

THREE RIVERS – It has been nearly a week since the latest storms flooded and eroded three large sections back on South Fork Road in Three Rivers leaving my family and approximately 160 other people stranded.

This is from my hometown paper in Exeter, California. The poor valley has seen its share of devastation over the last month and to hear of these poor folks stranded in Three Rivers makes my heart ache for them. Luckily they’re very resourceful and are making due. Hang in there y’all, this too will pass. ❤️

Platfomer

After months of silence, and a multi-billion-dollar effort from ByteDance to avoid this scenario, the Biden administration is picking up where its predecessor left off: attempting to force the company to divest itself of TikTok in the name of national security.

I don’t know how to feel about this. Sure, we shouldn’t allow China to use a platform as a propaganda mechanism for national security reasons but couldn’t there be a different arrangement around monitoring and servers living in the US without a connection to China?

I’m obviously naïve to the details and over simplifying it.

Please drop me a note via email — rob.fahrni@gmail.com — or Mastodon and explain what I’m missing. Thanks! 👍🏼

Slate

As the startups that make up Silicon Valley Bank’s customer base scrambled to figure out whether they would be able to make payroll, a group of extremely online venture capitalists spent four days emoting on Twitter, ginning up confusion and hysteria about the threat of a systemic risk if depositors didn’t get all their money back, pronto.

Gotta love those libertarian frat bros with who want government out of everything but are first in line with their grubby little hands wide open clamoring for rescue when they’re scared they’ll lose everything.

Do us all a favor, crawl into your apocalypse bunkers and stay there. Oh, and take Musk and TFG with you. 😇

Kottke

I’ve been writing kottke.org for 25 years. A little context for just how long that is: kottke.org is older than Google.

Congratulations Jason! Here’s to many more fruitful years! 🥳

Rolling Stone

Members of the South Carolina State House are considering a bill that would make a woman who has an abortion in the state eligible for the death penalty.

That’s the GOP for you. The pro life party ready to kill if you don’t carry a baby to term. Jerks, hypocrites, ass holes, dicks… I could name call all day. Our country is losing ground and sliding into authoritarianism and the MAGA party is leading the charge. So much for small government and fiscal responsibility. They’re the party of cruelty and white supremacy.

Reuters

March 14 (Reuters) - Facebook-parent Meta Platforms (META.O) said on Tuesday it would cut 10,000 jobs this year, making it the first Big Tech company to announce a second round of mass layoffs as the industry braces for a deep economic downturn.

Layoffs, layoffs, and more layoffs. As a middle aged middle manager this scares the crap out of me. Poop rolls down hills. Who’s next?

Oh, and what’s all this talk about a financial downturn? Is that just news to me? 😳

The Verge

T-Mobile is buying Mint Mobile, the budget-friendly mobile carrier that’s partially owned by Ryan Reynolds. In a post published on Wednesday, T-Mobile announced that the deal’s valued at up to $1.35 billion and comes as T-Mobile looks to build out its prepaid phone offering.

I just finished my free trial and we’re trying to decide if we’d like to go with Mint, then this happens which leaves me scratching my head. Do we do it or not?

The Verge

Here’s the best printer in 2023: the Brother laser printer that everyone has. Stop thinking about it and just buy one. It will be fine!

After having a little chuckle over the headline I looked over my shoulder and noticed it’s the printer we have. 😂

[ecto-american]

The Other Side

Phic Phight Oneshot for Kiinotasha and KC: (AU) Born a halfa and raised in the Ghost Zone by his mother, Danny struggles with his human identity when a permanent man made portal appears in the Ghost Zone.

On AO3 and FFN

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

Danny never questioned his life until that man made portal spawned. He never forgot when he first saw it six years ago while playing with Youngblood.

Naturally, they were playing aliens and spacemen, Danny's favorite. Earlier in the play session, they had found it, and it was deemed part of their spaceship. It was just a metal outline, an octagon. Thick enough that they could sit, and they pretended that the limited space was the entrance. Obviously on the left side was space, and the right side was their ship. Eventually their moms called them home, and during dinner when asked about his day, he told his mom about it.

She frowned, and she asked him for more details. Having played on it all day, he described it perfectly. His mom paled, and she forbid him from going there again, but she didn't expand on why.

He saw no reason to be afraid. It was just a metal shape. There were far more dangerous places in the Ghost Zone. So the next day, he told Youngblood about his mom's weird reaction. His mom had reacted the same, but didn't say why. His dad explained that it was dangerous, but not what about it was dangerous. Danny didn't have a dad, but he was sure that if he did, he probably would have said the same thing. But neither child could get it. What was dangerous about a shape?

So they just played with it again the next day, and they lied to their moms about what they did.

Two years later, another ghost had join to make them a trio. Her name was Box Lunch, and she was honestly a lot of fun. But she was still a girl, and they didn't tell her about their secret fun location until they were sure she didn't have cooties. When they showed her, she instantly knew what it was.

"That's a ghost portal!" she exclaimed. Youngblood and Danny thought she was stupid. Ghost portals didn't stay anywhere permanently. They opened and closed at random, when the human world and Ghost Zone would temporarily merge and allow for a rip to tear. But it always mended back together quickly.

"No it's not," Youngblood scowled. Box Lunch made a face at him.

"Yeah-huh!" she insisted. "My mommy and daddy get into the human world all the time! She said some people there have been trying to make a permanent portal to here!"

"Nu-uh!" Youngblood argued. "My dad said that humans wouldn't do that, they're more afraid of us than we are of them!"

"Yeah-huh!" Box Lunch said more forcefully. "My parents were human once, they said that people constantly wanna hunt us in the human world! And that they're coming here!"

"If they're afraid of us, then why come here?" Youngblood challenged.

"What else would it be?" Box Lunch asked, crossing her arms.

"It's a weirdo ghost's lair!"

And as they bickered back and forth, Danny had remained quiet. He didn't know how to feel about any of this. His friends often forgot that Danny wasn't just a ghost. He was also human.

Not that he was a ghost who was once human, that died. He was both, and he always had been. Born that way, according to his mom, because his dad was human. Danny didn't know too much about him, and he never really thought to ask.

He knew that his name was Jack, and how he looked like. His mom had hung a photo of him in his room so that he'd know; blue eyes, black hair, with a square jaw and in a distinctive orange jumpsuit. The orange suit always reminded him of the blue one his mom wore underneath a lab coat. She said he looked just like his dad when he was in his human form, and he could absolutely see it. Though as a ghost he had white hair that he seemingly inherited from nobody, with his mom's light blue skin and yellow-green eyes. As a ghost, he matched with a black jumpsuit, though as a human, he preferred regular clothes.

Most ghosts had learned of Danny's true nature early on as the news slowly spread when he was born. They loved him and accepted him as one of them. He could go out into the Zone as a human, but it always felt weird. So he was always a ghost.

That night, as he got tucked in for bed, he decided to bring the metallic object up again.

"Box Lunch said that the big metal shape is a permanent ghost portal," he blurted out. His mom stared at him with wide yellow eyes, and so he knew that Box Lunch was actually right. "Is it?"

She sighed, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"I believe so," she confirmed. Danny sat up.

"Is that why you don't want me going near it?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. Danny cocked his head curiously.

"But if I'm also human, wouldn't they be okay with me?" he wondered. His mom paused for a long, long time. "I'm also one of them."

"I don't know, honey," she admitted. He could tell that she did know. She kissed his forehead. "I'll talk to you about it when you're a little bit older, okay?"

"Promise?"

"I promise. Now good night, sweetie."

It was four more years before it really became relevant again. He had essentially forgotten about the unoperational portal as homeschooling, other friends, and general undead life had continued on for him and his mom.

Youngblood didn't age, since he was once human and died, and so as Danny got older, they hung out less. While Box Lunch, a born ghost, grew, he became distant from her too for unrelated reasons. Danny wasn't alone, however. For a while, he hung out with other ghosts who had died young before he met his best friend. He was a bit older than him when he had died, sixteen to his fourteen, but Johnny 13 (and his shadow) and him had almost instantly become friends and hung out nearly every day. Often his girlfriend joined them too. His mom also allowed him to keep a newly dead dog that had followed him home, that alternated from a puppy to a large hulking beast of a monster dog. Danny named him Cujo.

Ghost Writer provided lessons in the arts on Tuesdays and Thursdays for him and a few other younger ghosts, which did include Johnny and Kitty. On the other days, his mom homeschooled him in her passion: the sciences. His favorite memories were of him and his mother in her lab, doing home experiments and building a wide variety of things.

She indulged in whatever nonsense he wanted to build, which included but wasn't limited to: rock cannon, small spaceships, figuring out how they could grow potatoes on the moon like the man in the martian book did, using ecto energy to cook poptarts.

Often her friend, Technus, but better known to Danny as Uncle Nico, came by to do more of the tech-based stuff. Danny believed that Uncle Nico could do anything with technology. He was one of the ghosts that often went through the natural portals, and whenever he came back, he had something for Danny. Typically game consoles and games, but sometimes fun little useless knick knacks that Danny treasured deeply. He fixed those game consoles many times, and also showed him how to download and install cheats and mods to make them more fun.

And after a morning full of science or the arts, Danny would eat lunch then rush off to play with his friends, Cujo always on his heels.

Looking back, he never did much as a human. He had to resort to his human side to rest, or would default to it if he fell asleep. It felt weird being in human form amongst ghosts, and so he was just always a ghost. He never thought much about it, and nobody ever asked him to be a human around them. It was just how things were.

On the day he'd never forget, it was just him and Johnny. His girlfriend had opted not to come. Danny couldn't remember the original topic, but it made him remember the portal. As soon as he told Johnny about it, the two idly scratching Cujo as the dog slept in between them in puppy form, the ghost's eyes lit up excitedly.

"Dude! We have to check it out!" Johnny insisted.

"I dunno," Danny hesitated. "My mom said that I should stay away."

"Come on, it'll be sick! I've always wanted to go back to the human world," Johnny begged. "And you've never even been there, despite being half-human!"

Danny paused. Well, when you put it like that...

"Okay!" he agreed. He floated up from his seat a bit so he could untangle his legs to stand. Cujo immediately got up from his spot laying near them, tail wagging excitedly. "Let's go! I think I still know where it is!"

It had changed since he last saw it. It now had huge yellow and black doors in place of the previous blank space, and it seemed somehow bigger than he remembered it years ago. But it was unmistakably the man made portal.

Even now, he didn't get what would be too scary about it that his mom would encourage him to stay far away. It was just a door.

"This is so fucking cool," Johnny whispered as he touched the door. "Imagine...no more trying to hunt down a portal. We can just come and go as we please...seeing our lost loved ones...seeing my mom again…It's been so long...I dunno if she'd even remember me..."

Danny didn't say anything, but he did begin to think and truly wonder for the first time what his dad was like. His mom never talked about him, and he never really asked. He and his mom were happy, and he also had Uncle Nico. Was his dad kind? Did he also like science? Why wasn't he here? Did his dad even know about him?

"Do you think we can open it?" Danny asked. Cujo licked his fingers, and Danny scratched his head. Johnny glanced over his shoulder at him.

"I dunno," he admitted. His hand turned into a fist and he knocked on the door. "It seems really solid. I don't think we can just break it or something."

"Hm. Lemme see," Danny mused. He came closer, and he put his hand on the door. It was cold, and Johnny was right; it was metallic, just like the outer edge he used to play on, and it would not break easily. His finger traced the middle line of the two doors. "Hm. Maybe we can pry the door open."

"The humans made this," Johnny spoke. Danny stared at him. No shit. "No, no, I mean. Maybe you should do something to it as a human." Danny thought on this, and he shrugged. Couldn't hurt.

His transformation rings came and went, leaving him in his human state. He was just in a t-shirt and jeans today, and he stayed floating near the portal.

His hand had barely touched the portal when it opened for him.

Danny gasped in shock, jerking his hand back as it opened. Johnny had also jumped, going backwards a bit, and Cujo's fur went up as he barked. It fully opened, and he couldn't see anything but the green ooze. This wasn't anything like Uncle Nico had mentioned natural portals being like. They normally acted like a window you could see through. But it was an unnatural portal made by man.

"Maybe this isn't such a-" Johnny began, but Danny had already stepped through.

There was a weird in between area that shined bright blue that he never heard Uncle Nico describe. But in this in between, he could see exactly what the ghost had mentioned. He knew he was still in the Zone, but he could look out the portal into the human world like a window.

A man in an orange jumpsuit, with black hair that was graying, was sitting in a room that reminded him very much of his mom's lab. He was staring at the portal in confusion, likely because it had randomly opened, and Danny instantly knew who it was. He had no idea if his dad could see him, but he found himself rushing backwards, and back into the Zone.

The second he returned, he became a ghost again, and he silently began to fly away as he tried to process. Johnny asked no questions, only following, Cujo following them both.

That night, at dinner, he finally asked.

"What was dad like?"

His mom stared at him for a moment.

"Well, he was very sweet," she said slowly. "Very bubbly personality. Always went out of his way to help his friends." She smiled softly as she talked about him. "Adored fudge."

"Did he like science?" Danny wondered. His mom gave a short laugh.

"Oh boy he adored it. Not the best at it, but he had a lot of enthusiasm," he replied. "We used to do experiments together all the time."

Danny stared down at his food as he thought. He looked up to her, and he could tell that she already knew what he was going to ask.

"How come I never met him?" he wondered. She sighed.

"...He doesn't like ghosts," she replied. "Aspiring ghost hunter when I met him, actually. I was alive then. Had the same ambitions." At his shocked look, she laughed again. "I know, ironic. We had dated for about two years officially. But then...I died. It was winter, and I was driving late at night during a snowstorm. My car slid off the road, and into a river. And I died from my injuries. I found that I could disguise myself as human, and I was in denial. So I just...continued on."

"...Why?" he asked. His mom shrugged in defeat.

"I guess I just didn't want to admit that it was over. I hadn't done everything I wanted to do yet. I was still in college, and I felt like my life had been forcibly finished before it had even truly started," she admitted. "Jack had proposed, but I had declined. I was too afraid to tell him. He began pursuing ghost hunting more seriously as a profession and building weapons and portals. I found out I was having you, and he was so excited to be a dad. I began getting scared. I didn't know how long I could continue the lie. I didn't know how it all would affect you. Then the police found my car and body, and I knew I couldn't avoid the inevitable any longer. So I left. I had no clue how to face him, or even how safe you might be if we talked. Especially after you were born, and I realized that you were half ghost."

The more she talked, she more somber she became. By the end, she was sniffling a little. Guilt began to wash over him.

"Have you ever talked to him again? Like after I was born?" he wondered. She shook her head no. "How come you've never taken me to the human world?"

"I had considered it. But it's too dangerous," she explained. "Humans aren't like ghosts. If they knew that you were also ghost...you wouldn't wanna find out what happens."

"...Do you regret any of it?" Do you regret me?

She smiled softly despite the conversation.

