#crackdown 2

[flojocabron]

When the batteries on your super suit run out

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

Internment

"On January 11, 1940, the DOCR [Defence of Canada Regulations] were amended so as to permit preventive detention, internment before the fact of having committed a crime, ie. article 21. This meant that even though charges for precise offences might not hold up in court, communists could still be interned using vague terms. As well, should the police fail in making a DOCR charge stick, then the freed prisoner could quickly be interned. This situation applied to Ottawans Louis Binder and Arthur Saunders, and to westerners  Charles Weir, John McNeil, Pat Lenihan, Alex Miller, and Ben Swankey.

In June, 1940, via DOCR regulation 39C, the Communist Party and related  associations were made illegal. These associations included the Young Communist  League, the League for Peace and Democracy, which had succeeded the League to Fight  War and Fascism, and the Canadian Labour Defence League, as well as several pro-communist, ethnic associations: The Ukrainian Labour-Farmer Temple Association, the  Canadian Ukrainian Youth Federation, the Finnish Organization of Canada, the Russian  Workers and Farmers Club, the Croatian Cultural Organization, the Hungarian Workers  Club, and the Polish People’s Association. Membership in these organizations became illegal; it came to be the grounds most often used for internment.

The first internments took place on June 26, 1940, when Jacob Penner and John Navis, from Winnipeg, and Ottawans Louis Binder and Arthur Saunders were interned. Arrests for internment could follow at any time, but there were more active periods. On June 28 and 29, 1940, nine Montrealers as well as Nicholas Pyndus, from Trois-Rivières, and Robert Kerr and Fergus McKean, each from Vancouver, were interned. On July 8, 1940, seventeen Ukrainian Winnipegers were interned. On August 9, 1940, seven men  including five Montrealers were interned. On September 8 and 9, 1940, five more were  arrested for internment; on October 10, 1940, four more were interned. The last internment in Hull began on February 10, 1942 when Harvey Murphy was transferred from a Toronto prison.

The cases of Jacob Penner and Pat Sullivan provided important legal precedents about the question of habeas corpus. Were the governments and the police obliged to provide motives for the decision to intern someone, other than article 21 of the DOCR, whereby people presented a danger to the security of the state or the prosecution to the war, or article 39C, whereby people were members of an illegal organization? Jacob Penner was a highly-respected communist and municipal councillor in Winnipeg. After being interned in Kananaskis, Penner’s family hired a lawyer who successfully applied for habeas corpus , however, federal authorities simply held him during the summer of 1940 in an immigration centre in Winnipeg. In August, 1940, a federal appeals judge ruled that habeas corpus did not apply to DOCR article 21. Penner was returned to Kananaskis, providing an important precedent relative to internees from Western Canada.

In central Canada, Pat Sullivan, President of the Canadian Seamen’s Union, was arrested on June 18, 1940. The only explanation for Sullivan’s arrest offered to lawyer J. L. Cohen was Sullivan’s membership in the Communist Party, which the defendant denied. Cohen then launched unsuccessful habeas corpus proceedings in which an Ontario judge ruled that habeas corpus was not relevant since the detainer was not the minister of Justice, and the latter was not required to accept recommendations of a consulting committee considering the detention. Cohen was going to subject this tortured logic of the Ontario Appeals Court judge to the Supreme Court, but decided to desist when the federal government promised to improve the workings of the consulting committees, and to reveal more about the motives for Sullivan’s internment. Nevertheless, after considerable stalling by the minister of Justice, it became clear that the real reasons for Sullivan’s internment were strikes by the Canadian Seamen’s Union in 1938 and 1939, and especially in April, 1940, when Sullivan’s union closed shipping on the Great Lakes from the Lakehead to Montreal. Conciliation following this last strike was proceeding when Sullivan was arrested. Not only did Sullivan’s case show that habeas corpus was of no effect with respect to the internees, it also showed that for some internees, at least for Sullivan, the real motive of internment was union activity.

One suspects the considerable influence of C. D. Howe and his business colleagues working in Ottawa. This was also the case for several of Sullivan’s colleagues within the Canadian Seamen’s Union. A month after Sullivan was arrested, Jack Chapman, union secretary, was arrested while a few days later, Dave Sinclair, editor of the union’s newspaper Searchlight, was arrested for having written about the Sullivan case. Sinclair’s case also demonstrated farcically the incompetence of the RCMP. Sinclair was the nom de plume of David Siglar, a fact he did not hide. During his appeal before the consulting committee, the RCMP presented as evidence activities of someone unknown to Siglar named ‘Segal’, a common name among Jews. Siglar had no idea about whom or what the RCMP was talking not knowing the ‘Segal’ in question, but he did plead guilty to having known several people named ‘Segal’.

The case of Charles Murray, organizer for a fishermen’s union in Lockeport, Nova Scotia, a union affiliated with the Canadian Seamen’s Union, provided another example of how union activities might lead to internment. On June 15, 1940, Nova Scotia’s labour minister, L. D. Currie, sent a letter to Murray stating that:

…You are a communist and as such, deserve to be treated in the same manner as I would be treated if I endeavoured to carry on in Russia as you are doing in Nova Scotia. I warn you now to desist from your efforts to create industrial trouble, and I warn you too that your conduct will from now on be carefully watched and examined, and if I find out that you do not quit this sort of business, then it will be most certainly the worst for you. I am giving you this final word of warning. My advice to you is to get out of Lockeport and stay out…

A few days later, Murray was interned in Petawawa.

Other union leaders received similar fates to those of the leaders of the Canadian Seamen’s Union. Fred Collins had led a successful strike against furniture manufacturers in Stratford, Ontario. James Murphy was the leader of the Technical Employees Association of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, and was arrested in the middle of negotiations. Orton Wade was negotiating with meat packing companies in Winnipeg when he was arrested. Bruce Magnuson was a union leader from Port Arthur, where he was local president of the Union of Lumber and Sawmill Workers. Unfortunately, his  federal MP was none other than C. D. Howe. In August, 1940, Howe responded to one of Magnuson’s colleagues complaining about the internment of Magnuson.

For very obvious reasons, the normal course of the law must be supplemented by special powers. Otherwise, the effort of the government to suppress fifth-column activities would be of no avail. The now tragic account of fifth-column activities in Norway, the Netherlands, Belgium, and France is ample proof of the inadequacy of the ordinary peacetime machinery of the law in  controlling subversive elements… Persons who are considered to be friendly towards Canada’s enemies, or who in any way interfere with Canada’s war effort, are recommended for internment on the strength of evidence assembled by the Force (RCMP).

The motive given for Magnuson’s internment was his membership in the Party, but after the Party began supporting the war effort, Howe wrote to Magnuson in October, 1941: 

… do you think that the ends of justice would be served by your release merely because circumstances have caused a change of front by the Communist Party? You were interned because you were out of sympathy with Canada’s war effort, and because you were an active member of an organization which sought to impede that effort.

The case of Clarence Jackson also demonstrated the long arm of Howe. On June 11, 1941, Howe wrote to Justice minister Lapointe, demanding that Jackson be arrested. 

Please permit me to call your attention to the activities of one C. S. Jackson, who is undoubtedly one of the most active trouble makers and labour racketeers in Canada today. Jackson has been expelled from the Canadian Congress of Labour as a Communist. He has  been responsible for strikes at the R.C.A. Victor plant, the Canadian General Electric plant, and he is now boring in to the Canadian Westinghouse plant at Hamilton. The Westinghouse plant is the most important war manufacturer in Canada, having contracts for anti-aircraft guns, naval equipment, and a wide variety of electrical work important to our production. A strike at Westinghouse would directly stop many branches of our munitions programme. I cannot think why Canada spends large sums for protection against sabotage and permits Jackson to carry on his subversive activities. No group of saboteurs could possibly effect the damage that this man is causing. I feel sure that this is a matter for prompt police action. I suggest that responsible labour leaders can supply any information that you may require on which to base police action.

There is evidence, furthermore, according to the biographer of Jackson, that the Canadian Congress of Labour was complicit in the internment of Jackson. Jackson was arrested on June 23, 1941, but was released from Hull six months later owing to pressure by the American section of his union. 

Others were interned for strange reasons. Rodolphe Majeau, a member of the Canadian Seamen’s Union, was interned for having aided Communist candidate Évariste Dubé during the federal election of 1940, when the Party was still legal, an example of a retroactive charge. Scott McLean, a Cape Breton millwright was interned because of dynamite he had in his possession when arrested, dynamite he was using to explode rocks and a manure pile on his farm. John Prossack, from Winnipeg, an elderly Ukrainian  charged with membership in the Party, was not in the least involved in politics. Prossack believed that he was interned owing to a bad relationship with his former son-in-law, a paid police informer. Muni Taub, a Montreal tailor left the Party at the end of 1939,  one of the many Europeans disgusted at the Hitler-Stalin pact. Nevertheless, motives given for Taub’s internment included his writing for a leftist, Jewish newspaper; his  membership in the banned Canadian Labour Defence League, and most of all, Taub’s challenge of the constitutionality of Duplessis’ Padlock Law during the 1930s."

- Michael Martin, The Red Patch: Political Imprisonment in Hull, Quebec during World War 2. Self-published, 2007. p. 124-131

[ur-mag]

Crackdown law hits drivers with fine of up to $2,500 and suspended license as cops remind offenders they will ‘lose’ | In Trend Today

Crackdown law hits drivers with fine of up to $2,500 and suspended license as cops remind offenders they will ‘lose’ Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS

[rohisato]

【小林清志さん追悼】ライオットアクト攻略プレイ5 (Commemoration of comedian Kiyoshi Kobayashi, ...

[bfpnola]

IMAGE DESCRIPTION ADDED. REBLOG THIS VERSION AND THANK YOU @lab-labrava FOR WRITING IT!

ID: An infographic from the Instagram account @letstalkpalestine consisting of 10 slides. Image 1: The title page of the infographic. The text says: "Let's talk Anti-Zionist Jewish History." A smaller subtitle underneath the title says: "Jewish solidarity with Palestine until today." End ID.

Image 2: The infographic continues to the next panel. The text says, "As long as Zionism has existed, so has Jewish resistance to it. While today the majority of Jewish people and communities worldwide still have a Zionist connection, more and more Jewish people, especially from the younger generation, are unlearning Zionism & speaking out. Swipe to learn more about just part of anti-Zionist Jewish history - since there's more than we can fit in 10 slides." A semi-transparent image is overlayed in the background, of someone holding up a sign that reads: Jews for Palestine! #Free Sheik Jarrah. End ID.

Image 3: Icon of a location tag next to the words Eastern Europe. In large, blue text is the word "The Bund" and the subtitle describing what it is, "A Jewish Socialist movement, established in 1987." The following paragraph says, "Opposing Zionism from the start, its 50-year tenure saw hundred of thousands of members across Eastern Europe advocate for workers' rights and cultivate a Yiddish culture." Location tag and the title, "North America." The paragraph says, "After mass immigration to the US in the early 20th century, [American Jewish Labor groups] (highlighted in chalky blue and bold white text) criticized Zionism for its colonial, nationalist, and bourgeois nature." Next to this text, is a circle with women protestors holding up signs. End ID.

Image 4: The title, "Middle East and North Africa." The paragraph states, "In 1945 a group of Iraqi Jews founded the Anti-Zionist League. They recognized Zionism as a form of colonialism linked to Western Interests. They hosted events and published pamphlets throughout the Middle East about the difference between Zionism & Judaism. They warned that Zionism is dangerous to Arab Jews, forcing them to split their Arab and Jewish identities, and urged the UN to create a unified Palestinian state.

Image 5: The panel is titled, "Anti-Zionist Jewish figures." A faded image of Hannah Arendt's visage is in the background. Overlayed on top, the following paragraphs discuss her. "Before 1948, several prominent Jewish leaders and scholars came out in opposition to political Zionism. Writers like Hannah Arendt turned against the Zionist movement and opposed a Jewish state. They correctly predicted a dark future if Zionism continued on the same path in Palestine. End ID.

Image 6: The day after the Deir Yassin Massacre in 1948, when Zionist militants wiped out the Deir Yassin village & its inhabitants, Albert Einstein wrote: "When a real and final catastrophe should befall us in Palestine the first responsible for it would be the British and the second responsible for it the Terrorist organizations built up from our own ranks. I am not willing to see anybody associated with those misled and criminal people." The former paragraphs are imposed against a tan, parchment fragment, in typewriter font, and the letter ends with Sincerely yourn, Albert Einstein, both his signature and typed name. End ID.

Image 7: Titled "Anti Zionism Today." Blue sketchy image of someone's hand gripping jail bars breaks up the following paragraphs which say: Jewish solidarity with Palestinians is growing around the world, including even some Israelis who take the basic step of refusing Israeli military service. As punishment, Israel imprisons these conscientious objectors — but unlike Palestininas, they have a fair trial & often severe relatively short sentences of a few months . This is a first step towards solidarity and has the real consequence of depriving the occupation state of its soldiers. End ID.

Image 8: Titled "Israel's Crackdown on Jewish Anti-Zionism" Behind this text are a picture of handcuffs. In the corner is a picture of Jonathan Pollak. The following text says: Jonathan Pollak is a Jewish Israeli and long-time anti-Zionist activist. Israel has detained him several times, most recetly in January as he protested with Palestinians in Beita, (a Palestinian village) for allegedly throwing stones. Jonathan has been violently attacked for his activism. In 2018, Jonathan was slashed across the face by settlers who ambushed him outside his workplace. Earlier, in 2005, Israeli soldiers shot a tear gas canister. directly at him, causing internal bleeding in his brain." End ID.

