#Rapid Logistics

[akashzipaworld]

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[seem0reglass]

I have a sneaking suspicion that in those ~dark ~academia ~aesthetic posts, the books in the photos are turned around with their pages edges facing out bc the books they actually have are contemporary tv on paper books that don't match their ~color ~scheme

[redhotarsenic]

I think about Valantinez very specifically having the entirety of dmc4 lady’s handgun moveset btw

[reboottechblogs]

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Introduction:

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Conclusion:

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Visit the American Transport Logistics website today to learn more about their auto transport services in New Jersey. Experience the excellence and peace of mind of entrusting your vehicle to a reputable auto transport company that delivers outstanding service.

[vividxpages]

｡° ✮୨ৎ "lay it all on me"୨ৎ✮° ｡

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Reader

words: 2100

summary: With the Queen and your betrothed Jacaerys’ delayed arrival, you are left in charge of the day’s council meeting. When one of the lords starts to speak of a possible bedding ceremony for your upcoming wedding, your thoughts begin to spiral badly…

warnings: the lords in Rhaenyra’s council being perverts and dicks, talks of misogynistic traditions and predatory behavior of men, sexism and misogyny, panic attacks, Jacaerys being a protective betrothed, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, crying, hopeful ending

a/n: I cooked this up so quickly, but I was very inspired yesterday - thank you so much to the anon who sparked a conversation about bedding ceremonies in my asks and with it, my inspiration for this idea! <3 this is for you :*

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

When the messenger arrived at the council room and announced the delayed arrival of the Queen and her son, you had been optimistic for a moment.

Jacaerys and you, a team ever since your shared childhood and since recently betrothed with the blessings of his mother and family, had led council meetings like this together before and you were no stranger to the strategies and logistics of the war and Rhaenyra’s efforts in it. You just had not done it by yourself before.

You nodded in thanks to the messenger and turned back to the assembly of Rhaenyra’s lords around the table with a polite smile. It was only a matter of time until her and Jace would make their return from the dragon’s caves and until then, you’d do your best to begin today’s conversation.

“Well then, my lords.” You nodded to yourself and took a deep breath, looking into the round with openness. “I believe we’ll continue where we’ve left off yesterday? Is there any news yet of Daemon’s stay at Harrenhal? We could-“

“There is another matter of importance we thought we could discuss with you, my princess.” One of the lords interrupted you, a cool smile on his face as you leaned back in your seat. You cocked an eyebrow at him to continue despite your sentence being left unfinished. “Since the wedding with the prince Jacaerys will occur in the upcoming months, it would be wise to discuss the bedding ceremony sooner rather than later.”

Something in you went very, very still.

You blinked at him before you looked into the other men’s faces. They seemed to be in agreement of this rapid topic change. “The…bedding ceremony?”

“Yes, it is of grand importance to ensure the consummation of marriage between two newly-weds.” He explained to you, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his old mouth. “It’s an old tradition and the lords and I believe it is best to follow it with the young and lovely union of the prince and you.”

You swallowed against the dryness in your throat, your hands suddenly clammy with unsureness. “I have not talked to Jace about such a thing. The Queen hasn’t spoken to me about it either. That’s…-What if me and Jacaerys are against it?”

A few of them chuckled as if you had made a good jest.

“My princess, is it not really a matter of choice, if you understand.” One of them explained to you before he suddenly turned away from you and addressed the others: “The wedding will be held here at Dragonstone as we know and I thought of a crowd of perhaps a dozen, mostly members of the family and this council, of course. After the celebrations, the prince will lead his bride away in the company of the Queen’s loyal and trusted advisors and then, the marriage will be consummated in a room large enough for the ceremony.”

You opened your mouth to object, but found your voice had simply vanished.

“Will there be sheets as proof in the morning?”

“I would actively support it.”

“There are clothes here at Dragonstone suited for such a ceremony, I am sure we will have them before the wedding takes place.”

“A purity test accomplished by a maester might be sufficient beforehand as well-“

You felt yourself drifting away from the conversation, one that circled around you and yet did not include you at all. Staring at the table in front of you, you felt your breath quicken as a distant howl swept through your mind, drowning out their voices as they went on and on.

In your mind, you saw yourself being led into a fully lit room. The dress you wore was thin and barely hiding your body, your arms protectively crossed in front of yourself as you shivered. The bed chamber was crowded all the way back to the tapestry of the walls with men regarding you coolly. Their hunger for the curves barely hidden underneath your dress was evident in their eyes, yet you had to walk on until you reached the middle of the room. Jacaerys was waiting, his own expression blank and without any emotion for you as he took your hand and led you to bed. There were a thousand eyes on you and you felt numb, your body screaming in protest, your mind begging you to shout at them to leave as Jace mechanically began to kiss your neck-

The wide doors of the hall opened and the men seated around you abruptly stood, their wrinkly hands brushing over their attires. The Queen was here.

You remained in your seat, your mind having drawn itself back to a hidden part in yourself, blankly staring at the fidgeting hands in your lap. When you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder, the touch so familiar it could’ve been your own, you closed your eyes for just a moment. Jacaerys had come with her.

“What is going on?” Rhaenyra demanded to know, walking around the big table as she took in your uncharacteristic quiet state.

When your betrothed raised your hand to his lips in greeting, you looked up and bit your lip at Jace’s worried expression. The taste of iron coated your lips and only now you realized you had bitten your lip so badly, it had started to bleed. The pain was almost a relief.

“Are you alright?” Jace murmured, his hand delicately cupping your cheek and making you shudder. Your eyes were glassy, your cheeks red from shame and suddenly, a strong urge to cry shot through you, so intense you barely could fight it. “What is it, my love?”

You shook your head, avoiding his searching gaze.

The shame burned hotly through you and you wanted to shrink into your seat until you could escape these old devils. One of them, who had started this whole discussion about the ceremony in the first place, cleared his throat. “Your Grace, we were discussing possible arrangements for the wedding of the prince and his betrothed. There have been no mentions of the traditional bedding ceremony yet and the lords and myself were worried that-“

Rhaenyra frowned with a disgusted curl of her lips. “A bedding ceremony? There hasn’t been a tradition like this in my generation. Why would we burden the next with such an old piece of the past?”

You could sense Jace tensing beside you, his face dark as he stared at the lord. Would he look at you like this too, when the happiest day of your life would end with having to sleep with each other in front of dozens? Your chest hurt as you struggled to breathe normally.

“The princess has expressed similar concerns, but there are ways…There could be a thin veil draped over the sides of the bed.” Another suggested generously and you felt your stomach turn itself over. “Of course, it cannot shield the pair fully from the observer’s eyes. They have to be in sight, so it can be assured that she’s-“

“There will be no bedding ceremony.” Jace cut him off, close to snarling as he flexed his hand on the hilt of his sword. He remained by your side, his stance protective of you and intimidating. “Neither my mother or myself have been consulted about this before and the fact that you’ve preyed on an opportunity to bring it up in front of the princess is close to treason. And yet you’ve dared to speak of such inappropriate matters in front of my betrothed, your future Queen? I could have you hanged by the cliffs of Dragonstone for such perverted behavior.”

“My prince, with all respect, it simply is tradition. It has to be guaranteed that on the night of her wedding, the bride is a maiden-“

The sound of your chair screeching over the floor broke through the room as you stood up. The sound of your own breath was too loud in your eyes, the lump in your throat only growing by the second. “If you would excuse me, Your Grace, I’m not feeling well.”

Jacaerys stood with you, but as he reached for your hand, you had already slipped away and quickly made your escape towards the wide doors, trying to breathe against the numbing panic in your lungs.

You blindly walked down the long corridor, ignoring the questioning looks of the guards standing on the sides. Would they be there as well, to witness yours and Jace’s union, eyes on your naked body when Jace had to deflower you in front of an audience?

You choked on a sob, the tears running freely down your cheeks now, the pain in your chest only expanding from keeping it inside for so long. You had never experienced a panic like this before, a powerful tide washing all rational thoughts away and sending your brain into overdrive.

Behind you, quick footsteps were approaching and before you knew it, Jacaerys had overtaken you and blocked your path, taking your upset state in with wide eyes. Your bottom lip wobbled dangerously and you came to a halt, noting how far and fast you had walked away from the council room.

“My love…” Jacaerys mumbled quietly and stepped closer and somewhere inside of you, a dam burst and he caught you as you fell into his arms, your body wrecked with heartbreaking and breathless sobs. He wrapped his arms around you, drawing you against his chest and letting you cry, his own heart aching at the stress vibrating through your body.

