#tally clerk

[aimsurveyors]

Tally clerk and ship surveyor

[jennifer-jeong]

[Fluff + Slight Angst] [Zayne x Reader] A Cure.

SUMMARY Zayne has trouble sleeping after overtime and you’re the only thing that helps ):

CONTENT Gender neutral reader, established relationship, kisses, hugs, slight angst, mention of previous patient deaths, mentions of guilt, mentions of nightmares + insomnia, mostly fluff, taking care of sleep deprived boyfriend, CHARACTERS ARE 18+

AUTHOR NOTES

I finished reading his anecdotes and I’m in shambles. Hubby is traumatized. One of his affinity level up quotes is “you are the only treatment for my nightmares” and I didn’t even know he had nightmares until I read the anecdotes and now I’m just in pain. I will probably also write about the parallel version of him, his dawnbreaker self, because he deserves some love too, his world sounds much more desolate than ours ):

Word Count: 1106

Zayne has always had trouble sleeping or even wanting to entertain the idea of going to sleep. His nightmares have plagued him for so many years now and it’s become his norm. His only relief from it has been you.

Some of the staff that work closely with Zayne have been acquainted with you and they’ve come to understand that if they want the cardiac surgeon to sleep, you’re the key. You love his co-workers because they really do care about each other and you’re so grateful they make sure Zayne rests well. You always make sure to bring them some snacks or coffee when you come to the hospital.

A recent wanderer attack at the outskirts of the city has left the emergency unit overflowing for the past 2 days. You’ve been helping where you can to defeat wanderers and the combat side of things has calmed down. But the hospital is still working overtime. AKA Zayne is working overtime.

He’s been up for 2 days straight due to back to back emergency surgeries that he insists he helps on. The staff will allow him to push himself but they know when to cut him off. They asked if you’d be available today to pop by and you mentioned that you’re already on your way after finishing your last area sweep and clearing the place for wanderers.

When you walk in, you set some coffees onto the clerk’s desk and quickly walk over to Zayne’s office. You slowly knock quietly and open the door cautiously so as not to spook the sleep deprived man. Zayne never shows when he’s nervous, he doesn’t get jittery because he’s literally a surgeon and can’t afford to. But, you can tell when he’s exhausted and anxious, and he is exactly that right now. You walk over to him and he hugs you from where he’s sitting at his desk, swiveling his chair to face you as you stand between his legs. You stroke your hands through his hair and rub his back, letting him enjoy the peace. “All successful?” You ask. He nods with his face buried in your chest. You’re glad that this means his surgeries and patients were all okay, but you know it doesn’t ease the pain and stress of going into a surgery worried that it might not end well. Also, not to mention the immense stress simply performing a surgery brings. The notches on his notebook always come to mind at times like this. It took a while for you to talk to him about it but when he told you they were a tally of how many patients have passed in his care, your heart ached. Since then, he hasn’t kept track and you’re very glad that he confided in you and made the decision to stop. He doesn’t deserve to have that guilt hang over his head when it’s never been his fault.

You continue to soothe him and ask “couldn’t sleep again?” He responds slowly and clearly exhausted “I haven’t felt tired…” he pauses “but you being here is already making me drift into sleep” he says muffled into your chest. “Thank you, I’m happy to see you, I just… I have another surgery soon.” “The staff has already shifted the time slots, you know they don’t let you push that far. It’s been 2 days, love,” you explain to him. Surgeons have already been called in due to the emergency and Zayne has a 12 hour period until his next shift. The staff know he’d get upset if they forced him to not work for more than a day, especially during an emergency. He’s quiet for a minute or two. “I know you trust your team. Take this time to breathe baby,” you say to him gently. When he’s in this state, he can’t form thoughts coherent enough to help calm himself down with logic. So you do it for him, softly, with lots of kisses. You kneel down to meet his eyes and cradle his face in your warm hands. He nuzzles very slightly into your touch and you kiss him on his forehead. He honestly almost falls asleep right then and there. You move him to the couch in his office, he has a wider couch to accommodate naps. He prefers his office to the call rooms (in hospital rooms for staff to sleep in), it just feels cozier and you’re also usually here.

You let him get comfy as you bring over pillows and a blanket for him, all prepared nearby because he quite commonly has to do this. With his eyes closed he mutters a slurred “love you s’much.” He has more words for you but can barely even conceptualize them in his head, let alone speak them out loud. But he knows that you understand the sentiment. He’ll make it up to you when he wakes up.

Somehow you’ve been able to stop his nightmares since you two got close again. He isn’t scared to sleep as long as you’re around. You’re his only safe haven from the dreams and just thinking about that makes him so emotional. He just thinks it makes so much sense that you cure him in this way and he loves you so much, you take such good care of him and he does the same back.

He quickly drifts off into sleep as you sit in front of the couch on the carpet while holding his hand and patting his back slowly. You purposely pat slowly to encourage his heart rate to slow and calm down. You will sometimes leave to do your own thing after he falls asleep but most of the time you stay close, wanting to keep protecting him in his sleep in a way. It probably doesn’t really make a difference but you don’t mind doing your work or playing on your phone nearby. It’s kinda like you think he subconsciously feels you there and so you stay. You don’t pay it much mind but he hasn’t told you that he feels so much better when he wakes up and sees you there. It makes a wave of warmth flow over his cold self and he can’t explain how much he loves it and you.

You watch him a little longer as his breathing slows and you know he’s fast asleep. You go to sit on his chair and check some messages on your phone but you make sure to give him another kiss on his temple before going. You don’t really see it but his lips curve ever so slightly, completely subconsciously enjoying it.

Thank you for reading!

|| MASTERLIST <3 ||

[travelingmaster-inspirations]

Want

“Hi Hubby! I just wanted to ask if you could give me a few extra bucks so I could...” she said, but I cut her off.

“Stop. Look at me.”

Like a bubble popping in her head, she stopped talking. She stopped smiling and looked into my eyes like the good wife she was.

“Good. Now go mindless for me.” I said.

Her features instantly relaxed as her body language told me she had slipped into her trance.

“Are you mindless for me?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes Sir...” she said in a toneless voice. “I am mindless for you.”

“Very good.”I said. “Now my little air headed wife, what do I keep telling you about your wants?”

​“You keep telling me that I can’t want anything because I have no free will.” she said in that sweet vacant tone.

​“Very good.” I said. “And why don’t you have free will?”

“Because Sir…” she said. “I am not a real person. I am a sexual object.”

“Very good.” I said, noticing the faint smile on her lips. “So. Does that mean you are my wife or my property?”

“It means... I am your property Sir...” she said.

“Very good.” I said. “Now how can property WANT anything? It’s impossible. So once I release you from this mindless state, you will start over. You can’t want anything so you will have to ask me again correctly. Understood?”

“Yes Sir...” she said.

“And... Awake.” I said.

She blinked and smiled.

“Hi Hubby!” she said all bubbly again. “I was going over my budget for the lingerie you wanted me to buy and well... I... I think I might be wrong, but I believe I don’t have enough...”

“Silly little air headed wife...” I said as I cupped her tits tenderly. “Just tell the clerk to put it on my tab. Just like every other time. Ok? Don’t make yourself worry about silly things like money.”

She sighed in relief.

“Oh god... Thank you Hubby!” she said with a smile. “I’m so glad you are in my life! I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you weren’t there! I’m sorry I forgot about your running tab...”

“That’s ok honey...” I said as I squeezed her tits. “I’m here to remember for us both. Now... Why don’t you turn around and bend over, I feel like enjoying you before you leave for the mall.”

“OH!” she exclaimed as I pinched her nipples. “Yes Sir!”

She turned around and hiked up her skirt. I caressed her bare pussy and was satisfied with how wet she was. I’m not sure why I check anymore since she is in a constant state of arousal thanks to our little hypnotic sessions.

I took out my cock and slowly impaled her. God she felt so nice and tight.

“Oh that reminds me...” I said as I started to move in and out. “Don’t forget to offer a blowjob to the clerk if you notice he has that special lapel pin once he helps you tally up your purchases.”

“Fuck...” she moaned. “Of course Sir... HHHmmm... I won’t forget...”

“Good girl...” I said, sending her rushing towards a massive orgasm.

​Life was so good now that she accepted her place as my property.

[mariacallous]

Tom O’Donnell had never really been that interested in how elections worked until former president Donald Trump lost in 2020. Then, everything changed.

Like hundreds of thousands of people across the US, O’Donnell joined so-called election integrity groups that posted baseless conspiracies about the 2020 election. His group was called Idaho First Audit, and members flooded election offices across the state with requests for voting data. They weren’t alone: Other organizations like right-wing activist group True the Vote inundated election offices across the country as part of a broader effort they believed would uncover systemic fraud within the election process.

Election workers in Ada County, Idaho, home to the state capital of Boise, were pretty amenable to questions about the election process from O’Donnell’s group. O’Donnell even organized a tour of the Ada County election offices “to learn more about the process of voting,” and struck up a relationship with Trent Tripple, then the deputy county clerk.

But Tripple, who became county clerk last year, was one of the officials struggling to cope with the barrage of records requests and threats that the majority of election offices were receiving at the time. After the records requests overwhelmed the election office’s employees, Tripple and Ada County’s director of election, Saul Seyler, decided they needed to change things up.