Image 9: Semi-transparent image of an umbrella behind the title text is "Jewish Anti-Zionism isn’t one ideology. It’s an umbrella movement that encapsulates multiple communities and beliefs towards decolonizing Palestine. Some motivations or Jewish anti-Zionism include: 1. Pursuing millenia of Jewish tradition as a diasporic community 2, Detachibng religious and cultural tradition from political nationalism. 3. Socialist visions of a Jewish Society. 4. Believing in the right to self-determination for Palestinians Standing up to Zionism is: 1. Standing up to apartheid and colonization. 2. Standing up for a liberated, equal, and just Palestine from the river to the sea.

Image 10: An ending quote, and call to action, by the Anti-Zionist League. It says: "Jewish Men! Jewish Women! Zionism wants to throw us into a dangerous & hopeless adventure. Zionism contributes to making Palestine uninhabitable. Zionism wants to isolate us from the Egyptian people. Zionism is the enemy of the Jewish people. Down with Zionism! Long live the brotherhood of Jews and Arabs!" --The Anti-Zionist League. End ID.

[qwimchii]

𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 6) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

playlist pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 (10/24)

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 13.1k

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, p. in v, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘫𝘰𝘣, 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦�� 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘶𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬 (𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢?), 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 😵‍💫, 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯

note: i really hope this isn’t too angsty and confusing? also i noticed the atrocious amount of typos i had in the last part and holy moly... hopefully this one had less because i very lightly proofread it 😭 but if it does i am sorry (im really lazy about proofreading help 😵‍💫)….

two months later

you had not talked to Simon for two weeks. you had not even seen him for days.

the last time you did, it was late at night in the office.

most nights, just like days ago, you were up late working, rain pelting against the window where you typed at your desk, just the irregular patter of rain filling the empty office and the quick clatter of the character keys beneath your fingers. there was a sharp ache in your shoulders and you sighed, rolling them back and wincing at the cracks along your spine. 

rolling your head back, you looked at the desk beside your own—painfully empty in the dim lighting.

as promised, one-four-one had filled the gaping power chasm within the western frontier, shifting headquarters to the capital of the west and buying several properties on every key corner of the sprawling city—much like the brand new townhouse you called an office. 

not many rival gangs had stood up to the power shift because they couldn’t. widespread federal crackdowns had swept through the city. the anonymity of one-four-one had still been preserved—though over time, you had grown to doubt that—and one-four-one had won the war.

it didn’t feel like it though. it felt like you were in hiding all over again, but not from Turner’s men. it was the law this time.

now, at least, one-four-one disclosed all business endeavors to you.

you poured over their financial bookings. Simon had grumbled about it, saying something like it was dangerous for you to be so involved, but it didn’t matter much anyway. you were their main operation of business now, and all ordeals went through you… and your father’s saloon chain.

Kate implored, with the heat of the law breathing down one-four-one’s back, that they needed a legal guise for their illegal ventures. and you offered the saloon chain as an outlet so long that  you would remain the major shareholder.

one-four-one had agreed and Simon, albeit grudgingly, with a grumpy disposition, had agreed.

but establishing a saloon in every town, city, and borough of one-four-one’s proved to be difficult, making Simon busy and you even busier.

eyes darting back down to the empty desk, you missed the vacant absence by your side nonetheless. rubbing at your face, you decided to call it quits, reaching over to turn off the lamp at your desk. the room plunged into darkness, and only the murky light of the moon seeped through the window.

a chill swept through the place and you couldn’t help but shiver, swiping away all papers and materials into the filing cabinet beside your desk when there was a knock at the back door of the office.

“who is it?” you called, sliding the drawers shut and wiping your palms against your dress.

when there was no response, you paused, craning your neck to peer at the door. through the opaque glass, you could make out a tall, shadowed figure at the door.

sighing, you snatched a revolver from your purse, cocking it just in case, and strode over to the door to twist it open.

“business hours are closed—” you began, looking up to the tall figure in the entrance, breath hitching when you saw a familiar scarred face.

Simon looked tired—more tired than you remembered him after two weeks. maybe older too, you worried, watching the downpour roar of rain slip off his trench coat. he just watched you with quiet eyes and a blank expression, swaying slightly in the doorway, which only worried you more.

“Simon—” you said, voice pinched as you reached out to him, then muffled a yelp when he suddenly lurched forward and pressed his wet body to yours.

your hand was still outstretched when he curled into you, big body bent down to wrap around your waist and pull you flush to him.

“missed you,” his whispered, pressing his nose into your neck, then kissing there. the water seeping through your dress made you shiver and he rubbed at your sides, like he was trying to warm you.

an overwhelming crash of confusion wracked you. Simon wasn’t due to be back for a while. at least a few more weeks. nonetheless, you twisted your hands into his clothes, amazed to find him solid and real in front of you.  

“Simon. why are you here—?”

he pulled back from your neck and suddenly pressed his lips to yours, the kiss cold and wet from the rain, his stetson tipping off his head when he angled his head to kiss you deeper, messier, his teeth knocking into yours as his tongue dipped through your lips.

you muffled a squeak, trying to match the fast movements with your own, curling your arms around his neck and letting the revolver clatter to the floor. when his tongue brushed against yours, there was a rich and bitter taste in your mouth, and you gasped. alcohol.

you pressed against his chest and he pulled back with a disgruntled noise, frowning, before trying to kiss you again. but you pushed him away by his jaw and his frown only deepened.

“why?” he asked softly, brows furrowed. 

you rubbed his chest, quelling the hurt look on his face to melt away.

“you’re drunk, Si,” you whispered back before gently tugging him towards the vacant chair in the office.

when he sat in it, the chair groaning under his weight, he tried to pull you onto his lap, fingers curling around the back of your thighs and tugging you forward. when you didn’t budge, he huffed, and jerked you forward with enough force that you fell into his lap with a yelp.

“Simon—!”

he curled you up into his lap, snaking an arm around your waist and the other up your chest, hand gripping at your shoulder to keep you locked against him. with a sigh, you let it happen, smoothing your dress free of its wrinkles Simon had just created. his eyes lazily followed the movement, nose pressed into your cheek and hot breath against your skin.

“pretty dress,” he remarked, squeezing you tightly. you just rolled your eyes.

you were about to give him a sarcastic quip when, voice deceptively soft, he asked, “why are you avoiding me?”

the breath left your lungs, and you went very still.

when you didn’t give a verbal response, Simon shifted beneath you, just winding around you tighter.

“supposed to be my wife,” he said, forehead sinking into your neck. his voice was so somber that you had to stifle a laugh of disbelief.

“you haven’t even proposed,” you reminded him. he just grumbled something you couldn’t hear, words smothered against your skin.

you didn’t know why you were avoiding him. 

Soap had told you—very briefly during one-four-one’s inhabitation of san francisco—that it gets worse before it gets better. he had said it so briefly that you hadn’t know what he meant, didn’t really think it meant anything, until your life resumed in a new bustling city that felt impossible to get accustomed to.

now you know exactly what he meant. swallowing hard, you willed the thoughts away, burying them under a thick layer of bitter denial that Simon sniffed out like a hound.

“marry me then,” he offered, and you pinched the skin of his wrist.

“no. you’re not proposing to me while you’re drunk.”

he huffed out. “why not?”

you ignored him. “why were you drinking?”

when he was silent for a long moment, you smothered a smile of victory, feeling like you had won for some stupid reason.

then, he grumbled out quietly, “you were ignorin’ me.”

the smile slid from your face.

after a pause, you hiked up your dress, uncaring for indecency when you twisted in his hold, hooking your thighs around his in the chair. he gripped your hips tightly, looking up at you with hooded eyes. the small, unpleasant twist of his lips soured any warm feeling in your chest.

“m’not ignoring you,” you said softly, reaching up to brush the tangle of his blonde hair from his brow. his hair was getting too long now—the close shave on the sides of his head shaggy and unkempt.

he looks pretty anyway, you decided dreamily, kissing his forehead gently. his hands slid up to your waist, gripping you tighter.

“feels like it,” he grumbled and you suppressed a smile.

“sorry,” you said, the ache in your chest only swelling when you noticed the crestfallen look in his dark eyes.

“i’ve been busy,” you admitted, rubbing a comforting hand over his chest.

he just pulled you closer, forehead knocking against your shoulder. his hands crept up to your upper back now, clutching at your dress.

“so have you,” you pointed out.

he mulled in silence, hands sliding back down your torso, a shiver wracking you in his hold. then, he dropped his hands to your legs, fingers brushing over your legs as he edged up your dress, hands sliding beneath the fabric to play with the hem of your drawers. the leather of his gloves was cool against your skin.

“Simon,” you chided, blushing when his fingertips slithered beneath the fabric.

“missed you,” he reiterated, grip firm on your upper thighs as he pulled you tight against his hips. the blush bloomed across your ears and neck when you felt his hard arousal beneath his pants.

“not in my office,” you hissed, and he grumbled.

“you were gonna shoot me,” he complained, picking his head up to glare at the revolver that lay forgotten across the carpet floor, just by Simon’s fallen stetson.

you rolled your eyes. “i was not gonna shoot you.”

“you should make it up to me,” he interjected, voice a seductive, low rumble.

with another roll of your eyes, you swatted at him, pulling off his lap despite the string of expletive protests that left his lips.

you knew him too well to be fooled by his manipulative seductive tendencies. instead, you gathered your items and your purse, ignoring his big, sukling body beside yours. when he tugged at your dress, and you ignored him again, he made a sad noise.

upon observing the dark cloud of disapproval that roiled off his body, and the deep scowl on his face, you promised, “later Si.”

at that, he perked up, looking hopeful as he followed you to the back door of the office. you picked up your revolver on the floor and shoved it in your purse. opening the door to the pouring rain outside, you sighed, wishing you had an umbrella as you craned your neck out into the night.

instead, Simon picked up his stetson from the floor and pushed it onto your head. it was too big on you and tipped forward, concealing your vision of the city streets. at that, he huffed a laugh and drew you closer, hitching up his coat so that you were tucked beneath his arm and the flap of his trench coat.

“lead the way, lovely,” he said, voice tinged with an amused lilt as you frowned, tilting his hat back so that you could see as he led you down the little steps from the office and out onto the street—bound for his horse by the cobbled sidewalk, the black stallion stomping in the rain. bound for home.

looking over at Simon whose eyes were trained ahead, you took in his content, handsome profile with a greediness, only realizing just then how much you had missed him. down to the very bones of your body, you had missed him. 

just then, you couldn’t help but feel that you were already at home in his arms.

but that was days ago.

Soap had ridden into the city with a panic that same night, roving around to find that blonde brute of yours, he had explained in the comforts of your new, big apartment. the third place he had looked was your home, and you had tried to hide the flush of your skin behind the cup of tea you sipped.

he had explained that Simon had gone home prematurely without a notice, too drunk to reason through with things. too drunk to be able to quell how much he missed you.

with a sinking feeling, you had come to acknowledge with a tinge of guilt just how much you had been neglecting him. not that it was your responsibility to take care of him in the first place. you weren’t married.

though, after everything, that didn’t seem to matter at all. you were completely his anyway.

with a wince, you couldn’t help but wonder, was he yours as well? could you even dare to wonder if your relationship was an equal give and take? if it was anything more than a silent power imbalance?

eyes darting from Soap to your open bedroom door, you eyed the large lump beneath the blankets of your bed. you hadn’t even done anything upon arrival at your home. you had pushed him toward the bedroom and he had sunk down into the mattress, exhausted from his long ride to san francisco, and promptly fell asleep, thoroughly soaking your sheets.

you had let him sleep, content to lay flush by his side and tangled in his wet embrace, till there was a pounding on your door. you had opened it to find Soap dripping with water and looking just as tired as the hulking man who slept in your bed.

and there you were on the living room sofas with Soap, sipping tea as he explained that they needed to go back and finish taking care of things in arizona and mexico. then they would be home bound again. it was a promise.

once the sun crested the sky along the horizon, you gently shook Simon awake, looking confused and sleepy in the morning light.

he had gone without much reluctance—much more sober than the night before. a composed stoicism overtook him again and he was curt in his goodbye. so curt it made your heart ache.

he could barely look at you, brushing his gloved fingers gently against your cheek in a brief reminder of his deep, lingering affection, before he disappeared with Soap out your apartment. the only remnant of him was your drenched sheets and the soft smell of smoky ash and woods against them.

this was how it had been for months. it gets worse before it gets better, Soap had said to you when things had grown tense between you and Simon. you were managing a business. he was managing the entire western frontier through the business you managed.

was marriage an option anymore?

your mind chanted a quiet reminder that it wouldn’t be long before one-four-one would be in san francisco permanently. Simon’s stoic presence would be more resolute and then maybe, maybe, you could do something about it.

there were nights when you caved when he was home, staying just across the hall from your apartment, knocking at his door and desperate for his touch on your skin. he would always relent, picking you up and throwing you onto his bed, crawling over you and setting your whole body alight with sensual touches and long, breathless kisses as he fucked you through several earth shattering orgasms that had your nails scratching down his back, hands twisting his hair, sometimes biting down on his shoulder to try and quell the overwhelming pleasure of it.

you’d roll in the sheets for hours, tangled together until the sun came up after a long, pleasurable and sweaty night. there were always bruises left along your skin, a darkened splotchy purple against your hips where his had slammed into you over and over, making you see stars.

there were nights when he’d do the same. you remembered opening the door to him—half-naked and his bare, muscled torso on display, a scarred, discolored twist of skin over the side of his chest and shoulder that matched the skin of your own arm. there was always a tinge of plea in his voice, of desperation, as he edged you into your own apartment and you always, always relented.

you remembered being down on your knees for him for the first time, throat swollen and tight as he eased his cock down your throat, a gentle hand in your hair.