"You were the best thing to ever happen to me," she told him. "I may have been very anxious about being alone, and how you may turn out despite it all. But you were born healthy and perfect in every way. You're absolutely the light of my afterlife."

Danny smiled back, feeling some reassurance. His mom stood up, leaning over to peck his forehead before picking up her plate. He heard Cujo scramble out from under the table, ears up in excitement.

"I think I'll finish this later," she told him. "I'm not too hungry tonight." She glanced down at the dog. "This isn't for you."

Cujo whined, following her as she put her plate in the microwave. Danny nodded, sparing a small smile to Cujo and ushering for him to come over. He slipped him a piece of chicken as his mom left.

Later that night, Danny couldn't sleep. He was too busy sorting out his rushing thoughts. He was of course still him. Nothing really changed, but there was this new growing emptiness. Danny was still Danny, but there was a whole other side to him that knew nothing about. It began to eat at him more and more. Who was this human side besides just human Danny who lived in the Ghost Zone? He didn't know.

He now wished that his mom had taken him to the human world before so that he could know. She did say that there was a risk in the humans knowing he was also a ghost, which he didn't get. The ghosts accepted him as one of their own, so why wouldn't the humans? He didn't get humans at all. And he needed to know more about them. He was one of them.

By breakfast, his mind was made up.

After an unusually boring lesson with Ghost Writer together, Danny immediately went to Johnny once their small class of sorts were dismissed.

"I have to go back." Danny couldn't breath for a moment. "I have to see what it's like. Like you said, I'm also human, and I've never been there. All my unlife, I've been a ghost, here, in the Ghost Zone. My dad's in the human world. And I need to know what it's like to be human. What it means. So I can maybe meet him one day."

Johnny nodded.

"I think I get it," he said slowly. "I'll come with you. Keep you company. I think I could pass for human pretty well, even if I have to say that I have some kind of sickly disease that keeps me pale."

Danny grinned.

"Thanks," he replied. "Come on."

It took no time at all to find the portal. Danny stared up at it, his breath once more stolen as he tried to think of a reason why he shouldn't go through it.

Nothing came to mind.

"It's okay if you don't wanna," Johnny said. Danny shook his head no.

"I have to do this," he replied. "I need to do this."

Johnny patted his back, and that was all the subconscious encouragement Danny needed to turn human and press his hand to the door. Once more, it opened. The fact that he's even able to open it made him know that this was something he was meant to do. He once again stepped through with Johnny right behind him.

[theevangelion]

Red Bottom: Red Kryptonite D/S Supercorp Story (Complete)

Prompt Fill for Gabs: Redk!Kara wanting it fast and hard and lena fucking her gently until she's in tears? With lots of praise kink pls

*OR*

Under the effects of Red Kryptonite, Kara has to be kept somewhere secure. The L-Corp Laboratory is about the only location with enough lead lining to hide her heat signature while the DEO worries about bigger threats. Kara’s frustrated arousal and darkened mood is nothing compared to her girlfriend, Lena Luthor’s.

There’s a dark and evil side lurking inside Lena too. Always there, always out of sight. With Kara under the influence of the Red Kryptonite, Lena finds herself indulging in her own primal dark side in order to quell Kara’s own.

“Again?” Lena’s eyes fly wide open at the DEO circus.

“The red kryptonite particles went up with the explosion last week,” Alex says, overseeing the transfer of her sedated sister to the secure L-Corp laboratory. “And what goes up must come down. Jesus, I can’t believe we didn’t account for the rain.”

“Wouldn’t she be safer at DEO headquarters? It’s just, her safety should be the priority.” Lena doesn’t want to seem too eager to palm off her girlfriend.

“If the DEO headquarters were still secret, sure.” Alex rubs her temple, now suddenly thinking of other problems.

Her hazel eyes find Lena with a sense of exhaustion, as though there are too many things being juggled in the air and she needs someone to take Kara out of the equation.

Alex continues, “The League caught intel about our security protocols. Ironically, the one place Lex will probably not look is the place right beneath his nose. The building has enough lead-lining to hide her heat signature?”

“More than enough,” Lena confirms.

“Well,” Alex pats the chief executive’s shoulder. “I’ll call you tonight, and I’ll leave her in your capable hands for a few days.”

Lena laughs suddenly, the uncomfortable noise barely escaping through her tight teeth. “Please don’t.” She eyes Alex cautiously. “Just maybe let’s workshop this idea—”

“It will be fine,” Alex promises. “Just don’t listen to her, put your headphones in, think of it as babysitting duty. I’ll owe you one, big time.” Alex stares as though she means it regardless of the complications it might cause later down the line.

An unconditional favour from one of the higher-ups in the chain of command at the Department of Extranormal Operations… That could certainly come in handy one day.

“Not the holding cell. Put her in the observation suite, the glass is resistant to her heat vision.” Lena points to the clear glass room opposite the laboratory. “Extra restraints, green kryptonite lamps—”

“Green kryptonite could kill her,” Alex balks.

“In larger quantities, sure.” Lena nods. “In a smaller, medicinal dosage it nullifies her power for a short time. Like the small amount emitted by the kryptonite lamps your tech team developed last year in the event of…” Lena pauses, quirking her crimson lips as she searches for the right word. “Something unexpected.” Alex instantly closes her eyes. “Bring them, bring all of the equipment. And extra restraints too, please.”

“Why extra restraints?” Alex lifts her brow, confused.

Lena rolls her eyes, then turns to her personal assistant. “Jesse, clear my entire schedule from now until Tuesday. Alex, trust me, I’m doing you a favour, but I need the restraints and the kryptonite lamps. For my safety, you understand?” She glances at her girlfriend’s sister.

“Whatever you need, Lena.” Alex doesn’t ask further.

***

Kara awakes slowly and feels the tension in her arms. They’re captured around her ribcage, as though she is trapped in a suffocating hug. She shifts her shoulders, wiggling, unable to get herself loose from the poor, rough excuse for a blanket that has entwined her.

“You’ll forgive me for being cautious,” Lena says through the speaker. “It’s for your safety, mostly.”

Kara opens her eyes and simultaneously rolls them when she sees the applied restraints. Her arms are secured in a white strait-jacket, the tan leather straps buckled tightly, with another strap of leather secured between her nude legs to stop her wiggling out of it.

“For my safety or yours?” Kara flexes against the strait-jacket.

“Alright,” Lena levels seriously over the speaker. “For mine then.”

The strait-jacket isn’t torn to pieces when Kara flexes a second time, which strikes her as strange. She wiggles again, harder, flexing, stretching her arms as far as she can against the secured sleeves.

“Sorry baby,” Lena says, walking in to view as she stops in front of the glass door that separates them. “Another precaution. I can survive your bad mood, but only when we level the playing field.” Her emerald eyes glance to the industrial spotlights that emanate a low, dark green colour over the observation suite.

Green Kryptonite.

“If you think there’s such a big bad monster lurking inside of me—” Kara stops, heaving furious breaths. “Why risk it the other three-hundred and sixty-four days a year? Am I not capable of tearing you apart then, if I wanted to?”

“There is always a monster lurking inside of you, baby.” Lena folds her arms over her black cashmere sweater. “But you are the strongest, most level-headed woman I know. You would never let it hurt anyone.” Her eyes flicker with love. “The other days of the year, of course.” She pushes a small smile, but then it disappears as she dips her head.

Kara narrows her eyes. “Oh, you want to talk about monsters, Lena?” She can’t help but laugh.

“Not particularly.”

“Because you know the one that claws inside of your ribcage is so much more violent and hungry than mine.”

“Don’t do this, please,” Lena pleads. “I know you can’t help it, but could you… try and help it?”

“Sad, poor, angry little girl—lost and unlovable,” Kara scoffs, her lips forming an angry smirk. “How does it feel knowing that I am the only one capable of loving a creature as tortured as you?”

Lena’s mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.

Her face is beautiful and smooth like porcelain, but her eyes are utterly empty and her jaw flexes with the tiniest slip of anger. To Kara, she is still beautiful, still the finest human she has ever met, a bride to be made fit for House of El yet.

It’s simply a case of subjugating her first, Kara thinks. To teach Lena who exactly her better half is, metaphorically and literally speaking.

“You’re still pretty when you want to cry,” Kara says coldly, unbothered and unconcerned. “You should know that.”

“Funny,” Lena doesn’t skip a beat, her tone equally cold. “I’ve always thought the same of you.”

There’s a flash, a tiny strike of lightning. It hits Kara right in her belly and sends her flying backwards. The pain is the least of her concerns. She doesn’t understand what it was. Kara pants and opens her eyes, curled in the corner of the glass cage with a tight grimace.

“For my safety,” Lena explains, lifting the remote that controls the shock pulses. “In case I feel threatened.” She smirks slightly.

“You always feel threatened,” Kara laughs despite the painful ripples in her body from the electric shock. “Always threatened by other powerful women, always worried you’re too small, too unimportant, too weak to compete—”

“Whoops.” The powerful shock hits Kara again and makes her whimper. It leaves her crumpled and curling, sweating and gritting her teeth. “My finger slipped,” Lena says, unamused.

Despite the red kryptonite, despite the hubris it imbues her with, she is completely defenseless and that only compounds her anger. Kara wrangles as hard as she can, until she nearly dislocates her shoulder trying to get free from the pathetic little strait-jacket that on any ordinary day could be ripped apart with a sneeze.

The door alarm rings out. Lena steps inside the lion’s den, her Blahnik heels clicking quickly over the cold hard floor. Kara refuses to look at her, she tucks her sweaty head away as the pencil skirt gracefully bends at the knees to appraise her closer, as though she is some kind of small animal.

“See,” Lena whispers quietly, moving the damp blonde hair off her face. “Still so pretty when you want to cry, baby, I told you.”

“Don’t start a war you cannot win, Lena,” Kara growls with gravel in her throat. “I will still have my power and might when the weekend is out, and you—”

“Will still have mine, too.” Lena slips her hand over Kara’s bottom, pulling the curled up little monster close like a pet to be made tame. “Why don’t you be a good girl and let that nasty tongue of yours rest. I don’t want to sedate you. There is so much more productive fun to be had when you’re awake.”

Kara’s ears lift at that.

“Fun?” She looks at Lena with a craned eyebrow.

Lena looks different. Kara isn’t sure whether it’s the effect of the red kryptonite, or whether her girlfriend has always had that air of cruel arrogance and she’s only just noticing it now. But Lena’s eyes glean her as though she’s a wolfish little whore, a thing to conquer. Her crimson lips pull into a small smirk.

“Fun for me, yes.” Lena pets her damp, long blonde hair softly. “The way I see it, Kara Danvers, is that I’m going to marry you one day. That means for better or worse. And, if I can’t find a way to handle you at your worst—” Kara hisses when slender fingers yank her hair tight in a tight fistful. “Then what business do I have enjoying you at your best?” Their eyes lock seriously.

“You think this is me at my worst?” Kara’s eyes grow wide with indignation. “Oh just you wait. The Hell I will reign down upon you—” Material is quickly stuffed inside her open mouth as gag, stifling the threats.

The material is slightly damp, heady almost, the feminine taste that is so distinctly Lena Luthor coats Kara’s tongue… Kara realises that this isn’t a traditional gag.

“Hold my panties for me like a good girl,” Lena whispers and stuffs them a little deeper into her mouth. “Don’t spit them out, otherwise I’m going to push them in another hole. And believe me, I have such better, bigger plans for your pretty tight holes…” Her manicured fingers slipped over the tanned leather strap between Kara’s sweating thighs.

When Kara’s blue eyes fly open in surprise, the question doesn’t even need to be uttered. Lena can practically read her mind. The executive peers down at her with a loving smile, her palms gently taking each side of her face and cradling it close to her own.

“The red kryptonite cannot be chemically neutralised. That means I need to find another way to control you when you’re… under the influence of dangerous substances.” Lena trails her hand through Kara’s long hair, her nails dragging and gathering it neatly. “That means I need to condition you to see me as your handler, to prevent my brother ever using the red kryptonite compound as a weapon.”

“My handler?” Kara scoffs through the panties between her teeth, laughing. “You couldn’t handle a guinea pig without help—” The sentence is slapped out of her mouth, hard.

“Your ears work, how reassuring.” Lena remains blank-faced. “Now, come with me, let’s see how reward-motivated you can be, little one.”

The fingers entwined in the back of her scalp tug, pull, coax her to follow on her knees across the glass room towards a desk with a laptop on top of it in the corner. There’s a soft, plush cushion beside the chair. Kara realises too late what exactly her girlfriend has planned.

“No, no.” Lena stops when Kara stops, glancing down at the ravenous little creature digging her feet into the floor. “Wouldn’t you rather feel good, sweetheart?” She swiftly takes the panties out of her mouth.

Kara thinks, too optimistically, that it’s so she can reply clearly.

Instantaneously, Kara feels all of her muscles tighten at once. Something has started vibrating inside of her—quite literally, vibrating inside of her—it’s pressed deep inside of her folds, right behind her clit against that perfect spot that made her cunt feel tight and hot. The panties were removed from her mouth so they weren’t a choking hazard, she realises.

Then, it dwindles away to nothing.

“I am going to hurt you in ways you cannot fathom,” Kara growls furiously at the denial of her pleasure.

“No, you’re not.” Lena cranes down and pecks her temple. “Because I will crush you before you ever get the chance, little girl,” her soft voice becomes a stern tone against the ear, the responsive slither of crimson red kryptonite emanating from Kara’s temple not going unnoticed.

The moment Kara snatches at Lena’s throat with her teeth—she is made to learn the hard way around why it’s a regrettable idea.

A sudden shock of electricity hits her, but not externally, this time it’s deep inside of her cunt, attacking the back of her clit with needle-like precision. It hits her so hard that Kara squeals and releases Lena’s throat before the slightest amount of pressure can be applied with her teeth.

Unlike the earlier electric shock, this one is prolonged and hateful almost. Kara curls on her side and cries, clenching her thighs, yelping like a wounded little animal. Lena stands over her calmly, hands clasped in front of her neat black pencil skirt while her thumb continues to press the remote control.

“Please!” Kara squeals. “Please make it stop!”

“Good girl,” Lena whispers and lifts her thumb off the trigger. “Manners will get you everywhere, sweetheart. I would advise that you don’t ever try to hurt me, otherwise I will have to rectify the situation with some sense of equalism. You understand?”

“Yes,” Kara spits the affirmation between her clenching teeth.

“Yes Ma’am,” Lena insists.

“You have lost your soft little fucking mind if you think—” Kara wails a sharp sob that cuts her off, squirming her thighs together again as a small jolt hits her deep in the back of the cunt.

“When you’re like this, Kara, I don’t see my girlfriend,” Lena says firm. “My sweet, gentle, strong Supergirl... She would never try to hurt me, would never hurt a fly even. But you?” Her tone is suddenly accusatory. “You are not my Kara. You are the monster that lurks beneath the surface, and you will kneel and be made tame or you will be crushed into dust. I’m not your girlfriend, your little human, or your subordinate. I am the only authority in your tiny fucking insular world and you will obey me.” It isn’t posed as a question, simply posited as fact.

