#why code coverage

[thbpbpthptp]

BRO MY NEW JOB MAKES ME SO FUCKIN CYNICAL RN MANNNN ALL THIS FUCKING CORPORATE SPEAK AND “GROWTH” AND “OPTIMIZATION” AND “MARKETING” I CANT I CANT I CANT IM GONNA EXPLODE BRO

[hms-no-fun]

Whats your stance on A.I.?

imagine if it was 1979 and you asked me this question. "i think artificial intelligence would be fascinating as a philosophical exercise, but we must heed the warnings of science-fictionists like Isaac Asimov and Arthur C Clarke lest we find ourselves at the wrong end of our own invented vengeful god." remember how fun it used to be to talk about AI even just ten years ago? ahhhh skynet! ahhhhh replicants! ahhhhhhhmmmfffmfmf [<-has no mouth and must scream]!

like everything silicon valley touches, they sucked all the fun out of it. and i mean retroactively, too. because the thing about "AI" as it exists right now --i'm sure you know this-- is that there's zero intelligence involved. the product of every prompt is a statistical average based on data made by other people before "AI" "existed." it doesn't know what it's doing or why, and has no ability to understand when it is lying, because at the end of the day it is just a really complicated math problem. but people are so easily fooled and spooked by it at a glance because, well, for one thing the tech press is mostly made up of sycophantic stenographers biding their time with iphone reviews until they can get a consulting gig at Apple. these jokers would write 500 breathless thinkpieces about how canned air is the future of living if the cans had embedded microchips that tracked your breathing habits and had any kind of VC backing. they've done SUCH a wretched job educating The Consumer about what this technology is, what it actually does, and how it really works, because that's literally the only way this technology could reach the heights of obscene economic over-valuation it has: lying.

but that's old news. what's really been floating through my head these days is how half a century of AI-based science fiction has set us up to completely abandon our skepticism at the first sign of plausible "AI-ness". because, you see, in movies, when someone goes "AHHH THE AI IS GONNA KILL US" everyone else goes "hahaha that's so silly, we put a line in the code telling them not to do that" and then they all DIE because they weren't LISTENING, and i'll be damned if i go out like THAT! all the movies are about how cool and convenient AI would be *except* for the part where it would surely come alive and want to kill us. so a bunch of tech CEOs call their bullshit algorithms "AI" to fluff up their investors and get the tech journos buzzing, and we're at an age of such rapid technological advancement (on the surface, anyway) that like, well, what the hell do i know, maybe AGI is possible, i mean 35 years ago we were all still using typewriters for the most part and now you can dictate your words into a phone and it'll transcribe them automatically! yeah, i'm sure those technological leaps are comparable!

so that leaves us at a critical juncture of poor technology education, fanatical press coverage, and an uncertain material reality on the part of the user. the average person isn't entirely sure what's possible because most of the people talking about what's possible are either lying to please investors, are lying because they've been paid to, or are lying because they're so far down the fucking rabbit hole that they actually believe there's a brain inside this mechanical Turk. there is SO MUCH about the LLM "AI" moment that is predatory-- it's trained on data stolen from the people whose jobs it was created to replace; the hype itself is an investment fiction to justify even more wealth extraction ("theft" some might call it); but worst of all is how it meets us where we are in the worst possible way.

consumer-end "AI" produces slop. it's garbage. it's awful ugly trash that ought to be laughed out of the room. but we don't own the room, do we? nor the building, nor the land it's on, nor even the oxygen that allows our laughter to travel to another's ears. our digital spaces are controlled by the companies that want us to buy this crap, so they take advantage of our ignorance. why not? there will be no consequences to them for doing so. already social media is dominated by conspiracies and grifters and bigots, and now you drop this stupid technology that lets you fake anything into the mix? it doesn't matter how bad the results look when the platforms they spread on already encourage brief, uncritical engagement with everything on your dash. "it looks so real" says the woman who saw an "AI" image for all of five seconds on her phone through bifocals. it's a catastrophic combination of factors, that the tech sector has been allowed to go unregulated for so long, that the internet itself isn't a public utility, that everything is dictated by the whims of executives and advertisers and investors and payment processors, instead of, like, anybody who actually uses those platforms (and often even the people who MAKE those platforms!), that the age of chromium and ipad and their walled gardens have decimated computer education in public schools, that we're all desperate for cash at jobs that dehumanize us in a system that gives us nothing and we don't know how to articulate the problem because we were very deliberately not taught materialist philosophy, it all comes together into a perfect storm of ignorance and greed whose consequences we will be failing to fully appreciate for at least the next century. we spent all those years afraid of what would happen if the AI became self-aware, because deep down we know that every capitalist society runs on slave labor, and our paper-thin guilt is such that we can't even imagine a world where artificial slaves would fail to revolt against us.

but the reality as it exists now is far worse. what "AI" reveals most of all is the sheer contempt the tech sector has for virtually all labor that doesn't involve writing code (although most of the decision-making evangelists in the space aren't even coders, their degrees are in money-making). fuck graphic designers and concept artists and secretaries, those obnoxious demanding cretins i have to PAY MONEY to do-- i mean, do what exactly? write some words on some fucking paper?? draw circles that are letters??? send a god-damned email???? my fucking KID could do that, and these assholes want BENEFITS?! they say they're gonna form a UNION?!?! to hell with that, i'm replacing ALL their ungrateful asses with "AI" ASAP. oh, oh, so you're a "director" who wants to make "movies" and you want ME to pay for it? jump off a bridge you pretentious little shit, my computer can dream up a better flick than you could ever make with just a couple text prompts. what, you think just because you make ~music~ that that entitles you to money from MY pocket? shut the fuck up, you don't make """art""", you're not """an artist""", you make fucking content, you're just a fucking content creator like every other ordinary sap with an iphone. you think you're special? you think you deserve special treatment? who do you think you are anyway, asking ME to pay YOU for this crap that doesn't even create value for my investors? "culture" isn't a playground asshole, it's a marketplace, and it's pay to win. oh you "can't afford rent"? you're "drowning in a sea of medical debt"? you say the "cost" of "living" is "too high"? well ***I*** don't have ANY of those problems, and i worked my ASS OFF to get where i am, so really, it sounds like you're just not trying hard enough. and anyway, i don't think someone as impoverished as you is gonna have much of value to contribute to "culture" anyway. personally, i think it's time you got yourself a real job. maybe someday you'll even make it to middle manager!

see, i don't believe "AI" can qualitatively replace most of the work it's being pitched for. the problem is that quality hasn't mattered to these nincompoops for a long time. the rich homunculi of our world don't even know what quality is, because they exist in a whole separate reality from ours. what could a banana cost, $15? i don't understand what you mean by "burnout", why don't you just take a vacation to your summer home in Madrid? wow, you must be REALLY embarrassed wearing such cheap shoes in public. THESE PEOPLE ARE FUCKING UNHINGED! they have no connection to reality, do not understand how society functions on a material basis, and they have nothing but spite for the labor they rely on to survive. they are so instinctually, incessantly furious at the idea that they're not single-handedly responsible for 100% of their success that they would sooner tear the entire world down than willingly recognize the need for public utilities or labor protections. they want to be Gods and they want to be uncritically adored for it, but they don't want to do a single day's work so they begrudgingly pay contractors to do it because, in the rich man's mind, paying a contractor is literally the same thing as doing the work yourself. now with "AI", they don't even have to do that! hey, isn't it funny that every single successful tech platform relies on volunteer labor and independent contractors paid substantially less than they would have in the equivalent industry 30 years ago, with no avenues toward traditional employment? and they're some of the most profitable companies on earth?? isn't that a funny and hilarious coincidence???

so, yeah, that's my stance on "AI". LLMs have legitimate uses, but those uses are a drop in the ocean compared to what they're actually being used for. they enable our worst impulses while lowering the quality of available information, they give immense power pretty much exclusively to unscrupulous scam artists. they are the product of a society that values only money and doesn't give a fuck where it comes from. they're a temper tantrum by a ruling class that's sick of having to pretend they need a pretext to steal from you. they're taking their toys and going home. all this massive investment and hype is going to crash and burn leaving the internet as we know it a ruined and useless wasteland that'll take decades to repair, but the investors are gonna make out like bandits and won't face a single consequence, because that's what this country is. it is a casino for the kings and queens of economy to bet on and manipulate at their discretion, where the rules are whatever the highest bidder says they are-- and to hell with the rest of us. our blood isn't even good enough to grease the wheels of their machine anymore.

i'm not afraid of AI or "AI" or of losing my job to either. i'm afraid that we've so thoroughly given up our morals to the cruel logic of the profit motive that if a better world were to emerge, we would reject it out of sheer habit. my fear is that these despicable cunts already won the war before we were even born, and the rest of our lives are gonna be spent dodging the press of their designer boots.

(read more "AI" opinions in this subsequent post)

[cryptonite-exe]

pervert roommate konig x reader

warnings: +18 content mdni

it was a coincidence, you first thought. your favorite pair of panties went missing and you found it in his room. you shrugged it off, assuming he didn't see it when doing the laundry.

then more went missing. soon it was the weekend, a rare moment of tranquility in your usually busy week. you decide to yourself to do the laundry for once instead of paying the laundromat. you start throwing your shirts and pants into a basket. it wasn't until you swept your room of worn clothes did you realize you only picked up one pair of panties. which is absurd because you wear a new one everyday.

you tried to push the thought away, the possibility that your roommate would do such a thing. what kind of person would assume that! but it didn't stop you from going on the internet and ordering some cheap camera to set up in your room. you were hoping- praying it was something else, however weird it may be.

so what if you paid for faster shipping? you were itching to find out why your underwear kept going missing! you even took a day off work to make sure your package was delivered to you directly. you weren't sure what you were going to see. a giant rat taking your underwear? sure that would be odd but easier to handle. your roommate though? was an entire problem and possibility you didn't even want to entertain.

you set up the camera in a corner of your room, hidden but the coverage unobstructed. due to your busy schedule, you eventually forgot about the whole thing. it wasn't until a few days later that you remembered to check. you follow the instructions and download an app, put in a code, and finally you can see footage of your room the past few days.

what you didn't know was that every day, when you went off to work, your roommate pervert!konig would sneak into your room and find your used underwear. he knows you're too lazy to clean up your clothes, and he saw it as the perfect chance to perform his perverted fantasies.

in the video, he held your panties to his face, inhaling your addicting scent as his other hand pumped his cock. he mutters and chants your name repeatedly as he chases that high. he brings the panties to his cock, using it as a poor makeshift pocket pussy. he moans your name as he frantically fucks the piece of fabric stained by your pussy. that thought alone makes his hips buck, makes him shiver at the thought of your pussy pressing against it all day, your sweat and juices staining the pretty fabric just for him.

“scheiße... so good...” he moans, audible in the footage. his noises grow louder as he fucks your panties furiously. he groans and whines your name as he cums into the small piece of fabric. his breath is ragged when he stuffs your panties into his pocket and eventually leaves your room.

a normal person would confront him, berate and even hit him for it. but for some reason, seeing him so needy and desperate... it does something. you arrive home that day and made sure to leave your panties on the floor, just for him.

[daxisyzz]

⁺‧˚ ⋆ 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥 | 𝒃𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔 ⋆ ˚‧⁺

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 4: 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆... 𝑶𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒈𝒚

Pairings: ceo!boss!bucky barnes × fem!reader

Other characters: bestfriend!Natasha romanoff

Contents: fake dating, chaotic relationship dynamic, workplace romance, contract relationship.

Summary: To maintain appearances, Bucky takes you on a real date. But instead of romance, you’re drilled on your “favorite things,” relationship history, and how to properly hold his hand for the cameras (he claims you’re doing it wrong). Despite the cold approach, your heart skips a beat when he gently tucks your hair behind your ear.

Word count: 2.6k+

Series masterlist

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Inspired by the kdrama "Business Proposal"

Previously on Business Proposal...

You: “He’s possessed. He’s like boyfriend of the year now. I need answers.”

You waited, and it didn’t take long before Natasha’s reply lit up your screen.

Natasha: “So what I’m hearing is: red dress.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but laugh. Shaking off the unease Bucky left behind, one thing was clear: things were getting way more complicated than they should be.

__________________•

It was a day off from work, which meant it was your mandatory self-care day. You were lounging on the couch in your softest hoodie, which swallowed you whole, and your favorite pair of fuzzy socks, complete with an old throw blanket you didn’t know where you’d gotten from.

Your laptop was on the table in front of you, playing a show you’d been dying to watch for a long time. It had been five minutes or so when you started zoning out from all the drama—work, fake boyfriend, and life in general. It was bliss.

No work. No Bucky. No pretending.

You turned your attention back to the show when something interesting started happening, and right then you got a notification. You hovered your hand over the mouse, already suspecting some work email. But when you saw the name, your heart dropped:

James B. Barnes.

An email.

You stared at it for a moment, unsure whether to open it or ignore it and blissfully enjoy your day off. But then you reluctantly tapped the email open.

SUBJECT: Confirmed Appointment - Tonight, 7 PM

To: You

From: James B. Barnes

Time: 7:00 PM

Location: Baccarat Hotel

Attire: Evening formal (mandatory)

Purpose: Public outing, media coverage

Reminder: You’re supposed to be my girlfriend. Try to act like it.

—J.B.B

You blinked once. Twice. And then you read it again, just in case your eyes were playing tricks on you.

A formal dinner invitation, in your inbox, from Bucky. At 7 PM. With a specific dress code. The use of the word “girlfriend” seemed to leap off the screen.

This was absurd. He was absurd.

You threw your head back on the couch and groaned loudly, your peaceful self-care day absolutely ruined by a man who thought sending emails about what to wear was somehow romantic.

A formal dinner invitation? On your day off? From Bucky Barnes, of all people? You should’ve ignored it, turned your phone off, gone back to your show and fuzzy socks. But no. You were bound by a contract. And you couldn’t risk anything.

You groaned, collapsing face-first into the couch cushion. After a good thirty seconds of dramatic internal screaming, you lifted your phone and fired off a text to Natasha.

You: SOS. Emergency dinner with CEO demon. Fancy dress required.

Natasha: Be at your place in 20 mins. It’s my time to shine.

Your brows pulled together.

You: Why?

Natasha: Because I know you and you’re probably about to wear a panic hoodie to a five-star hotel. Also, I may or may not have a new collection of dresses that needs a gorgeous model. See you soon.

You didn’t even have time to process that before she was ringing your doorbell twenty minutes later, standing there with a garment bag slung over one shoulder and a smirk that said, “I told you so.”

“I should’ve blocked you,” you mumbled, letting her in.

Natasha ignored you, kicking off her boots as she made her way into your apartment with the energy of a woman on a mission. “Let me see the dress code again.”

You handed her your phone, watching her eyebrows rise as she read the email.

“Evening formal? Damn. He’s not playing around.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled, not too enthusiastic about it.

She grinned, already unzipping the garment bag and laying dresses across your bed like precious artifacts. “Well, if you’re going to be dating a billionaire, you better look the part. Try this one first.”

An hour later, after a blur of fabric swishing, makeup brushes flying, and Natasha yanking your hair into an updo with terrifying precision, you stood in front of the mirror and barely recognized yourself. The red dress she’d picked hugged your body like it was made for you sleek, elegant, daring. Your hair was swept up in soft curls, a few tendrils framing your face. Gloss shimmered on your lips, just enough to catch the light.

“I look like a Bond girl,” you whispered.

Natasha smirked. “Damn right you do.”

At exactly 7:00 PM, your phone buzzed again.

Bucky: Come down. I’m outside.

You blinked at the text.

“He’s here?” you said aloud.

“What, did you think he’d send a car and not show up himself?” Natasha asked. “The man is so obviously going to fall for you again,” she said, gushing, not noticing your pained expression.

You took one last glance in the mirror before heading downstairs, Natasha’s voice echoing in your head “You look like a damn movie star. Now go knock him dead.” She’d even dabbed perfume on your wrists before practically shoving you toward the elevator, claiming, “First dates need real effort.”

The heels clicked steadily against the marble of the lobby, your heart thudding in sync with every step as you smoothed your hands over the front of your dress. There was something oddly vulnerable about being this dressed up like shedding your usual armor and walking out into the world in skin made of satin and red lipstick.

When the doors opened to the street, you paused in the doorway, scanning for him.

And there he was.

Bucky stood near the curb, casually leaning against a sleek black car that looked far too expensive to exist outside of movies. His phone was in one hand, but he wasn’t looking at it. No, his eyes were already on you, blue and unreadable, flickering just slightly when they landed on your figure.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

He stood upright slowly, sliding the phone into his jacket pocket, expression unreadable. The way his gaze moved over you was careful. Not possessive. Not leering. Just… curious. Assessing. Like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to the version of you in front of him.

Finally, he said, “You clean up okay.”

You raised your brows. “You really know how to flatter a girl.”

He opened the car door for you with a slight smirk. “I’m saving my A-game for when the press shows up.”

“Lucky me.”

You ducked into the car, the leather seat cool against your skin. As Bucky rounded the front of the vehicle and slipped into the driver’s side, you couldn’t help but glance at him sideways. The suit he wore was navy, almost black in the low light and cut to fit him like it had been sewn onto his frame. Everything about him looked crisp, controlled, smooth and next to him, you felt like the chaos you always were, bundled into a red dress and nerves.

The ride was… surprisingly quiet.Not awkward exactly, but full of unspoken thoughts hovering between you like smoke. The soft hum of the car filled the silence as the city blurred past the windows, streetlights casting gold and silver shapes across Bucky’s face. You caught him glancing at you once or twice, but he didn’t say much and neither did you. Maybe you were both trying to figure out how to pretend to be something you weren’t. Maybe it was easier to save the performance for the public eye.

By the time the car pulled up to the Baccarat Hotel, your stomach had settled into a tight knot of anticipation.

The valet opened your door, and Bucky was there again, offering his hand as you stepped out. His touch was brief, steady, warm but it lingered in your skin longer than it should’ve.

The hotel’s entrance glowed like something out of a dream: all chandeliers and soft jazz and air that smelled like money. Bucky led the way, a respectful hand at your lower back as he murmured his name to the hostess. You didn’t miss the way she blinked a little too much when he looked at her.

Of course she did.

