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five-oh-thirst · 7 months ago

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Springtime Woes

Pairing: Ordo/Maze

Summary: It's mating season, and Ordo is struggling with his body's instinctual needs while Maze is trying to keep his patience in check.

Tags & Warnings: 18+, NSFW, omegaverse, established relationship, mates, mating cycles/heat, alpha!maze, omega!ordo, smut, riding, knotting, rough kissing, bickering/arguing, referenced breeding, referenced m!preg, domestic, light angst, fluff, humor

Word Count: 4.7k

Notes: Happy birthday, @mamuzzy!!! 🥳 I really hope you like what I made 💙 I got permission from ithilia to use this art piece as the header because it kind of matched a scene 🫶🏻 My inspiration for the fic came from a highly unusual source, an episode of Bonanza (an American Western TV show from the 60s). Specifically, the first three minutes of this episode 😂 I'm gonna say loosely inspired, lol.

Prompt Day 6 - AU @ordomaze2024

Read on AO3

Music Vibe:

Maze cracked his stiff neck with a loud pop as he walked towards the beeping caf maker, his eyes barely open as his body moved on auto-pilot. He slept poorly last night thanks to his beloved mate, Ordo. He kept tossing and turning throughout the night and landed several too-well-placed kicks to be considered accidental into Maze's side. It wasn't like it never happened–Ordo was rough with everything, including sleep–but this was too much.

Maze opened the cabinet above the counter and pulled out his favorite mug. It wasn't that pretty, but it was a gift from Ordo, and the words 'GAR's Best Alpha Null' were written in black ink across the white surface. He had to admit it was funny, but Maze thought it would've been smarter to just put 'GAR's Best Captain', so it made sense for both of them to use, but arguing that point wasn't worth it. Arguing any point with Ordo wasn't worth it.

He grabbed the handle of the glass carafe and yawned as he poured its freshly percolated contents into his mug, accidentally overflowing while his eyes were closed. The hot caf spilled over the edge, down the side of the mug, and dripped onto the floor next to his bare feet. He cursed under his breath and placed the mug down on the counter. If this indicated how the rest of his day would go, it would be a bothersome day.

With his right hand, he pulled the towel hanging from the oven handle off and dropped it onto the spilled caf, then used his foot to mop it up because it was too early to exert that much energy before he drank his first mug of caf. Once it was cleaned, he grabbed the mug off the counter, careful not to spill it again, and lowered his lips to suck some off the top so he could walk with it. It was still hot, and he grimaced as it burnt his tongue, but it tasted good.

After a few careful steps, he sat down at the kitchen table and set the mug on the drink coaster Ordo also gave him. This one read 'shabuir' and was clearly in Ordo's handwriting. He then put his glasses on and picked up his data-pad to read the news. The spring solstice had just arrived a few rotations ago, and the news was chock full of headlines like, 'Mating Season Must-Haves', 'How to Boost Your Chances at a Full Litter', and 'Tips and Tricks for First-Timers'.

Maze scoffed and rolled his eyes. He wished one of those stupid articles written by a teenager could help him, but unfortunately, Alpha and Null clones didn't come with basic instruction manuals and all the normal things that normal mates did never worked for them. It wasn't their first mating season, far from it, but the last one was completely miserable for both of them and he hoped this one would be slightly better. A lot of that depended on Ordo.

Speaking of Ordo, the fact that he was still in the bedroom sleeping, and the sun was already shining through the bay window, wasn't a good sign. Morning caf was one of their only civil times together, and if he slept in any later, he'd also miss their mid-morning sparring session. Neither was willing to get soft in front of the other and brawling on a mat to start the day was the best way to prove it. It also was a good way to release pent-up frustration.

The shower afterward always felt good, too. If he won, he could enjoy some hot and steamy shower sex without an argument, but if Ordo won, he usually showered alone. Which wasn't the worst thing he could get for losing. It's not that Ordo didn't like sex, he just didn't like sex with Maze, which also made zero sense. Others, even brothers, found their arrangement odd, but that was their relationship and Maze wouldn't have it any other way.

A loud thud came from the bedroom, and within seconds a sweet and tantalizing aroma wafted past Maze's nose. He scrunched his face and forcefully blew air out of his nostrils to clear the scent before it made its way to his brain. It was pretty powerful, even from a distance, and Maze lifted the mug to his lips to try and mask it. It worked until the hot liquid steamed up his glasses and he couldn't see the news article he was reading.

Several more loud thud came from the bedroom and Maze sighed. Placing his mug down, he got up to see if Ordo was okay. Maker only knew what he was doing in there. As Maze approached the bedroom, the scent drifting out of the open doorway was so strong he choked on it. Maze clamped his fingers around his nose and then flicked the light switch on with the other to shed some light on the situation.

The sight that greeted him made his eyes widen and his jaw drop. Their bedroom looked like it had been hit by a thermal detonator, or two. All the furniture had been moved out of place, but none of it was rearranged, just crooked and unorganized. The bed sheets were falling off the bed, the curtains were halfway off the windows, and their clothing was scattered across the floor. It was as if Ordo attempted to make a nest, but gave up halfway through.

And then there was Ordo, half-undressed and sprawled out on his back on the bed, like a starfish, with his head hanging over the far edge. His bare chest glistened with sweat and his shorts were visibly damp. He looked completely disheveled and very uncomfortable.

"Null," Maze said, his voice nasally from holding his nose shut.

"Alpha," Ordo answered, not bothering to pick his head up.

"Can you close your legs?" Maze asked. "Your Eau de Omega is leaking out."

Ordo swiped his hand down his sweaty stomach but left his legs where they were. "No. It's too hot."

Maze tilted his head out of the room and looked at the thermostat on the wall. It was set to a nominal temperature and was comfortable to him, but he wouldn't say it was hot. It took a second to click, but when the realization hit him that what he thought was going to happen, was now happening, he leaned against the door frame and sighed. "Of course you're hot. You're going into heat."

Ordo groaned loudly. "Over my dead body."

Maze gave up on keeping Ordo's 'please-mate-with-me' scent away and relinquished his grip on his nose. He took a deep inhale and allowed the strong odor to fill his lungs until his extremities tingled with anticipation. His body shuddered, but he kept his mind in check. It was inevitable at this point and there was no use in trying to ignore it, but his main focus now was getting them both through this mating cycle alive, and with Ordo, that wasn't easy.

He sat down on the edge of the bed next to one of Ordo's outstretched legs and ran his hand down the dampened hair and skin. "You know you can't fight it."

Ordo bent the leg and kicked Maze in the side. "I'm a Null," he said. "I can fight anything."

"Did you forget about last cycle?" Maze asked as he rubbed his side, annoyance already simmering under the surface. He needed to be more careful about touching him.

Ordo was quiet before he responded. "That doesn't count."

Maze smiled knowingly. "And the one before that?"

Ordo sat up, leaving an obvious damp splotch on the bed sheet beneath where he was lying. "This is karking stupid!" he shouted, clearly trying to change the subject from Maze being right and him being wrong. "I wasn't made for this." He scooted forward and leaned his forehead against Maze's back, a deceptively sweet gesture, and panted into his shirt as the heat from his body radiated off of him like the sun.

"Technically, you were," Maze said, noting that it probably still wasn't safe to touch Ordo even though he was touching him. "All the Nulls are omegas."

"And I hate it!" Ordo yelled. He gripped Maze's shirt, clutching the fabric with tight fists. "It's degrading. I'm a cold-blooded killer, not someone's cock-drunk knot-loving baby-making bitch. I'm not gonna push out any stupid babies or push around some karking stroller."

"Do you remember what Kal told you about omegas? Maze asked, trying to redirect his emotions.

Ordo rolled his eyes and groaned into Maze's shoulder blade, biting the shirt there for emphasis.

Maze chuckled. "C'mon, tell me."

"That omegas are highly valued members of Mandalorian society because children and family and blah, blah, blah," Ordo mumbled.

"And you don't think you're a valued member of Mandalorian society?" Maze asked, turning his head slightly to try and get a look at Ordo's face.

"I'm a verd," Ordo argued. "It's different."

Maze snorted. "If you said that to a group of Mandalorian omega warriors, they'd beat your ass into the ground like a tent stake."

Ordo whined and rubbed his sweaty cheek on the piece of shirt he had bitten. "I already know I'm a terrible omega. No need to rub it in…"

Maze sighed and let himself fall backward onto the bed. He landed with a soft plop and laced his fingers together under his head as he stared up at the ceiling fan while his legs dangled over the edge. Ordo was a tough case to crack, and they went around in this same circle every mating season. It was exhausting to constantly reassure Ordo's status as an omega, but it's what he signed up for, and he wasn't about to be called a quitter now.

Ninety-nine percent of modern society was made up of female-oriented omegas, but for some stupid reason, no one fully understood, the Kaminoans decided the first clones would be genetically altered to be male-oriented omegas. Their flawed logic was that they could curb Prime's alpha aggression by splicing his alpha DNA with omega DNA, which statistically would make them more submissive and docile, but it backfired, and the Nulls suffered for it.

Maze turned his head to the side and stretched out his right hand to brush it along Ordo's spine. "Null," he said. Ordo didn't turn around. "Ordo, look at me."

Ordo twisted his torso around to face him and Maze's eyes softened at what he saw. Sweat poured off Ordo's face like raindrops on a window pane, his hair soaked from root to tip, and it looked like he was hiding a painful ache somewhere deep within his body. It wasn't Ordo's fault that he was made like this–an abomination of nature in more ways than one–and it was heartbreaking for Maze to watch his alpha and omega sides war with each other.

"You're not a terrible omega," Maze said. "You're just… a little messed up, like me."

Ordo huffed, but there was a hint of fondness in his eyes. "I'm more messed up."

"And more beautiful," Maze added with a grin. His eyes lowered to the dimples peeking out above Ordo's shorts and he couldn't help but let his mind run a little wild with all the things he wanted to do to him. His alpha instincts were kicking in and kicking in hard.

Ordo looked shocked and whipped his head back around. For a split second Maze thought he messed up, but was pleasantly surprised when Ordo stood up, took his shorts off, tossed them somewhere onto the floor, and then turned around to face him. Maze was dumbstruck at the sight. Ordo's entire body glistened with a sheen of sweat, and his upright position caused slick to ooze out of him. He was the most gorgeous omega he'd ever seen.