“I don’t want them to see…” You sniffled miserably against his shoulder, his arms tightening protectively around your waist, one of his hands resting on the back of your head and stroking your hair. “I want our wedding night to be ours, I don’t want them in the room with us, I don’t want any of it.”

“I’m not going to allow it.” He assured you calmly, suppressing his own anger for the sake of your peace of mind. Later, he’d had time to rage and forge the feeling into action, but now the only thing that mattered was you. “They have no right to make these rules for us. You and I decide, together, okay?”

You nodded, your anxiety slowly beginning to ebb away and leaving the council room and its members behind you.

“I am so sorry I was not there with you.” Jacaerys regretfully whispered against your temple, soothingly stroking your back as you rested your tear-streaked face against his neck. “I am not going to let this slide. And I am serious, my love, I promise you; there will be no bedding ceremony, I’m not going to let them expose you like this.”

You lifted your head to look at him, your eyes still shimmering with worried tears. “And what if we have to? I can’t do this, Jace, I would rather die-“

He gently shushed you and gently rested his forehead against yours, willing you to take big and deep breaths with him until you were breathing in sync and your shivering stopped. “We don’t have to do anything. You and I, we’ll be king and queen someday and I will not accept any disrespect towards you, not today or when we’re married, alright?”

You nodded slowly, exhaling deeply as you allowed yourself to sink against him, letting yourself be held and gently swayed from side to side. Slowly but surely, your heart stopped hurting and the clouds in your mind dissolved until you only felt him.

“Alright.” You whispered back after a while and his lips on yours, featherlight and oh so gently, were a relief after such moments of stress. When you separated and looked into each other’s eyes, you added quietly: “I want this, with you. All of it. I want our first time together to be special and a memory we’ll cherish forever.”

“And it will be, I promise.” He soothed you. “These old pathetic men will do good to remember their place before I’ll unleash Vermax on them.” He added jokingly and even managed to make you giggle a little bit at the mental image. “You know how Vermax adores you, he’ll eat them in one piece and spit them out, because they’re disgusting.”

You snorted tiredly and nuzzled his neck in affection, not ready to separate yourself from him just yet.

“My mother will deal with them.” Jace promised you darkly, a revengeful shimmer in his fierce eyes as he wiped the last of your tears away with his thumb. “And when she’s done with them, I will make sure as well they’ll remember who they answer to, my queen.”

He would deal with this.

And after he had put those foul men in their place, he’d make sure you’d be the happiest you could be and your wedding would be perfect and just the way the two of you had imagined for so long…

my taglist: @princesschimchim1325 @cecestea @jacesvelaryons @princessvelaryon @diannnnsss

[cranberrymoons]

buck finding out that marisol is moving in with eddie when and how he does??? is crazy crazy work. he is already mid-panic spiral about the possibility of being forced to come out to eddie right here right now (being outed!!!!! that’s what we call that btw, okay, buck buckley on the verge of being outed) and it’s happening in front of this woman he barely knows. and just, what, three days ago? he finished going through the emotional upheaval of the sleeper agent activation of every single one of his most deep seated personal insecurities about being replaceable in eddie’s life. and also he sprained eddie’s ankle. and also he’s bisexual now of all things. and he’s sitting here with this guy he barely knows and looking at this woman he barely knows, and eddie standing in between them, and eddie says “oh btw marisol agreed to move in! isn’t that great” and buck is now hearing kill bill sirens in his head because he thought he got past all this LAST week and now here it is again and she’s doing what??? she’s moving in?? and you’re telling me like this right now right here that she’s just going to live in our family home?? because that’s what eddie’s house is to him!!!! and now buck has to do rapid life calculus about the logistics of having eddie and chris over to his stupid loft four times per week for dinner and movies and homework time and he doesn’t even have a couch. or is marisol just invited to family dinner now??????? is he going to go over to eddie’s house like normal and cook dinner for four?? and meanwhile helicopter boy is there making closet jokes, and they’re intentionally btw *intentionally* for sake of privacy at a restaurant that’s far away from buck’s neighborhood. that comes up in the maddie coming out scene, that they went out of their way to make things feel a little less scary for buck by going somewhere in a different neighborhood. so they’re in an unfamiliar place and Buck has just found out this horrible weird news that makes his chest feel horrible and weird, and then to top it all off he gets left standing on the curb while stupid eddie is inside having dinner with the woman who is apparently moving into their home!!!!! ugh.

[thatchickwiththecamera]

Two Pink Lines

This is from a request sent to me by @lma1986

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Female Reader

TW: Pregnancy difficulties, implied past loss.

The soft glow of the late afternoon sun filtered through the window of the bedroom where she sat waiting for the timer to finish counting down. For the past few weeks, she had been riding an emotional rollercoaster. Fear and anxiety mixed together with joy and excitement. Today, though, she felt something she hadn't dared to let herself feel for a long time: Hope. 

The timer on her phone sounded and she looked at the tiny white stick lying on the table, a wave of disbelief washing over her. It was actually real. After years of trying and countless disappointments, it was right there. Two pink lines. Her heart raced as she imagined the little life growing inside her. 

She was able to get an appointment with her OB/GYN a few days later and Dr. Matthews confirmed that she was in fact pregnant. She estimated her to be about 10 weeks along and calculated a due date for the middle of October.

Y/N stared in awe at the screen of the ultrasound machine as the tech pointed out the little bean that was her baby. Hot tears sprang from her eyes as the rapid tempo of the heartbeat filled the silent room. 

With a flutter of excitement, she picked up her phone and texted Bryan, the band’s media director. He was one of the few she trusted with this secret.

Hey, Bryan! I need your help with something! Can I call you?

Minutes later, her phone buzzed.

Absolutely!

Nerves ate at her as she listened to the phone ring.

“Hey, what’s up?” He answered. 

“Are you around any of the guys?” She asked. 

“Noooo, I’m on the bus editing, everyone else is in the venue for soundcheck.” He replied. “Why?”

“Okay. You can’t tell anyone, but I took a test earlier this week and went to the doctor today to confirm.” she explained, excitement filtering through “and well…I’m currently 10 weeks pregnant!”

“WHAT?!” He yelled, before clearing his throat with a cough and continuing with a lower volume of voice. “Holy shit! Congratulations!” 

“Thank You, Bry! I want to surprise Noah with the news and I need your help” She asked. 

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Bryan replied.

“I have the perfect idea!” 

Y/N and Bryan eventually had to loop Matt and Alana in on the plan as well. They needed them both in order to finalize all the logistics of getting Y/N to the east coast and sneaking her into the venue for the surprise. But they also needed their help to actually pull of the surprise without anyone else noticing. 

The night of the show arrived, the venue was alive with energy and anticipation. She hid backstage in one of the green rooms, heart racing as she watched Noah on stage through the venue's monitor system. She watched him put his heart and soul into performing, the music wrapping around him like a second skin. It was moments like this that made her fall in love with him all over again.

One by one they ticked songs off the set list. Alana quickly and quietly retrieved Y/N from the room and ushered her to a hiding spot back behind the stage risers. 

The final notes of Dethrone rang out and the crowd went crazy as the stage lights came back on for the boys to do their bows. As the boys walked back out to center stage, the lights dimmed again. 

Instead of the regular montage set to a Matchbox Twenty song, a montage of her and Noah’s life together popped up on the giant screen. Noah watched in confusion as the video Bryan made played set to the song they used for the first dance. 

Noah stared at the screen, the smile on his face growing wider with each clip. Y/N took this moment of distraction to quietly slip out onto the stage and stand behind him. 

Bryan had edited together clips from their wedding video, candid videos from when they were dating, and behind the scenes clips of the two on music video sets and backstage over the years. The video ended on the “Now Loading” screen the boys usually use to tease their fans. 

The lights came back up and the crowd erupted into cheers as they recognized who stood behind the singer.

Noah turned around to find his wife standing in front of him with a onesie that said “BABY OMENS” in the same font as the band’s logo. 

Noah’s face, a mix of shock and elation transformed into sheer joy. Nick, Jolly, and Folio jumped and hollered with excitement as they realized what was happening. 

Noah rushed toward his wife and scooped her up into his arms and spun her around a few times before finally setting her back down. 

“Are you serious?” he asked, his voice barely barely audible over the sound of the crowd as he held her face in his hands.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she nodded, laughter and joy mingling in her chest. 

“I’m serious!”

Bryan captured every moment—their embrace, the sparkle in Noah’s eyes, the overwhelming wave of love that surrounded them. In that instant, time felt suspended, and the world faded away, leaving just the two of them in their little bubble of happiness.