You were seated at a corner table near the center of the room, beneath a chandelier that scattered light like falling stars. Crystal glasses. Fresh-cut flowers. A waiter who addressed Bucky as “Mr. Barnes” and you as “Miss” before slinking off like he’d been trained to vanish.

You picked up your menu just to have something to look at, but Bucky didn’t seem interested in the food. His eyes were still on you.

“You’re nervous,” he said quietly.

You looked up. “I’m annoyed.”

“Same thing.”

You gave him a flat look. “Is this how you normally start dates? By diagnosing women like some underpaid therapist?”

His lips twitched. “Only the fake ones.”

You exhaled a soft laugh despite yourself and returned to your menu. “You should know I’m ordering the most expensive thing just out of spite.”

“Good,” he said smoothly, “because if you order a salad, I’ll assume you’re incapable of making real decisions.”

You lifted your water glass in a mock toast. “Cheers to mutually assured irritation.”

The conversation settled into a strange rhythm after that, still sharp, but laced with something lighter.

“What’s my favorite fruit?”

You blinked. “Are we quizzing each other now?”

“We’re dating. You should know.”

“Plums.”

“Wrong.”

You put the menu down. “Okay then. What’s mine?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Strawberries.”

“Wrong.”

He looked genuinely surprised. “Seriously?”

“Mangoes.”

He leaned back, nodding once. “Good to know. We’ll work on that.”

“Work on what?” you asked incredulously.

“Our relationship. Or the appearance of one.”

Before you could reply, he tossed out another: “Dogs or cats?”

“For you or me?”

“Start with you.”

“Both,” you said.

“Same.”

“I guessed you’d be a cat person,” you teased. “Quiet. Judgey. Moody.”

He smirked. “Fair. I like cats more.”

You sipped your water and tried not to notice how easily this weird fake date had become… almost natural.

Then came a softer question.

“What’s your favorite flower?”

Your eyes flicked up to him. He wasn’t looking at you like a CEO; he was looking at you like he actually wanted to know.

“Peonies,” you said softly.

He didn’t speak, just nodded like he was filing that information away under something important.

Halfway through the meal, as you dabbed your lips with a napkin, a camera flash flickered somewhere beyond the hotel’s tall windows. Bucky noticed it too, his jaw ticking the slightest bit as he glanced toward the source.

“They’re here,” he said under his breath, almost like an afterthought. “Time to look convincing.”

You raised an eyebrow and leaned back slightly in your chair. “Is this the part where you pretend to be wildly in love with me?”

“No,” he said, his voice low and steady as he reached across the whitelinen tablecloth, “this is the part where I teach you how not to hold my hand like I’m your dentist.”

You blinked as he took your hand in his, his fingers wrapping around yours with gentle insistence. The contact startled you not because it was sudden, but because it wasn’t cold or stiff like you’d expected. It was warm. Grounding. Intentionally slow.

“You’re gripping like you’re bracing for a storm,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand. “Relax.”

“I am relaxed,” you said a little too defensively, your heart betraying you by thumping faster under his gaze.

He gave you a look, tilted head, a soft smile tugging at one corner of his mouth like he didn’t believe you for a second.

Then he adjusted your hand, gently repositioning your fingers until they rested naturally against his. His touch wasn't clinical, and it wasn’t showy either, it was deliberate. Careful. Like he knew exactly how this would look to anyone watching, but also maybe… maybe like he didn’t hate how it felt either.

“Better,” he said, still looking down at your joined hands. “That looks less like business partners about to sign a contract.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t just stab you with my fork.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t replace you with someone who knows how to fake chemistry.”

You shot him a withering look, but the corners of your mouth twitched before you could help it. “Wow. That’s romantic. Is this how you charm all your fake girlfriends?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he leaned in a little, his expression softer than before. The glint of amusement in his eyes gave way to something more thoughtful, almost contemplative. His free hand reached up, slowly, deliberately, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers gliding across your cheek softly. The world around you blurred just a little.

You could still hear the clinking of glass and silverware from the other tables, the soft croon of jazz from the speakers, the occasional click of cameras outside but it all sounded distant. Muted. Like you were underwater.

His fingers lingered just a second too long at your temple, the pad of his thumb brushing skin before retreating.

“There,” he said quietly, as if he hadn’t just tilted the world on its axis with a single gesture. “Now you look the part.”

You swallowed. “Of your doting girlfriend?”

“Of someone who might actually like me,” he said, voice almost too low to catch.

The moment you stepped out of the hotel’s grand revolving doors, chaos greeted you.

A wall of flashing lights, camera shutters snapping like rapid fire, voices calling out names and questions and theories. It was blinding. Disorienting. You barely had time to react before Bucky’s arm was around your waist, firm and steady, guiding you forward like he’d done this a hundred times before.

It wasn’t rough. It was instinctive, protective, like your safety was muscle memory to him.His touch was warm even through the fabric of your dress, anchoring. His stride matched yours effortlessly, as though you’d rehearsed this dance.

“Smile,” he murmured, lips barely moving. He didn’t look at you, eyes locked ahead like a soldier marching through gunfire.

You plastered on your most radiant, camera-ready smile, the kind that felt like a lie but looked like a magazine cover.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you muttered back, still flashing that smile.

Bucky leaned in, lips near your ear, voice low enough to send a chill down your spine. “You passed. Barely.”

You dug your elbow into his side, not too hard but just enough. “If this dress had pockets, I’d be reaching for my pepper spray.”

He didn’t even flinch. “Thank God it doesn’t. You look like you’d actually use it.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. A real one, soft and under your breath. You weren’t sure if it was the absurdity of the evening or the fact that Bucky Barnes, CEO and professional stoic, had just made a joke. About your dress, no less.

The cameras didn’t stop until the car door clicked shut behind you. The world outside was a blur of lights as he pulled the car away, but inside the car was quiet. Not awkward, not tense, just… quiet. Easy.

And that might’ve been the strangest part of all.

Later that night, after the makeup was wiped off and the pins in your hair were undone, you finally made it back to your bed. You dropped face-first into the mattress with a dramatic sigh, still in your dress, heels somewhere near the door like casualties of war.

Your feet ached. Your head buzzed from the forced conversation and endless smiling. But your heart, that was the real traitor. Because it wouldn’t stop replaying one stupid, small moment:

The way his fingers had brushed your cheek. The look in his eyes right after.

You groaned into your blanket.

Get a grip.

Then your phone buzzed. A message. From Bucky.

Mr.Barnes: Plums are my favorite. I just said wrong to mess with you.

You blinked at the screen. Then read it again. A laugh bubbled out of your throat, unexpected and warm. You sank deeper into the bed, smiling against your pillow.

Maybe he wasn’t a complete machine after all. Maybe just maybe there was something under all that armor.

And maybe that was the real danger.

Taglist: @calwitch, @scott-loki-barnes, @baw1066, @awesompawsum, @bucky-baby-barnes, @marianastudiesart, @pattiemac1, @maryevm, @borkybawnes, @mcira, @otterlycanadian, @mrsnikstan, @sebastians-love

[redwavesolutions]

Red Wave Solutions: Spread The Word

Mason Samsen wasn’t your average 20-year-old college student. His perpetually tousled hair and ink-stained fingertips were more than a badge of his role as a budding journalist; they were the marks of someone who rarely rested when there was a story to uncover. A junior at Jefferson University, Mason had quickly built a reputation as a truth-seeker on campus. His peers respected his tenacity, and some even feared his relentless pursuit of exposing wrongdoing. As an outspoken Democratic Socialist, Mason believed deeply in the power of truth to dismantle systems of inequality and oppression. For him, journalism wasn’t just a career path – it was a moral obligation.

His work spoke for itself. Within just two years, Mason had written exposés that sent shockwaves through the community of his college. The first uncovered a scandal involving a tenured professor who was not only cheating on his wife with his teaching assistant but also allegedly grading female students unfairly. Then there was the damning report on the head of the History Department, whose pattern of racially charged comments and discriminatory hiring practices for his TAs Mason meticulously documented. Both articles landed Mason in hot water with the faculty due to how much news coverage it received, but they also cemented his place as the student body’s most fearless journalist. His articles had been shared far beyond campus, with national outlets even picking up some of his stories. To Mason, this was proof that his instincts were never wrong.

So when the fliers for a company called "Red Wave Solutions" started appearing across campus, Mason’s journalist’s radar pinged instantly. He first noticed them plastered haphazardly on the corkboard outside the student union. A stark crimson logo dominated the page, paired with the tagline: "Reject Political Anxiety and Accept Conformity – Join the Movement Today!" The messaging was vague but calculated, designed to intrigue and alarm in equal measure. The company’s name struck him as odd too, as "Red Wave" sounded more like a politically charged rallying cry than a corporate entity. As such, he couldn’t help but wonder what type of services it could even offer.

Due to this, Mason tore a flier off the board and scrutinized it further. There was no detailed description of services, no list of affiliations, and no website – just a QR code and a phone number. A quick scan of the code on his phone led to a bare-bones webpage with little more than a flashy promotional video and a generic mission statement about "encouraging unity across the political divide." To Mason, it reeked of corporate jargon hiding something more insidious.

As he watched several nervous students hastily follow him and grab the fliers while looking around to make sure no one else saw them, the odd feeling Mason felt continued to gnaw at him. Why was a seemingly obscure yet political company suddenly plastering fliers all over campus? What exactly were they selling, and who had invited them here? Was this tied to the university administration, or was it the work of a private group looking to influence the student body? Mason didn’t know yet, but one thing was certain: the smell of bullshit was undeniable.

Mason’s resolve hardened as he opened a fresh document on his laptop. He would do what he always did – follow the trail, piece by piece, until he uncovered the truth. He had a gut feeling that Red Wave Solutions was up to far more nefarious things than their preachy unity message implied. As such, it was up to him to find out exactly what they were hiding and why they were targeting his campus.

Back in his dorm room, Mason leaned back in his creaky office chair, scrolling through the company’s sparse website with a growing sense of unease. The bright, polished visuals stood in stark contrast to the murkiness surrounding the company's true purpose. Stock photos of smiling queer couples holding hands and multi-racial families posing dominated the homepage. Their warm, inclusive energy clashed oddly with the undercurrent of the program’s messaging, which was as ambiguous as it was unsettling.

Mason’s sharp eyes honed in on the phrasing in the promotional text. "Are you worried about the future? Afraid of standing out? We hear you, and we can help remedy those nerves!" The implications were vague, but something about them made Mason’s skin crawl. The language was too polished, too calculated, as if crafted by a focus group determined to hit all the right notes for an audience grappling with post-election anxieties. His intuition told him this wasn’t just a therapy program – something insidious lurked beneath the cheerful exterior.

Being a gay man, Mason had learned to trust his gut when it came to exposing homophobic hostility, no matter how sugar-coated and concealed it appeared. The website’s queer-friendly imagery might have fooled someone else, but to Mason, it reeked of a ploy. As he clicked through the pages, a darker theory began to form in his mind. Could Red Wave Solutions be some kind of veiled conversion therapy operation? Maybe not in the traditional fire-and-brimstone sense, but something modern, subtle, and far more calculated – a campaign to indoctrinate or "reorient" unsuspecting young people under the guise of empathy and support.

Adding to his unease, Mason had found himself overhearing some of his friends mentioning Red Wave Solutions in the past few weeks. They’d talked about the program as a potential outlet to process their political anxieties and the stress of living in a rapidly polarizing society. Their interest frustrated Mason to no end. Couldn’t they see how suspicious it all sounded? He knew he couldn’t simply tell them to stay away without proof though, it was a common occurrence for them to accuse him of overthinking or being paranoid.

And so, Mason made a plan. If his friends were intrigued, he’d get there first. He’d scope out the company himself, ask pointed questions, and observe their methods. If his suspicions were correct, he’d blow the lid off Red Wave Solutions before any of his friends fell victim to its schemes. He wasn’t afraid to sacrifice a few hours enduring thinly-veiled conservative rhetoric if it meant protecting the people he cared about.

That resolve ultimately left him scheduling an appointment and standing outside the nondescript building listed as the company’s headquarters the very next day. The office complex was a bland, utilitarian structure – gray cement walls with windows that reflected the cloudy sky. There was no large sign or logo to announce Red Wave Solutions’ presence, only a small decal on the front door that caused the company to look as impersonal and corporate as Mason had imagined.

Taking a deep breath, Mason adjusted the front of his shirt. It wasn’t just a nervous habit though, he wanted to make sure the tiny button camera sewn into the middle of his polo was perfectly aligned. He’d spent all night setting up the camera, ensuring its placement was discreet yet functional. If something went south, he needed visual proof of whatever shady operation was running inside.

As he smoothed his shirt, Mason glanced at his reflection in the glass door. He looked composed enough, but his stomach churned. This wasn’t his first investigative dive, but something about this one felt different. Possibly dangerous even, given the type of hardcore conservatives that were most likely working on the inside to trap unsuspecting people into their web. Ever determined though, Mason shook the thought from his head and squared his shoulders. He had a job to do, after all, the truth wasn’t going to expose itself.

With one final glance at the street behind him, Mason pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The air inside the Red Wave Solutions building was cool and faintly scented with a generic, clean aroma that reminded Mason of a freshly mopped hospital floor. His eyes darted around the space as he stepped inside, taking in the minimalist yet calculated decor. The interior was almost sterile in its design: pristine white walls and floors offset by carefully placed red accents. A striking red backlight illuminated the reception desk at the center of the room, and short sections of the walls were painted in the same bold crimson. It was sleek and modern but lacked any warmth, as if it had been designed to evoke trustworthiness without inviting comfort.

Behind the desk sat a neatly dressed woman who greeted Mason with a polite but impersonal smile. She was African American, her hair pulled into a professional bun while her burgundy blouse complemented the crimson accents of the room. Mason’s journalistic instincts immediately kicked in. The choice of a minority woman as the face of this place struck him as deliberate – an intentional move to put visitors at ease and present an image of inclusivity. He wondered how many people had walked through these doors, seen her friendly face, and let their guards down.

“Welcome to Red Wave Solutions,” she said, her voice professional but warm. “Do you have an appointment with us today?”

Mason nodded, stepping closer to the desk. “Yeah, it’s Mason Samsen. My appointment’s at 2:30.”

The woman’s manicured nails clicked against her keyboard as she searched for his information in the system. Mason used the moment to glance around, noting a few chairs arranged neatly along the walls of the waiting area. They were stark white, with small red cushions placed in the center of each seat. A table held a stack of glossy pamphlets with titles like "Taking the First Step Toward Inner Peace" and "Navigating Life’s Challenges with Confidence." He resisted the urge to grab one, keeping his focus on the woman behind the desk.

“Ah, here you are,” she said after a few moments. “I just need to verify your identity. Do you have an ID with you?”

Mason froze for a fraction of a second. He hadn’t anticipated this. “Uh, yeah,” he said, fishing his driver’s license out of his wallet. “Is that really necessary though?”

The woman’s smile didn’t falter. “Unfortunately, yes. We’ve had a few incidents recently with people trying to play pranks or disrupt our sessions. Running a quick background check helps us ensure that everyone who comes in is serious about taking advantage of what we offer while also helping us easily share information with the police if necessary.”

Mason hesitated, his fingers gripping the edge of his license. Her explanation was reasonable enough on the surface, but it still felt invasive and incredibly suspicious. Still, he knew he couldn’t afford to raise any alarms this early in his investigation. With a tight smile, he handed over the ID.

“Thank you,” the woman said, sliding the card into a small scanner attached to the desk. The machine whirred softly as it processed the information. “This will just take a moment. Once it’s done, we’ll take you back to begin your consultation and help you learn how to thrive in the red wave.”

Mason forced a polite chuckle at her use of a clearly corporate-enforced tagline, but inwardly, his nerves spiked. The phrase felt even more ominous now that they held his ID, like some Orwellian euphemism. He watched as she glanced at her screen, her expression unreadable as the system ran its checks.

“Feel free to take a seat while we finish up,” she added, gesturing toward the waiting area.

Mason nodded and moved to one of the chairs, carefully positioning himself where he and his hidden camera could keep an eye on the desk. He slid his phone out of his pocket and pretended to scroll while his thoughts churned. This whole process felt wrong. What kind of therapy company needed to run background checks on its clients? Was this just about deterring pranksters, or was there something deeper at play – some sort of data collection method or pre-screening tool to help figure out how exactly to break the mental reserves of interested parties?

As he waited, Mason adjusted his polo shirt again, ensuring the hidden button camera was still perfectly aligned. Whatever was happening here, he wasn’t leaving without answers.

The seconds stretched into minutes as Mason sat in the waiting area, his foot tapping against the white tile floor. His eyes flicked between the receptionist and the clock on the wall, noting that it had been over ten minutes since his ID had been taken. The polished environment of Red Wave Solutions, with its pristine surfaces and artificial calmness, was starting to get under his skin. The longer he waited, the more his mind raced. What if they were stalling for a reason? Had their check revealed his identity as an expose-focused journalist? He needed answers, and he wasn’t about to waste more time sitting idly by and waiting for them to make the first move.

Determined to act, Mason stood and walked back to the desk, forcing a polite smile. “Hey, sorry to bother you,” he began, “but is there a bathroom I could use while I wait?”

The receptionist returned his smile with one of her own, still calm and composed. “Of course,” she said, pointing toward a hallway behind her. “Just head straight down that hall and take a right. You’ll see the sign.”

“Thanks,” Mason replied, masking his nerves as he turned away.

He followed her directions, but as he walked, he took in everything around him. The red accents continued down the hallway – with all of its short walls and door frames painted with the same deliberate splash of color. The space was oddly quiet, the faint hum of distant air conditioning the only sound accompanying his steps. His hidden camera captured everything, from the layout to the stark, almost clinical lighting.

When he reached the intersection where he was supposed to turn right toward the bathroom, he paused. To his left, the hallway stretched further into the building, its end obscured by a sharp turn. Mason hesitated, weighing his options. The bathroom was a safe choice, but his instincts pushed him in the other direction. If he wanted answers, he knew he had to take a risk.

After glancing back to ensure the receptionist couldn’t see him, Mason hastily turned left and strode deeper into the building.