“thas’ it,” he had praised, voice slurred as he guided you through the unusual motion. your head slid up and down his thick, hot length that pulsed in your mouth, sucking him with closed eyes.

“look at me,” he had commanded, thumb pressing against your cheek and you had fluttered your eyes up at him, head feeling light and airy from the lack of oxygen circulating in your system.

“fuck,” he choked out, head tipping back at the sight of you, so small and obedient between his thighs.

it was just like this every time—mind blowing and unforgettable. content in his strong arms after every night of intense passion, your cheek pressed to his warm chest and soft, lulling whispers into your ear as he stroked your hair till you fell asleep to his random bursts of rambles about work, one-four-one, and you. soft, loving words about you.

he was always the most talkative those nights. in the morning, he would always be gone, and in the light of day, you’d half ignore each other for fear of…

you didn’t know what you should be fearing but you feared something so strong that you buried yourself in work and allowed yourself to be selfish. trying desperately to forget everything and always failing much to Yue-Yi’s amusement.

damn special privileges, you had hired Yue-Yi as a personal assistant after the majority of brothels had been shut down with the crackdown of law across the west. managing so many of her own personal clients throughout her life, Yue-Yi proved to be adept at organizing your busy schedule and especially adept at keeping you company when one-four-one was gone. when Simon was gone.

she reminded you to take care of yourself when you were overworking. you always countered by saying that one-four-one was working twice as hard, though with the incredulous look she would send you every time, you grew to become unsure of yourself.

and here you were in the present, days since you had “talked” to Simon though his mind seemed to be barely present underneath a veil of intoxication. days since Soap had whisked him back to whatever duties that lay east of san francisco.

you tried to ignore it all, taking long strolls through the park during lunch to avoid the hustle bustle of your office during the busy hours. you preferred to work in silence, but that proved difficult with the growing number of employers that were corralled into your business, no matter how perturbed they thought an unmarried woman as their boss.

you heard their gossips and whispers. they thought you were hiding a secret marriage with the prophesied ceo from them. Simon Riley. little did they know, their ceo was actually you. you didn’t have the heart to tell them that they were wrong and allowed them to continue thinking you were some favored personal assistant of Simon—just a typist and nothing more.

you only let a few men—vaqueros who knew good english with proficient math and business skills—into your secret, pressing real business matters to carry out into their hands. they never questioned it, and whether it was a command from Alejandro or not, you thought of them as amiable acquaintances.

the fall leaves littered the path in the park on this day, your hands clasped behind your back as you observed the sun flecked surroundings. a husband and wife ambled through the grass as their children trailed behind, throwing up colorful leaves into the air with pitched laughter. immediately, you looked away from the sight.

that’s when you spotted a familiar man staring at you, splayed across a nearby bench in a fancy three-piece suit and ginger hair fiery in the sunlight.

you stopped in your tracks.

“Konig?” you choked, slowly edging toward him. he tipped his head to you with a smile that smothered something strange in his pale green eyes.

“pleasant to see you little lady.”

your mouth opened and closed and you would’ve sat by him if it weren’t for the thrumming, ominous instinct in you to stay away.

and you did just that, stopping a comfortable distance from the big man, his eyes never leaving you as he took a swing from a flask before tucking it back into the breast pocket of his suit.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, dismayed, wondering if you were hallucinating it out of your own loneliness.

he ruffled his hair, smile lopsided but eyes still flat and dead and cold. Konig had disappeared on the move into san francisco. he would reappear every one and a while, poking around in your business and checking on your well-being before disappearing all over again. it was frustrating and left you beyond confusion.

it left Simon seething because Konig would conveniently pop up in the midst of a random, bustling street, tell you with joy that he was staying just around the corner of your new apartment and make Simon sulk at the very sight of the austrian man.

“my employers in Austria,” he said with a tilted head, “they want me to stay in san francisco for business.”

your mind spun. business? assassin business?

your throat ran dry. “you won’t kill Simon, will you?” 

the smile on his face was malicious.

“i already tried,” he said slowly, and you suppressed a shiver, remembering when Kate had told you that Konig had left Simon for dead in that fire but took you with him. saved your life.

“that british boy,” Konig said, brow furrowed like he was concentrating hard, “i do not like him, Engel.”

you sighed out, rubbing at your temple. “i know, Konig.”

when Konig only kept staring at you in silence, you decided to probe him with questions. “where have you been?”

you were surprised by the hurt in your voice. his brows only rose slightly. “san francisco—”

“what have you been doing?” you interjected, twisting your hands in your dress.

he stared at you for a long moment. “business.”

his voice dropped an octave. “and watching you.” then, he rephrased, “watching you and Ghost.”

you wrinkled your nose. not ominous at all.

“you care about him,” he observed lightly, looking away from you. a frown twitched at his lips and you sighed, gaining the courage to sit on the very opposite edge of the bench. though with his sheer size, he took up more than half of it, his arm splayed out over the back and his fingers pressed against your shoulder when you leaned back to look up at the clear, crisp sky.

“i do,” you confirmed, and he shifted beside you, picking up his hand to play with the ends of your hair.

“why? he’s an insufficient boy,” he grumbled and you couldn’t help the smile on your lips. you had never heard someone describe Simon as a boy, though sometimes, you couldn’t help but feel the same.

“i am an insufficient girl sometimes,” you countered, surprised when Konig shook his head.

“i have always seen you for what you are, Engel.” his pale green eyes flitted from your hair up to your eyes.

“capable.”

at that, you swallowed hard, but he continued on. “i want to stay in america. for you, little american.”

quickly, you countered, “you didn’t know me before, Konig.”

he shook his head again. “i don’t need to.”

there was a dizzying panic that rose in your chest. 

“i’m not innocent,” you practically hissed, pinning him with your most intense gaze that he easily held. “i have mental issues. i don’t know who i am or what i want. i just want…”

your voice faltered. “Simon.”

then, you whispered so quietly that you almost couldn’t hear yourself, “i love him.”

the admittance of it was like a weight that slid off your shoulders, and you gasped a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Konig had gone very stiff beside you, a pure look of something dark and angry twisting his face before it was swept away. he took his arm from you, letting your hair drop against your shoulders, sighing as he looked away.

“i don’t get it,” he grumbled.

you could only agree. “i don’t either.”

after a long moment of silence, Konig stood from the bench and whirled around on his heels, hands in his pockets and an easy smile on his face, though you could see the strain in his eyes.

“no matter. this will be the last time you see me, Engel.”

“i doubt that,” you said bitterly and his smile only grew.

“you are a business woman,” he said carefully, giving you a slight bow, “i am sure we will do business later in life.”

i’m counting on it, you thought, but didn’t voice as he turned on his heel and strode out the park with a confident step. your heart shrunk with every step he took. maybe you cared about him more than you realized.

you winced, trying to imagine how you would tell Simon about this strange encounter. then, you corrected yourself, reminding yourself that you actually didn’t need to tell him anything at all.

“excuse me!” a voice called from afar, and you turned to see Yue-Yi standing at the edge of the park, hands balled up by her side.

at the sight of her, a smile crept up to your face as she impatiently tapped at her wrist. 

“you’re late for a meeting,” she hissed as you strode over. with a nasty look, she whirled around to trudge toward the office with a huff. 

you looked back at Konig one last time, towering as he weaved around people who glanced at him with a wariness.

when he didn’t look back, you hurried to catch up with Yue-Yi, a strangled laugh escaping you when she quickened, throwing a mischievous look over her shoulder as you chased her up the steps to the office.

the meetings went smoothly. as usual. most of Turner’s men had been decimated or scattered, lost to the winds as they left western gang life for a mundane one. few changed sides to work for one-four-one. there wasn’t much threat to your livelihood now, especially now that there was a legal outlet for illegal activities. you implored one-four-one to set up a horse race betting system within each saloon—semi-discrete and something local law enforcers were a part of from time to time…

the rest of the day continued to go smoothly till it was late in the evening, nearing dinnertime, when you passed Yue-Yi typing at her desk. gathering the necessary papers she typed up, one paper by her typewriter caught your eye. 

familiar, obnoxiously loud handwriting in all caps lined the top, addressed to YUE-YI from SIMON RILEY. you immediately picked it up, eyes darting over the paper, just reading the first few, formal sentences when Yue-Yi snatched it from your hand.

“didn’t anyone ever tell you it was rude to read someone else’s letters without permission?” she said with a scowl, wagging a finger at you.

you ignored her, reaching for the letter but she leaned back, crumpling it into a ball in her hand.

“Yue-Yi,” you whined, and she just rolled her eyes with a little smile.

“what is this about?” you probed, endlessly curious as to why Simon had written to Yue-Yi.

and not you, a slither of a whisper spoke in your mind. you grimaced. in all fairness, you never wrote to him either.

mulling by the edge of her desk, Yue-Yi sighed at the sight of you, lost and confused, as she resumed her work and lined up a fresh piece of paper at the typewriter.

“one-four-one is coming back tonight.”

you balked. “tonight?”

she shrugged. “Ghost addressed the information to me several days ago. the letter did not arrive till this morning. we will dine together at six o’clock.”

checking the clock on the opposite of the room, you bristled.

“it’s half past six, Yue-Yi,” you gritted out between a clenched jaw.

she stopped her incessant typing, giving you a brief glance full of impatience. “your meetings didn’t end till half past six.”

you groaned with frustration, stomping back into your office and moving past Simon’s vacant desk without even a glance at it—a bad habit that you had developed to somehow will him to return quicker.

not this quick, you lamented in your head, rifling through the wardrobe (for special occasions just like this) by your desk, undressing in your personal bathroom with quivering hands.

someone knocked on the door politely, a three beat rhythm you recognized as Yue-Yi, and with huff you tugged it open, not sparing her a glance out of your own frustration. she closed the door behind her softly, moving closer to undo the back of your dress for you.

you wasted no time to pin up your hair, eyes darting to hers through the mirror, flushing to find her gaze already pinned on you.

with a grumble, you complained under your breath, “how could you do this to me.”

she lightly smiled, helping you pull on the fine gown, exposing your neck and a glimmer of your collarbones.

“i knew you would’ve ran away if i told you weeks ago.”

grimacing, you chose not to say anything, remembering how you had done the same a couple months prior. but it was just once—Simon had written to you saying that he would be in town for the night, and you had written him back saying you were just too busy that night.

it was a lie. 

oh how the tides had changed between the devil and his angel. it wasn’t out of your own revenge, but the gnawing fear wracking your bones and those simmering, painful questions running circles in your mind.

could Simon ever be yours?

it just wasn’t so simple anymore. maybe it never was.

Yue-Yi hummed softly as she pulled your corset tighter for good measure and buttoned up the back of your dress, smoothing it over before giving you a hug from behind.

“you look divine,” she said as you pulled silk gloves up your forearms.

“thank you,” you squeaked with a flush. she patted your sides before opening the door for you like a proper gentleman.

you curtsied for her and rolled her eyes, smacking your backside on your way out of the office as you squealed, and she laughed when you rubbed at your ass that stung beneath your gown.

moving through the townhouse, rooms of the place had been converted into work spaces, lined with desks of busy men with cigarettes between their lips that filled the room with a smoky haze. they paid you no mind as you followed Yue-Yi to the end of the hall, passing by the room of women typists who bid you kind goodbyes and waved as you descended down the spiral steps to the lobby.

there was already a horse and buggy stationed at the sidewalk with an impatient looking coachman, whose eyes darted between you and the watch in his breast pocket.

“do you women not know how to tell time?” he spat, and you gave him a narrowed side glance.

“it would do good on you to remember who your employer is, Mr. Busby.”

“that would be Mr. Riley, miss,” he shot back, opening the door for you nonetheless.

you ignored him but Yue-Yi didn’t.