“I can’t believe it!” Noah said, pulling back to look into her eyes. “We’re going to be parents!” 

The crowd continued to cheer.

As Noah leaned down to kiss her, Bryan captured the moment, the camera clicking away, freezing the pure joy radiating from the couple.

The kiss lingered, sweet and tender, before Noah pulled back, still holding her gaze.

“This is the best surprise ever. I’m so proud of you. You’ve been so strong through all of this.”

Y/N felt the weight of his words settle warmly in her heart. 

“I couldn’t have done it without you. You’ve always believed in me, in us.”

Noah turned back to the audience, the light in his eyes bright. 

“I’M GONNA BE A DAD!” He yelled, raising Y/N’s hand in the air, showing the onesie. 

“We’re adding a new member to the Omens crew!”

The crowd erupted again, a sea of cheers and applause echoing off the venue walls. Y/N laughed, the sound clashing with the post show playlist that started playing through the venue. 

Y/N stood to the side as the band took their final bows before the house lights turned on and the fans began to shuffle out of the building. 

When he walked off stage, Noah wrapped her up in his arms once more. Y/N knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would navigate them together. The future was bright, and for the first time in a long time, it felt like anything was possible.

[thecoffinsys]

Slay the Princess is the perfect demonstration of trauma, dissociation, and systemhood.

I NEED MORE PEOPLE TO TALK ABOUT THIS. And it's NOT just for the reasons you may think. Yes, it is due to the multitude of voices, but that isn't all there is to systemhood. Slay the Princess dives into almost every fundamental stage of grief, trauma, stress, and body sensations regarding traumatic events that we as a collective have ever experienced. Stay with me.

SYSTEMHOOD

Not only does Slay the Princess display systemhood through the multitude of voices, inability to come to a conclusion on outerbody decisions, and having different methods of how to survive specific situations— it also displays systemhood through loss of time, depersonalization, loss of identity and sense of self, alters having abilities over the body that others do not, looping the same trauma over and over again, and rapidly splitting due to traumatic experiences — even down to not being believed by family members when you tell them something horrible happened to you.

The entire idea of jumping from one alternative world to the next after dying or making the incorrect choice perfectly displays a repetition of the same traumatic memory over and over again, the mind trying to logistically think of what could have been done differently as a means of coping with what really happened. When you fail to save the world in one reality, your mind restarts the entire scenario again, trying to find a better option to the mistake you've already made.

The Stranger rout perfect displays depersonalization, dissociation, loss of self and identity, and confusion regarding time. The second you step down a staircase, you completely and utterly forget yourself in the mundane action. Forgetting who you are, where you are, what your purpose truly is - and sinking deep within your own mind, until suddenly you're right where you are meant to be and have no memory of how you got there. It's so perfect in how it shows the confusion and distress.

This game is about becoming. whole. Gaining. A sense. Of self. And purpose. Gaining more perspectives, more understandings of what it means to be a person. (Oh my god I'm screaming)

In The Nightmare, the voice of the Paranoid displays perfectly symptoms of not only paranoia regarding trauma, but symptoms of OCD due to trauma. He has an ability that no other alter has, which is to keep their organs running by participating in his own compulsion. Which really displays how some alters have abilities that other do not, because to be a system, you must be fragmented. Several shards of glass attempting, to the best of their ability, to be a functional mirror- but never having the exact strength. And different shards will hold different capabilities than those who are smaller, weaker, and carry smaller and/or more specific burdens. Paranoid is a very big shard, I think.

Following that — mirrors are a huge motif of the game. Not only do you continuously see them in every rout, but you end each rout by finally looking at yourself and seeing you for you. And the more perspectives you gain, the less "you" you truly feel. You become tired, withered. But it is all in the efforts to "become whole". To make this being of perception finally understand what it means to be more than just broken worlds creating branching understandings.

In A Moment of Clarity, dozens of voices begin to cloud our understanding due to the very traumatic thing we experienced in the last world. A rapid split because of trauma! We become more broken; "losing ourselves". Now there are even more conflicting thoughts, feelings, and opinions regarding how we should go about surviving- and it displays our further descent from our sense of self. Which is ironic given the name of the ending!

And finally (but most definitely not finally, I could keep going on and on but no one would want to read all of that), The Narrator never believing you when you tell him you've been here before, have experienced horrors that he could never imagine, and have been through countless nightmares. But not only does he not believe you, he will also ridicule your idea, and go on to say "you failed because you didn't listen to me" or "you damned another world because of what you did". Puts the blame on us, once again. It's the same thing a lot of systems do experience in the real world. You try to reach out, you try to explain to someone you trust that something horrible happened to you, but you're met with disbelief and shamed for your own trauma. Made to feel like the guilty one when you are in fact the victim- the survivor. That one stood out to me very personally.

. . .

I really want to go on but this is already a billion paragraphs and I worry no one will even get this far. But this game means a lot to us as a system and as someone who experiences things very similar to what is displayed in the game on a daily basis. Slay the Princess might be one of our all time favorite games as of right now, especially considering the guy who traumatized us for 200 episodes straight is the main guy voicing the entire thing- that also helps with sentiment-

Uhhhh thank you for reading if you made it this far :]

[fearfulfertility]

CONFIDENTIAL INTERNAL MEMO

DRC, Facility Operations Command, Supply & Procurement Unit

Date: [REDACTED]

From: Administrator [REDACTED], Supply & Procurement Unit

To: Director [REDACTED]

Subject: Surrogate Clothing Policy Review

Objective

The matter of clothing surrogates during their conscription and gestation periods has been a persistent challenge within DRC paternity compounds. As pregnancy progression leads to rapid and extreme physical growth, the feasibility of maintaining suitable attire diminishes exponentially. 

While the dignity of surrogates is to be considered, the logistical and financial realities of clothing surrogates in the later stages of high-multiparity pregnancies render the task borderline comedic—albeit with profound implications for resource efficiency.

I. Fabric Failure Timeline

Phase 1: Early Gestation (Days 1–12)

At the outset of their conscription, surrogates are issued standard-issue elastic garments designed to accommodate the initial stages of gestation. These garments typically include loose-fitting t-shirts and “pajama pants” with elastic waistbands. At this stage, clothing is meant to give the surrogates a sense their dignity is being maintained during the initial intake process. 

Even the largest or stretchable garments begin to falter within the first week. Surrogates who have been inseminated with high-yield pregnancies (+10 fetuses) find that even the most generous clothing gives up the fight during routine activities such as bending over, eating, or sleeping.

By days 7-10, the garments often devolve into little more than fabric relics clinging to bodies that have far outgrown them. Meal times, in particular, become prime opportunities for “wardrobe malfunctions,” as surrogates’ bellies swell rapidly due to their high-calorie intakes, causing already-strained seams to split dramatically.

“They gave me these stretchy pants and said they’d ‘grow with me.’ By day 8, they were so tight I thought I’d lose circulation. When I bent down to grab my tray, the waistband snapped like a rubber band! Then, they refused to replace them. Now I'm just laying in my underwear and they'll probably be split open by tomorrow!” - Surrogate S110-391-L

Phase 2: Mid-Gestation (Days 13–21)

By mid-gestation, the struggle to maintain full clothing coverage shifts from a practical challenge to a near-comedic farce. Most surrogates have long since outgrown their standard-issue attire. Garments leave more of the surrogates’ burgeoning midsections exposed than concealed, and the illusion of modesty is gone.

Some compounds (in more conservative areas of the country) have experimented with adaptive solutions to this widespread wardrobe malfunction. One such attempt is the introduction of “belly bands”—elastic fabric panels intended to stretch indefinitely over the surrogates’ growing girth. 

Despite these creative adaptations, the reality of mid-gestation growth often leaves surrogates in a state of partial or, in many cases, near-total undress. More liberal compound administrators frequently abandon the notion of full-body clothing altogether, opting for what is euphemistically termed “strategic coverage.” This often translates to simple cloth wraps positioned to cover just enough to preserve a hint of dignity while accepting that the bulk of the body, almost always the belly, remains bare. Staff members focus instead on ensuring that surrogates are comfortable and leave the notion of modesty as a casualty of practicality.

“They called it ‘strategic coverage.’ I call it an XXXL jock strap! I looked like a parade float in a handkerchief. And it didn't even last a whole day. Halfway to the bathroom, it snapped off completely. I waddled back, belly swaying, pretending I didn’t care.” - Surrogate S121-188-R

Phase 3: Late Gestation (Days 22–35)

During late gestation, clothing becomes pure futility. The surrogates’ bodies, now stretched to astonishing proportions, have outgrown even the most generously designed custom garments. At this point, the idea of “dressing” a surrogate is akin to wrapping a skyscraper with a handkerchief: an exercise in wishful thinking.