“We’ll see about that, Ma’am,” Kara growls sarcastically.

“Good girl,” Lena’s tone is suddenly praising, her eyes narrowing with pleased surprise. “You don’t have to enjoy saying it, baby, you just have to do as you’re told.”

Instinctively, Kara wants to protest and be difficult. But whatever Lena has buried deep inside of her cunt…it begins to strangely swell, filling her, vibrating and pulsing against her slick hot folds in a way that is entirely pleasurable. Kara understands too late what game they’re playing. Lena is operantly conditioning her. A game of punishment and reward.

The corner of Kara’s vision glitters, almost. The red kryptonite heightens everything, her emotions, her mood, her aggression, and apparently her arousal too. The wolfish creature can’t help but gasp, closing her eyes and unable to form coherent words.

“I think that’s enough baby,” Lena whispers softly.

Slowly, the strange new toy inside of her cunt recedes in size and slows its vibrations. It feels like a knot growing smaller, then a love egg, then it’s too small to be descriptively felt any more. Kara can still tell something is inside of her but it’s the smallest, most inoffensive intrusion. There, but not there, like a tiny pill-sized probe of sorts.

Kara glances down to the  leather strap buckled tight over her slit. She had assumed it was there to stop her slipping out of the strait-jacket, but Kara now understood it was also there to keep something buried inside of her.

Kara shifts slowly on the floor, twisting her hips, trying to feel out the sensations in her body that no longer seemed to exist without Lena deciding they should. It makes the chief executive smile this wolfish, chipper grin that looks strange on her usually dour face. Her beaming white teeth are on display with the breadth of her smile.

She looks beautiful, Kara can’t help but notice.

“What-” Kara blinks, completely confused. “What did you put inside of me?”

“A very, very special toy.” Lena gently takes her by the chin, guiding her shying face to meet her authoritative eyes. “I made it especially for you, though the punishment features were certainly a last-minute revision. If you’re a very, very good girl I’ll show you just how nice it feels when I decide that it should.”

“And if I’m not a good girl?” Kara lifts her brow defiantly. “If I don’t want to be your unconsenting little fucking pet slave?”

At that Lena’s eyes widen slightly.

“Baby,” Lena whispers with a knitted brow, her voice slow and loving. “I’m trying to help you here. The green kryptonite—” She nods at the deep green spotlights that cast the room in dark shadows. “I don’t know how much exposure is lethal, but I know that if you ever posed a risk to the general public then the DEO would ask questions later after they had put you down like a feral animal.” The theoretical possibility seems to make Lena tight with worry. “You don’t have to like this. It’s non-lethal, it’s for your own good, and my Kara would perfectly understand why it was necessary.”

“Then your Kara is a submissive little whore, and you probably know as much.” Kara glares at the unshakeable human she had underestimated.

Lena tucks a long weft of blonde hair behind Kara’s ear.

“Come along,” Lena instructs, turning on her heels to walk to the desk in the corner of the room. “You can either come willingly or I will give you a damn good reason to regret being so difficult.”

***

To Lena’s surprise, Kara did as she was told. Lena sat down in the chair and opened the laptop, her thumb on the shock button, ready to hit her girlfriend where it hurt once she reached zero on her mental countdown from ten.

But Kara crawls forward as best she can like a wounded little animal, her arms secured by the strait-jacket, her cheek pressed to the floor as she pushes forward indignantly on her knees.

The miracle happened. The pigs flew over the sky. The chickens had come home to roost. Lena felt her smile widen proudly, her fingers slipping around Kara’s neck and tickling the nape.

“Good girl,” Lena hushes, then she slips her hand around Kara’s jaw and brings her cheek to her lap. “There you go, just kneel there and show me you can be good.”

Lena rewards her in tangible, felt ways. The bullet-like toy inside of her cunt was activated with the remote, Lena’s thumb slipping over the control trigger to increase the swell in size, then the vibrations too.

Lena kept it on the minimal settings, flexing her thumb back and forth, giving her girlfriend just enough to coax her submission. She imagined that it probably felt like a pulse inside of her tight slick cunt, a pressure that grew and pressed into the back of her g-spot with delicious accuracy, then receded into nothing.

“Say thank you, princess.” Lena idly traces her fingertips on the panting jaw pressing to her thigh.

“Go fuck yourself you arrogant, precious little cunt.”

Lena just closes her eyes and presses the button.

Tense and tight and squealing, the wolfish little creature slumps to the floor and wrestles against the strait-jackets straps. Lena opens her eyes and peers down at her, guilty, curious, aroused beyond words and not ready to take her thumb off the trigger yet.

“Please!” Kara yelps with tears streaming down her red cheeks. “I’m sorry!”

“You’re sorry, what?” Lena lifts her eyebrow, waiting for the appellation.

“Oh go fuck yourself—” Kara regrets it instantly.

It was thrilling to bring a god to her squealing, tightly curled-up kneels. Lena knows it’s wrong, that it’s villainous in all the ways she holds herself to be morally higher than. But all Kara has to do is be polite, it really isn’t that hard. She increases the electricity until it feels like a thousand tiny needles digging and prodding, Lena has no doubts about it.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am!” Kara sobs. “Please make it stop, I’m sorry!”

“Good girl,” Lena hushes and takes her thumb off the trigger. “There’s a good, good girl.” She pets her long damp hair. “See, it isn’t that hard baby. You just have to do as you’re told, you just have to be a good girl.”

Lena replaces the pain with a flood of pleasure. It takes her girlfriend off her centre of gravity. Kara slumps again, her toes flexing and curling, her belly tightening until she is curling like a little kitten. Lena makes sure to show the submission an abundance of reward, her thumb flies upward on the control trigger and gives Kara a brief taste of how good obedience can truly feel.

The toy swells so big and wide inside of Kara that her weeping baby blues fly open, entire constellations mapped in the whites of her eyes. The vibrations are so powerful that Lena can hear them — thrumming, pulsing, mechanically growling away like a revving engine. She brings Kara down slowly, gently, backing her away from the cliff edge of a quick hard orgasm.

“Please!” Kara whines and brings her cheek back to Lena’s lap, kissing and digging her nose into the top of the chief executive’s thigh. “I’ll be good, I’ll behave, please just let me cum.”

“I think I’ll leave you right here.” Lena settles on a low, gentle vibration setting — enough that Kara can feel it stirring her orgasm, but not enough to push her over the edge. “If you’re still being a good girl by the time I’ve finished my ordinance paperwork, we can revisit things.”

“Please,” Kara whimpers, her voice barely a choking whisper. “Please, please, please—” She buries her face into Lena’s lap.

Lena ignores it and gets on with her tasks. It takes longer than it usually does, she’s more aware of the ticking time. The panting little mouth pressing to her thigh whimpers and moans, but Kara’s face is entirely slack and resting on the leg as though she has no energy to hold it up of her own volition.

“Please Ma’am,” Kara whimpers, “Please, Ma’am, make it feel good.”

Lena says nothing, offers nothing in response, but she pushes the trigger upwards and increases the vibrations and swelling size of the toy, incrementally and almost procedural. Then, she clicks into her emails for a quick update on the minute notes from the meeting she missed.

Ten minutes pass, if that.

“I need to cum,” Kara pants. “Please?”

“No.”

“Please Ma’am!”

“I said no—ow!” Lena glances down to where Kara had nipped her with teeth, hard. “What did I tell you?” Lena asks calmly, her fingers catching the shying chin. “I was fair, I warned you Kara, all you have to do is be a good girl and do as I tell you to.”

“Please no more shocks, I’m sorry—I didn’t, I didn’t mean to!”

“I’m not going to shock you,” Lena says reassuringly, closing the laptop lid. “You want to be fucked? You want to be pleasured? I’m going to show you exactly why you wait for my freely-given permission. You think this is degrading? Oh baby, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

***

Kara cries so hard it makes the veins in her throat bulge and stick out. Her legs thrash and kick, her arms wrangling desperately against the tight, taut sleeves of the jacket. Externally, it looked as though she might be in the worst pain one woman could possibly experience. Lena almost felt guilty. But, Kara wasn’t in pain.

She was in terminal pleasure.

“Spread your legs,” Lena only has to whisper the instruction.

Kara does as she’s told instantly, as best she can, opening her shaking legs as far and wide as she possibly can. Her cunt is pink and swollen against the wet leather strap, bucking desperately for an orgasm she isn’t permitted to have.

Whenever she gets too close, Lena dials the toy down—or gives her a tiny shock—depending on whichever is necessary to keep her an obedient and well-behaved girl.

“What a pretty girl,” Lena croons, brow furrowing deeply as she leaned against her chair and crossed her leg. “Tell me again, what are the rules baby?”

“I do as I’m told,” Kara pants. “That’s all I have to do, exactly as I’m told to do.”

“You’re such a good, obedient little girl.” Lena dials up her vibrations almost imperceptibly. “I wanted to break you in gently, Kara, but if you need to be brought under the thumb with ruthless efficiency then that works for me too. Come, hump my foot like a good pet.”

The red kryptonite glows and ebbs under her skin, everywhere, pulsing, from her temples to her toes, the slithers of red slip and glide beneath her skin and then reappear a moment later somewhere else. Lena surmises that her body, her primal aggression, it’s fighting her from the inside out and telling her this is wrong.

Kara ignores it and does as she’s told.

“What a good girl!” Lena cranes down and kisses her temple as the slick leather strap begins to work the top of her bare foot. “What do good girls get, Kara?”

“Rewards, Ma’am,” Kara whimpers.

“And what does the good girl want?”

“For you to fuck me hard, Ma’am,” Kara breaks into a sob and grinds her hips harder. “Please, please, it’s too gentle.” She dissolves into hiccuping tears.

“You’re sure you want a big hard orgasm?” Lena furrows her brow, as though she doesn’t understand. “Wouldn’t you rather a nice, soft, gentle little orgasm that just takes you over the edge—”

“Please let me cum hard,” Kara squeals, her face dipped down and cradled between her handler’s thighs. “Please, Ma’am! I’ll be a good girl, I promise!”

“No baby,” Lena says calmly. “Just a tiny soft orgasm tonight. If you are good, I’ll let you have a big one tomorrow.”

“Ma’am please!” Kara yelps as though agonised, her fingers digging tight into Lena’s kneecaps. “Please, please—”

It’s important that Kara learns the size and depth of a reward is Lena’s to call. She won’t get her own way all of the time, that’s Lena’s rationale with denying her. Lena dials down the vibrations incrementally, then makes the swell of the toy just a little bit smaller. Responsively, Kara sobs and bucks harder as she loses the pressure on her g-spot.

“The more you push the more pressure I’m going to take away,” Lena is stern because she feels that she has to be. “Are we going to be a good girl or a ruined girl?”

“Good girl,” Kara whimpers and bucks. “Can I cum, please? I’ll be a good girl, I’ll be obedient.”

“Chase it. I’ll cut you off when you’ve had enough baby, don’t you worry.” Lena cruelly smiles.

Kara bucks and grows silent for a moment, her pained expression slackening as the orgasm creeps up gently—nowhere near as forceful as the wolfish little thing desires it to be—but that will come in time, Lena thinks. She cups Kara’s chin and stares down at her, appraising, judging perfectly, grinning when the wild little thing comes undone with a sob and clutches at her leg like a humping little pet.

“There we go,” Lena whispers, turning the toy off suddenly just as Kara hit the peek. “What a very, very good girl. I’m pleased, Kara.” She cranes and pecks her temple, her tear-stained cheek, then her panting lips. “What do we say?”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Kara stutters.

“Good, good girl.” Lena cradles her cheeks. “Let’s get you comfortable in bed. You’re not going to give me problems, are you?” Lena teases her thumb over the shock trigger.

“No Ma’am!” Kara shakes her head frantically. “No problems!”

“Good girl, that’s what I like to hear.” Lena kisses her more fervently this time.

It was a gamble with her life that paid off, Lena thinks with relief.

The green kryptonite lamps had died hours ago, the room was completely dim and dark save the backlight from the row of monitors opposite the other side of the glass. Unbeknownst to Kara, she had slowly regained her powers, or certainly enough of them to beat Lena in a fight if she so wished. But, she had been such a very good girl.

Lena had no concerns now that her little wolfish pet could be brought to heel.

FIND MORE STORIES/SUBMIT ME YOUR IDEAS HERE!

[all-hallows-evie]

Chapter 1: Marooned

Rating: T, for language, Canon Typical Violence/Action. Honestly, this chapter isn't that bad, the T rating is just in case I forgot about something lol

Wordcount: 3,776

Warnings: Canon typical violence and adventure, female OC with name × Tech slowburn, but not too slow lol, NOT BETA'D, because if I have to stare at this first chapter again I'm not going to post it.

A/N: HAPPY TECH TUESDAY, LOOK I'M FINALLY POSTING SOMETHING, WHEEEEEEEEEEE

There were bad ideas, really bad ideas and then there was this.

The ship hums under her feet as it trudges through the far corner of the mid rim, chugging along on it’s route without any sign of trouble or disruption from it’s preplanned course.

It should have been a routine pillaging, something she had placed firmly in the ‘great ideas’ list but instead it had turned into a routine mutiny and finished the day as a routine marooning. She sighs as she lays her head back against the seamless panel behind her.

Fucking pirates. 

She has been stranded on the old freighter for at least two moons, but it was hard to say with certainty. The droids that man the ship have no need to eat so more often than not they forget to pass along anything to keep her mounting hunger at bay, adding along to the lack of any kind of panel to the outside world, getting her bearings is proving to be more difficult than usual. 

She hisses a swear to drown out the low growl of her belly and focuses her gaze on the far corner of the room. Another day, another chance to count the diamond shaped tiles above her cell, she swears the number changes every other time she counts. She doesn’t get farther than eighteen when the door of the maintenance room blows open. 

The dust fills the room, hiding everything under its grimy shadow. The grit in the air crackles as it’s pushed against the red of the electron walls that keep her prisoner with the ships cooling coils and a water filtration unit that has calcified and has never been fixed.  

"Well look at that, we found it! Lucky break!"

"Luck had nothing to do with it, if you had studied the schematics of this cruiser like I had asked-"

"Yeah yeah yeah." The first figure, a hulking shadow in the doorway brushes off the smaller one as he stomps into the suddenly too tiny room.

"The memory core should be at the end of the-" the smaller of the two figures stops in front of her cell as the big one charges towards the end of the room without stopping. They launch themselves into the piles of junk thrown haphazardly inside, "That's concerning."

"Concerning? You see someone in a cage and you go with ‘concerning’?" She replies as she pulls herself up to standing. She takes in his armor, modified clone armor from the looks of it painted pale with a bright red stripe down his chest, his eyes slightly magnified by the goggles on his face, the rest hidden by the elongated helmet.

"According to the intel we were provided there weren't supposed to be life forms aboard." He seems irritated to see her.

"Good old Republic intel, still living up to its reputation."