"Stop staring," Ordo said, casting his gaze to the side. "It's embarrassing."

Maze propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look, eyes glued to the trails of slick now running wild down Ordo's thighs, then looked up at his face. "Do you want me to take my glasses off?" His voice was hoarse and he took a second to clear it. "You know I'm blind as a bat without them."

Ordo put his hands on his hips and shifted his weight to one leg. "Just shut up and take your stupid cock out before I change my mind."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Maze said with a small laugh. He lifted his hips and slipped his sweatpants off, revealing his large cock that was already hardening with excitement. He wrapped his left hand around the shaft and lazily stroked himself until it was standing firm. "How do you want to do this?"

"Scoot back," Ordo said, gesturing the order with a nod of his head. "I wanna be on top."

Maze did as he was told, moving back up the bed until his full body was splayed out. He didn't have an issue with Ordo taking control; it only meant he'd have to throw his alpha instincts into the backseat. Which wasn't the most difficult thing to do, but it was annoying. He wanted to pounce on Ordo like a regular alpha and omega pair would do, but he couldn't. Mating season was hard enough on normal mated pairs, but this was as good as it was going to get for them.

However, even though Maze followed the instructions perfectly, Ordo still looked hesitant standing in front of him. "Can't you just take it off and let me do it myself?" Ordo asked.

Maze laughed. "If I could, I would." It all sounded like a silly joke, but Maze knew well enough that there was a touch of sincerity in that request, and he took it seriously. "We don't have to do this, you know. They make alpha-sized dildos for–"

"No!" Ordo interrupted. He took a deep breath. "I just–" he shook his head. "I want to be a good omega–I do–but every time I try, I– I mess it up. My brain, my body, my heart, my instincts, and my training can't seem to agree on anything and it jumbles it all up into a big mess in my head."

"Which one is speaking to you the loudest?" Maze asked.

"My body," Ordo said without much thought. "Stars, I need a knot so badly, it kriffin' hurts. I feel so… empty." He visibly bristled and Maze could tell Ordo was uncomfortable admitting that much information.

"Then put the other voices in a box and take them back out later when your body is satisfied," Maze said. "Focus only on your needs at this moment. Close your eyes. Regulate your breathing. Empty your mind of everything other than what you need right now."

Ordo didn't hesitate. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

Maze could only imagine what was running through Ordo's head at that moment if anything at all. Nulls were good at separating themselves into neat little compartments to make war easier, but in this type of situation, Ordo needed a little more patience and a little more guidance to get him to a point where he could do it. On a mission? It was completely automatic. But in a domestic relationship? It was like herding tookas.

Ordo opened his eyes after a minute and Maze could tell he had succeeded in the exercise because his pupils were blown wide and slick poured out of him, plopping wetly onto the hardwood floor beneath. Maze was a bit surprised by the major shift and wondered just how much Ordo was holding back and how painful it must've been to do so. But even if Ordo was on board now, it didn't give Maze free rein to do as he pleased.

"What do you want?" Maze asked, his voice low and gentle.

"I want your knot," Ordo said. "Right now."

"Take it," Maze said, releasing his hand from the thick shaft and leaning back. "It's all yours." He knew Ordo still wanted to be in charge, even after he shoved that part of his personality aside for the time being, and he wasn't about to betray his trust by taking it back, even if his alpha instincts screamed at him to slam Ordo's face into the floor and mount him.

Ordo wasted no time and climbed on top of Maze, straddling his thick, muscular thighs, but he leaned forward past the swollen cock between them and smashed his lips against Maze's in a brutal kiss. It took Maze a second to process what was happening, but once he did, his cock twitched with excitement beneath Ordo's stomach and he wrapped his hands around Ordo's thighs, squeezing them until he bruised the skin beneath his fingertips.

Ordo bit Maze's bottom lip in retaliation, drawing blood and smearing it with his lips as he continued to kiss Maze like he owned him. But, before Maze could react to the pain, Ordo broke the kiss and licked the blood that pooled on his lips, effectively swallowing any noise Maze wanted to make in the process. Then he stopped, panting heavily, and Maze could see he was still struggling internally. His eyes were back to pinpoints, and he looked conflicted.

Maze lifted his head and nuzzled Ordo's neck with his swollen, bleeding lips, skating them over the faded mating mark he made the cycle before. He'd need to refresh that at some point, but not now. Following Ordo's jawline, he strung together a set of kisses to his earlobe and nibbled on it gently. "Don't forget what you need," he whispered. "You can murder me afterward."

Ordo growled and sat up. Maker, it was a glorious sight to see Ordo sitting on top of him, sweat running down his sculpted chest in narrow rivulets, slightly curving around his raised pecks, and then collecting at his navel where it mixed with the precum that leaked from his stiff and neglected cock. It was a shame that Ordo didn't understand how beautiful he was as an omega, but no matter how hard Maze tried, it never sunk in.

Another deep growl rumbled out of Ordo's chest and he ground his hips down, letting his first moan of pleasure fall from his lips. Now he was stalling and Maze was getting impatient. Maze grabbed his cock and squeezed it with exaggerated movements, trying to get Ordo to focus his attention on what he really needed. If Ordo didn't take his knot, then this whole thing was a waste of time and they both would be worse off than when they started.

"C'mon, Ordo," Maze goaded as he continued to stroke himself seductively. "Don't tell me you're afraid of it. Big, bad Null afraid of an Alpha's cock."

"I'm not afraid of anything," Ordo sneered, still grinding his hips in a rhythmic motion against Maze's thighs.

"Then kriffin' sit on it already!" Maze yelled, finally allowing himself to verbalize his frustration. "I don't have all day." He didn't enjoy being rough with Ordo when he was in this kind of vulnerable state, but it was either that or lay there and get blue balls while he waited for him to make up his mind.

Ordo stopped moving and twisted his face into a snarl. "Don't yell at me!"

Maze snarled back. "I wouldn't have to yell at you if you would just stop being a pussy and sit on it!"

"Fine!" Ordo shouted. He lifted his hips and lined up his opening to Maze's cock, then slammed himself down. The movement was so precise and quick that it made an audible smacking sound and the rapidly displaced slick made an obscene squelch.

Maze felt the wind get knocked out of his lungs when Ordo's full weight smashed down onto his cock, squishing his already full balls painfully between his legs. He had to consciously tell himself not to vomit from the pain, because if he did, Ordo would probably let him drown in it and suffocate to death. It was a big maybe, but it wasn't a maybe that Maze wanted to play around with while Ordo had him pinned.

"There," Ordo said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Happy now? I'm sitting on it."

Maze's response came out as a strained wheeze. "You did that on purpose."

"I did what you told me to do," Ordo said with a mocking tone. "Not my fault if your instructions were unclear, Captain."

Maze thumped the back of his head against the mattress and groaned. He didn't understand it. He'd never understand it. Every mating cycle turned into the same thing; a fight. Outside of the mating season, they could have mostly normal, ordinary, everyday sex like everyone else in the galaxy, but something about mating season always got Ordo's panties in a bunch and it turned out like this. And now, his patience for their game was almost gone.

Maze picked his head up after a minute. "Can you at least move a little bit?"

Ordo shrugged. "You didn't ask me to move."

"Maker, you have a smart mouth," Maze said, narrowing his eyes. His annoyance meter was narrowly away from its breaking point. "Maybe I should stick my knot in your mouth instead. At least you'd shut up for a while."

Ordo clenched his jaw and leaned over Maze's chest, giving his cock a little taste of the friction it desired, and brought his eyes only millimeters away from Maze's. "I will slit your throat in your sleep."

Maze knew it wasn't an empty threat, none of Ordo's threats were fully empty, but he smiled and took the opportunity to capture Ordo's lips with his. He thought Ordo would fight him, but he didn't, so he slid his tongue across the crease of his lips, tasting his blood from earlier, and Ordo surprisingly opened his mouth to let him in. Seizing the best opportunity he had, he went to work exploring Ordo's mouth with his tongue.

However, it was also a sneaky little trick and he slowly smoothed his hands down Ordo's back and sides until they settled on his hips. As he deepened the kiss, he gently pushed and pulled Ordo's hips back and forth, guiding him into a steady rhythm to give them both the friction they so desperately needed. Eventually, Ordo began moving his hips on his own and releasing short, puffy moans that Maze enjoyed.

"That's it," Maze praised into Ordo's neck. He thrust his hips up experimentally and Ordo moaned louder. "That's a good boy."

"Don't–ah–call me that," Ordo said, but his words had no bite, not while he was pleasuring himself on Maze's cock. "I'm not–ah–your good–ah–boy. Ah!"

Ordo sat up, hands braced on Maze's stomach, and rocked his hips faster and harder, now meeting Maze's thrusts in earnest. His pupils overtook his irises once again and his mouth fell open to release heady moans of pleasure. It was music to Maze's ears, seeing Ordo return to being his horny omega; so desperate and needy for his cock. Now all he had to do was stare up at his beautiful mate and focus on finishing strong.

It wouldn't take long with the way Ordo squeezed his cock. Normally, during mating season it would feel cavernous, like it could never fully be filled, but not this time. This time it was tighter, and every time Ordo slid himself up and back down, the drag on the head of his cock made him see stars. He didn't need to reach the end of it, he didn't need to hit a goal post, he just needed the drag against Ordo's ribbed walls. It felt incredible like it always did.

"I'm gonna come," Maze said, his voice breathy. He could feel his balls tightening and his knot began to inflate, catching on Ordo's opening. His brain was turning to mush, but he still needed to hold out for a little bit longer to make sure Ordo didn't try to rip his knot out after it inflated. "Do you want it? You gotta tell me you want it."

"Maker, yes!" Ordo moaned, seating himself on the bulbous base after the last downward stroke. He wiggled his hips and nestled down to let it fully inflate inside him. "Please. I need your knot."

That was all Maze needed to hear before he allowed himself to pursue the building tension in his lower abdomen. He was so close, but he needed just a little more to push him over the edge. He focused on Ordo's delicious moans, then it suddenly snapped like a taut wire and Maze came with a convulsing cry. The feeling of hot cum gushing out and filling Ordo was overwhelming, and as his knot inflated, binding them together, they both experienced pure bliss.