“and you should remember that the miss is his lady,” she quipped, brow furrowed with a glare as she helped you up into the carriage.

that shut him up, grumbling something under his breath you couldn’t be bothered with as you slid into the leather carriage, Yue-Yi flush at your side as the coachman snapped the reins, horses taking off over the bumpy cobblestone road.

with a sigh, you said to her, “we ought to buy one of those fancy model t’s after today.”

she choked a laugh, clasping her hand with yours as you watched the passing scenery with a smile, though it didn’t last for long, melting from your face with every passing minute—every minute the distance between you and Simon closed.

the one-four-one mansion neared on the twinkling horizon, a good time’s travel from the inner boroughs of the sprawling city, far away enough from commotion where you could hear the soft drag and pulls of the ocean lapping at the shores. the mansion sat just near a cliff overlooking the pacific ocean.

the first night you had stayed for a formal event with important stockholders and other prominent figures involved in the family business, you had laid stock still in the ginormous bed, buried beneath blankets and thick, expensive furs, listening to the lulling roar of the ocean crashing against the cliff rocks through the open windows. a breeze danced through the room, brushing against your cheek so real and strong it felt like skin against your own.

blinking open your eyes, you saw Simon by the edge of the bed, his hand brushing over your cheek and hair in a mess like he had just awoken. without a word, he clambered into your bed, snaking beneath the blankets and pressed to you, bare skin hot to the touch and soaked through with sweat.

some words of concern had left you, some words you had forgotten now as you sat in the carriage, some words he had smothered with a sweet kiss. a kiss that you returned as you pushed him onto his back, shimmying out of your nightgown and undergarments with a practiced ease before straddling him, rolling your hips against him to pull gentle groans from his throat.

you leaned down to pepper kisses over his skin, sucking along his neck and his sharp jaw. then, with an earth shattering reminder of just how strong he is, he tugged your hips up his body till you hovered above his watering mouth, hot breath against your swollen cunt.

with a squeak of confusion, you had gripped at the fluffy pillows above his head, meeting his dark gaze as he pulled your pussy flush to his lips, guiding your hips over his face as he devoured your cunt, suckling your clit into his mouth till you were a shaking, crying mess.

it was strange and felt too dirty but your neediness betrayed you, just wanting more and more of him. even when he flipped you over, pliant and weak from a strong orgasm, and stretched your tight cunt open with his thick cock and low comforting words. 

good girl. my sweet little angel, my sweet little slut. just f’me, all f’me.

you weren’t sure why it always ended up like this exactly—somehow tangled in each other’s bed and desperate for skin against skin, tongue and lips on each other, and his low throaty whispers in your ear that sent you reeling over the edge every time with breathy, pitched whines and his fingers rubbing addictive little circles into your clit.

shivering at the memory with a hot flush of embarrassment, you pressed your thighs together, taking your embroidered fan and flapping it at your face as the coachman drew the carriage up the drive-way to the mansion, the butler and servants lined along the extravagant entrance of the victorian mansion.

just beyond them, one-four-one filed out the doors of the mansion, Soap striding up to the carriage with a loud greeting. the coachman opened the door for you but Soap waved him away, outstretched his hand to you with a rugged smile.

you took it, holding the hem of your dress up as you stepped to the ground.

“yer a sight for sore een, bonnie,” he said with a big grin and you choked a laugh.

“sore what?” you asked as he kissed your hand brusquely, not elaborating as he moved to help Yue-Yi out the carriage as well.

you walked up the steps of the entrance, John and Kate calling out to you in greeting. your eyes darted over Gaz and Simon, looking like a pair of twin statues with the way their arms were crossed over their chests and a stoic look pinched their face.

you bit back a scoff, letting Kate pull you into a soft hug as John looked down at you with an affectionate smile, hands clasped behind his back. turning to Gaz, he gave you a curt nod which you returned.

eyes sliding to Simon’s, his arms dropped to his sides, hands clenching and unclenching, lips parting like he was going to say something, but Yue-Yi materialized at your back in an instant, and his mouth closed, jaw clenched.

“Yue-Yi,” he greeted with a nod. she just tilted her head in response, a menacing scowl twisting her lips.

the look they shared passed something between them that you couldn’t decipher—like a silent argument ensued in the air between them before he let out a low huff, sending you a lingering look, before he followed one-four-one into the mansion.

promptly, you turned to Yue-Yi.

“what was that?” you probed, and she completely ignored you, pushing you into the mansion with an impatient, hushed reminder that you were late.

you bit back your frustration, letting yourself be led by the butler to the banquet table stacked with half-eaten food and empty bottles of whiskey and wine, the vaqueros loud laughter and chatter filling the cavernous dining room. they all stood at your presence, which you protested with a startled squeak, sitting down in an plush chair near the head of the table where John sat, and right beside Simon.

Simon pushed in your chair with an ease, face blank as he plopped in the seat next to you, lacking manners when he leaned an elbow on the table, a tense silence filling the space between you.

desperately, you ignored it, grateful that Yue-Yi flanked your other side, and looked down to the other end where Alejandro, Rudolfo, Kate, and Maria sat, a raucous laughter and chatter ensued. it filled the whole room with an expanding joy that you rode—joining in on a few conversations across the table, hyper aware of the quiet, hulking man beside you sharing low murmurs with John and Gaz.

his hand crept over to the arm of your seat, long fingers hanging off the edge where he rested his forearm, fingertips barely brushing over your thigh. you shot him a look from your peripheral, but he was still braced against his other forearm, leaning over to speak in John’s ear, his face furrowed as he nodded along to Simon’s words.

across the table, Soap piled your plate with food, one hand spooning out generous portions from different platters and the other tipping back a glass of whiskey into his mouth.

with a sheepish laugh, you thanked him, happy to finally have a meal after such a long, exhausting day.

you took a big spoonful of mashed potatoes, chewing happily when a vaquero across the table pointed out you got some on the corner of your lips with a mix of sign language and a couple words in english. embarrassed you swiped at it, but he just laughed, saying something in spanish as he smiled at you.

then, you recognized him—his twinkling brown eyes and gentle smile, tanned skin, dark slick backed hair that parted and curled around his ears. handsome in a soft, pretty way.

“it’s you!” you exclaimed, happy to see a familiar face.

he nodded, pointing to himself. “i am Javier.”

“your name is Javier?” 

he nodded again, then pointed at you. “you are Angel.”

with a blush, you shifted in your seat, changing the subject quickly. “how are you?”

when he looked confused, you tried to rephrase, “how are you feeling? good? bad?”

his let out an ah, eyes twinkling as he leaned forward in his seat. “good.”

then, he tilted his head. “escuche que eres la chica de Ghost. pero ya no lo parece.”

he was looking you up and down. “te ves tan bonita esta noche, Angel.”

his words were hushed, just loud enough so that only you could hear. there was a different, more intimate tone in them that had the heat in your cheeks just thickening.

“what?” you choked and his smile only widened.

you looked to Yue-Yi beside you, locked in conversation with someone on her other side, growing uncomfortable under the vaquero’s curious, lingering gaze.

you had thought that no one had heard when a strong arm had curled around your waist, dragging your entire chair across the floor with a screech so you were flush to his side.

“¿todavia parece que no es mia cabron?” Simon’s words were a low snarl that carried through the room and cut through the end of the other table. immediately, the room quieted, and Alejandro’s eyes darted up from his conversation, the smile melting off his face.

with a deadly amount of leisure, Simon threw his revolver on the table, eyes a glare full of challenge at Javier. you stared at the hard lines of his face and panicked, knowing he’d hold to whatever word he had just delivered if it was something as trivial as his male ego being threatened. especially if he thought you were being threatened.

when Javier reached for his own revolver beneath the table, you threw up a hand, standing to shield Simon.

“wait—!”

but Alejandro beat you to it. “Javier.”

Javier looked down the table at his leader that stood, hunched over and knuckles pressed against the table. Alejandro shook his head lightly, and Kate heaved a sigh, her cutlery clattering against her plate as she put them down.

“here they go again,” she grumbled distantly, blue eyes flashing when they met yours.

after a long pause, Javier finally leaned back into his chair with a huff, then turned his gaze to you once more.

“debo haberme equivocado. lo siento Angel.”

the smile on his face was deceptively soft, eyes never leaving your wide ones as he spoke, and Simon’s grip only tightened on your waist.

“Javier,” Alejandro repeated, sounding impatient, though Javier’s gaze on you was unflinching.

for a long, terrible, twisted moment, you watched Simon’s hand twitch by his revolver before it curled into a fist, and he sat back against his chair with a thud and a low grunt. finally, Javier looked away, and you sunk back into your chair, gasping a breath you didn't know you were holding.

at that, Alejandro straightened and held a bottle of whiskey up into the air with a smile.

“no need to fight my brothers and sisters. we’re here to celebrate our victory, vaqueros and vaqueras!”

at that, the table cheered and resumed its festivities, retopping their drinks with a tipsy hand so that their drinks fizzed over with liquid that soaked into the tablecloth. then, Alejandro gestured his bottle to you, meeting your eyes, mouthing out the words so that only you and Simon could see.

“to the devil and his angel.”

he took a big swing of the whiskey bottle, and the muddled feeling in you only sunk, jolting when Simon pressed his lips to your ear.

“sit in my lap,” he commanded and you shot him a glare.

“you haven’t talked to me all night,” you hissed under your breath and he narrowed his eyes at you.

“you haven’t either,” he countered, which you thought was rather immature as you looked up at him with a pinched expression.

with a little yelp, you jolted when his hand lazily slid around your throat. “and i wasn’t asking, princess.”

swallowing hard, you let him pick you up and drop you in his lap, curling both arms around you in a vice, chin tucked over your shoulder. you told yourself, chanted to yourself, that you were doing it to prevent any further bloodshed already spilled between the men and women of the room, your eyes darting over Kate and Maria flush together at the end of the table.

you clutched at Simon’s strong arms, leaning back into his massive body, turning your cheek so that your forehead was against his jaw, closing your eyes.

“sleepy?” he offered, voice gruff in your ear. gently, he kissed the lobe of your ear, and a resolute ache wracked your chest.

you realized, in his arms, this was the first time in multiple days since he had held you. you reached back to clutch at his neck, sinking into him.

“mhmm,” you hummed, grateful that Gaz and John ignored the pair of you in their own conversation.

then, he kissed your neck softly. “i can take you to bed.”

the suggestiveness of his words don’t go unnoticed. “now?”

“no one will say anythin’,” he promised, already pushing you off his lap softly. even if half the table watched you disappear through the rooms of the mansion with Simon’s arm wrapped around your waist, you found yourself completely uncaring, just nuzzling closer into him.

once you were both completely out of sight, he hooked an arm under your knees and carried you up the stairs and into a random room shrouded with darkness, the blankets and furs soft against your back when he laid you out over a bed.

you watched him undress in silence, undoing his vest and then his button up before you heard the clink of a belt in the dark and his dress pants dropped to the floor. he crawled over to you, completely bare for your greedy eyes.

“let me?” he asked softly, finger hooking in the low collar of your evening gown, and you nodded, letting him sit you up and unbutton the back of your dress. you tugged it over your head, uncaring that it crumpled the fabric, and flipped your hair over your shoulder, turning so you offered your back to him.

when he made no move to your corset, you sent him a confused look over your shoulder, lips parting at the sight of him breathing shallow, and swollen, veiny cock pressed against his thigh.

he edged forward with a low curse, kissing your shoulder as he untied your corset expertly, too expertly now, with a clumsy rush, your breasts bouncing when he practically ripped the thing from your torso.

a gasp escaped you when he bound an arm around your chest, kneading at your breast while his other hand tugged at the hem of your drawers. you lifted your hips, awkwardly shimmying out of them in his tight hold. he tore it the rest of the way down, and you chided him with disapproval that he ignored, arms squeezing you tight to his muscled, warm chest.

you could feel his feverish cock pressed into the curve of your ass, and you reached down blindly to stroke him but he grumbled out something like a no, burying his face into your hair and neck as he just held you there in that awkward position.

you clutched at his arms, feeling the muscled strength of them tense beneath your touch. “Simon?”

he hummed distantly, pressing pleasant kisses to your skin.

“i need to show you something,” he said, untangling himself from your body for a brief moment to step away and search for something on the floor. he took something from the pocket of his discarded pants, silvery and shiny in the dim light as he crawled back onto the bed and pulled you flush to him once more.

he looped both arms in front of your chest, the silver thing dangling in the air in front of your face.

you gasped at the sight of the pink jewel embedded in an ornate silver casing—dazzling even in the low light. it wasn’t unlike Simon to bring you back trinkets and small mementos from his travels, though they were always discrete, left on your nightstand after an intimate night, or the kitchen table in your apartment. 

this was the first time he had directly presented you with something so romantic.

with a content hum at your reaction, he clasped it around your neck, pulling your hair out from under the silver chain, pressing his lips along the necklace against your skin. the contrast between its cold metal and his hot kisses left you shivering.

“what is it?” you asked in wonder, clutching at the jewel against your chest.

“pink tourmaline,” he slurred against your skin. you met his half-lidded gaze from over your shoulder.

“s’my birthstone,” he said, voice deceptively soft as he reached around to toy with it in your fingers. a heat slithered down to your core, and you had to clench your thighs together to stave off the aching pressure of it.

the act was so possessive it left you hot with delirium.

physically branding you as his, a happy voice sung in your somewhere, though the logic of your mind swatted at it, reminding you this wasn’t how you wanted it.

you bit down on your lip, feeling conflicted as you stared down at the jewel in his fingertips.

when you didn’t respond to him, Simon gently pressed you onto your back, sliding over your body to study your face with a blank expression.

“what’s wrong, lovely? you don’t like it?”

you shook your head, reaching up to cup his cheek. “no. i like it. it’s just…”

he tilted his head, eyes flitting down to your exposed, swollen breast from his kneading, then up again.

“fuck me,” you offered, and his face pinched, pulling back from your touch so he sat back on his haunches.

“what’re you not tellin’ me, lovely?” he asked, angling your chin down so you were looking right into his dark eyes.

you swallowed hard. “Konig came and talked to me.”

he stiffened, grip on your chin tightening as he frowned. “he didn’t touch you, did he?”

“no,” you said, clutching at his wrist, “he told me that he wanted to stay in the city for me.”

with as much honesty as you could muster, you told him, “i realized that i care about him more than i believed.”

his hand dropped from your face, jaw clenched as a new void look swept through his expression, which left you icy inside and out.

“you want to tell me that you love him?” there was such a strain in his voice that it didn’t sound like his own.