So after years of work, they’ve now given election deniers exactly what they’ve been asking for: Last week, Tripple and Seyler launched Ballot Verifier, a first-of-its-kind tool that gives anyone with an internet connection direct access to every single ballot that has been cast in all Ada County elections since 2022, meaning that those in the election denial movement can no longer say that they don’t have access to the information they want.

“We just decided there’s got to be a way that we can push back against this a little bit but also achieve that perfect marriage between technology and government records so that citizens, candidates, parties, everybody has access to all the information that we have,” says Tripple.

The tool provides sleek graphics of all election races, and allows users to filter by type of ballot and even drill right down to precinct level to see an image of every single one of the ballots counted. Crucially, the ballot images are presented alongside what is known as the cast vote record, which is the record of how the ballot tallying machine counted the vote on election day. By showing these side-by-side, anyone can instantly see whether there are any discrepancies.

“I can’t even dream up how we can be more transparent than this,” says Tripple. “There isn’t anything else that we have that the public cannot see.”

Ballot images and cast vote records, both details about elections barely ever mentioned prior to 2020, have become a focus for election conspiracists trying to prove widespread voter fraud conspiracies.

In some cases, election conspiracists have even built programs to look at ballot images. Well-funded groups like True the Vote have built online tools based on voter rolls, previously reported on by WIRED, which they are urging their tens of thousands of supporters to use and then erroneously claim voters should be struck off the voter rolls.

“It's very different if [an online tool] is coming from an independent group, like True the Vote, that obviously has certain political leanings, and information that they're providing is through a lens,” says Seyler, as opposed to “something like [Ballot Verifier], which is available to everybody and truly transparent.” The data, the team says, is also private. “There is nothing that is printed on this ballot other than the individual markings, [nothing] that would tie it to a particular voter,” says Tripple. “The ballot is completely private.”

Still, some election experts have voiced concerns about the potential for systems like Ballot Verifier to pose privacy risks for voters, particularly in small precincts or in cases where voters leave notes on the ballots that could identify them.

“Despite the clear benefits to transparency of releasing cast vote records and ballot images, making these records public comes with trade-offs,” researchers from the Bipartisan Policy Center wrote in August. “Voters’ privacy might be compromised, and vote buying becomes feasible when ballot secrecy is violated—an extreme, if less likely, potential ramification of making ballot images public.”

There have also been some prior efforts to give voters access to ballot images, such as in Pueblo County in Colorado in 2021, but these efforts were not as comprehensive or technically proficient as Ballot Verifier.

At the same time that Tripple and Seyler were trying to think about a better solution, Idaho had been using a tool called ElectionStats to give voters access to statistics around election results. That tool was created by Civera Software, a civic technology company that ended up working alongside Ada County election officials to build out the new Ballot Verifier tool.

And even before the system went live, Tripple invited O’Donnell and other skeptics to be among the first to test it out.

“I think it's really good. It's more than I thought would have happened, because when we request our images now, we just get a data dump of files,” O’Donnell tells WIRED, adding that the Telegram group has responded positively to the launch of Ballot Verifier.

WIRED also tested the Ballot Verifier tool, looking at specific precincts and races, filtering votes by type (mail-in ballot, absentee ballot, etc.) and found that the system worked smoothly and instantly displayed images of every ballot cast.

US elections have never been safer, and the 2020 election was declared the “most secure” by Trump’s own officials. But a lot of people still believe unfounded conspiracies about elections, and the roll out of this tool in one county in one state is not necessarily going to change that overnight. Indeed, a review of O’Donnell’s 400-person Telegram channel by WIRED this week shows that many within the election integrity group are still regularly sharing widely debunked conspiracies about voting.

Adam Friedman, Civera’s founder, believes part of the reason for this is a lack of transparency, something which Ballot Verifier can address.

“A lot of the conspiracy theories and divisiveness and toxic rhetoric and mistrust around elections in America goes hand-in-hand with people not being able to see enough and people perceiving voting as being a black box experience,” says Friedman. “Ballot Verifier is really a way to turn a black box into a glass box.”

Friedman says that Civera had already signed a contract with several counties in Texas to provide the tool to them, and was in discussions with counties in multiple other states. The tool is also of interest to academics, and Friedman says the company is in preliminary conversations with two prominent universities and a number of political scientists who study cast vote records.

But Ballot Verifier is not cheap. Friedman and Civera provided a “large discount” on the research and development costs for this tool, but it still cost Ada County $40,000. While there are no current plans to roll the tool out nationally, Seyler says that while every county could benefit from using a system like it, election budgets have been historically underfunded. While all the backend work to upload new election data is handled by the company’s employees, the company is also currently building tools to allow local election officials to do this themselves, and go even faster.

The next big test for the Ballot Verifier tool comes later this month with the statewide primaries in Idaho on May 21. This will be the first time the officials will be working with recent election data rather than historical data, and they know there will be pressure to get that information online as soon as possible. Seyler says the current projection for getting the data uploaded is four to six weeks, though it could be quicker if Civera can finish some additional tools they are working on to improve efficiencies.

Looking further ahead, Tripple even foresees a point when data is available in Ballot Verifier so quickly after a vote that it could be used by candidates or parties to decide whether a recount is necessary, potentially avoiding the expensive and drawn-out recount process.

“That's not going to be possible now because of the speed at which we're uploading this data, but I think that's something that could be happening in the future,” says Tripple.

[rehfan]

New Ralph Penbury fic…. This is only chapter one. More to follow!

The Hat Shop Girl

Inexperienced!Ralph Penbury x Fem!Reader/AFAB!Reader

Summary: You were working as a clerk in a hat shop when Ralph Penbury walked into your life. Nothing was ever the same.

Tags: Under 18 - DO NOT READ PLEASE, Eventual smut, slow burn, class differences, fantasies, implied/references to drug use, sexual inexperience, first kiss, first French kiss, vaginal fingering, nipple play, PIV sex, blow jobs, cream pie.

Read the story on AO3 — LINK HERE

DO NOT REPOST MY STUFF TO ANY OTHER SITE PLEASE.

***********************

CHAPTER ONE: THE BOY WITH THE SUNSHINE SMILE

“Good grief! You don’t mean that she’s actually tricked me into purchasing my own hat?” the man’s brown eyes got bigger in his incredulity.

“I’m afraid so, sir,” you whispered quietly. “This hat is yours? Your name is on the band inside,” you showed him the inside of the boater that you were holding out to him, “‘R. Penbury’? That is you, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he blushed beautifully in his humiliation, his brilliant smile gone. You couldn’t help but feel for him. He wasn’t the brightest bulb, but he had shone just the same. When he had first entered the shop, he was all smiles, eagerness, and jolly good times. He had tried several different styles of hats, showing increasing enthusiasm for each one that was brought to him. He had been especially impressed with the styles and materials that you had designed, describing them as ‘wizard’, although you hadn’t mentioned that personal point to him. You had been flattered by his candid positive reactions.

Your boss, on the other hand, just wanted him to buy all the damn hats and be done with it. You were bringing out his twenty-third selection to him when she pulled you aside and said: “God, he’s insufferably stupid. More money than brains, that one.” She paused, an evil glint in her eye. “Do you know? I bet I can sell him his own hat back to him and he would never notice.” So she did; she wrapped his straw hat which he had discarded when trying on the new styles in a hat box and brought it out, flourishing it as though it were the perfect answer to sir’s troubled soul, the very thing that sir was looking for, and would sir care to try?

And sir did. And he said it was perfect. When he said to put it with everything else he was purchasing, your boss gave you an avaricious grin and wink as she smoothly carried it off to the growing stack of other selections he had made, expecting a little extra in the till at the end of the day from that trick.

But you couldn’t live with that. While she cooed over him again about one of the more expensive hats and would sir care for a handkerchief to match? You stole the hat back and timed it so that when Elvira went to the back to fetch another, you pulled him aside to share the bad news.

He was sweet, a true innocent, and there was a motherly side of you that leapt up to protect him from harm - including that of your own opportunistic boss, the owner of the haberdashery shop you were employed in. At least, the one you were still employed in. By preventing your boss from taking advantage of this poor man, you may not have a situation to report back to in the morning.

But Elvira, or Evil-virus, the nickname given to her in secret by you and the other clerks who worked under her iron fist, was living up to her nasty reputation and you weren’t going to take it any longer. “I should have applied for a job at Selfridges,” you muttered, more to yourself rather than the humiliated man beside you.

You heard him sniff and saw his terrified indecision. “Don’t worry. We’ll pretend that she’s gotten away with it. I’m the one who will tally everything up, sir. I won’t charge you for it. Promise. I won’t let her do this to you. Alright?”

He smiled through eyes that welled up. “I’ve been a ruddy fool, haven’t I?” he said, his voice shaky. “I expect you will all have a jolly laugh about it after I go.”

“I won’t be laughing, sir,” you said. You were angry. Angry that this terrible excuse of a human being would take advantage of a man made of starbursts and sunshine. “I’ll be looking for other employment, but I won’t be laughing.”