The other clone approaches, he rips open the metal box in his hands and yanks out the core as if the casing was made of thick flimsy and nothing more, "I've got the thing, time to go!"

She watches, dumbstruck for a moment as her ticket out starts to head for the gaping maw that used to be a door, "Wait, you're taking the old database?" The two of them stop and turn, "It's not complete! It's missing pieces of the coordinates!" Firefek she didn't want to sound desperate but she was.

"Likely story-" The big one chuckles.

"I was trying to steal it too, I almost got all of it before my crew turned on me!"

"A mercenary or a pirate? No matter, I trust you even less now."

She had never wanted to punch anyone's face as hard as she wanted to punch his, "Check the core Goggles, I swear to you! It's missing pieces!" He hesitates and in that baited pause she knows she has him, "Please, just let me out and drop me off wherever you dock next. You can have my data chip. No harm, no foul, just get me out."

The one with the goggles glares at her, the yellow tinted transparisteel of his visor snapping downl before he turns to the bigger man. Klaxons ring all around as he scans the core with a handheld device, but it's taking up time they do not have.

The two clones share a look, silently deciding her fate.

The bigger one caves first, "Aww c'mon Tech, we can't leave her! You saw what's on this ship, she'll be a goner on some mining planet!"

"Under normal circumstances I might agree but she's caged for a purpose, and I'm disinclined to put any trust in her."

"How much damage can she do? She’s smaller than you are!" 

Tech, the one in the goggles, sighs before he turns back around to face her, "If we spring you, you play by our rules. You follow our orders, no complaints, no rebuttals and if you put one toe out of line-"

"Out the airlock, understood." She nods furiously, hands pressed against the panel as she watches Tech short out the electron wall holding her hostage, the panel shudders and then it spews sparks on to the ground as the red fades and she's finally able to step through. 

"Lets go shortie!" 

"Wait, let me just grab-" She scrambles to the other side of the wall, trying to pull at something from the top of a shelf. The bigger clone reaches over and tosses the crate to the floor. She throws open the top and snatches out a bantha leather bag and a helmet.

"Run!"

Tech doesn't have to tell her twice, the three of them bolt out of the door and into the corridor, the lights above flash in time with the klaxons. There is a low rumble that joins the hum of the hyperspace engine, as whatever security droids are on board begin to activate.

"Back to the ship, short stuff!" 

The three of them book it down the darkened halls, ducking behind walls and crates as the first cluster of security droids pass through.

She tosses her bag across her shoulder, slinging it against one side of her hip, clipping it into place with snaps sewn into her jacket. They watch three more droids pass them by before she speaks again, "My name's Nox, by the way." 

"Doesn't sound like a girl's name." The big one chuckles, so deep and rumbling it almost feels like a growl.

"Well it's the only name I've got. My parents named me a bit of a mouthful, Nox just works better."

"Clear." Tech calls out and they continue on their way heading to the service hangar where their ship hopefully was waiting for them.

"How'd you end up out here?" The big one asks, with every flash of light above them she can see more of the large scary face painted roughly on his helmet, lines thrown on haphazardly only to be scraped away by carbon scoring.

She is about to answer when she is shoved back into a corner by Tech. He slaps a hand over her mouth before she can yelp, the leather slightly singed, it smells of electricity and grease.

“Wait.”

"I'm getting tired of all this sneaking around, I say we blow our way outta here!" The big one growls.

"We’re almost there Wrecker, it would be pointless to try now."

She shoves Tech's Hand away, "Blow your way out of here, are you insane? With the amount of baby on board you'd blow us into the next dimension!"

There are a few beats of silence before both helmets turn towards her.

"Baby?" Wrecker repeats but is shushed by Tech.

"You don't mean baradium-"

"Bisulfate? I absolutely do! There were containers of the stuff in the holding bay."

"This Imperial ship is headed somewhere to mine thorilide?" He repeats, tone stressed over every syllable in the word ‘Imperial’.

"That or some unlucky planet is about to be wiped from existence."

"The location of the Republic thorilide mines have been kept under the utmost security for ages, not even the Jedi Council was ever advised of its location."

"Can’t say I blame them, I barely trust them with those glowy sticks of death." She murmurs, making lightsaber sounds with her mouth as Wrecker snickers.

"Stop that. Do you know where this ship was heading? Do you have a copy of the manifest?"

"What, your amazing Republic recce didn't get you that information shiny?" He glares back at her, brows pinching together behind the dark frames of his goggles, "Maker! Did those cloners take your sense of humor? Yes, I know where this ship is going."

"Bet Cid’s contact would pay more for that bit of info." Wrecker’s grin can be heard even through the plastoid of his helmet.

Tech meanwhile has typed something to a com on his wrist, "Hunter, there's been a complication."

"What kind of complication?"

"There is more on board this ship than just the republic database-"

"What do you mean?"

"This ship is a mining vessel, out to mine thorilide."

Tech’s wrist comm goes silent, just quiet static while the voice on the other line thinks, "Ordinance?"

Both clones look at her, she nods emphatically, "Ordinance, med supplies, if there was coaxium on board I wouldn't be surprised, this place is the motherlode."

"Quite a bit of supplies on board, it would seem."

The comm goes quiet again for a few moments, "We don't have time for this, it's only a matter of time before they realize that your cruiser is stolen. Grab what you went in for and leave."

Tech shakes his head, it's so tiny and quick that if she wasn't looking at him in that moment she would have missed it, "Where is it being kept?" 

"Up, five or so floors unless I've miscounted."

"Tech, Wrecker, Get out of there, now!" The voice on the other end grows more and more irritable as they stand around in silence.

"We'll be out as soon as possible." Tech replies curtly as he cuts the comm. He makes it sound so easy like they were stopping by the nearest market to pick up fruit, instead of about to hijack high quality explosives from Imperial custody, "Lead the way."

"What? Just like that?"

"Are there, or are there not these items on board?"

"Yes." 

"You swear?" Wrecker leans in close, hovering over her.

"Yeah."

Tech nods, "Vital signs are stable, no signs of heightened stress-"

"What if I'm just a really good liar?"

"You can try all you want my dear, but the data doesn't lie."

"Does he do this to you too? I'm finding it a bit creepy-" She asks Wrecker as her eyebrow raises.

"You get used to it."

"Weird, so weird…" she mutters to herself as she turns and peeks around the corner. She looks around for anything that is familiar, when she sees a maintenance lift at the very end of the hall to the right. She motions them forward, and silently they sneak their way closer to the lift. She turns her attention to her side as she digs in her bag, her fingers grasp at the odd collection of junk in her pockets until her hand finally wraps around the cool metal of her code cylinder and she can finally stop holding her breath.

Tech's hand on her shoulder pulls her back to the task on hand as he drags her back a few steps. The catwalk above them from here to the lift is no more than a shoddy looking set of grates that creak as a group of security droids march along their patrol, oblivious to the three of them below. 

“The maintenance lift?" Tech sniffs as they come to a stop at its doors. He raises hand to push his goggles back into place, "Perhaps you have failed to notice but none of us are maintenance droids, the moment you try to access that panel they will -”

“They’ll what?” She asks as she jams the cylinder into the port, the lift clicks open silently and she steps inside. 

“The alarms-”

“What alarms? According to this," she snaps her code cylinder from the panel and drops it back into her bag, lost again to the chaos of the random junk held within, "I'm a maintenance droid doing routine inspections. How stupid do you think I am?”

"Hey hey, this one's pretty smart huh Tech?!" Wrecker is thrilled.

"Pirate." She reminds, "You don't see many my age that aren't intelligent and I'll give you one guess as to why."

The doors silently click open and before they can step out a team of at least half a dozen well armed sentry droids roll past. 

They all leap from the inside of the lift and fall into a crouch behind a stack of supply crates. They wait for a few moments before Tech quickly peeks over, "They don't seem to have spotted us."

"Fuck, there weren't this many when we tried this the first time." She swears a few more times under her breath.

"We should do this my way." Wrecker offers.

"What's that mean, what does he mean?!" Nox looks nervously over to Tech, "He doesn't mean-?"

"Explosives and violence? He absolutely does," Tech sighs, “ and I'm afraid we are running low on options and even lower on time. Wrecker, what does your ordinance look like?"

“But you said I couldn't bring any?”

“Yes, and when was the last time you actually listened?”

Wrecker, the fun if not absolutely homicidal one, pulls out a couple of detonators, a roll of plastic tape, a half dozen hand grenades and three droid poppers.

“Great, nice to know you could have turned us into a small sun if I hadn't told you about the baby on board.”

"Everything save for the poppers is far too dangerous to use around those crates." Tech hisses, "Any more of those brilliant pirate ideas floating around in your head?"

She chews on her lip for a moment, wracking her brain for anything else that might be useful as she ignores Tech's sarcastic tone. Apart from the crates on this floor littered with treasure, there didn't seem to be anything of any use...except for the busted water filter. “How big of a distraction do you think it would take to get all those sentries away from the haul?”

“It would need to be something quite large or destructive enough to threaten the integrity of the ship.”

“The water filtration system on board is completely calcified, I don't think it was ever fixed since there are only droids on board. If you could flood that with enough pressure the entire pipe should burst-”

“And flood the entire floor, along with the engine room, that might just do it.” He’s on his data pad before the words are even out of his mouth, he scans the room all around and matches it with the wireframe schematics on his screen. He stalks his way backwards until he finds the panel he is looking for. He pops it open easily and then begins to slice into the mainframe of the ship, “On my count, take Wrecker to wherever the baby is, let him handle it. You get your hands on as much of the medical supplies as you can, the security onboard is a little tighter than I would have preferred so I will have to stay here and continue to flood the filter.”

“Oh, easy.”

“Think you can handle all that tiny?” Wrecker’s thundering chuckle threatens to give away their location even with the steady moan of the alarms overhead.

She grins, Wrecker is back to being the fun one, “Try and keep up.”

There is a sound of roaring water all around them as tech funnels every liquid on the ship into the filter, then a sound like an explosion a couple of feet below them rocks the ship like a lightning strike. 

The sound of the alarm overhead changes as every droid on the floor turns away and heads to a lowering platform, all instructed to assist with the burst pipe.

“That’s our cue!” 

She shoves Wrecker forward playfully before they both break into a sprint toward the storage rooms where their bounty is being held. She points to one of the rooms as they approach, "This one's your big boy!"

The door is sealed shut, but not for long. Wrecker doesn't slow, instead he hunches low, bringing his shoulders down and tucking his chin into the collar of his armor before he barrels straight through, punching a hole through the doors with enough force to make even her teeth rattle.

She dips into the storage room across the hall, thanking the stars that her haul wasn't locked away like his was. She rips open any crate within arms reach, tossing open the tops and letting them scatter around the room wherever they land. She snatches bacta patches and hypos by the handful and packs the crate as full as she can, slamming her entire body weight against it to get it to close. She drags it out into the hall, placing it by the door before she bolts into the room right beside the one Wrecker is standing in. 

Wrecker watches her disappear into the room, the four small crates of explosives tucked carefully under his arms, “Wait, where are you-”

His question is answered as another crate hits the floor beside him. She comes running out of the room, grabbing this second crate by the handle and yanking it along, “Perfect! Not a single explosion! Love that for me!”

Wrecker bends down to offer her a hand but she has already snatched up the first trunk and is flying down the hall with them. She's faster than Wrecker would have believed she would be capable of with the two crates almost her height. She almost trips over herself as she stops and with a swift kick, the second crate lands at Tech's feet, “Come on 20/20, cut her loose, let's go!”

“What’s in that- I specifically ordered you to only carry medical supplies.”

“Yeah well, it sounds like you are used to not being listened to so, ship. Now!”

Wrecker races past, hopping off of the side and down to the level below, the halls are empty as all hands are called to help with the floor that is flooding. 

Nox peeks over the side, she watches as Wrecker sets the small boxes of baby down beside him, "Toss your crate!" He calls up. She nods and yanks the crates handle, flipping it up and off of the edge with a nudge from Tech. 

She helps him in turn, as they gingerly haul the crate full of ordinance over the edge before tossing it below. 

Wrecker sets the crates to one side before turning back to catch Nox, but she's already climbing down. Her fingers dig into spots on the wall where she should not be able to have any grip. She finds her own way down and with a little hop, lands right beside Wrecker as Tech lands beside her. The clang of his boots echoes down the empty hallway. "We'll need to make our way through the flooded floor of the ship in order to get back to the hangar." Tech types away at his data pad again before picking up the side of his crate.

Nox follows close beside the two clones, tossing the crate up onto her back to avoid making any unnecessary scraping sounds as they get closer to the flooded area, the sound of pouring water gets louder and louder with every floor. The next floor they walk through has the water barely deep enough to wash over the toes of their boots, but it rises rapidly after that. By the time they are on the same floor as the hangar, the water has risen up to their knees and Nox has a harder time trying to distract her mind from where all of this stagnant water has been hiding this whole time.

“Holding out ok over there tiny?” Wrecker chuckles. 

She turns to answer, when everything becomes...not alright. Her next step slips out from under her and she goes flying forward, crashing face first into the dark disgusting water, the crate on her back keeping her under the surface as she struggles to pull herself back up to standing. 

A hand at the back of her collar pulls her back up into fresh air, slimy water pours from her mouth and nose as she gags. She doesn't need to clear the water from her eyes to know what the dark figures that are starting to line the hallway are. Tech and Wrecker are on either side of her, blasters raised as the sentry droids file in.   

“I'm hoping you can fight better than you can swim.” Tech calls over as Wrecker leaps over them both and charges straight into one of the sentries.  Tech keeps a few of the others at bay, clipping them with bright bolts from his twin deecees, but it's not enough. She rubs the slime from her face and charges right behind Wrecker, using her entire body to check a droid in her path, she grabs the blaster from its hands as it goes tumbling backwards and into the water. Techs shots ring out around her as he stays behind, watching over the crates behind him. Wrecker tears through any droids that get within reach, sparks flying on to the water before they sizzle and die. She concentrates her fire on any droids Tech misses until the hall is clear.

"There'll be a second platoon on their way, we better get a move on." Tech calls back to them, she tosses the almost empty blaster into the water beside her.

"Are you always just, you know?" She makes growling and ripping sounds at Wrecker.

He laughs, "Not often enough." 

She stifles her laughter behind her hand as she walks back to where Tech is to retrieve the case of medical supplies, for a brief moment the last couple of days are forgotten and even the slime on her skin is the last thing on her mind. For a brief moment she was back with her men, waiting for that score of a lifetime, but when she grabs the handle of the crate and looks back it’s the clone armor that reminds her she is in fact alone. The sudden quiet of sadness doesnt last long as the doors behind them open and a new series of drods begin their march towards them. 

“Incoming!”

-----

Tag list: @themarvelbunch @agentwhiskeysdarlin @pascalisthepunkest @ashotofspotchka

[legends-live-in-memories]

Purple Lilacs

ayooo it me! Here is jasonette july saturday challenge: Hurt no comfort!