“no,” you said immediately, and the tight bunch of his shoulders dropped. “i want...”

that voice in your head screamed and you tried to bury it but it came out wracking and loud. you screwed your eyes shut. 

you Simon, it screamed. i want you. you wanted him so bad it was soul-crushing. you wanted him so bad you’d rather deny yourself of the need, ignore him endlessly, if it meant that he wouldn’t… reject you.

those same, sharp questions pierced finally broke the barricade of your mind. could you ever hope for Simon to be yours? would he ever think you an equal? was it more than the power balance you felt it to be?

you looked into his stoic face.

“i want to start over.”

he tilted his head, voice rough. “start over.”

you nodded. “i’m a business woman. i’m a murderer. i’ve done awful things. i’m not innocent anymore.” 

you held your breath, hoping with all your might he would believe your words. you were so, so, so very afraid that he cared for a girl that you weren’t anymore.

you are a woman now, Yue-Yi had said to you with wonder after your reunion in san francisco, marveled that you had survived the harrowing gang war. 

he edged closer to you, creeping over you so his body bowed down to your own. his hands slid up to your cheeks, holding your face as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. his dark eyes flitted between yours. 

you pressed on. “let’s do everything over. no more secrets. retell me ones i’ve already learned.”

when he was silent, you reached up to gently hold his face in your palms in return.

“the one i love is you,” you admitted, amazed at how the weight slid right from your shoulders into some intangible pit below, just how it had been that noon with Konig.

you searched his eyes, finding nothing changed in them after your words. just Simon’s brown eyes. still just Simon. the clarity in that realization was like finally finding a foothold after months of free fall.

“you’ve changed Angel,” he said, quietly, like he was in awe.

your breath hitched. “is that bad?”

“‘course not. is this what you’ve been worrying your pretty little head about for months?”

you frowned. “yes.”

his whole body relaxed, easing down to trap you beneath his muscled body. “i thought you were rethinkin’ about marrying me.”

you winced, because in all technicality you were, but not because you were doubting him. you were doubting all of the unreliable circumstances that danced around the two of you.

he said softer, “i thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

“i want you more than anything,” you squeaked and he cocked his head. 

only you could decipher it as the silent question that it was. then why’d you do all that to me?

your breath hitched, the guilt of neglecting him like a crashing, icy wave splashing over you. or, rather, you had neglected yourself.

“i can’t explain it,” you choked and he rubbed a hand over your chest.

“take your time Angel.”

shimmering tears glossed your eyes, and you said quicker than you thought, “i wanna be equals.”

the slow, soothing circles he drew against your chest stopped. “equals?”

“i wanna be more than this,” you said, clutching at the jewel on your chest, hoping with every fiber of your being that he understood.

more than the once innocent and naive girl he kidnapped.

but he was just silent for a long moment, eyes darting between your face and the little jewel, and you made a strangled noise of frustration.

“i want you to be mine, too,” you admitted, so embarrassed by the proposition that you couldn’t look at him.

when his silence just continued, your eyes darted over to meet his, face void of anything perceptible before he suddenly smothered a laugh, pressing a fist to his lips and twisting away so you couldn’t see his face.

“what—”

you scrambled up to see him keeled over by the edge of the bed, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Simon!” you shouted, kicking at his shoulder to get him to quit it, but that only goaded him on. 

with a sniffle, you wiped at the tears in your eyes and scrambled from the bed, standing up to stomp out of the room. even if you were naked and all, you didn’t care.

“don’t even try to run away,” he growled between laughter, winding an arm around your waist and pulling you back so you fell back against his chest with a yelp, fighting him as he wrestled you back down to the bed.

when your cheek was pressed against the mattress, back arched and ass pressed to his hips, you slumped with defeat and he let out a low, approving hum, laughter finally subsiding as he bent over you to nose at the crown of your head.

once he settled above you, he hummed again, an iron grip around both of your forearms that were pressed to the bed. he kneed your thighs apart, cunt spread and presented to him in the most indecent way possible. 

you shuddered, a burning heat in your tummy.

“silly girl,” he murmured, hips sliding forward to press his leaking cock into the softness of your inner thigh.

you gasped, squirming around in his grip, trapped beneath him.

“my cock was made for this pretty pussy,” he rasped, low enough that it sent goosebumps across your skin, a little whimper torn from your lips. 

“made for you,” he emphasized, picking up a hand that pinned down your forearm.

you looked down between your quivering legs, watching him wrap a large hand around his length and pump his cock a couple times before lining up with your entrance.

“already?” you whined, shaking at the feeling of his drooling tip pushing through your gooey folds.

“you can take it can’t you?” he cooed softly, leaning down to press a messy kiss to your cheek.

of course you could, you wanted to say, but the memory of how the stretch of your cunt around his big cock burned even when he prepared you made you tremble.

but that didn’t stop you from wiggling your hips back into him, wanting him to just slide in already, the wetness of your cunt hot and unbearable. you couldn’t keep from whimpering against the sheets for him.

at your meek display of submission, he whispered in a low, throaty tone, “good girl.”

slowly, he pressed his cock into your unstretched cunt, smothering your cries against the blankets. you screwed your eyes shut, tears slipping down your cheeks as you half-sobbed.

Simon smoothed a hand down your spine, his other hand going between your thighs to circle at your aching clit as he plunged further in.

“hurts,” you whined and he hummed, kissing your shoulder blade.

“want me to stop?” he offered softly, but you immediately shook your head, wanting to please him.

always wanting to please him.

“you’re perfect,” he purred against your skin, bullying the last thick inches of his base into your pussy till he was flush against your ass.

lingering there for a moment, letting the sharp burn subside as you sniffled against the sheets and he peppered kisses all down your neck and back, fingers still massaging your swollen clit.

“needed this so bad,” he admitted, hot breath against your back making your shiver, “needed this pretty little, tight cunt so bad.”

the first snap of his hips punched the breath from your lungs, the rest leaving you gasping, breathless, and mind dizzy as he fucked you. rough. rougher than you felt in a long time.

punishing, you thought dreamily as his hand reached around your throat and squeezed periodically to keep you from passing out.

his hips slammed against your ass, growling out low grunts that coupled with your breathy hiccups in the quiet of the room. it had you delirious and out of your mind, thick tears rolling down your cheeks and pooling at the mattress below.

when he stopped abruptly, hips flush to the back of your thighs that stung from repetitive impact, he manhandled you onto your back, twisting you on his cock as he draped your legs over your shoulders, bending you in half and ignoring your little whimpers as he continued to fuck you relentlessly.

when his hand snaked up to your throat again, you thought he’d give you those delicious little squeezes that had your cunt throbbing and aching, but he wrapped his fingers around your necklace instead, pressing the jewel of it into your throat.

his head was tilted, eyes predatory and clouded beyond recognition. 

“pretty,” he snarled, fingers digging into your cheek to keep you still as he pressed more messy kisses to your face as you whimpered.

not punishing, you realized, choking out a sob when he slammed deep into that sweet spot in you, possessive.

so possessive that it made your head spin, clit twitching for his attention, your hips bucking up into his rough movements as you whined for his touch desperately.

“touch yourself,” he commanded roughly, and you sobbed out a thank you, running a hand down your stomach to rub at it—but it just wasn’t as good as the rough pads of his fingers that knew exactly how you liked it.

whining again, he chided you with a tsk, leaning down to shut you up with a hot, wet kiss, tongue invading your mouth as he pushed your hand aside. he pressed his thumb against your needy clit, fingers splayed across your stomach as he abused the pebbled bud to perfection.

“oh, Simon,” you gasped into his full lips, watching the silvery scar of his upper lip stretch when he smiled, malicious and pupils blown wide.

“hm? tha’ good, baby?” 

“yeah,” you choked out, more tears running down your face when you screwed your eyes shut. he kissed them away with a softness that made you melt, curling into his touch, taking and loving every one of his rough thrusts that drove you a little further up the bed. 

so far that he held up a hand against it, broad and big body towering over your small, shaking one, dwarfed by him in the darkness.

he groaned, little strings of praise leaving his lips. “so perfect takin’ me, Angel. so small and tight and takin’ it all.”

you nodded, gasping for breath as your fingers twisted in the sheets, overwhelmed 

“this cock yours? hm?” he goaded, and you just kept nodding through your hiccuped gasps, hands running up his strong arms to sink your nails into his shoulders, tugging him down to you with a whine.

he relented, dropping down to squish you beneath his heavy weight, your thighs almost pressed to your ears as he fucked his thick cock into you, your eyes rolling back when you felt it throb inside you.

“tell me m’yours,” he growled in your ear, and you moaned, snaking a hand into his hair to pull at its roots and quell the crashing pleasure wracking your body with little overstimulated shakes.

“you’re mine,” you squeaked back, and he chuckled low in your ear, talking you through an orgasm with throaty murmurs.

good girl. come for me now. wanna watch your pretty face while you come. thaaas’ it, pretty thing, come f’me, come f’me—

and you did, every one of his words spurring you closer to the edge, thrown over it when he snuck a hand around your throat and squeezed, the cold metal of your necklace digging into your skin.

it was too much, and you came so hard you saw white, throaty groans in your ear as you came down from the high, Simon’s thrusts slower and more affectionate.

“did so well f’me,” he cooed, and you nodded weakly, still clutching at his hair as your body continued to shake.

“think you can do it again?” he asked softly and you immediately shook your head.

“no,” you sniffled, but he pressed his lips against your hair, a telling smile twisted them and you whimpered, knowing exactly what that meant.

you gasped when he suddenly pulled out of you, feeling light and airy and cold from the weightless absence of him. dizzy, you picked up your head, blinking your eyes against the darkness, pacified when he leaned down and enveloped your lips with his warm ones, movements slow and soft when he flipped you to straddle his hips.

you leaned against his chest, feeling just as woozy and dizzy as he angled your hips, dripping length pushing through your folds and catching against your sensitive clit.

“i think you can, lovely,” he said, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your hip. “can you try? f’me?”

you sniffled, sending him a pout that just made the smug look on his face stretch.

“want you to use me,” he rasped, eyes darting down to where his cock was nestled between the wet folds of your entrance—sopping with your orgasm and the pearly white liquid that rolled from the tip of his cock.

you whined, grinding down on him, feeling that needy thrum between your thighs again, and he hummed approvingly, guiding his cock back into the waiting clutch of your heat.

the position was unusual to you—so exposed in the cold air of the room, begetting you a whole new berth of control that you were unsure what to do with when you sunk down on him, watching his blonde lashes flutter as his eyelids drooped, sighing out a heavy breath.

once you were settled flush to his hips, you gasped, head tilted back and eyes wide at how deep the head of him nudged against that gummy crook of your inside that ached and keened for stimulation. 

“Simon,” you gasped, unsure what to do.

he placed two hands on your hips, dragging your hips up so just the tip of him was at your entrance, before spearing you back down.

you gasped when the head of his cock pressed right against that sweet spot again, and you clutching at his big hands on your hips, picking your hips up before dropping back down onto him, the new pleasure blooming through your body.

“tha’ it,” he grunted, lolling his head back into the pillows, watching your work his length with little breathy moans and gasps, “use this cock. s’all yours.”

you whined at that, whimpering a little, “mine” as you peered down at him through half-lidded eyes.

“mhmm,” he affirmed, using his thumb to play with your aching clit, “m’all yours, princess.”

a moan escaped your lips as you tipped your head back, riding him slow and sensual to your own pleasure, letting it overwhelm you with loud keens of pleasure, head spinning at the thick, pulsing cock between your legs.

all yours, your mind chanted, reaching up to pinch at your own sensitive nipples and whimpering at the sensation that mixed into all the others, watching Simon groan beneath you.

“such a dirty, corrupted little thing,” he grunted, thrusting up in time with your movements so he slammed a little deeper in you every time.

“gonna let me make you my pretty little wife, princess?” he asked, voice so soft as he cupped your cheek.

you nodded incessantly, babbling incoherent words and little pleas as you leaned forward on his chest, another orgasm rushing closer and closer to you.

“gonna come?”

you nodded again, pitched little whimpers the only sound you could push from your lips as he snapped his hips up, taking over the weak, shallow movement of your hips, thighs burning from the effort.

your whole body turned to jello, muscles going lax as you collapsed over him, core convulsing with sweet, delicious pulses that blissed you out, a roar of static in your ears as you screwed your eyes shut with a broken sob.

you hadn’t even realized your cheek was pressed to Simon’s chest till you were coming down from the intensity of it, mind still buzzing with overstimulation, as you just listened to his lulling breaths against your hair and the slow swells of his chest.

he brushed his fingers up your back. “alright, lovely?”

you nodded with a contented hum against his bare chest, tracing the mottled scars of his body softly.

you only noticed his throbbing, hard length still flush to that sweet spot in you when he bucked his hips up, and a surprised moan left your lips. 

“can i?” he asked, lifting your hips softly to slide his cock out the tight clutch of your cunt.

you weren’t sure of what he was asking for till he perched your leg up, wrapping a hand around himself and stroking, tip pressed right up against the rim of your entrance.

you moaned at the sight, craning your head back to look at the quick swipe of his hand twisting around his cock, hips bucking up in an irregular pattern that made you dizzy. 

he twitched beneath you every time slapped the head of his cock against your clit, making you mewl out with sensitivity, turning your head back to him, finding his dark, clouded eyes already on you.

he picked his head up in a silent offering that you took, kissing him with a delirious need, needing him to do something, needed him to come.