As a last resort, many surrogates abandon conventional garments entirely and instead rely on oversized blankets or loose sheets for modesty. While providing temporary relief from exposure, these coverings are inadequate for long-term wear. The sheer girth of their bodies causes blankets to slip off constantly, unable to maintain their position on a surface that is more curved than plane. Mobility challenges further complicate things; even a minor adjustment or shift in position can send a carefully arranged blanket sliding to the floor, again exposing the surrogate. 

Ultimately, most surrogates resign themselves to their condition, accepting that complete coverage is a battle they cannot win. Staff have grown accustomed to the sight of surrogates in full undress.

“I tried to laugh when the nurse handed me a blanket for modesty. Then I realized she was serious. A blanket? I’m carrying sexdecuplets here! My belly is the size of a beanbag chair. Every time I tried to move, it slid off like butter on a hot pan.” — Surrogate S137-410-P

II. Operational Costs

The financial and logistical burden of maintaining surrogate clothing throughout gestation is untenable. 

Initial Garment Issuance: [REDACTED]

Garment Replacements: [REDACTED]

Fabric & Material Losses: [REDACTED]

Tailoring & Repairs: [REDACTED]

Administrative Costs: [REDACTED]

The data supports transitioning to the “Bare Necessity Protocol”: issuing clothing only during intake and early gestation but providing no specialty clothing once they outgrow the linens.

This change could reduce clothing expenditures by up to 80% per year, reallocating resources more efficiently while acknowledging the practical limits of fabric in the face of extreme growth.

III. Morale Implications & Solutions

Transitioning to the Bare Necessity Protocol—eliminating clothing beyond early gestation—poses clear challenges to surrogate morale. The rapid loss of modesty and the unavoidable exposure associated with high-multiparity pregnancies can lead to feelings of humiliation, vulnerability, and resentment. Surrogates often arrive at compounds already apprehensive about their conscription, and the progressive erosion of their dignity through clothing failures can exacerbate stress, anxiety, and resistance. 

However, compounds can mitigate these psychological and emotional impacts through strategic dietary adjustments. By incorporating appetite enhancers, sedatives, and aphrodisiacs into daily meal plans, surrogates can be effectively distracted from their physical state. 

Enhanced hunger drives ensure surrogates remain preoccupied with consuming high-calorie meals, creating constant and ravenous appetites. In addition, the inclusion of aphrodisiacs harnesses prenatal nymphomania by redirecting surrogate attention toward physical pleasure rather than personal discomfort or embarrassment. Sedatives complement this approach by promoting longer sleep cycles and maintaining docility during waking hours. 

Surrogates under this regimen experience reduced awareness of their exposed state and are less likely to engage in disruptive behavior. 

IV. Conclusion

The fabric is consistently losing in the battle of fabric versus fetal growth. While the dignity of surrogates remains important, realistic expectations must be set. Sometimes, the most practical—and perhaps the kindest—option is to acknowledge the limits of cloth and simply let surrogates grow, unencumbered and gloriously uncovered.

Report submitted by: Administrator [REDACTED], Supply & Procurement Unit

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From: Director [REDACTED]

To: Administrator [REDACTED], Supply & Procurement Unit

Subject: Surrogate Clothing Policy Review

After reviewing the comprehensive analysis of surrogate clothing policies, it is clear that continuing efforts to maintain full clothing coverage are impractical and financially wasteful.

I hereby approve the Bare Necessity Protocol for immediate implementation across all compounds. In conjunction with this policy shift, I also approve the proposed strategic dietary adjustments.

To assess the real-world effectiveness of these protocols, I will be scheduling a personal visit to Paternity Compound 134 on [REDACTED]. Given that this facility currently hosts a higher number of late-term surrogates, it presents an ideal environment to observe the implementation of the Bare Necessity Protocol and dietary adjustments firsthand.

I expect full cooperation from compound staff and a detailed itinerary for my visit to be prepared within the week.

Let us ensure that every decision reflects our commitment to efficiency, compliance, and the ongoing success of our population sustainability initiatives.

Click Here to return to DRC Report Archives

Director [REDACTED]

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[til-all-are-loved]

{This Charming Man Part 4}

MTMTE Megatron x Reader

SFW

Parts 1, 2, 3

You woke to the low hum of the Lost Light’s engines, a sound so constant that you rarely noticed it anymore. The night hadn’t been kind; sleep had come in fits, broken by an unrelenting loop of awkward memories with ex-lovers and longing for home.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled through your morning routine mechanically. Wash up. Get dressed. Try to look more put-together than you felt. Yet as you glanced at the inappropriately sized enormous mirror installed in your hab-suite, you couldn’t shake the nagging sense of unease clinging to you like a second skin.

The ship felt colder this morning, though it was probably just your imagination. The corridors were quieter, too, as you stepped out of your hab-suite, the usual bustle of the crew subdued in the early hour. You’d barely rounded the corner when a voice broke the silence.

“Ambassador! There you are!”

You turned to see Swerve bounding toward you, his frame somehow managing to convey both unbridled enthusiasm and the complete disregard for personal space that you’d come to associate with him. Behind him trailed Tailgate, waving at you with a cheerfulness that felt downright offensive at this hour.

“What’s up?” you asked, trying to sound more awake than you felt.

“Not much, not much!” Swerve said, skidding to a stop. “Except, oh, I don’t know, you’ve been summoned to the bridge. By the big guy himself.”

You blinked. “Megatron?”

“Is there another ‘big guy’ on this ship?” Swerve grinned, then leaned in conspiratorially. “I mean, Magnus is tall, but he doesn’t have that presence, you know?”

Tailgate elbowed him, though it was more symbolic than effective. “Ignore him. We’re headed that way anyway, so we figured we’d drive you there. Save you the trouble.”

Tsch-tch-tch-tchu-tchu-tsch

You hesitated for a moment, still feeling the fog of last night clinging to your thoughts. But their energy was infectious, and before you could think better of it, you found yourself clicking the seatbelt.

As he drove, Swerve launched into a rapid-fire monologue about the latest Lost Light gossip—something about Rung's glasses being stolen—while Tailgate chimed in with occasional interjections. It was hard not to get caught up in their banter, even as your mind kept drifting back to the bridge and the man—no, the bot—waiting there.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” Tailgate noted, glancing down at you as you approached the lift.

“Just tired,” you said, forcing a smile.

“Don’t worry,” Swerve said as the doors slid open. “Megatron’s bark is worse than his bite. Actually no, I wouldn't want to be you in this position at all squishy. Well uh... good luck!”

“Swerve!” Tailgate hissed.

You couldn’t help but let out a single dry laugh as you exited Swerve's small car alt mode.

You hovered near the entrance to the bridge, suddenly hyperaware of every small noise you made. Megatron hadn’t fully turned, his attention fixed on the glowing projections in front of him. The rest of the bridge crew carried on with their work, an air of quiet efficiency filling the space.

It was only after a long moment of hesitation that you stepped forward, your boots clicking faintly against the polished floor. If he noticed your arrival, he didn’t show it.

“Captain,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Ambassador,” he replied without looking up. His tone was clipped, polite, but devoid of warmth.

You waited for him to say more, but the silence stretched uncomfortably. Feeling the stares of a few nearby crew members, you cleared your throat. “I understand you wanted to see me?”

“I did,” he said, still not turning. His optics flicked over the display in front of him, one massive hand adjusting a control on the console. “There’s a matter of logistics I’d like your perspective on. Sit.”

You obeyed, sliding into a chair near one of the secondary stations. The datapad in your lap felt like an anchor, its weight oddly comforting as you opened it to take notes.

Megatron began speaking—something about supply routes and the allocation of resources to specific departments. His words were clear and precise, but they felt rehearsed, as though his mind was elsewhere.

Yours certainly was.

Sitting here, mere feet away from him, you couldn’t stop replaying last night’s interaction in your head. The way his optics had lingered on you, the strange, fleeting moment of connection that had left you spiraling. Now, with him so close yet so deliberately distant, it was almost unbearable.

“Are you listening, Ambassador?”

His voice cut through your thoughts like a blade. Your head snapped up, and you realized you hadn’t written a single word.

“Y-yes,” you stammered. “Sorry. Could you repeat that last part?”

For the first time, he turned to face you fully. His expression was unreadable, his optics narrowing just slightly.

“Perhaps this was ill-timed,” he said, his tone carefully neutral. “You seem... preoccupied.”