Maribat Masterlist  AO3

word count: 3.1K

Warnings: mentions of body fluids, sickness, vomit and death. 

without further ado:   

Jason stumbled into the gas station restroom on shaky, unsteady legs. His chest ached and his vision swam, blurry with unshed tears. The dirty mirror and pale blue light couldn’t capture how disgruntled the fourteen year old boy was. He was still wearing his Robin suit, dirty and sweaty from breaking up fights and catching would-be criminals. His skin felt flushed but his blood was chilled to the bone. The fluttery pressure behind his ribs was a painful reminder of why he was here. He took a haphazard inhale of air and choked on it when he exhaled. His throat itched. The tears were beginning to fall behind his mask. The infallible Robin was unrecognizable in his reflection. His domino mask shielded himself from the agony that clouded his eyes. His mind was racing a thousand miles a minute, thoughts fragmented and disoriented. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. God, why couldn’t he breathe?

He ripped off his mask, tossing it without caution and splashed water on his face. He scrubbed at the sweat and exhaust that caked his skin, hoping, praying to wash this burning sensation away. He still couldn’t breathe.

He felt his stomach churn. He felt the bile clawing just beneath his adam's apple, desperate to escape. He barely had the strength to lean over to the nearby toilet before emptying his stomach. The smell burned at his eyes as the taste burned at his throat. He was left dry heaving for a moment, but that was all his body needed to expel what was clogging his airways. The petals floated pathetically in the waste in the toilet bowl; they were small and pale and stood out against the disgusting mix of vomit. Purple lilacs, first love. How fitting.

He had wished that the best week of his life wouldn’t end this way. He had wished, wished upon the stars in the skies and wished upon every dandelion he found in the manor gardens, that he could have something, someone, that was entirely his own. But her heart belonged to another and his heart was sick because of it.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Her name was a breath of fresh air, a spring breeze in early May. He had met her on a Monday, her class was taking a tour of Wayne Tech. She was the cute yet clumsy class representative with an iron will. She was alluring and charming and Jason was swept up in her eyes of ocean tides. He never spoke a word to her that first day. Choosing to just observe her joke and laugh with friends. He didn’t dare interrupt her. He saw her again Tuesday. She was in a teahouse that was close to her hotel. She was with her brunette friend, Alya, he remembered from when he overheard her chastising the girl for saying something embarrassing. That was when he found out about her crush on the model boy. Jason didn’t think much of it. He didn’t think he would have to. His sudden attraction was only fleeting, he reminded himself.

The first time he actually spoke to her was Thursday night. Her class had stayed out later than expected so he watched them from a distance during patrol, making sure she got back safely. Making sure they got back safely, he corrected. He didn’t plan to stop by her window when she was safe inside and he definitely didn’t plan to strike up a conversation. She had a quick mind and a sharp tongue to match. It was striking and it seeded something deep within his lungs. They spoke for hours, time lost to conversation, that it wasn’t until Agent A called into his ear that he realised how long he’s been strayed from his patrol route.  He had bid her a good night and she wished him a safe one. He had found a friend in her and the joy carried him throughout the night. He hadn’t expected to fall hard and fast for her within the week. By Saturday his instinctual attraction had grown into sweet yearning. The weight in his chest as he waited for her class to gather in the Botanical Gardens grounded him in his spot. He had to remind himself that she spoke to him as Robin and that Jason Todd-Wayne was nothing more than their sponsor’s recently adopted son. He couldn’t speak to her about her favourite novels as he technically shouldn’t be privy to that knowledge. He wasn’t deterred by that, however. In fact, it spurred him on to get to know her more. It granted him the opportunity to relearn her interests all over again and watch her eyes blaze with passion.

He never got the chance. Her attention was divided between the garden’s attractions and the blond that stuck close to her like a burr. He watched her giggle and swoon as the boy complimented her. He watched as Adrien, he had learned, plucked a flower and tucked it gently behind her ear. It was a purple lilac. The colour complimented her midnight black hair and made her pale blue eyes shine. He felt his throat go dry as he watched on, his words withering on his tongue. The scene was truly adorable, straight out of a movie with a happy ending. He was happy that she was receiving the attention she deserved. But it still hurt that it wasn’t him lavishing her with it. He was the outsider lucky to be watching. Their tour ended with an exchange of business-friendly smiles and memorized platitudes.

Now it was Sunday night and he was gazing at the products of his foolish heart. He could count how few the petals were that mocked him in the toilet. He could taste them in the mix of bile that sat on the back of his tongue. He could breathe easier now; his lungs were no longer heavy but his heart was still so. How cruel, his first love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had died. He hadn’t remembered much of what came before or of what came after. It was all tangled and fractured. He remembered fighting with Bruce a lot and threatening his new ward. Jason was awful, a danger, but he was also angry and confused. He was hurt and lonely. It took awhile to find some common ground with his family again. It took awhile for him to feel normal again. It was hard work but it was worth it.

A lot had changed in Bruce’s nightlife. The Justice League Jason remembered and the Justice League that he returned to were worlds apart. It was jarring and he continued to long for some familiarity in his life. It was genuinely a surprise when he was invited to join their ranks, after years of struggling, but he accepted the offer with a tearful hug and grateful smile in the privacy of the batcave. He was introduced to the other new recruits, taken aback at how the community had grown during his absence. One figure stood out to him the most.

Her name was Ladybug, a Parisian heroine with some connection to Wonder Woman. Her personality was bright and bubbly and she looked like the poster child for the Justice League. She and Jason had hit it off quite well, slipping into easy banter and trading battle stories like old-age friends. Their time spent together left him feeling light and free. It was casual and comforting. Until it wasn’t.

One night after patrol, he stood staring at his reflection in his bathroom mirror. He was running through a checklist in his head of all the mundane things he had to do in the coming days. A trip to the drugstore for some cough drops, a couple cases to report and file here, some League meetings there. It was his new normal. He liked it. The thought of the Justice League led to the thought of Ladybug. Ladybug and her laughter at his jokes. Her half-hearted sneer at his puns. Her going on rants about fashion and the little twitch in her nose when she was frustrated with something. It was endearing, and enticing. It was always a delight watching someone who flung cars for a living lose their patience over mundane things. He was lost in thought when a coughing fit took over, bringing him back to the present. When his shoulders stopped shaking with the force of the coughs he felt something in his mouth. It felt like a piece of paper, thin and small. Thinking nothing of it, he spat into his sink and felt his heart clench. It was a single flower petal. A daffodil, meaning rebirth and new beginnings.

The  melancholy was instant, the resignation almost stopping his heart. How cruel, his second love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had decided to ignore the signals his body was sending him. He ignored the scratchiness of his throat every time he thought of her signature pigtails. He ignored the ever growing collection of petals that would decorate his toilet, or his bathroom sink, or his kitchen sink, or his shower floor. He ignored how blood had started to appear every now and again. Ladybug was his friend and he valued her friendship. He wasn’t going to let some biological imperative prevent him from making any meaningful connection with her.

It was a random conversation one day, the topic of little importance, but it had drifted to a discussion of identities and living the double life. He remembered telling her his real name, secret identities among League members being a matter of personal discretion at this point, and the flash of faint recognition in her eyes made him curious. She told him how she recognised the name from a school trip she took years ago. Apparently they had met once or twice during her time in Gotham. Her name was Marinette, she had said, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

It was as if the air in the Watchtower was being siphoned out the room as the seconds ticked by. He remembered that name, and he most certainly remembered the pain that name had brought him. He died with his feelings for her trapped between his ribs but they were long forgotten, withered after his resurrection. That is, until they crashed into him at the mere utter of her name. The longing came back in full force and he felt it weigh heavy on his tongue as his nose started to burn with the effort to breathe. He didn’t remember much after that conversation beyond a hasty excuse of himself. He made it into a restroom on some random floor and all but flung himself into an available stall. His mask was ripped off his face and the room echoed with the sounds of him hacking and heaving.

His heart was a cacophony of emotions; the feelings of teenage infatuation for Marinette Dupain-Cheng and the mature adoration of Ladybug blended into a concoction of purple lilacs and daffodils. Tears pricked at his eyes as he felt his throat get burned raw from his emotions. It was stifling and all-consuming. He felt like he was drowning and free-falling all at once. Unable to breathe. His face was flushed and sticky and he felt shivers begin to creep up his spine. It was disgusting how his own feelings would betray him like this. Peeling himself off the floor was herculean. Jason felt weary and his bones ached with the burden of his own body. Superman was already waiting for him outside the stall, a water bottle in hand and silent condolences smeared all over his face. A silent agreement was forged between them. How cruel, his one love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Jason was younger he never associated love with pain. Love was always warm hugs and soft touches. It was gentle words whispered in the dark and saccharine sweet smiles. Love made flowers bloom in spring and the sun shine bright. How foolish he was. Now he knew. Love was a deep ache in his chest that pulsed in rhythm with his heart. It was a strangled gasp as he tried to breathe and it was tears that won’t stop falling. Love made flowers bloom, sure, but they bloomed in the deepest parts of him that he wished he could rip them out and everything attached straight from the roots. Love burned and festered and invaded everything that made Jason himself.

He couldn’t drown out the sensations no matter what he tried. A masochistic part of him was convinced he was addicted to the pain. Addicted to the reminder that he could love so strongly, so deeply. The idea that someone as callous as he could love someone so much that it could tear him down physically and mentally. Have the force of his own heart mold him into nothing but a garden of devotion. There was a part of him that didn’t want to lose the feeling of having feelings. The immediate times after his resurrection were wrought with nothing but mind-numbing emptiness so much so that his subconsciousness convinced him that he would settle for suffering as an act of love.

The tulip petals were beautiful, but worrying. He choked up an entire bud this time. His throat was still itchy and his fever had yet to be broken but the head of the flower in his hand was a distraction to all that had ailed him. Tulips, meaning opportunity and adjustment.

The voices on the television called his attention. It was some celebrity gossip channel and he couldn’t remember why he was watching it in the first place. He moved to change the channel when he saw her, Marinette, on the screen. She was attending some red carpet event and she looked beautiful. He wondered if she had made that dress; a memory of teenage ambitions floated to the forefront of his mind. A smile crept to his face against his will. He couldn’t help it, red was truly her colour. Then he saw him, her blond partner, waltz up beside her like he belonged there. He did, he reminded himself. The blond was her childhood crush turned boyfriend of a few years. She had told Jason stories during one of their many talks about him. He was funny and smart and a real casanova, she had said. Jason had pretended like those words weren’t thorns puncturing his lungs as he listened along. She looked at the model the same way Jason knew he looked at her. He was happy for her, truly.

His fever was back tenfold as he watched on and he was sweating a puddle into his couch. He couldn’t finish his meal and the coughs had returned. His shaking had overturned his food that was in his lap and it made a mess on the floor. He keeled over and added the contents of his stomach to the pile. Petals of lilacs and daffodils and tulips were pouring from his lips in clumps and he momentarily couldn’t breathe. He was becoming too accustomed to holding his breath during these fits. Becoming too accustomed to the lightheaded feeling inside his brain, the numbing feeling in his toes and the burning feeling in his heart. How cruel, his true love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. She was supposed to get her happy ending. She was supposed to grow old with her boyfriend turned fiance while Jason buried himself with his feelings. He cradled her close, feeling her faint exhales on his neck. He felt her body tremble and writhe beneath him. He was crying over her, gasping his breaths and gagging on emotions. She stared, eyes unseeing beyond him. She was speaking but he couldn’t hear anything but the pounding of his pulse in his ears. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It was a simple job, a covert job that was only information retrieval. Everything was planned to perfection and every deviation was accounted for. Everything was accounted for except his body failing him. He was attacked with a sudden coughing fit that he couldn’t get under control and it drew their target’s attention to them. Guns were aimed and fired at them and he couldn’t get his own body to cooperate with him. Ladybug had taken to shielding him until he recovered but she was overwhelmed too quickly. Her suit wasn’t bullet proof, she was still vulnerable and the shot was in a critical place. She was bleeding profusely. He. Still. Couldn’t. Breathe.

He gathered what little strength he had and dragged her body behind a wall. He was hunched over her struggling to control his breathing and the situation. He couldn’t leave, too weak to carry her. He couldn’t fight back, too dizzy to focus on any targets. He couldn’t think, too lightheaded from the lack of air intake. It was a bad situation that was only getting worse. He was crying and heaving and she laid beneath him bleeding. The flowers in the back of his throat were choking him without remorse. He took off his mask and tried with all his might to breathe in. It was scratchy and rough and it felt more like a wheeze than an inhale but it was something. With this moment of clarity, he had an idea. It was really a last resort that Ladybug had told him about. He reached for her yoyo that was held in her hand and pressed the center dot that was actually a hidden button. It was a distress call that would signal to her partner and doubled as a homing device. It was a call for help. He didn’t know how long it would take for aid to arrive but this was all he could do at the given time. His lungs were still stuffed and his throat was overflowing. The petals were stuck between his teeth, their earthy taste rooting him. His limbs were growing heavier by the second and his vision was getting hazier.

He watched as the light faded from her eyes. As the shimmering blue dimmed permanently. He watched her rosy cheeks grow pale as blood poured out from the wound in her chest. He tried to cradle her closely, to offer her some form of comfort in her last moments but he could barely move. Another coughing fit racked his frame and involuntarily had him doubling over. The petals were flowing freely now, unrestricted from his relaxing airways. They were beautiful in colour as they joined the ever growing pool of her blood, only tainted by the dark red tinge of his own.

A new petal had joined the ones he had grown so familiar with. Yellow chrysanthemums, neglected love. In France, he thought, his mind muddled by a discordance of feelings, chrysanthemums also meant death; they were given as tokens of grief and comfort. How fitting.

Oh and how cruel, his last love.

[randomoranges]

a million yrs ago i drew an art with the wheel. and there was a fic for an au and i was like theres another part thats not au

i never got around to it - didn’t really know how to go about it really

and then the other night this idea came to flirt with me and it had more banter but i still dont know how to plug my brain into a word doc so that convos that play in my head can happen on “paper”

anyways; yes i over use same themes over and over and over again :) 

Ferris Wheel Summer 2021+

  “So,” Edward started as they rounded the corner and had a clear view of the Ferris wheel, “How many times have you been on it since it opened?” He asked his boyfriend, joking tone and all. It was a bright sunny summer day and a walk around town had inevitably led them into the Old Port.

  “Honestly? Probably a lot less than you think – I’ve only been on it once,” Étienne told him with a shrug.

  “You got me; that is less than I thought, but you mean to tell me that you haven’t taken any of your hot dates on a romantic ride on the Ferris wheel?” Edward waggled his eyebrows for show and Étienne laughed, but crinkled his nose at the thought of doing such a thing.

  “Nah – it’s too much for a casual thing – too loaded. The whole get to the top and stop, romantic vibes abound and such. Ferris wheel is either for families, tourists or couples. Maybe a group of friends, but it depends.” He declared as though a study had been made on the fact and he had spent hours studying these factors.

  “All right, so you’re not a tourist, I doubt you came here with your brothers, last I heard you’re not in a relationship with anyone else – who’d you come with?”