“need it,” you whimpered, grinding your hips down against the head of his cock, and his hips bucked with a low groan against your tongue.

“fuck,” he grunted, forehead pressed to yours, “you don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

that only left you confused, brow furrowed as you traced your fingers over his neck and collarbones, scratching lightly over the skin just to hear his breath go shallow.

“need you to come in me,” you begged, whining at the very thought of his hot, milky spend spilling into your cunt, not knowing why you needed it, just that you did.

he groaned loud, hips bucking up into his hands a few more times till he held the head of his cock right against your entrance and came all over your pussy lips, splashing them with a hot, goopy liquid as you whimpered, grinding down on the feeling.

you were half tempted to sheath himself back into your cunt, but his fingers already beat you to it, slithering down your stomach to curl up into your entrance. you gasped as he pushed the spend in you, hot and slimy and just as you had imagined as you ground down on his fingertips.

“this what you needed?” he asked, voice hazy and distant. you blinked up at him, his head lolled against the pillows with a lazy smirk.

shifting up you pecked his lips, humming as he fucked his fingers into you, spreading his spend within you. he pecked your nose in return.

“good.”

then, his fingers were sliding out your cunt, leaving you empty and cold after the accumulated sweat on your body had dried. but his arms were warm as he wrapped you in his embrace, turning you over to crush you beneath him again, just where you belonged.

stretching out beneath him, you winced at the sting between your thighs.

“sore?” he asked, reaching down to cup your cunt, and you swatted at his hand with a flush.

“s’your fault,” you said with a pout.

he just thumbed at your lower lip that jutted out, and you playfully bit down on it, satisfied when you saw a little smile on his lips.

“i promise i’ll stretch you nice and good beforehand next time. with a couple orgasms too,” he purred in your ear, and you only flushed deeper, hiding it under an indignant nod and a little hmph.

“but that won’t be happenin' for a while, pretty,” he said, rolling off you to sit at the edge of the bed.

when you sent him a quizzical look, beseeching him to come back and keep you warm, he just shook his head.

“s’improper while courting.”

you stiffened against the sheets, dropping your hand back down to your side. then, your eyes narrowed. “since when do you care about that kind of bullshit?”

he just bellowed a laugh, standing, tall and broad and stretching his compressed muscles in the open air. your eyes dropped beneath his hips, taking in the hair along his naval and his softening cock with a greediness.

tipping your knees open suggestively, you bared your intimates to him, and his eyes honed in on the messy mix of wetness caking your lower body.

“don’t do that,” he said, low and threatening as his eyes darted back up to your own, tongue sliding along his lower lip.

you couldn’t help but swallow at the sight of him, splaying yourself suggestively over the bed to entice him back. he just turned on his heel with a scoff, muttering something like insatiable beneath his breath before he walked off somewhere into the spacious room.

with the whiz of a match, you saw a space on the opposite of the bedroom bloom with light as he lit candles inside the bathroom.

in the meantime, you burrowed beneath the blankets and soft furs, humming with content at the warmth, brow furrowing when you felt them being pulled off your. with closed eyes, you felt Simon lift your leg, gently wiping your thighs and the sensitive place between them with a warm cloth, making you jolt at the sensation. 

he pressed an apologetic kiss to your shoulder before the blankets were on you again and there was the sound of rustling, footsteps in the distance, the rush of water, footsteps nearing you, and more rustles when Simon slid into the bed behind you.

you turned onto your back to blink your eyes lazily at him, seeing him propped up on his side against the pillows and looking down at you. you smiled, tracing along his jaw and the silvery scar on his upper lip before he stooped down to kiss you with an intensity, tongue softly brushing against yours, before he pulled away again.

“do that again,” you commanded and with a huff he complied, kissing you so hard it made you dizzy.

“better?” he asked with a relaxed look on his face, reaching around you to play with your necklace.

“mhmm.”

you clutched at his wrist. “this my first courting gift?”

he let it drop against your skin, snaking two arms around you to pull you flush to his chest. it was warm and inviting. exactly where you belonged. exactly where Simon belonged.

“naturally.”

you smothered a smile, slithering your hand over his bound around your waist, intertwining your fingers together. he nuzzled against you with a hum, yawning right by your ear like a big cat. 

“it was my last effort at failing to court you for months,” he admitted softly, breathing in the scent of your hair and skin shamelessly. you swatted at him, giggling at his ticklish breaths on your skin.

“leaving things around my apartment was courting?” you asked with a snort, and he grunted against your neck.

“i don’t know how it works,” he grumbled, and you drew lazy patterns across the veins of his muscled forearm.

“i could’ve taught you,” you sighed, remembering how your mama had described your daddy’s courting process.

Simon’s prolonged silence goaded you, and you began, “supposed to have a chaperone. first, you talk to her parents, gain their approval to pursue her, then—”

“i know all that,” he interjected, sounding sheepish. it was the first time you heard him so flustered, but you decided not to push him when you could feel him frown against your hair.

squirming around in his arms, he loosened his hold enough so that you could turn, taking in the strained look on his face. you pecked the corners of his scowl, willing it away, but it didn’t relent.

“then,” you said, brushing his brow with your fingers, “you fix a date to court her in front of her family.”

his scowl just deepened and you huffed a laugh.

“court me in front of Yue-Yi,” you offered, letting your head sink into the pillows, a droop pulling on your eyelids.

“i don’t want to,” he countered and you rolled your eyes.

“she’s the only family i’ve got besides one-four-one,” you said, stifling a yawn, “unless you wanna court me in front of John.”

he nodded slowly, like he was being thoughtful. “that could work.”

you scoffed, letting your eyes slide shut. “unbelievable.”

his fingers traced along your bare spine. “i’ve gotta tell you somethin’, lovely.”

“hm?” you prompted, tilting your head into the pillow like you were listening.

“i did ask your parents for permission.”

you stilled in his arms, breaths growing shallow, waiting for him to explain. when he didn’t, you pressed him.

“and?”

when his silence was only prolonged, you blinked your eyes open, lazily looking up at the serious look pinching his face.

“your mother was shot by one of Turner’s men in the street. it was a mess. don’t know how she got there, or where your father was. just hauled her down an alley and tried to save her.”

your heart swelled so big that it cinched your esophagus, and you found it hard to breathe around the beating appendage in your throat. 

“in her dyin’ moments, she asked me if i had done somethin’ to you.” he screwed his eyes shut, a pained look crossing his face.

“i told her that i had, but that i cared about you more than anythin’. i promised i’d marry you and be a good, faithful husband.”

gripping his jaw lightly, you shimmied up in his arms to press a kiss to his lips that he didn’t return, dark eyes flitting over your face.

“i think she wanted to kill me,” he admitted softly, and you just gave him a wry smile.

“sounds like my mama,” you said, trying to ease the pained look on his face, heart sinking when his scowl only strengthened.

“i tried to save her,” he said, voice gruff and brows pinched together, “i promise.”

you nodded, brushing your hands over his face, willing all of his pain away. “i believe you.”

he closed his eyes with a frustrated huff. “m’terrible at courting.”

you would’ve laughed if it weren’t for the dark roil of deep disapproval coming off him in waves.

“we didn’t exactly have a practical start,” you reminded him, thinking back to months ago. when it was the heat of a dusty summer and he was waltzed into your daddy’s saloon like he owned it, snatching your heart just at the first sight of his brown eyes behind the bloody layer of his glittering mask.

you could barely remember how it looked after it so long. you took in the handsome planes of his face just to remind yourself that you could.

“you deserve more,” he grumbled, still not looking at you. instead, you kissed his eyelids softly.

“stop it,” you chided, patting his cheek hard enough to make his eyes snap open.

“i only want you,” you said, enjoying the way his expression went sweet and gooey at your words, a sleepy smile on his lips, “there is no more or less.”

“this is it,” he said, voice soft as he pressed your foreheads together.

“this is it,” you sighed, curling your arms around his neck, letting your eyes close once more.

goosebumps rose where his fingers danced across your skin, picking up the ends of your hair against your collarbone and playing with it gently.

“marry me,” he offered, hooking a finger beneath the silver chain of your new necklace, rattling when he tugged on it.

“i do,” you sighed, letting him kiss you softly before his warm touch was pulling you down into a heavy slumber.

translations: — te ves tan bonita esta noche, Angel = you look so pretty tonight, angel — escuche que eres la chica de Ghost. pero ya no lo parece = i heard you're Ghost's girl. but it doesn't seem that way anymore —¿todavia parece que no es mia cabron? = does she still look like she’s not mine, bastard?

anyway! next up.... wedding scene 🌚 unless.... jkjk unless............. 👁️👁️ jk (unless...)

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[magz]

Palestine related news summary from LetsTalkPalestine, May 1 to May 4, 2024.

[Ways to help, sources, and more: LetsTalkPalestine Linktree]

May 1.

(Instagram reel of UCLA protest. Includes footage of treating n washing a pro-palestine protestors' bloody head)

Day 208

🇨🇴 Colombia to cut diplomatic ties w/ Israel

•⁠ ⁠33 killed, 57 injured in the last 24 hours. Real number likely higher

⚖️ US lobbying ICC not to issue arrest warrants for senior Israeli officials, after Israel's threat to respond by retaliating against Palestinian Authority for sparking ICC investigation

🇫🇷 France denies selling weapons to Israel used in Gaza, claiming what's sold will be re-exported to 3rd countries via Israel, but did supply Israeli Iron Dome defense system

🇹🇷 Turkey set to follow Columbia & Nicaragua by joining South Africa's ICJ case against Israel

🎓 Zionist mob attacked Palestine protestors at UCLA w/ fireworks & pepper spray for 3 hours, police didn’t intervene (📹👆). Columbia & CUNY asked NYPD to raid & arrest 280+ student protestors. New encampments across UK, Tunisia & Canada

🚚 First aid trucks enter through Beit Hanoon crossing to north Gaza despite Israel's promise to open 1 month ago. Nearly half of aid convoys to north Gaza denied by Israel.

May 2.

(Instagram post, news update. The Israeli occupation has killed Palestinian Dr. Adnan Al-Barash.)

Day 209

• 28 Palestinians killed, 51 injured in last 24 hours. Note that the toll is underreported.

🏥 Dr. Adnan al Barash killed in captivity after IOF abducted him in Dec (📷👆)— 496 medical personnel killed in Gaza + 309 in captivity

🇸🇦 Saudi Arabia arrests many for anti-Israel online posts, incl. an executive & media figure. Timing suspicious w/ reports of renewed normalization talks

• IOF attacks aid convoy, killing 1

🇹🇷 Turkey stops all trade w/ Israel after banning 54 exports to Israel

🇺🇸 US House pass “antisemitism awareness” bill using repressive IHRA definition of antisemitism despite antisemitism covered in anti-discrimination law. Why is IHRA definition problematic? See tinyurl.com/ynsfy8sx

• IOF airstrike in central Gaza killed 5, incl. a child

🪨 37m tons of rubble in Gaza, heavy contamination w/ unexploded ammunition & 800,000 tons of asbestos

🎓 Columbia & Emory University face federal investigation for anti-Muslim discrimination, reports of doxing & harassment

May 3.

Day 210

• World Press Freedom Day: Israel killed 100+ journalists since Oct 7 + holding 53 captive

• 26 killed, 51 injured in the last 24 hours. Note the toll is underreported.

• Israel attack on Rafah killed 7, incl. a mother & her children — the children’s bodies were shredded by the airstrikes

🇹🇹 Trinidad & Tobago recognizes the State of Palestine as West Bank & Gaza

🇬🇧 UK sanctions 2 Israeli groups + 4 settlers for violence in West Bank, warns of more sanctions if no Israeli action against settler attacks

• Israeli strike on Bureij camp killed 5, incl. a child

💰 UN estimates cost to rebuild Gaza at $40bn; more than post-WWII reconstruction

🎓 Goldsmiths University students in London win & obtain demands after occupying library — @ goldsmithsforpalestine on instagram for details

🎓 University encampments for Gaza go global spreading to 🇨🇦 🇮🇳 🇳🇿 🇪🇸 🇦🇷 🇯🇵 🇰🇼 🇱🇧 🇹🇳 🇯🇴. US crackdown w/ 2,200 students arrested

• Iran-backed Bahraini militia launches attack at southern Israeli port Eilat

May 4.

Day 211

✝️ Israel blocks entry of many Palestinian Christians to Jerusalem for Holy Saturday celebrations

•⁠ 32 Palestinians killed, 41 injured in Gaza in last 24 hours. Toll underreported

•⁠ ⁠IOF killed 5+ in 15-hour siege on Tulkarem (West Bank) & clashes with Hamas resistance fighters. IOF targeted fighters’ homes w/ women & kids inside, demolished homes trapping many under rubble

•⁠ ⁠Israeli strikes on Gaza kill 11 incl. 3 in bombings of tents in Rafah

•⁠ Head of UN WFP says north Gaza experiencing “full-blown famine” and it’s only a matter of time before south Gaza faces same level of starvation

🇫🇷 British-Palestinian @ dr.ghassan.as denied entry to France for Senate address as witness of Gaza Genocide as Germany put year-long ban on his entry to Europe (Schengen)

🇺🇸 88 US lawmakers warn Biden that Israeli aid blockade violates US ‘foreign assistance’ law

•⁠ IOF abducts 5 overnight in West Bank

🎓 Uni encampments spread to Switzerland, Ireland, Germany, Cuba & Costa Rica

[hussyknee]

Rundown of the current protests, rioting and state crackdown that have erupted in France over the police murder of a 17 year old brown boy.