Maze's mind flooded with instinctual thoughts of how many babies he was making, what Ordo would look like pregnant, and how they'd raise their ik'aad together, but those thoughts were gone as quickly as they came. It's not what Ordo wanted, at least not right now, and if he drilled deep enough into his own psyche, he probably didn't want it either, but it was nice to fantasize about it. It was part of his alpha nature, and so he let himself feel it in the moment.

Ordo collapsed on top of Maze's chest, panting heavily into his neck. Maze nuzzled Ordo's flushed cheek with his own and licked a bead of salty sweat that ran down his nose. Maze could already tell that Ordo's bodily needs were being met and the pain that he felt earlier was being replaced by euphoria. It was also in these small moments that Ordo fully surrendered to the omega part of his personality and let Maze pamper him for a bit, but not long.

"You did good," Maze praised. He wrapped his arms around Ordo's back and massaged his hands up and down the length of his spine, feeling the once-heated skin finally cooling down. He would probably start shivering soon, so Maze briefly removed one of his hands from Ordo to grab the blanket that was half falling off the bed and tossed it on top of him.

Ordo nuzzled in further and groaned, saying something too muffled and incoherent to understand.

Maze nudged Ordo's face out of his neck so he could hear him. "Can you repeat that?"

"Don't tell them," Ordo whispered, his face was still flushed, but it wasn't from the heat. "Please don't tell them I begged for it."

Maze smiled and planted a few strategic butterfly kisses where he could reach. "I won't. That stays between us and only us. No one needs to know what we do behind closed doors."

"And don't ever leave me," Ordo added quickly, gripping Maze's shirt possessively. "I know I'm not easy to deal with, but I can't imagine going through this without you."

"You're a pain in my shebs," Maze said with a light chuckle. It was rare to have Ordo get sappy on him, and as much as he liked it, he knew it was fleeting, and they'd be back to bickering as soon as his knot deflated. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

Ordo shifted on top of Maze to get more comfortable, but he pulled at the knot in the process and they both moaned at the feeling. "I hate spring," he mumbled.

"Me too," Maze said. He didn't hate it as much as Ordo did, because, in reality, he did have the nice end of the deal, at least in his opinion, but it was still annoying to go through all the motions and emotions so many times. Unfortunately for them, spring had only just begun and there would be plenty more arguments, fights, and aggressive mating sessions before summer rolled around and they could get back to their normal life. "Same time tomorrow?"

Ordo nestled against Maze's chest and closed his eyes to rest. "Only if we have to."

#ordo/maze #captain ordo #captain maze #alpha-26 #null-11 #omegaverse #cloneshipping #cloneship #thirsty writes #ordomaze2024

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isthlsfate · 1 month ago

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⌞ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 ⌝

‧₊˚ ❀ ༉‧

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: here’s where life’s dreams lies disillusioned

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: elvis presley/austin!elvis x black!reader, mentions of blood, the colonel, mild language, time travel, filler chapter, angst, implication of elvis’s death, & VERY light horror elements

𝐰𝐨𝐫�� 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 930

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 𖥔 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

‧₊˚ ❀ ༉‧

you’re sitting on the front steps when you hear the crunch of gravel.

a car pulls up the driveway—long, black and heavy-looking, like a really fancy hearse. the late sun gleams off the hood. you squint, shielding your eyes.

the car door opens, and out steps a man who looks like he belongs in a smoke-filled poker room, not the calming green sprawl of graceland.

he’s tall, round in the middle, with a face like an old leather suitcase. his coat is too stiff for the southern heat, and his eyes scan the estate like he owns the damn place.

colonel tom parker.

you’ve seen the documentaries and heard the stories.

now he’s walking toward you like a storm in a suit.

“you must be the girl,” he says without offering a hand. his voice is thick, cloying, like syrup gone bad.

you rise, awkwardly.

“hi, i’m—”

“i know who you are,” he cuts in. “or rather, i know who you aren’t. you just showed up, didn’t you? out of thin air. like a magician’s trick.”

you freeze. his eyes narrow.

“people don’t just fall into elvis presley’s life without me hearing about it first. and yet, here you are. living in his house. wearing his shirts. playing girlfriend.”

“i’m not playing anything.”

“no?” he tilts his head, mocking. “where are your people? family? past? what’s your story, sweetheart?”

you open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

“exactly,” he says, stepping closer. “whatever act you’re running, end it. now. before it ruins everything.”

you glare.

“elvis is a grown man. he can decide who he wants in his life.”

“he’s vulnerable,” parker snaps. “he’s tired, distracted, and losing ground with every movie flop and gossip rag. he doesn’t need another leech clinging to him while he slips.”

your breath stings in your chest.

“i see the way he looks at you,” he says lowly. “and it irks me. because when elvis falls, he falls hard. and it never ends well.”

he tips his hat like a threat.

“pack your bags, little girl. before you break something you can’t fix.”

that night, the house is quiet. too quiet.

elvis isn’t singing and the halls feel emptier than usual. even the chandeliers seem dimmer.

you find him in the music room, sitting at the piano, plunking out chords that don’t go anywhere.

“hey,” you say softly, easing in.

he doesn’t look up.

“colonel was here.”

“i know.” you nod, heart sinking.

“he told me you’re no good for me.”

you don’t answer.

“i’ve been thinkin’,” he says, voice hoarse. “maybe he’s right.”

“elvis…”

“i don’t know where you came from,” he says quietly. “one day i’m gettin’ through the usual crap, and the next day, there you are. in my life. in my bed.”

you cross the room and kneel beside the bench.

he finally looks at you—and god, he looks tired. the light in his eyes is dimmed by something heavier than fame.

“i’ve been losing pieces of myself for years,” he whispers. “they all take something. the fans. the colonel. the movies. and now…”

you reach for his hand, shaking your head harshly.

“i’m not here to take anything.”

he doesn’t pull away.

“i wish i could explain,” you murmur. “i wish i could tell you everything. but even if i could… i think you’d still doubt yourself. not me.”

he blinks.

“you are so loved, elvis,” you say. “even when the world makes you feel like a commodity. a joke. you’re not. you’re somebody’s whole world.”

his throat works around a soundless breath.

“i know you don’t always feel it,” you continue. “but you are more than the headlines. you are music. you’re the kind of soul that doesn’t come around more than once in a generation.”

“why do you talk like you’ve already mourned me?”

you freeze. he pulls his hand back, studying you.

“you say things like you’ve seen it all,” he mutters. “like you know what’s comin’.”

“elvis—”

“where did you come from, really?”

the question hangs there, dense with suspicion. before you can answer, the phone rings.

he stands, slowly.

“i’ll get it,” you stop him, voice shaking.

you pick up the receiver in the hallway.

“hello?”

“baby girl?” your grandmother’s voice says, breathless. “i think i found something. a letter. hidden in the mirror’s frame.”

you press the receiver tighter to your ear.

“what does it say?”

“it talks about the mirror being a passage, but not a stable one. there’s a cycle—once opened, it closes again. for decades.”

“decades?” your blood runs cold.

“there’s more,” she whispers. “it says the traveler must be near the mirror when the cycle resets. or they’re trapped.”

“when?”

“i’m still working that out, but we don’t have long.”

a pause.

“are you okay?” she asks softly.

you glance over your shoulder. elvis is standing in the hallway, half in the shadow, watching you with stormy eyes.

“i don’t know,” you whisper.

that night, you lie beside elvis in silence. he’s distant. his body is warm, but his mind is far away.

you trace slow circles on his chest.

“elvis?”

“hmm?”

“promise me something.”

“what’s that?”

“promise you’ll never forget how much you matter.”

“to who?” he chuckles, bitterly.

“to me.”

a long pause fills the room. finally, he turns to you.

“i want to believe you,” he says. “but i feel like i’m reachin’ for someone i can’t fully see.”

you press your forehead to his.

“then hold on tighter.”

he kisses you once, soft and sad, and pulls you close.

you stare into the dark, knowing deep down you both feel it.

the shift. the slip. the unraveling thread.

___

꩜ taglist: @literally-just-elvis-fics @elvisslut @elvis-presleys-stuff

#elvispresleyxblack!reader #elvis 2022 #elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #austin butler #austin!elvis x black!reader #austin!elvis x reader #reader insert

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terrabatriss · 1 month ago

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I know it's late, and it's not proof read, but here's the first chapter of my SCP-Trigun fanfic!!! I hope you like it! This chapter is 2852 words long and I miiiight have lost my head and just started typing the story as it came to me. I personally don't think I did too bad, but I haven't written many fanfics on my own so if you have any tips or tricks to help me improve my writing style, I'm all ears!

Oh! I also ended up deciding to write in Meryl's POV. Take note that this story takes elements from 98, Trimax, and Tristamp. If you haven't seen one or the other, that's ok! I won't be spoiling too much about each but I do highly suggest checking out the ones you haven't seen yet! Especially the Trimax manga!

And if ur unfamiliar with the SCP Foundation, never fear! It's Meryl's first day too and I do intend on making this educational for the Foundation and entertaining for Trigun fans!

And with that, I hope you enjoy!

Ch.1, Newbie

How did I get here?

That's a question I've been replaying in my mind for the past few days.

I'm not too sure what's happening, but it had something to do with an anomaly and several men in heavily armed suits with high-tech guns. I was a simple reporter and journalist, organizing my next headline for the Bernardelli News Agency. Who would've thought that just after submitting my report and preparing for bed that those strange men would appear at my doorstep?

They didn't explain much of anything and jumped straight to shooting me with what I can only assume was a tranquilizer dart.

The next thing I know I'm sitting in a white room with a clean white table separating me from this strange woman. Her thick raven hair is pulled into a messy bun and her fluffy bangs hang over her forehead. She's staring at me coldly and I can't shake how her amber eyes seem to pierce right through me…

She's dressed in what I can only describe as a lab coat and stiff office get up. She has an orange necktie tucked under her white collar, a gray pencil skirt, black heels, and an orange name tag with a strange logo on it and the name C. Hewley typed onto it.

On the table between us is a paper with my picture on it. My shorter, midnight hair is much more tame in the picture than the currently disheveled state it's in now. My name is printed in big bold letters alongside my general information;

Name; Meryl Stryfe

Age; 23

Height; 149cm

Gender; F

D.O.B; 02/14/XXXX

P.O.B; December, [REDACTED]

Below that is information about my personal history. Essentially the story of my entire life all squeezed into a three page packet.