“D’you know what?” he said, donning his hat and setting it at a jaunty angle in the mirror, “I’m going to reward you for your kindness.” At that moment, Elvira came out of the back with the next hat in hand. Mr. Penbury straightened his spine and said to her: “Never mind, my good woman. I’ve changed my mind about your shop. Sell me my own hat, will you? Well, I’ll be certain to inform all in my considerable social circle not to bother with this place.”

Elvira’s face dropped and she stared daggers at you. You swallowed hard, expecting a vicious private word once the gentleman had gone, purchasing nothing. Elvira’s smile recovered seconds later but Mr. Penbury brooked no arguments, further machinations from the woman, and he certainly wasn’t about to allow her to abuse you - even with so much as a look - right in front of him.

“Now don’t bother blaming your clerk here,” he said, “She’s got moxie. Honesty is the best policy after all and I’ll be damned,” the word spoken with emphasis and care, as if the man never swore in his life unless he truly meant it, “if you think for one minute I’m going to leave her here to be reprimanded for doing the right thing.”

Turning to you, he said, “Retrieve your belongings, my dear. You’re coming with me. Let us leave this horrid woman to her horrid ways in her horrid little shop.”

You blinked at him in amazement, jaw dropped, wondering if this was a dream, or a trick, or a hallucination. His smile and encouraging nod to you reinforced his statement; he had meant what he had said. You went to the back, gathering your coat, hat, and handbag and, with a last look around the place, you left. You were going to be sacked either way, so you may as well go off with a man who could at least prevent you from having a strip taken off of you by your boss.

Out on the pavement, he turned to you with another burst of smiling energy. “I heard you mention Selfridges and I happen to know the chap who’s one of the floor managers. What luck, eh? He’s set to join us at a party at our country estate tomorrow. Would you care to go? I could make the introductions and you could have some champagne and we’ll all celebrate your new position!”

You were utterly gobsmacked. “Sir? Are you joking?” You had to ask because not only was he too good to be true with his tailored suit, bright face and gorgeous brown eyes, this was too similar to dreams that you had had about being swept away by a handsome, wealthy man who could make all your dreams come true. Not that you were a gold digger. No, not you. But you had been an adult in the world long enough to know that money may not buy happiness, but it could purchase a close cousin or two.

“Why, no.” He looked a little offended.

You quickly added: “I only ask, sir, because I’ve never met anyone quite like you. You don’t seem real, really.”

“I don’t?”

His eyes were killing you. He didn’t see himself as others did, that much was obvious. “No,” you laughed, “you’re like a dream. Like you’re some knight come to rescue me and I’m secretly some queen or sommat.”

His grin spread ear to ear. He held his arm out to you. “Then let me guide you to my motor and on to my castle, your majesty. I plan on treating you like a queen for the favor you’ve done for me today.” His arm was warm and strong and it seemed more and more as if he was that knight from your fantasies.

He strolled with you on his arm openly down the street, the two of you creating such an odd pair: a dapper man-about-town with a woman who was obviously a shopgirl on her day off. But he didn’t seem to notice. He kept giving you proud glances as you walked along until suddenly, stopping next to a rather impressive Rolls Royce, he announced: “And here we are! Your chariot, my queen.” A liveried driver came out from the front of the vehicle and opened the rear door for both of you.

Your head swam. This had to be a dream. You tried to relax into the soft buttery leather seat, Mr. Penbury next to you, his straw hat on his knee as he regaled you with the plans for the party on the weekend as the vehicle smoothly pulled away from the kerb. It was no use. All you could think was that you really shouldn’t be there. You weren’t of his class and it showed. Lord only knew what the chauffeur thought of you. Probably thinks I’m some chippy, you thought. Mr. Penbury, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind one bit.

As Mr. Penbury spoke, you realized that he really just floated along in life without any concern or stress at all. He didn’t have to worry where his next meal was coming from. He didn’t have to worry about the worn appearance of his clothing and whether anyone else would spot it. He never had to make do with the bread and butter in the larder because his pay packet wouldn’t arrive for another two days. You, on the other hand, well… your bills were always paid, but you were living close to skint; Mr. Penbury had never had the experience. The gulf between the two of you widened that much farther.

Yet for all his wealth and privilege, he didn’t seem selfish at all, which is a realization that gave you pause. All the wealthy folks you had met in your life - including the Hollingsworths that your parents had worked for - they had always been too busy with themselves to worry about any other human being. They sat in high judgment of people like you and people who were poorer than you. To them, you were nothing more than ‘the help’, there to make their lives easier without a thought to how much more difficult they were making your life. There was no self-awareness on their part. There was nothing but the next thing that would keep them amused, comfortable, and insulated against the cruelties they were happy to inflict on others.

Mr. Penbury wasn’t anything like that - or so he seemed. Sure, he was ignorant of the day-to-day details of your life including the insecurity of shelter and food that you fought off on a daily basis, but he seemed aware that poorer people existed and - miracle of miracles - actually seemed to acknowledge that you yourself were actually a person.

He was interested in music - specifically jazz - which you also loved and his eyes lit up even more when you told him about an American cousin you had that would send you phonograph records from artists you couldn’t find in England.

“Oh you must bring your collection to the party!” He instantly gave his driver a command to take them to your place. You supplied your address and off you both went, Mr. Penbury simply beaming at you. “You really are the mutt’s nuts, aren’t you?”

He clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh! Was that rude?” He laughed freely. “I’m sorry. I just get so excited.”

“I can see that,” you said, smiling. “I’ll be glad to bring my meager collection.”

“And a change of clothes! Bring your party dresses. And your dancing shoes!” he said. You shook your head at him, unable to tell him that you didn’t really own party dresses (plural) nor did you own dancing shoes. You did, however, own one dress you were quite proud of and you set your mind to bring that one. You only hoped it would be nice enough to get a new job, but not too prudish not to have fun in. Mr. Penbury would probably fancy it if you showed up in sackcloth and sandals on your feet. Lord knows what the manager at Selfridges would fancy.

It didn’t take you long to arrive at your home, a seven storey structure in a more modest part of Spitalfields. It struck you what Mr. Penbury had just said. “Wait,” you said when the car stopped. “What did you mean by ‘bring a change of clothes’, sir?”

“Oh,” he stammered, blushing suddenly, “I only meant- I mean- If you weren’t going to be working at that horrid shop anymore…. Why don’t you just spend the weekend? Or the week? You don’t have to start at Selfridges straight away, do you? You could just… have a bit of fun first?”

Fun. You haven’t had any of that in years. You’d almost forgotten what it was like. And you didn’t have a position to return to anymore, did you? You had paid all your bills for the week so, why not? Why not go and have some fun with this ball of absolute joy? He was looking at you expectantly, seemingly ashamed of his forwardness. It was your turn to smile at him.

“That sounds wizard,” you said. His excitement warmed your heart and you went in to gather your things for a weekend you weren’t sure you were going to remember, but one you knew you would never forget.

CHAPTER TWO: The Whirlwind Twins LINK HERE

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Tagged People: @h-ness1944 / @crazyjenny8675309 / emma77645 / @hahahafucku

[tomorrowusa]

If that list of the Putin Caucus members is too small to see, here's a link to the official vote tally by the Clerk of the US House.

The AYE votes for the Gaetz Amendment are mostly from Republicans in deep red districts. But there are a few exceptions like Lauren "Beetlejuice" Boebert who won by less than 550 votes last year and may be vulnerable in 2024.

Ukrainians have values similar to those of Americans. By attempting to sabotage Ukraine, the House Putin Caucus is demonstrating how anti-American it is.

ON A SIDE NOTE: To give you some idea of the sort of people the House Putin Caucus is supporting, check out this video. It's from YouTube user @RFU who posts daily reports on the war. This is for Day 571 (Sunday).

In the east of Ukraine, Russian troops attempted to surrender to Ukraine. But Russian forces further back opened fire on the surrendering Russians rather than on the Ukrainian troops. It was not an accident. Essentially, Russians are committing war crimes against their own soldiers.

[une-sanz-pluis]

[Philippa of England] was King Henry’s seventh child, born at Leicester, July 4th, 1394,* and her mother had died in giving her birth. Her sister, Blanche, was then two years old, and the two little things were taken to Bytham Castle, near Corby, in Lincolnshire, under the charge of a nurse named Maud. Here their father visited them in July, 1395, and some clothes were brought down from London to smarten them up to meet him. A few months later, they were taken up to London to spend their Christmas with him. In 1397, they were with their brother Humphrey at Eaton Tregoes on the Wye, near Ross, and were moved about between Bytham, Hertford, and Tutbury, under the charge of Kate Puncherdon and Mary Rodes, who did their heads and managed for them now that their mother was gone; and we know how much was paid for their black gowns with the white sleeves, their chaplets of crimson and white taffeta and red tartrin, and how they were dressed in damask baudekin of white silk and red Cyprus for Christmastide. When their father went into exile, they were left in the care of Hugh Waterton, at Eaton Tregoes, with their brother Humphrey, where a chaplain was to say mass daily with them for their mother’s soul. A clerk named Thomas Rothwell was to instruct the little Humphrey, and Kate Puncherdon bought their shoes and got black suits for them from London when their grandfather died. The Wardrobe Accounts for the same year (1399), show that the two girls required no less than 18,529 miniver wombs, 4,540 weasels backs, and 1,531 ermine beasts to find them in pellure for their dresses and shoes, though this may include the liveries of the mistress, the four damsels, the four chambermaids, and the Master in Philosophy, who lived with them and formed their household. In 1402, Blanche left England to be married, and the sisters never met again.