  “You’re right on all accounts, but you forgot I have a sister. El and I came on opening day,” He admitted, if a little sheepish.

  “Of course you were here on opening day,” Edward said with a roll of his eyes. How silly of him to think that the Maisonneuve twins wouldn’t have been here on the inauguration of the wheel, when they were known to be at every opening of every new thing in the city – especially new, in vogue things. “But also, that’s sweet.” He added. He’d always thought it was nice how close Étienne and Élyse were and how even though they didn’t always agree and had different opinions on literally everything; their love for their city prevailed and they found time to enjoy it together. Edward tried to picture himself doing something of the likes with his own sister and nearly laughed. This would not have been the type of thing he and Edith would have done together, but then again, their relationship was different. Maybe it was a twin thing.

  They fell quiet and kept walking closer to the wheel, strolling down the boardwalk in front of it. It was nice to see the waterfront busy again and filled with locals and tourists alike after the emptiness that had befallen it in recent years due to the pandemic. In a sense, it reassured Edward that if anything, this part of the city was recovering and that Étienne would still have this.

  They stopped at a clearing and leaned against the railing to observe the wheel and the small plaza around it and it was nice to listen to the bird song and the excited chatter of the people around them, while below, others peddled on rented pedal boats.

  “We should go,” Edward said after a while, breaking the silence.

  “Now?” Étienne asked to be sure he was hearing right, surprised, really, that Edward would suggest going.

  “No, next Tuesday – yes now, come on. We’re here, I’ve never been, and I can tell you’d want to go on it again.”

  Edward smirked and Étienne closed his mouth, letting his comment die at his lips. His boyfriend had a point. He did actually want to go on it again, but going on it alone seemed a little silly and Emma hadn’t really wanted to ride the wheel. Bringing a fling had seemed like too much – as though he was trying to impress when really, they were both in it for something much different and less lasting. However, Edward was his boyfriend and – he had thought of bringing him out here. On more than one occasion. (But there had been a pandemic and then they had done other things on Edward’s last visit and there hadn’t been time for this.)

  Now, however...

  Edward grabbed Étienne’s hand and led him over the footbridge and to the small line. Étienne tried hard not to trip over the fact that Edward had willingly and without prompting reached out for his hand and then reverted to his usual “tour guide” information dump as he blabbered on about the finer points of the wheel, the design, the great features about it and the overall charm it had in this location. Edward thought it was utterly endearing and loved it when his boyfriend went into his excited chatter about different aspects of his city. He could hear the passion and love Étienne had for his home and it made some part of his heart melt. He’d missed this, over their break – missed the palatable excitement Étienne had and could have – the way his face lit up and his hands moved around as he gesticulated. 

  “Bonjour, deux billets s’il-vous-plait.”

  Étienne blinked and realised that he’d been distracted with his ramble to the point where Edward had snuck ahead of him and had now taken out his wallet to pay for the tickets.

  “Édouard.” Étienne cautioned, “What are you doing?” He wasn’t about to have his boyfriend pay, not when this was an extremely splurgy thing and highly unnecessary.

  “Buying our tickets, move over,” He nudged Étienne out of the way and managed to extract his credit card from his wallet, without Étienne ripping it out of his hands.

  “What – no, let me. We’re in Montreal. I pay for things in Montreal.”

  Edward looked him dead in the eyes as he tapped his card on the terminal, much to Étienne’s horror and shock. This was betrayal of the highest degree.

  “This is not part of our deal!”

  “Curly, we have no such deal.” Edward replied calmly as he took the tickets from the teller and thanked them, “Now, come along, you can pay for ice cream later.” Edward put his wallet away and then moved ahead, pleased with his little plan.

  “Who said anything about ice cream?” Étienne squawked as he followed Edward to the next line to get onto the Ferris wheel.

  “I did – you can take me afterwards.”

  Étienne tried to protest, but Edward took his hand again and led him to the railing to get to their Ferris wheel gondola. Étienne tried to pout and be annoyed, but his giddiness over being here with Edward quickly won out as they took their seats side by side.

  “See, these are high tech gondolas. You can fix your own temperature and either put the AC or the heating on, weather depending, and you get really nice views once you’ve gained some height.” His previous annoyance was quickly forgotten and Edward silently congratulated himself as Étienne’s previous mood returned.

  “Shall we put the heating on?” Edward teased as the doors closed and the gondola started moving quietly.

  Étienne rolled his eyes, “It’s summer; I’m good. We can put the AC on if it’s too hot for you. Wouldn’t want you to melt.”

  “We can compromise,” Edward said, rolling his eyes, fond, as he adjusted the dials so that they would both be comfortable, but if it was a degree or two on the cold side so that Étienne had an extra excuse to sit close to Edward, well, that was between them.

  They settled in afterwards and Edward took in the multiple angles of the view. “Are we supposed to make-out when we get inevitably stuck on the top, or...?” He asked as the wheel quietly turned, a gentle seamless whirring in the background.

  “Only if you want and you don’t think it’s too cliché.”

  Edward studied him for a moment as Étienne looked at him and then busied himself with the window. Even after knowing him for so long, Étienne could still be an enigma, but Edward liked to think that he had gotten quite good at deciphering him. For as much as his boyfriend claimed he didn’t do romance, Edward had finally found out that it had been a cover – to protect himself from his own difference – from his own way he felt and reacted to romantic attraction. It made sense now, retrospectively, and they’d talked about it, but knowing that and now knowing how it was Étienne felt about him, Edward could tell that there were certain “typical things” Étienne still wanted to do with him – even if they were considered to be a “cliché”.

  If anything, Edward thought it was endearing and even if he wasn’t the most outward of people when it came to expressing his emotions and love, he didn’t mind the idea of a kiss or two at the top of the wheel. There was no one else around them anyways. They never needed to tell anyone, if they so desired.

  But those were thoughts for later and for now, Edward focused on the view surrounding him.

  Étienne hadn’t been lying (not that he would have expected him to); the views were stunning. The canal hugged one side of the island, cradled it close and separated it from the two manmade islands that had been the crown jewels of Expo. Edward remembered that time fondly, even if it still seemed like a hectic fever dream, but there had been a bustle in the air of the city that had left everyone dreaming and hungering for a better future. They had been exciting times full of promise, somehow, and looking back, he thought he could still feel the remnants of that frenzy – still lingering in the air, caught in small glimpses on occasions. Now there were only a few buildings left, prestigious in their own ways, and they added to the charm and attraction of the city, nestled safely in their own spots of the picturesque postcard view.

  Behind, the Clock Tower stood proud and erect, a beacon of the past that guided tourists and city folk alike to come and admire its beauty. Further away still, if Edward turned on his seat, the Jacques Cartier bridge connected Montreal to the South shore, while it looked over the brilliant turquoise greens of the water on a sunny day. Sometimes, if the light hit just right, Edward could swear he saw a mirrored image in Étienne’s own eyes and he would feel pulled in – lured in and he’d willingly go – every time.

  The wheel completed its first turn and there was still much he hadn’t properly looked at. The Old Port came into view and then panned out as the wheel gained height once more. From above, he could see how the original village – the original city of Montreal had fought floods, fires and winters alike to survive and expand. The original building blocks may have been safely buried underneath their feet and preserved lovingly in Pointe-à-Callière, but the true spirit of the city – the heart of it really – of what it had been and had become lay further ahead, ensconced and treasured in the heart of the mountain that had guided and sheltered many for so long. There, really, was the essence, he believed.

  It happened on the third turn. The wheel came to a gentle stop at the top and Étienne leaned closer to one of the sides to get a better look at the waterfront, the bridge, the Biosphere in the back and the bustle of activity below them, mesmerised in what he saw. “It’s really something from this angle...” He murmured, almost as if to himself.

  And Edward had to take a small step back to take in the fuller picture before him. The gentle smile splayed out on Étienne’s face was a sight to behold on itself and the way his boyfriend’s face relaxed as he took in the scenery pulled at his heart. Edward could read, even from here, the pride and joy Étienne felt in seeing his own people mingling about and how that tiny little village from before had evolved over the centuries – had thrived despite all odds. Here was where one part of the story had started and further ahead was its origin point, but Étienne was all of that – the element that brought it all together.

  It hadn’t always been easy and Edward knew of the struggles Étienne had gone through, but the soft look on his face was worth it and a look he hoped Étienne could carry more often than not. He wordlessly reached for his boyfriend’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze as they both quietly took in their own different views.

  “It really is,” He agreed, “It really is,” He repeated, softer.

  Étienne did the mistake of turning to look back at him and Edward was left speechless by the depth of green he saw in Étienne’s eyes; lured and pulled in once more, like always. Étienne gave him the softest of smiles and Edward swore that the butterflies he felt in his stomach were real; that the swooping feeling he always got when Étienne smiled at him was here to stay.

  He tugged himself closer, pulled gently on Étienne’s hand until they were closer and then caressed his boyfriend’s cheek. Edward’s hand was certain and warm, and Étienne leaned closer to him still, holding him, not wanting to let go just yet.

  “I love you,” Edward thought, pressing his lips to Étienne’s as the Ferris wheel started its descent. And maybe Étienne heard his thoughts, for the look on his face when they pulled away was open and loving. He looped his arms around Edward’s neck, laughing softly, before going for another kiss and then a third and a fourth.

  He didn’t know what it was about the circular form of the gondola – the safety of the bubble that gave them both an illusion of being in a safe enclosure, but it made Edward just a little more daring as he chased a kiss across his boyfriend’s lips and it made Étienne cherish the moment even more.

  FIN   

[rachelthompsonauthor]

What is social proof? It’s a marketing concept that we are all inadvertently, unknowingly contributing to every time we click on, retweet, like, reply or comment, and share any kind of social media, article, or blog post on the net. Technically, social proof, as defined by Sprout Social is:

The concept that people will follow the actions of the masses. The idea is that since so many other people behave in a certain way, it must be the correct behavior.

Social Proof and Me

As an author, social media is a hugely important part of my author platform, as it is for any writer or blogger. This is how we connect with readers now, even before the pandemic. Virtual, online events are now the norm. Instagram, Facebook, and YouTube Live video discussions are the new book signings. Twitter chats are weekly on any number of topics; I have two of my own, in fact, #SexAbuseChat every Tuesday at 6 pm pst/9 pm est and #BookMarketingChat every Wednesday at 6 pm pst/9 pm est.

All important for visibility, branding, and most importantly, connection.

However…there’s a limit. I reached my limit over the course of this past year. It didn’t come all at once. It came, little by little, reaching a peak this past month or so.

Why? How? Me, the so-called social media expert?

Access. Like many people, I have issues with the incredible level of access Facebook gives people once we friend them without our consent. PMs (private messages) are automatic, now with the ability for people to call, voice, and video message us, with no option to shut these options to OFF unless we unfriend the person (we can, however, mute a specific conversation). Technically, we do give them consent in the legal mumbo jumbo we all agreed to when we joined back in the 2010s.

I am not okay with this. And Facebook doesn’t care. Nobody cares. You’re probably thinking, “Geez, Karen. Shut up, already. Stop your whining, white lady.” I get it. I do. First-world problems.

I counter with: I hear you. It’s also part of my business. A huge part. Here’s why:

As someone who manages over 70+ various social media accounts as part of my BadRedhead Media business, plus my own accounts as well, Facebook requires I have a personal account in order to manage all those other Pages. I do understand why, particularly with all the ridiculousness of the past four years with the abundance of fake accounts, fake news, and such.

As a survivor of sexual abuse and stalking, this is ultra-concerning to me. So, what happened this past month or so? Suffice it to say, one person repeatedly tried calling me. I never pick up Facebook calls, especially if I don’t know you. Another left me a few voice messages saying they were offended by something.

Yet another left me another message in ALL SHOUTY CAPS that she didn’t find what I posted inspirational enough and she expected better from someone who is “supposedly on the side of authors.”

Oh, and there is the one lady who started replying on ALL my posts to the kind people who did comment that she didn’t think I replied often enough or to her satisfaction.

Well. I’ve been criticized before. You should read some of my 1-star reviews. There’s plenty!

But, for whatever reason, this struck a chord. I got up in my feels. I cried. I talked with one of them and we worked it out because we like and respect each other’s work in the mental health space. The others I blocked. It’s darn frustrating to donate hours of my time each week to helping writers solely because I want to, only to be told it’s not enough. Like, seriously? Fuck off.

My blood raged. My heart sank. Understandable, right?

But what really made me angry is that I put myself in that position by being available. I accepted that ‘it is what it is.’ This is what the social media platforms have given us, so that’s what I have to work within.

I’m too available. It’s too easy to leave me shitty messages. This is why people hire people like me – to handle this crap for them! So they don’t have to read these ridiculous criticisms from judgy people who apparently have nothing better to do or are having a bad day.

And I get bad days. It’s a damn pandemic. We’re all struggling. Where’s the damn compassion for one another?

I have a dislike/hate relationship with Facebook anyway, since about ten or so years ago when I discovered that a past love had died by suicide by going to his personal profile and seeing, “RIP dude,” messages there. We had spoken early that day. It still haunts me.

So…what to do? I’m claiming my time. I’m not posting to my personal Facebook profile right now. I’m ignoring it. I am checking my Pages and of course, my client Pages. When I feel like I can face it again, I will cull my ‘friends’ down from *checks real quick* 4385 people to maybe, I don’t know, the few hundred in my groups, many of whom I do know and treasure.

Social Proof and You

If you’re a writer, social proof matters. This is the world we live in. Publishing is not only writing.

You need to be ‘findable,’ not only on Google, but also on each individual social platform, so your readers can learn more about you and hopefully, buy your books. If you go the traditional route, publishers and agents want to know how many followers you have (easily upped by buying fake followers or likes from Fiverr or wherever). I suggest not doing that, because:

1) fake followers don’t buy books 

2) it’s usually pretty obvious when you have fake followers because they’re all foreign names, have questionable bios, and no tweets

3) do you really want to start your publishing career with a lie? 

They also want to know what you post, how often, and what your branding is. If you’re an indie author, honestly, the same applies. Social proof is about connection, building relationships, and authenticity. I’ve believed that since I started my business and writing career way back in 2011, and I stand by it now. Start slow, grow slow. It’s not a race.

I’m the furthest thing you’ll even find from a conspiracy theorist – I don’t believe in chemtrails, pizza parlor cabals, or that the earth is flat. However, I am a realist. Watch The Social Dilemma sometime. These huge tech companies share our data without our knowledge or consent (Cambridge Analytics, anyone?). Younger generations are so used to this, they don’t really care – ask them.

(My kids think having a chip implanted in their hands with all their data is a fabulous idea. “So much easier than having to talk and repeat everything over and over. Just scan me and be done with it,” says my daughter Anya (21). “Agree,” grunts my son, Lukas (15). Buy stuff, go to the doctor, whatever. Scan and go. Talk with any GenZ kid, you’ll likely get a similar answer. They’ve been tracked since birth everywhere. They don’t know life without a computer, tablet, or phone in their hands.)