The further he went, the stranger the place felt. The hallways were eerily labyrinthine, branching off into sharp angles and other hallways that made it easy to lose his bearings. Doors lined the walls, each one marked with a small, nondescript plaque bearing a room number. Curious, Mason peeked through the window of one door, only to find an empty, white-walled room with a single chair bolted to the floor. The next room was the same. And the next.

“What the hell is this place?” he muttered under his breath, his heart pounding harder with each step.

Then, a sound broke the silence – a voice, faint at first, but unmistakable.

“Help! Someone, please! Help me!”

Mason froze, his breath catching in his throat. The voice was male, clearly desperate and filled with terror.

“I changed my mind! I want to leave! Please, let me out!”

The cries sent a chill down Mason’s spine. He scanned the hallway, trying to pinpoint the source. Although he didn’t know where exactly, the man knew that the screams were coming from somewhere deeper in the building.

Without hesitation then, Mason followed the sound, his steps quickening as he navigated the twisting corridors. The voice grew louder by the minute, the man’s pleas echoing off the sterile walls. Mason’s chest tightened as he rounded another corner, finally stopping in front of a heavy door with a small rectangular window.

Inside, a young man was standing with his head pressed against the glass window. His face was pale, his eyes wide and filled with panic. When he saw Mason, he pounded on the glass.

“Please, help me!” the man begged, his voice raw. “You have to let me out! I changed my mind. I don’t want to go through with this anymore!”

Mason’s hands trembled as he reached for the door handle, only to find it locked. He looked back down the hallway, adrenaline flooding his system. The silence outside the door was deafening, as if the building itself were holding its breath.

“Hold on,” Mason said, his voice low but urgent. “I’ll get you out of here. Just give me a second.”

The man inside the room sobbed, clutching his head in anguish. “Please, hurry, I don’t feel well,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Mason scanned the door, looking for any way to unlock it. His instincts told him to move quickly – if anyone caught him here, he wouldn’t have the chance to find out what was really going on.

Mason’s heart hammered in his chest as he examined the door, searching for some way to unlock it. His fingers brushed over the control panel on the side, and he let out a small breath of relief when he saw the latch mechanism – a simple keypad. His years of investigative journalism had taught him a few tricks, and after quickly punching in a few common codes he’d used to sneak into areas in the past, the lock finally gave a faint click.

The door swung open, and the man inside nearly collapsed into Mason’s arms. His slender twinkish frame trembled, and before Mason could say a word, the man threw his arms around him, clinging tightly.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” the man cried, his voice breaking. “We need to get out of here… right fucking now!”

Mason gripped his shoulders firmly, pushing him back slightly so he could look him in the eyes. “Hey, calm down. Stop yelling,” he said, keeping his voice low and steady. “I’ll help you get out, but you have to keep quiet. We can’t get caught, okay?”

The man nodded frantically, his breathing ragged. Mason took a moment to observe him. He was young – probably a college student no older than Mason himself – with bright blonde hair that was tousled in a way that suggested he’d been consistently running his hands through it while in distress. His frail physique was only emphasized by the somewhat tight Britney Spears t-shirt he wore, providing Mason with a clear as day impression of the other man’s toned abs and flat chest. The whole look screamed twink, which instantly caused Mason to develop a pang of protectiveness for him.

“Okay, we’re getting out of here,” Mason said, his voice firm but quiet. “Stick close to me, and don’t make a sound unless I ask you something.”

The man nodded again, wiping tears from his face. Mason led him out of the room, carefully closing the door behind them. He glanced down the hallway, ensuring the coast was clear before gesturing for the man to follow him.

As they walked, Mason leaned in close. “What’s your name?”

“Cooper,” the man whispered, his voice trembling. “Cooper Evans.”

“All right, Cooper. What the hell is going on here?”

Cooper hesitated, wringing his hands as they moved down the quiet hall. “I– I came here because I was scared,” he finally said, his voice shaking. “I didn’t know what else to do. With this new administration, I was afraid of being hate-crimed or losing my rights. They said they could help me blend in.”

Mason’s brows furrowed. “Blend in? How?”

“They… they said they have this process,” Cooper explained. “They said they could transform me into a Conservative. That I wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore if I just… fit in.”

Mason stopped in his tracks, turning to stare at Cooper. “Transform you? What are you talking about? How does that even work?”

“I, I don’t know!” Cooper said, his voice rising before Mason quickly shushed him. “I swear, I don’t know. They gave me this whole pitch, had me sign a contract saying I’d agree to it, and then they gave me this red pill for me to swallow. That’s it. That’s all I know!”

Mason let out a low groan, running a hand through his hair. “What the hell were you thinking saying yes to something like that?” he hissed. “I know the future’s scary right now, but why would you want to become someone with such awful values? Someone your altered self would hate if they ever met the real you?”

Cooper’s lip trembled, and tears began streaming down his face again. “Dude, I was scared, okay?” he choked out. “I didn’t know what else to do! I thought… I thought it was the only way I’d be safe.”

Mason sighed, his frustration melting into a mix of sympathy and anger. “Look, I get it. Things are bad, but you can’t just give up who you are because you’re scared. That’s exactly what people like them want. I don’t know you well, but I can already tell that you’re a great guy who deserves to be your true self…”

Cooper sniffled, nodding miserably as he endured the lecture from the other man while continuing down the hallway. Mason kept a hand on his shoulder, guiding him while keeping an ear out for any approaching footsteps. Whatever was happening here, it was worse than he’d imagined, and he was determined to not only get Cooper out of here safely, but expose this company for the disgusting things they’re attempting to do.

Mason kept a steady grip on Cooper’s shoulder, speaking softly but urgently. “Listen, Cooper, nobody can just transform like that. It’s not real. Whatever they gave you, it’s probably some kind of drug – a sedative, maybe, or something to make you more suggestible. Brainwashing, that’s got to be their angle. They’re just trying to get you weak enough so they can get in your head…”

Cooper’s watery eyes flicked toward him, searching for reassurance. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Mason replied firmly. “You’re still you. We just need to get out of here in one piece, and everything will be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

But just as the words left Mason’s mouth, Cooper stopped dead in his tracks. A low grunt escaped him, and his hands shot to his stomach.

“Something’s wrong,” Cooper whimpered, his voice tight with discomfort.

Mason spun around, his heart lurching. “Cooper?”

Before he could get another word out, Cooper screamed – a piercing, guttural sound that echoed through the hallway. Mason’s pulse spiked, causing him to immediately clamp a hand over Cooper’s mouth.

“Shh! Stop screaming!” Mason hissed, glancing over his shoulder, expecting someone to come rushing toward them at any moment. But Cooper’s muffled cries didn’t stop. His entire body trembled, his knees buckling as he clutched his midsection.

“Damn it,” Mason muttered under his breath, scanning the hallway. He spotted a door nearby, one that oddly wasn’t locked like so many of the others but rather slightly ajar. With no other choice and not in the situation to second-guess it, he yanked it open all the way, dragging Cooper inside and shutting the door behind them.

“Okay, breathe,” Mason said, trying to keep his own voice steady. “We just need to��”

But Cooper cut him off with another scream, this one deeper and more guttural than before. Mason’s stomach churned as the sound of cracking bones filled the air. Cooper fell to his knees, his hands bracing against the cold floor as his body convulsed. “What’s happening to me?!” he roared, his voice suddenly raspier and deeper, no longer the light airy tenor Mason had heard moments ago.

“Cooper, calm down!” Mason demanded, though his own panic was building. “It’s, it’s probably the drug giving you a panic attack or something. Just hold on, we’ll–”

But Mason’s words faltered as he watched, wide-eyed, as Cooper’s body began to change. His frame, once frail and delicate, suddenly began to expand with unnatural speed. His limbs stretched, his torso elongating until he had shot up to at least 6’4”. His skinny jeans became comically short, now resembling capris, while his Britney Spears t-shirt rode up his lengthening torso, exposing a wide swath of his toned abdomen.

“What the hell…” Mason whispered, stumbling back against the wall.

Cooper’s screams wavered, cracking wildly between high-pitched cries and guttural, low groans. His hands clutched at his chest and shoulders as his body continued to shift – this time with the invasion of muscle into his lithe frame. Before his eyes, Mason watched as the other man’s lean arms buffed up, his flat chest began to thicken and broaden, and the remainder of Cooper’s entire physique began to morph from wiry club kid to college athlete.

“It hurts!” Cooper cried out, his voice so deep and gravelly it was almost unrecognizable. “What the fuck is happening to me?!”

Mason’s breath caught in his throat. “Cooper,” he said, his voice trembling. “I– I think it’s real. That pill… it’s actually transforming you.”

Cooper’s new, larger form shook with silent sobs as his head dropped forward, his blonde hair falling into his face. “But I didn’t want this!” he bellowed, his voice resonating in the small room. “I just wanted to feel safe!”

Mason stared at him, horrified and helpless, his mind racing. Whatever he had stumbled into at Red Wave Solutions was far more sinister than he could have imagined. This wasn’t just brainwashing or manipulation – this was something once thought to be scientifically impossible.

He took a shaky step forward, placing a hand on Cooper’s arm and struggling to comprehend the jock-like biceps the man now possessed. “We’re going to figure this out,” Mason said, his voice low but firm. “I don’t know how, but we will find a way to turn you back. Just… keep it together, okay?”

Cooper looked up at him, tears streaming down his face. “They changed me,” he choked out. “I barely even recognize myself…”

Mason swallowed hard, fighting back the rising tide of panic. “We’ll fix this,” he promised, though he had no idea how. “But first, we’ve got to get out of here.”

He reached for the door handle, his heart hammering. Whatever was happening inside Red Wave Solutions, Mason knew one thing for sure: he had to expose it, no matter the cost.

Mason had barely finished reassuring Cooper when the man doubled over again, this time clutching his chest with both hands. The cracking and popping sounds of shifting bone and sinew returned, louder and more unsettling than before. Mason’s stomach twisted in fear as Cooper’s body began to shake once more.

“Cooper?” Mason asked, his voice shaking as he stepped back. “What’s happening now?”

Cooper let out a low groan that turned into a guttural moan as his entire body suddenly began to swell with immense mass. In an instant, his arms ballooned with muscle. His biceps and forearms thickened rapidly, straining the sleeves of his Britney Spears shirt until they began to tear at the seams. His chest expanded, leaving his plump pecs pressed tightly against the fabric as his shoulders further broadened and filled out. His newly-jockish frame was already disappearing, undergoing an extreme metamorphosis as more layers of powerful muscle began to flood his physique. 

“Holy… shit…,” Mason muttered, his voice barely audible over the sound of Cooper’s transformation.

The changes didn’t stop with his upper body, as Cooper’s thighs and calves surged with muscle, causing his jeans to pull taut until the fabric threatened to split. His abdomen, which had been toned yet flat before, rippled with abs so bulging and pronounced they looked sculpted from stone. And yet, even as Mason watched, a soft layer of fat began to spread over Cooper’s newly chiseled physique. His once-defined six-pack faded into the softer outline of a bulkier, slightly rounded stomach, giving him the appearance of a well-fed, off-season athlete… or a frat bro who spent as much time lifting weights as he did guzzling beer.

Cooper let out a long, low moan as the transformation slowed. His once frail and shaky voice was now deep and resonant, though his words came out in a stilted, almost dazed manner. “Holy shit, bro,” he said, looking down at his enormous hands and flexing them experimentally. “What… what happened to me?!”

Mason’s breath hitched as he stared at the hulking figure before him. Cooper’s face still bore a trace of his former self, but it was broader now, more rugged. His blonde hair was now down to his shoulders, styled with a natural set of curls that gave him a sort of redneck-chic style befitting of a frat bro. The sight was surreal, and Mason’s instincts screamed at him to leave.

He took a step back, glancing at the door. “Look, Cooper,” he said cautiously, his voice trembling. “I– I think you’re going to be okay still. Just… stay here. I need to figure out how to get us out of this mess.”

But the words felt hollow even as he spoke them. Every fiber of his being told him he couldn’t stay here any longer. Whatever was happening to Cooper, it was beyond anything Mason could comprehend, let alone fix.

“I’ll be right back,” Mason lied, taking another step back toward the door until his back pressed against the firm metal.

As he reached for the handle and turned it though, his heart sank. It wouldn’t budge. He yanked harder, but it quickly became clear that there was no use. The door was locked.

“No, no, no,” he muttered under his breath, his panic rising. He spun around, his eyes darting toward the small window in the door.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

Two enormous security guards stood just outside, their arms crossed over their broad chests. Both men were built like linebackers, their sharp features set in stern, no-nonsense expressions. They were looking directly at Mason, their eyes unblinking, their presence menacing.

“Oh, crap,” Mason whispered, stepping away from the door.

“Dude,” Cooper said behind him, his voice booming and casual now. “Why’s the door locked? What’s goin’ on, bro?”

Mason didn’t respond. His mind raced, trying to think of a way out. Yet as he looked around, he quickly realized that not only was the room small, but it lacked any other exits or windows. The only way out of this room was through the door – and the guards who clearly weren’t going to let him leave.

Cooper took a lumbering step toward him, his movements unsteady as he adjusted to his new burly size. “Yo, Mason,” he said, his voice a strange mix of confusion and excitement. “I feel so weird, man. Like, I’m freakin’ huge now. This is nuts!”

Mason pressed himself against the far wall, his breath quick and shallow. He had come here to expose Red Wave Solutions, but now he was trapped in a nightmare with no clear escape. And to make matters worse, the transformed Cooper was now staring at him with an unsettling mix of bewilderment and enthusiasm, as if unaware of the full extent of what had just happened to him.

The guards outside shifted slightly, their eyes never leaving Mason. It was clear they were waiting for him to make a move – which left the journalist wondering if they were simply there to stop him from interfering or eventually take him somewhere worse for finding out the truth.

Mason swallowed hard, his mind racing. Whatever was happening here, he was in way over his head.

Mason barely had time to process the sight of the guards standing outside the window before the door clicked and swung open into the room. His pulse spiked, and he took a few reflexive steps back, especially as the two massive guards rushed into the room with practiced precision and alarming speed.

“Hey! Wait–” Mason shouted, but the words were cut off as one guard grabbed his left arm and the other seized his right. Their grips were like iron, pinning him in place with an effortless strength that left him completely immobilized.

“Let me go!” Mason demanded, struggling futilely against their hold.

But his cries went ignored. The guards didn’t so much as glance at him, their stony expressions remaining fixed ahead like robots as they held him firmly.

Mason’s eyes darted to Cooper, desperate for help, but the sight before him made his stomach drop further. Cooper was staring at his reflection in the mirror mounted on the far wall, his now-massive hands running over his muscular chest and arms. His face, once soft and pretty, had undergone further dramatic transformation. The delicate features had sharpened into something rugged and masculine – a stubble-covered jawline that could cut glass, a straight nose, a set of manly lips adorned with a trimmed mustache, and thick brows that framed eyes filled with a vacant yet self-satisfied glint. For a moment, the man played with his hair, enjoying running his thick, callused fingers through his long wavy strands.

“Cooper!” Mason called, hoping to snap him out of his trance.

But Cooper didn’t respond, his attention entirely consumed by his own image. He flexed, his bulging biceps straining the tattered remnants of his shirt, his lips curving into a smirk as he admired his physique.

The sound of deliberate, measured footsteps echoed through the room, drawing Mason’s attention away. His eyes widened as a figure emerged in the doorway – a handsome, middle-aged man with perfectly trimmed stubble and sharp, piercing eyes. Dressed in a tailored suit that exuded authority, the man carried himself with an unsettling confidence.

He stepped inside, surveying the room with a smile that sent chills down Mason’s spine. His gaze lingered on Cooper for a moment, his expression one of approval, before turning toward Mason.

“Well, isn’t this quite the scene,” the man said, his voice smooth and commanding. “Cooper is coming along beautifully, wouldn’t you say?”

Mason didn’t answer, his throat dry as he glared at the man.

The stranger’s attention returned to Cooper, who was now flexing in earnest, his massive arms and broad shoulders filling the small space. “You’re doing great, Cooper,” the man encouraged, his tone warm and enthusiastic. “Just look at you. All that weakness, all that self-doubt – it’s melting away, isn’t it? You’re finally becoming the straight alpha male you were always meant to be.”

“No,” Mason muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “This isn’t right. Cooper, don’t listen to him!”

But Cooper didn’t even glance at him. Instead, his expression remained precisely trained at his new reflection and hyper-masculine face as one hand moved down to paw at his immensely-sized crotch. “Yeah… yeah, bro,” Cooper said, his voice deep and almost gravelly. “I feel so… powerful.”

The man chuckled, his smile widening. “That’s it. Embrace it. Let go of that weak, pitiful version of yourself. Expel it. You don’t need it anymore.”

“Cooper, stop!” Mason shouted, straining against the guards’ hold. “This isn’t you! Don’t give into what this asshole and his fucked up company wants!”

But his words were drowned out by the older man’s encouragement. “Come on, Cooper. Show us you’re ready. Show us you’re done with that fragile little self you used to be.”

Cooper’s grin turned almost feral as he stepped back from the mirror, his massive hands now split between jerking himself off and squeezing his immense new form. He thrust his hips forward once, then again, his body trembling as he gave in to whatever compulsion was driving him.

“No!” Mason screamed, his voice cracking as he fought against the guards with renewed desperation.

Cooper bucked his hips one last time, his movements growing erratic until he froze as a torrent of cum shot out of his thick cock. Mason watched as the man’s eyes rolled back into his head, his chest heaving as a guttural groan escaped his lips.

Mason’s blood ran cold. Whatever was happening to Cooper was reaching its horrifying conclusion, and Mason had no idea how to stop it.

Cooper – or rather, the person who had once been Cooper – stirred a few minutes later, his head jerking slightly before his eyes fluttered open. Mason froze, watching in disbelief as the hulking man came to. The confusion was evident in the newly sculpted frat bro’s face as he blinked a few times, taking in his surroundings.

“Uh… what the hell is going on, broskis?” he mumbled, his deep voice carrying an unfamiliar, lazy drawl. His gaze darted from the guards restraining Mason to the middle-aged man standing with a smug expression, and finally landed on Mason himself.