I've seen way too many Europeans on here insisting ACAB is just a USAmerican thing. It's really important y'all know that it isn't. Cops as an institution is fundamentally fascist, and in the Global North, white supremacist.

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(alt text included for all images)

Rest in power baby boy.

*Correction: Nahel wasn't Black, but Maghrebi (of North African descent). Apologies for the mistake.

[apricitystudies]

crimes of the elite: a deep dive

voted on here. (other editions) bold = favourite

corporate harms

behind the smiles at amazon

the long, dark shadow of bhopal (bhopal gas disaster)

how lobbying blocked european safety checks for dangerous medical implants

7-eleven revealed

who controls the world's food supply?

the true cost of tuna: marine observers dying at sea

how a big pharma company stalled a potentially lifesaving vaccine in pursuit of bigger profits

24 years after, some victims not compensated and still can't live normal lives (pfizer's nigeria vaccine trials)

the corporate crime of the century

uber broke laws, duped police and secretly lobbied governments, leak reveals (the uber files)

the baby killer (nestle infant formula scandal)

2 paths of bayer drug in 80's: riskier one steered overseas (hiv-risk contaminated blood product scandal)

global banks defy u.s. crackdowns by serving oligarchs, criminals and terrorists (fincen files)

the ultra-rich

eliminalia: a reputation laundromat for criminals

the fall of the god of cars (international fugitive carlos ghosn)

a u.s. billionaire took over a tropical island pension fund. then hundreds of millions of dollars allegedly went missing (cyprus confidential)

how the wealthiest avoid income tax (the irs files)

the haves and the have-yachts

madoff and his models (madoff ponzi scheme)

the imposter (blockchain terminal fraud)

the ultra-rich: (allegedly) stolen antiquities

crime of the centuries

stolen treasure traders

a hunt for cambodia's looted heritage leads to top museums (pandora papers)

an art crime for the ages

[sophie-frm-mars]

Transmisogyny discourse on here has such an annoying shape to it.

Like I know that a bunch of it is just because it's from people who are / have always been very online / don't have much life experience as with all discourses that take on annoying shapes so I've been trying to not get too fixated on it but like,

Okay TMA (Transmisogyny Affected) and TME (Transmisogyny Exempt) are absolutely useful and valuable terms in the discussion of transmisogyny and how it works, because you need to be able to talk about who transmisogyny directly affects in order to talk about it. The much larger group of the total population is TME people, because that's (broadly) all cis people, and transmasculine people. So the majority of transmisogyny is necessarily directed from TME people to TMA people, but it's important to understand that as a social force it is actually directed from everyone towards TMA people. Trans women also engage in and perpetuate transmisogyny, sometimes incredibly vicious and harmful transmisogyny - the point of these terms is to identify the groups relevant to the discussion, not to identify an innocent oppressed class and an oppressor class who does entirely 100% of the social dynamic.

The next annoying part of the discourse is that in talking as if TME people = the transmisogyny doers, we keep winding up at a transfems vs transmascs discourse. This part of the discourse is like 1 part transfems misidentifying where the fight worth fighting is to 5 parts transmascs wanting to talk about ways they're also oppressed to like 20 parts raw transmisogyny. Yes, people who perform masculinity under patriarchy are more respected by partriarchy and get some benefits from that, and this is reflected in the differences between experiences of transmascs and transfems. This will be true everywhere that there is the basic patriarchal binary gender division between masculine (possessing agency, meaningful subjectivity, power) and feminine (being a type of property that belongs to others). Incidentally this is why the dyke butch/femme dichotomy is just there to sell more gender.

Everyone should get to perform their gender in a way that makes them happiest, and the problem is that we live under a patriarchy, which disempowers some people for the ways they perform their gender. I'm getting really basic here because some people on here talk like they need reminding.

The real reason the discourse is annoying though, just like all online discourses are, is because none of it is about how to organise to actually fight transmisogyny - that is, to make things meaningfully better for transmisogyny affected people.

2 years ago in the UK a teenage trans girl, Brianna Ghey, was stabbed to death after a prolonged campaign of transmisogynistic bullying by her classmates that the adults in her school life were absolutely aware of and did nothing about. Her death was the most important thing to every trans person in the UK for a moment, and then the political energy just dissipated without gaining any momentum. This is because organised structures of trans community, protest, politicisation and direct action just weren't there.

3 years ago in the UK a cis woman, Sarah Everard, was murdered by a police officer. There was an organised vigil which was politicised by Sisters Uncut, a feminist direct action group with chapters across london and the UK which had evolved to embrace police abolition over the course of its existence. The police escalated against the vigil and the spectacle of the police crackdown on women mourning the death of a woman murdered by police became a crucial moment in police abolition discourse in the UK. Because Sisters had already been laying down the organisational infrastructure for years, because it had been holding discussions among members and because it had responded to its members needs, it was in a strong enough position to act quickly and make change in the public consciousness. (You can read more about this in Abolition Revolution by Aviah Sarah Day and Shanice Octavia McBean.) If there was an organisation half as well put together as Sisters Uncut present in the trans community in the UK when Brianna Ghey was murdered, the organised response could have done something similar and meaningful.

I wrote a bit here about how trans people could use an assembly-organisation model to achieve meaningful change, but that's just my personal proposal for what would make a difference. The larger point is that discoursing over transmisogyny online, just like all discoursing online, is just shadows on the wall of the cave.

[irhabiya]

re: arab spring post, what's wrong with the left in egypt?

in my assessment two main things, that are related to each other.

1) egypt's history of squashing any form of dissent. nasser, who for some reason is worshipped by a lot of western communists, was literally an anticommunist himself and jailed dissenting communists all the time. he did good things of course, but his presidency was very, very far from perfect. or great even. of course this only worsened with sadat, who backed the muslim brotherhood to counteract communists, and nasserists more broadly. and so on and so forth with the following presidencies egypt has seen so far, sisi's complete crackdown on dissent (from literally everyone, islamist oppositions, liberal oppositions, leftist oppositions) makes it nearly impossible to organize when you get thrown in jail if they even suspect that you might be involved with a dissenting organization in any way.

2) the egyptian left, due to the persistent thwarting of anything remotely resembling principled marxism even when egypt was "socialist," has a huge identity crisis. even if government suppression of dissent was not an issue, we don't have one unified coalition we can all confidently rally behind and trust they won't sell us out to the military. last i'd heard of the egyptian communist party, their chairman was endorsing sisi and his coup. all of our leftist parties, whatever remains of them, are disorganized and infested with military sympathizers who cling on to some deranged yearning for nasser's presidential years (though i'd think given the past few years, that delusional fondness should be effectively killed by now. at least i hope so)

another revolution is inevitable in my opinion, the unacceptable living conditions that sparked january 25th are still here–if anything they've gotten much worse, i can only hope we've learned our lesson from the previous one and seize the chance when it arrives.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"At the same time as Canada backed into World War II, which it planned as a war of limited liability, development of the Defence of Canada Regulations (DOCR) advanced inexorably. In March, 1938, Cabinet authorized the creation of inter-departmental committees under the general supervision of the Department of National Defence to deal with censorship, defence co-ordination, and ship, aircraft and air raid precautions. Two other committees were also struck, one under the leadership of Secretary of State to deal with policy towards enemy aliens and their property, and a second, chaired by the deputy minister of Justice, to design emergency legislation that would be necessary in the event of war or insurrection. These committees were co-ordinated by the Department of National Defence, which had a mandate of producing a  Government War Book to deal with the prospect of world war with Japan and Germany.

The policies adopted by the government in the wake of this committee work resulted in general arrangements for the arrest and detention of suspect enemy aliens,  arrangements that were applied, as well, to Canadian communists. The RCMP was to have wide discretionary powers of arrest and detainment. A director of Internment Operations, appointed by the minister of National Defence, reported to the Secretary of State, and was to oversee the operation of internment camps. RCMP or local police officials would administer the registration of enemy aliens, and determine who were to be interned, while an appellate tribunal would hear appeals from the internees.

The DOCR provided the RCMP with considerable latitude about whom it could arrest and detain. Regulations 21 of the DOCR allowed the minister of Justice, upon advice of the police, to arrest and intern people deemed dangerous to the nation’s security. The RCMP had successfully argued within the federal administration that:

…There is a serious danger that attempts to impede the war effort of the nation might be made by persons actuated not by sympathy with the enemy but by ‘international’ affiliations or by disinterested opposition to war… This power of internment, therefore, cannot safely be limited to persons of hostile origin or associations, as in the last war, or even to persons of hostile sympathies.

In actual fact, ‘international affiliations’, and those  who expressed ‘disinterested opposition to war’ meant communists and their sympathizers.

These broad powers of arrest and detention were contested by some public servants  who, indeed, eventually did effect changes that limited these arbitrary powers. When these public servants seriously challenged the relevance of the communists’ internment, they were able to end military detention procedures. On the other hand, however, some war developments also had the opposite effect of tightening the legal screws on the communists, such as the fall of France, when organizations were made illegal, including the Communist Party and associated, ethnic organizations.

The Substance of the DOCR The RCMP and the Defence Department won the battle within the federal administration against certain elements of the Prime Minister’s Office, External Affairs, Justice and even Finance, who were offended by the illiberal, arbitrary detention  provisions of the DOCR.

For the RCMP, the worst danger to Canada during World War II came from the possible subversion, sabotage, and agitation to labour peace that might be wrought by those on the left, despite the existence of healthy, fascist movements in Canada which, it might reasonably be surmised, could undermine Canada’s war effort against the fascist countries. The head of the RCMP’s intelligence section, Charles Rivett-Carnac, justified this position on the part of the federal police by arguing that, unlike communism, the fascist countries left in place a semblance of capitalism. Furthermore, fascism was the reaction of the middle classes to the communist peril. Thus, Rivett-Carnac analyzed fascism in a way similar to how Trotsky had, even though it is doubtful that the RCMP were aware of their similarity of their analysis to that of Trotsky, the advocate of permanent revolution. The irony here is too rich to be ignored: were the RCMP Trotskyites?

Under the DOCR, the Communist Party of Canada and its associated organizations remained illegal for the duration of World War II. Canada was the only allied power to maintain such a policy. In the U.S. and Great Britain, communism remained legal throughout the war. In fact, at times, the Canadian government was admonished by representatives of allied countries about Canadian policy. The policy continued even though the U.S.S.R. became our ally, and even though the main, indigenous resistance in German-occupied countries to the Nazis came from communists, as in Greece, Yugoslavia, France, Norway, and even in Italy, after Mussolini’s fall. Other than Canada, the only other countries who outlawed communism during World War II were those of the German-Italian-Japanese Axis, or those occupied by Axis powers.

Obviously, repression of the Communist Party of Canada reflected a conscious policy of the Canadian state that existed not by war necessities, but in spite of them. The raison  d’être of the repression, in fact, was based upon larger considerations of the Canadian  state and its ruling classes.

...

The War Measures Act of 1914 provided the legal basis for the DOCR. The World War I law had authorized the federal government to undertake

such acts and things, and [to] make from time to time such orders and regulations as [it] may, by reason of the existence of real or apprehended invasion or insurrection, deem necessary or  advisable for the security, defence, peace, order, and welfare of Canada.

The public servants preparing the Government War Book judged that this provided sufficient legal precedent for the DOCR. As well, public servants referred to the examples of measures adopted in Great Britain.

Examples of measures authorized by the War Measures Act included censorship and control of publications, writings, maps, photographs, plans, communications and means of communications; powers to arrest, detain, exclude, and deport people; and the use and control of property. Cabinet alone would determine if  there was a state of war or insurrection, as well as the duration of this state. 

The DOCR were adopted a week before Canada’s declaration of war against Germany on September 10, 1939. The regulations were sweeping. As just one example, the government could  name any business or mine as essential for supplying the war effort. It then was illegal to loiter around such a business, a regulation which was initially interpreted in Ontario courts to mean that strike pickets outside the business were illegal. Owing to protests from organized labour, this regulation was amended so as to exclude from the loitering provisions workers involved in a legal strike.

The most relevant articles with respect to the imprisonment and internment of communists were regulations 21, 22, and 39. Regulation 21 permitted the government to intern whomsoever might present a danger to the state or the public, or who might threaten the prosecution of the war. Regulation 22 authorized the creation of advisory committees to hear appeals from internees about the reasons for their internment, and to advise the minister of Justice to release internees or continue internment. Nevertheless, the Minister of Justice could then accept or ignore their advice. Regulation 39 prohibited anyone to behave in such a manner, or to make statements:

intended or likely to cause disaffection to His Majesty, or to interfere with the success of His Majesty’s forces… to prejudice the recruiting, training, discipline, or administration of any of His Majesty’s forces… to be prejudicial to the safety of the state, or the efficient prosecution of the war.

Regulation 39A, adopted in the fall of 1939 after the initial promulgation of the DOCR, prohibited printing, publication, distribution, and even possession of documents that contravened Regulation 39.

Regulation 39C, adopted on June 6, 1940, rendered illegal three German and six Italian, pro-fascist organizations; two organizations that were overtly fascist, the National Unity Party, led by Adrien Arcand, and the Canadian Union of Fascists; and eleven communist or sympathizing organizations. Additions were also made to this list.

One year later, the list of prohibited organizations was expanded to include the pro-communist Finnish Society of Canada, five left-wing publishing houses, and the religious group, Jehovah’s Witnesses, to make a total of thirty organizations in which membership alone was an illegal act, an extraordinary breach of British justice. 