Your face burned. “No, I’m fine. Really.”

He studied you for a moment longer before turning away again, his attention returning to the console. “In that case, you’re dismissed. We’ll reconvene when you’re feeling more focused.”

Dismissed. The word stung, but you rose quickly, not wanting to press your luck.

“Ambassador.”

You froze, halfway to the door, and turned back. Megatron held something in his hand, extending it toward you.

“This is for you,” he said.

It was a small datapad, unassuming but pristine. You stepped closer and took it from him, your fingers brushing against the cool metal.

“What is it?”

“Something I believe you’ll find thought-provoking,” he said, his voice lower now, almost a murmur. “That will be all.”

He turned away again, leaving you standing there with the gift in your hands.

--

The datapad felt impossibly heavy as you made your way back to your quarters. Megatron’s parting words echoed in your mind, the weight of his gaze still lingering on your skin. Thought-provoking, he had said. What could that mean?

Curiosity gnawed at you, but there wasn’t time to linger on it. A message from Ultra Magnus pinged your communicator as you stepped through your door, calling you to the communication center for a scheduled check-in with Earth. The datapad would have to wait.

The communication center was quieter than usual when you arrived. Only a skeleton crew was present, and the room carried a strange tension, like the air before a storm.

“Ambassador,” one of the techs greeted you. “We’re just about ready for your transmission.”

You nodded, taking your usual seat at the console. The screen in front of you flickered to life, displaying the logo of your home organization on Earth. It was routine by now—discuss your last report, answer a few questions, assure them that everything was under control.

But as you began to settle in, a faint but sharp smell hit you—something acrid, burning.

“Is that... smoke?” one of the techs muttered, glancing around.

The answer came in an instant: an alarm blared, and the lights in the room flickered wildly. A plume of smoke erupted from one of the side consoles, sparks showering the floor as the crew scrambled to contain it.

“Fire suppression—now!” someone shouted.

You stumbled back from your station, coughing as the smoke thickened. The emergency systems kicked in moments later, flooding the room with a cold, dense mist designed to suffocate the flames. The fire was extinguished quickly, but the damage was already done. You were drenched in the liquid, soaked to the bone. Thankfully your modest uniform was layered. 

“Systems are down,” one of the techs said, frantically typing at a terminal. “We’ve lost the connection to Earth.”

Your stomach sank. “How bad is it?”

“Hard to say,” they replied, their voice strained. “The relay equipment is fried. We’ll need hours—maybe days—to repair it.”

You glanced at the remains of your console, the screen now dark and lifeless. YOu stood there . If Earth wasn’t receiving your reports, then who would be?

Unbeknownst to you, a shadow loomed at the edge of the room just beyond the residual smoke. Megatron stood just beyond the doorway, his red optics glowing as he took in the scene.

“Efficient response,” he said, his voice cutting through the chaos like a knife. His sudden presence startled you, but the crew barely reacted—they were used to his quiet, watchful nature by now.

You turned toward him, unsure whether to feel relieved or uneasy.

“Captain,” you began, but he held up a hand to silence you.

“I’ll ensure the necessary resources are allocated for repairs,” he said, his tone measured. “In the meantime, Ambassador, I suggest you return to your quarters and focus on your written reports. The Lost Light’s internal systems are more than capable of storing them before transmitting them where they need to go.”

There was something in his voice—calm, reassuring, yet final. The typical tone he spoke to you with. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and left the room quickly.

--

As the crew worked to repair the damage, Megatron lingered behind, his optics scanning the charred remains of the relay equipment. A small smile ghosted across his face—a rare and fleeting thing—as he tapped a command into his wrist-mounted console.

In the quiet hum of the Lost Light’s systems, a rerouted connection established itself, discreet and undetectable. From this moment on, every word the Ambassador wrote would find its way to him before anyone else.

[akashzipaworld]

From Doorstep to Express Delivery | How Digital Transformation is Changing Courier Services

Technology has revolutionized courier services, particularly with the integration of express delivery options. With cutting-edge tracking systems, customers can monitor their shipments in real-time, ensuring transparency and peace of mind throughout the journey. Automated sorting and routing mechanisms further enhance efficiency, guaranteeing that packages are handled with care and delivered promptly.

These advancements are bolstered by robust networks that seamlessly integrate various transportation modes, enabling swift and reliable deliveries on a local and global scale. As express delivery becomes more integral to the logistics landscape, these innovations not only enhance customer satisfaction but also streamline operations, marking a pivotal shift in the future of courier services.

[princessanneftw]

Princess Anne, Colonel-in-Chief of the Royal Logistic Corps, cuts a cake with a large kukri - the traditional knife used by Gurkhas- during a visit to Gurkha Allied Rapid Reaction Corps Support Battalion at in Innsworth, Gloucestershire on 30 September 2024 🔪🎂

[silaslich]

Change in the currents and tide

John “Soap” Mactavish x f!reader

Summary - John takes you home for the holidays and it only solidifies your nagging feeling that you no longer love Johnny just as a friend.

Wc - 4k

Cw - 18+, smut, fluff, friends to lovers, basically a part 1 to this <<

AN - Christmas and it’s not even December yet? Yes. The answer is yes.

The train rocked steadily, rain pattering against the window as you kept your eyes fixed on the rapid passing by of the auburn countryside outside. It was late December, almost Christmas, the usual dusting of winter snow nowhere to be seen, replaced instead with slushy mud and torrential rain.

You’d slept for most of the journey, only stirring awake when Johnny shook you gently, pushing a hot chocolate and iced bun across the little table in front of you, letting you know you still had about an hour and a half left till you reached Edinburgh.

This was the second year you were going home with Soap, much to his families pleasure, and much to your own gratitude.

The holidays didn’t really feel like the holidays when you were home alone, sitting in your own little bubble of silence, trying to fill the void with Christmas movies and way too many biscuits.

Last year had been an amazing one, Johnny had so many family members; sisters, brothers, aunties, uncles, nieces, nephews, cousins, grandparents. He had it all. His mother and father’s home had barely been able to fit them all in, with the fire lit and the dogs jumping up at visitors, cheesy Christmas music was blasting from the telly and the mulled wine was already flowing.

It had you reeling, watching this big military man squat low with a gleaming smile, cooing at the kids and telling them how big they’d gotten since he’d last seen them. Then they’d run to you, wrapping their little fingers around yours and pulling you away, wanting to show you the rest of the house or show you the drawings they’d made at school.

It made you miss your family, made you miss the faded - distant memories of Christmas when you were little.

His grandparents were sinewy little things, worn with age and hunched at the spine, his grandfather wore glasses that sat at the end of his nose and his grandma had a burgundy embroidered shawl that was hung over her shoulders. You didn’t ask how old they were, thought Johnny wouldn’t tell you the truth anyway, finding it funny that his own grandparents were still standing, “old bats have got plenty of life left in em’ yet lass” he would no doubt say. You knew they’d ask you the same questions they asked last year, “when are you and our John plannin’ on tying the knot, pet?” And “you need to keep the family goin’, lots of little ones running around aye?” They made you chuckle, watching Soap’s face glow a shade of cherry red, scolding his grandparents for thinking such things.

The two of you were just friends, had been for years and would be for many more. It wasn’t that the thought hadn’t crossed your mind, you found yourself staring at him most days, noting the gentleness in his eyes and the sharp slopes of his face, he was a handsome man and a gentleman at that - it’s so lonely when you’re deployed, maybe that’s why your eyes linger and your thoughts wander.

That’s what you tell yourself, it’s just the lifestyle you lead, the loneliness and the desperation to have something to come back to when the time for leave arises.

Sadly, you’d thought too many times about the logistics, about what he’d say or what he’d think, the crushing weight of rejection and awkwardness after the fact keeps your mouth glued shut.

Soap had seen you through thick and thin, having your back when no one else does. You couldn’t jeopardise that for the sake of finding him attractive, he grated on your nerves enough as it was, as funny as the imagery was - you couldn’t stomach the thought of having a Johnny jr. running around at your feet.

-

Your hot chocolate sent a warm tingle to your tummy, making you feel all cosy and mushy as you watched the rain continue to pour outside. Soap was quieter then usual, clearly tired and ready to be home bound. He looked forward to Christmas and seeing everyone, he was even more excited to have you there, dreading you’d decline his offer and hold yourself up at home - all alone.