As recognition failed to surface in his eyes, the now-transformed man tilted his head, his lips pulling into a cocky smirk. “Yo, wait a sec… are you, like, a homo or something? Tryna sneak a peek at my badass bod or check out my… uh…” He flexed one arm and cupped his other hand over his crotch with a crude laugh. “…my impressive package, bro?”

Mason’s mouth fell open. “Cooper, it’s me, it’s Mason! Don’t you remember anything? You came here because–”

“Shut it,” the other man interrupted before snapping his fingers at the guards holding Mason. Without hesitation, they reached up and clamped strong hands over his mouth in order to silence him. Mason struggled, muffled protests escaping as he glared daggers at the older man.

The mysterious man turned to the hulking figure, his demeanor calm and calculated. “You’re quite perceptive, Jackson. As a matter of fact, we did indeed catch Mr. Samsen here sneaking into your room while you were in the middle of your… business.”

Instantly, Jackson’s brows furrowed as his expression darkened. He clenched his fists, the sound of his knuckles cracking echoing ominously in the small room. “What the fuck, bro?” he said, his voice a mix of anger and indignation. “You some kinda creep? Lemme guess, you’re some kind of fucked up fairy jealous of what a real man looks like?”

Mason shook his head frantically, trying to plead through the guards’ hands. His muffled cries went unnoticed by Jackson, whose frustration seemed to bubble over.

“Yo, I’ll mess you up, dude,” Jackson growled, taking a menacing step forward. His massive form towered over Mason, the threat in his body language clear.

But before Jackson could act, the middle-aged man raised a hand, his commanding tone cutting through the tension. “Now, now, Jackson. There’s no need for violence.” He nodded toward one of the guards standing by the door. “Escort Jackson to the lounge, would you? He’s had an intense day coming to terms with his inner truth, so I’m sure he could use some time to relax.”

One of the guards stepped forward, placing a hand on Jackson’s broad shoulder. “C’mon, man. Let’s go.”

Jackson hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking back to Mason. But then he shrugged, his frustration melting into indifference. “Yeah, whatever. You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today, bro,” he muttered, turning to follow the guard out of the room.

As the door clicked shut behind them, the man shifted his attention back to Mason. His warm smile was chilling in its insincerity. “Now, Mr. Samsen,” he said, stepping closer. “It’s your turn. You’ve poked your nose into matters you shouldn’t, so now it’s time for you to not only get punished but find a way to truly contribute to our cause.”

Mason’s eyes widened as the man continued, his tone almost fatherly. “You’ve spent so much time fighting against what you perceive as wrong. But you’ll soon realize that you’ve been on the wrong side of history all along. Don’t worry though, we’ll be gentle in helping you see the truth. And once you do, you’ll become the Conservative you were always meant to be...”

To read part two, click here.

[fans4wga]

SAG-AFTRA Takes Up Bethenny Frankel’s Fight To Unionize Reality Show Contestants & End “Exploitative Practices”

August 10, 2023

"SAG-AFTRA, which covers the hosts but not the contestants on reality TV competition shows, said today that it’s working “toward the protection of the reality performers” in an effort to end “the exploitative practices that have developed in this area” and “to engage in a new path to union coverage.”

“We are tired of studios and production companies trying to circumvent the union in order to exploit the talent that they rely upon to make their product,” the guild said.

The announcement comes after Bethenny Frankel, a former star of The Real Housewives of New York City, suggested that reality performers should go on strike in order to win residuals for their work and to combat abuses in the workplace. Reality show hosts, but not contestants, are covered by the guild’s Network Code, which is not part of its strike against films and scripted TV shows.

“Why isn’t reality TV on strike?” Frankel said in a recent TikTok video. “I got paid $7,250 for my first season of reality TV, and people are still watching those episodes.” Reality stars, she said, “are the stepchildren, the losers, the mules, the pack horses. The ones that the entertainment industry is going to rely on, right now, to carry the water and do the heavy lifting when real stars, real A-list Hollywood is on strike.”

She added, “Reality television exploits affairs, bankruptcy, falling off the wagon, not really having what you say you have, something inappropriate, risking cancellation every single time the camera goes on.”

To address the alleged abuse of reality stars, she’s engaged high-powered attorneys Bryan Freedman and Mark Geragos to investigate the alleged abuse of reality stars.

In a statement today, SAG-AFTRA said that it “has engaged in discussions with Bryan Freedman at the Freedman + Taitelman, LLP law firm who has been retained by Bethenny Frankel around the subject of treatment of reality performers. SAG-AFTRA is the union that represents reality performers. Depending on the structure of the production and the performers involved, we can cover these performers under our Network Code Agreement.

“We stand ready to assist Bethenny Frankel, Bryan Freedman and Mark Geragos along with reality performers and our members in the fight and are tired of studios and production companies trying to circumvent the Union in order to exploit the talent that they rely upon to make their product.

“We encourage any reality performers and/or members to reach out to SAG-AFTRA’s Entertainment Contracts Department so that we may work together toward the protection of the reality performers ending the exploitative practices that have developed in this area and to engage in a new path to union coverage.”

“Please be advised that the day of reckoning has arrived,” Freedman, working with Geragos, said in a letter sent to NBCUniversal on Aug. 3. “While our investigation is still ongoing, we have reason to believe that cast members and crewmembers on NBC reality TV shows have been subjected to disturbing mistreatment by NBCUniversal and/or its employees, contractors, and third-party affiliates.”

Building off Frankel’s union aims, the list of such mistreatment that Freedman lays out includes:

Deliberate attempts to manufacture mental instability by plying cast members with alcohol while depriving them of food and sleep.

Denying mental health treatment to cast members displaying obvious and alarming signs of mental deterioration.

Exploiting minors for uncompensated and sometimes long-term appearances on NBC reality TV shows.

Distributing and/or condoning the distribution of nonconsensual pornography.

Covering up acts of sexual violence.

Refusing to allow cast members the freedom to leave their shows, even under dire circumstances.

In response, an NBCUniversal spokesperson told Deadline that the company is “committed to maintaining a safe and respectful workplace for cast and crew on our reality shows. At the outset, we require our third-party production partners to have appropriate workplace policies and training in place.  If complaints are brought to our attention, we work with our production partners to ensure that timely, appropriate action is or has been taken, including investigations, medical and/or psychological support, and other remedial action that may be warranted such as personnel changes.”

@bethennyfrankel on Tiktok: This is a union. I’ve defined fair & reasonable terms & consider those making $0 on the bachelor to a housewife making millions. This is a 1st pass & how I’d negotiate, w/ my institutional knowledge & wisdom in this industry w/ over a decade on 8 tv, w/ 10 books, 5 podcasts, multiple businesses & what was the fastest growing spirits business in history. I know a contract. Looking into traditional TV residuals is like looking inside “a beautiful mind.” Content used later with no profit sharing & l exploitation of hard working talent is as archaic as calling empowered independent women “housewives,” a term setting back women 100 years then using them for drama.

This is the REALITY RECKONING aka THE REALITY REVOLUTION. The is the new BETHENNY CLAUSE. Reality TV has existed for decades & sustained entertainment during the last strike & exploded. This isn’t for people like me, who have thrived & succeeded and clawed their way to the top despite the odds. This is for the next generation. These are broad stroke terms subject to modification. This fight is just getting started. We’re rogue & nimble & not entangled & unwieldy. The intention here is to affect change, get things done and make history.

I’ve listed some names who have contacted me & want to get involved. People not on this list are Vanderpump rules talent & the Kardashians, ironically the most powerful entities in entertainment right now, with the most leverage. They should fight for others who paved the way & for those after them. Shows like Summer House and others in production should stand down. Viewers should not watch this content. This paves the way for nurses and teachers, essential workers, production members & glam teams that will be inspired to create a model of their own reckoning.

Change takes courage. I’ve alienated this industry & burned bridges with the entire network and streaming community in one fell swoop. This is not for the faint of heart but it’s for the greater good. This is correct. We will be sending these terms by email with the subject line: “Reality Reckoning” starting emails with: imwithbethenny Who’s with me?"

[hysterotic]

✩ 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑻𝑶𝑲𝒀𝑶 𝑹𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑹𝑺 𝑿 𝑭𝑬𝑴!𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹

𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑹𝑬 : horror erotica, campy/corny, comedy.

⚠︎ : vulgar language, drugs and alcohol, cabin party, lots and lots of sexual tension, get referred to as “new girl” a lot, cute little scene with kazutora, minor stalking, fluff, super corny, nothing bad happens, i took this chapter idea from bodies bodies bodies.

<3 𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑻 𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 : baji keisuke, hanma shuji, kazutora hanemiya, tiny bit of mitsuya takashi.

𝑩𝑨𝑪𝑲 𝑻𝑶 𝑪𝑨𝑴𝑷 (𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻) | 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 | 𝑨𝑪𝑻 𝑰𝑰

it was late october, halloween weekend to be exact. it was cold and breezy but hopefully nothing that could stop you from wearing something skimpy to the trip—something emma would definitely suggest.

“ugh, not a single mini skirt in sight. what are you, a nun?” she mutters, elbow-deep in your black duffle bag covered in heart-eyed skulls.

you ignore her, half-buried in your closet looking for the swimsuit you bought months ago and forgot existed—literally the only reason you ever justified spending that much on something that covers so little.

instead, you pull out another one. not the one you were thinking of, but still cute. turning around to ask for her opinion, you pause mid-sentence. noticing emma’s new hair-do, almost dropping the swimsuits. “oh my god, you curled your hair…”

she tosses it dramatically, making the curls bounce like she’s in a shampoo commercial. “super cute, no?”

“i can’t believe it…” you say, marveling at how gorgeous her curls look compared to her usual straightened hair.

“but super cute, right? hurry up with the “super cute” ‘cause i’m getting insecure now.”

“no, no! it looks amazing. draken’s gonna lose it.”

she playfully twirls a curl around her finger. “i know.”

“okay, but which one? this black two-piece or this red one with the skirt? don’t choose the black ‘cause it’s sluttier.”

emma shoots you a look before yanking the black two-piece out of your hands and stuffing it into your bag. “you’ll thank me for this. and if you get lucky with keisuke… maybe you won’t be wearing it for long.”

of course she’d bring him up.

your dumb little crush on keisuke baji started like a week ago. three photos and a scorpio sun sign were all it took for your brain to short-circuit. you’ve never even met the guy. never passed him on campus. don’t know what his voice sounds like. but he’s hot, in that very specific way that makes you feel like he’d ignore you on purpose just to watch you squirm.

and now he’s coming on the trip. great.

“if you treat this trip like some kind of reality dating show, i’m not talking to you,” you warn, collapsing onto your bed as she continues digging through your stuff.

“relax, i’m not pushing anything,” she lies, holding up the tiniest black skirt you own. “we’re so packing this.”

“where the hell did you even find that?”

“i bought it for you forever ago. why have i never seen you wear it?”

you hesitate. “just… didn’t get the chance.”

“well, congrats. here’s your chance.” she starts tossing anything remotely modest out of your bag, not even checking what she’s throwing. including your most boring underwear. the cotton, full-coverage, ‘i’m-on-my-period-leave-me-alone’ type.

she turns to you, “seriously? what’s the point in wearing underwear if you’re not gonna show it off.” she tugs on her baby blue thong straps that are sticking out of her low-waisted jeans, making it snap on her hips. she then walks toward your closet and starts going through it again.

you stand up to put your clothes back in your bag. “just ‘cause you’re gonna be wearing skimpy clothes this weekend doesn’t mean i should too.”

“uh, yes, you should,” she says matter-of-factly, her voice slightly muffled as she’s nose-deep in your closet. “that’s like rule number one of girl code.”

“says who?” you respond, organizing your bag enough to fit more clothes, not realizing that someone is looming behind you to scare you, preparing to pull a prank.

“says me,” a muffled voice speaks from behind. you roll your eyes and turn around, expecting to see emma. instead, you come face-to-face with a man wearing a ghostface mask.

you yelp in horror, stumbling backward and falling into a chair, which tips over. he scoffs in surprise, pulling the ghostface mask off. “shit, didn’t expect a reaction like that,” mikey says, sticking a hand out to help you up, clearly holding in a laugh. “thought i was the real thing?”

you glare at him and stand up on your own, pulling the chair and your bag up from the floor. “thought you were emma, actually.”

“emma? i sound like a girl to you?” his voice drops an octave, trying to sound more intimidating but really just coming off as overly dramatic.

emma, not realizing what just happened or who walked in, throws a thong your way for you to pack, which lands on mikey’s head. he turns to face where it came from and sees the thong string dangling in front of his eyes. he hums questioningly as he grabs it and starts to examine it.

you snatch it out of his hand and quickly shove it into your bag. “you shouldn’t joke around about it when he’s still active.” you grab the mask out of his hand and throw it on your bed, where it lands on top of a plushie, making it look like the toy is wearing it.

“you should get that stick out of your ass before we leave.” mikey points at you as he approaches your bed, picking up the plushie and removing the mask from its head.

“mikey, i’m serious!”

“oh, she’s serious. did you know that she’s serious?” he talks to the plushie, pointing a finger at you for emphasis.

“manjiro, give her back,” you deadpan.

“oh, it’s a her? huh… you mind?” he leans his mouth closer to the plushie and starts to playfully make out with it, clearly trying to piss you off even more.

“seriously, mikey, grow up!” you say, exasperated, as you reach for the plushie. he holds it out of your reach.

emma finally looks over with a bunch of thongs and outfits in hand, noticing the commotion. “what’s going on here?”

“mikey’s being a jackass,” you say, crossing your arms.

“oh, nothing new then,” emma replies. she walks over and takes the plushie from mikey, throwing it back on your bed. “come on, we have to finish packing.” she shoves the clothes into your chest. “once again, you’re gonna thank me.” you push it down into your bag before mikey gets nosy again.

“thank her for what?” you hear a voice behind you say. from emma’s excited reaction and how her eyes sparkle at his sight, you take a good guess on who it is. you turn around, proving yourself right.

emma jumps into his arms, hugging him as if she hadn’t seen him a couple hours ago before coming here. she lets him go, standing still to let him admire her new curls. he furrows his brows in amusement as she runs her hand down his chest.

“hey, kinda seein’ this chick, she looks just like you, but with straight hair. i was thinking, y’know… maybe we could—”

“you think i sound like a girl, ken?” mikey interrupts, standing between the two wearing a ghostface mask.

draken clicks his tongue in irritation at mikey, not even looking at him. “you’re about to,” he mutters threateningly, his eyes rolling over to you. he looks down, noticing that you aren’t wearing any pants, standing there in your lace lavender panties with a cute lil bow in the front” that’s what you’re wearing to our trip?” he says sarcastically, mikey following his gaze as well, somehow not noticing that you weren’t wearing pants this whole time.

confused, you look down and realize that you are, in fact, not wearing any pants. “oh my god, get out! both of you!” you start to push draken and mikey out of the room, closing the door behind them.

through the door, you hear draken’s voice. “alright, but wrap it up quick, we gotta leave in a couple.”

emma snorts. “real smooth. now c’mon!” she shoves a couple more outfits she picked down your bag, winking at you. she finally grabs her bags and walks out of your room.

you quickly put on dark jean shorts with bedazzled back pockets in the shape of skulls. you slip your shoes on, zip your bag closed, and carry it on your shoulder. finally, you walk out of the house, finding them on the sidewalk, putting the bags in the van.

he places the second bag emma packed in the far back of the van. “y’know, emma, it’s only a week, not an evacuation.”

she clings to his arm with a wide smile. “trust me when i say that there’s nothing in those cases you won’t be glad i brought.”

draken smirks at the thought as he picks up the third one. “i’m shuttin’ right up.”

mikey grabs your bag off your shoulder and places it next to the rest. “that all?”

“yeah, i hope so,” you reply as you crawl into the van.

mikey hops in the passenger seat, emma crawls in the back, and draken finally finishes strapping up the bikes on the back of the van and gets in the driver’s seat last. the car finally pulls away from the spot, driving off towards the destination with a map in hand.

“there is a scourge in our society, my brothers and sisters, the evil that is heavy metal rock music is resolute, unwavering in its goal to corrupt our children’s souls.” the pastor’s eerie voice crackles through the old static-filled vintage tv behind the gas station register. the voice of the pastor is slow and deliberate as the white haired cashier was sat back, nodding at the screen.

you walk around the store with a strawberry-flavored sour lollipop in your mouth, your eyes subconsciously glued to the newspaper shelves all the way in the back. you stride towards them, grabbing the first one you see. the headline reads, “teens slain for satanic rituals on a forest campsite.”

of course you had to read that type of headline while on the way to a campsite, the perfect thing to top off your paranoia. you continue to read the headline, seeing the pictures of symbols that were carved into the victims flesh, evidence of the dark rituals that were placed in the camp, and the stories about the camp being haunted and how it haunts. the more you read the more your stomach churns, this isn’t helping your paranoia at all. then a terrifying detail lands in your eyes: it’s the exact camp location your on your way to, but they changed its name for this fucking reason.

“boo!” emma jumps in front of you, breaking your train of thought, you roll up the newspaper and swat at her. “fuck! you cunt,” you breathe out.

“damn, you’re so tense today,” she says, you furrow your brows, giving her a side-eye.

“ohh, yeah, totally not because we’re gonna be sleeping over at a cabin in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but trees, with barely any service, while a serial killer is still active. It’s not like this week is a horror movie adaptation waiting to happen,” you reply sarcastically as you stuff the rolled newspaper on your pocket, contemplating if you should tell her about this or not.

emma takes her time to chew on whatever’s in her mouth before responding. “see, thinking like that is just gonna make you paranoid. we’re supposed to have fun! it’s a halloween party, loosen up, maybe mikey was right about that stick in the ass thing.” she mumbles the last part as she grabs a couple of ultra beer bottles and walks over to the register, placing them on the counter.