With respect to the Jehovah’s Witnesses, it took years to establish that the Witnesses had a legal right to preach door-to-door in Canada. Witnesses provided a reliable scapegoat for the right in Quebec, almost till the end of Duplessis’ rule during the late 1950s. Even today, the mere mention of this religion engenders irrational hostility among some. Above all, prohibition of the Jehovah’s Witnesses certainly had nothing to do with the successful prosecution of World War II. It was a perfect example of how governments can misuse arbitrary detention to exclude virtually any activity that political expedience might indicate. 

The case of the banned organization, Technocracy Inc., is not as sad. In fact, it’s quite bizarre, even farcical, but also most revealing. The RCMP’s attention was drawn to this  group when the police discovered their publication, Eastern Technocrat, in November, 1939. Technocracy Inc. was an American group of technophiles who wanted to spread the use of engineering, and the development of an economy based upon massive consumption of energy. If these guys were indeed responsible for the nature of our current economy, they certainly were influential and successful. Technocracy Inc.’s motto was: “Be an engineer — a social engineer — a technocrat”. Engineering was promoted as providing solutions to all manner of social or economic problem. Once again, if these guys were responsible for the prevalence of social engineering in contemporary society, then they certainly were effective.

The group may have had some link to Social Credit, a legitimate though certainly not left-wing mode of thought popular  in the 1930s and 1940s. Social Crediters were known for their ‘funny-money’ ideas, and there may have been some links with certain personalities in Social Credit. The Technocracy case was a good example of the RCMP acting as ‘dumb cops’, but what of the Justice Department lawyers and the minister of Justice who approved the prohibition? The case reveals much about the intellectual level and the paranoia of the federal police, and those who supervised them.

...

The DOCR were repressive measures: censorship of the press; arrest and detention without just cause or explanation of motive; prohibition of political and religious expression; outlawing organizations, making people guilty by association. It is hardly surprising that these clear violations of legal principles would be accompanied by methods of administration that were also repressive.

Basic legal protections were set aside in the application of the DOCR. It usually was impossible to learn the precise reasons for internment. The stock phrase used to explain internment under Regulation 21  referred to 39C; it was “representations have been made to the effect that you are a member of the Communist Party of Canada, a subversive organization, and are, therefore, disloyal to Canada”. An Ontario judge, in the case of internee Pat Sullivan, ruled that habeas corpus, by which a person detaining someone must explain without delay the reasons for the detentions to the detainee and to a judge, was held to be of no effect. The curious reason given was that the final decision upon the detention accrued to the minister of Justice, and not to the person doing the actual detaining.

Regulation 22 authorized advisory committees to serve as appeal mechanisms for internees in response to complaints from lawyers and Parliamentarians. Nevertheless, there were too few of these committees, who met too infrequently. Their work was done in secret. The RCMP would reveal the evidence supporting internment to presiding judges, but not to internees nor their lawyers. The hearings deteriorated to discussions of the politics of the internees, or to searching for information about the internees’ associates.

Finally, even were the committees to rule in favour of the release of the internee, the minister of Justice was not required to accept the recommendation, nor explain his reasons. Regulation 39C, making organizations illegal contrary to the principle that association cannot be a reason for guilt, meant that the burden of proof fell to the internees rather than the state. For example, that internees were members of the Party during 1936, 1937, or 1938, when the Party was indeed legal meant nothing; nor did claims to the effect that the internees were not now, nor had ever been a member of the Party.

Regulations 39C and 21 were read together; for instance, using article 21, police might say that the internee presented a security danger. When asked how, they would resort to 39C, saying he or she was a member of the Party, with no specific actions given. Charging a person with violations against regulation 39 and 39A often proved to be difficult cases to prosecute in regular courts, since serious evidence had to be presented about a person’s actions. Many charges against communists using Regulation 39 and 39A failed, especially before juries.

No matter… in some cases, a person not proven guilty of violating Regulations 39 or 39A would simply be charged using Regulations 21 and 39C, which required no trial nor formal charges. In several cases, persons found not guilty according to Regulation 39 or 39A were arrested by the RCMP immediately after exiting the courthouse after the court’s decision, then interned. Finally, organizations whose properties had been seized using 39C had no option for regaining property, unless there would have been a specific Cabinet order removing the organization from the list of banned organizations. Once on that list, in fact, banned organizations were only once again made legal after the war, by which time, property  became even more difficult to regain."

- Michael Martin, The Red Patch: Political Imprisonment in Hull, Quebec during World War 2. Self-published, 2007. p. 63-74.

[lyinginbedmon]

Howdy folks!

I'm not really comfortable making posts like these, because I'm extremely accustomed to just getting by Somehow without getting outside assistance. Historically I've just made do with whatever I had and over the years I've gotten pretty good at making "very little" seem like "just enough" at least, sometimes even "quite a bit".

But I recognise that's a long-term trauma response and, what's more, that I can't overcome this particular obstacle without external support.

So here's the situation: I have been on a waiting list for healthcare since 2019 and the most I've ever heard back to be sure I'm even still on that list is the occasional newsletter. There's a chance I'll hear back properly in November, but also every likelihood I still have years to wait.

Moreover, there's every possibility that the UK general election on July 7th will see a considerable crackdown on the availability of healthcare support for people like me. The current government just last week issued an emergency ban until September on medication for children of my demographic in the span of just 62 minutes.

The medication I've been taking since June 2020 has to be sourced from the grey market, and that makes it expensive, especially so if I don't order it in bulk. Which I frankly cannot afford to do due to a bunch of different problems over the last year. Whatever savings I had to the effect of paying for medication (or anything else for that matter) had to be dumped to prevent my bank from taking action against me just for not having enough money at once. I am not physically capable of working any more than I already am, and therefore have no available options to increase my income to resolve this myself.

So here's the rub: It's Pride Month, and my birthday is in 4 days.

If you have any spare change, please consider putting it towards the GoFundMe linked above. If you don't, please reblog this post so it hopefully reaches someone who can.

My supply will last less than 2 more months before I start to deplete parts of it, 3 months at the most overall. It's a dark time here for the trans community, and particularly for someone as far below the poverty line as me, so for my birthday all I ask is for a bit of assistance making it a teensy bit brighter.

[districtunrest]

I shot myself in the foot by reading so many Haymitch's Games fics for years bc I truly am satisfied with that part of the canon, to the point where I've never wanted to write it in full myself and I don't even want it now from the actual author

if Sunrise is a Haymitch POV that begins the morning of the reaping, I worry it'll read like another fanfiction - we learn the names of his mother and brother and girlfriend and get a bit of their personality and their lives before he's reaped, and then he goes to the Capitol, and from there it's fun to see how different fics fill out the summary Katniss gave us and maybe even subvert some things. after that, a confrontation with Snow that Snow wins, and the terrible thing we all know was going to happen that our beloved boy didn't (how to take '2 weeks after crowned?' some portray it as they were killed while he was away, others as soon as the cameras left; there's a fire, there's spread out one-by-one accidents, etc etc), and the hard-to-write/painful-to-read portrait of grief that follows. and then *the* crackdown, the fraying community ties, the isolation, the tension with his friends we met briefly before the reaping. and then maybe... a bit of hope... a hint of the future rebellion to come: Haymitch meets intern Plutarch, meets [whichever named victor] on his Tour (where he'll surely come across that room in the D11 Justice Building) and knows things aren't done here, not like Snow wants him to believe...

like. I'll only be comparing it to all those other Haymitch POV fics that did the same exact thing. unless SC completely surprises us - a time skip? a revelation that blows all our interpretations out of the water? something??

but! I'm not entitled to have the story as I want it. I don't even think I'm the target audience anymore. I just wish, if she's going this direction, that she'd written it a little sooner, before I read almost every fan version of it since 2009 lol

[probablyasocialecologist]

Since taking power, Starmer has pursued a policy agenda that’s barely distinguishable from that of his Tory predecessors. He’s scrapped almost every genuinely progressive idea the Labour Party had to offer, hastened the creeping privatization of the National Health Service, waged a campaign of financial austerity against poor and sick people, endorsed anti-trans bigotry, authorized inhumane “raids” against immigrants, pursued a variety of “tough-on-crime” crackdowns, and cozied up to right-wing media baron Rupert Murdoch, all while purging principled leftists from the Labour bench and installing former Tories. Words are cheap, but actions reveal a politician’s true character. With every passing day, Starmer has proven that the Conservatives’ rule over Britain never really ended at all. Because in every way that matters, Keir Starmer is a Tory himself.

[...]

In the European edition of Politico, we can find a comprehensive list of all the Labour policies that Starmer once claimed to support, but later walked back or completely abandoned. Abolishing tuition fees at British universities? Gone. Nationalizing the “Big Six” energy companies? Gone. Offering universal childcare to all British children? Gone. Increasing taxes on the rich? Never heard of it. Abolishing the absurd, archaic institution of the House of Lords? Indefinitely on hold. Rent control? Not a chance. And so on, and so on. In place of these ambitious goals, Starmer started speaking fluent Conservative, saying that his priority was “growth, growth, growth” and citing self-imposed “fiscal rules” for why each new program couldn’t be afforded. At one point, he even cited Margaret Thatcher as a figure he admired, saying she had “dragg[ed] Britain out of its stupor by setting loose our natural entrepreneurialism.”

2 August 2024

[linkyu]

tell me about your defense contract pleage

Oh boy!

To be fair, it's nothing grandiose, like, it wasn't about "a new missile blueprint" or whatever, but, just thinking about what it could have become? yeesh.

So, let's go.

For context, this is taking place in the early 2010s, where I was working as a dev and manager for a company that mostly did space stuff, but they had some defence and security contracts too.

One day we got a new contract though, which was... a weird one. It was state-auctioned, meaning that this was basically a homeland contract, but the main sponsor was Philip Morris. Yeah. The American cigarette company.

Why? Because the contract was essentially a crackdown on "illegal cigarette sales", but it was sold as a more general "war on drugs" contract.

For those unaware (because chances are, like me, you are a non-smoker), cigarette contraband is very much a thing. At the time, ~15% of cigarettes were sold illegally here (read: they were smuggled in and sold on the street).

And Phillip Morris wanted to stop that. After all, they're only a small company worth uhhh... oh JFC. Just a paltry 150 billion dollars. They need those extra dollars, you understand?

Anyway. So they sponsored a contract to the state, promising that "the technology used for this can be used to stop drug deals too". Also that "the state would benefit from the cigarettes part as well because smaller black market means more official sales means a higher tax revenue" (that has actually been proven true during the 2020 quarantine).

Anyway, here was the plan:

Phase 1 was to train a neural network and plug it in directly to the city's video-surveillance system, in order to detect illegal transactions as soon as they occur. Big brother who?

Phase 2 was to then track the people involved in said transaction throughout the city, based on their appearance and gait. You ever seen the Plainsight sheep counting video? Imagine something like this but with people. That data would then be relayed to police officers in the area.

So yeah, an automated CCTV-based tracking system. Because that's not setting a scary precedent.

So what do you do when you're in that position? Let me tell you. If you're thrust unknowingly, or against your will, into a project like this,

Note. The following is not a legal advice. In fact it's not even good advice. Do not attempt any of this unless you know you can't get caught, or that even if you are caught, the consequences are acceptable. Above all else, always have a backup plan if and when it backfires. Also don't do anything that can get you sued. Be reasonable.

Let me introduce you to the world of Corporate Sabotage! It's a funny form of striking, very effective in office environments.

Here's what I did:

First of all was the training data. We had extensive footage, but it needed to be marked manually for the training. Basically, just cropping the clips around the "transaction" and drawing some boxes on top of the "criminals". I was in charge of several batches of those. It helped that I was fast at it since I had video editing experience already. Well, let's just say that a good deal of those markings were... not very accurate.

Also, did you know that some video encodings are very slow to process by OpenCV, to the point of sometimes crashing? I'm sure the software is better at it nowadays though. So I did that to another portion of the data.

Unfortunately the training model itself was handled by a different company, so I couldn't do more about this.

Or could I?

I was the main person communicating with them, after all.

Enter: Miscommunication Master

In short (because this is already way too long), I became the most rigid person in the project. Like insisting on sharing the training data only on our own secure shared drive, which they didn't have access to yet. Or tracking down every single bug in the program and making weekly reports on those, which bogged down progress. Or asking for things to be done but without pointing at anyone in particular, so that no one actually did the thing. You know, classic manager incompetence. Except I couldn't be faulted, because after all, I was just "really serious about the security aspect of this project. And you don't want the state to learn that we've mishandled the data security of the project, do you, Jeff?"

A thousand little jabs like this, to slow down and delay the project.

At the end of it, after a full year on this project, we had.... a neural network full of false positives and a semi-working visualizer.

They said the project needed to be wrapped up in the next three months.

I said "damn, good luck with that! By the way my contract is up next month and I'm not renewing."

Last I heard, that city still doesn't have anything installed on their CCTV.

tl;dr: I used corporate sabotage to prevent automated surveillance to be implemented in a city--

hey hold on

wait

what

HEY ACTUALLY I DID SOME EXTRA RESEARCH TO SEE IF PHILLIP MORRIS TRIED THIS SHIT WITH ANOTHER COMPANY SINCE THEN AND WHAT THE FUCK

HUH??????

well what the fuck was all that even about then if they already own most of the black market???