Much like someone else did; that great big hulking bastard of a man did the same thing year in, year out. Each holiday Ghost would tuck himself away in his safe house in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, going completely off the radar until it was time to come back to work and get back on the grind again. Each time Soap would try his best to convince his friend to come over, or even offered if he wanted Johnny to keep him company at his place, each time he was shot down with the same thing; “I don’t want to take you away from your family” or “I’ll probably just sleep through the whole thing anyway”. You all knew it was bullshit, but he was a grown man, if he wanted to, he’d come.

The train was passing through Berwick-upon-Tweed, the coast looked rough and unsteady, the waves licking at the cliff edges and crashing in an upward turret of hazy brown and midnight blue. “What are you looking forward to the most about going home?” You asked Soap as you turned toward him, curling your knees towards yourself in your seat and cradling yourself into his side, paper cup of hot chocolate still clutched between your fingers. He shuffled his weight to get comfortable, forcing you to slide closer into him as he propped his arm over your shoulders. He pursed his lip in thought, gaze falling to the view outside, “probably my mam’s cooking” he said, meeting your eye as he looked down, “and maybe seeing the wee ones, if they’re behaving” he added, smiling at the thought of his nieces and nephews. Soap was the youngest of his siblings, the last one of three brothers and two sisters, forever the baby of the family is his mothers eyes.

You nodded, as if in agreement, as if you knew how it felt to miss home cooking and family, none of it was real for you, hadn’t been for years now, but you could try.

He took a swig of his own drink, it smelt like coffee, strong and bitter. “How about you?” He asked gently, squeezing your shoulder with his hand that was draped there. You hadn’t really expected him to ask you, but it didn’t take you long to answer, “I like your mam’s cooking too” you smiled, closing your eyes at just the thought of her cauliflower cheese bake and roast potatoes. “And, I’m excited to see Michael” you smiled wider, looking pointedly at Johnny and loving the way his face scrunched up in grimacing disgust.

Michael was Johnny’s older brother by two years, and probably his least favourite sibling, made even more so after last years debacle. Michael hadn’t left you alone for the entire week you were staying with Johnny, hounding you with weird questions and gluing himself to your side at any given opportunity. He wasn’t an unattractive man looks wise, but his personality let him down, you just loved seeing the way Johnny came to your defence, even after announcing to every single family member that you two were just friends. After the two of you had been deployed again it was the best and quickest way to get on his nerves, the mere mention of Michael’s name had Soap’s hackles up.

“I’ll punch his teeth down his throat if he starts with that shit again” Johnny grumbled, a frown stitching his brow as you laughed at his expense.

The next hour and a bit passed by quickly, leaving the two of you to dart to the nearest taxi rank with luggage in toe once you reached Edinburgh Waverley, trying to avoid the heavy battering of rain as it beat down against the pavement. You sighed as the taxi door slid close, feet wet through your shoes from attempting to dodge the puddles and back wet through from where the rain had slipped down the back of your shirt collar. Soap ruffled his hand through his hair, droplets of water raining down onto the floor of the car, some of them hitting you as you smacked him in the arm, ‘I’m already wet through you prick’ you’d scolded, but he simply laughed, jabbing an icy cold finger into your ribcage.

By the time you and Soap were rounding the steps up to his family home, the door was already flung open, pale amber light illuminated the two of you as it bled into the street from the doorway of the house. You looked up through the wet on your lashes, smiling wildly as you saw the trio of trouble makers, all of them belonging to Johnny’s oldest sister, Edith. She had two girls and a boy; Emma who was 7, Carla who was 5 and Charlie who was 4. They were squealing, little flailing arms waving like proud flags in the wind, Emma was trying her best to slip her shoes on to greet the two of you on the steps. “Woah there wee lady” Soap cooed, taking two steps at a time now to catch the little tyke before she journeyed to meet you in the rain, “you’ll catch yer death out here, get inside” he told her sternly, raising a brow at the young girl as she grinned at him sheepishly. Before long you were joining them, ushering them all inside and dumping your bags in the doorway before you slipped your shoes off.

It was almost as loud as it was Christmas Day itself; it was just yourself, Soap and his sister’s family here so far. His mother was in the kitchen, stirring some kind of stew in a pot as she gave you a kind smile, insisting for you to make yourself at home. Johnny’s father was sat in his armchair in the living room, nursing a tumbler of scotch, the amber liquid sloshing lazily at the sides as the older man jerked it in your direction, welcoming you to his home with a lopsided smile, kind eyes pinching at the sides as his grin widened. Soap’s sister was on you before you even saw her, caging you in as she hugged you tightly, “blimey lass, you’re looking well, something glowing about ye” she was a beautiful women with gleaming teeth and freckled cheeks. Johnny’s family had some damn good genes, you thought.

The night was filled with great food, great laughs and great scotch. After spending half of the night entertaining the kids with Soap by playing hide and seek and then helping them with their spelling as they played hangman, the other half of the night you’d spent with the grown ups. Sitting by the telly as old re-runs of Christmas movies played like white noise in the background while you and Johnny filled his family in on what life was like on the front line.

They didn’t pry into the grim stuff, more trying to make idle conversations to take interest in Johnny’s work life, he was good at getting off the subject, preferring to talk about what was going on round here these days. His sister told you guys all about Emma’s school life, how far ahead she was with her reading age and how clever she was, always doing her homework on time and most of the time all by herself. You cast your eye over to Soap, seeing him grin like a Cheshire Cat as his sister spoke about her kids made you all fuzzy inside, Johnny really loved those kids.

With a belly full of beef stew and good Scottish whiskey you fell asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow, but your head began to drift away, pulling you into pleasant dreams filled with your best friend. The same friend sleeping not even an arms length away from you in your shared double bed (he’d insisted to save room for when the rest of the family arrived), if you reached out you’d feel his skin under your palms, the hot flesh and skin and bone of him.

Something had shifted today, watching him play with his nieces and nephews, observing Johnny in his domestic state had dislodged something warm and fuzzy in your chest, something you had tried to swallow down for years now.

You valued your friendship with him, more than anything, but the undeniable and growing attraction was there, and it was only growing the more time you found yourself spending with him. It was suffocating you, everything good about him, even all the bad, you wanted it all.

Something foreign overtook you. Fuelled by the heat of his body so close and the warmth of the whiskey thrumming away in your bloodstream, you rolled onto your back, guiding your hand over your stomach before slipping it under your waistband. You sank your teeth into your bottom lip, stifling any noise that attempted to bubble its way from your chest. Your fingers skimmed between your folds, meeting the slick wetness already gathering there, you threw your head back against the pillow and fought the urge to let the sounds spill.

Your mind swam, imagining it was Johnny’s hand, his fingers teasing you open, ready to curl into you and press into that velvety plush spot deep inside of you. It took everything not to whine, cry his name as you increased the pressure on your clit and moved your wrist in rapid motions.

“Don’t stay quiet on my account, lass”

His voice washes over you like a vat of ice cold water, sloshing and drowning you in dread as your body stills, all movement ceasing as you stare up at the ceiling. The duvet rustles and the mattress dips, your breathing hurries, eyes frantic as you search the darkness for any answer to explain yourself away. Johnny presses two fingers under your jaw, angling your face toward him as he speaks again, “ya haven’t gone shy on me now, have ya love?” His voice dips, lowers to a husked whisper as he nears closer, his breath so close it twines with yours.

You want to evaporate. Embarrassment tries to swallow you whole, but the arousal overflows, only egged on by the tone and implication of his words.

“Johnny I-I” you whine, mouth gaping and closing as you try to find the words, “I’m sorry it’s just-“ you try again but the words are lost, they die on your tongue when he shifts even closer, and the movement only further reminds you that your fingers are still dipped beneath your waistband.

Johnny hauls himself up, shoulders cracking as he pulls himself closer, his chest pressing into yours as he cages you to the bed under himself, elbows pressing into the mattress either side of you as his fingers flatten over your hair. It’s dark, the only light provided is the dim haze from the street lamp outside the window, and even that is barely enough to allow you to see him clearly. But you can feel his gaze, the way his eyes burn, yet you can’t quite gather the emotion they hold.

“Do you know why I woke you up on the train?” His voice is low, it brushes across your nose and you can smell the whiskey on his breath, you wish he’d let you taste it. You frown, brows knit as you replay the day in your mind, showing up empty. He must notice, one hand holding the side of your head while the other hand smoothes over your hair again, his fingers mindlessly twirling a stray piece he finds.

You don’t answer. Your heart is hammering so hard and fast that you can’t register it, your blood is rushing past your ears and it feels as if your going to have a heart attack, the ache in your ribcage makes you wince.