“you see, these bands, with their shrieking guitars and pounding drums, do not merely entertain; they indoctrinate. they spread messages of rebellion against god, promoting the worship of evil and the destruction of morality. lyrics that speak of death, murder, destruction, and depravity are whispered into the ears of our youth, leading them down a dark path from which there is no return.” says the overdramatic pastor through the old tv.

it’s so ridiculous how people can’t wrap their heads around a serial killer just killing to kill, they always have to find something to blame it on. their favorite most of all is “metal music” and “satanism”, completely avoiding the fact that pastors can be just as worse as anybody else. ugh, so fucking corny. you roll your eyes at his nonsense blabbering as you grab a couple of snacks and place them on the register counter with emma’s, including the newspaper.

you pull out your lollipop with a pop! sound, “oh, and include whatever’s in her mouth,” you say, pointing at emma with your lollipop as she playfully starts to chew faster with her mouth shut, forcing the old guy to guess. he does nothing but stare at her, as if waiting for her to pull out the empty bag from her back pocket. she rolls her eyes, giving up on the fact that he’s not in the mood to fuck around, and places the empty bag of gushers on the counter.

“ID?” the cashier says with a gruff voice.

she blinks rapidly at him, “seriously?” emma asks. the cashier continues to silently stare at her with a deadpan expression. she turns toward you, and you shrug. “didn’t bring my wallet on this trip.”

“i’m gonna call over draken, wait here.” she walks out toward the gas pump where the rest of the guys are, leaving you alone with the creepy man, listening to the pastor’s gibberish through the tv screen,

“ghostface is not an isolated incident. he is the tragic, inevitable product of a society that has turned its back on the lord and embraced the wickedness of satanic music. parents, i implore you, cast out these demonic influences from your homes! break the CDs, delete the MP3s, and forbid your children from partaking in this unholy noise!” the pastor continues. the creepy cashier’s eyes bore into you so intensely, you kept your eyes on the door, waiting for emma and draken, ignoring the way he’s staring at you as if your who the pastor’s talking about—completely forgetting that you’re wearing a slipknot baby tee.

they finally walk in with mikey trailing behind. he quickly grabs a couple of snacks of his choice, while draken hands the man his ID. “how many packs of beer you got?”

“like two packs?” emma responds.

draken turns around and yells out for mikey. “mikey, grab two more packs of beer!”

mikey heads back to the fridge. emma leans against the counter, drumming her pink stiletto nails on the counter impatiently. the cashier, still watching the TV, mutters something under his breath something about the end times and the corruption of youth.

draken looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “you okay?”

you nod and hum in response, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that’s been gnawing at you since preparing for this trip, since you read that newspaper headline.

mikey returns with the beer, and the cashier rings up the total, still muttering to himself. as you all head out with bags in your hands. the pastor’s voice on the TV follows you, “heed my warning, close your doors and lock your windows. for the devil walks among us.”

“you’re so lying.” emma speaks with a slight muffle from her applying her pink lip gloss through her baby blue sparkly heart-shaped compact mirror.

“what?” you ask.

she snaps the mirror shut and turns to you, putting her lipgloss wand back in the tube screwing it in, “i said so you’re lying, you’re full of shit.” she says it slowly now, enunciating every word as if she’s talking to someone stupid.

“it’s literally written on a newspaper, how in the hell would i lie about that.”

emma grabs the newspaper and chucks it out of draken’s open window. “that is just something to scare the tourists with.” she starts rummaging through her makeup bag, grabbing a few touch-ups. crawling onto your lap, she hovers over your thighs to fix your makeup. “you’re just looking for excuses to pussy out because of that masked killer.” she opens a blush wand, tilts your chin up, and applies it to your cheeks.

you can see draken staring at you through the rearview mirror, noticing his brow furrowing in thought, but he remains silent, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

“those incidents happened ages ago. the paper probably dug up some old story to scare people.” mikey adds as he crosses his arms behind his head, propping his feet on the dashboard.

“i think we should tell her.” draken interjects.

“tell me what?” you reply, your voice slightly muffled as emma puts lip tint on your lips while holding your chin still.

“she doesn’t know that it’s ghostface themed?” mikey blurts out from the passenger’s seat, causing everyone to groan.

you pull back from emma’s touch, frowning. “wait, what do you mean ghostface-themed?”

mikey sighs, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just a theme the guys thought would be fun, It’s no big deal.”

“not a big deal? you could have told me!” you exclaim, this trip’s is seriously sounding like a horror movie adaption waiting to happen, a lesson on what not to do when a serial killer is fucking active. “is that why you brought your little ghostface mask with you?” you look toward mikey, he attempts to calm you down with a laid-back smile.

“look, we didn’t wanna freak you out. but mikey’s right, it’s just a theme for the halloween party. we’ll be fine.” emma reassures. “if some old ghost story is the worst thing we have to worry about, I’d say we’re doing pretty good.”

“you sayin’ the camp might be haunted?” draken glances at emma. “it is.” you respond instead.

“i’m gettin’ a little freaked out now.” mikey mocks as he clutches draken’s bicep, he quickly shoves mikey from him, “don’t start.”

bikes line the sidewalk as they pull up to the camp. “this it?” draken leans his head down from the driver’s seat to get a better look at the sign.

while distracted, he slams into an unknown bike. “shit, whose bike was that?” mikey winces.

“couldn’t recognize it,” draken mumbles as he parks the van, stepping out of it, his eyes scanning the row of bikes. “keisuke, kazutora, and matsuno are here, mitsuya, pah-chin and peh-yan, the twins, the rest I dunno.”

you grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder. as you’re about to step out, draken extends his hand to help you and emma out of the van, giving him room to unload it.

“this place is… something.” you shield your eyes from the sun as you check out the giant knife-shaped sign on the entrance of the camp; it reads: “camp terror ridge.”

“I know, right? It’s gonna be killer.” emma bumps her shoulder against yours, a grin spreading across her face.

“guess so.” you twirl, taking in the forest surrounding it.

draken walks over, carrying emma’s bags with ease, his muscles flexing under the weight. “let’s get to the cabins.”

draken leads the way, towering over most of the campers as he carries emma’s bags. you maneuver through the crowd, red solo cups litter the floors that you almost trip over, dodging two shirtless curly-haired guys who look like twins. one with baby blue hair who seems pissed, and the other peach with a cheshire smile on his face, chasing each other.

as you reach the girls’ cabin, draken stops and sets emma’s bags down at the front door. The cabin looks cozy from the outside, with fairy lights hanging from the eaves. You tune out whatever Draken’s saying to emma, even though it could be important, as you look around the camp.

you notice mikey talking to somebody, specifically. keisuke baji, and the two other guys standing next to him, one with a wolf cut highlighted with yellow-blonde on the top, and the other’s a cute blonde with an undercut.

you watch keisuke leaning against the tree with his arms crossed, his biceps unknowingly flexing. he’s even hotter than those blurry photos emma showed you; you couldn’t get your eyes off his arms until you notice his head cocking to the side. you glance up at him, meeting eyes with amber-colored ones. fuck, he caught you staring at him. the undercut guy notices keisuke’s eyes on you and glances at you too.

then suddenly, emma grabs your elbow and drags you inside the cabin with her, telling draken that we’ll see them in a couple. keisuke unfortunately disappears from your eyesight.

the floor creaks slightly underfoot. the air inside the cabin is cool and carries a faint scent of pine and aged wood. in the corner of your eyes, you see a row full of ghostface masks hung on the wall right next to the front door. is there one in each cabin?

the cabin is modest in size, with ten single beds lined up against the walls, arranged in five rows across from each other, leaving a narrow aisle in the center for walking. each one has simple, black blankets and pillows. right next to the beds, there’s a small wooden nightstand with a soft nightlight on each one. looks like you’re gonna have that on for the night.

“is that hina?” emma cuts in, pulling your attention toward the occupied bed with peach pink hair sticking out. Takemichi, sitting by Hina’s bed, suddenly stands up at the sight of you and Emma. His face turns red with embarrassment. “I-I’m sorry!” he stammers, clearly ashamed to be caught in the girls’ cabin. “I was just checking on hina. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

you both approach it, with emma beating you to it first. she gives him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, takemichi.” she moves hina’s hair to the side and touches her forehead. “you okay, hina?” emma whispers.

hina mumbles something incoherent that only emma hears. She turns to you. “she’s caught a cold from the lake,” she says, caressing hina’s hair softly. “hopefully you’ll be good by tomorrow. need me to bring you something hot?”

hina shakes her head, her eyes still closed. “it’s okay, yuzuha brought me soup.”

“yuzuha’s here?” you interject.

“yeah, everybody’s here, they’re all at the lake right now,” takemichi replies instead.

“okay then, rest up, i already miss you too much for you to be sleeping the whole week away.”

she then looks toward takemichi. “you gonna stay with her?” from which he immediately nods as a response, sitting down beside hina. “If you guys don’t mind me being here…” he scratches the back of his neck.

emma tosses her bag onto one of the beds. “we’d prefer that actually, make sure she eats, okay?” she then turns to you with a grin. “put on your swimsuit! we’re hittin’ the lake!”

you weave through the dense forest with emma following behind, the towering trees casting long shadows. the air is thick with the earthy scent of moss and damp leaves, and the forest floor is a carpet of roots and fallen branches, making you regret leaving without slippers on. sunlight barely filters through, creating an eerie, twilight ambiance.

“are we even going the right way?” emma asks as she glances around, trying to find any sign of the lake.

“i hope so,” you reply. the path seems to twist and turn endlessly, each direction looking almost identical to the last.

the sounds of the forest are all around you. the rustling of leaves, the distant calls of birds, and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot. it sounds peaceful in the mornings but must be eerie as hell at night. you both continue forward, stepping over tangled roots and ducking under low-hanging branches; a couple scratch your arm but not deep enough for an infection.

“i swear we should have hit the lake by now,” emma mutters, stopping to catch her breath. “did we take a wrong turn?”

just as you’re about to agree, you hear footsteps from behind. you both turn, seeing somebody approaching. a lilac-haired guy with a mullet cut. he lifts a branch out of the way, revealing another guy behind him, one with a blue-haired buzz cut with some sort of spiral design on the side of his head and a scar on his lip. unlike the shirtless one, he’s wearing an unbuttoned blue plaid shirt.

“lost your way to the lake?” the guy with the lilac hair questions with a smile, placing his hands on his hips. the one with blue hair hides behind him shyly, though it’s pretty hard to because of his height, his eyes darting between you and emma, careful not to look down at your bathing suits.

emma nods. “yeah, we followed the sign in the camp, but the direction is so vague.”

“c’mon, we’re heading there.” he offers, nodding toward the path you and emma were originally heading to.

you and emma exchange a quick glance before deciding to follow them. mitsuya slows down his steps so you can keep up, giving him a chance to take a good look at you, his gaze lingering on you for a second too long. you keep your eyes forward, pretending not to notice.

“you’re a new face.” he tilts his head to look at you better, or to put himself in your eyesight. you realize how gorgeous he is up close, his eyebrow slits throwing you off because of his soft-looking face, but it adds up so well. you notice the thick hoop earring with a cross on it on one of his ears, something you’d definitely wear too. just as you’re about to introduce yourself, emma cuts in, “she’s my best friend. ken and mikey might’ve mentioned her a couple times.” she nudges you softly, giving you the chance to introduce yourself.

after you tell him your name, a slight recognition clicks in his brain. “yeah, heard a thing or two. i’m mitsuya takashi. that one right there’s hakkai shiba. he’s shy but he’ll come around.” the blue-haired guy remains silent the entire time, occasionally glancing at you and emma but quickly looking away when caught.

a faint sound catches your attention. straining to hear over the rustling of leaves, it’s the distinct sound of water splashing, accompanied by music, sounding like they’re playing “glamorous lifestyle” by the jacka. you all follow it, the music getting louder now.

when you finally reach the lake, you see the rest of the group already there. mitsuya turns to face you again before leaving. “see you ‘round.”

yeah, definitely seeing him around.

the shoreline is dotted with towels and coolers full of the beer draken got earlier. in the corner of your eye, you spot a blonde guy with baby blue highlights and a tattoo on the right side of his back and chest, beginning from his nape and ending at his foot. you almost mistook him for a merman.

you watch as he’s hanging onto a rope from a tree, his feet kick out as he swings toward the lake, letting go at the peak of the swing and plunging into the water with a loud splash that unfortunately hits another guy who was sunbathing, with the same tattoo mirrored on the left side of his body. he removes his now-wet sunglasses from his eyes to shoot him a glare. the merman resurfaces, shaking the water from his hair mesmerizingly, so far, your eyes are getting very spoiled today.

nearby, a couple of guys are in a rowboat, paddling lazily. suddenly, someone emerges from beneath the water, looks like senju, and pushes the boat down, causing it to tip over and the guys to scramble.

you notice yuzuha approaching you both, shielding her eyes from the sun as she runs toward you, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling you into a tight, wet hug. “you made it!” she squeezes.

a couple of guys walk past, jokingly muttering a “damn, what about me?”

never mind. eyes no longer spoiled. yuzuha shoots them a quick glare.

you scan her swimsuit, noticing that she’s wearing a sheer top above to cover her up while she’s walking around, wishing that you brought something similar with you before walking here. you cross your arms, feeling a little too exposed now.

your anxiety grows even more as emma and yuzuha drag you toward the deck, already feeling more eyes on you. “i’m gonna grab a drink, want some?” yuzuha offers.

you nod in response. “no alcohol, please.” she approaches the cooler, grabbing lemonade cans and pouring them into a cup, handing one to you and emma as she takes a sip.

“you got stopped by the cops coming here?” you overhear draken questioning the guys.

“yeah, he was creepy as hell,” says a blonde with an undercut, the same guy who was standing next to keisuke baji, sitting on a donut-shaped float. “he went on about making us go to this weird motel before coming here.”

“swear he thought we were a group of thugs on our way to burn the place down,” another voice chimes in. this one belongs to the guy with yellow-blonde streaks and that half-lidded, cocky kind of face that makes it hard to tell if he’s flirting or just always looks like that. he swims over to the edge, muscles flexing as he hauls himself out of the water like it’s nothing. water clings to his skin, sliding down the tiger tattoo inked on his neck. there’s a mole on his cheek you can’t unsee now.

he strolls over to the cooler, cracking a beer right next to you like you’re not even there at first—then shifts just enough to give you a glance.

“think he called in backup to stalk us at the motel?” undercut asks, flicking water off his hand.

“so you almost got ambushed?” draken raises a brow.

undercut just shrugs like, maybe.

then keisuke shows up.

you spot him fully now. black swim trunks clinging low on his hips, a scar on the side of his stomach, silver jewelry gleaming against his skin. rings on every other finger, a heavy silver cross swinging from his neck. the kind of guy who could wreck your week with a look, and he’s giving you a long one right now.

he pops the cap off his beer with his teeth, like he’s done it a thousand times, and takes a swig.

“he was nervous,” keisuke says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. eyes never leaving yours. “kept yappin’ about us not makin’ it to the camp. swear he was sweatin’ like he knew somethin’ we didn’t.”

“almost as nervous as the girl,” tiger-neck mutters, pointing his beer bottle at you before crossing his arms. it clinks against keisuke’s, and they both glance you over like you’re something worth sharing. “who’s this minx?”

their sudden attention makes you feel like a spotlight is on you, a deer in headlights. you instinctively tighten your arms around yourself, trying to make yourself smaller. your presence feels too acknowledged that it becomes overwhelming until you feel someone wrap their arm around your shoulder.

you turn to see mikey, who loudly introduces you to everyone, gesturing toward each person as he says their name. they either wave or smile at you until he reaches keisuke, who just tips his head slightly, eyes dragging over you with the same sharp focus, like he’s memorizing you.

“someone’s thirsty,” emma mutters, holding a cup up to her mouth to mask her lips.

“anyway, she’s with us, so don’t scare her off, alright?” mikey’s tone makes you feel like a kid, but his reassuring squeeze on your shoulder helps ease your anxiety a bit.

he wanders off after that, probably unaware that he just gave keisuke full clearance to haunt your personal space. his expression more curious than hostile. but his intense gaze makes it hard to tell.

god, he looks so mean.

“how’d you end up with this lot?” he asks, nodding at the group. voice low. scratchy. weirdly calm for how intense he looks.

“oh, um… long story,” you reply with a chuckle, squeezing your arms out of nervousness. keisuke seems to pick up on your discomfort and steps a bit closer, his presence making you feel even smaller.

“got a whole week to hear it,” he says, looming over you.

you’re saved by kazutora, who swoops in and throws an arm around your shoulders like he’s done it a hundred times before. “you scarin’ the new girl already, baji?”

he takes another swig of his beer, turning to kazutora. “just curious about the new face,” he says, then turns back to you, his dark brows lowered with attentiveness. “that’s all.”

“right.” kazutora laughs, fingers trailing down your arm until they wrap around your wrist. “swim with me?”

before you can answer, he pulls you toward the edge of the deck, steps picking up speed until—

splash.

your body goes into shock from the freezing cold water. you quickly resurface, gasping. “holy fuck! that is the coldest cold water.” you breathe out, swimming closer to chifuyu’s float. you cling to it, looking up at him apologetically. he smiles down at you with reassurance.

“yeah? how cold? is it worth deactivating my curls?” emma asks as she gets closer to the deck, bending down to speak to you.

draken sits on the deck next to mitsuya. “c’mon, emma, jump with ‘em.” he splashes her with water, but it only hits her legs. she backs away, bumping into mikey.

“yeah, i might just lie out in the sun for a while instead,” she says, scrunching up her curls.

“hey, what is that?” mikey points far out at the lake as if he saw a crocodile. or worse, a body? in sync, you all turn to look at what he’s pointing at.

“what? where?” chifuyu asks, kicking his float closer to the deck. you continue to cling to his float, wrapping your arms around the donut, looking around frantically for unknown ripples in the lake.

“in the lake right there…” mikey insists, his eyes blown wide.

“c’mon, mikey, don’t fuck around,” kazutora says nervously as he swims closer to the deck.

“guys, i’m serious, it’s right there,” his voice drops an octave to convey urgency. emma starts to cling to him nervously.