James Hamilton Wylie, “Lady Philippa” in History of England Under Henry the Fourth, Volume 2

* Philippa was the sixth. Wylie is counting the mythical short-lived son born around 1382 in his tally. Mary died on 1 July 1394, so Philippa must have been born on or before this date.

[grumpycakes]

TO CATCH ANYONE UP that doesn't wanna read the fucking novel of yesterdays post (sorry) a break down of what happened last night

They met at 10pm, McCarthy looking smug and assuming he had the votes

Nomination speeches as per usual, McCarthy's BESTIE (apparently) McHenry came up and nominated him. Tried to be a jokey dude but the jokes almost all fell flat, haha. Dems sent up Aguilar for the 9th time, basically insinuated the Repubs. can't lead cause of the infighting. No Far Rights came up.

with all Representatives present he needs 218

Round 14 of voting, only votes that went to not Jeffries or McCarthy were

Biggs - voting for Jordan

Boebert - Voted Present (lowering the needed votes for McCarthy)

Crane - Voting for Biggs

Gaetz - Did not vote when called first round. Did vote Present on second call (with two Presents the count needed lowers by 1)

Good - Voted for Jordan

Rosendale - Voted for Biggs

SO with the two present votes the threshold for winning is 217. BUT with the 4 holdouts that still voted for others McCarthy only has 216.

While tallying of the votes occurs, all hell breaks loose. Republicans have realized they still wont win.

You CAN change your vote, if you voted in error, while they are tallying and before they announce the official results.

THIS MEANS a group of Republicans DESCEND on Gaetz and Boebert to desperately try to convince them to switch to voting for McCarthy. McCarthy himself goes up to talk to them. Gaetz does some aggressive pointing and McCarthy walks away. Alabama Rep, Mike Rogers, who is most likely CRANKY and TIRED and feels like they've been yanked around by a small group of people, goes to, I'M HOPING, lean in and yell at Gaetz and possibly Boebert. North Carolina Rep, Richard Hudson, may have misinterpreted, may have actually thought violence was incoming, and GRABBED ROGERS and COVERED HIS MOUTH (hopefully by fucking accident??) No injuries have been reported and no one technically came to blows, but it is TECHNICALLY a physical altercation, news goes WILD about it.

Tallying ends, McCArthy loses. McHenry (McCarthy Bestie) Moves to adjourn. Shouts seem inconclusive, they gotta button vote.

Button vote is going as expected and then suddenly McCarthy, Gaetz and a few other Republicans run down to change their votes w cards. Suddenly the WAIT NO DOn'T LEAVES win.

Nomination again, blissfully short from Republicans. Normal from Dems w a cheeky remark to just flip sides and vote for Jeffries. No Far Right nominations.

Round 15, 218 to win, here we go. Of the problem voters

Biggs - Flips to Present (lower win number)

Boebert - Present (2 Presents, number lower by 1)

Crane - Flips to present and immediately flees the room

Gaetz - Present (2 Presents, number lower by 1)

Good - Flips to Present

Rosendale - Did not vote when called, clear that McCarthy won before he was called a second time, Flipped to Present (2 Presents, number lower by 1)

Winning number would be 215 but McCarthy got 216 so it doesn't matter.

ofc celebrating from Repubs. Tallying finishes, it's official.

There were ceremonial speeches. Jeffries was fine, did get this huge dig section where he compared what the dems were to the repubs. Very sassy, highly recommend watching that part.

Gavel is handed over to McCarthy

LONG ASS SPEECH ensues. Acts like it doesn't matter what happens just that you won. But like nah brah, this was crazy and bad. Goes into far right conspiracy theory talking points. Basically promising to just be obstructionists and time wasters to look good to their constituents. Then goes into a buck wild analogy fever dream about paintings in the capitol???? Pretends he's gonna be bi-partisan. Thanks his family. Ends the speech.

He is sworn in, he FINALLY SWEARS ALL THE REPRESENTATIVES IN AFTER 4 DAYS. They do basic shit and like electing clerks and workers and etc etc.

They can't make bills until the Rules of the House are agreed to. But it was also 1 AM their time. McCarthy tells them to adjourn till monday and the night finally ends.

-

TAKEAWAYS

McCarthy won by promising wild things that will make his speakership shitty for himself

Republicans have some serious infighting issues that may effect how they make laws and run the country

This was an absolute embarrassment and don't let McCarthy pretend otherwise

The final Present voters looked absolutely MISERABLE when doing so

If they can get together to send things they want into action, it's gonna be a shitty time, so be prepared (ie investigations and spending bills)

This may weaken peoples belief in Republicans and effect voting, but it's TWO YEARS before anyone can vote again so don't hold out hope

[jiubilant]

He finds it in the Arcaneum, late, some sleepless nights after calling on the Caller in her keep: a small quire spilling yellowy pages, soft with age, stooping at the spine. It looks like the sort of book he’d tallied sums in as the factor’s clerk. If it weren’t sticking out like a rude tongue between a primer and a tome embossed in gilt, he might not have noticed it. 

“Summon the atronachs,” he says, not bothering to raise his voice. Like the proverbial beast of the labyrinth, the master of the Arcaneum hears every whisper within his maze of stacks. “Someone”—he glances about him to make sure that the someone, probably some poor prentice, is not there to scold or smite—“has, I expect, shelved these incorrectly.” 

“What?” Urag’s voice carries like a bullroar over the shelves. “I’m coming. Don’t move. Do your best bookend impression.”

The clerk snorts and eases out the quire. If it were fragile, he reasons, it would be behind six separate wards in his friend’s reliquary of a restricted section. He tips it open. The bookplate is no more than a note and a date, both scrawled in a light, winging hand: Univ. of Gwylim, 4.E. 61—

He freezes. The familiar tail of the f stabs him in the chest. 

“—one of the Antin journals.” Urag, behind him. Talking. “Prolific mathematician, Lissabet Antin.”

“She, ah—” The sweep of the y. A smudge, just there, where she had blotted a spot of ink. “She is?”

“Er,” says Urag. “Was. A century ago.”

Antin, the clerk thinks. Her maiden name. He feels his face crack into the sort of huge, stupid smile that smarts behind the eyes. 

“Ran for it after all, did you?” he murmurs to the bookplate, tracing the ancient letters like a lady’s cheek. The whole book blurs. “My best Bet—”

“Don’t cry on my manuscripts,” says Urag with gruff tenderness, and thrusts a kerchief in his face.

[simply-ivanka]

BATON ROUGE, La. (AP) — In the northwest corner of Louisiana, a candidate for parish sheriff demanded a recount Wednesday after losing by a single vote in an election where more than 43,000 people cast ballots.

The tight race shines a spotlight on Louisiana’s recount process and its outdated voting machines, which do not produce an auditable paper trail that experts say is critical to ensuring election results are accurate. States’ recount abilities have proven to be exceedingly important, especially following the 2020 presidential election when multiple battleground states conducted recounts and reviews to confirm President Joe Biden’s victory.

“This extraordinarily narrow margin … absolutely requires a hand recount to protect the integrity of our democratic process, and to ensure we respect the will of the people,” John Nickelson, the Republican candidate who trailed by one vote in last week’s election for Caddo Parish Sheriff, posted on social media Wednesday.

Henry Whitehorn, the Democrat who won the sheriff runoff, did not immediately respond to an email requesting comment.

Caddo Clerk of Court Mike Spence said he has seen close races during his 46-years of experience, but none with such a sizeable number of voters. Spence said he hopes this will teach residents that every vote matters.

When the recount takes place Monday only absentee ballots will be tallied again and checked for errors. But they only account for about 17% of the total vote in the runoff race. Absentee ballots are mailed in and are the only auditable paper trail under Louisiana’s current voting system.

[gaydennisreynolds]

be hot do crime: holiday special - a very sunny christmas

Total Number of Shirts Worn By Dennis: 3

Total Number of Crimes Committed: 10

Mac - 4 - two 3rd degree misdemeanors for simple assault (pushing the shop clerk and accidentally knocking out the mom during the Santa fiasco); one 3rd degree misdemeanor for theft (Christmas presents as a kid); summary offense for harassment (caroling at inconvenient hours)

Charlie - 2 - first degree felony for aggravated assault (Santa); summary offense for harassment (caroling at inconvenient hours)

Dennis - 2 - summary offense for parking in front of a fire hydrant; summary offense for harassment (caroling at inconvenient hours)

Frank - 1 - second degree felony for indecent exposure (couch incident)

Dee - 1 -  summary offense for harassment (caroling at inconvenient hours)

Best Shirt: We’re on holiday ceasefire, so I don’t have a problem admitting my boy looks GOOD in his leather jacket / scarf combo. I really wish they filmed during the winter instead of in summer so we could see cozy Dennis more frequently.

He looks SO GOOD that I'm not hiding the other #looks under a readmore. Look at his gay ass scarf and his goregous purple sweater!

Episode Rating (on hot/crime metrics ONLY): A solid 10/10. I love all the crime and Dennis looks like a SNACK the entire time.