Nervous, I start to fidget with the hem of my skirt. My white tunic falls snugly to my mid thigh which is covered with indigo leggings. I have a comfortable pair of white zip up heeled boots to match. It's my typical work outfit, and actually helps me feel less out of place in this environment of clean white walls and this woman who's only colors are monochrome and shades of orange. My grayish lavender eyes do not dare look away from this woman's stare…

Eventually, she looks down at my information booklet and sighs.

“Miss Stryfe. Allow me to apologize for the sudden intrusion of your home and unwanted transportation to this facility.”

She starts calmly, but I can hear the irritation in her voice. Her accent is a clear yet strong British that almost demands respect with every hard word.

“I am Director Clarice Hewley, the site director of Site 52. You are here due to a recent interaction with an SCP. Normally we'd give you an anesthetic and force you to forget the interaction, but an 05 member vouched for you after seeing your academic accomplishments. With that said, we'd like to offer you a job.”

She pulls out another packet and slides it over to me with a pen. It's an NDA agreement as well as what seems to be a job description. From what I'm reading, I'll essentially be made a researcher of anomalous objects and my experience as a reporter will be an asset in questioning some of the creatures. This is insane…

I'm about to decline the offer when I turned the page and saw the pay and benefits. Holy crap…

Safe to say it didn't take me long to read the packet and try to better understand my situation. I signed it and Miss Hewley seemed pleased enough, so she arranged for me to begin my training.

So that's what landed me here. They let me stay in my usual outfit, but have forced me to wear a white lab coat like what Miss Hewley had on. My name tag sits on my right shoulder just as hers did. I'm standing outside Site 47, having just returned from quitting my previous job. I was told to wait here for my instructor who will be giving me a short tour of what I'll have access to and generally explaining more of my job. He should be here soon…

“Hey, newbie. Wake up.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the voice of a gruff man and spun around to face him. He's a tall middle-aged man with messy brown hair and tired green eyes. A baibo-styled beard and dark mustache add to his tired uncle vibe and he's holding a small canteen in his left hand. His right hand is tucked away into the pocket of his own lab coat. Unlike Miss Hewley, his outfit is less out together and more disheveled. His light brown button up shirt is half tucked into black khakis and his orange tie is loose.

Either I'm staring at him funny or he's lost his patience, because I watch him take a swig of whatever's in his canteen and grunt.

“The name's Roberto. Are you the kid I'm supposed to be tutoring?”

I get he's my mentor, but being called a kid just strikes an irritating cord in me. I straighten up, not that it does much for my height, and stand as proudly as I can with a confident expression.

“Yes, sir. I am Meryl Stryfe, a new employee at this facility. I'm pleased to meet you, Doctor Roberto.”

I feel quite smug with this tone. I used it often when talking to authority figures back at Bernardelli, and it often helped me make it clear I was to be respected.

Roberto grunts and turns on his heel towards the facility. “Yeah, yeah. Just keep up, newbie.” He says as he walks away.

I silently glare at his back before following him inside.

We walk through some security gates and halls before entering a large room filled with computers, filing cabinets, and research equipment. Various people in lab coats are present and don't bother looking up when we enter. A purely professional environment, I see. At least compared to my mentor who looks like he just woke up with a hangover…

“This facility is more of a checkpoint for SCP transportation. You'll see all kinds coming and going, so be careful. Right now, we're holding some of the worst anomalies until they can be transported to their new containment sites. That said, be sure to keep a steady count on how many you see today. Do you know why I say that, kid?” Roberto explains as he walks up to what looks like a metal box big enough to fit an adult human.

I nod “It was mentioned in my contract. I can turn back on my decision to work here, but that option is void if I see a total of five anomalies. Right?” So glad I read the packet…

Roberto grunts in response “That's right, newbie. You can start your count with this one. Meet SCP-8153, otherwise known as Kuroneko.” He introduced before pressing a button on a side panel. A metal panel lifts, revealing a small black cat. It stirs and wakes up yawning and looking at us with its big green eyes. A cat. A black house cat. Is he serious?

Kuroneko sits up and licks its paw as I turn to Roberto with an unimpressed expression. “Um, sir? Mind telling me what's abnormal about this cat? Or is this really just a house cat and you just enjoy messing with new employees?” I ask him, very much unamused with this.

He smirks and picks up the cat by the scruff of its neck. He hands the cat to me who purrs in my arms as I hold it. “Didn't your contract tell you not to underestimate an SCP’s appearance? Kuroneko here has been alive for several centuries. We found him after a guy brought him to a vet claiming he shot the poor thing and it healed itself. The vet didn't believe him, so the guy shot the cat again to prove it and got arrested. We swooped in after the police report and contained SCP-8153.” He explains.

I guess my skepticism is painted on my face, because Roberto sighs and takes the cat from me. He sets it back into the metal capsule and pulls out a .41 caliber Derringer. I, of course, panic. Especially when he points it at the cat that just stares at him like it's used to having a gun barrel pointed at it!

“Whoa, hey! I get it! You don't have to prove it! Why are you carrying that?! I thought only the MTF were allowed to carry firearms!” I say, making a grab for the gun which he swiftly pulls out of my reach with a wheezing chuckle.

“Calm down, newbie. It's not loaded. You'll quickly find that in this line of work you can't rely on some oaf with a big gun to protect you at all times. We're supposed to protect SCPs, but we can't do that if they kill us first. Consider arming yourself in the future. But I'll admit your reaction was priceless.” He mocks me before putting the gun back in its hiding place, a specially made holster sewn into the underside of his lab coat.

I let out a relieved sigh and glare at him “that was just foul. And my name isn't newbie! It's Meryl Stryfe.” I remind him, crossing my arms as he laughs at me.

“Until I see you've grown up, you'll always be a newbie to me. A kid stuck with an old bag of drunk bones as a mentor.” He says before taking a swig as if to make a point.

I shake my head “On another note, you said this facility is a transportation checkpoint. Where is Kuroneko going?” I question, changing the subject.

Roberto grunts and looks at the cat who's gone back to sleep. “That information is above your clearance, I'm afraid. Your job here is to monitor the SCPs and ensure any new discoveries are documented and given to the team responsible for transporting them. Keep an eye on the anomalies until their designated truck arrives and give the departing team any new documents they might not already have. It's not your job to know where the anomalies are headed.”

I slowly nod and am about to ask another question when an MTF guard suddenly bursts into the room, startling the hard at work researchers. All eyes turn to the guard, including the curious eyes of Kuroneko. He's out of breath and panicked. One of the scientists seems to recognize him and grows upset “Where's your charge? Why is he not with you?!” Wow… no regard for the poor guard at all. Strait to scolding. Yikes…

The guard tried to catch his breath “We were… separated. Something's happening on a lower floor… he wanted to investigate… he told me to come here and alert Doctor Roberto!”

Roberto’s face turns serious with alarm and raises his canteen, signaling the guard. He walks over with myself in tow and places his free hand on the guard's shoulder. “Calm down, kid. What's so urgent your charge told you to get me? He never gives orders unless the situation is dire and he knows the penalties for going off on his own.” He tries to calm the guard down enough to speak like a father telling his son to take a breath and explain a new broken window.

The guard takes a deep breath before he begins “apparently a researcher got tied up with SCP-035 and has attempted to break containment. Doc wanted to go help try to save the researcher before it's too late and told me to alert you…” he says, still panicked but calm enough to speak clearly.

It's then that an alarm starts blaring, coating the white room in flashing red light. A robotic voice calls CONTAINMENT BREACH - CONTAINMENT BREACH - AN SCP HAS BROKEN CONTAINMENT - CONTAINMENT BREACH - its loud and frightens everyone present. People have begun to panic and Roberto hollars at everyone to stay calm. He turns to me, his body tense “Newbie, don't leave my side. And you,” he turns to the guard “What's your name, son?” He questions.

The guard flinches “G-Gabriel Luster, sir!”

Roberto nods “Gabe, you're with us. Your new job is to protect us until the breach is contained, do you understand?”

“Y-yes sir!”

Roberto grunts and takes a swig from his canteen “great, just what I needed. Two kids, a missing idiot, and a containment breach. C'mon, let's get to the communications room and send out an SOS.” He orders and leads me and Gabriel down the hall. Kuroneko seems to have decided to join us too, because it's following at our heels like a normal house cat following its owner.

A couple corners later and we approach a set of double doors that are slightly ajar. Roberto pauses a few feet from it and signals to Gabriel “Stand in front and be ready for anything. That door shouldn't be open…” he instructs.

Clearly scared, Gabriel holds his large gun ready and slowly approaches the door he nudges it open and the sight nearly makes me vomit…

Looks like the communications room was compromised, because all I see are several bodies with snapped necks. I see Roberto go pale even in the flashing red lights. “Doctor…? What happened here…?” I question carefully, trying to distract myself from looking at the dead researchers and guards.

Roberto takes a deep breath “173…” he mutters in horror. I look at Gabriel who shrugs at me before finally removing his helmet. He's a man in his early 20s with a slight stubble and fluffy ginger hair. His eyes are green and his freckles dot his nose and cheeks.

Roberto groans in frustration and pinches the bridge of his nose “Great. Just great. SCP-173 is the damn statue. Think of a weeping angel from one of those games kids play today but shaped like a concrete peanut and ugly enough to make a naked mole rat look pretty. If you see it, don't blink or take your eyes off it unless you wanna end up like them.” He says, gesturing to the dead people.

Gabriel fails to hide his snicker at the crude description and I just sigh “Awesome. An SCP that kills anything with eyes.” I say sarcastically. Roberto pushes past us and steps over a dead researcher and typing on a keyboard.

“I'm sending the SOS and informing them about 173. If I remember right, 035 is two floors down from us. We need to find that idiot and evacuate while the MTF soldiers work to contain the escaped anomalies. Normally, an evacuation wouldn't be allowed. But you two are clearly inexperienced and I'm not gonna let you die so young.” Roberto clicks the send button and launches the SOS, praying it's answered soon enough. “First, let's get back to the main lab. We'll also need a weapon for this kid and we need to gather as many surviving researchers as possible. The more that survive, the better.” He instructs us, already pushing past and down the hall. Gabriel and I share a glance before rushing after him, Kuroneko bounding ahead at Roberto's heels.

When we return, I give in and turn towards a small nearby trashcan before throwing my lunch back up. The entire room which was previously filled with living researchers are now corpses with snapped necks. Gabriel and Roberto are stuff next to me and I look up and freeze at the hideous peanut SCP Roberto told us about.