Know that whatever we do, it’s all part of each platforms’ AI, and they share data, which is why that darling pair of shoes you just saw on Amazon is now showing up on Google, Facebook, Twitter, and every website you visit going forward. It’s all about the money, and they all get a piece of that affiliate link.

Every bit of every click is recorded, even when you’re watching videos on YouTube, or a subscription service like Netflix, or perusing goods on Amazon. It’s all connected. I’m not shocked or surprised by any of this, are you?

It’s Not Personal

What people say to us and about us is ultimately incredibly revealing about them. We know this, at an intellectual, psychological, and emotional level. Still, when people say mean things, it hurts. We’re human.

Does it matter in the overall scope of our lives? Who can say. It matters at that moment. It can matter when it comes to overall visibility when you’re marketing your book(s) or trying to get that book contract or interview. Only you can say if it matters to you.

Already a longtime fan of THE FOUR AGREEMENTS by Don Miguel Ruiz, I took a moment to reorient myself with this one agreement: Don’t take anything personally. I also stumbled across an excellent short and entertaining TEDTalk by Frederick Imbo. His main message to stop taking things personally is two-fold;

It’s not about me. Look at the other person’s intention and

It IS about me. Give yourself some empathy. Speak up. Ask questions. Pay attention to how you feel and be vulnerable with your needs.

I’m glad I was able to, inadvertently, employ point #2 and work out some issues with one of the people by telling him what he said made me cry. He apologized. I apologized. We talked it through and we’re still friends.

Ultimately, social media is what we contribute to it. What we make it. How much we allow of it into our lives. Social proof is going along with the tide. I’ve been in this space since 2008. Being connected to others is a big part of the work I do to help and support not only other writers, but also other childhood sexual abuse survivors. However, I’ve reached that point. I knew it was coming.

I’m not shutting my doors. I’m just adding a screen. With a strong lock.

***

Read more about Rachel’s experiences in the award-winning book, Broken Pieces.

She goes into more detail about living with PTSD and realizing the effects of how being a survivor affected her life in

Broken Places, available in print everywhere!

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via Rachel Thompson

[jessicalynnhepner]

What Every Parent Needs to Know About Child Sex Trafficking

For most police officers, this scene is a familiar one—a young kid gets mixed up with the wrong person and finds him or herself on the wrong side of the law. In virtually every case, this would be the end of the story. The young girl would get a slap on the wrist and be released into her parents’ custody where they could, presumably, set her straight. And, at this point in our story, Officer Scott was prepared to do just that—to trust the overwhelming testimony of prior experience and process this girl out so that he could get on with his shift. But, something was different this time… Discerning the SignsAs Officer Scott sits down to file his paperwork, he’s reminded of last Tuesday’s roll call.  His Sergeant, having recently attended a training seminar on human trafficking, used that day to teach his officers how to identify potential trafficking situations. All of a sudden, alarm bells start going off in Scott’s mind: The Fear — Sure, a kid’s going to be afraid of the consequences. But, this girl seems to fear for her physical safety. She’s acting like there’s something worse waiting for her than an angry mom and dad at home. The Stolen Merchandise – Why did she need a Red Bull and a pack of condoms? Scott recalled that traffickers use starvation to control their victims. Usually, their only choice is to steal the bare necessities. The Boyfriend – Per the owner’s description, this guy was at least 10 years older than she. What were they doing there together in the first place? A New ApproachWith these things in mind, Scott calmly invites the young lady out of holding and brings her to a quieter part of the station, away from prying eyes and menacing glances. She looks cold, so Scott hands her a sweatshirt. As he does, he notices a small tattoo of a crown with the name ‘Hugo’ scrawled beneath it—likely a brand to show who ‘she belongs to.’ They start to chat. This time, he speaks less like a cop and more like a friend. Clearly, she hasn’t had anything to eat for quite a while. Moments later, a female officer appears with a bag from McDonald’s. The three make their way to a private lounge. As they talk, the girl lets her guard down. Scott listens as she describes her broken home life, struggles with friends at school, and her constant search for belonging. All the while, her phone continues to buzz. “Your boyfriend?” “Yes. He just wants to make sure I’m ok.” He really is a great guy, she explains. He’s been there for her when her parents weren’t. He shows her the affection and attention she needs. She feels protected. He loves her……only, sometimes he makes her do things—things she would ordinarily never do. TrustHaving earned at least a glimmer of trust, Scott asks if she would slide her phone over. Reluctantly, she does, and he begins to scroll through the text messages. Wisely, Scott checks his emotions before he begins to read. It doesn’t take him long to realize these are not the supportive words of a loving boyfriend. No, they’re the verbal assaults of a degenerate thug bent on belittling her into submission. Scott does his best to hide his disgust as he reads about threatened consequences for ‘missed quotas.’ Horrified, he sees insults that no human being should ever have to endure, capped off by threats against her little sister for talking to the cops. Officer Scott thanks the young woman for her trust and politely excuses himself to make a call. He can read the writing on the wall: this girl is clearly a victim of trafficking. She needs someone with much more experience than him to help regain her freedom. He picks up the phone, dials his Sergeant, and together, they get to work. What Made the Difference?This story, though generalized in some ways, is rooted in the accounts we hear from police officers every day. The first part of the story is common enough. But, what about the second when, in Scott’s eyes, the girl goes from ‘shoplifter’ to ‘trafficking victim’? Not so much. So, how do we get from A to B? How do we help police officers learn

to look at each ‘punk kid’ as a potential victim, to ask deeper questions, and find the real story lies beneath the surface? Just as in Officer Scott’s story, that turning point comes when an officer recognizes the signs, trusts his or her gut, and decides to unravel that thread. It all starts with that one officer—a soldier on the front lines of the underground battle to set captives free. This can only happen when officials at every level of law enforcement learn to detect the signs and receive the tools they need to bring trafficking victims out of the cruel darkness and into the liberating light of day. National Human Trafficking Law Enforcement Training ProgramAt ERASE, one of the most impactful things we do is train police departments so that they produce more officers like the one in this story. It’s our mission to educate officers to detect the warning signs, identify potential victims, and safely lead them to freedom.  Your donations make this possible. Source Child Sex Trafficking-Not My Child Mom shakes her head and Dad raises his voice. Their 16-year old daughter storms up the stairs. As the bedroom door slams, she collapses on the bed with phone in hand. She’s ready to vent her frustrations one status update at a time. With every angst-laden tap of the keyboard, she lays bare her soul: “Nobody here gets me.” “No one understands!” “I feel unloved.” 📷An hour later, a boy from the next town over reaches out. She doesn’t know him, but they’ve got a few mutual friends, so it’s probably no big deal. He’s cute and thoughtful. And, he seems to understand what she’s going through better than anyone else. For the next two weeks, they exchange messages every day. He’s sweet, a digital shoulder to cry on when nobody else seems to care. They decide to meet up in person, so she borrows Dad’s car “to meet some friends at the mall.” That night, Daddy’s little girl doesn’t come home for dinner and Mom sits up all night. The next morning, they call the police. An officer searches her computer and finds evidence of the girl’s new relationship. Turns out, the boy she thought she knew didn’t exist. And, just like that, she’s gone.Reality check about child sex trafficking At ERASE, we hear heartbreaking tales like this all too frequently. Stories from average families dealing with everyday stresses when out of nowhere, their child is lured right out from under them. Whenever we tell these stories, the most common response goes something like this: “Child trafficking is something that happens to those types of kids out there. We live in a great community and our neighbors are good people who look out for one another. Something like that could never happen to one of my children.” This is the kind of response that makes us cringe. If only parents knew what we know, they wouldn’t be so quick to ignore this real and pervasive threat. Sadly, that very ignorance is what traffickers count on most when looking for children to target. The danger is far more imminent than most parents recognize. If we’re going to protect our children, we need to be clear on the real threats child traffickers impose. Traffickers are Smart, Motivated, and Tech-SavvyA dark and horrific market has grown up around the purchase and sale of human beings. Researchers estimated that, in 2007, Atlanta’s underground sex economy alone brought in $290 million. Even in a far less “saturated” market, sex trafficking in San Diego enables a pimp to pull in over $11,000 per week. Fast forward 10 years and there’s no reason to think that number hasn’t grown. Innocent children aren’t given a pass here. Instead, the most vulnerable among us are routinely bought and sold like property—many of them up to 15 times a day. With business booming, traffickers are working harder than ever to keep up with demand. Leaving no stone unturned, they use social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat, to research, target, and groom children for sexual exploitation. In fact, 77% of sex trafficking victims

report having been initially approached online. Just as a skilled marketer uses sophisticated keyword searches to identify his audience, traffickers monitor social media for anything at all that would suggest an easy target:Children with social media profiles open to public viewing Teenagers posting introspective status updates about feelings of insecurity Boys and girls who are venting about arguments with their parents Like a lion crouched in his thicket, a predator will scan through lines of text looking for vulnerable children to drag off into the tall grass. How many of those lines will have come from one of your children? Yes, your child can be a victim of sex traffickingThe children that traffickers rip from their happy homes aren’t pretend characters on television or disembodied faces from the evening news. They’re our kids, the ones we work hard to raise and the ones we hope to see grow up happy and healthy. They’re the kids we teach to be smart, to mind their surroundings, and never talk to strangers. And yet, we give them free reign to explore every dark corner of the internet via their cell phone. We must do betterLittle more than half of parents closely monitor their children’s online activity. So, when a stranger asks to connect on Snapchat, it’s nearly an even shot that no one will be looking over that kid’s shoulder. You can count on a child trafficker to take that bet. Do you know which platforms your children are using or who they connect with online? Do they have any secret accounts and how would you find out if they did? If someone asked to meet in person, would they do it? Can you be sure? These questions may seem intrusive and even overbearing. However, considering the reality of child trafficking in the United States, we have to ask these questions.  Every day, thousands of children disappear into slavery. We’d like to hope our kids could never be victims but the facts simply don’t allow us that option. Understanding the facts of child trafficking is the first and most important step in prevention. There is HopeGood people around the world are standing up and fighting back against this great moral evil. You don’t have to live in constant fear for your children. The story we shared at the beginning of this post doesn’t have to be your story. And with some common sense and the will to step intentionally into your kids’ digital lives, you can protect them from becoming a victim of sex trafficking. The question is: will you? At ERASE, we want to educate parents on how best to protect their children from online predators. Please take a look at our tips and best practices pages to see how you can teach your children to be safe online.Juvenile Delinquent or Victim of Human Trafficking? Blog Story of a Human Trafficking Victim It’s midnight. Officer Scott pulls his patrol car into the lot of a small, 24-hour convenience store. As he approaches, he peers through the decal-laden glass door to see a middle-aged man struggling to restrain an agitated 16-year old girl. The store owner had caught this young woman and her boyfriend stuffing items into a small handbag. Her companion—a ‘white man in his late 20’s’—had bolted out the door without so much as a backward glance. The last thing on Officer Scott’s mind was “human trafficking victim”. Scott had seen this before. Some young teenager, looking for thrills, decides to pocket a few items from the local bodega and gets grabbed by the watchful owner. As he escorts the girl to his police car, Scott’s treated to an earful. She can’t stop going on about what a jerk he is, how he had violated her rights, and how much trouble she’d be in if he didn’t let her go right away. “Just wait until I call your parents,” he thinks. 📷 The Same Routine When they arrive at the station, Scott walks this young woman to his desk. She can hear the snide remarks of a few men handcuffed to chairs nearby. As they leer conspicuously at her, she shrinks further into herself.  Scott starts in on his typical line of questioning: name,

age, address, and so on. The entire time, her phone buzzes with one text message after another. She begs Scott to let her reply, but he refuses. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk to your parents later.” “I’m not worried about them,” she snaps back. “They don’t give a crap about me, anyway. They’re too busy arguing to even notice I’m around.” Not sure what to make of that outburst, Scott begins to sort through the items she had attempted to steal: a sleeve of Hostess Cup Cakes, a Red Bull, and a box of condoms. “Must be one heck of a boyfriend to leave you there like that, huh?” “You wouldn’t understand. He loves me. He takes care of me.” Angry and frustrated by this girl’s bad attitude and ignorance about that poor excuse for a boyfriend, Officer Scott escorts her to a holding cell and prepares to process her out.Is This the End of the Story?

https://whateveryparentshouldknowaboutcps.blogspot.com/2020/08/what-every-parent-needs-to-know-about.html

[newstfionline]

Friday, July 23, 2021

Could a plant pandemic be next? (Fast Company) For decades before COVID-19, scientists warned that a pandemic was inevitable and urged preparation, but governments around the world did very little. When it arrived, COVID-19 laid bare the fragility of many of our systems—including global food supply chains. Across farms worldwide, there are now warning signs of a pandemic in food crops. More than 600 pest species have developed some form of resistance to pesticides, which causes $10 billion in losses in the United States alone each year. Climate volatility intensifies these threats, and many crops are already suffering—citrus blight and banana fungus wreak havoc for growers and supply chains. With global food supplies vulnerable and food prices at their highest in almost a decade, a plant pandemic could push more people into poverty and cause social unrest. The agricultural industry must harness the urgency with which scientists responded to COVID-19 to get ahead of a full-blown crop pandemic.

Biden splits from Trudeau, extending travel curbs at U.S.-Canada land border (Washington Post) The United States on Wednesday renewed its pandemic curbs on nonessential travel at the U.S.-Canada land border for at least a month, marking a split with its northern neighbor and close ally on the restrictions, and fueling rancor on both sides of the frontier. The Department of Homeland Security said in a tweet that the extension of the measures—which also apply at the U.S.-Mexico land border and are now set to expire Aug. 21—was motivated in part by a desire to decrease the spread of the highly transmissible delta coronavirus variant. The announcement comes several days after Canada said it would begin to open up its borders to some foreigners for discretionary travel, beginning with fully vaccinated U.S. citizens and permanent residents living in the United States on Aug. 9; and fully vaccinated people from elsewhere on Sept. 7. The measures have kept families apart, battered the tourism industry and altered life in close-knit border communities in ways big and small.

Debt limit dueling ahead (Bloomberg) In case Congress wasn’t preoccupied enough, the U.S. is at risk of a default in October or November unless it raises or suspends the debt limit, the Congressional Budget Office said. The debt ceiling—how much the government can borrow—is a favorite partisan grenade on Capitol Hill. Democratic senators have already rejected any attempt by Republicans to set conditions for increasing the federal debt limit.