TOTAL SERIES CRIME TALLY: DENNIS (35), MAC (34), FRANK (26), CHARLIE (26), DEE (20)

[rabbiteclair]

a few people have mentioned interest in my various LobCo ramblings, so here is my deranged take on: clerks being a vital part of the game's themes and moral framework.

(if you know Lailah, much of the credit for this goes to her. She's been fond of this interpretation since before I even played the game. I arrived at the same line of thought independently, but considering that we talked about it for a long time, she's a big influence on my thoughts here.)

anyway

So, one thing LobCo likes to do is use gameplay to guide your behavior toward reflecting the mindset of a given character. This is most obviously the case during the Sephirah meltdowns, with Malkuth's making you play methodically and take notes, Yesod's requiring you to know your damn facility inside and out, Netzach's making it into a slog of attrition where everybody will die eventually if you push too far, etc.

I'll also argue that one of the game's central themes is around the dangers of sorting people into categories of ones whose pain matters, and the ones that you're allowed to disregard for the sake of progress. This is a big sin for both Ayin and Carmen. Carmen doing human experimentation for the greater good is essentially what led to her suicide, and Forsaken Murderer's file suggests she endorsed it elsewhere too.

Ayin is worse here. His dehumanizing treatment of Angela is the cause of practically every bad thing that happens for two full games. His lack of concern for the other researchers is a significant factor in some of their deaths (Elijah, Gabriel, Giovanni, probably some culpability in what happened to Enoch.) In other cases, their death was either made worse by his indifference, or just really goes to show how much of a bastard he is in this area (giving Daniel the silent treatment as the kid bled out on the floor vs. treating Kali's sacrifice so… matter-of-factly.) Just in case this all seemed too low-stakes, we've also got the Smoke War. Overall, Ayin seems very accepting of Necessary Sacrifices For Progress.

So, of course the gameplay helps guide you toward this behavior. You've got abnormalities like Nameless Fetus and CENSORED that incentivize you to consider which deaths are acceptable to get through the day. You've got Hokma suppression asking you how many people you're willing to kill in exchange for the ability to pause the game. You've got content that's just hard enough that you're going to reach an end-of-day summary, see some amount of deaths listed, and say 'good enough.'

And, at the very tippy top, you've got… clerks! They don't get dialogue or names, unlike even the most disposable agent. They're mechanically indistinguishable from one another, and the game doesn't even bother tallying their deaths in the end-of-day summary. There are enough of them, and enough hazards, that you probably aren't even going to notice all of their deaths. Nor do you need to! The only reason to care at all is in a very abstract 'if X more of them die then Mountain of Smiling Bodies is gonna bust out' way. Listen, Ayin, you're doing great. Don't worry about all that blood in the hallway, it wasn't anyone that mattered.

Clerks are completely anonymous, so you don't have any emotional attachment to them. They're endlessly replaceable, so there are no long-term repercussions for letting them die. Their existence grants you mostly-negligible benefits at best, and later on, abnormalities like Mountain of Smiling Bodies make them a drawback. A freshly-hired agent in TETH gear is an acceptable sacrifice--you're incentivized to keep them alive, but it isn't a big deal if they die. Clerks are a step beyond that. Clerks become an active risk. It's not just acceptable for them to vanish, it's desirable. If only you could dispose of them without ticking up that pesky death counter on Mountain...

Then, the game hands you Execution Bullets. There's no randomization mechanic in play. It's not a result of an escaping abnormality or something, the kind of thing you can rationalize away as an accident. You can now individually chase down clerks, make the conscious decision that your life is easier without them around, and pull the trigger yourself. And you're probably gonna at some point, because that's the Ayin thing to do.

[somedaylazysomeday]

Captured - Part Two

Charles Vane x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

The Ranger is under attack by another ship.

Rating: NC-17, explicit, lemon, etc. Minors DNI!

Word Count: 4,500

Warnings: multiple mentions of blood, canon-typical violence, brief non-consensual sexual touching, mentions of fighting, graphic description of violence and death, mentions of slavery, fingering, brief oral sex (male receiving), unprotected piv sex, creampie

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

Humans bled. You were well acquainted with the process - had spent more than a few of your years lamenting that very fact. Everything from your monthly courses to a stumble or a scrape left you cleaning the rust-colored liquid from your skin and clothing. To bleed was a natural thing and blood was nothing to be frightened of.

It felt entirely frightening now. 

You stared blankly at the wall of your small office aboard the Ranger. Your eyes stung with the need to close them, to sleep or sigh or blink - but when you shut your eyes, all you saw was red. 

You had been living on the Ranger for several months now. After you had proved that the crew’s spoils were worth less on Nassau than other crews earned for similar goods, the crew had voted to keep you onboard as their permanent clerk. You devised ways to deal with Eleanor Guthrie - sometimes going around her to deal with Mr. Scott, other times selling the ship’s goods to other crews in exchange for a small service charge - but you had other duties on board as well. You calculated rations, helped tally inventory, and tracked the ship’s speed, considering every different variable you could collect data on. 

The secret of your true identity was still largely a secret. Anne Bonny had ferreted out the truth in only a few short weeks - well before you had reached Nassau for the first time. What Bonny knew, she often shared with Jack Rackham, so there was a possibility he knew as well. And, of course, Captain Charles Vane was well aware of your womanhood. You slept in his quarters nearly as often as you slept in your office. You would do a great deal to avoid the barracks, but you could privately admit that there were other perks to sharing space with the captain.

The crew may have grumbled about the fact that you did not take part in their squabbles with other ships, but most seemed to accept the idea that you were not a pirate. Your role on the Ranger was to deal with numbers, not with people. You were useful in other areas, which was precisely what Captain Vane told them any time he overheard them complaining about your ‘privileges’. Vane had his own reasons to keep you out of battle, but he declined to share them with you. More likely than not, it was because he would prefer to keep a warm cunt to bury himself in. You were happy to avoid hearing those words directly.

For those reasons, you were always tucked safely away when the Ranger took a prize. The doorway of your office was barricaded and blocked, and you were armed with a small pistol and a dagger. The first few times had been terrifying - the world-shaking boom of cannons and the sharp clatter of musket fire reaching your ears with laughable ease even through the protective cover of the ship - but nothing had come of them. Captain Charles Vane was well-known and widely feared. Few could stand against him and even fewer were willing to try.

This time was different. 

The Ranger had spotted a promising ship on the horizon in the early hours of the morning. They had caught up to her by the afternoon and prepared to board. Vane had locked you in your office himself, placing the pistol in your hand and giving you a sharp nod before he left. You still were unused to the sounds and uncertain you ever would be, but you did your best to ignore them… until you realized they sounded wrong.

The other ship was firing as well, cannons discharging at the Ranger. You heard the crack of splintering wood from somewhere on the ship, but you could not begin to guess where it was coming from. And once the screams started, you no longer cared to work it out. 

Curses and shouts of vengeance mingled horribly with the screams, undercut by the sound of boots thudding against the deck over your head. A chill went down your spine: the Ranger was being boarded.

For the next eternity, the sounds of fighting reached you, falling thick and fast through the sturdy wooden beams of the ship’s deck. You prayed frantically, trying to slow the pounding beat of your heart as you eased under whatever protection your desk could offer. It did no good - your door was forced open shortly afterward. 

You gasped, fumbling for the pistol. An instant later, it was kicked from your stinging hands and you were dragged to your feet by an unfamiliar man of an impressive stature. His eyes were cold and cruel, and the naval uniform he wore did nothing to ease your mistrust of him.

“Are you a pirate or a hostage?” he asked, gaze flicking over your body.

You stared at him, struck mute with fear and apprehension. 

He shook his head impatiently. “Come with me and we’ll sort it out on deck.”

The man used his grip on your arm to tow you out after him, walking through the barracks and past several fallen members of the Ranger’s crew. You stared at them in dismay, slowing in a way that displeased your escort. 

“Keep up, boy,” he snapped, giving your shoulders a shake so harsh that the thong tying your hair fell away. “The crown will hardly care about one more dead pirate-”

He trailed off, eyes brightening as they watched the way your hair fell from the tight tail you had kept it in. Those eyes darted across your face and torso, tallying up parts of your appearance and seeming pleased by the total he had reached. Before you could even attempt to push away from him, he dropped a hand, forcing it below the band of your pants and cupping the mound of your sex. 

“What is this?” he asked, smiling cruelly as you gasped. “A whore in disguise?”

The decision to release your dominant arm worked against him and you located the dagger in a heartbeat, burying it in his stomach a moment later. His face convulsed, tightening in shock as he stared down at the handle of the dagger still held in your hand. You kept your grip firm, jerking the dagger sideways until the man’s face went purple, then white as he crumpled to his knees. Your hand was washed in a hot wave of blood and you lost your grip on the dagger - now buried in the writhing mass of intestines spilling from his gut.

You retched, moving to clap a hand over your mouth but caught sight of the blood before you could do something so foolish. That made you retch again and you retreated into your office, closing the door as best you could behind you.

That was where you still were, your blank gaze fixed on the opposite wall. If you were careful, you could avoid seeing your blood-spattered hands or the browning stains spread across your clothing. If you just focused on the wall, you could pretend your ears were not ringing with the sound he had made as he finally collapsed to the floor. In the solace of your mind, you could be far from here.