I've officially seen two SCPs… and I'm certain this will be my last.

SCP-173 stands perfectly still in the center of the fresh chaos. Roberto gulps “Ok, kids… slowly back away and don't you dare blink… Gabe, when the kid and I are through the door, I want you to close it and break the lock panel to keep it locked shut. We can at least contain this bastard…” he orders the shaking guard who slowly nods.

On Roberto's cue, we all slowly back away while keeping our eyes unblinking on the statue. My eyes are begging to sting and water… I'm about to blink when Roberto says “Now!” And Gabriel shuts the door, breaking the panel to lock it. I nearly scream when loud bangs come from the other side, a sign of the SCP trying to get to us through the reinforced steel door…

I blink and rub my eyes, wiping away my frightened tears “We almost died…” I say out of horror as I try to calm my rapidly beating heart.

Gabriel nods, placing a hand over his own chest and looking like he just met death itself.

Roberto grunts and shakily pulls out a cigarette, lighting it with unsteady hands.

“Don’t complain… it was in your contract… you'll have more near death experiences until one actually kills you. Once you sign that contract and see five anomalies, you become Foundation property… that's what we all agreed to.”

Great…

To Be Continued...

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katyakurae · 8 months ago

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The deal, chapter 19 sneak peek

"'The weirdest proposal in Hell's history' " reads Angel, as he scrolls down the headlines, " 'The King of Hell and The Radio Demon, the couple that wasn't in your bingo this year but won't leave you indifferent.' 'Spreading your legs for the Devil and Other Tricks to Climb Hell's Social Hierarchy.' 'The Radio Demon is a whore and so far no one has noticed.' 'About the King's divorce and other lies from the palace, how much does the Queen know about her new rival?' Do I keep reading?"

[...]

"Fuck." Angel Dust is the first to break the silence, stretching out his vowels until he runs out of air in his lungs. "You two are really out of your mind, sweethearts. Besides, what the Hell? You guys are toxic as shit!" The words come down like a bucket of cold water, precisely cause they are true. They both flinch as if they've been hit, Lucifer grits his teeth and Alastor's eyelid twitches again. He struggles to keep his ears up and, although they succeed, a slight tremor escapes from the tips. They know, they both know. That's not so much the problem as suddenly being exposed. Lucifer opens his mouth to explain that they're working on it, but, of course, Alastor wouldn't be Alastor if he didn't take advantage of every loophole to strike back. In part, he's fascinated by it. "Considering your latest ex is none other than Valentino himself," the Radio Demon hisses, viciously, but Angel just crosses his bottom pair of arms and leans his hip against the bar. Husk shakes his head to himself, but doesn't dare talk, "I don't think you're one to reprimand us, Angel, dear." "That's exactly why, dammit! I've been there. I know what it's like," he tells them, and no matter how much they surpass him in power and strength, Angel doesn't back down. "Why the fuck are you doing this to yourselves? You hate each other, it doesn't make any sense!" Silence. Thundering. "Wait... you hate each other, don't you?"

More silence. The porn star's does the math slightly faster than the rest of the crew, although expressions of surprise and disbelief soon become the tone of the room. Alastor purses his lips tight and Lucifer feels the lump in his throat that has suddenly come threatening to take his breath away. He should answer. Alastor should answer truthfully and say yes, of course he hates him, detests him. So why does he keep so quiet? Because, after all, this is the same demon who has dawned cuddled up to him, snuggled against his chest, dressed in his bathrobe. "Holy fuck. I'll be damned... Did you guys fall in...?" "Don't you dare jump to ridiculous, hasty conclusions, Angel, or it'll be the last thing you say before I rip out your tongue and steam it with oyster sauce. I make a sensational stew, don't you want to become the secret ingredient."

#oh my god they're engaged?#we're going to have a wedding guys #or not #who knows #are they in love already? we don't know also #jajan't #hazbin hotel #appleradio #radioapple #alastor #alastor the radio demon #lucifer #alastor x lucifer #hazbin hotel fanfiction #the deal (how to not make you smile)#vivziepop #duckiedeer #hellverse #hellaverse

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neverendinghunt · 6 months ago

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✨Guest Page Artist Preview✨

This just in- The Stellaron Hunters have made headlines again with the latest tips and tricks to get the best out of your life. The July issue is a must have!

A preview of @say0ranarts 's piece~

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shiyorin · 2 years ago

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I have a silly idea, it's kabedon primarch! I think I read too many romcom manga.

Yep, this is so silly and cute. To kabedon a primarch, you will need a chair or a ladder. And stop give me those idea...

You browsed the planetary net, sipping your morning recaf, when an article headline caught your eye - "5 Ways to Make Anyone Fall For You, According To Science."

Intrigued, you clicked through. Most tips involved chemistry tricks or dubious psychology. But one stood out - "kabedon", a technique from ancient Terran drama.

"Kabedon - pinning the object of your desires against the wall with one arm to imply dominance and intimacy. Studies show increased heart rates and endorphin releases prove its effectiveness!"

The article claimed a study found kabedoning increased heart rates and hormonal attraction indicators in subjects. You hummed thoughtfully. As a highly skilled agent, you didn't need such parlor tricks. But you were ever curious, could it really be that easy to disarm even primarch-level self control? Only one way to find out…

Seeking your target, you soon found your primarch, Roboute Guilliman poring over tactical charts in his chambers. Perfect. "Excuse me, Lord Guilliman," you began innocently. "Might I have a word?"

Guilliman nodded without looking up. "Of course, what-"

Before he could finish, you lunged, leaping onto a nearby chair and slamming both hands against the wall on either side of Guilliman's massive frame with a resounding crack. He jolted in shock, eyes wide as you leaned in intently.

The Primarch let out an undignified squawk, dataslate flying, as he found himself suddenly pinned before a beaming you. You murmured in your smoothest sultry tone. "So, tell me. Does your heart beat faster when you look at me?"

Guilliman gaped soundlessly, gaze flicking from your grin to the web of fractures radiating from your pinning hand across the reinforced ceramcrete.

"I, uh-" Guilliman glanced about frantically for an answer before realized two things: one, you were precariously balanced on a chair to reach the wall. Two, both hands were now clutching desperately at the fractured surface to maintain that unstable perch. His panic dissipated into stunned amusement.

His lips quirked into a reluctant smile. "I…well, you startled me is all. And that chair cannot support your weight forever."

As if on cue, the aged wooden legs creaked ominously. You hastily hopped down, coughing. "Ahem. Well, does proximity to me affect you at all?" You wheedled.

"Good effort, agent. But next time, try not to break my building in the process."

You huffed, dropping your hands with a pout. "It was a legitimate dating tactic! The article said kabedon causes attraction! But I may have underestimated human heigh versus primarch."

Guilliman chuckled, reaching to lightly ruffle your hair in a rare affectionate gesture. "I am sure it works on many. But for a Primarch like myself, mere wall pinning will not suffice!"

You scowled and swatted his hand away "Mark my words, lord Guilliman, one day I will make your heart race whether you wish it or no!"

Guilliman couldn't help a smile now at your put-out expression. Stepping close, he took your hands gently in his. "My heart races every time I see you."

Your scowl softened into a smile. But a thoughtful look crossed your features. "Hmm, what if I brought you your favorite meal dressed in just an apron?"

Guilliman choked and began coughing violently. You smiled, unrepentant, and made a note to test that theory soon…

#shiyorin's answer #wh40crack #reader insert #primarch x reader #romantic stuff in 40k #I love romcom

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favemusiclessons · 2 months ago

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youtube

Stevie Ray Vaughan rhythm guitar tips and tricks

Richard Barrett takes us inside the powerful rhythm guitar style of Texas blues icon Stevie Ray Vaughan as part of his 'Blues Headlines' series of technique lessons, showing you how to master the bounce and drive of SRV's shuffle playing.

#guitar #rhythm #stevie ray vaughan #srv #richard barrett #guitarist

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mariacallous · 24 days ago

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For years, a mysterious figure who goes by the handle Stern led the Trickbot ransomware gang and evaded identification—even as other members of the group were outed in leaks and unmasked. This week German authorities revealed, without much fanfare, who they believe that enigmatic hacker kingpin to be: Vitaly Nikolaevich Kovalev, a 36-year-old Russian man who remains at large in his home country.

Closer to home, WIRED revealed that Customs and Border Protection has mouth-swabbed 133,000 migrant children and teenagers to collect their DNA and uploaded their genetic data into a national criminal database used by local, state, and federal law enforcement. As the Trump administration’s migrant crackdown continues, often justified through invocations of crime and terrorism, WIRED also uncovered evidence that ties a Swedish far-right mixed-martial-arts tournament to an American neo-Nazi “fight club” based in California.

For those seeking to evade the US government surveillance, we offered tips about more private alternatives to US-based web browsing, email, and search tools. And we assembled a more general guide to protecting yourself from surveillance and hacking, based on questions our senior writer Matt Burgess received in a Reddit Ask Me Anything.

But that's not all. Each week, we round up the security and privacy news we didn't cover in depth ourselves. Click the headlines to read the full stories. And stay safe out there.

A Hacker May Have Deepfaked Trump’s Chief of Staff in a Phishing Campaign

The FBI is investigating who impersonated Susie Wiles, the Trump White House’s chief of staff and one of the president’s closest advisers, in a series of fraudulent messages and calls to high-profile Republican political figures and business executives, The Wall Street Journal reported. Government officials and authorities involved in the probe say the spear-phishing messages and calls appear to have targeted individuals on Wiles’ contact list, and Wiles has reportedly told colleagues that her personal phone was hacked to gain access to those contacts.

Despite Wiles’ reported claim of having her device hacked, it remains unconfirmed whether this was actually how attackers identified Wiles’ associates. It would also be possible to assemble such a target list from a combination of publicly available information and data sold by gray-market brokers.

“It's an embarrassing level of security awareness. You cannot convince me they actually did their security trainings,” says Jake Williams, a former NSA hacker and vice president of research and development at Hunter Strategy. “This is the type of garden-variety social engineering that everyone can end up dealing with these days, and certainly top government officials should be expecting it.”

In some cases, the targets received not just text messages but phone calls that impersonated Wiles’ voice, and some government officials believe the calls may have used artificial intelligence tools to fake Wiles’ voice. If so, that would make the incident one of the most significant cases yet of so-called deepfake software being used in a phishing attempt.