How Mexico’s traditional political espionage went high-tech (Washington Post) In 2017, investigators discovered traces of Pegasus spyware on the phones of several Mexican journalists and civic activists. The government acknowledged it had used Pegasus—but only, officials said, to fight criminals. Amid the backlash, the Justice Ministry stopped using the surveillance tool. The Justice Ministry told a government watchdog agency in 2019 that it had uninstalled the spyware licensed by the Israeli-based NSO Group—but it had no records of how or when, or what happened to any data collected. A new investigation by The Washington Post and 16 media partners is raising further questions about the use of Pegasus in this young democracy. The investigation has found evidence of the spyware in attempted and successful hacks of 37 smartphones belonging to journalists, human rights activists and businesspeople around the world. Their numbers appear on a list of more than 50,000 numbers concentrated in countries known to have been clients of NSO. Nearly one-third of the numbers are in Mexico, all from 2016 and 2017. The team of journalists identified and verified more than 400 of them. They include phone contacts for dozens of people close to then-presidential candidate Andrés Manuel López Obrador: top advisers, his wife, three of his sons, his brothers, his drivers—even his cardiologist. Scores of numbers for other top politicians appeared, as well as those for union representatives, journalists and civic activists. A person familiar with NSO’s operations in Mexico, who spoke on the condition of anonymity to discuss sensitive matters, said the company terminated Pegasus contracts with several Mexican clients at least two years ago, after seeing news reports of human-rights abuses and the phone-tapping of journalists.

Lithuania backs Taiwan (Foreign Policy) Taiwan has opened a de facto embassy under its own name in Vilnius, Lithuania, despite warnings from Beijing. Lithuania has taken a hard stance against China this year, pulling out of the 17+1 initiative between China and Central and Eastern European countries, and calling on others to abandon the group. That’s part of a general trend against Beijing in the Baltic states, which have relatively little trade with China and dislike its close ties with Russia; as small nations threatened by an expansionist neighbor, they also have a natural sympathy with Taiwan.

‘Pingdemic’ grips Britain as fears of food shortages grow (Reuters) Britain’s supermarkets, wholesalers and hauliers were struggling on Thursday to ensure stable food and fuel supplies after an official health app told hundreds of thousands of workers to isolate after contact with someone with COVID-19. British newspapers carried front page pictures of empty shelves in supermarkets. British Prime Minister Boris Johnson’s bet that he could reopen England’s economy because so many people have been vaccinated has been tarnished by the so-called “pingdemic” in which people have been told by the app to isolate for 10 days. The drastic reduction in staffing that has resulted has sown chaos through sectors as diverse as food supplies, haulage, supermarkets, hospitality, manufacturing and media. To avoid the chaos, many have simply deleted the app from their phones. Britain’s food supply chains are “right on the edge of failing” as absence related to COVID-19 has aggravated a critical shortage of labour, a meat industry body said on Wednesday. Supermarket group Iceland said it has closed a number of stores due to staff shortages.

Germany announces millions in immediate flood aid as multibillion dollar repair bill looms (Washington Post) The German government approved $470 million in immediate aid for flood victims on Wednesday as it assessed the mammoth task of rebuilding infrastructure torn apart by floodwaters last week. The initial assistance to help people rebuild their homes and businesses after the flooding that killed at least 171 people in Germany will be expanded as needed, Finance Minister Olaf Scholz said. At least 200 people died across Europe, with neighboring Belgium also hit by the surging waters. For longer-term reconstruction efforts of roads, railways, hospitals, water and electricity networks the government is still working out how high the bill will run. The Ministry of Transport and Digital Infrastructure has estimated the damage to the rail networks alone to be $1.6 billion. A week after the worst flooding in living memory ripped through parts of western Germany, entire villages are still without power or the most basic of services. Highways are ripped to pieces, railway bridges lie twisted across rivers clogged with mounds of detritus including cars and caravans. Sewage, water and telecommunications networks have been obliterated.

Turkey pushes Cyprus plan (Foreign Policy) The United States and European Union have condemned a Turkish plan to reopen the abandoned town of Varosha on the divided island of Cyprus. Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan announced the move while visiting the island on the 47th anniversary of the Turkish invasion that seized the formerly Greek-dominated town. A former popular tourist destination, the town has since languished in a military zone. Erdogan’s plan is part of a push to create a two-state solution for Greek and Turkish Cypriots on the island, a proposal the European Union rejects.

Top Indian newspaper raided by tax authorities after months of critical coverage (Washington Post) Indian tax authorities on Thursday raided one of the country’s most prominent newspapers in what journalists and the political opposition denounced as retaliation for the outlet’s hard-nosed coverage of the government’s pandemic response. The Dainik Bhaskar Group, whose Hindi-language broadsheet boasts a combined circulation of more than 4 million, was raided simultaneously in at least four locations, including at its headquarters. The justification of tax evasion was panned by government critics, who pointed out that the Bhaksar has been persistently needling India’s ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) with its coverage, including as recently as this week. Under the administration of Prime Minister Narendra Modi, who rose to power in 2014, several critical media outlets have found themselves in tax investigators’ cross-hairs, raising fears about the health of the independent press in the world’s largest democracy. Reporters without Borders, the advocacy group, recently placed India at 142nd place in its press freedom rankings, roughly on par with Myanmar and Mexico.

China evacuates tens of thousands as storms spread north (Reuters) Tens of thousands of people were being evacuated from flood-hit regions of central China on Thursday as officials raised the death toll from heavy rain that has deluged Henan province for almost a week to 33 people. More cities were inundated and crops destroyed as the severe weather spread northwards, with the official Xinhua news agency reporting direct economic losses of 1.22 billion yuan ($189 million). In Zhengzhou, where the bad weather reached a peak on Tuesday, the skies had cleared although floodwaters were still at waist height, or higher, with entire streets underwater in many areas.

Madagascar in the grip of drought and famine (Reliefweb) Severe hunger caused by climate change continues to affect southern Madagascar. People are living through the worst drought in 40 years, which has caused an almost total disappearance of food sources. In recent months, for the first time in the country, pockets of Phase 5, or ‘Catastrophe’ food insecurity on the Integrated Food Security Phase Classification, have been recorded. At least 1.14 million people in the Grand Sud need emergency food and nutrition assistance and have been suffering from hunger since the start of the lean season last September. The World Food Programme (WFP) is sounding the alarm: if we don’t act now, the number of people in Catastrophe will double by October.

[legitlaur]

Brick by Brick // Peter Parker

Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: None

Summary: Tony wants Peter to train with you so he can understand his powers better, but also not rely on them all the time. You’re very distant and stoic but Peter is determined to break down your walls, brick by brick

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Tony knew Peter didn’t understand his power, the brute strength he had. He was worried that if Peter didn’t learn how to utilize and control all of his powers soon, he could hurt someone or even worse hurt himself. Before Tony would let that happen, he found you. You were the key to helping Peter.

“Let’s get you training.” Mr. Stark clapped his hand onto Peters back, guiding him down a set of stairs, “I’ve got someone for you to meet. I think she can really help you understand your power.”

“S-she?” Peter's voice cracked. He wasn’t great at interacting with anyone, but the opposite sex was a completely different ballgame. And Peter didn’t even play sports. 

Tony laughed, “There’s nothing to worry about, kid. She’ll be nice.” He mumbled more or less to himself, “Hopefully.” 

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony could see the worry in those soft brown eyes, “I’m kidding.” He tried to comfort his protégée.

Whenever Tony sensed Peter was more nervous than usual he tried to call him down by talking with him about normal things. Chemistry and tech, subjects that didn’t impact superheroes. He used that technique now while traversing through his complex compound.

“I don’t understand, why am I training?” Peter shrugged, “My skills don’t really require training.” he finally brought up the subject again.

Tony’s face landed in his palm, “If you think you’ve got what it takes to be a hero just wait until you’re done with your trainer. She’s going to kick your ass.”

“I dunno Mr. Stark, I think I could handle anything at this point.” He looked down and spoke under his breath, “Anything but girls.”

“Here we are.” Tony’s hand dropped from Peters back and gestured to the glass doors in front of them, “Through those doors, you’ll meet y/n, she’ll be living here so you can have access to her 24/7.” His playful tone quickly shifted into seriousness, “Be nice, it was different to get her here.” He pushed Peter towards the glass doors.

“Yo-you’re not going to introduce us? Or umm, ya know, walk me in?” Peter tried to fight off Tony’s pushing.

“You got it, kid.” Leaving Peter with a pat on the back, Tony walked back up the stairs.

Taking a deep breath Peter reminded himself that this was just training, he could do it. He gripped the handle, opened the door and slid into the gym. Except it wasn’t really a gym.

There were computers, cement blocks, web-shooters, screens, and designs. Even what he assumed to be a small medical area.

Peter's eyes stopped once he saw you. Your face was tight, jaw clenched. You’re hair in a slicked-back ponytail, he could tell by the way you walked you had confidence. Not a regular teenage girl has confidence, you looked like you could kill someone just by staring at them. He could tell because that’s the way he felt when you saw him walk in. Peter felt as though your stare was peering into his very soul. 

“Peter Parker, you look different than your file photo.” Your voice was loud and powerful, quite a contrast from your small stature.

Peter tried to reciprocate a dominant voice, but cracked his voice mid-sentence, “Y-you have my file?”

You sat down on a small black couch, Peter missed it in his initial glance over the gym, “Have a seat,” your petite hand patted the sofa. “We need to go through your abilities.”

Peter cantered to the leather couch, sitting down a decent distance from where your hand was. He exhaled for the first time since walking into the gym.

You pressed a button and all of Peter's information popped up in front of them. “So you’ve got superhuman strength, we’ll need to test how strong you really are.” You began typing in the air. Peter watched the list come to life, “Also your endurance, it doesn’t matter how strong you are, if you can’t keep it up for very long.”

“Yeah, ok. When do we start?” His legs were bouncing up and down.

“You’re very anxious Mr. Parker.” You mused.

Peter's face flushed with redness, “You don’t um.” Rubbing the back of his neck he looked into your eyes, “How old are you?”

“17, same as you.” You spoke matter of factly. 

His hands were getting clammy now, Mr. Stark never said his trainer was going to be a teenage girl, “Well, if you’re, ya know. If you’re a teenager you don’t have to call me Mr. Parker-”

“What would you prefer me to call you?” She interrupted.

His voice was rushed, “Peter, Peter is fine. What about you? What should I call you?” He wiped away the sweat onto his denim jeans. 

Without hesitation, your toneless voice echoed throughout the room, “My name is y/n, but you can call me whatever you please. Now let's get to work.”

You walked with grace and poise, while Peter stumbled through the unfamiliar area. He followed you into the medical corner. 

“What's all this?” Peter's stomach twisted.

You began tying on a computer, proceeded to look Peter up and down, and continue looking at the screen.

Peter used his hands to cover his body, “What are you doing?”

You pulled a sphygmomanometer from a drawer, “I’ll need your blood pressure and we’ll need to wire you up so I can see your stats while you’re training.”

“Oh.” Peter pushed his sleeve up for the sphygmomanometer.

Day one of training consisted of you picking Peter's brain about his powers, seeing what he knew he was capable of. Peter tried to answer the questions well, but he was so stressed with the circumstances of this girl knowing every detail about his life. 

You sat him down again after a few tests and wrote out a timeline. Mondays and Wednesdays were for power control. Tuesdays and Thursdays were hand to hand combat. Friday and Saturday were rest days, except you refuse to stop working so you’d be working on suits and web-shooters, any tech that would improve SpiderMan. 

Peter dropped onto his bed, he ripped his sweaty shirt off and laid there. Just contemplating what the next few weeks were going to be like.

You were so stoic and cold, he wished you were more warm and welcoming. It was hard enough that you were a girl who is the same age as him, but being so put off-ish wasn’t going to help the situation. He needed to become comfortable with you quick.

After trying to come up with some solutions Peter gave up and decided it best to call May. 

“You’ve gotta hang out with her outside of training Peter. Maybe introduce her to some of your friends, let her see you as Peter Parker, not Spider-man.” May's voice was calm and sweet.

Running his fingers through his curly knots Peter mumbled into the phone, “She’s intimidating, I don’t really want to hang out with her unless I have too.”

His jaw clenched when he heard May laughing, “Every teenage girl is intimidating. You’ve gotta be yourself, show her all of you’re great attributes when you spend quality time together.”

“I’ll try.” Peter huffed.

“Keep me posted. Love you.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “Love you too, May.” 

The next morning, Peter tried to get you to talk about yourself. He asked you question after question. You only answered a handful of them, your answers were concise and distant. It was clear that you thought you were better than him. Peter would have to earn your respect.

He planned to. 

During his short lunch break, he devised a plan to show you he wasn’t just some random kid that got bit by a spider giving him powers. He was going to prove that he didn’t need powers or the suit to be a good superhero. 

“You ready for hand to hand?” The excitement in your voice shocked Peter.

“You like hand to hand, huh?” He tried to continue the conversation. 

Your stoic face softened into a small grin, “It’s my favorite, you get to see how much a person relies on their tech and powers when they are fighting raw.” 

Peter took off his jacket revealing perfectly toned biceps. Your cheeks shifted from snow white into a baby pink. “Ok then let’s do this. I have to warn you though, I really don’t have much experience with this.”

You laughed, a real happy laugh. He could see the sparkle in your eyes. For once you looked gentle and beautiful. He quickly shoved that thought out of his head. “On the mats, Parker.”

The two of you were in your stances. You say go and Peter lunges at you. Being light on your feet you dodge his body completely. Peter managed to safe the fall and spin around. You were already across the ring, watching his fighting style if you can even call it fighting you knew he was offensive. Maneuvering around his lean body was easy, whenever the kid was around you he was a train wreck.

To put Peter out of his misery you finally switched from defense to offense and punched him in the abdomen. Expect he seemed to hardly be affected by it, normally you could knock the air out of someone with that punch. He just stood there, looking confused as ever.

“Get up, your form sucks.” You grabbed his arm and pulled the kid up. “Want a towel, you’re sweating like a pig.”

Peter jumped off the mat and grabbed two towels, “Here.” 

Wiping the sweat from your neck, you stretched, “God, it’s so hot. I can’t do this, Tony needs to work on AC down here.” Before Peter could look away you pulled your shirt off. Revealing your slim figure, the tight blue sports bra makes your eyes pop.

“Okay.” Peter did his best to not look you up and down, but how could he not? You were stunning.

You pushed Peter, he wobbled but didn’t fall. “See, stance.”

“Pushing me isn’t going to help, ya know.” He couldn’t even make eye contact with you.

“Keep tension here,” you placed your hand on his abdomen. He looked into your eyes, you could see the curiosity and hunger in them, “Your feet are too far apart, get them shoulder-width apart.” Backing away you faced the boy, “Throw a punch.”

“What?”

You rolled your eyes, “Throw a punch Parker, I need to see it.”

“But, but I could hurt you?” His voice cracked in frustration.

You fisted your hand and threw your hand towards Peter. You looked up and your jaw dropped, he caught your punch. Seconds later you were flipped over and your back was on the floor.

“As I said, I can hurt you. I know I don’t look like I can lift 10 tons, but I can.” He left you on the mats to grab his water.

You stood up and watched him throw his shirt over his head, and scrunch his sweaty hair. You couldn’t help but stare at his perfectly sculpted body. “Damn,” you breathed.

“I’m done for today.” He barked as he pushed the glass doors open and walked out.

You fell back onto the mat and looked into the fluorescent lights. Somehow you were falling for Peter Parker.

Part 2??

taglist: @laurrenhawker

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