And that was what you did. 

Even when the sound of your name shouted in increasing fervor echoed through the barracks and around the walls of your office, you kept your eyes fixed on that wall. When rough hands grabbed you, they could belong to no one other than Vane, but you flinched anyway. 

He bit out your name so harshly that the sound seemed like it should have hit you as a physical blow, but it seemed like it was coming from a great distance away. 

The firm slap against your cheek came through with perfect clarity. 

You gasped at Vane, only just managing to stop yourself from touching your face with your still-bloodied hands. He watched you without remorse, but there was a tinge of worry underlying the intensity of his stare.

“Are you injured?” he asked, and you distantly realized that it was not the first time he had asked the question. 

“No,” you assured him slowly, trying to remember. “It is not my blood.”

If you were even slightly more aware, the surprise on Vane’s face would have offended you, but it was all you could do to keep your attention fixed on the conversation. “Whose is it?”

“A soldier, I believe,” you told him, gesturing vaguely toward the door of your office. “He is still out there. He was big.”

“That was your doing?” Vane asked, sounding even more astonished. “A man twice your size? You gutted him.”

You felt your stomach lurch again and shook your head sharply. “Please. I cannot- do not make me discuss this. I need…” You held up your hands, mutely showing their iron-scented dye to the captain.

“Wait here.”

Vane had left the office, but returned only moments later. He was holding a strip of cloth - one you recognized as the cloth he used as a handkerchief - that was dripping with water. He knelt in front of you and began cleaning your hands. Ridiculously, your thoughts were consumed with hoping he had used the ladle from the water bucket rather than dipping the cloth directly inside. A contaminated bucket would do nothing but begin arguments among the crew.

“You’re quiet,” Vane commented, running the cloth along the very edges of your fingernails.

“I- I cannot help but think over the things that brought me here.” Vane stilled, his pale eyes searching your face. “I could have hidden somewhere else or been faster to shoot. I could have fought on deck with the crew or stayed behind on Nassau. I could have chosen to die when you boarded the Persistence. I could have lived my life in London and never set foot on a ship as long as I drew breath.”

“You hated London,” Vane said, the reminder seeming to spring automatically from his lips. You had said it often enough, and it was the truth, but…

“But it would have meant I did not take a man’s life,” you countered. “It would have meant that I could have died never knowing the weight of a man’s intestines against the back of my hand.”

You shuddered, your hand tightening into a fist at the remembered sensation. Vane wiped the cloth over the back of your hand and down over your knuckles, coaxing your fingers open with a gentleness that frankly shocked you. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” you murmured. “My life wasn’t supposed to be piracy and ships and blood-”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen, but you did well,” Vane interrupted, cleaning the path left by a single drop of blood as it had trailed down your forearm.

You laughed, the sound ugly and harsh in the otherwise peaceful office. “I did well. You are correct, I defended myself very well. I used a dagger in a way I had hoped never to do. I never planned to do. I wasn’t supposed to be the type of person who has stabbed a man to death.”

The world began to soften around the edges as your gaze returned to the opposite wall. You missed the way Vane’s hands tightened around your newly clean fingers, and the way his eyes grew steely. You noticed when he stood, but only because he rose directly into your line of sight and there was no avoiding him.

That was especially true when he wrapped warm hands around your upper arms, yanking you roughly to your feet. He ducked to be on-level with you, the tight battle-style of his hair leaving his face devastatingly bare.

“Listen to me,” he ordered. “I can’t say I know what you’re going through. You thought you wouldn’t be like this, thought you would have a different life. Maybe it would have been a better one - who’s to say? But I know damned well what my life was before. This is far better than I ever dreamed. I thought I was fated to pain and toil. I was told I deserved chains. Hell, I’m still told that now.”

You blinked at the unexpected perspective. “I’m sorry-”

“No,” he said, silencing you with a single syllable. “Here’s what you need to know: it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what you thought your life would be, or what you planned for yourself, or even what you feel you deserve. All that matters is where you are. You’re here, you’re alive, and you killed a man to make sure of it. He deserved his death, but you’ll have his blood on your hands for the rest of your life.”

You took a breath, listening to the way it shuddered into your lungs. Slowly, carefully, you nodded. Vane nodded with you. 

“You have a life because you fought for it. Now you decide what you want to do with it.”

The next breath you took was far more steady. You met his gaze. “Distract me. Please. I need to think about… I need to stop thinking. Please.”

“What do you need from me?” he asked.

“Fuck me, Vane,” you amended. The captain always appreciated a direct approach.

Vane’s stare burrowed under your skin. His voice - always deep - went so rough it sounded almost painful. “That’s really what you need?”

You nodded, any verbal assurances caught behind the lingering fear still bubbling in your throat. Vane didn’t wait for anything more, ducking slightly to capture your mouth in a heated, exploratory kiss.

Despite your inner turmoil and the visions dancing behind your eyelids, you melted into Vane. It was instinctive at this point, something you could not fight even if you had wished to. You knew what pleasures came from this, and your body would not be denied.

In moments, your breasts grew tender, peaked with stiff nipples as the familiar dampness grew between your legs. Vane’s hands rose to run over your bare skin, creating more of it with every pass of those roughened fingers. Your male clothing fell away as he dropped his head to mouth at your neck, to nip at your shoulder. He hissed a curse against your skin and you realized that your hips were making tiny circles, searching for friction against Vane’s leg.

“How do you want it?” he demanded, a frantic look in his pale eyes.

“I want to be overwhelmed,” you told him, voice breathy. “Beyond that, I do not care.”

Vane nodded and you found yourself on the floor of your office only a moment later. You arched against the cool wooden boards, but Vane pressed you into them again as he lowered himself down on top of you. His hair had fallen free of whatever cord or thong he had used to tie it back for the battle and it fell freely around you both. You were awash in the scent of smoke and man and Vane.

His mouth was pressed against yours once more as his kiss grew - if possible - more intense. His lips and tongue worked against your own in a messy fumble that resulted in more than one clash of teeth between you. 

Your hips shot upward when Vane managed to push your trousers far enough down your legs that his foot could catch and push them away, leaving you bare for him. The touch of his fingers between your legs brought an instant surge of pleasure, instantly made sweeter with the way one of those fingers breached your channel.

“So tight,” Vane said, his voice half a plea. “Don’t know how long I can wait.”

“Then you should not wait,” you urged, raising your hips once more. Vane’s eyes darted down to the place where his hand was pressed, heating at what he saw there. You could hear your own wetness as he thrust his finger into you.

You had a moment of guilt so pronounced that it nearly knocked you out of the moment entirely. You had never been overly religious - nothing more than weekly church services - but the moral reprehensibility of doing this act outside of the sanctity of marriage had been made clear. Even then, proper ladies didn’t enjoy it. You had not been taught much of your own body, but it had been made clear that you were expected to submit to your husband - lying still and silent under the blankets in a darkened room. 

That expectation bore little resemblance to where you found yourself now.

Before you could stumble any further over your own upbringing, Vane added another finger and your mind grew far too distant to waste energy pondering the implications of enjoying this.

A noise burst from you, the desperate whine answered with a deep growl from Vane. His thumb pressed against the pearl at the top of your sex and your hips jerked once more. Your head thrashed back and forth against the floorboards, brow furrowed as you chased the pleasure shining just out of your reach.

“Let it take you,” Vane commanded, leaning down to press a hard kiss to your lips.

You let out a little cry into his mouth as the shining wave broke over you, leaving you floating in a pool of bliss uncorrupted by thought.

“Better?”

You peered at Vane, reluctantly opening your eyes to do so. When you had closed them in the first place, you weren’t sure. He was watching you with fondness on his normally fierce face. There was patience there, a bit of wry amusement, but also a touch of hunger. 

A warmth heated your chest. If you said you were better - that you were finished - Vane would take you at your word. He would leave you be rather than push himself on you when you were fragile. Of course, you would pay that particular bill with interest later. If you denied him now, your coupling that night would be frantic, full of heated whispers and growled promises.

That was almost enough to convince you to wave him off for now, but you never had been good at saving some of your sweets for later. You shook your head. “No, not at all.”

Vane nodded solemnly, but his pale eyes sparkled at your dramatic pout and the sad look you were aiming in his direction. “Then we’ll keep trying.”

“I hate to be so much trouble,” you said with a sigh, draping a hand over your head in a way that always made Vane take one of your breasts into his mouth. You had teased him about it once, warned that he would suffocate that way if he were not careful. He had been unmoved, telling you that it sounded like a better death than he had ever considered.

The memory - pleasant as it was - left your mind entirely as Vane’s lips closed around your nipple. The pressure he applied with his mouth left your knees weak and your jaw slack, though he chased a sound from you when his teeth closed in the space surrounding the tight peak. He did not seek to do any permanent damage, but as he pulled back, the pain that rushed into that place warned that you would be sore when you tried to bind your chest the next day.

“Have you resorted to cannibalism?” you asked, cradling the tender flesh of your breast.

One side of Vane’s mouth lifted in a filthy smirk as his gaze traveled down your torso to fix between your thighs. “It’s a thought.”

You chuckled as you pushed his shoulder. Vane collapsed flat on his back with a groan that you could feel through the floorboards. You leaned over him, horrified. Had he been injured in the skirmish and decided against telling you for some reason? 