It’s not yet clear how Wiles’ phone might have been hacked, but the FBI has ruled out involvement by a foreign nation in the impersonation campaign, the bureau reportedly told White House officials. In fact, while some of the impersonation attempts appeared to have political goals—a member of Congress, for instance, was asked to assemble a list of people Trump might pardon—in at least one other case the impersonator tried to trick a target into setting up a cash transfer. That attempt at a money grab suggests that the spoofing campaign may be less of an espionage operation than a run-of-the-mill cybercriminal fraud scheme, albeit one with a very high-level target.

“There’s an argument here for using something like Signal—yes, the irony—or another messaging platform that offers an independent form of authentication if users want to validate who they’re talking to,” Hunter Strategy's Williams says. “The key thing as always is for government officials to be using vetted tools and following all federally mandated protocols rather than just winging it on their own devices.”

Iranian Man Behind Baltimore Ransomware Attack Pleads Guilty

The 2019 ransomware attack against the city government of Baltimore represents one of the worst municipal cybersecurity disasters on record, paralyzing city services for months and costing taxpayers tens of millions of dollars. Now the Department of Justice has unexpectedly revealed that it arrested one of the hackers behind that attack, 37-year-old Sina Gholinejad, in North Carolina last January, and that he has pleaded guilty in court. Gholinejad has admitted to being involved in the larger Robbinhood ransomware campaign that hit other targets, including the cities of Greenville, North Carolina, and Yonkers, New York. It’s still far from clear how Gholinejad was identified or why he traveled from Iran to the US, given that most ransomware criminals are careful to remain in countries that don’t have extradition agreements with the US government and are thus beyond US law enforcement’s reach. Indeed, the indictment against him names several unnamed co-conspirators who may be still at large in Iran.

Russia’s Nuclear Blueprints Exposed in Huge Document Leak

More than 2 million documents left exposed in a public database have revealed Russia’s nuclear weapons facilities in unprecedented levels of detail, according to reporting this week by Danish media outlet Danwatch and Germany’s Der Spiegel. Reporters examined the huge trove of documents relating to Russian military procurement—as Russian authorities slowly restricted access—and found blueprints for nuclear facilities across the country. Experts called the leak an unparalleled breach of Russia’s nuclear security, with the data potentially being incredibly useful for foreign governments and intelligence services.

The documents show how Russia’s nuclear facilities have been rebuilt in recent years, where new facilities have been created, detailed site plans including the locations of barracks and watchtowers, and the locations of underground tunnels connecting buildings. There are descriptions of IT systems and security systems, including information on surveillance cameras, electric fences being used, and the alarm systems in place. “It’s written explicitly where the control rooms are located, and which buildings are connected to each other via underground tunnels,” Danwatch reports.

Cops Used License Plate Recognition Cameras in Search for Woman Who Got an Abortion

License-plate-recognition cameras are creating huge databases of people’s movements across America—capturing where and when cars are traveling. For years there have been concerns that the cameras could be weaponized by law enforcement officials or private investigators and turned against those seeking abortions or providing abortion-related care. Officials from Johnson County Sheriff’s Office in Texas—where nearly all abortions are illegal—searched 83,000 Flock license-plate reader cameras at the start of this month while looking for a woman they claim had a self-administered abortion, 404 Media reported this week.

Sheriff Adam King said that the officials weren’t trying to “block her from leaving the state” and were searching for the woman as her family was concerned about her safety. However, experts say that conducting a search across the entire United States shows the sprawling dragnet of license-plate-reader cameras and highlights how those seeking abortions can be tracked. “The idea that the police are actively tracking the location of women they believe have had self-administered abortions under the guise of ‘safety’ does not make me feel any better about this kind of surveillance,” Eva Galperin, director of cybersecurity at the Electronic Frontier Foundation told 404 Media.

Investment Scam Company Linked to $200 Million in Losses Sanctioned by US Government

Philippines-based company Funnull Technology and its boss, Liu Lizhi, have been sanctioned by the US Treasury’s Office of Foreign Assets Control for their links to investment and romance scams, which are often referred to as “pig-butchering” scams. “Funnull has directly facilitated several of these schemes, resulting in over $200 million in US victim-reported losses,” OFAC said in a statement announcing the sanctions. The company purchases IP addresses from major cloud service providers and then sells them to cybercriminals who could use them to host scam websites—OFAC says Funnull is “linked to the majority” of investment scam websites reported to the FBI. In January independent cybersecurity journalist Brian Krebs detailed how Funnull was abusing Amazon’s and Microsoft’s cloud services.

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estavionpira · 3 months ago

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Romance movie between a guy who can only speak in overexaggerated buzzfeed headlines and a girl who can only speak in tiktok pop psychology therapyspeak

Talking about their first meeting:

So You Met This (Cute) Girl On Campus? Five Tricks To Get Her To Go Out With You!

So I met this guy and, I'm gonna be honest with you, not even gaslighting right now, he was the first guy in a long time that I met that I didn't detect any of the Dark Triad traits in! I think he might be a fellow empath too, I can totally detect psychic impulses drawing us together!

After an argument:

Your (Hot) College Girlfriend Is Mad At You? 10 Tips Relationship Counsellors Don't Want You To Know.

He's manipulating me, he's mansplaining at me, and, I'm gonna be honest, I don't even want him to be my malewife right now.

#writing #writeblr

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toyotaoforlando · 4 months ago

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Amazing Tips on How to Get Rid of Cigarette Smell From Your Car!

How to get rid of cigarette smell in your vehicle can be challenging, but is essential for enjoying a fresh and healthy ride! Especially with Orlando's warm weather, those smoke odors can become pretty intense. Here are some fantastic strategies on how to get rid of cigarette smell and freshen up your car:

Tip 1. Give Your Car a Thorough Detailing

The first and most important step on how to get rid of cigarette smell is to give your car a serious detailing! Smoke particles can cling to upholstery, carpets, and even the hard surfaces, so a deep clean is a must. Start by vacuuming all fabric areas, including seats, carpets, and floor mats, to sweep away ash and debris. A steam cleaner or fabric-safe cleaning solution can work wonders to extract those stubborn smoke odors. Don’t forget the hard surfaces like the dashboard, console, and door panels; a good wipe down with the right cleaner will tackle the sticky residue that smoke leaves behind. And remember the headliner—it can soak up plenty of smoke, so give it some love too!

Deep Clean Upholstery and Carpets: Since smoke particles love to embed themselves in fabric, take charge with a steam cleaner or professional cleaning solutions to lift and remove those stubborn odors from seats, carpets, and mats!

Wipe Down All Surfaces: Nicotine and tar can leave behind a sticky mess! Use appropriate cleaners to refresh dashboards, consoles, door panels, and windows, making them shine and smell better.

Tackle the Headliner: That ceiling fabric can really hold onto smoke; gentle cleaning is the key to refreshing it without damaging anything.

Tip 2. How to Get Rid of Cigarette Smell With… Baking Soda!

Say hello to baking soda—a natural champion for deodorizing! Baking soda is how to get rid of cigarette smells without any overpowering fragrances. Just give it some time to do its magic! Sprinkle a generous amount over your fabric surfaces, from seats to carpets, and let it sit overnight to absorb those odor molecules. The next day, vacuum it up thoroughly, and wave goodbye to odors and the baking soda! For ongoing freshness, leave an open container of baking soda in the car to keep absorbing any unwelcome smells.

Apply to Fabric Surfaces: Go ahead and sprinkle baking soda generously over your seats and carpets. Let it work its magic for several hours or overnight to soak up odors.

Vacuum Thoroughly: After letting the baking soda do its thing, vacuum it up to take the absorbed odors along with it!

If any stubborn smells linger, feel free to repeat this process or set out open containers of baking soda overnight. How to get rid of cigarette smells with baking soda will help freshen up that ride and reclaim your driving experience!

Tip 3. Unlock the Power of Extra Odor-Eliminating Tactics!

youtube

While detailing and baking soda treatments work wonders, adding a few more tricks can supercharge how to get rid of cigarette smell.

Utilize White Vinegar: Put a bowl of white vinegar in your car overnight to conquer odors. Or mix equal parts white vinegar and water to wipe down surfaces, cutting right through that smoke residue.

Replace the Cabin Air Filter: Smoke particles can build up in the cabin air filter, bringing back those lingering odors every time you use the air system. Changing this filter keeps your air fresh and clean!

Employ Activated Charcoal: Activate your car’s freshness with charcoal! Known for its odor-absorbing magic, placing charcoal briquettes or specialized bags in your vehicle will help absorb leftover smells over time.

Ensure Proper Ventilation: Let your car breathe! Regularly opening windows and doors allows fresh air to flow in and chase away any residual odors.

Consider Professional Ozone Treatment: If stubborn smells are still hanging around despite your best efforts, don’t hesitate to seek out professional ozone treatments! Ozone generators work wonders by oxidizing and neutralizing those pesky odor-causing molecules. In Orlando, check out services like Steri-Clean, which specialize in smoke odor removal.

By enthusiastically applying these strategies, you’re well on your way on how to get rid of cigarette smell in your car and increase the value of every drive making it a fresh and enjoyable experience in Orlando!

Get ready to experience that fresh, like-new scent in your car again with the help of Toyota of Orlando!

Whether it's scheduling a thorough car detailing, picking up some detailing supplies, or seeking tips on how to get rid of cigarette smell from your vehicle, we’ve got you covered! Don’t wait—reach out to Toyota of Orlando today at (407) 298-0001!