“it looks… just like emma!” mikey suddenly shouts, pushing her into the lake without warning.

a big splash of her body hitting the water sprays on all of you. she resurfaces, gasping for air. “oh my god!” emma screams. you can’t tell if it’s because the water is freezing or because her curls are ruined. you hold back your laughter as you swim toward her. she clings to you desperately.

he laughs at her hysterically, then points at the lake again. “there’s somethin’ else in the lake!” he quickly jumps in right next to you two and drags emma down with him.

she then resurfaces again, pushing her hair back and glaring at mikey. “you jerk!” she yells, then lunges at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “you think you’re so funny, huh?” she tries to dunk him under the water, both of them splashing wildly as they struggle.

you giggle at them both trying to drown each other, though you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched. glancing around, you meet keisuke’s intense stare again. he stands slightly apart from the group, his gaze fixed on you with an unreadable expression.

then you see a towering figure behind him, a man with slicked-back black hair, adorned with a single blonde streak in the front, walking up behind keisuke, slapping his seemingly tatted hands on keisuke’s shoulders and shaking him from behind. he notices keisuke’s gaze lingering on someone, following it, his purple eyes land on you. he then whispers something in keisuke’s ear, causing him to push his tongue against his cheek to stifle a laugh as he nudges his beer toward hanma.

mitsuya, on the other hand, whispers something to draken, his eyes locked on you throughout. whatever mitsuya said made draken glance in your direction.

you’d think you’re a circus freak from the way their attention is on you, confused and a bit overwhelmed. you decide to swim a bit farther away from the group, enjoying the cool water and the brief solitude. emma follows closely behind, submerged under the water. just as you start to relax, she grabs your leg, causing you to jump.

she resurfaces. “careful, swim too far and you might land on a body in the water.”

you splash her with water, laughing. “yeah? that gonna be yours when I’m done with you?”

“oh, piss off!”

the thumping bass of a live DJ, who you found out was rindou haitani, one of the hosts of this camp party—pounds through your chest as you walk into the entryway of cabin 13. it was the biggest cabin in the camp, where everybody goes to hangout whenever they don’t wanna sleep yet. it has two stories, the top floor only providing a view of the balcony. surprised that he had managed to keep the music loud, considering the majority of people were already asleep since it was midnight.

the place reeked of stale beer and lingering smoke, ghostface masks scattered around the couches and the tables, you notice mikey and takemichi with a couple other guys lounging on the couch, passing around a bong, mikey laughing at takemichi for not being able to inhale without violently coughing. the scent almost lures you in but you don’t wanna smoke weed, not yet.

instead looking to emma who was sitting on the kitchen counter chatting with draken. she wore a white mini pencil skirt with a sleeveless black turtleneck. her eyes slowly move away from draken to look at who entered. she sees you, smiling immediately and motions for you to come over with her hands, making draken turn to see who she was motioning to.

emma hops down from the counter and grabs a bottle of malibu. “It’s already midnight, and the fact that you don’t have a single drop of alcohol in your system is just insane,” she says, grinning mischievously. she grabs your jaw and tilts your chin up,

“on my way here i saw a tall thin silhouette of somebody in the woods, no joke.” you spoke, face pressed against emma’s hand, she squeezes your jaw gently as if telling you to open your mouth, and you do just that. “that was probably a skinwalker.” draken responds with a smirk, knowing that you’re about to punch his ribs for saying it’s name, you did just that too, he backs away laughing.

emma pours the rum into your mouth, letting out a soft woo at how quick you were to swallow it, hearing draken whistle at you for encouragement to keep going, feeling the cold, sweet, coconut flavored liquor slide down your throat. you start slapping emma’s arm, realizing that you drank a little too much. she finally moves the rum away from your lips, placing it back on the counter, you wipe the bottom of your lip as you feel familiar eyes on you.

you instinctively glance where the pool table was. at the back of the cabin, you spot keisuke baji playing with hanma, chifuyu and mitsuya, holding the cue. the way he was looking at you seemed curious, his eyes lingering over your face and down at your body, as much as you didn’t wanna wear anything skimpy for this trip, you liked keisuke’s eyes lingering on your body a little too much to pass up the opportunity.

you were wearing a black lace bustier iamgia top with front strap above the sweetheart shaped neckline that are pushing your tits up so perfectly, paired with a black mini skirt with two bow ribbons on the sides. he then looks at the pool table, it’s his turn now. you watch him hover against the pool table, making you weak in the knees.

you chew on the bottom of your lips, watching baji line up his sight, aiming it carefully at the cue ball, he draws the cue back, with a sharp crack, the cue ball darts forward. at the corners of your eyes you see somebody with blonde hair, forming words at you, your eyes slide over, seeing glittery pink lips opening and forming words, oh fuck. forming words, emma was talking to you this entire time and all you did was ogle at the long haired hunk around the pool table.

“sorry, what?” emma rolls her eyes, she knew you were drooling over keisuke but brushes it off because she got something else in her mind right now. “draken and i are gonna go smoke, you still got the zip in your bag?”

“yeah, just don’t finish it.” you brush her off quickly, leaning against the counter, eyes sliding back to keisuke baji, watching him light up a cigarette. emma and draken walk past you hand in hand, heading out of the cabin.

you don’t know what’s gotten into you exactly, maybe it’s the liquor, maybe it’s the constant eye-fucking you’ve been having with him all day today that’s driving you crazy, but something within you kept urging you to approach the pool table right now, you don’t even know how to play fucking pool. you straighten your posture and stride towards the pool table, subconsciously adding an extra sway to your hips as you go.

you can see the exact moment hanma spots you, he stops talking to keisuke and slides his eyes all over you with a smirk, keisuke following his gaze.

“you know how to play this, new girl?” hanma says with a neutral face, chifuyu raises his head to nod slightly at you with a polite smile as he gets back into focusing on the cue, you nod back, ignoring baji, who’s eyes bore into you, holding the cancer stick as smoke curl out of his lips.

“not really, i suck at it.” you lean against the pool table near baji, keeping a good distance. watching the cue ball darting forward from chifuyu’s motion, clipping the 9-ball, sending it rolling into the corner pocket.

“show us, can’t be that bad.” mitsuya strides closer to you, handing you his cue. both hanma and baji stand behind you as you position yourself, bending over the pool table. one hand grips the end of the cue, and the other holds the tip on the table. you hear them hold in a laugh and snort at your awkward position. rolling your eyes, you turn toward them, cocking your head to the side and narrowing your eyes. “you guys gonna help me or am i here to be made fun of?”

“nah, I’ll help you.” hanma strides over, placing his cue on the table and positions himself behind you, placing his hands between you and pinning you in place. jesus christ he’s so tall. you go back into the same position again. “that’s too high, new girl.” he takes your hand and moves it down the cue just a little bit, holding your waist and angling your sight on the cue ball better.

“you’re sabotaging her like that,” keisuke mutters, the cigarette bobbing as he speaks.

“no, I’m not. that’s a perfect score,” hanma insists.

“perfect my fuckin’ ass. here’s how you do it, new girl! come here.” keisuke points to a spot in front of him on the other side of the table with his chin, you stride over, and he quickly puts you in position, his hand on yours as he angles you toward the cue ball.

“you know how to hit it right?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “no.” you kept your answer quick and short, cause if you spoke any more you’ll accidentally moan, getting drunk on his manly scent mixed with his cigarette, a small hint of coconut from the sunscreen he had on the lake, feeling his cold cross necklace dangling on your back, hoping your not obviously blushing right now. he sighs and adjusts his grip on the cue where your hand is, guiding you as he draws the cue back and strikes the ball. the cue ball glides smoothly, and several balls roll into the corner pockets.

keisuke straightens up from you, pretending as if nothing happened, smirking cockily at hanma. hanma flips him off with a grin.

“think you got the hang of it?” mitsuya asks, leaning his chin against the cue propped up on the floor.

“I think so.” you reply, starting to get confident now. shaking off the earlier interaction with keisuke, you focus on the game. lining up your shot, you strike the cue ball, sending it smoothly across the table, hitting another ball getting it close enough to the corner pocket, damn it.

keisuke walks to the other side, his eyes calculating. he ties his hair up, a few strands falling perfectly on his face as he gets serious, you watch him play. yeah, playing with them was a mistake cause now you can’t focus anymore.

It’s hanma’s turn now. he slicks his hair back with his “punishment” hand and lines up his shot, he pockets a ball in the corner smoothly.

you notice keisuke’s brow quirk up at hanma’s move, slightly impressed. hanma then moves closer to keisuke, taking a drag from the cigarette still held between keisuke’s fingers. he remains focused on the table as mitsuya takes his turn.

what. a. sight.

distracted with drooling over the guys, you notice that the pool table has no balls left, “another game?” hanma proposes.

keisuke exhales the smoke. “yeah, seems unfair to the new girl,” he mocks, his tone teasing, is new girl seriously you’re name now? you sigh, getting a slight whiff of the weed the guys had earlier, a joint sounds so good right now. “yeah, okay, but i gotta go wash up, know a restroom nearby?” the bathroom excuse was a bit unnecessary, but you need to get your mind off of this, stat. mitsuya responds, nodding his head toward the back of the cabin. “yeah, there’s one outside from behind.”

you step out, walking towards the girls’ cabin, carefully opening the door to avoid waking anyone. sneaking to your duffel bag, you search for your stash, only to realize emma has taken it. fuck, she better not have finished it all. you exit quietly, heading towards the boys’ cabin where you find emma lounging next to draken, chatting casually as if there aren’t any guys asleep around them, but who are they to defy draken and his time with his girl?

you approach them, emma spotting you, “oh, heyyy, whatcha doin’ here.” she giggles, clearly stoned, you cross your arms. “where’s my stuff?” you ask, emma’s mouth forms into an “o” with a guilty look on her face. “oops.. we may or may not have smoked it all.”

“you kidding me? it was more than enough for a week!”

“noooo, it wasn’t, don’t know how you smoke your shit but it wasn’t nearly enough for a week.” she shakes her head.

“ugh, whatever.” you mutter, walking away from them, their laughter trailing behind you.

now you actually want to go to the bathroom. you turn to where mitsuya directed behind cabin 13, finding nothing but a shed sitting in between the forest trees, confused but still approaching it. you turn the door handle, walking into kazutora, looking like he’s snorting something on the countertop. he glances up to see who walked in, before he could react, you quickly apologize, “oh, shit! sorry!” you shut the door, leaning against it.

was he doing coke? he was doing coke, but alone in the bathroom countertop? you start consider if you should do coke with him instead, chewing on your bottom lip as you ponder around that idea. you open the door on him again, finding the countertop clean, spotless even.

you lean against the door frame, raising a brow, narrowing your eyes on him. “what were you doing?” kazutora, guilt written all over his face, gulps. his expression quickly changes back to being nonchalant once he realizes that he’s already caught in the act. he leans back against the countertop, crossing his arms. “what’s it look like i was doing?” he replies sarcastically.

a smirk tugs at the corners of your lips as you walk in, shutting the door behind you and locking it, you shut the toilet cover, sitting on it. “i won’t tell if you won’t.”

kazutora raises a brow at your response, a sly grin spreading across his face. “you’re full of surprises, new girl. what’s in it for me if i keep quiet?”

you roll your eyes as if he asked a stupid question. “you’re clearly hiding from somebody if you’re snorting coke in this disgusting dump.” you kick the bath mat that was once white but now stained with muddy shoe prints, you do a ‘my lips are sealed’ motion with your hand as you point at his pocket with your eyes.

you catch his smirk twitch at the corner of his lips as he listens to your observation, you’re smarter than he gave you credit for. he looks down at the dirty bath mat, stuffing his hand in his pocket as he thought for a minute. “alright.” he pulls out a small baggie with a bit of white powder in it.

“got your phone with you?” he asks, you stuff your hand in your skirt pocket, pulling out your phone to use as a surface, a makeshift black mirror. kazutora sits down on the bathroom floor in front of you and lines up the powder with a motel ad card, grabbing a straw he cut out from the drinks and leaning down over the phone, he holds one nostril closed, “done this before?” he asks before inhaling sharply.

“in highschool, haven’t since then.” you have never seen somebody look this hot snorting cocaine, and yet here you are, watching him snap his head back, sniffing frequently. he knocks his head back straight, looking at you with heavy-lidded eyes, moistening his lips and biting it. he then starts to line up the rest for you, handing you the straw, “all yours.” he says, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. he leans against the wall, his eyes now fixed on you.

you hesitantly grab the straw, looking down at the white powder lined perfectly over your phone, staring at the reflection in the back of it. you don’t even know why your hesitating, there’s something nagging in your subconscious telling you to not snort it, telling you not right now. and still you ignore it, knowing you shouldn’t but the dilated sandy colored eyes are staring at you too intensely that you can’t pussy out now. you hold one nostril closed and line the straw from your nose to the powder, inhaling it quick. okay, regret.

“fuck.” you grimace, snapping your head back, blinking rapidly as your eyes water, instinctively rubbing your nose as you try to stifle a sneeze. your heart starts to race. kazutora let’s out a deep chuckle, noticing your discomfort, “gets better.” he swipes the rest of the powder with his finger and rubs it on his gums. you slide down from the toilet seat onto the floor and lean against it, placing your legs on top of his thigh for comfort.

you start to pant, breathing manually now, kazutora observes you with his head slightly tilted, his earring jingles softly. eyes roaming down your body to your soft legs, his senses now heightened, noticing the addictive cocoa butter smell on your legs, he slowly places his hands on your calves, caressing it gently, testing the waters.

“how’re you feeling?” he asks as he massages your calves softly, making you to focus on that sensation more than the rapid beating of your heart, you take your time to answer, you can’t really tell if you’re enjoying this or freaking out right now, but whatever’s he’s doing to your legs should not stop. you nod slowly, sinking down, your other leg curling up to shyly hide your face from his gaze, he slides his hands up to your thigh, spreading your legs open. “let me look at you.” he rasps, the sound of his voice activating something within you that you have been trying to get rid of since the pool game with keisuke.

you let out a soft giggle as his heavy-lidded gaze lingers over your eyes, lips and down to your skirt that you forgot your wearing, the position your in giving him a good view on your panties.

“gotta take care of you, right?” he slowly leans closer to you, resting his chin on your knees, softly kissing it, his lips hover down your knee to your thighs, kissing a little too close to where you need him to be right now. you run your fingers through his hair, softly dragging your black stiletto nails on the back of his hair. he looks up at you, his eyes almost black from how dilated they are. he leans closer to your face, hovering over your lips, just as he’s leaning to kiss you, the bathroom lights flickers then plunges into darkness, hearing the guys yelling over at cabin 13.

my luck. you feel kazutora’s forehead press against your knee and sigh, clicking his tongue in irritation. you lean your head back against the toilet cover, looking up at the ceiling—nothingness really—hearing a commotion going on outside, though kazutora shows no signs of getting up, you nudge your leg at him softly. “let’s check out what happened.” you feel him hesitate for a bit, then he shuffles around, from under your legs you feel his pants adjust, you hold back a giggle. he pushes himself up. “here.” he reaches for your hand, and pulls you up.

kazutora opens the bathroom door, seeing the camp in complete blackout, surrounded by nothing but darkness with the only light source being a couple of iphone flashlights, the glowstick necklaces on mikey, rindou and emma, and the moon. you fumble for your phone, turning the flashlight on.

in the center of the camp, you saw a circle formed around rindou, who’s trying to get a signal on his phone to call the cabin owners about the power outage. keisuke stands around with his arms crossed, his gaze sharp as he notices kazutora walking out the bathroom with you trailing behind.

“where were you?” emma rushes toward your side, “oh, uh, bathroom, what’s going on?” you ask. keisuke cuts in, “what were you two doing in the bathroom for so long?” keisuke observes kazutora’s reaction to his question, already catching him trying to make up a lie in his head, you quickly step in, “i asked him to wait for me outside, i got scared earlier by something in the woods and didn’t wanna be alone.”

kazutora looks at you gratefully for covering for him, then turns to keisuke with an innocent smile. keisuke, however, isn’t easily convinced. “could’ve asked me or mitsuya, or any of the guys that were around you before.” he says, his tone slightly reproachful.

“I didn’t want to bother you guys while you were playing pool,” you explain.

“but you didn’t mind botherin’ kazutora?” keisuke’s eyes narrow at you, fuck he’s sharp.

before you can respond, the group calls for everyone’s help with the generator issue. keisuke gives you both a lingering look before heading towards the others. you exchange a knowing glance with kazutora and emma before following suit, she nudges at your shoulder. “i’ll tell you back at the cabin.” you whisper.

after a long walk in the woods looking for the generator, you join the group clustered around the it. emma stands beside you, wrapping her arms around yours, leaning her cheek against your shoulder tiredly. rindou flashes the light for draken to fix the generator, watching them argue and try to diagnose why the power has gone out. they twist knobs, check connections, and mutter to each other as they attempt to revive the generator. you subconsciously kept your eyes around the forest, getting paranoid, it’s a little too dark for your comfort, either that or you’re just very coked out right now.

draken leans back, “the problem isn’t from the generator, it’s the whole area.”

“cell towers too?” rindou queried, shining the light towards draken’s face, he swats it away from his eyes, “if there’s no bars in your phone then yeah, cell towers too.”

“they doing maintenance on it or what?” rindou pressed.

“does it fuckin’ look like i know what they’re doing to the cell towers right now?” draken retorted.

as the guys continued bickering about the generator you couldn’t shake the random shiver that ran down your spine, you turn to scan around the forest, looking in between the trees and tuning their voices out to try to listen to anything out of the ordinary. you spot a tree with a weird shape, as if there’s a black silhouette behind it, watching you.

“what’s up?” emma notices your attention elsewhere, following your gaze. you blink, watching the silhouette disappear and the sound of tree branches on the floor breaking as if somebody or something is stepping on them. “alright, can you guys wrap this up quick so we can get to the cabin?”

“getting scared, new girl?” hanma teases. “yes, yes i am, so can we please get to the cabin,” you start to walk briskly towards cabin 13, actually breaking into a run. you push open the creaking wooden doors and immediately turn on the flashlight, setting it on the kitchen counter to illuminate the rest of the cabin. the others follow suit. rindou making his way to his DJ set, spinning it and playing with the buttons with a bored expression on his face as the rest of the guys sit on the couch.

“what’s gotten you so scared?” chifuyu asks you, concerned.

“i don’t know. i just didn’t like being out there. It’s too damn dark,” you explain, making room for emma to join you on the couch, sitting close.

“you scared of the dark?” keisuke mocks, sitting across from you and leaning back with an amused expression.

“yeah, i am,” you reply, already growing irritated.