“Vane?” you asked anxiously. 

He cracked his eyes open, looking solemn but free of pain. “You’re a fierce opponent. You’ve bested me.”

You sighed, shaking your head and biting back the amusement you felt before it could show on your face. “I was worried you were hurt!”

“I am,” he insisted. “I may never stand again. There is only one thing that can heal me.”

The walls of your office were thin, and the placement of the barracks outside meant that you worked to remain as quiet as possible during your activities with Vane. This time, however, you were unable to fight back a shriek of laughter as he grabbed your waist and settled you firmly on top of him. You were straddling him, knees splayed to either side of his narrow hips.

He muffled your giggles with his lips, dragging your face down to his for a kiss that felt like he truly was trying to eat you alive. At the same time, the gentle rocking of his body between your legs was stirring you from mere readiness to the edge of madness.

Vane was a man who liked to be in control. You could hardly blame him, given his past experiences, but it meant that you had few chances to hone your repertoire of movements when you were in charge. In truth, you could only remember a handful of times you ever had been in this position. 

So, when Vane frowned, shifting uncomfortably beneath you, you feared the worst. “What is it? Do you need me to-?”

You started to rise up from your seat, but Vane held you firmly in place. “No, don’t move. Not like that anyway. But I cannot feel you at all through this,” he complained, indicating his breeches. 

This time, you let your amusement show. “What a tragedy! Allow me to help…”

You slid backward, shifting your weight to his thighs as you unlaced the front of Vane’s breeches. When his cock was free, bobbing hard and angry from the confinement, you continued back, drawing the material with you until Vane could kick it away. On your path back up to him, you paused to lick a stripe up the underside of his manhood, lingering at the tip for a moment while you decided how you wanted to proceed.

The choice was taken from you when Vane hissed a loud curse and pulled you upward. The movement was totally lacking in grace, but - as you spilled over the bare planes of Vane’s muscular torso and you realized that he had spent his time undressing while you were plotting his pleasure - you did not entirely mind. 

“I am trying to give you the chance of occupying your own mind,” he bit out. “But more of that and I won’t be able to control myself any longer.”

“Shall I apologize?” you asked playfully. “I know how much you enjoy losing control of yourself.”

Vane’s eyes were wild. “Apologize or don’t, it makes no difference to me. But make your choice soon or I’ll make it for you.”

This kiss was initiated by you, and Vane seemed surprised when you slipped your tongue between his teeth before he had the chance to do the same to you. Still, he was enthusiastic in his response, and you liked to think you startled him a second time when you held his cock in place and sank down onto it.

Vane broke from you with a groan, eyes widening briefly before they fell closed in pleasure, a faint smile on his stern mouth.

Finding your rhythm was not a quick process, nor was it particularly elegant, but you found a pace that made your own breath quicken. The muscles of Vane’s abdomen tightened under your hands, which you assumed meant he was enjoying it as well. Of course, you considered the muttered curses and broken-off thrusts to be additional proof.

Your thighs started to tremble and your knees ached, but stopping was a solution you did not bother to consider. Everything else would pass; this was essential. Even when you realized that the pleasurable peak you had summited earlier would be out of your reach with Vane’s hardness as your sole source of stimulation, you continued the regular rise and fall of your hips, working toward an end with a fervor that was almost mindless.

A brush against the swollen bead at the top of your sex made you gasp. A glance down showed that Vane had dropped his hand to his pelvis, cradled in a way that gave you a brush of friction every time you and Vane were fully flush. 

It was clever, you mused in the back of your mind, the only place with enough sense remaining to think anything more than yes, yes, please, more, yes. Vane was not forcing pleasure upon you or even giving it. Instead, he was offering it, encouraging you to find your own stimulation. It was what he had been doing all along, and you were grateful to him.

Of course, those considerations were locked away behind an ever-growing need to shatter once more. You picked up speed, the large muscles of your thighs cramping and your hips protesting the wide angle at which you were holding them, but your mind was fixed on a single purpose.

In only a few more strokes, you achieved that purpose.

You tipped forward, your hands bracing against Vane’s stomach to keep from collapsing altogether. It was a mystery to you how your trembling limbs managed to hold you when your mind and body were occupied in exploding outward, soaring until you swore you could see the stars themselves. 

Fragments of your consciousness were still floating down to the Ranger when Vane gave a stuttering thrust upward. Your eyes cracked open enough to see him watching you. With a dreamy smile, you repeated his earlier words, “Let it take you.”

With that permission, Vane drove himself upward, burying his length between your thighs over and over as his grip on your hips kept you in place. When he gave a hoarse gasp and slammed himself full-force into you, shuddering with the violence of spilling into you, your core gave a weak squeeze around him as if in sympathy… or an unwillingness to let him fall alone.

When you allowed yourself to melt to the floor beside him, you could feel the perfection of the moment melting, but slowly enough that you stayed to savor it. Vane’s release was starting to leak out of you, slipping around the captain’s softening length. Your sweat was starting to cool, except where your skin was pressed to Vane’s, where it worked to adhere you to him. Your knees hurt, as did your breast. 

It was precisely what you had needed.

With a smile, you leaned over to press a kiss to your lover’s cheek. “Thank you, Vane.”

Vane choked out an incredulous laugh. “Never say that again. If you need me, I’m here.”

It was the closest thing to a declaration of… anything that Vane had ever made, and you allowed yourself another moment to lie by his side and push the thoughts away.

---

Author's Note - Congrats on making it this far! When I was writing the warnings, I figured no one would actually read this chapter. Sounded pretty bad, huh?

I don't offer taglists for explicit works, but you can check out my other works on my masterlist. I'll be back tomorrow with another fic for Fanfic February 2023!

Thanks for reading!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

This day in history

Today (May 7), I’m in Berkeley at the Bay Area Book Festival for an 11AM event with Wendy Liu for my book Chokepoint Capitalism.

Weds (May 10), I’m in Vancouver for a keynote at the Open Source Summit and a book event for Red Team Blues at Heritage Hall and Thu (May 11), I’m in Calgary for Wordfest.

#20yrsago Future of Music coalition open letter on media consolidation https://web.archive.org/web/20030504023803/http://www.futureofmusic.org/news/fccmusicianletter.cfm

#20yrsago The Web makes writing better https://web.archive.org/web/20030509221227/http://www.guardian.co.uk/online/story/0,3605,950915,00.html

#20yrsago A (dangerous) primer on hardware hacking https://hackingthexbox.com

#15yrsago House passes bill that will let the RIAA take away your home for downloading music https://www.govinfo.gov/content/pkg/BILLS-110hr4279rh/pdf/BILLS-110hr4279rh.pdf

#15yrsago Using a record-cutter to turn old CDs into 45RPM singles https://web.archive.org/web/20080502021126/http://www.futuresonic.com/08/art/cdrecycled/

#15yrsago BBC sends legal threat over fan’s Dr Who knitting patterns https://www.openrightsgroup.org/blog/bbc-removes-doctor-who-fans-knitting-patterns-from-the-web/

#15yrsago Band “shoots” video by sending Data Protection Act requests to CCTVs that caught them performing https://web.archive.org/web/20080510192510/http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/howaboutthat/1938076/The-Get-Out-Clause%2C-Manchester's-stars-of-CCTV-cameras.html

#15yrsago RIAA says DRM is coming back — in the future, you won’t own music https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2008/05/if-music-drm-is-dead-the-riaa-expects-its-resurrection/

#15yrsago UK blacklist of “suspicious” store clerks includes people never charged or convicted https://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/magazine/7389547.stm

#15yrsago HOWTO detect hidden video cameras https://www.instructables.com/How-to-locate-pinhole-cameras

#10yrsago Hedge fund managers suck at making money (for you) https://www.cnbc.com/id/100718881

#10yrsago HOWTO build a working digital computer out of paperclips (and stuff) https://memex.craphound.com/2013/05/08/howto-build-a-working-digital-computer-out-of-paperclips-and-stuff/

#10yrsago Disney files trademark application for “Dia de Los Muertos” https://web.archive.org/web/20130508212616/http://www.stitchkingdom.com/disney-dia-de-los-muertos-trademark-62484/

#10yrsago Faced with excommunication threat, Irish PM explains separation of church and state to Cardinal https://www.irishtimes.com/news/politicians-have-responsibility-to-legislate-on-abortion-issue-1.1383262

#5yrsago Georgia’s governor has vetoed SB 315, the state’s catastrophically stupid cybersecurity law https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2018/05/victory-georgia-governor-vetoes-short-sighted-computer-crime-law

#5yrsago Equifax finally publishes a tally of what got breached when it left 146.6 million credit files unsecured https://arstechnica.com/information-technology/2018/05/equifax-breach-exposed-millions-of-drivers-licenses-phone-numbers-emails/

#5yrsago Over 55,000 security camera DVRs are vulnerable to an exploit so simple it fits in a tweet https://www.bleepingcomputer.com/news/security/new-hacking-tool-lets-users-access-a-bunch-of-dvrs-and-their-video-feeds/

#5yrsago Jeff Sessions tells border guards to separate children from their parents https://www.alternet.org/2018/05/jeff-sessions-says-border-agents-will-separate-undocumented-kids-their-families