#toyota of orlando #toyota #orlando #cigarette #cigarette smell #deodorize #car smell #car cigarette smell #clean car #new car smell #Youtube

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soullessjack · 2 years ago

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something else about the soulless jack arc that rlly … peeved? me is that it gives us both Jack’s and the Winchesters/hunters’ perspectives, but fully plays out as if we the audience are unaware of what happened between jack and mary. it’s still very heartbreaking and gutting nonetheless, but it’s also very inconsistent with how it intertwines the two. following jack, we see him and mary argue and we see him melt down and kill her and we see him feel guilt and grief and fear for it. we know it was an accident and we know that he’s been driven to a point of instability by his own guilt and we know he wants to fix it and we even see jack make an effort to do so.

however, following TFW and Bobby and company, we see them argue about what could’ve happened. Cas suggests that Jack didn’t realize it was wrong (which also implies that everybody automatically assumed jack killed her purposefully, literally giving him no leeway here). Bobby declares that theres nothing left in jack but Lucifer with his human soul gone—that he’s an unstoppable monster who has to be put down just like any other MOTW. Sam and dean argue if Jack is even still Jack and how they should approach it from there. seeing Jack’s own family discuss if and how to stop him does give some tension, but there is zero suspense because —

1) sam and dean knew from Rowena that Jack was trying to resurrect mary; they saw him bring her body back and they saw the anguished look on his face when she didn’t wake up and they heard him say “it didn’t work,” —so that’s already a huge chunk missing, and —

2) we already know the answer to every question they’re posing. instead of suspense at wondering if Jack finally tipped over the edge, we’re dreading the eventual confrontation because we know what they don’t know, and what they do know concerning Rowena and Jack’s failed spell was left out of the entire conversation after it happened.

when jack is on tv and making headlines as a doomsday bringer and dropping bodies for sam and dean to trail, we can’t be in shock that he’s doing something so out of character because we saw Duma manipulate him, saw what she promised him, and we know he’s well-intentioned despite his horrific actions (also, having jack torture/murder ppl for the sake of his family is something he’s already done before, it’s just taken to a new level without his soul to hold him back). everyone is following the narrative that jack has finally gone awol or succumbed to his true nature or whatever, and that is very much played intentionally as the teetering “will he, won’t he” question hanging around jacks entire character. but again, we don’t feel any of the suspense that question typically carries in a story because it’s already answered for us.

you cannot reasonably expect the audience to be in awe and suspense and believe jack is full blown big bad now while repeatedly showing us that jack still has good intentions. Hell, even the scene where they confront jack to trick him into the Ma’lak box is frustrating, because while Jack’s dismissive blame-shifting demeanor about Mary’s death is a reasonable tipping point for sam and dean’s anger and subsequent actions, there’s also the fact that jack very bluntly says things like “I didn’t think I’d see you again / I really missed you guys / I just want everything to be back the way it was,” that purifying the world is “like hunting,” and further more he even agrees to be locked up because, soul or not, he genuinely doesn’t want to hurt anyone anymore; all which very glaringly points to him not being as far gone as we’re supposed to think and worry about.

again, it’s all still very painful and upsetting to watch, but most of the pain comes from the fact that we know the missing details that are creating the conflict and are helpless to do anything with it, rather than the conflict itself.

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dc-said-bi-robin-rights · 2 years ago

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The first floor window of the Ranger HQ explodes outwards as Steel crashes through it, plummeting several feet in the air before hitting the ground, rolling, his armored fingers carving a line into the tarmac as he digs them into the ground to halt his momentum and rises to his feet. Above him, Blindspot walks forward calmly, his cape billowing behind him in the cold December wind as he looks down on his fallen enemy from the window ledge. He can feel the power rushing through the neon yellow veins of his armored suit as he clenches his fists, the simple action diverting all the excess power that isn’t being channeled into his telepathic boosters straight into his diamond-tipped knuckles. It was Mortum’s latest masterstroke: a strength upgrade that didn’t require any additional power storage. Just the action of curling his fingers into a fist would fill his gauntlets with excess power, power that would then be diverted elsewhere as soon as he uncurled them. He felt a chuckle coming on—he was gonna have to send the good doctor another check. It really was a brilliant workaround.

The roar of rushing air fills his ears, and he looks up to see a helicopter with the LDNW logo hovering overhead. He smirks beneath his helmet, raising a hand up to his eyes as their spotlight switches on, illuminating him in all his glory for their millions of viewers to see.

That was more than fine by him. Let them watch. Let the world watch their heroes be embarrassingly brought low, again and again, until they woke up to the truth that they didn’t protect anybody, least of all them.

He walks off the ledge and drops down onto the parking lot, shockwaves emanating from the fist he’d smashed against the ground, breaking the windows of all the cars around him and splashing him with glass shards as he rose to his feet. Another gift from Dr. Mortum, one that was as much for the drama and intimidation factor as it was for the usefulness that clearing a room of goons just with his landing represented. Armored as he was, Steel barely felt the shockwaves, of course… but the little trick was a godsend in front of the cameras, and there were few messages that weren’t enhanced by a visible display of power from the one who spoke it. Even now, he could imagine the viewers at home oooing and gasping at his little display. The thought amused him, and he wondered what the Breaking News! headline was saying at this very moment. He hoped it was something scary: an intimidating reputation was as valuable as a dozen fiery speeches, if not more so.

“I don’t want to fight you, Cyrus.” Chen’s voice was serious and stern, and as irritating to his little fantasies as the stubbornly conscious state of the man himself. Even with half his visor torn off and his breastplate dented almost beyond repair, the Marshal of Los Diablos refused to bend or break, even to a man he privately wasn’t sure could even be considered a villain. “You won’t enjoy what happens if you make me.”

“Cyrus Brown died in an ambulance, alone and abandoned.” Blindspot’s voice is a garbled mix of his real voice and the intimidating growls produced by his failing voice moderator. The effect is disturbing, and more than a little offsetting. “Or at least, that’s what you told the others, isn’t it? But you knew better.”

A flash of something indescribable passes over the half of Chen’s face not covered by the ripped visor. “I would take it back if I could.”

“But you can’t,” Blindspot hisses as he walks forward, fists clenching, power filling his hands, his armor’s pulsing veins glowing in the dark between the black plates. His own featureless faceplate was still intact, but visibly glitching, showing more of his snarling face than he was comfortable with. That hadn’t been part of the plan. He was meant to be the coldly gloating one, hiding his emotions behind the stark neon wall that was his faceplate and the echoing nothingness of his voice moderator as he threw out vicious taunts and condemnations. Steel wasn’t supposed to be able to see the savage hatred on his face, and he was especially not supposed to be able to hear the broken fury in his voice. That had always been his problem. He succumbed to anger too easily. “You can’t, can you? You can’t undo what they did to me!”

“I can make it right,” he growls, as close to pleading as he’ll ever get. “I can help you. I can keep you safe from them.”

“No one can keep me safe from them,” he says, taking a steadying breath pulling himself back into neutrality with great difficulty. Not for the first time, he’s glad news’ helicopters don’t typically come with long-range microphones. “Only I can do that.”

“And Ortega?” They’re circling now, watching each other for the slightest sign of weakness. “I know she cares for you. I know she’d believe you can put this behind you, like I do.”

“And let them get away with it?” Blindspot demands, disbelieving. “Let them do it again?! To me!? To others?!” He gave a harsh laugh. “I chose this path for a reason, marshal . Not that I’d expect you to know what that is.”

“A path?”

“A choice,” he corrects, mocking. “The military man, through and through. ‘Yes, sir’, ‘no sir’, ‘how high, sir’? ‘How deep, sir?’ ‘The whole thing or just the tip, sir?’”

Steel meets his eyes for a long moment. “From what I’ve heard, that sounds more like you.”

The next thing he knew, Blindspot was pummeling Steel, frothing with rage. If it had been Steel’s goal to provoke him into a hasty attack, it’d worked too well: his fist crashes into Steel’s broken visor, cracking what remained of his helmet and smashing aside his jaw. Steel stumbles back, but Blindspot gives him no quarter, raising his fists above his head and bringing them crashing down on his shoulders. Steel is forced to his knees, but he still manages to catch Blindspot’s next kick and launch him backwards a few feet into the air.

He lands in a crouched position, teeth gritted behind his glitching faceplate. Okay, lesson learnt. There’s still a pretty sizable strength difference between him and Steel, and he needs to remember that. Fine. Let’s see how he likes a fight on Blindspot’s terms, then.

He plunges his hands into the tarmac, sending his nanovores towards Steel. The ground cracks as they approach him, and though he jumps back, deploying jets all along his lower body to guide his ascent, they follow him up, forming a long ramp that reaches out as if to catch him. Blindspot can see the controlled panic in his eyes as his jump-jets start running out of steam, but he pulls the nanovores back before they can swam over Steel and bring his career as a Ranger to a grisly end by devouring him and his half-cybernetic body alive, letting Steel crash to the ground. The fallen marshal’s heavy armor leaves a small crater in the tarmac, but it’s one he quickly picks himself out of, leveling an unguided wrist-mounted rocket and firing it at Blindspot. The Rat-King chitters out a warning, though it’s unneeded—the pressure on Blindspot’s mind has lessened somewhat, meaning some of Steel’s dampeners had to have been damaged by the fall. His will surges forward, wrapping around Steel’s mind like a set of hands and squeezing. The rocket goes wildly off-course, hitting a nearby car and sending it vaulting into the air in a fireball, the impact doing nothing but kicking up his cape as he advances. The part of Cyrus that was Sidestep registers Steel’s unwillingness to use the more dangerous class of missiles he has mounted on his shoulder somewhere in the back of his mind, but the rest of him is just focused on how sweet it’ll be to make the bastard pay.

“Tell me something, Chen,” Blindspot starts, his voice distorting strangely. “I’m curious. How many mes would it take to make up one Ortega? Ten? Twenty? By what exact percentage is my life less than hers?”

“You’re making this something it wasn’t,” Steel growls, leveling another rocket at him.

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t try it. We know how that goes.”

A pause. “I guess that’s true.” Steel slowly lowers his arm. “What happens now?”

“Now?” He gives a harsh laugh. “Now, we beat the crap out of each other for the cameras. And we don’t stop until one of is dead.”

“I don’t want to do that.”

“Liar,” he says calmly. “You’ve wanted that since the beginning.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you’re my enemy.”

“Do you?” Steel gives Blindspot a meaningful look. “What have I done to make you think that?”

“Left me in the Farm, for one thing.”

“I was trying to protect Ortega.” Another pause. Chen liked his pauses. “I thought you would understand that.”

“Didn’t tell me that you knew, for another.” Now who’s the one with the lists?

“You were dead. Then you were back. What did you want me to say?”

“You could’ve pulled me aside at any moment.” It was hard, to muster the anger from earlier into his voice. Even though he was angry. Even though he was furious. “Explained. Let me know what you had done before I started to get close to you.”

And there it is. The ugly truth.

They’d almost been friends. Now, they never will be.

“I fail to see what that would have accomplished.”

“I…” He let out a long groan of frustration. “It’s useless, with you. Guilty feelings aside, it’s like you don’t even realize you did something wrong.”