Johnny’s fingers trace further down, leaving your hair, the pad of his index finger skates down your cheek, mapping the freckles and moles he knows lay there. He continues across your skin and you feel as if you’re on fire, his fingers make it to your lips, tracing the shape of them and pressing over your cupids bow.

“You were moaning my name in yer sleep, bonnie” he’s closer, words fanning your lips along with his breath, he sounds so wrong like this. Soap is brash and loud and annoying, now, Johnny is tame and quiet - gentle with this topic like it’s a precious glass trinket in his hands, so easily broken.

You gasp, cheeks flooding a deep cherry red, you’re mortified and again words escape you. He’d still let you come here, bought you into his childhood home despite what he had heard, none of it adds up until you feel his lips pressing under your jaw. He nudges you until you tilt your chin, allowing his mouth to mould to your throat as he peppers kisses to the flesh there. Your hand is still between your legs, abandoned but now receiving pressure as Johnny pushes his weight down onto you - entirely on purpose.

“Ah- Johnny” your free hand snatches up, lays into his throat, holding him against you as he smirks into your skin. “Had to wake you up before I got us thrown off the train for public indecency, lass” his voice is muffled against you, his tongue tasting your flesh as you pant beneath him. “Had to keep my jacket in my lap for the rest of the journey” his teeth press into you now, sucking a welt deep into your skin and there’s no escaping the moan that creeps from your throat. You try to catch it but Johnny is quicker, pressing a palm over your mouth before you manage to clamp your mouth shut. “Quiet now, bonnie, don’t wake the house up” he smirks again, tongue soothing over the indents of his teeth.

He shuffles up, brings himself closer to your face again, then he stops- pauses in his tracks. You’re desperate to see him, to turn on the lights and stare into those beautiful blue eyes of his. Johnny balances his weight on one elbow, his fingers tracing your cheek before he leans in, pressing his lips to yours in the most tender kiss you think you’ve ever been captured in.

It’s so sweet. Too sweet. It makes your teeth ache and you can’t help but smile into his mouth, only to find he mirrors you. Bites it off in a huffed laugh that proves to be contagious, you’re panting into each others mouth, the smell of whiskey and mint fanning the space. Your hand is still at his neck and you move it up, thumb brushing over his ear as you rake your fingers over the shaved portion of his head and through the longer tresses of his mohawk that is beginning to grow out. “What’s so funny?” You ask, breathy, drunk on Johnny. He smirks into your cheek, takes the flesh between his teeth in a tease that makes you whine, “I’ve thought about this for so fuckin’ long” he admits, openly, pleased with himself when he kisses your cheek softly.

You want to tell him that you’ve felt it too, you want to spill it all, from your tongue right onto his. Yet, it dies away in a smile, disbelief washing through you, the tug of the whiskey and the slow thrumming of sleep in your blood making your eyes droop. You lean up, pressing your lips to his again, feeling as he deepens the kiss, pressing his tongue against your lips until you allow him in, pressing your hips up into his making him hiss. “Fuck, bonnie” he scolds, grip on the sheets tightening, “I don’t fancy getting an earful from me ma’ about this” he laughs, “I’ll fuck you silly when they’re all out tomorrow” he solidifies the promise with a kiss, teeth and tongue as he groans into your mouth, “then you can be as loud as ya fuckin’ like” his mouth skates from your mouth to your throat again, wet trail of his lips making your skin prickle.

“For now” he starts, smoothing his hand over your mouth again, making your eyes squeeze shut, “you’re going to let me help you cum” he rasps. It’s as if your world explodes, tiny fragments scattered as you try and catch them, but it’s useless. It’s torturously slow when Johnny shifts his weight, freeing up his hand and balancing his weight on his knees and thighs to keep himself up, then he traces his fingers down between your breasts and over your tummy, reaching your navel and continuing down until he reaches your waistband.

He doesn’t move your hand, simply guides his over yours, the difference in size laughable when his palm engulfs your hand entirely. You’re too focused on his motions, startled when he presses his lips into your throat again, smirking when your whines and mewls die beneath his palm. His mouth gapes when the length of his fingers over yours forces them to be met with the wetness between your legs, coating his fingertips. “Jesus, lass” he groans, hushed into your neck like a secret. He wraps his fingers between yours, slotted between one another, locked together as he begins to move both of your hands in tandem.

Out of instinct, you part your legs further, Johnny growls, “minx” then a flash of teeth nip at your ear as he continues to rock both of your hands against your clit. Your palm rubs friction against the bundle of nerves, the pressure of Johnny’s hand only adding to the sensation, you’re overwhelmed - embarrassingly aware that you won’t last long. You whine, pressing your head back against the pillows, “you’re doin’ so well, bonnie” he whispers, “ya look so pretty like this” he kisses your temple, hips rutting into the mattress as he adds more pressure to your fingers. You’re panting against his palm, steadily ascending to your release, so close you can taste it. His name is muffled into his own skin, a warning as he dips his fingers between your folds, never letting up the motions of his wrist as he guides your hand to rub faster against you slit.

Your orgasm surprises both of you, more so him when your teeth sink his palm, almost making him hump your thigh from how turned on it serves him to get. Your moan is suppressed back down your throat, swallowed down when Johnny kisses from your neck to your jaw, removing his hand to seal his mouth over yours when he’s sure the last wave of orgasm has passed, not keen on having you moan so loud the roof shakes. He kisses you daft, makes you preen into his mouth with as many hushed sentiments you manage to gift before he’s swallowing them down.

Johnny allows you a second to catch your breath, leaning back to catch a glimpse of your come down, the way you pant and your chest heaves, pretty doe eyes wet and blown wide. He moves to take your hand in his, pulls it from your waistband and up to his mouth, it looks to be a cute gesture - until he’s sucking your fingers into his mouth and your juices along with them. “Johnny!” You squeak, face flushed with a wide smile when he brings himself close again, connecting his mouth to yours so you can taste yourself.

You settle for kissing him until the sun peaks over the buildings of the street, buttery winter sunshine seeping through the cracks in the blinds as the two of you fumble with grabbing hands and wet trails of lips and tongue. Johnny listens out for the movement of the house awakening, footsteps shuffling around the floorboards, the rushed scrubbing of teeth and jangle of keys, there’s a resounding handful of different voices shouting out their goodbyes and he returns the politeness with a groggy “see ya in a bit”. But as soon as the door slams, his eyes darken, hovering above you like a shadowed phantom, the promise of ruin present in his smirk.

“Merry Christmas, lass”

[porterdavis]

Logistics

Trump's promise to deport millions of immigrants was repeated often in the closing weeks of his campaign. Left to his own devices I suspect the project would recede into the background as his wall building did, outside of a few photo ops. This time will probably be different though because he will be coming into power with an entire cohort of zealots pre-selected and briefed on their roles, the Project 2025 brigade.

They will take their mission seriously (and not let Trump backslide on the promise). All of which begs the question -- how to round up, house, feed, transport and deport millions of people? Japanese-internment style camps in Oklahoma or Arizona? Who builds them, who operates them, who guards them, who pays for them?

How long will they be needed? Does anyone seriously expect Mexico to open its border to allow millions of people from all parts of South America into their country? Armed opposition seems a certainty. What is the exit strategy? The prospect of brownshirt troops roaming the night-time streets, breaking down doors to apprehend people of colour, both legal and undocumented with no rapid recourse to courts is not one that Americans of principle would long accept.

Soon the crops would lie rotting in the fields, factories and abattoirs would close for lack of workers, daycare centres would close, patients would lie untended in their nursing homes, prices of everything would rise.

Trump and his new friend Musk intend to burn everything down to the ground. We can only hope they do it quickly enough that the effect is obvious and immediate...no boiling of frogs....and there is time for men and women of honour to rise while there is still hope of resurrection.

Otherwise the great American experiment will collapse just as previous empires have, dragged down from within.