#5yrsago An upcoming Supreme Court ruling could force all workers into forced arbitration, deprived of the right to class lawsuits https://www.epi.org/blog/the-supreme-court-is-poised-to-make-forced-arbitration-nearly-inescapable/

#5yrsago Welsh police deployed facial recognition tech with a 92% false positive rate, but they’re sure it’s fine https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2018/05/uk-police-say-92-percent-false-positive-facial-recognition-is-no-big-deal/

#5yrsago Should I use an algorithm here? EFF’s 5-point checklist https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2018/05/math-cant-solve-everything-questions-we-need-be-asking-deciding-algorithm-answer

#5yrsago Google announces ad-ban for sleazy bail-bonds companies https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2018/05/first-google-banned-payday-loan-ads-now-it-will-ban-bail-bond-ads/

#5yrsago AT&T to the Supreme Court: “Fuck the FTC” https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2018/05/att-will-ask-supreme-court-to-cripple-the-ftcs-authority-over-broadband/

#5yrsago Here’s why everyone in the world just emailed you a new privacy policy https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2018/05/why-am-i-getting-all-these-terms-service-update-emails

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

[night-market-if]

Paper Lanterns Part 24

Paper Lanterns is a community based IF game here on Tumblr.  I need something to fuel the creative fires while I chip away at The Night Market demo, and I want to give you all a little something in the meantime.  Here’s how it will work.

I will post a snipped under the cut every few days.  At the end of the post will be three options.  Comment below or send me an ask if you would rather be anonymous, over which route you would like to see.  I will tally them up and write the majority option and post it in the following days. From there, we repeat the process until we, as a community, have crafted our story.

Please reblog and share this with others.  The more people we have participating, the more fun I think this can be for us.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 under the cut

Winner of the last vote: FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

Chaos exploded around you. It wasn’t as if you intended for this to be the outcome when you had walked into the main room.  There wasn’t much thought to what you were doing at all, really. All you had known was when you left this place, it would not be without Hazel.  Did you expect to hold the front desk clerk in front of you, her own knife twisted towards her throat? Did you expect to be facing off against two guards with the echoing footsteps of more on the way?  No.  Most definitely not. Yet, here you were and there wasn’t much in the way of going back now that you knew Hazel was going to be left to rot somewhere beneath the city.

Ripping the knife from her hand, you push her towards the guards. One stumbles, hitting the wall while the other advances towards you.  You lash out, your fist connecting with a jaw as you duck beneath the swing of a blade.  They had their weapons drawn and as the door to the back opened and more guards came pouring through, you knew you were outnumbered.

Fine.  That was fine.  Hazel was in here due to magic, you’d give them a little magic.

Digging into your pocket, you pull out the glass bottles you had swiped from behind the counters. You didn’t know what any of them did, but you figured it didn’t matter. Not at this point. Holding your breath, you slam four of them against the ground at once, hearing the crack of glass as a noxious red and orange smoke rose from their shattered remains. Covering your mouth with your tunic, you swipe out with your free hand, slicing into the belly of one of the guards and hearing their grunt of pain. Something caught you on the arm, sharp and cold, searing into your skin with a frozen heat.

You elbowed passed them though, ducking your head low and spinning out of the way of another wild jab of a blade, the standard weapon for the Velvet Guard.  Something caught you across the jaw, and you felt a wet bubble of warmth leak from the corner of your lip.

The door, however, was open. 

You ran through.

You didn’t know where you were going and now that you were in this position you realized just how ineffective this plan of yours was.  The tunnels were vast and winding, and Hazel could have been anywhere.  The coughing wheeze that sounded from somewhere behind you was buying you a brief amount of time to escape, but in the end, you knew there was only one way out and one way in.  Even if you got Hazel, you had to somehow get back out again, and the entirety of your situation was beginning to mount into an insurmountable task that had your brain racing.

You twisted and wove through the thick cavern walls, past cells that you knew could house her. Or perhaps they were ones that were completely empty. You ran, and you ran until your feet stumbled beneath you, and you went careening towards the floor. You caught yourself on a wall, fingers digging into the clay, the sweat sticking to your skin.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “Fuck.”  

In hindsight, maybe you should have thought about this a bit more. Maybe you should have at least found out the general direction Hazel was in. Maybe you should have–

There was dull rip.  You heard it more than felt it.  It was the sound of fabric tearing in two and skin splitting apart.  Looking down, you saw the blade protruding through your side, the end tipped with blood.  Curiously, you reached down. The tip was sharp and wet but it didn’t hurt. It couldn’t–

An arm wrapped around your neck as the steel blade sunk into you further and your back bowed.  “That’s the end of you now, isn’t it?” A voice whispered. You didn’t recognize them. Couldn’t see them. Your vision was blurry as you looked up towards a stalactite ceiling and your side was wet with blood.  “Don’t worry. I’ll toss your body in with the whore witch.  You two can die together.”

A gasp of breath left you as the blade was pulled free, and you fell to your knees. You twisted, scrambling for your knife. You couldn’t let Hazel get hurt.  A boot slammed against your wrist, down across the blade, where you felt your hand crumple under the onslaught.

Then there was nothing.  Nothing but the harsh realization that you failed.

~~~~~

It was a strange sensation when you came to. Light streamed across your face in a warmth that felt unfamiliar after so long of living in the dark.  It drifted across you, causing you to blink rapidly as you opened your eyes.

You were lying in a bed, a soft down comforter pulled up over your chest, sunlight streaming in from an enchanted window that overlooked a garden.  The morning had just arrived, and the flowers were blooming, straining towards the artificial sun in a languid stretch.  You shifted, hissing in pain as something pulled against your side, and suddenly you were intimately aware of the throbbing in your wrist and up and down your torso.  It brought tears to your eyes.

“You remember how I used to tell you that your reckless nature was going to get you killed one day?”

You turned your head. Malcolm leaned against a tall pillar that made up the archway out into the main room. He wore a sweater of soft grey, holding a steaming mug in his hand.  His dark hair was rumpled with sleep or frustration, and his feet were bare against the pine floor.  

“Is Hazel okay?” Your voice was choked and raspy, each inch of you throbbing in pain.

“She’s fine.  She took one look at the garden and decided it wasn’t to her liking and is taking care of it. You're the one whose spleen was almost removed.”

Setting down the mug, Malcolm walked forward. He sat at the edge of the bed, near your head.  Reaching out, he pulled the comforter down a bit, looking at the wrapped torso and the small stain of blood that stood starkly against the white gauze. His face looked relax, almost as if he didn’t care.  But you knew him well enough. You knew that meant he was his closest to snapping.

“What were you thinking?” he asked, not looking at you.

“Hazel was–”

“You should have come and got me.”

You swallowed.  There was an edge to his voice. He was mad.  He was also scared.  “What could you have done?”

“What I did do,” he said, looking at you sharply.  “Which wasn’t, by the way, fighting my way through a prison cell.”

You frowned. His hands were warm against your skin, and you noticed how he wasn’t taking them away. As if he was desperately trying to make sure you were still breathing. That you were still warm beneath his palms.

“How did you…?”

“I bought her bail,” he said.  “Like a civilized person.”

“They said they didn’t have bail set for her. That they weren’t going to.”

His dark brown eyes lifted to yours, holding steady with a gravity that was felt like a weight across your chest. “I made them change their mind.”  With a warm hand, he reached out, cupping your cheek and running the pad of his thumb beneath your eye.  “You’re an idiot,” he whispered.  “And you took out four guards somehow, so I’m kind of irritatingly impressed.”

Voting closed! Next part here

Smile and relax against his touch. Let him take care of you.

Ask to see Hazel

Realize you still have a job to do and try to get up.

If you haven't seen, Chapter Two of the Night Market is now out! It is linked below if you're interested. Reblogs and feedback are also love! Also, there is a Paper Lanterns discord now. Click the link below to join.

Patreon || Ko-fi || Demo || Discord

[snobgoblin]

got bored and decided to count how many times Ace has been hurt vs how many times he's hurt somebody else- and I wanna preface this by saying this isn't like academic I was relying on @ace-reaction-images and my memory. I might redo this with an actual count later but I don't have time to rewatch all these episodes right now. ALSO, I didn't count the comics or commercials. but I could have. here's what I got

being hurt

18

(by Blossom- 2) (self inflicted (repeated)- 1) (HIM (repeated)- 1) (Mojo Jojo- 2) (Fuzzy Lumpkins (implied)- 1) (Buttercup (several repeats like the long fight in Buttercrush and when she stole his teeth)- 8) (bodily function- 1) (Sedusa- 1) (Gnome- 1)

hurting someone else

9

(Buttercup- 1) (Snake- 2) (Professor Utonium- 1) (random child- 4 (there are a lot of these but I only remember 4 off the top of my head, the one he threw a ball at, the two he bullied at the kindergarten, and the one he gave a wedgie to) (cat- 1)

(not hurt but scared: store clerk, old man, baby, Miss Keane, Sedusa, narrator, woman)

SO... it seems like with this tally he's hurt about twice as much as he hurts others and I'm SURE that count would level out if I counted each individual kid he's ever hurt but I don't care enough about them to remember them lol. somebody remind me to redo this later with like an actual count when I watch the series again