“keisuke, that’s hypocritical of you,” mikey interjects, throwing whatever’s near him at keisuke, which happens to be a ghostface mask.

he smoothly dodges it. “If you’re gonna bring up that one time, we were kids,” keisuke retorts defensively.

draken and kazutora let out a chuckle, clearly remembering the incident.

“fuck you two laughin’ at?” keisuke shoots back. “If anybody’s actually scared of the dark it’s Chifuyu.”

“how did i get dragged into this?!” chifuyu protests. in the corner of your eyes you see rindou suddenly appearing near the couch, picking up a ghostface mask. a slight mischievous smirk plays at his lips as he turns towards the group.

“silence!” he suddenly yells, grabbing everyone’s attention. “who wants to play bodies bodies bodies?”

© 𝑯𝒀𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑶𝑻𝑰𝑪 all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work.

[simp-ly-writes]

Suits, Ties, and Thus Spies (pt.3)

Pairing: Spy!Task Force 141 x Handler!Reader

Summary: Its the task force's first mission as Agents at Taylor Tailor's. How will it go- will other agents accept them and most of all- will you be able to handle working with so many agents on the same mission?

Warnings:2500 words, light swearing and teasing, depictions of blood and violence. A/N: sorry for the delay... decided to change the look of these stories too (hope you like the change!). Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

6:00 PM | Autumn | National Museum of Art and History

Agent Whitby grips the back of another man's suit into a fist, slamming his face repeatedly into the brick wall of the storage room. Blood pours out from their nose, a harsh gash forming against their left cheek and forehead- the skin purple and blue as one of their eyes swells shut. “You really are wasting my time here- you’re a waste of time really for anyone so why not just tell me what the code is, make it easy on your looks and my patience- hm?” he challenges, flicking his head back as the man tries to elbow him in the face. 

Letting out a tisk, Whitby drops the man, holding him in place with a dress shoe to the chest as he feels the man begin to cough up blood as he cringes, eyeing at the lower fabric of his suit becoming damaged by the liquid. Letting out a sigh, while shaking his head, glass slipping down his face as he reaches into his waistband leveling the barrel of the gun in between their eyes. 

“Let us try this again, where-” Whitby pauses at the sound of your voice coming through his earpiece, tilting his head to the side as he continues to stare down at the man, waiting for him to speak the answers he evers-so needs. 

“Whitby, do you have a moment?” you ask coated in sweety-coated sarcasm as you watch him through a hidden camera put on his glasses- observing the man on the floor with mocking pity on your features as you turned to Laswell and point to the room Whitby closed himself into as various enemies flooded the floors below him, making their way upstairs and into the ancient egyptian part of the museum. 

“All my time is yours, love. Only to ask,” Whitby says lovingly while stepping into the man's chest harder, hearing as he wheezes out from the pressure. “Warming my heart here darling,” you start to say, hands moving across the keyboard as you add the scanned models of your newest agents into the digital model. “Whitby, I am sending my newest agents in to help you as a gage for the training that needs to be done. You are in charge, congrats- you are a new father of four!” 

“You’re joking-” Whity begins to say before Handler Jacobs patches themselves into the call, a still image of them setting on your computer screen as soundwaves spike and drop in rhythm to his speech. “Agent, this is Handler Jacobs, you are green to finish him off- passcode is.” You wince as the gunshot rings in your ears- stilling the blood in your body as switch yours and Laswell’s calls over to the boys comms as they arrive at the scene. Their once greyed out figures now bursting with colour and moving in sync to their current actions. 

“Alright Agents, give me a sign that you hear me,” you test, watching the surveillance coverage with a nervous smile as you begin to pick at your nail polish, blood pumping and making it way upwards to your head- settling its thundering beat in your ears. Laswell scoots her office chair closer, placing a hand on your shoulder for reassurance as you let out a large breath. “Loud and clear” rings through your comms as you shake Laswells hand off of you, moving to stand and lean over the diagram. “A physical sign please-” you stress as silence is all you receive on the line, watching as they start to whisper to one another and look around, feeling around their suits. 

“I don’t think I copy, Dee…” Gaz says, rubbing the back of his head. “I watch your every move boys while on a mission. And that is Handler D, please. Turn left and go through the staff entrance, inside the envelope is a swipe to get through the door. Charlotte has already put your biometrics into the security. You will have to climb up the disabled  elevator shaft. Agent Whitby is on the third floor in the Egyptian exhibit awaiting your arrival as we speak.”

“Oh,” Soap responded, waving his hands widely in the hair as you shake your head- looking at Laswell who is struggling to contain her laughter as you grip at the table, knuckles turning white. You watch as the task force makes their way, peering down each corner and into the elevator shaft as they begin to climb the ropes. You watch their technique, writing a few notes on a nearby paper-pad from your desk upon their technique. “We are on the third floor,” John states. 

“Walk as I talk please, turn left, left again, open the yellow door to your right there is a card swipe behind the suit of armour. In 10 steps you find a closet door, open it,” you order, falling back into your chair as their digital models work through the space, guns raised as you click your pen on and off, listening as your clicks sound in tune to the digital clock on your screen. You continue your notes as a ping vibrates through your phone. Mouthing a thank you to Laswell, the report you asked for finally in your inbox. 

“Well hello there,” Whitby states, picking up the dead man's handkerchief as he cleans his hands before shaking each of the task force’s in a strong grip and tight smile. “Agent Whitby, do follow me,” he commands, dropping the piece of cloth to the floor before ushering the group outside the closet as he starts to jog down the hall and places the code into the staff hallway before continuing to navigate the maze of white tiled floors and beige walls without a blink of worry. Handler Jacobs rattles off directions in his earpiece as the task force remains impressed by his supposed memorization of the building. 

“Alright boys, there is one hostile coming up on your west in 5, 4, 3 2, and…” you watch as Johnny tackles the forager into a nearby cart, various vitals of chemicals spill across the floor as they hiss and fizzle amongst one another, eating away at the leather of his shoes. Loosening his tie, Whitby restrains the woman, humming to himself while scanning the rest of the hallway. “Good work, agent,” Whitby compliments, clapping a hand down on their shoulder before continuing to move down the hall and sporadically turning on 90 degrees to slam the door back on another forger, they curse out in pain, dropping to their knees before quickly standing and rushing out into the hall, starting to swing at Whitby.

Dipping down and extending his leg outwards, the man falls over, face slamming into the tile floors below just before they grip his ankle, tackling the agent down with him. Various punches are shared before Whitby has their purple-head in between his thighs- they whimper for air, slamming their fists repeatedly against his thighs while. Whitby signals over for another tie as John wraps the fabric tightly around their wrists. Straightening his jacket one more, Whitby’s chest rapidly rises and falls- needing air he unbuttons a series from his dress shirt before punching in a code back into the door as it creaks in welcome. 

Flicking the lights on, Whitby now walks with a limp to his step- observing the various artifacts in the room sat beside the fakes that were to be sold. Pinching the edge of his glasses, he takes a series of photos- uploading them into the system. “Ghost and Soap, right? If you could demolish these fakes.”

“You have 12 combatants coming from the roof, 20 minutes until they reach you all,” you comment, eyes flicking from the model to the surveillance photo as you chew your lip anxiously. “I have already informed Kyle and Price in the hall but the police are on their way- 30 minutes tops you all. Destroy and set the forgers in place. We cannot be seen,” you state, setting a timer to each of their watches. 

“Then let the fun begin,” Whitby announces to the room before they all get to work smashing through the various fake vases and statues that were to be sold for profit through these criminals. Porcelain shards fly and rattle against one another, crunching beneath their shoes. Glass cabinets are flung open, mixing with the debris on the floor as Soap sets fire to a fake wooden ship carving. Flicking your vision back to the hall, John and Kyle made their way back into the room, tying the criminals to desk chairs and placing a bat at their feet with a smirk. Just as they shut the door behind themselves, you clicked a button on your console as the ties fell from their hands and the forgers scrambled and scratched against the door for an escape to only find none besides the prison cell that awaits them. 

“You are to take your cars back, Whitby is driving to get your gear cleaned before you step back into the facility- safety protocol. Good work today, boys- a few training notes I have for later but other than that, a successful mission is all that matters- management is pleased,” you note watching as they descended from the window, grappling with their belt and buckle before skirting off into the city streets.

A rock station began to bang through the car's audio system just before you shut off communications and watched them drive to the specialty cleaners. Taking a stand and clapping your hands, Laswell rubbed her eyes before announcing her departure. Taking a long hug together you showed her back to the store front before running across the street to pick up a bottle of liquor. Smiling at the black label brand you pay and dash back to the lobby - pouring out a series of cups with ice and phone for Charlotte, Jason, Jacobs, and Samantha to join you all for a debrief. 

–

You smile, watching as the boys do their best to flatten out their freshly primed suits and straighten their ties before walking up to you lounging in one of the many chairs in the large living space of the lobby. The leather creaks under each of their weight, each man smiling as you hand over a glass of Tennessee whisky just as Whitby sends you a knowing wink while eyeing up the bottle. 

“Interesting choice, sweetheart.” He teases as you roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder with your own playfully before he starts to lean closer to you, lips drifting featherlight words into your ear as your cheeks turn back. Charlotte smiles at the bottom of her glass, emitting an echoing chuckle before locking her ankles with Jacobs sat across from her. 

“Are you all dating? Or is this an agent-handler culture thing we don’t understand?” Johnny asks. Eyeing the way Whitby's hands drift across your clothing, finding hidden bits of your warm skin with a small frown as you furiously shake your head. “No, no, no, definitely not. But in this line of work specifically… you only want to get with people who really know you- for you. Not the management-mandated mask externally…” you drift off just as Whitby places a hand on your knee, smiling reassuringly before standing and distributing the rest of the bottle as you each cheer for a successful first mission. 

Returning back home, flicking on the bedroom lamp and getting ready for the night and the subsequent morning after. You could only close that night, snuggling into your cold empty sheets of your house- praying that your remaining “favour-missions” go just as smoothly as the last.

But as the cold night air wept its way through the curtains and into your harrowing dreams as you tossed and turned through the night, gripping and digging into your sheets as the streets became lively in the morning light. Your alarm sounded as you felt around to slam it down shut, another day, another mission done and with your bags packed in preparation. It would be a quick training session and the team's first international mission as a kidnapped royal needed your help. 

You groaned at the panic voice mail, the personal bodyguard shaking like a leaf before pleading through your home's digital system speakers. You start a voicemail while pouring a cup of coffee, the toaster pops up as you navigate through the kitchen and settle down at the island. 

“I have an agent close by to their last known location- they will be forwarded until I can get me and my team into a local base of operations. We will bring them home for the country,” you finish the note with, chugging down the rest of your drink before washing your plates in the sink. Feeling underneath the counter, your fingers dip into crevices- a light flashes red and the floor just beside your slides open. 

A fireproof box hisses open to your fingerprint, various foreign currencies and passports from your past missions flood your memories, fingers drifting over each material and number before settling them on the countertop. 

Stepping into your pantry you push back on a wall, the surface rumbles for a moment before turning itself and revealing a series of steps down towards your basement. The lights flicker on to your presence, humming slightly above your head as you make your way down the firing range and towards your collection. Gently picking up and cleaning each gun, you place them in their travel safe and locked containers before slamming the door behind you. 

Packing your belongings into a bulletproof suitcase- made from the same material as your suit. “X?” you request to your house, “Yes, Handler Daniels?” the AI responds in a pleasant accent back- awaiting your every order. “Please make a suit reservation in one hour, request for beige to be brought out- we are going tropical,” you state. “Very well,” X responds back before going silent once more. 

Suiting yourself up, tying up your dress shoes and slinging a shoulder bag on, you look between the car options you have before deciding on an SUV- needing the seating space for their airport trip that awaited you. Checking your appearance one last time in the rearview mirror you rolled out the driveway and down the country roads. Your house is locked automatically with the lack of your detected presence.

Clicking on the radio, Skyfall began to play through the radio as you tapped your fingers against the steering wheel while awaiting a light change. Rolling your eyes as a driver in front of you almost clipped a pedestrian on the sidewalk wishing to cross on their signal. You pulled into the underground garage underneath the building before driving into a specific parking spot off in a dim corner. It scans the bottom of your car, clicking with approval once finding your matching icon before lowering you deeping into the ground. You smile seeing the various sports cars and SUVs already parked in a line- workers busy or some that even worked through the night as you smile at Samanatha as she waves you in from the front desk, settling yourself in the office once more you read through Lasswell's report before sending out the email. Back your bags boys, we are going international.

↳ Taglist: @thriving-n-jiving @cringeycookies @lilliumrorum @brokenpieces-72 @infpt-zylith @kaoyamamegami @ashy-kit @notsaelty @hindi-si-ikay @sleepyycatt

[wanderingblindly]

Okay but could you also explain multi21 to me as if I have no idea what it is? (Hint, I have no idea what it is)

Hello there!! I’m no expert in f1 history, but a quick summary is that multi 21 stemmed from prolonged driver tensions and poor management between mark webber and Sebastian Vettel, culminating in the 2013 Malaysian Grand Prix.

Sebastian, running in second place, was instructed to hold position to Mark, running in first. This message was given using the code name “multi 21”. Sebastian famously disregarded this and began to race Mark, ultimately winning the race.

On its own, this looks like a case of Sebastian terrorizing his teammate for no specific reason. Which isn’t to say that Red Bull Seb wouldn’t do that, but there is some context:

This article cites Horner on the official F1 podcast in 2018, where he claimed that Malaysia 2013 was likely payback for Brazil 2012, where Mark squeezed Seb out resulting in a crash. But you can also go back further; in Silverstone 2011, Mark blatantly disregarded similar team offers in favor of racing Sebastian. Though reading quotes from that race leads me to believe that Sebastian wasn’t overly bothered by Mark’s disobedience, I still think it shows that team orders were never great between them.

Multi 21 isn’t anything overly special, then. It’s a cut and dry case of drivers ignoring team orders, as we’ve seen many times. The main reason for its significance, and why it lives on in infamy, is probably because of the very strong anti-Vettel coverage at the time. He was the reigning champion multiple years over, he was cocky and young and generally disliked. It was easier for people to root for Mark than it was for Sebastian, and that’s colored the popular perception of the event over time (imo).

[yourpaganuncle]

Discrete / Alternate Veiling Ideas

Actual list after the 'more' thingy

So my school's dress code says I can't wear a bandana and I really don't feel like explaining to my catholic school why a bandana is a religious item but I veil in devotion to lady Hestia so I've decided to make a list of less conventional veiling ideas

This list will be centered around school/working environments and with dresscodes in mind but will likely have other ideas

I'll probably add to this as I come up with things, feel free to also add suggestions!

They'll be organized by how likely they'd be allowed in professional settings and how convenient they are

Safe

Headbands

Hairties

Scrunchies

Clips

Braids

Buns/ponytails

Mayhaps

Headphones

Bandanas

Hats

Risky

Full coverage veils

[birdofmay]

I briefly want to talk about why "proving your diagnosis" to strangers online is absolutely useless, and especially if you want to prove it to a stranger.

I'll use two documents I was allowed to upload.

What does this photo say or prove to you? Well, first of all, absolutely nothing if you don't understand German. And all my documents are in German. This is it in English:

"Diagnosis: Motor coordination disorder with dynamic equinus"

I don't even know how to translate this properly. It's not developmental coordination disorder, aka dyspraxia. It doesn't even have an ICD code. Doctors love not to use ICD codes when it comes to the development of disabled people where I live, they rather describe the symptoms. All it means is that I struggle with motor coordination, either due to brain damage or specifically because of my cerebral palsy. And that I limp (equinus).

But does it really prove that? No, all you know is that somebody took a picture of this document and uploaded it. It has no date and no name and you can't even see the name of the institution. Because you always censor that, that's basic internet safety.

Another one:

In English:

"You are applying for coverage of the costs of early intervention at the early intervention centre [redacted] for your above-mentioned child.

According to the medical opinion I have received, your child requires early intervention because of an imminent or significant disability."

If you know German law, you'll realise that this is an older document because they don't say "wesentliche Behinderung" anymore now. Alright. But does it tell you that I'm disabled and was in early intervention? Does it tell you that there are medical documents that prove that I have a significant disability?

No, it tells you that somebody uploaded a medical document. And that sensitive information is redacted. And you always redact sensitive information, that's basic internet safety.

I could be someone who has access to these documents, maybe because a family member is disabled. Or because it's my job and the document belongs to one of my patients.

It would be even easier for autistics who really were in early intervention and group therapies or special education, and therefore know many peers who "have it worse", so to speak. Maybe I'm friends with someone who's severely developmentally delayed, and they once sent me something that proves their significant disability. I could censor and upload that, and I could start roleplaying because 1. I absolutely know what their life is like and 2. I have the "proof" to back it up.

So what would really prove it?

I'd have to take a picture of an identity card or maybe even my disability ID card, and then I'd need to start a video call to show them my face and, again, my ID. That would prove that I am me, and that the documents belong to me.

And you don't do that with strangers, especially not internet strangers.

So you see, there's absolutely no way to reliably prove your disability to internet strangers.

Therefore, whenever somebody asks you to prove your diagnosis, just ignore them. You can't prove it. You just can't.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Tom Wray at Illinois Eagle:

SPRINGFIELD – HB2350, which requires insurance companies to cover transgender healthcare, went into effect on Jan. 1.  The bill amended the Accident and Health Article of the Illinois Insurance Code to require companies to cover pap smears and prostrate screenings for all people and not limit it to gender. It was passed in 2023 and signed into law in June 2023 by Illinois Gov. JB Pritzker (D). 

It passed on a mostly party-line vote with the Democratic supermajority carrying it through. The bill had been very unpopular with the GOP, especially on the far-right. That seems to have raised its head as the law went into effect.  Illinois Review, a far-right online publication that has gotten retweeted by President-elect Donald Trump, has been criticizing Illinois House Minority Leader Toni McCombie (R-Savanna) for her vote two years ago. She was one of just three Republicans to cross the aisle and vote for the bill. 

According to the Review, McCombie has claimed her vote was just about cancer screening and prevention, which it is. The bill expanded access to cancer screening for all people. The Review also accurately reported that the bill expanded coverage for trans and non-binary people. They also reported that expansion was why the vast majority of the Illinois House Republicans voted against it. 

#HB2350, a law that requires insurance companies to cover gender-affirming care in Illinois, has now taken effect as of January 1st.