“I made a choice. I stand by it.”

“A choice to pick Ortega over me.”

“A choice to pick a living Ortega over a probably dead you.” Steel looks guilty, but not guilty enough to shy away from the truth. That’s something you can give him credit for, at least. “You weren’t a Ranger. There was no other choice I could make.”

“I was part of the team, damn you.” He feels so tired. “You know that. You’ve said that.”

“I do. I have.”

“So why…?” He chokes on his next words. “Forget it. Would you have made a different choice? If I wasn’t a Re-Gene?”

“I… don’t know.” Steel looked troubled by the admission.

“You don’t know,” Blindspot echoes, shaking his head. “I think you do.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You can say it. Either answer will make me hate you.” He wondered what the news chopper made of this conversation, being unable to hear it and yet still seeing him and Steel standing there, talking when they should be fighting. “Either you decided I wasn’t worth the risk because I was a Re-Gene, or you did it because I was inherently worth less than Ortega in your eyes.”

“I told you, I don’t know.”

“I could rip the answers out of your head,” he threatens without any real heat. “Your dampeners are down. You’d have no way of stopping me.”

“Do it, then.” Steel looks about as tired as Blindspot does. “I’m as curious to hear them as you are.”

He almost does.

Almost.

His will surges towards the chopper like a spike, piercing their minds with urgent thoughts of heading home. He waits until they’re out of sight to remove his helmet, exposing his face to the empty parking lot. To Chen.

“I had plans for how today was gonna go, you know.” A slight chuckle. “I was going to walk in, all righteous fury, and take my revenge.”

Chen holds his gaze. “What changed?”

Cyrus laughs, the sound free and pure away from the voice moderator. “What makes you think anything has?”

“You’re not killing me.”

“No.” He leans back, taking a seat on the hood of the nearest car, which groans under the pressure of his heavy armor. It’s a very casual act of criminality, but he doubt Chen is going to lambast him for it under the circumstances. “I guess I’m not.”

There’s a long silence. Chen breaks it first.

“I saw your interview. The one on the bridge.” A slight pause, shorter this time. “I never knew you were into politics.”

“Any system that puts people through what I want is rotten.” He puts the helmet down and lays back, staring up at the stars. “We talked about it, you know.”

“It?”

“The sky,” he clarifies, like it’s not a total non sequitur. “What it looked like. Someone… I can’t remember who… thought it’d be green.”

“Oh.” A hesitant breath. Cyrus can sense Chen’s confusion… but also his interest. “Were you disappointed?”

“With the sky? A bit,” he admits, his eyes still skyward. “Then it got dark. And I saw the stars.” The last word is uttered with an almost dreamlike longing, with the tone of breath one might reserve for speaking about a goddess.

The Farm had taken a lot from Cyrus the second time around. But it could never take away the stars.

“They’re even more beautiful in the country.” Cyrus can sense Chen has no idea why he volunteered that information, but he continues anyway. “Especially overseas.”

“I know. Ortega took me to her ranch. More than once.”

Chen nods, but he doesn’t move from where he is standing. “You know I have to take you in.”

Cyrus sighs. “You don’t. You really don’t.”

“I’m sorry.” Cyrus could hear the stunner being primed, but he didn’t bother sitting up. “But I do.”

“Using my own tech against me?” He chuckled. He’d been wondering where that old toy ended up. “That’s a new low.”

“You were dead. It was a way to honor you. And it did it’s job,” he admits.

“Not well enough,” Cyrus says, before grabbing ahold of Chen’s mind and drowning it as violently as he could. Every thought he’d had in the last four hours, every memory, every possible impression is found and ripped out, violently brutally, viciously, without the slightest hint of mercy or consideration being given for the sanctity of his mind. By the time he is done, Chen is a drooling puddle on the floor, unconscious thrice over. Blindspot barely gives him a second glance as he walks away into the night.

#cw mentions of implied sa #cw homophobia #cw internalized homophobia #cw ableism #tw: sa #tw: sa mention #fallen hero retribution #fallen hero rebirth #fallen hero #fhr sidestep #sidestep #fhr #fhr steel #marshall steel #marshal steel

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johnmanciniwrites · 6 months ago

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Attention: This Essay Will Take Approx. 5 Minutes to Read

An Introduction to Critical Thinking

We're fast approaching that hypothetical future point when robots will take over the hard jobs like making toast and folding laundry. The machines are closing the gap, and when we finally reach the "singularity," as it's called, the most immediately recognizable result will be unemployment. Not to worry. You’ll have all the legal pot you could want. Smoking it might make you paranoid about the likelihood you're under surveillance (which of course you are), but at least you won’t have to worry about remembering passwords or calculating tips. Maybe you can even get some reading done.

Whatever you do to prepare yourself for this dystopian inevitability, there are some basic human skills you might want to remember. Good old fashioned street smarts, for one. And other OG stuff like, say, critical thinking—you know, the ability to reason things out for yourself using logic and common sense. Having your own opinion may be your last vestige of liberty in this brave new world. So how might the industrious citizen go about forming an independent thought in today’s commercial landscape?

Step one: kill your television. At least, that was the simple advice offered in the eighties when this bumper sticker adorned the backs Civics and Escorts and Astro vans. Apparently, we used to have a healthy distrust of the establishment in this country. From the Vietnam War through 9/11, most Americans under thirty were skeptical of the Man. You know, "Don't trust anyone over thirty," as those free-speech-loving Berkeley students once said.

Now that I am over thirty and have spent more than a few years teaching writing to undergrads, I sometimes take a survey because I want to know what the kids read (not much, apparently). We compare screentime averages. After several semesters I learned that college students spend roughly six hours a day on their phones, not counting the other screens that crowd the remaining waking hours. The average adult spends only about fifteen minutes a day reading anything--and most of their time within view of a screen.

Don't get me wrong--I like my phone, but I try to remember that what's on the screen is not reality--not exactly. It's a curated representation of reality, a simulation or simulacrum as Baudrillard called it. The algorithm determines our desires and fears with increasing specificity and provides us with symbols to which we can relate--i.e. optimized and monetized content! When it comes to social media, we just happen to be the content they monetize.

Ever notice the way those memes leave an impression after you close your eyes? They return while you're lying in your bed unable to sleep, like a film on the underside of your eyelids, a vague blur that spreads like some drug from a Phillip K. Dick novel--the visual equivalent of earworms. Melodies and lyrics can do that. Or slogans, or words on a page. Images and language seep into our minds and spread like contagion, making contact, rewiring synapses. When we read or watch or listen for extended periods of time, an osmosis occurs.

People with short attention spans are easy to control. They don’t remember the last time they were lied to. Like Charlie Brown, they keep trying to kick that football and Lucy keeps pulling it away at the last second. We fall for the same trick again and again. Propaganda and revisionist history, fear and psychological manipulation, the exploitation of ignorance--Orwell illuminated all of these in both Animal Farm and 1984—two prophetic novels worth rereading (if you have more than fifteen minutes to spare).

So, quality control: Instead of doomscrolling through headlines and social media posts made to order by the almighty algorithm, one thing you might do to improve your critical thinking is read a book from beginning to end—in that order.

Reading is valuable in and of itself—we need not read for content alone. The sound, rhythm, and word order of well composed syntax is nourishment to the mind that thinks with language, that in fact uses language to illuminate the world outside and within. As we read, the brain looks for patterns--identifying the independent clause, retaining the subject and verb as the eyes track through multiple parallels, projecting the direct object or compliment, not to mention grasping the dramatic throughline, the structure and meaning. As W.B. Yeats noted: “As I altered my syntax, I altered my intellect.”

After all, how does one come to understand what a compound, complex thought looks and sounds like without reading one first? Our ability to follow a train of thought is enhanced by the ability to comprehend in parallel subordinate clauses.

Consider the following poem:

“I.M.E.M.” by Anthony Hecht

To spare his brother from having to endure Another agonizing bedside vigil With sterile pads, syringes but no hope, He settled all his accounts, distributed Among a few friends his most valued books, Weighed all in mind and heart and then performed The final, generous, extraordinary act Available to a solitary man, Abandoning his translation of Boileau, Dressing himself in a dark, well-pressed suit, Turning the lights out, lying on his bed, Having requested neighbors to wake him early When, as intended, they would find him dead.

This is one long sentence. The independent clause has four verbs. He settled (accounts), distributed (books), weighed (all) and performed (act). Then that “final, generous, extraordinary act” he performed gets modified by parallel clauses all beginning with their own verbs--abandoning, dressing, turning, lying--the last of which includes an additional adverbial clause (when...).

The first time you encounter this poem you may have some difficulty finding the independent clause (having to wade through a long left-branching introduction has this effect). But by doing so you achieve something similar to what Yeats was after. You alter your intellect.

We know the internet is a collection of stupid facts and sublime fictions, a carnival of conspiracies, a virtual reality curated by a host of companies for whom it would be more profitable to replace our views with their views. And there are oh so many ways to capture our attention-- say, for instance, through the clever means of wrapping a watermelon in rubber bands (as reporters from Buzzfeed did in 2016).

What will happen next? This question guides most content creation: it is a marketing principle known as the curiosity gap. When something surprising creates a gap in our expectations we feel a need to stay tuned, scroll down, click through or swipe. We anticipate more than we inquire.

When was the last time you read a user agreement on your phone? Like everyone else, you probably scrolled to the bottom and clicked accept. Who besides a lawyer can read the bloviated syntax and obfuscating lexicon of contract law and understand it?

Groucho: It's all right. That's in every contract. That's what they call a sanity clause.

Chico: Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! You can't fool me. There ain't no Sanity Clause!

“Attention is life,” as the poet Mary Oliver said. In other words, when it's over, that which you paid attention to will have been your life. Spoiler: we are each allotted about four thousand weeks in which to figure this out. Which is not to say that you have to kill your television or take a hammer to your phone or stop playing video games, only to recognize, as John Lennon did, that we’re “doped with religion and sex and TV,” and develop an ability to discriminate between that which rots and that which enhances.

Solution: Learn a new routine. Read a new book. Life is full of distractions—some of which actually require our attention--like, say, an oncoming car (or a technological singularity). Unfortunately, Chico was right. There is no Sanity Clause.

#critical thinking #media literacy #social media #attention deficit disorder (add)#reading comprehension #reading challenge #technology #the singularity

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