[super-ultra-mega-deluxe]

i made a bit of a joking reference of it awhile ago but it is very much the case that the dissolution of liberal democratic states, of capitalist states, of the dictatorship of the bourgeoisie, is a world historical necessity. this is perhaps even more true than previous transitions of economic and governmental modalities; when the western portion of the Roman empire failed to adapt to emergent feudal relations and dissolved- this is a bit of a simplification, bear with me- it was certainly disruptive and terrible for some of the peoples that inhabited that now former empire, but generally not existentially so. the presently dominant capitalist nations' mounting contradictions and inability to contend with them is, in contrast, detrimental to the ability of people to inhabit large swaths of the planet.

reliance on fossil fuels- among other structural reliances and logics of production- is causing climate change, is resulting in rapid and destructive shifts in weather, is actively killing people the world over. the US cannot meaningfully adapt to this: oil fuels its war industry and its weapons; oil secures the value of the US dollar; oil is the means and ends of the US experiment as it presently exists, even if it somehow managed to divest of fossil fuels domestically. there is a reason that the PRC can build extensive solar farms in a year that outstrip the whole of the US's while the most promising US presidential candidate and present vice president is announcing her undying support of fracking.

every historical transition from one economic modality to another- from slave economy to feudal economy to capitalist economy- has been historically progressive and effectively inevitable. resistance to those transitions didn't prevent them. resistance to the transition of capitalism to communism is unique in the sense that should capital be allowed to persist much longer, it could very well destroy human society per se, destroy the whole of administrative and logistic and other technological advancements and infrastructure that allow for humanity to exist on scale. this is something that in no uncertain terms needs to be avoided. only the transition to communism, only the administrative and economic formulations of a scientific politic can contend with the contradictions that threaten to kill us. socialism, or death.

[sunnywritesfics]

The One Who Knows Me 𖤓 Toji Fushiguro

A fic inspired by this post by @ultraimaginez and written with her permission! This is the part one of what I am anticipating will be a three part series. Summary: You are nearly thirteen. The dog days of summer feel like they will last forever and there's no one you'd rather spend it with than you're best friend, Toji. WC: 1.6k

The crunch of gravel beneath bike tires and the sounds of cicadas humming in the late July heat provide the soundtrack to the greatest heist you and Toji have managed to pull off in your nearly thirteen years of friendship.

The baskets on your bikes are filled with as many popsicles as the two of you could physically carry. It is clear from the rapid melting of the icy candies that neither of you had considered the logistics of transporting frozen goods after your escape from the Zennin compound. It hardly matters now. The sweetest part about them is the act of rebellion they represent.

Toji lets out a feral laugh that sounds almost as wild as he feels as the two of you race down a hill without ever hitting the brakes—speeding faster and faster away from the adults who expect you to be using this time to train diligently with one of the clan elders. Trees fly by in a blur and the landscape becomes nothing more than a green backdrop. The only thing that feels real in the entire world is the two of you.

Eventually, you reach the familiar lake. Your parents have been bringing the two of you here for as long as either of you can remember. Before middle school most of your summer days were spent along this shoreline—grubby hands made sticky with juicy watermelon, the smell of sunscreen hanging heavy in the humid air. Only this time there are no grown ups to yell at you.

Toji beats you to the water’s edge by the fraction of a second, loose gravel flying into a cloud of dust as he skids to a stop. It was hardly a landslide victory, but it’s enough to have him already flashing you a smug smile and narrowing his green eyes as he looks down his nose at you. “Told you I’d win. I’ve always been the fastest.”

A second cloud of dirt forms as you skid to stop beside him and allow your own bike to fall to the ground. You push him hard as you dismount and frown. “That wasn’t a fair race, asshole. You got a head start.”

He shoves you back, grinning wickedly as you stumble a little, nearly falling over from the force of it. “Sounds like an excuse to me.” He taunts in a sing-song voice. Without another word you pounce on him and the two of you begin to wrestle along the lake’s shore.

Toji hit a growth spurt a few months ago and his extra size has become a huge advantage. You’ve been sparring together since you were both old enough to throw a punch—and until recently the two of you had been evenly matched. But puberty has hit your friend like a truck.

Everything about him is starting to change and it hasn’t gone unnoticed by you (or anyone else at school, for that matter). His voice is cracking, which you tease him about endlessly, but it’s clearly starting to get deeper and deeper. His once gangly limbs are starting to add muscle definition. And he’s already grown nearly four inches since spring of this year. Sometimes when you think about all the ways Toji is growing up it makes the blood rush to your cheeks and your heart race a little faster than normal.

You try not to think about it too much…

But it’s clear that today it’s heavy on your mind. You’re distracted when Toji pile drives you into the ground with his shoulder in your stomach and arms wrapped around your knees. You wheeze as your back hits the earth hard, and the wind is knocked from your lungs. You scramble to sit up, fingernails clawing into the dirt and legs thrashing. But Toji’s got you pinned. He leers down at you from above and the sun forms a halo around his long black bangs. For a moment your breath catches in your throat.

“I win. Again.”

Without thinking, cursed energy flows naturally to you and enhances your strength. You reach up and push hard on his shoulders, knocking Toji off you with more force than you’ve ever used before. You are met with the sound of a large splash and the feeling of water washing over you before you even realize what has happened.

You rub the water out of your eyes in time to see a mop of black hair surfacing from the middle of the tiny lake and a set of angry emerald eyes glaring at you. For a beat the two of you are quiet—only the deafening buzz of the insects in the trees fill the space between you. Suddenly the silence is broken by your loud cackling. Laughter racks your body so hard you feel your abs cramp as you watch Toji silently sulk out of the water back towards you.

“You sh-should hahaha—” you wipe at the tears forming in your eyes. “You should have s-seen your f-face! Hahaha!” Hysteria has you in its grips and you can’t even keep your eyes open any more. The image of Toji glowering at you from the lake is a permanent fixture behind your eyelids as you shake with mirth.

Without warning you feel your body being lifted in the air, which causes you to laugh even harder despite the sudden instinct to escape kicking in. “Put me down, asshole!” You shriek with barely contained joy as Toji hoists you up and drags your flailing body towards the water. “No no no no no!” You fight him in between fits of giggles, but Toji’s jaw is set in a line of determination. His scowl doesn’t budge until he has determined he’s deep enough, then he flashes you an evil grin before dropping you.

The freezing cold water feels like a slap to the face after an afternoon spent nearly sweating to death in the dojo on the Zennin property. Your limbs thrash wildly as you fight to the surface, spluttering as soon as you get your head out of the water. Toji’s now laughing just as hard as you were, clearly feeling victorious.

You consider dragging him back under to continue rough housing in the water, but after a day’s worth of training and your earlier wrestling match you are exhausted. You extend your hand to Toji. “Truce?”

He studies your outstretched palm for a long moment, seeming to weigh his options, before grabbing your hand and smirking. “For now.”

Toji yanks you to your feet and the two of you make your way back to the shore. Once you’re on land you begin opening the packages of the now melted popsicles—sucking down the cold sugary juices that stain your faces with a rainbow of colors. The silence between the two of you is comfortable like it always has been. Toji is your best friend. You don’t need words to understand one another and he’s never been particularly chatty anyway. So you’re somewhat shocked when Toji is the one who speaks into the quietness of the afternoon.

“The geezers are pissed.” You glance up at his preferred term for the Zennin elders. You’ve always believed Toji has more virtues than anyone gives him credit for, but respect has never been among them. “They’re finally starting to realize I’m never going to have cursed energy.” Toji doesn’t meet your eyes as he grabs for another plastic bag filled with bright red liquid that might be cherry or raspberry flavored and rips it open with his teeth.

You frown, wiping off your own multicolored mouth. “You don’t know that, Toji. Lots of people don’t start using cursed energy until—” Toji shoots you an icy look that stops you abruptly.

“I’m not delusional. If I had any I would know by now.” He doesn’t look sad or angry— but his gaze has the weight of certainty behind it. You swallow around all the words that come immediately to mind. I’m sorry… That’s awful…What are you going to do? Instead you nod wordlessly and wait for him to continue.

“They want me to do a bunch of pointless training even though we all know it’s a waste of time.” He scoffs, picking up a stone near his hand and chucking it at the water—watching it splash and then sink below the surface.

You choose your next words carefully. “Well, even if you don’t have cursed energy, you’re still the strongest person I know.” You feel the tips of your ears and the apples of your cheeks flush red as Toji levels you with an unreadable look at your admission. “What if you just got really good at your martial arts? You don’t need a cursed technique to kick ass.”

Toji studies you thoughtfully before his expression melts into a familiar smirk. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. I can still kick your ass either way.”

He grins when you shove him hard and huff. “I launched your ass into the lake less than an hour ago, moron.”

There’s a twinkle in his eye as he looks from you to the bikes scattered on the ground. “Oh yeah? I’m still faster. Race you back to the compound!” Before you can even comprehend what Toji has said, he’s on his feet and running for his bike.

“No fair! You’re such a dick!” You shout angrily, scrambling to your own feet as you watch Toji kick off the ground and start pedaling as fast as he can. His laughter floats through the muggy air like a summer breeze as you race after him.

You have never been more sure that this is how you will spend all your summers for the rest of your life.

Authors Note: Jeez. I sure hope no one does anything to break these kids hearts... that would be fucked up 👀