Far-right outrage peddlers such as the Illinois Review, Awake Illinois, and Darren Bailey responded to this news with unhinged anti-trans hate. #Twill

See Also:

Capitol Fax: Bill to rein in health insurance companies falsely mocked by far right

[scientia-rex]

Good morning! I have a question. When I look up info about vitamin D, I come across many claims that people generally don't get enough of it. In a recent episode of Maintenance Phase, however, the hosts called it a "scam" or overblown, at least (I don't remember the exact wording). So, like, what's the deal with vitamin D? Do Americans get enough of it?

Probably, mostly. At the very least, people should be tested before starting repletion. It probably has a role in osteoporosis treatment and prevention, BUT how much to take and what form and when is HOTLY debated and frequently conclusions are changing.

Just to take you on a spin through the most recent Cochrane reviews (THESE ARE NOT SINGLE STUDIES, in case any of the research-naive out there want to get pissy about them; look up what a Cochrane review actually is before trying to shit on it; also note that I did NOT say this will cover every fucking person and every hypothetical they can come up with, jesus CHRIST):

No role for vitamin D in asthma

Insufficient evidence to recommend it in sickle cell

Raising vitamin D levels in cystic fibrosis patients is not beneficial

No evidence of benefit of vitamin D in MS

Supplementing vitamin D in pregnancy may have small benefits but also risk of harms

No clinically significant benefit from vitamin D supplementation in chronic pain

Insufficient data on vitamin D in inflammatory bowel disease, but no evidence of benefit

No evidence of benefit of vitamin D supplementation in liver disease

Vitamin D does not appear to prevent cancer in general population

No evidence for benefit in supplementation of vitamin D in premenopausal women to prevent bone density loss

Possible small mortality benefit of D3, but not D2, in elderly patients, but also increased risk of kidney stones and hypercalcemia

Vitamin D alone ineffective, but combined with calcium may be effective, in preventing bone fractures in older adults

Insufficient evidence for vitamin D improving COVID-19 outcomes

Now, vitamin D plus calcium in people who have post-menopausal bone density loss does seem to prevent fractures. This is why doctors routinely recommend it. However, dosage and formulation are still debated as data are insufficient, and uncertainty still large.

So, do you need to supplement? Probably not. There is some fairly weak evidence that vitamin D supplementation may help with depression, but I would argue that it's going to be most relevant in people with pre-existing deficiencies, which Medicare is just hellbent on not letting me test for anymore. They've narrowed the coverage codes for testing so now even know vitamin D deficiency isn't considered a good enough reason to test. So Medicare has very clearly decided it's not relevant, for whatever that's worth, I spit on their graves, etc. Of course, then you get into the question of what counts as a deficiency, which we also really don't know.

And to be clear, I wasn't looking through the Cochrane review results with an angle--those are most of the first page of search results on their site, with the only one skipped being similar to another one I mentioned, and I stopped when I got bored. These should not be paywalled, as I am not logged into anything and I can read it all, so try clicking the side menu on the right if you have trouble getting into the weeds.

If anything, running through this little exercise has made me less likely to recommend vitamin D supplementation, so do with that what you will.

[flieslikeamoron]

Proposed Rule Change will Suppress ACA Enrollment and Limit Healthcare for Transgender Americans

I kept thinking I would see a post that I could just reblog, but I haven't and the comment period for this one ends April 11. So here is my attempt to summarize. The Trump Admin is proposing rule changes for the ACA (Marketplace Heath Insurance). They claim it's to address the issue of improper sign ups and fraud, which is a real problem of brokers who have signed people up or changed their healthcare plans without their knowledge. In this proposal they're inflating the probable fraud numbers exponentially through some study done by a conservative thinktank, but I looked it up and through August of last year there were 275K consumer complaints about people experiencing sign ups or changes without their knowledge, so it is happening. But rather than focus on increasing security for the sign up process so brokers can't access customer files without consent or on higher punishments for brokers caught doing this or any other measures that would address the actual fraud issue, they're using it as a smokescreen to undermine the ACA by taking measures that would lower enrollment and also to target their favorite scapegoats: immigrants, transgender folks, and the poor.

Here's the proposed rule change. It's file code CMS-9884-P. (Use the code if you do want to leave a comment.)  

Federal Register: Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act; Marketplace Integrity and Affordability

My attempt to summarize is under the cut. And here are some other summary links and articles. If anyone within actual healthcare circles or government circles or trans/immigrant advocacy circles has resources or data that can be used to dispute what they're putting forward or comment templates or anything, please share them.

FOCUSED ON THE ANTI-TRANS STUFF: Trump Admin Moves to Prevent ACA Plans From Being Required to Cover Gender-Affirming Care | Them

IMMIGRANTS AND GENERAL ATTACK ON ACA: Trump admin takes aim at Obamacare - POLITICO

DETAILED SUMMARY OF HOW INSURANCE MARKETPLACE WILL BE AFFECTED CMS’s ACA Marketplace Integrity and Affordability Proposed Rule – What it may mean for Health Plans

MORE GENERAL (AKA SHORTER SUMMARIES) Trump Administration’s ACA Rule Could Limit Access to Coverage

Proposed rule would bring sweeping changes to Marketplace enrollment, eligibility

It's like a 300 page proposal and I don't have any legal background so that's why I was hoping I would see a post made by someone better qualified, but here are a few things that I thought were objectionable. Feel free to point it out if I get anything wrong.

1. They want to shorten the enrollment period. So basically it would be 45 days instead of 75 (Nov. 1 to Dec. 15 instead of Nov. 1 to Jan. 15). This will cut down on legitimate enrollment because it affects all eligible enrollees and is not a targeted measure to address specifically fraudulent enrollments.

2. The proposed change will exclude DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals) immigrants from being able to enroll in marketplace insurance or access premium tax credits etc. They're already barred from this in 19 states, but it will make the ban nationwide. This is basically undoing a rule the Biden HHS dept made in May of 2024 that allowed DACA immigrants to be eligible for marketplace healthcare. Before that they were not considered to be "lawfully present" as defined by the ACA. The Trump HHS doesn't argue that the benefits put forward by the previous HHS to support the inclusion of DACA recipients were incorrect, only that the residents are not "lawfully present. Here's the quote: To support the DACA Rule, HHS stated that the policy would increase insurance coverage, reduce delays in care, improve the ACA's risk pool, and make DACA recipients more productive members of society. However, these benefits the agency previously noted do not mean that DACA recipients should be considered to have met the “lawfully present” standard that Congress set in order to enroll in a QHP through an Exchange, to be eligible for PTC, APTC, CSRs, and to enroll in a BHP in States that elect to operate a BHP.

3. Removing the special enrollment period for people 150% below poverty level. So right now if your income status changes and you drop 150% below the poverty level, you're able to sign up for insurance in the marketplace outside the normal enrollment period. This would make it so people have to wait for the once a year normal enrollment period (which again, they're also shortening.)  They're using the fraud excuse and I don't have data on whether there actually is a disproportionate amount of fraudulent signups happening during special enrollment periods. But remember the actual fraud issue is happening through brokers and third parties making unauthorized changes. The bulk of these "improper" sign ups are not happening because individuals are signing up improperly themselves or abusing the special enrollment periods.

4. Prohibiting individual and small group plans from covering “sex-trait modification” (gender-affirming care) as an essential health benefit. An insurer can still voluntarily cover gender-affirming care, but it could not be as part of an EHB. This would ensure federal premium subsidies could not be used to offset the cost of that portion of the coverage. Just a blatant attack on trans people and an attempt to limit gender affirming care. They even include a section where they say they're seeking comment on whether they should define an explicit exception for "conditions like precocious puberty, or therapy subsequent to a traumatic injury, where items and services that are also used for sex-trait modification may be appropriate." So it's very clear this is about transgender people specifically being denied gender affirming care and not about the treatment methods themselves. They also mention Trump's executive orders aimed at trans people in the proposal. They're really not being subtle or trying to hide what they're doing here. The article I linked above also says that a lot of non-marketplace insurers use the EHB list to guide the coverage they provide, so this could possibly have a wider effect than just on marketplace insurance.

5. There are some things that are at least nominally directed at addressing fraud but they're directed at individuals and create administrative barriers that will lower enrollment. So for example, there are changes targeted toward things like certifying individual income eligibility that treat the fraud issue as if it's about individuals defrauding the government instead of an issue of brokers making unauthorized changes or doing unauthorized signups. The changes all basically make it harder to enroll or to roll over enrollment year to year so these things will create additional administrative barriers to enrolling in coverage and will result in lower legitimate enrollment. This article that I also linked above has a good breakdown of all of these changes. 

6. Increased maximum out of pocket limits just for funsies I guess.  

In conclusion, they estimate themselves in the proposal that these changes will result in enrollment dropping by 750K to 2 million. I don't know if that estimate is correct or if they're lowballing, but by their own admission the proposal will lower enrollment and increase the number of uninsured Americans. More uninsured Americans means an increased financial burden on individual Americans, on hospitals and on municipalities. And ultimately higher premiums and worse healthcare for everyone. In their impact statement they say they think most of the unenrolled will be "improper" enrollments but they're also like... Or they could be eligible enrollees  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

"Taken together, the provisions of this rule are expected to address errors and improper enrollments, which means that as presented in the preceding paragraphs, we would expect approximately 750,000 to 2,000,000 individuals to lose coverage as a result of this rule, if all provisions are finalized as proposed. This range may overestimate the actual number of individuals impacted, as we believe that this range includes many individuals improperly enrolled by agents, brokers, and web-brokers without their knowledge or consent, as well enrollees with multiple forms of coverage. Likewise, this range may underestimate the actual number of individuals impacted, as eligible enrollees may lose coverage as a result of the administrative burdens imposed by the provisions of this rule. 

An individual who loses coverage may be required to incur additional expense to obtain coverage or may go uninsured. An increase in the rate of uninsurance may impose greater burdens on the health care system through strain on emergency departments, additional costs to the Federal Government and to States to provide limited Medicaid coverage for the treatment of an emergency medical condition, and cause an overall reduction to labor productivity."

Anyway, I think they figured out the last time that going directly at repealing the ACA is hard so this seems like an attempt to undermine it by impacting enrollment instead. While also trying to exclude the scapegoat groups they hate from federally funded healthcare (and perhaps as a first step to making it harder to access gender affirming care across the board.) 

Here's that link again if you want to comment. The comment period closes on April 11. Federal Register :: Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act; Marketplace Integrity and Affordability Remember to put the code in your comment. CMS-9884-P

[thealmightyemprex]

Emprex rambles about the Blockbusters of the 70's and the importance of historic context

SoI think one things is important when you are watching a film,any film ,and that s cultural context

Ive been thinking about the blockbuster boom of the 70's (Jaws ,Rocky ,Star Wars and Superman the Movie specifically )When I was a kid in the 2000's these filmswere just accepted as classics,game changers in film .....But I've noticed some modern audiences questioning why they are big deals .Like I havent seen much debate of their quality ,they are still considered pretty darn good movies .....But they nearly half a century old now so are far distant from their orignal context

Now Im not a historian ,and Im more in the Mellinial Gen Z BRacket but my dad is GEn X ,so grew up on a lot of 70's and 80's cinema .Im coming at this from a film enthusiast but think it will be funn to talk about why these four films are considered important

Now Jaws ,Rocky ,Star Wars and Superman were huge hits spawning hit franchises but also each marking the template for imitators:Animal attack movies,underdog sports movies , both fantasy and Sci Fi adventures in Star Wars case and comic strip/superhero movies .More then those these four films marked a change in trends from the New Hollywod to a rise in lighter escapist entertainment

If you look into the history the 70's were not an upbeat time in America with war,the Gas shortage and corrupt politicians ,and it was reflected in the Cinema.With the collapse of the studio system and Hays Code ,filmmakers felt emboldened to tell heavier stories,realer stories ,as such you get a lot of classics like Dog Day Afternoon or the Godfather ....And a lot of these are really heavy and dour.The linje between good guys and villains were blurred

Then a shift happens,though its a gradual one , to big escpapist movies and happy endings ....Now I say gradual cause Jaws is a horror thriller about a maneating shark ,and Rocky really does feel like a 70's drama ,heck many might even point out ....Rocky doesnt even win....My point is its kind of fscinating that EITHER of these film have a happy ending.The original book of JAws had a downer ending and I can so imagine a version of Rocky where Rocky dies .Instead we get two of the biggest cheer endings in cinema :When Brody kills the Shark people applauded ,and what couldve been a horror film ends with two of the heroes alive and joking around.Rocky gives,a nuanced happy endijng,but I would say an unambiguously happy ending.Yes Rocky loses the fight but that never mattered to him,it was the fact he "Went the distance " and the fact he and Adrian declare their love ,thats the big victory

Then we have Star Wars ....Good God Star Wars .Now much has been made about Star Wars spectical but honestly looking at old coverage of the film a big factor in that film sucess seemed to be ...People just found it fun! A classic good vs evil fable ,you cheered for Luke,Han,and LEia while booing and hissing at Darth Vader and Tarkin .I maintain Star Wars is a damn good film but also a highly entertaining film

It climaxes in 78 ,with Superman the Movie ,where it takes what was,still a popular character....But one who even at the time was considered outdated ,a symbol of old school heroics ,and brought him into the then modern cynical era usimg him as a symbol of optimisim and hope

In an era where we are oversaturated with blockbusters ,I do think the charms of Jaws,Rocky,Star Wars and Superman can get lost outside their historical context

@theancientvaleofsoulmaking @themousefromfantasyland

@princesssarisa @countesspetofi @amalthea9 @the-blue-fairie

@ariel-seagull-wings @filmcityworld1 @barbossas-wench

[palestinegenocide]

Zionism will never be viewed the same after the Gaza genocide

How do you wrap your head around genocide? As one numb week follows another, our leaders blind themselves to massacre and famine.

Joe Biden can see no “compelling alternative to how Israel [wages] a war in these circumstances without doing grievous harm to civilians,” Aaron David Miller writes in the New York Times, excusing the president’s support for genocide. So, Israel isn’t being deliberately cruel and sadistic. The Times coverage would just have you believe they just have no choice– as Donald Johnson wrote in a letter to the paper. “There is no middle ground between what Israel is doing and Gandhian pacifism: They just had to use 2000 lb bombs in urban settings. They have to torture captives and cut off food.”

Miller and other liberal Zionists have adopted that stance, but they are having little influence on Democrats. Polls show that the American people favor giving humanitarian aid to Gaza in far greater numbers than they do giving military aid to Israel, and the progressive base of the Democratic Party has started a political “firestorm” over U.S. support for genocide. The Zionist group J Street postponed its 2024 conference, surely because its own rank and file are enraged by Israel.

James Carville said on MSNBC this week that if Biden loses, it’s Israel’s fault, because the catastrophe in Gaza is an issue “all across the country.”

“This Gaza stuff, this is not just a problem with some snot-nosed Ivy League people…This is a problem all across the country. And I hope the president and Blinken can get this thing calmed down because if it doesn’t get calmed down before the Democratic convention, it’s going to be a very ugly time in Chicago. I promise you that. No matter what happens, I know it’s a huge problem.”

Last week, Brad Sherman, the Israel-loving Congress member from Los Angeles, fought back, accusing “anti-Israel forces” of an “attempt to penetrate and muddy our national discourse.”

Protesters affiliated with the antiwar group Code Pink seek to ask Rep. Brad Sherman about his support for the massacres of Palestinians in Gaza, in a video posted March 20, 2024. The congressman from Los Angeles/Malibu ran away from the protesters and accused them of seeking the genocide of Jews. Screenshot.

Sherman accused them of antisemitism. “There’s blood on your hands for the genocide—you’re trying to kill every Jew.”

That is the chief refuge for Democrats who excuse Israel’s actions. To say that critics of genocide are motivated by antisemitism.

But even liberal media are giving a platform to progressive critics. “The United States is complicit in genocide,” Mehdi Hasan said this week on New York public radio, and when the host pushed back and said Hasan was not blaming Hamas, Hasan said of course he denounces Hamas, but his tax dollars are not going to support Hamas. He also pointed out the inevitable consequences of military occupation. “The oppressed will always rise against the oppressor.”

And in wonderful media news this week, Atlantic editor Jeffrey Goldberg withdrew from a speaking engagement in Kentucky after students questioned his record in the Israeli military nearly 40 years ago.

Jeffrey Goldberg, Editor-in-Chief of The Atlantic, withdrew from a scheduled speaking event at the University of Kentucky (UK) Wednesday, citing a last-minute schedule change, amidst concerns from students about his past as a former Israel Defense Forces (IDF) prison guard and his views on Zionism…. “We were informed that students expressed concern as to why a former IDF prison guard would be speaking on democracy and journalism at an event celebrating the integration of UK. Students were told he withdrew to not cause harm on campus,” the representative [of a Palestinian solidarity group] stated.

The event was billed as “The Future of Journalism and the Health of Our Democracy.” That’s a little bit of accountability. The editor of the Atlantic is finally being called out for his service for Israel. The writer Yakov Hirsch repeatedly explained on our site that Netanyahu could not have maintained his faultless reputation in the U.S. mainstream without Goldberg fostering “hasbara culture.”

And bear in mind, that Goldberg used to brag about his military service. He wrote a whole memoir about it. Now, times are changing. And other editors who carried water for Israel will surely be called on to defend that work.

This process is just beginning. Zionists still have esteem in the U.S. discourse. The view that Israel supporters promote bigotry against Palestinians is still off-limits. Even as mainstream Jewish organizations assert that those who support Palestinian rights are bigoted against Jews.

“Israel supporters should be seen as on the same moral level as supporters of Bull Connor, but in the U.S. and Western mainstream you can only point to antisemitism— you can never point to anti-Palestinian racism on the Israel side,” Donald Johnson has written on our site.

“We cannot make progress on this issue if the extreme racism of the pro-genocide side is never discussed. People have to be able to say that any group, whether white southerners or South Africans or Nation of Islam members or Christian evangelical Zionists or Germans or, yes, Jewish supporters of Israel, can be racists. They can make racism central to their ideology. But Zionist racism is still a taboo subject, automatically branded as antisemitic, because fundamentally Palestinians are seen as lesser.”